Shattered Scepters

DISCLAIMER:
The Clan names, discipline names and structure, titles other things are copyrighted to White Wolf Game Studio neither I, nor this story, are affiliated with White Wolf or any of their associates or subsidiaries, nor I do not receive any monetary compensation from the publication of this narrative. You can stop reading this now and have a nice day.

Please Note: {anything typed like this is spoken in Russian}

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CHAPTER 6: HUNTERS UNITE

The large room was dimly lit, but not uninviting. Long, overstuffed couches lined one wall, above which hung pleasant, although nondescript, paintings of landscapes. Between the couches stood small end tables, covered with thick piles of wax that had begun dripping off the edges, the tables resembled overused candlesticks rather than a piece of furniture. The opposite wall displayed three large bookshelves with more knickknacks than books, flanking the bookshelves sat fat, comfortable easy chairs, in the corners of this wall sat end tables which matched the their cousins between the couches. Every table in the room held two or three lit candles, the only source of light in the room.

In the center of the room stood a white marble statue, a brilliant and skillful reproduction of the “The Rape of the Sabine Women” as the small brass plaque at the base indicated. Few in the room knew the story this statue represented. One woman, dressed casually in low-rise jeans biker boots and a pink turtleneck stared at the statue, her curiosity had led her to research the meaning behind it. The term rape in the statue’s title has nothing to do with the modern definition, rape in Latin meant abduction. As she looked upon the fearful expression on the woman’s face, she recalled Romulus’ plan to integrate the Sabine population with his Roman population. If she stared at the woman long enough she could almost feel the fear this woman must have experienced as she was carried off, helplessly watching as her men-folk were defeated. She was so enraptured with the craftsmanship gone into this reproduction she was unaware of “the cloaked ones” entering the room, only when one of them spoke did she become aware of their presence.

“The meeting will now commence.” One of them said from shadows of his hooded sweat suit. The cloaked ones walked and disappeared through a door at the far end of the room. Everyone silently followed.

Although they were called cloaked ones they did not wear cloaks, instead they wore modern means of covering their face, hoodies, ski masks, one even dressed as a desert nomad, concealing their features with a veil. The only exception was Him, the dark founder, patriarch of their society nicknamed “The Retirement Plan” by many. No one has ever seen his face, not even the other cloaked ones who are known to reveal their faces when among their own. They stood around Him like bodyguards.

Quietly the group filed into the second room taking their places at the large dark wood table. As with the previous room, candles were the only source of light; this time there was approximately a dozen flickering softly in the center of the table. Everyone sat silently, intently fixated on the dark cloaked figure they called Patriarch, drinking in his every word as though his words were breathing life into them. He reiterated how they all have a common bond…they were all ghouls rejected by their Regnants. He wove a tale of his own misfortune, horribly scared by fire and abandoned. Left for dead by those who knew otherwise, candlelight glistened off of the few tears as his pain was shared. They had all been discarded like broken toys. His woeful tale quickly turned to fiery vengeance as he outlined a master plan to enslave the so-called masters of the night. They shared his vision of revenge, voices and fists raised to show their support. With a simple gestured of his gloved hand he calmed the room, assuring everyone that all was going according to plan, they shared his vision of control and domination. Those who could not be controlled would be eliminated. Never again would they be slaves. Never again would they have to beg for the vitea they needed and deserved. A murmur of approval made its way around the table. The Patriarch nodded, then fell into a coughing fit, a couple of the hooded ones helped ease him into his chair, the room fell silent, as his coughing gave way to labored breathing and rasping. He apologized to all, explaining that the fire had done some damage to his lungs. He continued rasping as he handed a stack of envelopes to the nearest hooded one, who began assigning them out. His voice fading, he whispered to another hooded one, who proudly relayed his message, explaining that the envelopes were mission and targets.

Envelopes were torn open and the contents read without conversation. Some had only a single sheet of paper, while others had multiple pages and photos. Once his breathing eased Patriarch stood and again addressed the crowd. “We cannot afford to falter in our mission.” He said, his voice a little weak from his coughing fit. “Remember my fate could easily have been any of yours. Now go, we have a world to conquer” he added, watching room empty.

Once the room was empty he turned to his four guards, questioning them about the location of the traitors, the ones who did not share their glorious vision.

“We’ve found and dealt with four of the seven. We’re still looking for the other three.” One of the guards reported.

“We must find them before they find a way of relaying our plans to the Kindred.” Patriarch said.

“You believe they will return to the kindred?”

“I believe that the enemy of your enemy is your friend. The kindred still out number us. If ours plans are leaked and a single Kindred believes them then we are all dead. You know as well as I, Kindred are not the most forgiving race. ” Patriarch slowly made his way towards the door as he continued to speak. “They have been trying for 2 months to bring attention to our activities. If the Nosferatu weren’t so secretive about the goings on in their subterranean domain, their plot would have worked long ago.”

“Good thing you were able to plant that tooth.”

“But not without its price.” He said, subtly reminding about the injuries he sustained from the Brujah and the Malkavian. What the tooth lead them to was something that even the Giovanni with their necromancy could not make useful. Privately Patriarch smiled at the memory of the violence.

“Come; tell me what you have found out about my favorite ones.”

The desert nomad stepped forward, pulling a bend manila envelope from beneath his robes. “He has been escorting this one about; however at this time, I don’t know why.” He reported handing the envelope to Patriarch who looked at the contents, his concern and disapproval concealed within the shadows of his hood.

“At first I thought he was given to her, but each night he returns to his regnant. I’m not sure what his relationship is to her. Everything I was able to learn about her is in the report.” He added. Patriarch set the black and white photos aside and focused on the written report.

“You were able to learn who her sire is?” Patriarch seemed surprised; Nomad stood straighter, taking pride in shocking his leader.

“Yes sir, I have some connections in Dallas, the last city she was in, apparently her sire made an appearance there.” Nomad explained.

“Is there a problem?” a ski masked clad man asked, noting the subtle change in Patriarch’s posture.

“Tell me have any of you heard stories of Dr. Morgan or Dr. Morgan’s Brood?” When no one answered Patriarch spoke softly. “Have any of you heard of Kindreds going by the names of Patches, Absinth or Bloody Mary?”

“I’ve heard of Absinth, but I’ve never seen her. I’ve heard she was so terrified of being diablerized that she would poison her victims and then drink from them as they were dying in order to turn her own blood to poison. Rumor says her blood is so venomous that it can kill mortals.” Ski Mask volunteered.

Patriarch nodded, it was the same tale he had heard. “No one really sees Patches or Bloody Mary, so practically nothing is known about them, except that they have not been released. None of Dr. Morgan’s childer have been released, which makes me wonder why she’s here.”

“Could she be scoping the city out for her sire? Perhaps Morgan is looking to relocate.” someone suggested.

“Dr. Morgan is not at liberty to travel, for wherever Morgan goes clan wars erupt. Rumors say that the Justicars have taken an intense interest in Dr. Morgan.” Patriarch explained, resting his gloved hand on the picture of the red-haired Malkavian.

“Perhaps one of our ‘touched’ brethren could get closer to her.” Nomad suggested.

“It is worth considering, but Morgan’s childer are no fools. We will have to select one carefully.”

“Perhaps he can be persuaded.” Ski Mask asked, pointing to the man in the picture.

“No, Stephan Villos will not betray his master. We are better off selecting one of our own to get close to her. Find out more about her so that we may select the perfect hunter for her.”

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Samuel Dimitri Melnikov sat before a multitude of screens, his stormy blues eyes scanning each monitor carefully and quickly. With a single tap on his keyboard one of the video feds enlarged, filling an entire monitor; however, the people in this portion of video are not who he thought they were. Again a single tap and the video reduced and took its place along side the others. He ran his fingers through his graying hair and sighed softly, suppressing the urge to yawn. Good God surveillance was boring, but this was the last night and he would complete his contract with the same attention he had on the first night. A paranoid Ventrue has hired him to keep an eye on his undead partner, fearing the partner was selling secrets to a rival. His eyes continued to scan the multitude of video images that were coming in; he’d been watching the partner and the partner’s 2 ghouls, but just as with every other night for the past two months nothing suspicious came to light. He shifted his weight in his wheelchair then casually reached down to scratch the stump of his left leg. In 1974 an assassination attempt was made upon his regnant, a Ventrue named Nichko Kovalenko, an incident that cost him both legs from the knee down and nearly took the life of his only child when a piece of shrapnel embedded itself in her throat, severing her vocal cords.

Quietly a door opened behind the man, light pouring into the room and momentarily splashing a glare upon his monitors until the door was closed. Still his eyes remained fixed to the monitors. A tall slender woman with incredibly short hair walked in, carrying a small tray of food, a cup of coffee and a wine glass of blood. She approached the man’s right side and set down the plate holding a simple meal of a roast beef sandwich with a side of baby carrots and celery and a very strong mug of coffee. She held the vitea filled wine glass in one hand, and gently tapped the desk with the tray. He hit the pause button for the videos and turned his attention to the woman, who offered him the blood.

“{Ah, thank you, my child. What would I do without you?}” he asked, accepting the vitea and drinking it down in two gulps. The woman smiled, and adjusted the tan silk scarf she wore to hide a rather hideous scar. With her hands she asked how the surveillance was going.

He scoffed in frustration. “{The partner is doing nothing. His ghouls are doing nothing. Our client is paranoid for no reason. Perhaps our reports will put him to ease.}” Her crystal clear blue eyes, momentarily glanced at the videos without much interest. The woman shrugged and then indicated that she was going to listen to the audio tapes from their listening devices in the other ghoul’s car. The man nodded and then indicated that he was looking forward to giving the “wayward ghoul” his complete attention. The woman nodded and smiled in agreement as she slipped on the headset and began playing the audio.

He took a moment to enjoy the swell of pride he felt for Samarina, his daughter, as he watched her work. Samarina’s conception was the product of some breeding scheme that Nichko Kovalenko’s had planned in order to create the perfect ghoul. Her mother was Kovalenko’s best spy, selected for both her beauty and intelligence; he was rather disappointed when Samarina turned out to be a mere human. Rather than surrender her child, Samarina’s mother ran, taking the baby with her to America. It fell upon Samuel to retrieve the child and issue the appropriate punish.

Upon returning to Russia, Samuel raised his daughter to follow in his footsteps as a Ventrue thief and assassin. By the age of 15 she was proving to be as formidable an assassin as her father and as talented a thief as her mother. She began catching the eye of her future Regnant, and building her own reputation among the Ventrue. Like Samuel she never questioned her orders, merely completed them with the same cold efficiency she seemed to inherit from her father. By the time she was 18 she was assisting her father in maintaining Nichko’s personal safety and haven security. By the age of 20 Nichko had taken her as his ghoul, proud of all his “prodigy” had accomplished in his name. The pair eventually left Mother Russia and relocating the United States. Once in the USA Samarina would rob stores, to sustain them long enough to learn to speak English without their foreign accents, while Samuel began researching the local underworld. It was around this time that the father daughter team began using the single name, “Sam” and began contracting their services out to the Kindred in the area.

A sudden and shrill whistle pulled Samuel from the videos he was watching and transcribing. “{What is it Samarina? What have you found?}” He asked, again stopping the video and moved his wheelchair closer to her. She queued up the recording before handing the headset to her father. He placed an ear piece to one ear and listened to the recording his she had found.

“{I do believe that this is something his Regnant needs to know about. Prepare the transcript and make a copy of this recording.}” He ordered, pushing his chair away from her desk. She simply nodded and began working.

--------------------~*~--------------------

Isabella finally made it back to her haven. It felt like she was at Lady Pelletier’s for hours. She glanced at her watch and learned that it had been hours, she rested her head on the steering wheel. One month. She had, and by she Isabella meant Stephan, had one month to obtain information about the Malkavian Primogen that Pelletier could use in her favor. She climbed from her car, gently patting its hood just as someone would pat a dogs head and made her way to her front door. She was so preoccupied with thought that she nearly tripped over the small box which waited patiently for her on the front porch. It was a small rectangular box wrapped in plain brown paper, the only clue to its contents were the words “FROM SAM” printed in neat block letters. She took the box inside and quickly made her way to her study before any of her ghouls could question her about the box. With all the eagerness of a young child at Christmas she tore into the box, spilling it contents onto her desk. She looked at the audio cassette and the thin stack of papers stapled together and labeled “Transcript”. Carefully she rose from her desk and locked her study door, if this was delivered to her haven, instead of the agreed PO Box, it must be serious.

Sam is a ghoul, and a resource used by many Ventrue; his services are neither cheap nor haphazard. Whatever you need Sam can do, and he does it with the strictest confidentiality. The story is that in his day was the most efficient and sought after ghoul; however, after the assassination of his Regnant, he went ‘freelance’ selling his services for blood and cash. Some have tried to eliminate him, seeing him a threat to the masquerade, but all have failed. Isabella knew how to contact him through her father, and hired him when she feared the Malkavian’s influence over Stephan was threatening her own. Sam delivers any and all audio CDs and video DVDs along with a transcript to a designated PO Box once a night.

Cautiously she sat back down at her desk, and looked at the tape and file. Sam would not have delivered this to her haven unless there was something on it concerning her, as per their contract. Had Stephan betrayed her in some way? Could she still trust her favorite ghoul? Did she really want to know what had been said?

She located her Discman in the bottom desk drawer. With the headset the volume would be too low for curious ears to detect, but her Kindred senses would be able to hear it perfectly. Silently she listened as Stephan and Malk talked casually about matters unimportant to her. She heard movement in the car, and muffled sounds of Stephan’s surprise.

“My Regnant is not going to like this.” Stephan confessed.

“She doesn’t have to know.” Lolli said quickly.

“That is true. I only need to report who I spoke with, when, and what was said, but not done.” Stephan said. Isabella paused the recording, she could feel her anger boil, was he really planning on keeping this a secret from her? Isabella stood up and paced the room, trying to calm her fury. She took a deep breath and rationalized that Stephan was attempting to build trust in order to obtain information from her. That had to be it! She looked back at the Discman, as shocking as that was, that would not be enough to warrant an early delivery. Isabella sat back down at her desk and released the pause button. She listened to the rest of the conversation Lollipop and Stephan had while in his car. Her jaw dropped and her anger began to uncoil again as she listened to him reveal the incident at the Ventrue dinner. He confided in her his uncertainness regarding the Kiss. She was about the scream when she heard the Malk offer to show him her haven.

Did she hear that correctly? She had to rewind the recording and listen to it again. Yes, there it was clear as day:

“I want…I want to show you my haven.”

Isabella threw her head back and laughed. The Malkavian was about the lead the wolf to her door.