[Vampire: The Requiem] The Devil Went Down to Galway

[Ragoza]

March 7th 2016


Dry tonight, looks like it was a sunny day. Wonder how that feels. Sun sets around seven pm, and the All Night Society wakes up.

• Connor
• Raphael
• Theophilius
• Dara
• Dermot

• 
  
  
  You dreamed about her again. Pathetic. You need to be better than this, or you'll never deserve her.
  
  
  The apartment is little more than a den but it suits you. Five foot square kitchen (unused), equally tiny bathroom (unused), battered guitar propped up in the corner(heavily used), calendar with today's date ringed red. Shit, there's a ceremony tonight.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Week two of your life as an abomination. You wake up FUCKING STARVING, and it takes all your restraint to not lunge at the ghoul Maeve left watching you. He rises slowly, a 6 foot slab of dreadlocks and meat, and dutifully opens a vein on his arm for you to feed from. You instinctively strain against the chains binding you to the stone slab, but the Queen herself restrained you last night. He moves over for you to feed.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  "Your paper, boss?"
  
  
  William has learned this ritual by rote. Today's paper, correspondences from London and cup of Earl Grey (strictly for the smell), brought to you on tray while some soothing music plays. Vivaldi's Spring, this evening. Undeath is no excuse to be uncivilised. The paper is uninteresting, inane drivel about the centenary of their little rebellion. You don't remember it as anything to be celebrated. A letter sits beside, bearing the seal of that tedious local "kogaion". They were made of sterner stuff in your day.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  You wake up in a rush, oversleeping is too similar to torpor. When the Circle found you after all those years of hibernation, claiming to have traced you through Golden dawn archives, the high priestess herself brought you to this musty barrow and gave you this room. It's fascinating from an archeological viewpoint, having apparently been scratched out of the rock with claws centuries past, but in terms of living space it's spartan, just a rough cot, a stack of books and a thick wooden door. You've been here at least a week now, probably longer, reading and shaking off the cobwebs of centuries. Perhaps it's time to have a look outside that door.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  What the hell are you meant to do with a night off? Herself is elbow deep in an essay, barely even acknowledges you when you come downstairs. You go through the rigmarole of heating up food, just to keep up appearances.
  
  
  "There's post for you, Dermot. I left it on the table."
  
  
  How lovely, more bills. Except that's no bill. That's the Renfield's seal on the envelope. Well shit, good thing you have the night off.
  
  
  

 

[hraefn]

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

OOC: Downstairs? In a flat? Okay.


'Thanks', I reply when she tells me about the post. I pick up the letter as I re-heat the pasta, genuinely surprised at the letter. By reflex, some of my muscles go through the motion of a sigh; why'd he have to send a letter? Doesn't he normally have a thrall drop me a text when he needs something done? But more importantly, what does he want?


I take my food out and look at it. I miss food, even re-heated twelve hour old pasta. The immortality of being a kindred is kind of a sick joke in some ways. I consider putting on the 'blush of life', just to feel the taste again, even if it'll be spewing out of me in a few hours. I think better of it.


I poke my head into the other room; 'Ciara, do you want anything to eat, or to drink?'

 

[Grey]

Theophilius E. Creed





Creed would sigh if he could remember how, and elects to read the letter first. Ridiculous that a domain so small merits the title.

 

[Ragoza]

• Dermot
• Theophilus

• 
  
  
  "No thanks Dermot, I have tea here"
  
  
  She's hunched over the table, cold pasta to her left and piping hot tea to her right. Girl after your own heart. You retreat into the kitchen and open the letter. The Renfield's writing is a spidery scrawl, much like the man himself.
  
  
  "Initiate O'Rourke.
  
  
  A matter of great interest to the Covenant has arisen, one very much relevant to your interests. Your presence is required in the Chapter House at midnight tonight. Tell no-one.
  
  
  Kogaion Renfield."
  
  
  The Chapter House is an otherwise unremarkable house on the Long Walk, repurposed into a library and lab. The Renfield keeps an office there.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  "Mister Creed,
  
  
  I humbly request your presence in my office at the Ordo Chapter House at midnight tonight. A new development in the Ordo's research here in Galway has arisen, one I feel will be of interest to you and your superiors.
  
  
  Kogaion Renfield"
  
  
  Mister Creed? Honestly. Jumped up backwater beurocrat.
  
  
  

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

I smile, she's a good kid.


Well now, that is interesting. I wonder what it could be, and in what way it's relevant to my interests, has he mentioned anything lately?


Wait,


Oh wait.


I pick up the envelope and examine it; is there indications that it has come through the actual postal channels? Such as a post centre stamp?

 

[HairyDM]

Raphael


I can't pull my God forsaken eyes form that drop of blood forming on the ghoul's arm. Revulsion rises like a stone in my throat that I want, crave, need it now. The man presses his arm to my mouth and blood, salty yet sweet, profane yet holy, floods my mouth. It washes that stone away in a flood of ecstasy, as I suck, demanding more. The nameless ghoul pales visibly and, too soon, he pulls his arm away. I lunge against these damn chains, a feral growl spilling from my lips. At least I don't loose control, same as I did last week. Haven't done for the past few morni-, evenings.


"You'll let me up now?" I say, staring at the ceiling. It's only half a question, the routine has been established in the short time since I've stopped raging like a beast at the mere hint of metallic blood in the air.

 

[Ragoza]

• Dermot
• Raphael

• 
  
  
  No postmarks, no stamps, nothing but your name in that spidery script. Looks like he had a ghoul hand deliver it.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  "The Mistress has requested your presence in the Chapel. I'm to lead you there."
  
  
  His voice is wavery, but he doesn't falter as he releases the locks. Now that your hunger -thirst- has abated, you feel much more focused. The rough hewn walls of rock and soil have become familiar to you these last few nights. The mention of a Chapel stings a little, but you know what he means. Maeve holds court early most evenings in the central chamber of this barrow, the last few nights you've been the main attraction.
  
  
  

 

[The Fuzz]

Connor





Connor shrugs on a battered leather jacket. The door slams behind him.


Take this time. Thrust it before you, make it a space that you can exist in.





He looks straight ahead, his eyes on the horizon.


You don't breathe air any more, you breathe seconds. Breathe them in, breathe them out.





He smiles, just a little, as he keeps walking towards the city centre.


Come a time you won't need to force yourself to cope like this. You'll get what you want when you don't need it so badly.





His plan for the evening is to visit Anocht and make himself visible before fading away again. It may be necessary, later, to show up to Maeve's altar wearing nothing but crow feathers and a pair of linen pants, but what the hell, why not.


Clíona would love to come along, for all of about five minutes.





He frowns.


Don't let Clíona come into contact with Maeve. The banshee might decide she likes the professor.

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

I clench my teeth when I notice that. Makes sense though, he does know my address, even if it is a little disconcerting.


Must be pressing though, for him to go to such trouble.


So, midnight (of course it's midnight), and it's what, half seven now? That gives me about four hours, allowing me to show up nice and early.

 

[Ragoza]

• Connor
• Dermot

• 
  
  
  It's cool as opposed to cold, for once. Must have been a nice day. The wind chill in Salthill almost makes you feel alive. Halfway into town your jacket pocket buzzes. A text from Cliona.
  
  
  Are you busy? I'm having a pint in the skeff.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Herself is used to you being away all night and she's utterly engrossed in her essay. She barely notices you leave. You have a few hours to kill before your appointment.
  
  
  

 

[The Fuzz]

Connor

Cliona

them

Are you busy? I'm having a pint in the skeff.

me

No, as it happens. I'll swagger by and absorb some wisdom, if I may?

Without waiting for a reply, Connor adjusts his route. Towards the Skeffington, that ridiculous labyrinth of a bar.

 

[Grey]

Theophilius E. Creed





Creed is deeply unimpressed, but at least this one understands the value of private communication instead of forcing him to make the boy read it from one of those infernal google boxes. He spends a short while longer checking correspondences, going over notes, until finally deigning to leave his cramped hiding place under the University concourse, hidden among the labs and janitorial closets and what appear to be steam tunnels as if this place dated to the late 1800s.


Creed is quite sure such a hideous building would not have been constructed back then.


The walk along the canal is pleasant, at least, in the dry, chill air.

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

Hmm, hard to know what to do to kill some time.


I haven't been by the Elysium in a few weeks, maybe I'll drop by for an hour or so.

 

[HairyDM]

Raphael


Mistress. Maeve. My dead heart lurches in my chest at the mention of her. She's the one who tuned me into this monster. I hate her with every fiber of my being, I love her with ever drop of blood in my veins. I give my head a quick shake to clear it, and gesture for the ghoul to lead the way to her nest.


The Chapel. Figures. She'll want to parade me in front of her lackeys again, no doubt. I'm still a novelty, her broken hunter, her adoring slave. I draw up short, snapping from my brooding. The doors of the Chapel stand in front of me. I take an unnecessary breath to steady my nerves, and push open the stone slabs. A long night awaits.

 

[Ragoza]

• Connor
• Theophilius
• Dermot
• Raphael

• 
  
  
  Town is pretty quiet tonight, no tourists for another few weeks. Getting to the Skeff doesn't take long, and she's easy to spot. Still in her work clothes, back to the door, what appears to be a double Jameson in front of her. Doesn't that just bode well?
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Honestly, you saw cleaner canals in the 1860s. At least there were fewer traffic cones in them. You pass one or two students on their way, off for a night of low key hedonism no doubt. One girl does a double take as you pass, and quickens her pace.
  
  
  The Chapter House, if you can even call it that, is a nondescript terraced house on the Long Walk. Just asking to be flooded in a storm. What a downright shame that would be.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Elysium is about twenty minutes walk from your house. Nothing much going on in town, but as you pass though Eyre square something catches the corner of your eye.
  
  
  Perception check there, buddy.
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  If your heart still beat it would stop at the sight of her. She sits cross legged on the central slab, a ghoul on either side of her. The room is roughly circular, stone floor and packed dirt walls laced with tree roots. You remember these two ghouls, both dark haired women in their twenties who look at her with worship in their eyes. You suppress a growl. Her legbreaker Ferdia lounges against the wall on the opposite side, all lean muscle and fucked up Nosferatu face. Her jet black hair cascades into the crow feathers adorning the her leather jacket, and it takes all your willpower not to fall to your knees.
  
  
  "Sleep well, fledgling?"

 

[HairyDM]

Raphael


"Like the dead," slips from my mouth, and I wince at the poor choice of words. I look around the room, tearing my eyes off her. "No cronies tonight?"

 

[Warplock]

Spoiler

I slow down my pace a little, and try not to look like I'm looking.


[dice]21380[/dice]

 

[The Fuzz]

Connor


Without a word, Connor slips around and onto the barstool beside Clíona.


Let's see if service is shit. If so, then I may not need to burn off the blood to get a pint down me.





Face remaining perfectly still, Connor glances to his left.


"Filthy studentses?"


Offload your problems on me, Clíona. Helps me forget mine for a while.

 

[Grey]

Theophilius E. Creed.





Unruffled but judgmental, Creed enters and subjects the place to studious investigation.

 

[Ragoza]

• Raphael
• Dermot
• Connor
• Theophilious

• 
  
  
  You still catch that shit-eating grin in the corner of your eye.
  
  
  "Two puns in a row, fledgling? Careful now, you might smile next."
  
  
  Not looking at her takes almost as much willpower as not kneeling.
  
  
  "Not yet, chick. Our brethren will be along later tonight, for now it's just you, me, my devoted servants and my heavily armed bodyguard. Have a seat, let's enjoy the intimacy."
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  You could have sworn that Alsatian over there was following you. It's wandering off again though. The doorman at Anocht nods to you as you approach."
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Her eyes are red when she looks up at you.
  
  
  "Filthy Ex. He's having a baby."
  
  
  Well shit. She drunkenly confided their struggles to conceive before the divorce a few months ago. Her self-loathing at being infertile had been pretty damn clear.
  
  
  "Years, Connor. Fucking years we tried. Six months he's been with that fucking twenty-five year old and she's fucking pregnant. What the fuck is wrong with me?"
  
  
  
• 
  
  
  Well, they tried. The "antique" furnishings are clearly replicas, the tomes of forbidden knowledge are reprints and the less said of the laboratory equipment the better, but for a plantation it's not unreasonable. The ground floor is dominated by a library and laboratory space, with one of The Renfield's ghouls painstakingly copying a medieval treatise on alchemy into one of those infernal computers. The "Kogaion" himself has an office on the upper floor, no doubt the bloody beurocrat expects you to come to him.
  
  
  

 

[HairyDM]

Raphael


I sigh and shrug one shoulder. As I look back at her my eyes lock to hers. I loose myself, and a smile spreads across my face. The small part of my brain that still hates Maeve screams quietly as it's drowned in a flood of adoration.


"Alright," I gush, "let's."

 

[Grey]

Theophilius E. Creed





The old Nosferatu sighs inwardly. Less effort than actually sighing.


He ascends the stairs to find this office and its oafish owner.

 

[Warplock]

Huh, well that's a weird one. I don't mind though, I like Alsatians. Can't some vampires change shape? I feel like I read that somewhere.


I walk up to the door of Anocht and greet the doorman.

 

[The Fuzz]

Connor





"Nothing. Absolutely nothing, Clíona."


Connor looks over, eyes clear.


Today's going to suck. It's gonna suck when you hear about, it's gonna suck if you see pictures of her, it's gonna suck when the kid is born. But in the end, the best thing Clíona can realise is that it's not about her. She's not responsible for what Liam does with his life, every day of it that remains.


He slips from the stool and pulls Clíona into a hug. He speaks low and soft, not letting it carry.


"There's nothing wrong with you. You might feel like shit today, but you're going to be alright. Fuck Liam and his decisions, from now on they're nothing to do with you. He's made his choices and his mistakes. You don't have to carry them on your shoulders."