Frederick Douglas Memorial Cemetery, Staten Island
Wednesday 11th December, 2002
The policeman's slumped posture and terror-stricken state of mind clearly affected his attention to the Tremere's command. His first order went unheeded, and it was only by pulling the cop's head back to lock eyes with him that Gabriel attained the requisite focus to work his discipline on the mortal. Fear-dilated pupils stared out from a muddied, pale face and the Kindred could smell the vomit-stink on the man's breath from his earlier disgrace.
(OOC - Gabriel man/intimidation vs Brandt willpower - 10,8,6 vs 8,3,3,2,1 = net 3 successes to Gabriel; Gabriel mesmerism diff5 - 10,10,7,2,1 plus willpower (bonus dice from complimentary action) = 3 successes)
He could only nod in mute agreement to the vampire's demands. Not a sound came from the man's throat and he stared blankly up at the figure hanging in the tree.
A little distance apart, the child-thing continued to ramble and murmir in broken english, flinching in momentary pain as Nikolai probed the open wound with his finger, loading the digit with filth and blood. The taste was repellent, thick and strong.
(OOC - Nikolai spends 1 blood point; A Taste for Blood diff4 - 9,9,8,8,7,7,6,5,3,3,2,1 = 7 successes)
His vision swam, and the nausea engendered by the tainted blood threatened to overcome Nikolai's senses. He rode out the sanguine whirl, sifting through what little information the watered-down vitae could hold with a sense of taste augmented by his own, reinforced blood. The blood was mostly mortal, with approximately a tenth part of the mix being True Vitae. The ghoul that lay in the earth before him was perhaps half-spent, kept animate and seemingly uncaring of the pain it must be feeling through the power of his domitor. Both had fed earlier the same night, though Nikolai could deduce that the child had taken his blood with a little of the body... maybe of more than one body, to look around. Even through the vector of the child's own diseased blood he could feel the power of the master, stronger even than his own thaumaturgical prowess currently permitted, though prehaps only one step ahead. Always one step ahead. Through it all, the honey-taste of diablerie ran like a thread, connecting each revelation to the next, a tempting undertow.
(OOC - Nikolai self-control diff4 - 10,10,2,1 = 1 success, good for 1 turn's control)
The rage threatened to take him again, tempting him to simply reduce the child, the corpses, the witnesses, all of it, to ash in the white-hot passion of the Beast. Max could see Nikolai struggle to rein in the fury even as the child continued to whisper to him.
"Nous... We are hungry, so we feed... thirsty, donc... drinking... le sang... dou... pain." It grited teeth rotted to stumps, Max imagined out of malnuitrition, and the eyes assumed a glaze of purest insanity. The shrill cry split the air "Poèt rouge, ils viennent pour vous!"
(OOC - the feral - Mask of A Thousand Faces - 10,10,6,4,2 plus willpower = 3 successes; man/subterfuge vs Max per/subterfuge - 8,7,6,4,2,2 vs 10,7,5,5 = the feral nets 1 success)
As it did so, its face shifted and seemed to shrivel before the Brujah's face, aging not as if growing, but the shriveling putrefaction of decay. The flesh sallowed and broke up, as wet glistening rot ate his skin away, opening up the mouth to a rictus grin of blackened teeth and a swollen, rancid tongue. The death rattle came horrifyingly late-on, as the corpse lay finally still.
