Second Night. Part 1.
Alexander Kane goes to the Waterfront District to further investigate Elijah's claims about the Epitaph Order.
First things first, we need to roll a "Rest" move.
Roll vs Intellect (7). 9, 4. Weak hit. +2 focus.
Now I'll roll for ambience and let ChatGPT set the mood. 1d100, 88. "The distant hum of a malfunctioning air conditioner" and 70, "Stray gusts of wind rattle loose shutters."
Sunday. 8pm. Industrial district.
The Industrial District of Santa Maria groaned with the echoes of its forgotten prime, a restless symphony of rust and ruin. The distant hum of a malfunctioning air conditioner droned like a dying insect, underscored by the rhythmic clatter of loose shutters rattling against warped window frames. Pale, flickering streetlights pooled their weary light onto the cracked pavement, casting jagged shadows that stretched and danced with the errant gusts of wind. The scent of oil, metal, and decay clung to the air, heavy and unrelenting, as if the district itself were exhaling its fatigue into the night.
Alexander Kane moved through this desolate landscape like a ghost, his figure cutting a lean silhouette against the dim, grimy glow. The tailored folds of his dark attire brushed against his frame, whispering softly with each measured step. Overhead, a sliver of moonlight broke through the smog-choked sky, painting his pale face with an eerie glow that mirrored the grim determination in his eyes. The streets were empty save for the occasional echo of unseen movements, a scrap of paper carried aloft in the wind, or the mournful squeal of metal grinding somewhere in the distance. It was a place of forgotten industry and unspoken promises—a fitting prelude to the secrets he sought to uncover.
I've rolled and Elijah was stirring trouble at the Waterfront, more precisely near the Opium Night Club. Kane certainly isn't happy about it, but that's where he'll have to go to start investigating. He'll take about two hours to get there, and I'll roll on the oracle as "likely" that he will find an opportunity to feed safely on the way.
Let's see.. 94. That's an "extreme no". He won't find anyone approachable on his way there - actually, as he gets closer to the Waterfront, people seem to be more on edge. Perhaps Elijah saw... or what he was doing.. Whatever it was, got people spooked.
Let's roll for a descriptor and see what GPT comes up with:
Descripton: Carefully Cute. Enigmatic abundance.
The two-hour journey to the Waterfront is nothing short of disquieting. As Alexander Kane crosses the shifting thresholds of Santa Maria's districts, the streets grow eerily devoid of life. By the time he nears the Waterfront, it becomes clear that something has cast a shadow over the night. Even in the Industrial District, where the downtrodden linger in rust-stained alleys, there was movement. Here, the air is taut with unease. The usual murmur of nightlife and distant laughter has been replaced by the uneasy shuffle of hurried footsteps, doors closing too quickly, and whispers that end abruptly when Alexander comes near.
It is near the Opium Night Club where the strangeness takes form. A trio of sailors, faces pale and pinched, huddle outside a narrow alley. Their laughter, forced and brittle, dies as Alexander passes, their eyes darting like frightened prey. The club itself looms ahead, bathed in faint violet light that seeps through fogged windows and spills onto the wet cobblestones. Above the doorway, the name "The Opium" glows faintly, its neon curves shimmering like a mirage in the mist. The atmosphere reeks of an enigmatic dissonance—something carefully curated to appear welcoming, yet harboring the weight of unspoken danger. Whatever Elijah has done, it has disrupted the rhythm of this place. The air brims with a peculiar tension, an abundance of carefully orchestrated appearances barely concealing a deeper, hidden truth.
For Alexander, the air feels heavy over his shoulders. He approaches the night club - and even though he hates clubs, part of him wanted to still hear the loud music. He, however, does not. Alexander peaks through the window, trying to see if there's someone moving inside...
Can I see any movement inside? Likely. 59. Yes.
Good! I tap on the window, I knock on the door, until someone comes and opens it for me.
Who is it?
The figure at the door is a young woman in her late twenties, with a delicate yet striking presence. Her modifier is "alluring", and her noun is "performer", suggesting a natural charm and a profession centered around engaging others. She has a vibrant, unplaceable accent that adds a mysterious allure to her demeanor. Her almond-shaped eyes are dark and searching, framed by loose waves of jet-black hair that fall around her shoulders. Her clothing is a mix of edgy and stylish—a leather jacket adorned with small silver studs, paired with a dark crimson scarf that adds a pop of color to her shadowy silhouette.
"The woman’s initial disposition toward Alexander is cautious neutrality. She perceives him as an outsider who doesn’t belong to the club’s usual crowd, but his composed demeanor prevents immediate hostility. She approaches their interaction carefully, her allure and observant nature keeping her guarded yet attentive. She might ask probing questions to gauge his intentions before deciding how much assistance—or resistance—she’ll offer."
The muffled sound of Alexander’s knuckles against the club’s door echoes faintly in the quiet street, each knock resonating like a question left unanswered. Moments later, the door creaks open, its hinges protesting softly as a figure emerges from the shadowy threshold. The faint violet glow from the club’s sign spills over her, outlining her silhouette in an almost ethereal light.
She is striking in her quiet intensity—a young woman with dark, almond-shaped eyes that seem to pierce through the dimness, taking in every detail of the man before her. Loose waves of jet-black hair frame her face, cascading over her shoulders and contrasting sharply with the leather jacket that clings to her slim frame. A crimson scarf loops loosely around her neck, adding a touch of vibrant color to the otherwise muted tones of her attire.
Her lips part slightly, as if forming words, but she holds back, her gaze sweeping over Alexander’s pale, sharp features and neatly tailored clothing. There’s a subtle tilt to her head, a dancer’s grace in her posture as she leans against the doorframe, her hand resting lightly on the edge of the door. The club’s interior lights flicker faintly behind her, throwing fleeting glimpses of a smoky, violet-hued room where shadows shift like specters.
"Can I help you?" she finally asks, her voice low and measured, edged with a careful neutrality that betrays neither welcome nor hostility.
Alexander's face is partially covered by his hood, masking a bit his odd features, since he hasn't spent the necessary blood to appear fully human. "Yes, yes you can" - he says. "I'm Pope. I'm a detective. I've been hired to dig around the.. problems you've been having lately. God knows the police won't do shit."
I'll roll a "Secure Advantage" with Glamour here. I'm trying to build rapport with her by bad mouthing police. I'll take a -1 penalty though, because I haven't used blood to look normal, and Kane is probably looking a little unnerving right now. Roll vs 5. 7, 3. Weak hit. I'll take a +1 on my next roll.
The woman’s gaze narrows slightly as Alexander speaks, the name “Pope” drawing a faint smirk to her lips. She crosses her arms, leaning a little more heavily against the doorframe, her crimson scarf catching the faint glow of the club’s neon light. There’s a flicker of recognition—or at least acknowledgment—in her eyes as he bad-mouths the police, a subtle crack in her guarded demeanor.
"Well, you’re not wrong about that," she replies, her tone still measured but now carrying the faintest edge of bemusement. "The boys in blue don’t bother much around here unless there’s something in it for them—or unless someone’s paid to make them care."
Her expression softens just a touch, though the wariness doesn’t leave her completely. "Alright, Pope. Come in, but tread lightly. Whatever mess you’re here to clean up, don’t go spilling it over everyone else." She steps back, gesturing for him to enter with a subtle wave of her hand, her eyes still fixed on him, clearly still trying to assess whether he’s trouble—or useful.
Now I want a description of the inside of the night club, since I got in.
Description: Positevely Amusing.
The interior of the Opium Night Club was a still-life of abandoned decadence. The violet glow from the faint, hypnotic lighting still lingered, casting long, ghostly shadows across empty tables and chairs arranged like forgotten guests. The mirrors on the walls reflected only the dim haze of smoke that seemed to hang in the air, undisturbed by movement. Wrought-iron embellishments twisted along the walls, their intricate patterns exaggerated by the play of light and shadow, while the ornate chandelier above dripped prisms that caught the violet glow, refracting it in eerie, fragmented bursts.
The stage at the back of the room was deserted, the instruments silent and shrouded in shadows, as if holding their breath for a performer who would never come. A faint smell of spilled alcohol and aged leather lingered, mingling with the stale air of a place left too long without life. Small details—a half-empty glass abandoned on the bar, a scarf draped over the back of a chair—hinted at the energy the room once held, now frozen in time. The silence was palpable, broken only by the faint hum of unseen machinery, lending the place an unnerving stillness that made the air feel heavier with every step Alexander took.
The golden question: do I see signs of more people there? Or is she alone...? It's very likely that there are more people. Rolled 63. Yes, there are more people - poor Alexander, he won't get that nice bite so soon.
Alexander walks in, carrying his sheated sword on his left hand, wrapped in black fabric. "Thank you for having me. I'd like to ask you a few questions, miss... What is your name?"
The woman’s eyes flick to the wrapped sword in Alexander’s hand, her expression tightening briefly before she offers a faint, guarded smile. "Name’s Lina. And you’re welcome—for now," she says, her tone neutral but edged with curiosity. Her stance remains casual, though her arms cross loosely as if to subtly shield herself. "Questions, huh? Let’s see if your answers are worth my time." She tilts her head slightly, her dark eyes narrowing as she studies him more closely, waiting for him to continue.
"I have one main question, Lina..." - and Alexander pauses, looking at her. "What the hell happened here? This place is deserted. It'd be usually full of people this time of night."
Let's get some prompts from Mythic to help DM-GPT tailor her answer.
Descripton: Ruthlessly Faded
Event: Waste Allies
I'll also roll a Compel with glamour, as I try to make her open up during conversation. I'd take a -1, but it cancels out with the +1 from the last roll. We're rolling vs 6... And a weak hit: "They'll do what you want, but their agreement comes with a demand or complication. Envision what it is.
What could it be? I have no idea. Let's roll. Mythic gave me the "disrupt physical" keyword - I think the woman will say that she'll answer, but that, before answering, she wants 'Pope' to rough up someone that's bothering her.
Let's see what GPT makes of this.
Lina’s guarded demeanor sharpens, her gaze lingering on Alexander for a moment before she sighs, the weight of the question pressing her shoulders down slightly. She steps closer, lowering her voice as if the walls themselves might betray her. "Deserted, yeah. That’s one way to put it. You’re right—this place should be buzzing by now." Her lips press into a thin line, hesitation flickering across her face. "But you don’t get answers for free, Pope."
She leans against the bar, her arms still crossed, and fixes him with a hard stare. "There’s a guy—a regular pain in my ass—who’s been causing trouble for me. Some hotshot from out of town, thinks he can waltz in and play king of the hill. If you want the truth about what’s going on, you’ll handle him for me." Her voice drops, and there’s a hint of something sharper—desperation or anger—beneath her words. "He’s holed up in one of the warehouses a few blocks from here. You rough him up, make it clear he’s not welcome, and then we’ll talk."
She straightens, her earlier caution replaced by a cold resolve. "Do that, and I’ll tell you everything you want to know."
"Do I have your word?" - Kane asks, seriously, after brief consideration.
Lina meets Alexander’s serious gaze, her expression hardening as she stands up straighter, uncrossing her arms. For a moment, the only sound is the faint hum of the club’s lighting. Then, she nods, her voice steady and firm. "You have my word, Pope. Handle this for me, and I’ll give you what you came for." There’s no hesitation in her tone, only a quiet resolve that suggests she isn’t one to go back on a promise once made. "But don’t take too long. The longer he stays, the more trouble he’ll bring."
"Give me a brief description so I don't hurt the wrong guy, then."
Lina smirks faintly, her lips curving in what might be the faintest shadow of amusement. "Fair enough. He’s hard to miss. Late thirties, tall, wiry build, and always wearing that ridiculous bomber jacket with a patch on the back—some kind of snake design. Black hair, tied back in a messy knot, and a face that practically screams ‘trouble.’" She pauses, her gaze flicking to Alexander’s sword. "Shouldn’t be too hard for someone like you to pick him out. Just make sure he gets the message."
A job is a job, so I'll sing a quick elegy for myself that I'll help with Lina's problem. Kane, after leaving the Opium, writes a quick Haiku in his notebook: "Snake on his jacket, / Trouble coils in shadow's lair - / A message strikes deep" - and sign with his bloody thumb. Roll vs heart (5). 3, 5. Weak hit. Take +1 focus, but there are more questions than answers.
The new elegy is: "I'll send a message to Lina's friend". It's rated just "Troublesome", since it's just one or two bums in a warehouse.
Alexander walks toward the warehouse Lina said. He's slightly frustrated - not just because he's hungry,but because he thinks that if she really believed that he was a detective, she would not have asked him to rough up a problematic guy... Or maybe she would? Perhaps he looked like a tough detective, someone she could count on.. Even so, he wasn't convinced.
A thought went through his mind, though - he could beat the guy senseless and drink from him. That would be a turning point in his night, that's for sure. How many guys could be in that warehouse with the serpent-jacket figure? Three or four? Considering they were human.. That was a pretty easy job.
TIme to ask a few questions. Is the warehouse gate open? Likely that it is: 87. It's not.
Kane effortlessly jumps the gate, making sure his face is covered by his hood in case he did not avoid all the cameras. He slings his sword on his back and looks around for a steel pipe or something blunt and heavy that he could use as a weapon.
Secure an Advantage (Int, 7). Roll 9, 8. Miss.
I'll pay the price: Kane was so overconfident that he made too much noise and whomever was in the warehouse heard him and got the upper hand.
Even though it was a miss, I'll mark progress on the elegy - being ganged upon by my victim is still getting closer to the victim.
Question: is the Snake-Jacket guy alone? Very unlikely. 14. He is not alone.
I'll roll 1d6 to see the number of enemies. Lol. I rolled a 1. It's just the snake guy and one other. This should be easy.
Let's not waste any time. I'll just roll the "Battle" move so we can finish this with one roll - I'll be using my "speed to my advantage", so I'll roll vs 6. 5, 2. It's a strong hit. "you achieve your objective unconditionally. You and any allies who joined the battle may take +2 focus."
Kane will dodge around, using his speed to tire out the two guys, while talking and making sure they know that he's there because they are not welcomed in Santa Maria - and then Kane will just absolutely beat the ever living hell out of both of them, and feed on both of them. I'll not even roll - I'll just take my blood to full, and let Chat GPT describe this encounter in three paragraphs.
The warehouse interior was dimly lit, the faint glow of a single hanging bulb casting jagged shadows across the concrete floor. As Kane stepped inside, his boots crunching on shards of broken glass, the echo of his presence reverberated through the cavernous space. Two figures stood near a rusted steel workbench—the snake-jacketed man, his wiry frame rigid with tension, and a stockier accomplice, gripping a crowbar with white-knuckled intensity. Their sharp, wary eyes fixed on Kane, but their defiant expressions faltered as he spoke, his voice low and deliberate. "Santa Maria doesn’t have room for troublemakers like you."
Kane moved with inhuman grace, his hood shadowing his face as he wove between the two men like a specter. The stocky one lunged first, swinging the crowbar with brute force, but Kane sidestepped with ease, his movements almost taunting in their precision. The snake-jacketed man followed with a knife, his strikes quick but reckless. Kane’s speed turned the fight into a one-sided dance, his blows landing with surgical precision—each punch and kick delivered to disable rather than kill. His words, sharp and clipped, cut through the chaos, cementing the futility of their resistance. "This isn’t your city, and it never will be." The stockier man crumpled to the floor first, groaning, as Kane turned his attention to the other.
The final moments were swift and brutal. The snake-jacketed man, now bloodied and staggering, locked eyes with Kane, a flicker of desperate realization dawning too late. Kane grabbed him by the collar, slamming him into a rusted support beam before sinking his fangs into the man’s neck. The rush of blood was hot and metallic, a surge of vitality that drowned out Kane’s lingering hunger. The accomplice didn’t fare much better; the feed was precise, clinical, leaving both men alive but unconscious on the cold warehouse floor. Kane wiped his mouth on the back of his glove, his bloodlust sated, and adjusted his hood before stepping over their prone forms. "Consider this your eviction notice." With that, he vanished into the shadows, the faint hum of the bulb the only sound left in his wake.
Kane also took the guy's Snake Jacket as proof of deed.