Memories

That all came to an end in a few, furious minutes.

They twitched as the memories rushed their mind. Horrible, violent, and sudden using the oncoming day to force their point.

Overwhelming numbers to counter the Gangrel that were still awake, hunting dogs, birds, and shotguns to bring down those who lived, and stakes to end those who slept.

Rivers of blood and flesh pouring everywhere as the Gangrel were taught their folly in believing that the Eclipse was something they could end by themselves. A folly that was finished in fire and salt before they could watch no longer.

“You here for the Corpse Club?”

They jolted with a start. It was her Clans way of doing things but damned if they didn’t scare every time one of them allowed themselves to be seen.

“Yeah,” they replied, not wishing to look weak before another Anarch. “Are the others here.”

“Just you and me for now, others will be along soon.”

They almost gave a sigh at the name Corpse Club. An Anarch name for a Clan meeting of Anarchs of Clan Nosferatu. But it was an enforcement of the death that plagued their existence. A reminder that even when together, they were little more than a mortuary given purpose. A hunger driving bodies that had no right to still move. In this name, there was no connection, no familial ties, no togetherness like the Brood meet offered. Just the rebellion of the Anarch movement that refused to be bound by any tradition. Even of life and death.

The Nosferatu Anarchs were not unique in this stance. Following the Eclipse, the Anarchs of all Clans had moved to rename their gatherings to further sever their ties with the Camarilla. The Toreador Anarchs had their “Soiree’s”, the Malkavian Anarchs had their “Bedlams”, even the Ventrue Anarchs, as rare as they were had something they called an “Assize”. Largely, only the Brujah and Gangrel had not changed the name of their Clan meetings.
Mostly likely as they were so tied to the principles of Anarchy and rebellion, there was no need.

Still, they had to wonder. In all the rebellion, were they missing the point?

“Still having doubts?” The other Nosferatu asked, clearly giving voice to the emotions they thought they had hidden better.

“Not doubts brother,” they replied, “just concerns. The last time Kindred were here, it didn’t go so well.”

They hated lying, especially to one of the Clan. Their sire had taught them better than that on how to treat the blood. But doubt could be seen as betrayal to the Cam for the more paranoid amongst the Kindred and they couldn’t take the chance.

“Tick knows what they are doing, Kin,” the other replied.

“I know that, but…”

Another Nosferatu revealed themselves, giving them yet another start.

It was Tick. Defacto leader of the Dundee outpost. A safe area that they had created in the wake of the ratcatcher purges of the Clan. They stood small of frame, but their stance belied the power of their blood. Their mask was blank save for a space for their mouth.

They weren’t sure if the face of their Clan mate would be more or less disturbing than the mask that was blind but appeared to stare straight through them.

“But what, Kin?” Tick started, their voice little more than a sibilant hiss. Making a point to use the Anarch short form of Kindred instead of Clan mate or a familial term like brother or sister. As if they knew the questions, they were asking themselves.

“Why here, Tick?” Was her retort, only mildly showing the irritation they felt at the continual probing.

Tick smiled and began to outlay papers that the other Nosferatu stood around and as Tick explained them, the answers explained themselves. For the papers were a series of esoteric clues, guides, directions, and maps that Tick had clearly taken the time to check and translate. Eliminating the falsehoods that their Clan was know for protecting their secrets with and for what the papers were pointing towards, the level of trickery involved was required.

“Is this what I think it is?”

Tick smiled before continuing.

“Indeed, it is, Kin. It has taken me some years. But somewhere near here lies some of the….”

They would never know why their eyes had drifted from the maps. But, somehow, someway. Their eyes had drifted towards the forest nearby and their it was. A symbol the Nosferatu had been taught to fear.

An elaborate, bejewelled cross.

“RATCATCHERS!!” They bellowed as the bullets began to ring out. But it was far too late. The powers of the ratcatchers had taken hold and their powers abandoned them. Denying them the ability to hide. Leaving them as meat for the bullets and arrows that pierced their frame.

First, Tick fell to an arrow to their heart. Pinned cleanly as the old curse rendered them inert and immobile. The other Nosferatu tried to close the distance, pulling a knife that would never find a home as shotgun pellets ripped them asunder.

Then finally, they were pinned like a deer in the headlights. Brutalised by assault weapon fire until
they fell to the floor. Only having a chance to call a bird to scoop the papers Tick had brought and flying off with them before Torpor took them.

Their final thoughts as the smell of gasoline filled the air was a mixture of sadness, hope, and a desire to be avenged.

“I hope the papers finds a Nosferatu and they get network back. I hope that Nosferatu brings the Kindred together to fight back.”

“I hope the Hunters bleed.”