THE MAIN CHARACTER IS JESSE AMAH WHO IS THE IN CLAN VENTRUE(BLUE BLOOD)
extended a hand to the Rabble in the spirit of friendship and tolerance. Such forward-thinking always foments dissent, as I might have learned by studying the mistakes of my mentor in the glory days of London, before Mithras's return. Modern mortals have a saying for this: No good deed goes unpunished.—from the journals of Arundel, Prince of Ottawa. There is blood beneath your fingernails, remnants of a nightly ritual that has somehow become routine. Your Hunger stirs deep within, lured by the scent, but you cast it from your mind—there are more important matters afoot.
The full moon casts its ruddy blessing on the Blood Hunt, spiriting your band of assassins through long-cast shadows among the irregular peaks and valleys of an unattended construction site. You lance through the night—a deadly arrow seeking the heart of a vampire you'd heard much of but never knew—Robert Ward, defected from the high society of Ottawa's Camarilla elite to endure in the filth among the clan-less and Anarchs.
Long years of leisure befitting your rank have left your survival skills blunted, but the thrill of the hunt has brought old instincts once thought forgotten back to the surface, seething with untapped potential. You know this to be true—you can feel it in your bones—but one siren song calls above all others, driving you to distraction: There is blood beneath your fingernails Your feeding before the hunt had been a hurried one, and you'd left your victim dazed as you dabbed your mouth, Sheriff Qui impatiently ushering you to join his motley band of Kindred and mortal mercenaries for the hunt. The smell of blood on your fingertips conjures images of the mortal shivering while you slaked your thirst, their wide doe-eyes glassy and empty of concern. In the decades since your Embrace, you've distanced yourself from the horror of your nightly existence, not the least of which was divorcing yourself entirely from the indelicate art of finding your own victims. Your alliance with Alisha had been considered an unusual one in Kindred circles, but your sire, Eden Corliss, accepted your regular visits to her herd of willing blood dolls as a necessary indulgence.
Over the years, you managed to convince yourself that there was nothing inherently wrong or unnatural about the act of feeding on the blood of the living, but a small part of you—one that still remembers a time when your heart beat within your chest—cries out with every opportunity to remind you that you are damned.
As with many other Kindred, you'd kept your original name and aspects of your mortal identity—whether as a subconscious effort to anchor your new existence in a bedrock of memorialized humanity or simple nostalgia, you cannot say for sure. But it fits you, and it is yours alone. Moonlight glints off shards of broken glass as you creep along the length of a slowly decaying brick wall, an extended arm of the construction crew's crane shielding your party in its brooding shadow. The sound of your footsteps is masked by the rushing water of the nearby hydro-electric dam restraining the waters of Chaudière Falls. Sheriff Qui's mortal mercenaries are arrayed like a shield around their masters in a wedge of jet-black body armor and bristling semi-automatic rifles. They seem on-edge tonight, professional and competent as always, but there's something in their eyes that betrays uncertainty.
Ahead of you, Bouchard raises a long, gnarled hand in warning and you stop in your tracks. Like all Kindred of Clan Nosferatu, Bouchard's appearance is monstrous and inhuman. Even his facial features are twisted and misshapen. He turns and raises a finger to his lips, a massive pus-filled boil stretching the skin impressively below the first knuckle. A part of you wonders if the old vampire misses the nightlife above ground, enjoyed by the majority of Kindred not afflicted by the Nosferatu's curse. "Ward's Anarchs have set up a perimeter," he gestures at the shadowed carcass of a long-abandoned factory not far ahead and you catch a brief glimpse of movement. "We should cut around. Over the rubble." Even his whispers grate and gurgle like the depths of a sewer.
"They weren't supposed to know we were coming, Jesse," Jordan pipes up from behind him, taking advantage of the moment to tie back wisps of messy red hair in an impromptu topknot. "She may not care much for me, but Corliss is your sire! She should have been more certain before sending us in. I'm getting a bad read on this one."
Eden Corliss is acting Seneschal of the city, second in command to Prince Arundel himself, and also Jesse sire—the vampire who Embraced him as a mortal and brought him into the hidden world of the Kindred.
Jesse?" Jordan asks, watching Him quizzically. Sheriff Qui has paused behind Bouchard to watch Jesse in obvious impatience. Jordan was right of course; His sire surely did her homework before sending you out here, and she's put too much work into Jesse to send Him into a trap unawares. That can only mean something has changed and the Anarchs are on the move, perhaps making some kind of power play. It's up to your band to stop them before they can threaten Jesse Prince's domain during his absence.
Jesse shakes his head and try to focus on the matters at hand. "We might not be able to take them head-on if they're guarding the entrance," He whispers index finger tracing the curved trigger of your Desert Eagle—a gift from Corliss that Jesse has only recently reacquainted for himself with. The gun feels alien in his grip, but he is certain that his training will kick in if it comes to that. "Our briefing said that Ward's quarters are in the back end of the factory. Maybe we could cut around?"
Qui motions for the rest of you to shrink as far back into the shadows as possible while a path forward is deliberated. He sets down a heavy gasoline can, and Jesse could hear the liquid inside sloshing back and forth, yearning to be set alight. Long, black hair frames the eagerness on his face; Qui would be considered good-looking as Nosferatu go, but even then there's something unsettling about him by mortal standards. Something impossible to place a finger on.
"I'm not sure if I agree with your sentiment, Jesse," he says. "There are a dozen of us plus our mercenaries and there should be less than six of them even in the worst-case scenario, sentries or no," he says, lips pursed thinly in thought, "but you're right that we might be better served taking an alternate route. Destroying Ward will be significantly more difficult without the element of surprise. You haven't met him before—trust me when I say that, like most of the Rabble, he's not to be trifled with. And don't forget the most important thing: once he's incapacitated, we'll need to let the fire do the rest. That way there's no coming back."
Once the Sheriff has finished speaking, one of Jesse party pushes forward from behind to address you. It's Lucca, moonlight glinting off inquisitive eyes narrowed with worry. The elder childe of Corliss, she's recently returned from overseas where she managed mutual sire's business interests. Despite Jesse barely knowing each other, she's taken to him with what seems like genuine enthusiasm, greeting him like a long-absent sibling. She uses long, lacquered fingernails to sweep a length of fine brown hair away from her cheek. She'd arrived for the raid dressed in a fashion more suitable for a business lunch than a Blood Hunt, but you were relieved she chose dark colors at the very least.
"I've run the numbers," she says in a barely audible whisper. "The intelligence reports show that there shouldn't be more than six Anarchs in the city at the moment. All the others we've been tracking have shown their faces around Montreal within the last few nights. They could have made their way here by now—at least in theory—but my eyes and ears in Quebec are certain that they haven't left."
"That settles it then," Qui says decisively. "No retreat. Jesse?" He grabs your his attention. "Nests of Anarchs infiltrating our Prince's domain without his knowledge or blessing are a cancer that the Camarilla has seen again and again, and it's only gotten worse since so many in the Brujah and Gangrel clans defected to join them. If we leave them here to fester, they're a Masquerade breach waiting to happen."
The Masquerade: The one set of rules almost all civilized Kindred can agree upon. Mortals can never be allowed to learn about the supernatural reality that encircles them. Nothing is more important to a vampire in modern nights. Of course such widespread deception is impossible to maintain constantly, and the occasional breach has led to the rise of professional vampire-hunters and secretive government agencies allied into a Second Inquisition—the greatest threat to your kind in centuries.
The Sheriff gestures toward the building beyond. "We're here to take out their leader. Widening our scope to include the other agitators lessens our chances of decapitating the beast. Corliss told me that your input is to be trusted, Jesse, so now's your time to show us what you're made of. What's your read on the situation?". Oblivion: Using His vampiric gifts, Jesse can see through the darkest night, allowing him to survey the field with supernatural precision.
Jesse counsel Bouchard and Qui to be silent for a moment as He step away from them into the darkness. Jesse concentrate on channeling the Blood his contemporaries believe that he is accomplished in the art of Auspex, but this particular gift is a darker one. The way of the Lasombra.
One of these nights Jesse superior gifts will be respected, even feared, by other Kindred of the Court. But for now he must practice them in secret. It chafes when he thinks about it—even the mindless zealots of the Sabbat wield their power more openly than him. But then again, most of the Sabbat have been run out of the country or destroyed while Jesse remain here in a position of power and privilege. To be a Lasombra is to fight, survive, and win. Sometimes, loath as you are to admit it, coming out on top requires a period of performative humility.
Jesse irises go black and in seconds he can see perfectly what darkness once hid from your view. While the construction site hasn't technically changed, myriad new elements of the topography stand out that you had previously been unaware of. Hesse imagine it's not all that unlike a blind man miraculously able to see for the first time he scrutinize the factory where Bouchard had noted the sentries, immediately spotting at least two more humanoid shapes lurking deeper in the shadows.
"There are two more sentries," Jesse whisper. Qui curses. "Not only that," He continues, "the ones in the dark have guns, too."
"There's no question, then," Lucca says, arms crossed as she peers in the same direction. "We have to go around and catch them by surprise."
Bouchard glides over to Jesse, his steps almost silent even to His enhanced senses, although the stench of the ancient Sewer Rat is enough to make anyone feel ill. "Look for heavily trod areas away from the obvious entrance. A side door or escape vector."
Jesse noticed it even before he spoke: A small door of corrugated metal, blending in almost perfectly with the rusted wall of the decaying building. The area immediately outside it has been disturbed by multiple sets of footprints, and He guess it was recently. Jesse tell the old Nos what He saw and he nods thoughtfully before passing the info off to Qui.
"We should use the hidden door," Lucca says, and you can tell she's sensed it, too. "I mean, they could have sentries anywhere, but they're least likely to expect us coming this way, and it's closer to where the report says Ward's chambers are. It would be stupid to waste our time attacking from the front; this is the smart option. Don't you agree?. "Jesse suggests that the should use the backdoor and encircle them"
"Corliss insisted that I respect your input, but are you certain this is the best course of action?" Qui asks Jesse and Lucca. "As Sheriff, I have several mandates from the Prince, including punishing those who flout the Tradition of Hospitality. These Kindred have not only abandoned the Camarilla, but they've infringed on our domain unannounced. The penalty for such a violation is final death."
"Corliss ordered a Blood Hunt on Robert Ward," Jesse says. "If we get caught up fighting his fodder, he could escape and all this would be for nothing."
"It's a fair point," Bouchard rasps. "Let's do what we came to do and be done with it. This should be a job for the mercenaries and I'm growing weary of running about in all this moonlight. Bad for the skin."
Qui groans, but Jesse can still see the indecision in his eyes. "Normally I'd override this decision," he growls, "but you're correct, Jesse. The Seneschal's orders were clear. We'll avoid the front entrance and concentrate on getting to Ward as quickly as possible. We can't allow him a chance to escape."
Bouchard creeps forward, disappearing from view as he scouts ahead, two of the most agile mercenaries ghosting by at his side with their rifles held at the ready to defend their master. Jesse lead the hunt through crags of concrete and half-demolished walls toward the back of the factory, His keen eyes spotting several bits of loose scree and pieces of crumbling mortar before they have a chance to trip Him up. The crashing sound of water from the nearby river is almost deafening on the east side of the decaying building. Jesse note the high water level. It's almost too much for the dam to handle. It's no wonder the city had the bridge closed off for so long. But this works to His advantage.
Without warning, Bouchard materializes and pulls you low to the ground to whisper in Jesee ear. The Nosferatu's open mouth smells like rancid meat. "There are no guards posted back here on the ground, but there are windows," he points upward to indicate five gaping holes in the building's wall, only one of which still desperately clings to a few jagged shards of glass. "The factory is only one floor, but a catwalk rings the place. I saw one of them take a look down here before moving on to the front."
"So how can we get in without being spotted?" Jesse ask.
"There's a rusted set of double doors right in the center over there," Bouchard says, gesturing at the rear wall. "I gave it a tug. It shifted, but we shouldn't open it while there are patrols above—might make too much noise. There's some good news though—part of the wall is crumbled enough for proper handholds. We could send someone up there to take out the watcher while the rest of us work on the door.