Path of the Vampire forum

"Thank you,"

The two words barely escaped her thoughts in reply to what Mordechai had told her. Perhaps she should elaborate or reach out to Alex, but she could not pull herself from what she was doing now. When she got like this she lost track of so many things in the real world that she should be tending to, but she could not slip away when this happened so easily.

She didn't want to.

It was like she had suddenly tuned into a voice or wavelength beyond the norm and she would milk those times for every scrap of info she could manage. It had shown her who would rise up, but not who needed to be confronted.

Her hands continued to work the remaining deck. Every so often a card would be tossed on top of the others.

Two of Wands and Page of Swords.

The ones they sought. A discoverer and a curious soul. An interesting combination of players. The Two showed a man with the world in his hand. Confident. While the Page reflected a youth. New to the task. Eager to be more than they are.

Three of Pentacles.

Secret meetings these two have shared. In places most would not suspect.

Ace of Pentacles.

A team. Unified now. A common goal.

Seven of Cups.

Dreams of splendor and glory. Wild riches and avarice. Position, fame. Someone had mutual dreams. Perhaps the discoverer was tired of discovering and wished to retire with a finally well filled pocket while the curious soul aspires to heights they could not dream of without the help of the discoverer.

She sighed now. Why was it always money and power? The gypsy could not even say if the pair was alive or like them. Both the living and not so living could be lured by the same empty goals. She had seen it, experienced it herself at times. None of them were without faults-even the ones who had been turned and now thought themselves gods and goddesses.

So sad. So very sad. Always a fast track instead of time, patience and hard work. Rarely did such short cuts ever end well for any involved.

She was gaining a deeper picture now, but she still could not shake the feeling she knew about this in some way.

A card flipped.

The Nine of Swords.

Ghosts from the past to be remembered.

"Potential lead in Oldtown. Going to find a brain to pick."

The killer entered his apartment, speeding to his weapons cache. Quickly he divested himself of the weapons that he hunted with, stripping from him the clothing that stunk of the sewers and blood. Old town. He had not been to that area since before Christmas, when he had taken his kennedy swimming in the small lake up there. Dressing quickly in his customary clothing, he was soon encased in obsidian leather and silk. Tonight's venture would require stealth, stealth and silence. The mausoleum and surrounding military detachment must be surveiled, for apparently whatever it was that he had heard, and that Zodiac felt from her astral tamperings was located there. It seemed that whatever was happening, the epicenter was the mausoleum. Twin Fairbairne Sykes were secreted with in the shafts of his New Rocks, as swhrt9b's and their wrist sheaths were slipped beneath the silken sleeves. The kevlar lined duster was next, topped with his stetson. He reached out to the two he knew were involved, "Aerial surveillance commencing" was broadcast to the minds of Wendigo and Zodiac, as he dove out the window of his apartment.

A massive seven foot wingspan propelled the harpy eagle through the turbulent updrafts surround veil towers as it circled higher and higher. The darkness of the night hid the proud bird as its wings drove it upwards and northwards, the target Cherrydale in its sights. The lights of Honeymead Market passed beneath him, as Brighter lights to the north caught the eagles eye. Even from this distance the killer could make out a pleathera of Kleig style lights surrounding the mausoleum and its neighboring area. Drifting closer as he floated in wide circles overhead, Mordechai became sure that this was to be the center of any trouble for the night childer of Harper Rock. The
force that patrolled the area had tripled in size. All over the sight men moved with precision and purpose. Most disturbing though were three separate sights that his eyes picked out of the glaring light.

First was a cluster of command and control type vehicles surrounded by large tents. Men and women hurried in and out of them, dressed in white lab coats beneath their winter insulation. Scientists were never a good addition to the mix when the supernatural was involved. There were many of them, to many for something mundane to have been discovered. This did not bode well for the future, if they were to get their hands on an ancient, or even worse a mooncalf, the battle that the elders had faced two hundred ago would look like a play yard fight in middle school.

The second major change was almost as unnerving. Scattered amongst the soldiers guarding the area were small groups wearing a black and silver insignia with a large stylized 'A' in the middle. Someone had activated Combined Task Force Arrowhead. No longer was this just a group of MPs and malcontents shuffled off to the asshole of Ontario to guard an old building. CTFA were well trained, experienced soldiers, that would only be here is someone high up, very high up...had decided there was something in the mausoleum that was a distinct and active threat to the nation of Canada. This was escalating, and escalating into something thing dangerous.

Thirdly, as he had swept out and around the northern entrance to the mausoleum he saw the most disturbing sight. The barbed wire was gone, The fences were gone. The foot soldiers were gone. In their place sat a quartet of Stryker style LAV-III's with their main M-242 BushMaster chain guns covering the entrance. These guns had a cyclic rate of two hundred rounds a minute. Any thing that tried to leave the mausoleum would be chewed to shreds as the guns poured twenty five millimeter rounds into it at a combined rate of over twelve rounds a second. Whoever had set that defense though was not convinced that would be enough firepower evidently, as the main quartet was backed up by an accompanying orchestra of Coyote Reconnaissance vehicles and Textron Tactical Armoured Patrol vehicles, all with weapons trained on the entrance. And all manned by members of Task Force Arrowhead. As his circle took him around the corner, his eagles eyes picked out one more defense, a last ditch effort to stop whatever slipped out the opened entrance. On either side of the entrance, there was a M151 E2 (Block2) gyro stabilized remote weapons system mounting a Javelin ATGM and a Ma Deuce fifty co-axially.

There was definitely something going on there. The question was, did they go in? or did something come out? That would have to be found out another way. The bright lights and roaring generators were left behind as Mordechai headed east into Cherrydale proper. Mordechai had made up his mind to head to the office, when something glittered and caught his eagle's eye. Dropping one wing Mordechai swept into a spiraling descent.

There. Under the snow clad trees sat a glistening new black Chevy Silverado HD. Wendigo was in town. Mordechai decided it was time for a face to face. Tucking his wings he dropped towards the driver's side door, flaring at the last moment and landing in his natural form. The killer squatted in the road studying the tracks for a moment, before heading off in the direction the driver had gone. Mordechai decided to save his inner anima and used his natural hunting instincts, instead of reaching out with his vampiric powers. He did not look directly for the fellow killer, assuming he wouldn't be in the open, but was assured that when he passed near, there was no way that Wendigo would be unable to identify the black clad, seven foot one killer walking in his tracks.

His eyes followed the tracks in the snow easily at first, giving a general direction to follow in case they became muddled closer in to the town proper. Confident now, Mordechai reached out to his sireling letting her know the surveillance was done, and inviting her to read his memories so she could see the situation through his eyes, as he had seen it.

Hunting Master

Your skill and experience with hunting for game

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

Wendigo: The massive Silverado rumbled and then puttered out. It had been some time since Wendigo actually bothered driving... generally he would carry all the weapons he needed. After the White Hall incident, however, he didn't take chances when it came to the government. Hopefully this wouldn't turn into all-out war with the military... but he would be ready if it did. Taking stock of the Oldtown Theatre parking lot, he slid the duffle bag out of the bed of the truck, and pressed the key fob to lock it down.

He could see the Mausoleum from here. It was back off the road behind the old church. The walls and barbed wire set up behind the crumbling structure reminded him of a blasted battlefield. Probably a memory stolen in a sip of blood. Which drink and which battlefield exactly, he could not recall, but there was an ominousness about it nonetheless.

Macaria: Macaria sat back down, unable to spot anyone who might be the person she was supposed to be meeting. She took care to pretend to shiver in the night air, having been caught out from the lack of such an action in the past. She look at her watch once more with a frown. It was now five minutes past the time allotted for their meeting. She tapped her foot restlessly.

Her thoughts raced the whole while, unsure how to even begin to explain why she was really interested in what was going on with the military at present. She would need a much better cover story than ‘I’m just interested’ if she was to have any hope of not meeting a sticky end, most likely at the hands either of the man she was meeting or those of the lineage she was a part of. Neither option was especially appealing.

She wished, fervently, that she had brought a book with her.

Wendigo: As he walked, he was satisfied with his foresight: he had taken on the appearance of some random man he had spotted during the drive. Still, carrying a heavy duffle bag would draw attention. Thankfully, there were few humans in the area: most of the intelligent ones would be off the streets at night. It made him stand out, certainly, but it also meant fewer minds to scan.

Settling into the mouth of an alleyway, he ventured into the memories of those few on the streets, looking back just a little ways for the sender of the email he had received. Scanning memories en masse was not an exact science, but it was usually sufficient. Spotting the most likely candidate sitting alone on a bench (at night, no less) he crossed the street and set the bag down. "Macaria?" he asked, using the stolen and unfamiliar voice.

Macaria: She looked up sharply as she heard her name being called, only to find a man with a rather large looking duffel bag standing before her. Quickly losing her frown and regaining a more neutral expression she rose to her feet and held out her hand. It was about time he showed up, as far as she was concerned, but in no way was she going to let him know that that was how she felt about the situation. It was time to get on with business.

And think up a passable excuse for being there on the fly. Which would be interesting.

“That would be me, yes,” she nodded, “I am assuming that you are Wendigo? Otherwise this is going to be incredibly awkward.”

Wendigo: He nodded and shook her hand firmly. "That's me," he replied. Reaching into the side pocket, he pulled out a pair of binoculars and looked towards the entrenched forces outside the Mausoleum: vampire-kind under siege. Nothing stood out to him immediately other than the fact that the invaders were still present. "You mentioned your 'distinct impression' of tightened security?" he asked. "Where does that impression come from?"

Macaria: Macaria did not react. One of her small repertoire of skills was being able to mask entirely what it was that she was thinking from people around her, at least outwardly, and she found herself thanking whatever had seen fit to grace her with that ability as he asked his question. Well, as people often said, the best lies contain just enough truth to sell them.

“I live nearby, on one of the farms a little bit east of here,” she began as confidently as she could, “And the shop I own in Honeymead Market is just south of here. So on any given day I walk down this street at least twice - once there and once back again.”

She paused to take her seat once more.

“When one sees a place with that level of regularity, one begins to notice the little changes. For instance, the increased manpower of that guard patrol over there,” she pointed as she spoke, “And the newly installed CCTV cameras there and there. Be sure to note the insignia worn by the troops, as well. Or rather, the lack thereof. This is no ordinary military unit.”

Wendigo: Wendigo had learned not to judge vampires by their appearance soon after his turning. Not only could a small vampire frame contain the strength of an elephant and a keen mind, but frequently enough, vampires simply changed frames. Even so, those he judged to have keen minds were few and far between, and it was satisfying to meet someone who was perceptive.

He followed her direction with the binoculars. The lack of badges struck him in particular: that which wasn't there would go unnoticed by most. It also likely meant that the suits in charge of White Hall would have their hands in this place. As threats went, they were difficult to assess: they clearly knew of vampires, but maintained their silence on the matter. Still, information was dangerous, and secrets were never safe beyond a circle of one. He felt pieces of a puzzle coming together. "Contact of mine says a reporter has gone off the grid," he said. "Might be related."

Macaria: Absently, Macaria stood and reached out to place a hand on the top of the man’s binoculars, gently pushing them down. She shot him a look that almost screamed ‘use your eyes, you’re being too obvious’. She managed to stop herself from shaking her head. To her mind, it was one thing to point, ostensibly, at a fine example of architecture and it was quite another to be noticed observing the movements of guards whilst standing next to a duffel bag filled with what could only be assumed to be weaponry.

“If this is about the missing reporter,” she explained, “Probably best to not be spotted suspiciously watching the guards in the middle of the night, seemingly unaffected by the cold, don’t you think? Especially when those doing the spotting are likely an elite unit of some stripe.”

Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief, masked by her seeming disquiet. If a reporter had truly gone missing there could be any number of reasons for it. A wrong turn in the sewers, a more berserk paladin than normal (which would be saying something). Even something within the Mausoleum itself. The one unifying strand running through all of these was that none of them involved her pet. And that was a good thing.

“A missing reporter, though, is most likely not good. For any of us. Who knows what they may have seen inside? Or even on the way inside? And the response would seem to hint that someone knows something that they’re not letting on to people outside of their circle.”

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--


Wendigo: His expression did not betray any annoyance, and he managed to land his offhand in his pocket, rather than reacting with a sidearm at being touched. "They already know," he replied. "No sense hiding the matter. Might goad them into a mistake." He paused. "Also, this..." he added, drawing a circle around his face with the binoculars, "Not mine. Never wear it out."

He was too busy calculating the possibilities in his mind to dwell on the intrusion into his personal space. "Might even be on same side." If the reporter had eluded the White Hall crowd after discovering something, they would be looking harder than he was. A common goal with the enemy? Such an alliance could only end with betrayal. "Interesting..." he admitted.

Macaria: She shrugged slightly; her only admission that he may have a point. If they were what she, and now he, suspected then yes, they would already know. Which rather begged the question of why they had not yet done anything about the pair’s presence and not so covert observation. And also whether or not she could learn the trick with the faces - she had a feeling that it could be incredibly handy.

“I doubt that we are on the same side, truly, I mean. The enemy of my enemy may be my friend, but we must ask ourselves as we stand here across the road from a group of heavily armed men, who is our true enemy and what is it, exactly, that this reporter may know?”

She paused, her own question raising more of the same for herself.

“Do you not think,” she began slowly, “That it is rather convenient that a reporter, a person with no business being in the Mausoleum, somehow managed to get past a military cordon set up to protect the humans from the creatures within, despite likely lacking the skillset to do so? And then, to compound this, went missing.”

She paused, the pieces falling together as she spoke.

“And all of this a short time after the election.”

Wendigo: "Journalists are parasites," he noted. "But parasites can be crafty." He had dealt with dozens of journalists in his role at Groom: none of the ones who came on their own ever meant well by them. The only good ones were the ones they had approached themselves... that told the stories he brought them in to tell. The question was, what story was this reporter telling? A story the government didn't want told, clearly... but was it a story of vampire actions, or theirs? A Masquerade Violation in either case, but perhaps it was a story that could be turned to their advantage. "You think Bancroft is to blame?"

Macaria: In truth she had no idea what to think. As a general rule, she kept herself fairly insulated from the goings on in the city unless they directly effected either her or her work with raising the dead. That way, as few people as possible knew what she was doing and that cut down drastically on the likelihood of mobs of townspeople waving pitchforks and flaming torches turning up on her front door. She considered this to be a good thing.

So she shrugged, once more, in answer to his question and then went with the truth.

“I find myself not knowing what to think. We have little to work with, too little. Until roughly ten minutes ago I was not even aware that a reporter was missing. We need data. Intelligence. Information. As it stands, we do not know enough and what we do know leaves far too many possibilities for my liking. This thing could go too many ways as it stands.”

Wendigo: "Never know enough," he admitted. "Too many opinions with us. Not enough facts. Everyone waits for answers. Little action." He paused. Now was not the time to pontificate, but old habits died hard. Words were the problem, he reminded himself, not the solution. It was the very reason he had withdrawn so far from the Community. He tucked the binoculars back into the bag... waiting for someone else to produce actionable data might be an exercise in futility. "You been inside recently?" he asked.

Macaria: She shook her head, “Not recently, no.”

Heckle and Jeckle, her zombies, had been in there recently of course but she was not about to admit that to the man. Sparrow had taken the news of her activities with the risen dead well, but had cautioned her on the problems that came with what many of their kind might see as a violence of the vampire secrecy laws. And so, on this one, she kept her own counsel.

“The last time would be before all of this nonsense with the reporter,” she continued, “So it was much quieter. And less potentially fatal. If ‘fatal’ is a word which even applies to us anymore. But you see what I am saying. Are you thinking that an increased presence on the outside might mean the same for the interior?”

Mordechai wrote:"Aerial surveillance commencing" was broadcast to the minds of Wendigo and Zodiac, as he dove out the window of his apartment.

Wendigo: Wendigo hummed thoughtfully. "Know soon enough... eyes in the air now." He cast a glance skyward, but saw nothing yet. "Depends on their goals. Might be digging... might be looking for something that dug out." The best case scenario was that this reporter was investigating the military and was caught. After all, the military clearly knew of vampires: too much resistance to deny that. The worst case, of course, was that the reporter had eluded them and was now free in Harper Rock. "Going in might tell us, but no rush yet."

Macaria: Macaria nodded thoughtfully. Might as well wait and see what their ‘eyes in the air’ would tell them, though she doubted it would be anything more than what they could see from here, other than a pleasant view of the rooftops. She said as much.

“A fair point. With either option, it most likely did not end well for them given the locale. If they are, indeed, digging then what they might release from a place in which mooncalves roam free hardly bears thinking about, and the same goes for what might have escaped,” she paused, realising that the inevitable was, well, inevitable, “Regardless, we shall need eyes on the inside before the night is out. For now, we may as well see what the aerial view can tell us.”

A smile flashed across her features ever so briefly.

“So, what do you reckon the most common type of roofing is in this part of the city?”

Wendigo: He nodded. He was already in the process of calling for backup, although he was too surreptitious to use his phone... especially if there was military involvement. Reaching out with his mind, he found his only surviving childer, Day. "Military trouble at Mausoleum," he sent. "Could use help."

He paused, looking back at the encampment. "Suspect adequate force is coming," he said. "Don't know about roofs... tend to fly."

Macaria: She was shocked by this, if she were to be honest. Not that he was able to fly, that seemed fairly understandable in a world where vampires and magic were verifiable things, but that he did not seem to be interested in his surroundings when he did. So she simply nodded as he spoke, a little grateful that there would be others around to take some of the focus from her and her troubles with Heckle.

“Wonderful,” she stated flatly, “At which point may I suggest that we enter via either the sewers or a suitable back way, far from the eyes of the men with the guns? Bullet holes are not the best thing in the world, you understand.”

Wendigo: He shrugged slightly: an apparent effect of wearing someone else's body. "Haven't shot yet," he noted. "Won't start in public space: against the rules."

In many ways, the government forces were much like the Masquerade-serving vampires, he mused. They were both trying to keep secrets from the humans. Unfortunately, their reasons for that were quite different.

"Can head towards sewers though..." he started again, setting aside the useless thought. "Think another of ours over there." He hoisted the bag back onto his shoulder and acknowledged the distant giant with a subtle wave.

Day was sitting in his sparsely decorated apartment, cleaning his assort of firearms. Most people didn’t realize how important it was to keep their firearm clean and in good working order. Even a small amount of dirt and debris could inhibit the weapons’ accuracy and performance. Every time that firearm is fired, bits of carbon, lead and copper are left in the barrel, chamber and action. This can lead to the fouling. There were different types of fowling. Bad ammo, lack or poor cleaning, and even lead residue could lead to fouling. So he tended to be a bit obsessive in his cleaning.

Wendigo: He nodded. He was already in the process of calling for backup, although he was too surreptitious to use his phone... especially if there was military involvement. Reaching out with his mind, he found his only surviving childer, Day. "Military trouble at Mausoleum," he sent. "Could use help."

The thought entered Day’s mind without warning. But it caused his lips to curve in an unbidden smile. He knew who it was, it was Wendell. Without missing a beat, his movements went from cleaning, to prepping. He loaded magazine after magazine, until he had ten at the ready. Then he striped out of his current attire to don all black clothes. Once dressed, he pulled on the double shoulder holster, where he secured a pair of Sig P226’s. He then slid a P229 into his concealed hip holster. A P232 was strapped to ankle and slid in to the pocket of the black snipers jacket. Lastly, he grabbed a duffel bag, and filled it with the P556 with stabilizing brace, along with enough ammo to take out small village.

When Wendell had said Mausoleum, Day had immediately started thinking of the different ways to run an assault on it. A sniper set up taking out the military guards, would distract and mobilize the military taking their attention off an assault from underneath, the Oldtown Theater would be ideal. It was close enough to be able to pick off people but far away enough to allow him to beat a hasty retreat if he needed.

Or..maybe an assault wasn’t the answer. Maybe it was more of an infiltration scenario that was needed. That was one reason he maintained a military hair cut. Push come to shove he could bluff his way in. Whatever Wendell had in mind, Day would be ready for it.

As he was about to leave, Day paused, and headed to an over sized ammo box. Popping it open, he retrieved a number hand grenades, just in case they made need a distraction. Once satisfied he had what he needed, he shouldered the duffel, and headed out. As he reached the transit in Wickbridge he sent Wendell a text.

Text: ETA Roof of Theater, 40 minutes.

Her hands a soft blur now as she continued. The cards dropping faster and faster.

The Five of Swords.

Another player enters this game. One who is prepared and ready to try where others perhaps might fail.

The Page of Cups.

Yes, her memories cleared at last. A place. Under siege. Invaded. He was there as well. Seeking answers, even thought his solution might be more akin to anarchy than a solution.....

http://www.mooncalfstudios.com/pathofth ... 14&t=20995

...They had spoken. Both had spied and shared their findings which made little sense at the time, but now.....

Five of Wands.

The place itself. A camp divided if some of their number do one thing while others seek to play their own games.

The Last Judgment.

The calling of the dead back upwards. Wasn't that the issue in a way? The dead do live in this place and it was inevitable that the living discover this fact.

The Moon.

Secrets unveiling now. What should be hidden now exposed.

The Wheel of Fortune.

What comes around, goes around. Had not the originals grown complacent? Sloppy? Overestimated themselves against a humanity united? Those who ignore history destined to repeat it?
A clue, a hint, something to aim at. In the back of her mind she dimly heard Mordie's reports. They were at the place she herself had been before and beginning to sift away, but that wasn't enough. Only part of the matter, if that, would be found there. Where could a real clue be found?

Her hands stopped as a final card was dropped onto the table. She looked at it for several moments before laying the rest of the deck down and standing up. The tips of her toes just brushing the floor she had levitated over. She drifted out of her private sanctum now as she was finally motivated to do more than observe.

************

For the next hour she immersed herself in the nightly goings on in her establishment. Her thoughts still focused on the last clue she had been given which told her to be here. Within her own queendom. Something here in her own domain would be a clue.

She flipped through the pages of special orders. A normal part of her evening. Some that came to her establishment were always seeking things beyond the normal fare she kept stocked on her shelves and if it was possible, she would find what their paths encouraged them to seek out.

Her eyes paused as not one, but three books had been listed under one number. She knew these titles well enough, however this was something beyond the curious reader or even the intrepid novice or aspiring master. She had them in her own private collection elsewhere, but would not admit it to many. As she viewed this situation, it would be the equivalent of handing a child one of the weapons Mordie produced fully loaded and no safety to be found and left them alone. Even she consulted them rarely and only if she had no choice in the matter.

"Jennifer?" her mental voice called out to her assistant. A few moments later, the redheaded girl entered her office. "Who wanted these books?"

"Some woman. She's been in here twice now. Buying up everything we got on vampires and also on zombies. Wasn't scared to spend the cash either. Last time she was here she asked for those books. I know you 'red flag' those but I put em' down anyway just in case you wanted to keep track of which psycho's were trying to get them."

"She have a name?"

"None she would give, but I got the receipts and a contact e-mail for when those books come in."

"Question, my love. Did she look like one of us? I don't mean vampire necessarily, but a witch, sorceress, whatever?"

"Honestly? No. She was alive and reminded me of someone trying to figure something out, but not for what you would call a practical application. Also, she was asking a ton of questions, but not wanting to answer any. Paid cash for the books and walked out. No plastic or checks, and some of what she bought was not from the bargain bin either. Top shelf stuff."

"Really now?" the mystic smiled. "Find me the receipts and the contact information. Also, have Chain bring up the video surveillance from the times she was here, please." She stood up from her desk and opened her mind.

"Alexandrea," she whispered. "I need a second set of eyes and a opinion on something, please. Come to Pandora's as soon as you can." She also relayed her potential clue suspicion to Mordie with her assurances she would say more if the situation turned into something of value. It might be something or nothing at all, but it was too odd to ignore especially with what was going on.

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

Mordechai: Mordechai narrowed down the area the longer he followed the tracks. The direction became clearer, and a moment later and he saw a couple standing near a bench. The man was hiking a war bag to his shoulder when he seemed to notice the killer and gave a subtle wave. Mordechai turned to a route parallel to that he had been on as he reached out with his mind. *tele* "Mr Groom, you are on site?"

Wendell Groom: "Waved," Wendigo replied mentally. "Wearing a human I drove past. Cameras on the walls. Better this way." He nodded, perhaps to himself, or perhaps as a signal, and began moving in the direction of the sewer entrance. "Need to go under. Find an interviewee." He paused. "Day is finding a perch," he added.

Mordechai: The second wave confirmed his deduction that the male was indeed Wendigo, and he slightly narrowed the gap between them as he simultaneously dropped back slightly in a position to guard the rear and provide cover if it was needed. The female was obviously a vampire to be in his company, and he assumed that 'Day' was another of his employees taking up an overwatch position. His eyes made a quick scan of the skyline before answering "I received an update from madam Zo. Seems she had a customer recently extremely interested in esoteric tomes on vampires."

Wendell Groom: Zodiac. He wouldn't guess at the witch's motives or methods. Setting up an occult store in a town like this was a money-magnet. Much like selling weapons in a war-zone. And like selling those weapons, they could just as easily be turned on you immediately after they had been purchased. It seemed short-sighted for someone who purported to see the future. "Think it's related? Could be coincidental."

Mordechai: Numerous trips through the area allowed Mordechai to keep track of their advancement to the only nearby entrance to the sewers. A slight nod as he listened before replying. "I believe it may very well be related. She held that same concern. She is presently research for contact info, as it was the manner and attitude, as well as the esoteric nature of the materials that raised the 'red flags' in her system. Apparently some had to be ordered, and contact e-mail addresses were left."

Wendell Groom: Inwardly, Wendigo hesitated. Everything was potentially a dead end, but they didn't even know what they were chasing. A missing reporter. Activity around the Mausoleum. Books being sold. No evidence that anything had actually gone wrong. Still, he had to rely on his instincts, and his instincts told him to dig. "Same email you hacked?" he inquired. "One that disappeared? Or same source?" It was a long shot, obviously. Wendigo had dozens of email addresses for various purposes. Still, sometimes intelligent creatures got sloppy... and that was doubly true for the food.

Mordechai: Drifting a little wider to vary the walking pattern and leave no clue the two parties were connected, he lowered his head to the wind shrugging up his shoulders in an appearance of keeping warm, and simultaneously hiding his countenance he touched the brim of his stetson. "She has not replied back with the address yet, upon receiving it, I will compare, and even if different, will track it. My spider programs tracking the original source mails are reporting back slowly. They have been bounced around the world, but appear to be converging on an IP from the Harper Rock area as an origin."

--The following transcript was a live chat roleplay--

Wendell Groom: When it came to hacking, he understood little. Even a vampire mind was only good for some things: this brain, having belonged to a man in his fifth decade, would always have some limitations. "Right," he replied. He assumed Mordechai was making sense to himself at least. He turned and looked back at the encampment before turning towards the town shops. They would suspect something was up, even if they weren't watching at this exact moment. Getting them to send someone into the sewers to scout for them was crucial to his plan: going in was almost certainly suicide. "How's it look from above?"

Mordechai: "They are mostly situated in a protective ring on the mausoleum site itself." He paused a moment as he reviewed his over flight. "The research area is close in on the center, with a heavy specops presence near the northern entrance. I believe that is where the breech was made. Couldn't ascertain if it was in or out, but they are in a defensive pattern. There are sentries posted and roving patrols. You have a plan for acquiring this 'interviewee?"

Wendell Groom: So... yes, suicide. Of course, rules of war were that if you couldn't force your way in, you got your enemy to come out to you... and he had been working on that for some time now. "Been making a scene. Binoculars. Suspicious chatter. Standing in view of cameras. They'll send scouts down. We grab one." There was, he mused, a sort of maniacal elegance to it in that no one with an intact survival instinct would formulate such a plan... which made it perfectly surprising.

Mordechai: A slow grin crossed his features as he now turned and headed towards the small bar, Grey's Saloon. The change in direction would separate them even more, but would allow him to circle the sewer entrance, and provide an unexpected rear guard. Nothing he had done so far had made it apparent that he was associated with the couple walking the other sidewalk. "Sounds like a workable plan. I will circle, and follow the patrol in, lessening their numbers."

Wendell Groom: "Workable" he said... it was dreadful. Human psychology could be summed up in three words: "fear of death". Know that, do the opposite, watch the chaos. He paused mentally... maybe his Wraith's chatter was starting to affect him more than he knew. Regardless, it was too late to turn back: he couldn't make them un-see him. "Sounds good," he replied. "Will take the girl with me: Macaria. Brought activity to my attention. Interested to how she manages."

Mordechai: As he rounded the corner of Grey's, he knew from past reconnoitering that this was a camera dead spot, and he paused, calling the nights shadows to wrap themselves around him. Reaching down he drew his ever present Fairbairns from within his boots. one dagger in each hand he silently made his way back towards the sewer entrance. "Backup in place" slowly twirling the daggers he continued "Operational silence is imperative, I have forgone firearms for the moment" Macaria, another he knew not. It was a disturbing feeling to be on a mission where he had never met half of the operators.

Wendell Groom: He nodded to himself. "Roger," he replied mentally. "We have eyes on the roof and around the bend," he told Macaria in the human's voice. Moving towards the manhole, he scanned the street before looking to Macaria. "Ready?" he asked her.

"Alexandrea," she whispered. "I need a second set of eyes and a opinion on something, please. Come to Pandora's as soon as you can."

The young cat had long gone from Alexandrea's lap by the time the Allurist heard the message from the Mystic. Penny Valentine was pretty affectionate for a cat but even she had her limits and the blonde would have petted the feline bald while impatiently awaiting word.

Solitaire online with some random stranger that kept beating her time had both occupied and annoyed her but she kicked some major *** in the Scrabble type game she had on her social network page. Not too bad for a high school dropout.

*On the move, Harry. Text me on my cell with anything you find*

Was sent briefly to her thrall and then Alex gathered up her bag of goodies from the floor and under the cat that had picked it for a spot to nap. Penny didn't protest too loudly, just climbed up her person as Alexandrea stood with the bag and slung it over her shoulder. The small cat continued to ride the woman as Alex left her shop and the mall, heading into the parking garage.

Penny Valentine was unimpressed with Alex's car and quite probably the only living (or even unliving) creature on earth that had no fear of the Allurist's driving skills. The ride was completely uneventful, as the blonde was focused on avoiding trouble for once.

*I'm here" Alex spoke into Zodiac's mind after parking and heading to the shop. Penny jumped off of her vampire and went looking for Ginny as soon as the blonde was though the door. *Brought the cat.*

Once more, Macaria found herself wishing that she had brought a book with her.

In no way was it that she took issue with standing in silence in full view of the men with guns that would most likely try to kill them at the first chance that arose, it was more than having something to do to pass the time would be infinitely preferable to standing around doing nothing. Wendigo appeared to be passing the time by waving at seemingly random issues which was odd, but it would hardly be fair for her to comment on the habits of another considering those she occupied herself with. So she shrugged and began to hum tunelessly under her breath.

She resolved, almost without thinking, that she would follow Wendigo’s lead in this thing. Unsure as she was of how they would move forwards from here, she had a fairly good idea that it would involve violence of some description. Or, at the very least, a series of confrontations that skirted close enough to the idea of violence to be able to reach out and touch it. She was ill suited for that side of things, and indeed had left the house without anything one might call a weapon unless the athame that she always carried in her bag counted. And her heels, naturally. When propelled by vampiric strength, those things would be able to do some serious damage.

No, she was much more suited to other, more subtle, means of problem solving. And where speech or the promise of pecuniary remuneration failed, she could simply remove one of her gloves and run her wither touch over the holdout’s skin, an action that usually resulted in a favourable outcome for Macaria. She did, however, doubt that such a talent would be helpful in a situation like this. These humans already suspected something outside of the realm of the normal was afoot, reinforcing that with eldritch abilities would do little to help their cause.

That being said, she was a little unclear as to why they were still standing, almost rooted to the spot, in full view of a patrol of human soldiery that seemed to be getting more and more curious about their presence as time passed. She liked to think that she was bright enough to know that there had to be something going on behind the scenes, something that she was not privy to at present, but that hardly reassured her at the moment, unaware as she was of what that might be. Wendigo had not struck her as a man absent a plan, however, and so she was able to take some small solace in that.

So, when he turned to her, explaining that they had support and asked if she was ready to begin, it was with mild relief that she replied.

“I am. Lead on, I’ll follow your example to the best of my ability.”