In Another Waypoint, Far, Far Away.

The Ventrue, Herodotus, looked up from his books to see what had set the Tremere off this time and low and behold, it was their usual sparring partner. The Brujah named Michael Hardan. Carrying a body by the collar into the Waypoint that had been clearly beaten to death, given the dents in his skull and the way their head lolled to the side and given the way that Hardan was carrying them. It looked like it was the Brujah that had perpetrated this fatal assault. As such, Herodotus began to pay more attention as this was most unlike the Brujah, despite the stereotype of his Clan.

“Oh, fuck you Artum,” was the terse response from a clearly uptight Brujah. “They were spying on the Waypoint and given all the shit that’s going down. I didn’t want to take a chance.”

Michael looked sheepishly at the body and paused, laying it on the floor.

“The Beast just got away from me is all.”

This was not something that made Herodotus happy at all. A fatal assault was difficult to cover in the Modern Nights. Worse with so many hunters and their contraptions looking to photo a Kindred every chance they get. So, the chances of a Brujah losing their temper not being noticed was a little too small for their liking.

“They were watching because I asked them to, you bloody halfwit,” Artum was angry but was clearly cooling far quicker than Michael. “Because, in case you forgot, Glasgow is crawling in people who want our kind dead!”

Herodotus noted that Michael’s fists had begun to clench again which was never a good sign. So much so that they reached into their duffel bag to put their hands on their blade, as Artum was
unlikely to give up the point here. Which means a fight between a Brujah and a Tremere was likely to break out. A fight that Herodotus did not want to be unprepared for.

The yelling heightened further and further and looked set to come to blows before a far calmer voice chimed in.

“If you two must make a mess, don’t do it while I’m here. I have a date tonight and I don’t want blood on my bag. Its Prada.”

Herodotus almost physically sighed with relief. Divine, the Toreador had arrived. Their smile of ice and venom oozing charisma and loathing in equal measure.

“At least not the blood of you two. My date may get the pleasure if he is good.”

Divine was a figure that just drew the eyes in the room and tonight was no different. Wearing an elegant cut of red silk and adorned in jewellery. They walked as both the princess and the predator and was only coy about the fact when it suited them. But here, they were the unrivalled legacy of their Clan, extoling beauty, perfection, and violence if they did not get their way.

And they always got their way. Tonight, being no exception.

“You’ll keep Michael,” Artum hissed, their eyes promising that this matter was not over. Their only response from Hardan was a hand gesture that conveyed their feelings in a single finger.

Divine smiled and continued like a mother who had just gotten the children to behave.

“Good” Divine breathed in a husky tone, “keep being good and I might have to treat you both later.” Herodotus relinquished their grip on their blade and reached for their book, only to be interrupted again when Divine greeted them.

“Herodotus,” Divine began with a false mirth, “is this how you let the children behave?”

Herodotus was no stranger to the courts of old and had crossed more than his share of Toreador in his time. He knew better than to allow even the slightest insult without a small retort.

“My dear Divine, I was going to spank them but then you arrived, and I thought, “let the spanking
professional do it.”"

A moment of tense silence passed before Divine erupted in laughter.

“And they say you are Ventrue, but your tongue cuts like the Toreador.”

Herodotus smiled, never letting Divine see how nervous they made them.

“High praise, my dear,” he replied, allowing their face to fake more amusement than they felt. “I
assume you are here for the same reason as I?”

“Ah yes, the rantings of the sewer rat. I wonder what paranoia they wish to involve us all in now?”

In fairness to Divine, they were not far wrong. Herodotus well knew the Nosferatu’s preponderance to pander to every new stand conspiracy theory that crossed what passed for its ears. But given the Keeper, Glaiste of Clan Gangrel, in one of the few times they spoke had made it very clear their views on drawing attention to the Waypoint unnecessarily. Herodotus very much doubted that Creeper’s pronounced streak of “self-interest” would allow them to gather the local Kindred without cause.

“They wouldn’t be that stupid,” replied Herodotus, maintaining his serious expression. “To cross the Keeper, who is not known to keep the best of moods without reason is just not their style.”

A new and familiar voice gave reply.

“And that worries me.”

It was Melissa the Malkavian and that brought a smile to his old lips. Herodotus always marvelled at how well the young one had adapted to the life, given the unfortunate first feeding incident that they had. But Herodotus didn’t deem to dwell on it as their mind just held together and that is the way he preferred his Malkavians.

Lucid, friendly and useful.

“Good evening, Melissa,” offered Herodotus with as much levity as they offered anyone. Melissa was far warmer in her return.

“Hey old man,” Melissa smiled before spotting the corpse on the floor. Their eyes seeking out Hardan in the room.

“Jeez, Michael. What the hell did this guy do?”

A serious silence descended over the room. One that seemed destined to set Artum and Michael back at it again. Luckily, the ever-perceptive Malkavian ran the trolley down a safer route.

“Never mind Mike, sure they had it coming,” Melissa bellowed, attempting to defuse the obvious social bomb with some humour, “I mean, its not like me and my partner didn’t have enough paperwork to do anyway. What’s a little more.”

The silence went from explosive to awkward. But if Melissa noticed, and Herodotus had no doubt that they did, they paid no attention as they stepped over towards the two Kindred. Causing Divine to roll their eyes and flounce off.

“Lunatics,” snarked Divine, just loud enough that Melissa could hear.

“Bitch,” was Melissa’s scathing reply, loud enough so that the room could hear, as she pulled up a chair next to them. “What’s happening tonight old man? Heard that Creeper wanted to chat?” Herodotus always found themself caught by surprise at just how young Melissa was. With an appearance of one in their early twenties. Melissa was a short, young woman who often let their hair dance free around their face. Dressing more in keeping with the Brujah than one of the Clan of the Moon. Herodotus had found Melissa to be surprisingly useful as an ally. So long as they kept track of their various “quirks” that they used to explain away their condition.

“Then you know as much as I, Melissa,” Herodotus replied with a smile, “as Creeper is yet to make their presence known. How have the headaches been?”

The headaches being her Clan’s gift of visions.

“Regular as clockwork unfortunately. It’s been difficult to hide from my partner when we are working. That and the dreams about the cards scattered in the water. Always ends with something with rows of teeth opening its mouth to swallow me whole.”

Herodotus had no insight into what the vision may mean. They were as allegorical as they could be a vision of falsehood or truth. Still, Herodotus knew better than to ignore the dreams of the Malkavian.

Too many had died doing that.

“You need to try and relax more, young one,” Herodotus said in his most reassuring tone, “there is enough stress in this life of ours. It may be your bodies way of saying that it’s getting too…”

A sibilant hiss cut them short. A hiss that announced the entry of the Keeper, Glaiste, and Creeper of Clan Nosferatu.

It always surprised Herodotus how two Kindred could be the complete antithesis of each other. For to the untrained eye, Kindred were Kindred. They walked at night, they drank blood, and merged in Clans of like for like. But in these two, the differences were all too apparent.

Glaiste cut an imposing, yet sorrowful figure. Full of an ache that they could never give words to, whether by choice, or condition of the creators of the Waypoints. They were silent unless their words had meaning and yet those words were simple, direct, and chosen for maximum effect through minimum verbiage. “The definition of an Elder,” is exactly the words Herodotus had often choosen to describe Glaiste with, and from the old Ventrue. That was high praise that few received. Conversely, Creeper was an introverted figure, with their head tucked down and darting eyes flitting from figure to figure beneath a filth encrusted metal mask. One that was simple in design and often had some form of insect crawling over it. Much to the dismay of Divine. But where Glaiste kept quiet unless they had something to say. Creeper chittered and twitched, seeing conspiracy in everything and everyone. Judging the threat of all that they perceived and acting in a way that was most likely to avoid physicality and harm to themselves. Even at the cost of others if experience was anything to go by.

In short, Herodotus was not a fan. But they knew that any possible asset in the time of the Eclipse was one they should keep. Even if that ally made their skin crawl.

“About time Creeper,” Divine barked. “Some of us have time they wish to spend elsewhere.”
Creeper physically flinched at Divine’s tone. Moving to place Glaiste between themselves and the implied threat. Divine’s only response was a roll of eyes.

“My thoughts exactly,” thought Herodotus, but thinking better of adding to the delay by bothering Creeper more. Herodotus simply gave a look towards the Toreador that conveyed the clear instructions to keep the barbs until they had the information. Divine simply nodded their agreement. A few minutes passed as Glaiste made their way to the “back rooms”. An enchanted door closing behind them and leaving Creeper with the glare of Kindred who were not comfortable in gathering in such tensions. This made conversation take all the longer to start. Ratcheting tensions between all the attendees which made Creeper cower further. A vicious cycle that saw fit to loosen a fit of anger in the room. Luckily, Melissa saw this and acted.

“Easy,” Melissa talked with soothing calm. “We’re all listening Creeper. Just explain as best you can why you wanted us here.”

Herodotus smiled as the young Malkavian shined in the act of getting what was needed done. If Herodotus had found them first. He would have welcomed them into Clan Ventrue instead.

Reassured by the calming voice of Melissa, Creeper blurted what they knew at a speed that the users of the Celerity discipline would have marvelled at.

“T..t..thank you there are rumblings with the bugs the bugs tell me things that live away from the light the crimes the criminals they are being stirred stirred by things that are happening in Edinburgh Kindred are poking things and I’m scared scared that their poking the underworld is going to fall back on me…on us.”

The room was stunned for a few seconds, processing through the blurt of information. But when times are quiet in the world of the Kindred. Herodotus knew that this guaranteed that something else will happen and like clockwork. Something did.

Melissa hit the floor and started to writhe. Stammering out words as they clutched their head.

The visions were upon them.

“Teeth…. cards are in the water…. eyes watching…. towers…. blood poured in…. I’m scared because eyes are on me…. the teeth…. ROWS OF THEM…… HELP ME!!!”

And as quickly as they came, they were gone. Leaving a confused Malkavian on the floor. Quickly, Herodotus moved to their side and helped them up.

“Thanks, old man,” Melissa said with more than a little embarrassment. “Just what I needed, now I’m fainting and having the headaches.”

“Just rest Melissa,” Herodotus said in a calming tone. “You’re clearly stressed beyond endurance.”
With that, Herodotus helped Melissa back to their seat just before the outcry began.

“Yeah… yeah,” Melissa replied sheepishly as Herodotus helped her to her seat.

“So, once again. The playpen of Scotland is causing trouble for us all,” said Divine, her contempt for Edinburgh only barely hidden. Something that had come up often with Divine, but Herodotus had never asked why and wasn’t likely to tonight. “But you fail to tell us, Sewer Rat, where that is the problem of Glasgow.”

And of course, such heavy handedness brought Michael in, guns blazing.

“Oh lay off, you stone cold bitch!!” Michael roared in the defence of the Nosferatu. “You don’t know a damn thing about the underworld, but Creeper does.”

Which brought Artum right back into the fray to unleash their anger at Hardan.

“Oh, that’s rich! Michael “Headstone” Hardan being a judge of knowledge.”

“You wanna go Artum?!? Cause I’ve had about enough of you.”

Within seconds, fangs were borne, and bedlam engulfed the Waypoint. Herodotus thought that it was something in Kindred that made them extra aggressive when around each other in close spaces. Like snakes, they were of the same breed, but preferred their space to be predators on their own terms. But as usual, it was making them blind to the threat that Creeper was presenting before them. That Edinburgh were potentially starting something that could spread through the underworld and cause ructions that would drive more Kindred into the public eye to be meat for the Hunters. However, planning when they were all bellowing insults was being made difficult. Worse, it was sending Creeper scurrying before Herodotus could ask more questions, and it was hurting the recovering Melissa.

An old anger built up in the Ventrue from his time as a knight in courts gone by. That this lacked dignity and honour. That it was upsetting the young ones.

This could not be allowed to stand. Not while he still lived.

“Enough!!”

Herodotus felt the powers of charisma that were a gift to his Clan erupt from his blood, bringing the attention to them. Combined with the respect/fear Herodotus had gained over the years. It was enough to bring the riotous room to heel. Only Divine dared say a word as they all retook their seats, quietly seething at the scolding they had just received.

“Rude,” said Divine with a pout and a glare.

Herodotus only response was a glare in return as he brought his gifts back to release their attention. A glare that simply said, “I am not in the mood.” It seemed to have its desired effect.

Herodotus coaxed Creeper from their hiding spot with promises of protection before speaking.

“My apologies, for my behaviour and the behaviour of those gathered. However, you say that Edinburgh has started poking things? How bad is it?”

Creeper tried to calm themselves to answer.

“I..It has been bad enough… that one has met death. Now they are poking something else. But a lot of it is rumours and hearsay. Poking around and investigating people that the bugs tell me should be left alone.”

Herodotus sighed. Kindred should learn that if one of their kind meets the final death for poking the wrong bear. Don’t go and poke another.

“So, a mortal has killed a Kindred. One from the underworld?”

“N… n… no Herodotus. The mortals aren’t claiming responsibility. But there are photos. And the bugs say they are missing now.”

This sounded like a cover up to Herodotus. Moreso when Creeper showed him the body of said Kindred hanged in a bathroom.

“Thank you young one,” Herodotus replied, looking as serious as they ever had. “They have only started poking this new thing?”

“Yes..Yes.. They are poking something called Shark.”

Suddenly the teeth in Melissa’s visions made a lot more sense.

“Thank you again. Can you watch this for us Creeper and keep us informed?”

“Yes! I can! Safe and sound with the hive!” Whooped Creeper, thrilled to be getting out of the spotlight and promptly exiting.

“So, as you seem to have gone all Blue-Blood,” snarked Divine. “Would you care to tell us what is happening.”

Herodotus turned to the others; seriousness etched on his face like marks in stone.

“I don’t entirely know yet. But we can’t risk exposing ourselves more. So, we watch, wait, and stay out of it till it becomes our problem.”

With that Herodotus took his seat next to Melissa and let them lean their head against their shoulder.

“Are you ok with that old man?” Melissa whimpered in concern.

“Not entirely young one, but I must be. In the time of the Eclipse, the survival of our species demands nothing less.”