[North Shore Nights] Chapter Three: Deepening Night.

To Blake and Valentine


Nothing much at all besides more destroyed room and shattered treatises by long dead writers. The elder is muttering something to himself, finally noticing you two with that same wild look. His hands are balled up into fists, tucked tight against his gut, covered in dirty, black blood.
 
Valentine


"Blake, I really think we need to talk him down. Elders frenzying is bombsite messy..."
 
Garrison Blake


Blake holds his hands out at his side, trying not to appear threatening. When he speaks, his voice is low and calm. While his every nerve screams fight, he knows this is not that time. Avoiding sending the man into Rotschrek is the main goal right now.


"Elder. It's Garrison Blake. I mean you no harm. Everything will be alright. Shall we get you out of here?"
 
To Blake and Valentine


His hands are fiddling with his black vest and waistcoat. "Are beyond the pale of man? Have you seen Carcosa? The-the Hyades are..." His eyes roll back in his head, swallowing audibly. "It...heh..." He moves his hands from his stomach, exhaling greatly, shaking his head. His waistcoat is wide open with his intestines and a few other withered organs spilling out onto his lap like pale gray snakes thick with congealed blood.


"Feels good to relax some, no?" He chuckles again.
 
Garrison Blake


Blake nods curtly. Taking his phone out of his mouth, he aims it around the room, looking for some kind of vessel - a bowl, a cup, something - that can hold blood.....


Spending a Willpower point.


Wits (3) + Investigation (2) - 3 (dark) + 3 (Willpower) = Results for 5 dice: 1 success [ 0 2 3 5 6 ] (TN: 8 )


1 Success.
 
To Blake


After about ten minutes of looking, pushing through some truly vile remains of...something, you'll find a relatively clean bowl that held wax fruit.
 
Garrison Blake


Blake takes the bowl and wipes it with his shirt, cleaning out any undesirable content. Extruding his fangs, he rips into his skin and lets the vitae drain into the bowl. Not a vast amount, but enough to allow some healing to occur. When the blood finishes draining, Blake licks his wound, then brings the bowl over to the Elder.


"Master, your injuries are grave. I have vitae. My vitae. It is yours if you wish it. I will find fresher fare for you. Just wanted to stem the tide." He hands the bowl to the Elder....


Draining 3 Vitae to give to the Elder....
 
To Blake


That bowl will vanish from your fingers before you even stop talking, the elder digging his face into the blood and sucking it up loudly. The sound is nearly sickening and thick with desperation. Though it does occur to you, albeit a little dimly, you've just put an elder on the first step of blood binding toward yourself.


The old man throws his head back and takes a deep breath as his organs seemingly crawl back into his gut on their own, the skin being pulled taught together with weak fingers.
 
Gavin


Gavin makes his way down flights of stairs, searching for the barracks but, obviously, with other things in the forefront of his mind: mainly (and understandably) the man Howard, and the startling revelation of his identity, and the close-call he'd so recently endured only to have their acquaintance renewed...it was like rubbing salt on a fresh wound. A fresh, phantasmagorical, psychedelic wound coupled with a persistent pain growing behind his eyes, like a migraine, just thinking about it all.


It's enough to make him careful on the steps as he continues on his way.
 
Garrison Blake


Blake watches the Elder heal with dispassionate eyes. Eyes that continue to scan the room, keeping watch for any hidden trap that may still be lingering. Once the healing process is finished, the Gangrel speaks. "Are you okay to move, Master? I don't advise staying in here. We can move to...more comfortable environs. Whenever you are ready."
 
To Blake and Valentine


An awful moan rips from his lips, "Just get out...He's...just go...that husk isn't done yet." A thin string of black drool spills out the side of his mouth across quivering jowls. "'Sall ruined...he sang the prettiest song, he did..."
 
Garrison Blake


Another scowl passes over Blake's face. Leaving the elder didn't sit well - but he did say get out. If this creature still presented a threat, plans would need to be made. Finally, Blake nods, once. "I will see that food is brought, Master. I go. As you request. The Axe will be warned. As will the Dying Light. I will speak to you later."


The Gangrel gestures to Valentine and heads toward the door. "This isn't good. I think things just got a whole lot worse." He heads into the hallway, looking for someone to assist the elder....
 
To Blake and Valentine


The darkness grows deep again as you go without. The old house seems diminished with its great store of lore completely thrashed and who knows how many of the elders dead. The trail of slime glistens in the light. No one seems to be up and about. The only thing you hear is the dim dripping sound from the library behind you and the creaking of old wood.
 
Valentine


Valentine grimaces. "Yes, yes they did. You realise if we do get out of this you're going to have to watch your back around that elder, right? If he even suspects you're trying to bond him, he'll kill you without thinking about it. Be careful."
 
To Anna
They shake and smile, genuinely, if a bit distracted as an animal would be watching fresh meat be dangled before its nose. "Kitten," said woman whispers.


Vandergraff is far more cordial. "Hello! I've heard much about you. I've been curious about your night classes at your school of dance. Classical sorts of dancing, no?"
Click to expand...
Annabelle


"Oh yes, I teach swing dance," she beams proudly. "It's not much, just a little studio and a dozen kids or so, but it's such fun. Some of them dance here when their fake IDs aren't getting spotted," she adds with a laugh. "Actually, one of Jack's girls comes to the studio too, she's quite good." Her eyes flick from Kindred to Kindred, vulpine in their awareness of their preoccupation. Internally, she smirks.
 
Garrison Blake


Blake shrugs. "I'll deal with that when the time comes. I have more important things to worry about. I have to see if anyone's still alive. And Valentine. Thank you. This isn't your fight. I appreciate the back up. We need to go to the basement. See if any of the Guardians have survived...."


The Gangrel heads toward the staircase leading down....
 
Valentine


The Daeva shrugs. "I suspect this is one of those things that's gonna be everyone's fight. Lead on."
 
To Gavin


You finally reach down into the basement quarters to find it remarkably changed from memory. Sure, this place is still accessed by the revolving bookcase in the rear of the small library behind the sleeping cells (old Conway loved such things apparently), but it was just a sort of root cellar when you had came through. But this? Hard cement floors and harsh overhead lights and a T-junction just ahead. Good lord, did they make the whole foundation a bunker of some sorts?
 
Gavin


It's like those underground assembly points they used to build under schools for air raids... He blinks a little in the light, more accustomed to a softer form of illumination.


Gavin warily makes his way through the complex, especially suspicious of rounding corners and ever-hopeful he will find the Guardians sooner rather than later whilst trailing a hand along the wall.
 
Gavin


Gavin is well and truly lost. Which is annoying, considering there logically can't be that many corridors down here, but they all look the same and junctions just add to rising confusion. He glares at the dimly lit bulb above him, the old mop and bucket and candy-red rubber gloves (dainty little things) hanging from a peg on the opposite wall of the broom closet he'd found himself in. For the second time.


In ten minutes.


Which by his count made this the third broom closet he'd encountered thus far, visiting one with yellow gloves on his first try and one with blue a further two times, though that honestly didn't count because he'd sort of slipped... but anyway. Foregoing any practical jokers swapping the gloves around, the place seems oddly well-prepared for any hygenic emergencies. That was all very well and good, but he had other duties to attend to.
 
To Blake and Valentine


Blake, you've never really been down to the Barracks, but you do know how to get down there. Conway, the man who built this place, loved old spy shit and stuff from old monster films, so the way down to the Barracks is behind a revolving bookcase in a small library beyond the normal cells. And not even a library, just a giant bookcase with a sitting area before it. One really can't make things like this up. If they're home at all, they're down there.
 
To Gavin


There must be some sort of neat freak Haunt amongst the Guardians, that's the only thing that explains that many cleaning chemicals in one room. Why would they even need Oxyclean!? The world is a stranger place. Regardless, you'll find some of the sleeping cells down here, the doors are built exactly like old bunker doors, recessed, deep in the concrete with ridiculously strong deadbolts, but the doors are oak, not metal.


Bizarre is one way to put it.
 
Gavin


Lacking any knowledge of proper conduct - and having long since spent his patience wandering - Gavin decides to try the most sensible action, and decides to knock. "Hello? Anyone in there?" He raps hard on the oaken doors, bellowing through any likely crack or gap around keyholes and the doorjam itself.
 
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