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Cleaning House

Sam McCoy; November 9, 2007


Last game, Haldor gave McCoy blood to use for the interrogations of the bodies in the basement.

He'll use the blood to wake them up with his 8th-gen might (or failing that, with path of blood).

Telepathically, he will interrogate each of them to get as much information as he can using the full range of his information-getting tricks about who they are, about the Sabbat, about Sabbat tactics and operating practices, and about Obtenebration.

Influence Response:

You start pouring blood down the throats of the gentleman in question and use a mixture of sorcery and blood-letting to attempt to awaken each one. The process takes a good long time, and you watch the creepy effect of each corpse slowly revivifying and restructuring itself. You watch limbs blossom out of old stumps, starting out as vetigal little nubs and growing progressively larger as each limbless body reworks itself. When you are done, you have five mostly complete specimens. The wounds to the one corpse's eyes, however, remain permanent. You start to probe around in the minds of whatever you have awakened and receive the following:

  • John Winters (A rough looking, but not unhandsome man with long blond hair, dressed in fairly plain utilitarian clothing and wearing an army jacket bearing the name "Winters." All of his garments are torn, stained with long-dried blood and riddled with bullet holes. Before you healed him, a good portion of his skull seems to have caved in, almost as if somebody very strong had hit him in the head with a blunt object.

    Looking into this man's mind, you immediately get a flash of memories of running headlong down a tunnel, frightened and desperate. The last thing this man saw before he fell unconscious was another man (who looks a lot like Bojan Petrov) bashing a twisted up piece of a manhole cover into his face.)

    His name is Sgt. John Winters and a lot of his thoughts after recalling where his is are those of panic, anger, and wonderment as to his location. His brain flashes for a moment to a photograph somewhere in his front pocket that is apparently important, although when you search his jacket you find nothing actually present.

    With regards to Sabbat policy and tactics, he remembers he joined the "family" after what's colloquially known as a 'shovel party' picked him up. (It's where you mass Embrace a bunch of mortals, shove them in a grave and wait for them to burrow out. The ones who survive get to stay on as Sabbat.)

    It was after Nam and he really didn't have much else going for him anyway, so what the hell... the real family in that photograph he doesn't have had moved on anyhow. He swung down by NYC a few years back while the city was still contested and met up with the pack here. Layla was a feisty one... treated him fair though, and all things considered, the Sabbat was just another battlefront for him. People are always fighting one war or another, and he's not a man designed to make decisions. "Not ours to question why" and all that rub. He doesn't really know anything about tactics aside from what they'd already taught him in the jungle. He knows he wasn't going to be a bad man about it, no baby-eating like the propaganda goes. He just was going to protect what he had left.

    He starts to assume as time wears on that the Cammies have him, and he gets an icky nagging feeling that they'll make it bad for him before he gets to die. He wishes he had more regrets about the dying bit, honestly, and it seems strange to him that he might finally be going out.

  • Chuck Henderson (The staked body of an older looking man with dark hair. It seems to be wrapped in a decorative woven poncho.)

    His name is Chuck Henderson, and the last thing he remembers is a man who looks a lot like Hadrian Evans flaying off his skin with a hot iron. He's really really freaked out, and he wonders if he's going to be tortured or questioned or made to teach people things again. He's a hairsbreadth away from Rotschreck, in fact. He wishes that somebody would just kill him.

    He also wishes he could understand why all this happened. Always why. He wishes he could hate Evans, but he can't. That's a trick of the blood, yeah, and he knows it. Seth's a jackass! He didn't really know what he was getting into. But Jamal said things were chill and that they could take the Prince out easy...

    And then Seth... why the FUCK did he listen to Seth. Evans wasn't up to anything. He knows that now, and charging in and then getting fucked up by that goddamn Malk (Not Evans, the other one) and then... shit shit shit. Tuna Casserole? Shit!

    He's say he was sorry if he could. He'd volunteer to kill himself just to get it all over with. He'd volunteer to kill himself if it would make Evans happy.

    You realize pretty quickly that this man has nothing whatsoever to do with the Sabbat.

  • Alex (A younger staked man with a thin-nostriled almost dog-like nose and long tufted eyebrows. He wears a badly blood stained leather jacket, a wifebeater and jeans.)

    His name is Alex. He doesn't know his last name for some inexplicable reason. The last thing he remembers is a man who looks a lot Hadrian Evans shoving needles under his fingernails. He's upset and angry at the world, and he's trying as deseprately as he can to remember that he's really just pumped full fo Evans' blood and shouldn't give a damn about the little fuck. It's hard though. He hopes -somehow- that he can find a way to shake this off and take him down. He's cost him enough pain already to be worth it. He's not at all surprised that the Cam would have shit like this going on behind closed doors.

    Evans and motherfucking Jamal! That freaking queer-ass douchebag set everyone up. Oh God, How he'd like to take out Jamal first! Wipe that stupid grin of his motherfucking stupid face...

    Ventrue are like that.

    You realize pretty quickly that this man has nothing whatsoever to do with the Sabbat... and that this man is eventually like a broken combat-hungry record.

  • Slave 17 (A man wearing a white T-shirt and wrapped awkwardly in a black trenchcoat. The man's face has a bizarrely serene expression to it. He had a scruffy goatee and a medium length dirty blonde hair. On his right arm is a tattoo reading Slave 17)

    "Dr. Greer? Is that you? How long has it been?"

    These are the thoughts that greet you coming from this man. He seems remarkably un-agonized.

    "Sorry, if he held you up. I'd expected that - it comes with being a prisoner and all. Well you have your role and I have mine. We've been over it before. You're a better captor than most. You're good at it an all. None of the rough edges of pretending you aren't just doing your job."

    There's a pause.

    "You are Dr. Greer right? Lillian was it? I mean I understand if you're not, and pardon my presumptions. If your as amicable as she was, I'll gladly keep talking... unless your with the Tremere that is. [He seems bemused] Then I'm afraid we can't be friends. [Thoughts of a tongue clicking] Not friends at all."

    Rifling through his brain you find that the man in question believes himself to have been part of a magical experiment some time in the 15th century. His mind is... surreal to say the least, and you are a bit weirded out at what you see. He has no memories prior to being a Kindred and apparently woke up in a Tremere chantry witnessing a manifestation of something large and black killing several of his fellow "specimens." Slave 11. Slave 2. Slave 23. He did not know them, but he felt their pain.

    When they escaped the swore vengeance, all 19 remaining. They took names and tried to adapt to the snatches of mortal life they could remember from sometime prior - before they had become cognizant of what they were. His name was Roland de la Croix.

    The rest is a kaleidoscope of bizarre adventures and bouts of torpor spanning the next several centuries. Slaves 3, 18, 23 an 28 died in this time. 18 by his own hand.

    In 1891 he met up with Dmitri Zoylar, a Russian Malkavian with whom he became close friends. "He thought I was the prophet of Gehenna. That I would lead those clanless into final battle and face Caine someday. Obviously whomever you are - and I do still hope it's you Lillian - can I call you Lillian? You can disprove that with a quick sword stroke, and I never really took it seriously, but I had a friend and a mentor in Dmitri. Fun times that. You've heard this before, haven't you? [mental sigh] I suppose you're not Lillian then. Oh well, she was good at her job, I suppose. I hope she's been promoted or something. Much more talkative than whomever you are."

    Anyhow, then there was the luddite train bombing that put him into torpor, and then he'd woken up in the 90s and the rest of them were dead - all of them - dead next to him. Dmitri too. This freaked him out quite a bit. He's having trouble remembering the details of a lot of things, but he made the decision later on to join the Sabbat once he found there weren't any magicians left in it. He hoped it would give him a chance to take a pot shot at the Camarilla Warlocks... just maybe. The initiation rite though... it gives him shivers.

    "They had two men tied up: One my packmate, one just a man. There were fires burning beneath each one and I had to choose one to save. It was an easy choice. I chose who they wanted me too - the packmate. I shot the man before he got much worse. I believe ultimately that I'm human in a way, even if I don't remember being so. I believe ultimately that I'll be asked why I have done what I've done, and while I can't answer that I'm a good man, I think it right to show what little compassion I am able to muster."

    "I'm not going to become a monster."

    He muses on a bit about that point. You figure out that Greer picked him up a few weeks after the initiation, and that he's been moldering here ever since.

    You also, much to your surprise, have the impression that he knows Thaumaturgy... looking into it you find it to be a Path you are wholly unfamiliar with... something to do with the natural state of decay and it's acceleration. You know this would be big for the Clan, especially given his alleged background.

  • Ronni Cenci (A staked torso of a rather thin dark-haired man. He wears a few remnants of a black T-shirt and gray hoodie. He is the one with no eyes.)

    "Motherfucking goddamn cunt! You're back for more?" [Falls into Frenzy]

    "[Later] "Don't I get my phone call you cammie bitch? Heh. You want to shove some more fire in my sockets, go for it? Christ, if I ever had met you without a piece of wood in me... yeah we've been over that one before. I'd put more than just a piece of wood into you, baby. Hard to be all high and mighty then. [Frenzy. Images of raping Lillian violently while beating in her skull with a blunt metal object]

    "[Later] "Christ... why the fuck am I awake again... fucker... here I go off again. We can keep going for a while. [Frenzy]

    You find that the man in question is only vaguely coherent for a few moments at a time before the beast takes over. He also runs through the blood in him rather quickly, forcing him to frenzy more and eventually leading him into an ongoing fit of hunger and rage. From what little you can glean, he remembers a lot of Lillian hovering -inches over him- mocking him and shoving cigarettes in his eyes. Somewhere in the back of his mind he also remembers Fjodor and Donny and taking out that La Condesa bitch and such. It's hard to get anything concrete out of him, however, before he frenzies again, and you eventually conclude that while he has the most valuable information, he's obviously already been interrogated (You might as well check everyone's favorite notebook) and he's otherwise a waste of blood
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