[WoD] Random Acts (complete)

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina Gordislava descended to the tarmac, the plane’s engines still whirring to a stop. Her pale skin illuminated in the glow of the moon, she walked directly to a waiting sedan, its windows tinted dark enough that they seemed opaque. In fact, they were – at least in the spacious backseat.

Shelia Ortega looked over the front seat at her passengers as Ivan climbed in to sit beside her. "It is good to see you, Archbishop."

Katarina grunted non-committedly Sergei beside her saying nothing. "What is the situation with our comrades here in London?"

Shelia pulled the sedan off the tarmac and into the early morning traffic out of Heathrow Airport. It was 4 am, and sunrise would be upon them in less than an hour.. "Not good, Archbishop."

"I will need more than that, Shelia." Katarina laced her fingers together in her lap.

The South American lesombra shrugged as she pulled the car onto a highway that was mostly empty. "I am afraid I cannot do better. The bishop refused to speak with us, though he put up with our presence in their haven. He is waiting for you."

"As he should be." Irritated, but not quite sure why, Katarina looked out through the windshield. It was just as well there was no one else on the road - had anyone looked through their rearward mirrors at the sedan they would have been shocked to find no one in the driver's seat. Usually they would have had a ghoul doing the driving, but it seemed that the London chapter of the Sabbat had invented the meaning of 'roughing it.' They would do without a great many things that she was used to.

Ivan shifted in the passanger seat, scrubbing thick fingers through his brush cut. "Is the Haven adequate?"

"It is. There were a few security issues, but we have taken care of them." Sheila's eyes didn't leave the road. "There is ample food, though the Sabbat here number but a few."

Something in her tone caught Katarina's attention. "How many are there?"

"Bishop Montague oversees but two packs. They know of no others in the city." The sedan pulled smoothly off the highway and into an industrial area. "The Cammies are unusually alert and rumors fly through the air. I would not be surprised if our ranks thin more as the fearful leave."

Rodermark must be furious after the successful attack on the Barbican, just a few days before. The Lesombra of London, well hidden on the best of occasions, would be aching to disappear alltogether. She could understand why the Cardinal would want to send a strong leader into London to strengthen resolve, and perhaps encourage more to join the ranks.

If they survived the first week. If Rodermark had not managed to find her by then it would be beyond the Camarilla to get her out of London.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Better that they leave now, so that we may see those who are truly loyal to the cause.”

The last thing that their effort needed was its members fleeing mid-operation. Seperate the wheat from the chaff at the get-go, and at least they would then have an honest number of Cainites with which to work.

As the sedan travelled along the busy motorway, Sergei took in the darkened view of London. He had seen its sky lit in his boyhood years, when his family had relocated from Germany to Great Britain during the conflict of World War I. It was his first time returning to the British isles since then, yet it roused no nostalgia and sadness in him. Such emotions were beyond him now. With thoughts of sirens and gunfire pushed from his mind, the warlock turned to his Archbishop.

“What do you know of Montague?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"I know only a little. He is from Spain originally, of Moorish stock. The Cardinal informed him of our operation on New Years, but Montague did not take part, though he did provide us with the house we stayed at and several of the other London Keepers also aided us. As you know."

Katarina pursed her thin lips and continued, "He is no coward, but is overly cautious, sometimes to the point of paranoia. He will no doubt welcome my presence, and at the same time resent it." She leaned forward a little and asked Sheila, "You said two packs - how many do we number?"

The sedan turned left onto a seedy looking street. "Montague's retinue numbers ten plus himself. The two other packs number seven and nine. If you add our numbers there are but thirty-three Sabbat in all of London." Another sharp left took them deep between some buildings that appeared to be abandoned. Ortega stopped the car and hopped out to open the door for the Archbishop. "We are here."

"This place?" Katarina stepped out of the car gingerly, and looked around. The buildings boasted broken windows and smelled of unwashed cats. "The Haven is here?"

"Indeed, Archbishop. From what I could get out of one of the ductus, the house we stayed at over New Years was overrun by Camarilla mere days after we left. Most likely Nosferatu, but it could have been any clan. They have no other Haven but this one."

She raised her eyebrows. "The packs all reside here? Together?"

"For now."” Shelia led them to a covered door where they were greeted by a pair of Keepers.

"Archbishop," one murmured as he bowed. "Bishop Montague has been awaiting your arrival."

"Good. Take me to him at once." Katarina tried not to look at the dust surrounding them, nor the large mirror that hung on the wall just inside the door.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Some Kindred say that you can judge a ruler by his domain, by the haven he keeps. If that were the case, then the Bishop Montague was somewhat lacking. It looked as though the house hadn't been touched in decades. Torn wallpaper left scars of brickwork visible, floorboards groaned underfoot. The air was heavy and dank, with a strong scent of the dry blood that was splattered in patches across the floor and walls. It did little to excite Sergei.

The Keepers lead the Archbishop and her entourage into what appeared to be a small closet. Pushing aside a large dust sheet, they unveiled a set of stairs which descended into what must have once been the houses cellar. One Keeper remained in the upper level, replacing the cover, as the second continued down into the basement. Candlelight flickered in the darkness, the silence only broken by the sounds of footsteps on the old stairs.

Where the other Cainites were was yet to be seen, but the Bishop and his own cadre were all to be found in the cellar. Their collective gaze turned to the visitors. Sergei bowed his head accordingly. Though his respect for them was minimal at best, he preferred to avoid the usual discussion that came as a result of his traitorous past and so endeavoured to sweeten the Cainities at the earliest time.

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Archbishop!" Montague was slight and shorter than Katarina, which was painfully obvious as he stood. "You honor us with your presence, though I regret we have no better welcome."

"Bishop Montague." She inclined her head briefly, and looked at the assembled Keepers. Several thoughts pressed into her head, but none were appropriate for mixed company. "The Cardinal has sent me to assist the London Sabbat."

"The Camarilla would not have been stirred up against us if -" The speaker, an impestuous blonde female, snapped her mouth shut and hunched her shoulders as though struck. Montague's nostrils flared as his eyes flitted from Katarina to his pack and back again.

"No, no they would not have. But eventually - eventually you would have been driven here anyway." Katarina walked a circle around the cellar, eying the candles warily. She'd never really approved of candlelight, since accidents were always bound to happen. Wax dripped silently in the room as she came to Montague's side. "Together we will do something about it. But I must speak with you in private, Bishop Montague, you and your ductus."

He snapped his fingers and the gathered Cainites began to move. "As you wish, Archbishop. Unfortunately my ductus, Patrick McClain, is not here at the moment. He will be back at sunrise, however, if you wish to wait?"

"No." She gestured at Sergei to follow them as Jorge Montague led them to another underground room. It appeared that they had expanded the cellar to reach underneath the adjoining house. Red candles lit the room and it appeared that they were in the Bishop's own room...s. Rooms. There were two small doors that led out of the main chamber. It was not spacious, and it was dank, but the Londoners seemed to be making do.

Once the doors had shut, leaving Katarina, Sergei and Jorge alone, she got right to the point. "The Cardinal told me there was something for me to do here, but he did not tell me what it was."

"Ah yes, yes, he told me to give you this." Jorge rummaged in an old rolltop desk and produced a sealed envelope.

She tore it open and removed a folded sheet of paper. "Please feel free to brief us on our situation while I read."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The envelope bore the wax-stamp seal of the Cardinal. The paper was crisp and had a faint, implacable aroma. The message itself was written in flourishing cursive and was addressed to the Bishop Montague. It detailed the Cardinals intentions of ultimately destroying the London Camarilla and taking the city for his own.

“The first attack on London was little more than appeasement for the Tzimisce,” the Bishop explained. “He wished to show them that London would not be taken through strong arm tactics. One does not simply walk into London and take it for their own.”

We risked our lives for nothing, then, Sergei thought. The Barbican assault had not been expected to succeed. In fact, the Cardinal's point would have been best proven if his soldiers had been destroyed by the Camarilla.

“More meticulous planning and scheming is required. The Cardinal proposes a number of possible courses of action, as you can see, but leaves the timing of their execution in your hands. He does not expect you to adhere rigidly to these suggestions, and welcomes any you yourselves may have, but would advise you strongly consider them.”

Katarina turned the letter over in her hands. The spider-scrawl handwriting covered both sides.

“The first suggestion that he makes is that you attempt to plant at least one double-agent within the ranks of our enemy. Of course this is not easy for Kindred such as us – our clans have long been divided from the lords of the Masquerade... but it is not unthinkable to gain such a foothold.”

Montague let these words hang in the air for a while. If a mole was to be used, they would have to be of one of the typically Camarilla-loyal clans. Given the small number of Sabbat in London, it seemed safe to assume that no-such Cainites existed in the capitol city. Even if they were to find a suitable candidate, it would take time for the higher-ranking Londonites to come to trust them. Sergei frowned.

“The second suggestion that he offers is that you make use of the hashshashin. The Assamites claim allegiance to no sect, only to blood. As tools, the assassins would prove invaluable. Perhaps you might have them kill the Prince, or his most powerful allies, leaving Rodermark's Final Death as something you yourself may deliver.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"An undercover agent would take far too long." Katarina turned the paper over again to read the first side again. "We would never be able to get someone trustworthy enough here fast enough, nor would the Camarilla bring a newcomer into their circle quickly. They will be on edge and distrusting of new faces."

An assassin, however… "Montague, do you know of such an Assamite?"

He cleared his throat, a nervous sound in the quiet underground room. "I took the liberty of sending my ductus to locate such an individual. The thought had occurred to me previously to the Cardinal’s suggestion, and I - we are backed into a corner, Archbishop."

"Indeed we are." Katarina ran her fingers through her ash blonde hair, suddenly wondering what she looked like after spending hours on a plane. Sergei caught her eye and the corner of his mouth turned up, ever so slightly. She put both hands to work putting the Cardinal’s letter back into the envelope. "To take out Rodermark… that would significantly weaken the Camarilla. But if we removed his Primogen first…" She tapped a finger on her lips, deep in thought.

Jorge cleared his throat once more, "The assassin can be sent for whenever you wish. It is too close to sunrise for a proper meeting tonight -"

"I am aware, Bishop."

Noises from the house above signified the return of the rest of the Cainites. It seemed that they occupied the two adjoining houses, though how the run-down buildings managed to avoid letting in sunlight during the day seemed a mystery. Montague looked upwards, and then back to the Archbishop. He had artfully avoided talking to or making eye contact with Sergei for the entire meeting.

'Archbishop, you must be weary from the long journey."

"Yes, and hungry." Her eyes tracked upwards where she could just sense living hearts entering the house above.

"Of course. Your needs will be provided for." Montague wrung his hands, and added, "This room is at your disposal, Archbishop." He moved towards the door, and she put out a hand to stop him.

"Montague, make sure the bodies are thrown out into the street. Not anywhere near here, of course, somewhere around the Barbican would be best, but it is probably too guarded. In random places around London, where they will be found and not traced back to us."

He paused, a light appearing in his eyes as he understood. "Of course, Archbishop."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The Bishop excused himself and soon the muffled sounds above quietened. Alone, Sergei surveyed the room which they had been gifted with. Evidently Montague had no taste for luxury – or perhaps he simply had no money for luxury. Either way, the Vizier paid the fact little mind. He was not accustomed to or comfortable with lavish dwellings. All that he required was a place to sleep and somewhere secure to store various essential items.

“You intend to attack the Primogen, then?” he asked, as he set down the briefcase he had been carrying. It's locks popped open, revealing to him an array of unusual and seemingly unconnected items. One by one he counted them, accounting for their presence and ensuring they remained intact.

“To cause chaos and confusion among the clans, leaving Rodermark without the organization or manpower necessary to defend against a larger Sabbat attack?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Yes." She poked the dusty looking four poster bed that dominated the room, and walked to one of the other doors. Opening it, she discovered a closet of sorts filled with musty, Victorian era clothing. Katarina made a face and shut the door, leaving the other door untouched. "The loss of the other haven is unfortunate. Four packs together in two houses… We must address this… situation as well."

If she were remaining in London longer than a few days, she would have to find a Haven of her own. Jorge Montague had gone to ground like a frightened quail, and it would not take much effort on the Camarilla’s part to flush him out. "We may be hidden, but I have to ask myself if it is worth it."

There was a rap on the door, and Ivan entered. "Archbishop…" He stepped aside to allow her a view into the outer chamber. Several dark shapes huddled together in the center of the room, the thump of living blood in their veins. She caught the look on Ivan’s face, however, and moved to the doorway for a better look. Six naked mortals sat in a vaguely semi-circular pattern, their eyes vacant and staring. "Street people," the huge Keeper explained. "They have been stripped and washed."

They certainly were not pleasing to look at, but the Hunger cared not. She advanced to the nearest one, a male, and tipped his head back, tracing his jugular with a fingernail. "The bodies are to be dumped around the city when we are finished, Ivan."

"Yes, Archbishop." Shelia and the others filtered into the cellar as Katarina made her choice and took the mortal into the privacy of Montague’s room. The rest of her pack feasted in the outer cellar, and come daybreak they would all rest in the same room. If the London packs lacked cohesiveness, then she would show them how a true pack behaved.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

When sunrise came, fatigue soon set in. The houses fell deadly silent as their inhabitants slipped into a deep slumber. Images flickered over the insides of Sergei's eyes, vague and indistinct, yet the day passed without interruption. When at last the Cainities awoke, it seemed almost to be done in synchronization – the pack having spent so long together, that there bodies had become attuned to one another. Barely a moment was wasted once the sun had set. Quickly scouts began to report back to the Bishop with details of Police reports and suspected Camarilla activity.

Sergei had moved into the upstairs portion of the house, and drifted silently between the groups, listening to their chatter. They pointedly ignored him, but he wasn't interested in conversing, only in hearing what they had to say. Once he had gleaned what he wished to know, he returned to the cellar, where he found the Archbishop being tended to by her groomers, smoothing and primping her appearance. The Tremere bowed his head, both in respect and to avert his eyes.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina looked up as Sergei entered the room and raised an eyebrow. "How are our friends upstairs?" She turned slightly away from him as the two ghouls rubbed her naked body with a special lotion to keep her skin milk white and smooth.

It was pretentious, perhaps, to assume a modesty she did not feel, but it was habit. She was certainly not ashamed of her body, and did not feel paticularly uncomfortable with Sergei seeing it. But still she turned her back to him, and waited his answer.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

It was not the nudity that caused Sergei to avert his eyes. He now knew all too well the vanity of the Lasombra, how conscious they were of their physical appearance. Instead of searching awkwardly for a place to settle his eyes, he paced to the table on which his briefcase was sat and began to leaf through some papers inside.

“Unsettled,” he replied, his back turned. “Apparently there are reports of Nosferatu scouts coming far too close to discovering the haven. I expect it's difficult to find a place to hide in a city so rampant with Camarilla. Scattering the drained kine seems to be having the desired effect, however. That will be keeping some of them busy, at least.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

The ghouls draped a silk robe around her shoulders, and the Archbishop belted it as she turned and sat down. The kine carefully pulled a comb through her hair, loosening the tangles that had formed during the day.

"There will be a shortage of places to hide in a city such as this one. Even if we could procure another Haven amongst the Independents there is a high probability that someone would run straight to the Prince and inform him."

She thought in silence for a few moments, then added, "I will send Uri and Sheila to scout for possible locations, along with a representative from each of the other packs. Traveling in the Shadows they should not have any trouble with the Camarilla, Nosferatu or no." She smiled as another thought occurred to her.

"Tonight the rest of us will hunt. Ivan will have to remain here, as he could be followed, but I think taking to the streets and scaring the mortals will accomplish much to through the Prince off our scent. He will be too busy trying to weave his precious Veil."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The plan was somewhat primitive, Sergei thought, but all great wars had to start somehow. Idly, he leafed through the pages of a red, leather-bound book. “It won't take long for them to catch wind of what we're doing,” he said quietly. “Is it really worth the risk?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"It seems a desperate act, and the Camarilla will interpet it as such. We will openly hunt tonight, and then in a few days we will do it again. By then we will have a new Haven, a back-up for when this one fails." The ghoul doing her hair carefully pulled it into a ponytail, securing it and then stepping back. The second ghoul came forward to dress her.

Standing up she disrobed again, clothing herself in jeans and a black AC/DC t-shirt. "When they discover this place they will see how many we number. I will leave only a few Keepers here, enough for them to think they have found only one pack. And while they are distracted and laughing at us, the Primogen will be dying."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

A small smile turned the corners of the warlock's lips. Sergei set the book he held back inside his briefcase and fastened the locks shut. If they were to be hunting mortals, he would need nothing of its contents. He turned back to the Archbishop, who was newly outfitted to blend in with the London night-life. “Ready to paint the town red?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

She looped a belt around her waist and sat down to pull on a pair of slim black boots. "Let's go." Katarina smiled, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "It has been too long since I danced."

The Cainites split up and left the haven - some staying behind to guard it, others going out to locate a new base of operations. One with a better location and less dirt. Katarina, Sergei, and Fyodor Karpushka their Noddite priest headed towards one of the more popular clubs. Montague was visiting an upscale neighborhood where a visible death would cause the loudest uproar, and two other small groups of Keepers were heading to other locations around the city.

Fyodor scrubbed his hands through his closely clipped white blond hair, sharp black eyes taking in everything though he said little. He had as little regard as Katarina for the traditional Sabbat beliefs, though the rituals were always performed with precision. He looked a little uncomfortable his modern clothes, but his skills with Dominate would probably come in handy tonight.

He tugged at the dark green t-shirt that clung to his body, and fiddled with his belt. "Mortals wear such constricting clothing."

Katarina slapped him on the rear. "One cannot wear robes all the time, Fyodor. Isn't that right, Segei?" She looked over her shoulder at the Tremere with a wink.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Indeed.”

The trio had descended upon London's Soho District, Dean Street to be precise, to the infamous Batcave. Fortunately for Fyodor, blending in with the so-called 'Batcavers' wasn't likely to be an issue, as the club was a haven for misfits and oddities alike. No one style of dress pervaded, but rather patrons dressed as they pleased – some in typical goth fashion, others in sharply-cut suits, some even in the rags and studs of the bygone punk era.

Though the club was already packed, and the entry line vast, the power of Fyodor's blood alone was enough to secure their entrance. Once inside they appeared no different from the scores of dancers and drinkers around them, and were even over-shadowed by some of the more flamboyant club-goers. Sergei smirked as he watched a pair decked in crushed velvet and ruffles drift by, their faces powdered white as death, their nails filed to points.

“I'm sure I'm not the only one,” he muttered to Katarina, “that see's the irony here.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

The kine around them were oblivious to the Cainites in their midst, bodies crushed together and gyrating to the beat of the music that drowned out everything else. Katarina hooked her fingers through her belt loops, "It brings to mind the saying, 'be careful what you wish for.'" She turned to Fyodor, "We start at midnight."

The blonde Keeper nodded, and followed a tray of drinks to the bar. Katarina lost sight of him quickly, but she hooked her arm through Sergei's and led him out onto the dance floor. She loved to dance, though what was considered 'dancing' these days was vastly different to the courtly dances she'd been taught as a child. Still, she'd made a point to keep up on things of that nature, and did not worry that they would stand out.

Well, they would stand out. Dancers moved aside as they walked among them without knowing why they did, and the Archbishop put her arms around Sergei's neck as the music changed and the beat slowed. "I wonder who will see us here tonight..." She spoke directly into his ear so he could hear her over the noise of the club.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Unlike his Archbishop, Sergei could not dance. His youth had not permitted him the chance to learn and certainly he had no inclination to pick up the skill since his embrace. Fortunately it was not often required of him to dance, and times like these his ineptitude was not too obvious, thanks to the dark dance floor and throng of bodies around him. He followed Katarina's lead as best he could, glancing here and there at the crowd around them, entranced by the music.

“Very few, I expect,” he murmured in reply, still smirking. “They seem completely enraptured by themselves... so self-centred.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina turned around and shimmied in front of her vizier, eying the crowd. Sergei moved as though he was made out of wood, but no one seemed to notice. She faced him once more with an uncharacteristic grin. “How about that group of girls over there?” She played with the buttons on his shirt, and winked. “If you show them your tattoo they will be putty in your hands. It works better than Dominate.” As she danced she drew him along with her, until they were dancing beside the girls she’d spotted.

They pretended to ignore the Cainites, but Katarina drew one of them towards her with the slightest of eye contact and suggestion. She was a pretty Asian girl, her long hair wild from dancing. Katarina looked deep into her eyes and they danced, the kine pressing her body against the Archbishop’s as the club pulsed to the music. Sergei touched her shoulder and Katarina mouthed, midnight. Pick your prey.

Taking out the obvious Goths and vampire wannabes would not cause the stir she wanted to create. The authorities wouldn’t think much of someone dressed like an Anne Rice vampire dying with bite marks. But a group of girls barely old enough to drink alcohol? It would be all over the headlines by morning. Sergei could join her, of course, but she figured he would want to pick his own.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The power to Dominate the minds and wills of others was not among Sergei strengths, but very little in the way of strength was needed to command the minds of already intoxicated young kine. As Katarina drew away her prey, the girls friends looked to the partner she had left behind. One of them, a petite brunette, pushed herself away from those around her and into the Cainities waiting arms. She found herself fascinated by his dark eyes and pressed her slim body against his hard frame, only drawing away occasionally to take a sip from the bottle of Corona she was nursing, her fifth of the night.

'Dancing', Sergei caught glimpses now and then of Katarina and Fyodor as they spun their webs. They were so much more artful than he was, it was in their blood. Even Fyodor could turn his distance from the modern world into a charming eccentricity that was more than enough to woo another drunken club goer. As he watched his cohorts, he felt warm fingertips on his skin. The girl laced her hands over the back of his neck, staring longingly up into those smouldering eyes that looked at almost everything but her. She had had one too many drinks to notice how cold he was, to realize what was going to happen.

[Katarina Gordislava]

A leggy blonde attached herself to Katarina’s prey, sandwiching the girl between their bodies as the beat pounded into the heads of the intoxicated kine. Katarina could hear another beat: the wild thump of the mortal’s heart as she gave herself to the moment. Her breath was sweet from the alcohol she’d consumed, and the Archbishop traced a finger along the girl’s jawline. The kine’s face tilted up as though by command, and the Cainite stared at her neck, her urges crawling to the surface.

But it was not time yet, they must all go at once or the effect would be diminished. Katarina forced herself to smile at the girl, and turned her attention to the blonde who’d joined her little party. The woman was staring at her hungrily, dancing her way to her side. It was amusing to find oneself becoming the hunted one as the blonde was making her intentions very clear. Two were better than one, and Katarina met the other mortal’s eyes. The kine sighed as Katarina’s blood called to her, and they soon had the attention of quite a few men who were near them as they danced. The Cainite kissed the blonde lightly on the lips, and then turned and did the same to the asian mortal so she wouldn’t feel left out.

They wished to worship at the altar of pleasure, and she did not mind indulging them. After all, it would be their last dance.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Katarina took far much more from charming the mortals than Sergei ever did. He could no longer see them as any more than meat, a walking meal. They excited nothing in him, no lust, save for the hunger of the Beast, and yet in them he drew out all of this and more.

His eyes darted to Katarina. Her body seemed like a physical extinction of the music, writhing and twisting in perfect time with it. The kine that hung off her like living decorations followed the ebb and flow of her movements more than they did the music. It was a sight to behold. Curving patterns into the air with her fingertips, she played them all beautifully, like a conductor, a virtuoso. For a fleeting second Sergei felt himself drawn towards her, before he shook away the lure of the blood, silently scolding himself.

Surely it was time soon. There was only so much of this he could take.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina’s blood was boiling, and her interaction with the two kine had mesmerized a good portion of the dance floor around her. No one would miss what would happen next.

As her watch struck midnight she caught up the Asian girl’s hair, bending her neck to the side and biting deep into her jugular vein. Usually she was meticulously neat when she fed, but tonight was all about the spectacle. The people around her were still dancing, some still staring at the Archbishop and her two companions. She did not take enough blood to quench the thirst of the Beast that raged within, and then released the dark-haired kine.

The girl stumbled, her body trembling from the embrace, and Katarina looked into her eyes. Kine were usually docile enough while being fed upon, but with a little suggestion the girl started to cry, and then other people saw the blood running from the wounds on her neck and staining her clothes. Unable to control herself with the taste of blood on her lips, Katarina grabbed the blonde kine as people around her started to panic, and wrapped her in shadowy tentacles.

She gave in to the Beast and took the kine’s blood savagely. They became entwined – a shadowy macabre play of blood and lust. By the bar she could hear shrieks of terror as Fyodor took his own kine.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

At last.

Running his fingers through strands of silk-soft hair, Sergei seized the young kine and wretched her head to one side, exposing her pale neck. A little less care and he might have snapped her spine at that very moment, but it was not time for that yet. He wanted her to scream, to fight against it. As he buried his fangs into her tender young flesh, tears welled up in her eyes. Though she moaned, this was not the sensual kiss of the Embrace, not the soft touch used on ghoul playthings. Sergei was merciless. She could feel her strength slipping away- the bottle she held clattered to the floor, shattering into tiny glittering pieces.

One bold club-goer surged forwards, attempting to pull Sergei away. Without lifting his head, the warlock extended one hand backwards and the would-be hero froze in his tracks. Others watched agape, powerless to save the girl from the monster in their midst.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The blonde crumpled to the ground as Katarina allowed the tentacles of Shadow to dissipate. The music was still bumping loud enough that there were people in the far corners of the club who had no idea what was going on. A man was attempting to help the Asian girl, and the Archbishop smacked him away from her with a Potence boosted backhand.

“Stop it!” The young kine was sobbing, trying to push into the mass of people behind her. The other mortals near the body of the blonde were panicking, and the mood of the Batcave was turning quickly. Someone made the sign of the cross and Katarina laughed, her mouth red with blood.

Then someone yanked the bloodied girl through two club-goers, and the kine was gone from sight. Angered, Katarina spun herself into the shadows, arriving at the exits long before her prey ever did. People were pouring out into the London night, some shrieking with terror at the sight of the Archbishop as she stepped out of nowhere to lounge by the door. She wiped at her chin, and realized that she was nearly as bloodied as the kine she was waiting for. The only difference was that this blood was not hers.

The Asian girl and her ‘rescuer’ stumbled out of the crowd, only to stop short at the sight of Katarina. “Nooo…” moaned the kine, and the young man holding her hand thrust her behind him.

“Oh, I do not think so.” Katarina stared at him. “Give her to me.”

And, he did. The girl screamed and clawed at Katarina as the Cainite folded her arms around her, and no one stopped to help. The would-be hero stood by and watched blankly as the vampire took the last of the girl’s life.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The girls body became limp, her protests weakening. Sergei cast her body aside – she skidded across the dance floor, over the fine shimmer of broken glass. His eyes quickly swept over the small crowd of paralysed kine that had encircled him and singled out his next victim. Another young woman, mascara smeared in thick, watery strokes down her cheeks. The monster leapt at her, knocking her straight to the ground. The people stood around her scattered, like a flock of frightened pigeons.

Sergei perched atop his prey and tore at her throat with abandon, indulging the wanton desires of the Beast, as fresh warm vitae spilled into his lips and onto the ground. He ripped away her dress and smeared a bloody hand print across her naked skin. One of the spellbound voyeurs watching the debauchery let out a shriek, another began to vomit. Sergei could barely hear any of it. The thumpthump of a living heart filled his ears.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Fyodor was having a similar time over by the bar. He’d had to convince everyone sitting there that it didn’t matter that he had no reflection in the mirror on the wall behind the bartender, but as midnight struck he released the mortals from their dominated state. He threw himself over the counter at the attractive Scottish bartender, knocking her to the wall and holding her there as he drank her blood and savaged her body.

She trembled and moaned at the exquisite pain inflicted by the Cainite, until he dropped her on the floor in a pool of her own blood. Fyodor pulled his shirt over his head, and smeared his bare chest with her blood as he leapt on top of the bar. From his vantage point he could see Sergei leaping onto his second victim, but it was a commotion by the back of the club that caught his attention. Two people in what appeared to be black leather were climbing up on tables and coming towards him. Fast.

The DJ finally caught on to what was going on, and the music stopped with a suddenness that left ones ears ringing. Fyodor jumped to the wall, clinging to it and climbing up onto the ceiling. “Brujah!” His voice rang clearly in the club as the two Camarilla vampires leapt up to the bar.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The silence seemed almost as terrifying, to the onlookers, as what was going on before them – the sudden shift startling and evoking screams. Sergei rose to his feet and saw the figures of the Brujah blurring over the bar top. Quickly he channelled his blood to give him sight beyond sight, and searched the rest of the bar for the tell-tale aura of a vampire. Sure enough, he saw them – another two. They were headed for him, their blood hot.

They burst out of the crowd and vaulted towards him. He called on the power of Thaumaturgy. As one maddened Cainite collided with him, sparks of electricity burst from his fingertips and danced a wicked waltz over the Brujahs skull. He recoiled in shock, gripping his head as he stumbled into his partner. Sergei turned and ran, instantly.

“Katarina!” he barked, dropping into a roll beneath a large table as the second, unharmed, Brujah lunged for him. While Sergei had served in the Army for a number of years, and had the strength of Caine in him, he was no match for a pair of Brujah in close combat. He needed an exit.

[Katarina Gordislava]

When the music stopped Katarina looked up from her meal, mouth stained with blood. The girl hung limply in her hands, and the mortals around the front door were trampling on each other in their haste to get out.

“Brujah!” Her head snapped around, spying Fyodor speed-crawling across the ceiling, leaving a trail of bloody hand prints. Two Brujah were on top of the bar, and one was throwing shot glasses at the Lasombra with Celerity enhanced speed.

“Katarina!” Sergei was plowing through the mass of mortals with two other Brujah on his heels.

Which, logically, left her. The Archbishop ducked instinctively as a sword whistled through the air where her head had been, and her eyes widened as she spied the enormous Brujah behind her. Calling on her blood, she threw the dead girl at the Camarilla vampire hard enough to knock him backwards, but he would be coming at her harder and faster than she could counter. She backed up and locked eyes with two of the male kine in the crowd. “Protect me!” They abandoned their sobbing girlfriends and ran at the hulking Brujah.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Sergei planted both feet against the underside of the table beneath which he had rolled, and launched it up into the air – right into the path of an advancing Brujah. The kindred railed as the hard wood impacted with his body. It did not shatter but rather drove him backwards, pinning him briefly beneath it. The second vampire snarled as he leapt over his fallen brethren. Sergei plucked a sphere of energy out of thin air, teasing the electricity into being in a matter of seconds. The Brujah dove at him and the ball of light imploded against his chest. Charge still crackled over the warlocks fingertips, as he rolled onto his opponent, pinning him down with a surge of current. He pressed two fingertips against the Brujah's closed eyes, the jarring light flowing straight into his skull, causing his body to shake and convulse.

[Katarina Gordislava]

The two Dominated mortals were quickly disposed of by the Brujah, though they gained Katarina enough time to call up Shadows around herself. As the Brujah advanced once more she smacked him across the face with a thickened arm of shadow before disappearing into the Abyss of her tenebrous form.

She spun herself back into existance just to the side of Vishnyakov as one of his attackers fell to the ground, smoke rising from his eye sockets. Fyodor dropped from the ceiling on top of the second of Sergei's Brujah, swiftly breaking the Kindred's neck with a Potence fueled twist of his arms. Katarina looked over to the bar to see the two Brujah there were simply standing still, held in a Dominated trance.

Fyodor stood to his feet. "We need to get out of here, Katarina." Around them the club was rapidly emptying as the Archbishop's sword wielding foe was shoving towards the three Cainites.

"Agreed." She pointed at the large Brujah, "Only one left, unless there are more outside."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“Even if they were alone, it won't be long before others come.” Sergei was somewhat breathless as he stood, clambering off the body of the fallen Brujah. He looked between the two Russians, as they surveyed the now virtually empty bar, the floor covered in winking shards of glass.

“We should split up. There might be others watching the exits, to trail us back to the Haven.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

The Archbishop nodded, but added, "You take a significantly greater risk than I do. My tenebrous form will protect me. Fyodor, go with Sergei."

The priest nodded, "The back door is most likely to be guarded. We will take the last Brujah, and meet you afterwards."

"Very well." Katarina wiped her bloody hands on her AC/DC shirt and ran away from the rapidly approaching Brujah. He reminded her of the Sheriff of Rodermark. If he was indeed the Sheriff, things were more dire than they appeared. There were dark shadows near the wall, where she could hide and re-appear outside of the club.

The overhead florescent lights flicked on, drowning out the shadows she was to use and bathing the Batcave in dreary greenish white light. She cursed and altered her run to head for the back door.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

For all Sergei was skilled in the blood magics, one area where he fell short was disappearing into thin air – his strengths lay in making others do that, permanently. Fyodors company, therefore, was much welcomed, as much as the two didn't usually get along. Working together, they were easily able to handle the remaining Brujah. Fyodor could bamboozle and frustrate them by coiling in and out of tenebrous form, while Sergei struck them down with whips of light.

The sound of sirens was echoing in the distance. It seemed as if they could scarce go anywhere without that telltale wail signaling an end to their evening. They made a move for the back door quickly, and saw that Katarina too was headed that way. Just as they were about to push the frame open, the door exploded inwards. A burly quarter of Kindred, feral and grotesque stood in their way. Perhaps Nosferatu, perhaps Gangrel, Sergei couldn't quite tell.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Fyodor threw all his energy into his Domination talent as Katarina dematerialized into Shadows and filtered through the uninvited guests. The Archbishop would be safe, but her vizier was still in danger. The two were overrun almost immediately by the gathered Camarilla, but the power of Fyodor's blood kept nearly all of them in a restless circle around the two Sabbat.

With a foot or two of breathing room surrounding them, Fyodor pushed towards the door. Vishnyakov flashed fire at the ones not affected by the priest's gifting. If a stronger Kindred arrived that Sergei could not deal with and his Domination could not control, they would be in trouble.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

The Dark Father was smiling on his children. Once Sergei and Fyodor had powered their way through the newly arrived wave of Camarilla, they found no further Kindred awaiting their exit. Behind them, the Domination that had held the angered vampires in place was beginning to weaken – but already the Sabbat were on the move. If anymore Camarilla made an appearance, they would be too late.

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina rejoined her two companions a few streets over. "That was... interesting." Her suspicious mind was already mulling over a few possibilities as to how so many Camarilla had gotten to the Cave so immediately.

Fyodor nodded, "Interessting iss not how I would put it. We got lucky, Archbisshop."

"Indeed we did." They were taking a round-about route back to the haven, but they were traveling fast. Daylight would be upon them in a short hour and a half.

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

Fatigue had begun to set in. The imminent sunrise made all Cainities, particularly those who embraced the Beast, sluggish in the hours just before daylight. “Someone must have given them a tip-off. I would have expected there to be some Camarilla their of their own choice, but not so many, and not so well armed.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

"Da." They traveled in silence after that. There would be questions enough and time to ask them once they reached the haven.

Reaching the relative safety of the haven, Katarina was relieved to find that the others from Russia were already there. It seemed that her party had been the only one crashed, the others reported that the missions had been a success. And a better haven had been discovered and would be watched for the next few days to make sure it would be perfectly safe. Uri and Sheila were paticularly proud of themselves, if not exhausted.

The Archbishop downplayed the Camarilla attack, making it sound less serious than it had been, and quickly locked Sergei, Fyodor and herself in the basement room that was now her own.

They were very tired, but there was still a bit of work to be done this night. "The very thought that one of Cain's children, in this haven, has sold us out is distasteful. But Sergei you are right - it must be so. Sunrise makes us safe, but by nightfall this haven should not be considered safe any longer."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“I don't trust Montague... there is something dangerously disorganized about these London Cainites,” Sergei said, as he fell back against one of the rooms modest beds. “It feels as if there is no unity here... they are united by situation, and lack of other options, rather than an actual bond.”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Fyodor nodded, "The rituals have not been kept up, either. They have no priest, in any of the packs. The blood bonds made are too weak. Once we are away from here we must renew them - but finding the traitor must be the priority."

The Archbishop mused, "Montague is a poor leader, I will give you that. But selling out an Archbishop to the Camarilla is a bold move I would not expect from him.

"Though that may be his plan all along."

[Sergei Vishnyakov]

“He seems far too craven and inept to have orchestrated such a betrayal,” Sergei observed, closing his eyes. “But perhaps I underestimate his cowardice. How might we go about weeding out the bad element?”

[Katarina Gordislava]

Katarina tapped a long finger on her lips. "Perhaps we should be renewing the vows before we move to a new haven. And tomorrow night, we take Montague with us for observation."

She looked at Fyodor, "Tell the others we cannot trust the Londoners. Quietly. They are to keep their eyes open for any deceptions, small or large."

"I shall be as discrete as the grave, Archbishop." Fyodor bowed. "We shall find out who is behind this, I have no doubts."

She raised an eyebrow and dismissed the priest, one of her ghouls locking the door behind him. Sergei looked at her blandly. "I have my suspicions about the Bishop, though it may be any one in any of the packs. Once we have a more solid lead, renewal of the blood oaths should draw him out. Or bind him to us once more.

"For punishment."