Seventh Night. This means war.
End of Act I.
Rolling for rest. 7 vs 3d10. 1, 1, 5. Strong hit. +2 Focus. (5)
We start the night we Alexander Kane waking up in his sire's Haven. Last night, he told Baroness Evelyn March he'd set up a meet for her with the lycans. I don't want to play that scene, and I don't think Kane would like to be in the meeting - so my plan for this first scene is that awakes up, calls the lycan from a payphone nearby, sets the meeting up and skedaddles out of there, because there's more important things to do and that's not his job. Let's roll the scene and see if I'm on the clear.
Testing scene. CF6 vs 1d10. 2. Even number within CF means we get a random event.
Random event focus. 1d100. 99. Current context. Seems I'm not in the clear. Let's see what happens.
Action table. 2d100. 85, 62. Strange obscurity. I guess that means the lycans don't pick up, or they pick up and are unusually cryptic. Something's off. Kane hangs up and goes back to Evelyn's haven. He'll leave a note in her desk: "Something's up with the lycans. Didn't set the meet. Tell me what you want me to do." - and then he's off.
Friday. 7:30pm. Evelyn's March Haven. Industrial District.
Alexander Kane’s eyes opened slowly, the faint hum of an old air conditioning unit blending with the heavy silence of Evelyn March’s haven. The room around him was a study in contrasts—refined yet suffocating, as if the shadows themselves were pressed into service. Dark mahogany furniture, polished to a mirror-like sheen, stood sentinel in the corners. The walls were lined with bookcases packed with tomes on history, strategy, and vampiric lore, each a silent testimony to Evelyn’s obsession with control. A single oil lamp cast a warm, flickering glow on the intricately carved desk where Alexander’s belongings lay. Rising from the chaise he had commandeered for rest, his mind was already spinning with tasks that needed immediate attention.
The payphone stood like a relic of a forgotten age on a lonely street corner, its chipped paint and faint rust scars illuminated by the weak amber light of a nearby streetlamp. A faint drizzle misted the air, clinging to Alexander’s dark coat as he stepped into the booth. The door creaked closed behind him, sealing him into an oddly intimate space where the scent of stale cigarettes lingered like a ghost. He punched the numbers with sharp precision, the clicks echoing faintly. After a series of heavy, static-filled rings, the line connected. A voice answered—not the lycan he had dealt with before, but someone else. Low, rasping, and oddly mechanical, it spoke disjointed phrases. "The storm comes. She waits in the clearing. Will you answer the call?" It wasn’t a question, not really, but a challenge wrapped in riddles. The cryptic tone set his teeth on edge. He said nothing, and after a long pause, the line went dead, leaving only the static’s whisper.
Shaking his head, Alexander stepped back into the wet chill of the night, his mind already detaching from the strange exchange. He returned to Evelyn’s haven in measured strides, his boots tapping rhythmically against the slick pavement. The familiar creak of the door heralded his arrival, though the silence of the haven seemed deeper now, almost watchful. At her desk, he wrote a brief note in his neat, slanted handwriting: Something's up with the lycans. Didn't set the meet. Tell me what you want me to do. Folding the paper once, he placed it squarely in the center of the desk, as though daring it to demand an answer before he left. With a final glance at the labyrinthine shelves and the shadows they cast, he stepped out into the night once more. The chill air greeted him like an old companion, sharpening his focus for the tasks ahead.
CF +1. 7.
And now we have a car! It's a discreet car: a black Subaru Outback. Nearly invisible in most streets. Practicality over luxury, just as Alexander would prefer.
Next on the to-do list is meeting Hierophant Seraphina. It's my headcannon that the hotel where they once met - the Santa Maria Hotel in Old Town - is her domain, so that's where he'll go to meet her. Alexander is tired of dealing with Agoreans and Lycans and he belives that the elegy he sung is more than completed - he has sowed chaos, and whatever is happening now, the lycans certainly won't be reliable assets for the Agoreans. He also feels that his talents are being wasted and, I am certain, the whole affair with Valentina and Lina last night has he wanting to distance himself from that situation.Testing the scene. 1d10 vs 7. 6. Even within Chaos Factor. Another random event!
Random event focus. 93. Current context again. The dice are messing with Kane.
Action table. 2d100. 16, 100. Carry wound. First thing that comes to mind... Someone's going to attack Kane.
Where is he getting attacked? 1-33 = Before getting in the car; 34-66 = En route; 67-100 = in front of the hotel. 1d100. 86. Kane's getting jumped in front of the hotel.
What's the attack like? Descriptors table. 2d100. 88, 32. Roughly festive. Ok, that makes me think of a drive-by shooting. Whoever does it, is screaming, shouting... What are they shouting?
Question: is it a message from the Agoreans? Likely. 52. Yes. The shooters open fire while screaming "FUCK THE QUEEN!!".
Question: do they aim at Kane? Very likely. 89. No. That's curious.
Friday. 08:00pm. Santa Maria's Hotel. Old Town District.
The black Subaru Outback rolled to a quiet stop in front of the Santa Maria Hotel, its muted profile a seamless fit for Old Town’s cobblestone streets and gothic architecture. The hotel’s stately facade loomed over Alexander Kane, its weathered stonework illuminated by the golden glow of streetlights. The building exuded a timeless authority, an unspoken reminder of its mistress’s power. Alexander emerged from the car with his usual precision, adjusting the cuffs of his coat as he regarded the hotel’s imposing silhouette. This meeting was necessary—his work with the Agoreans and Lycans was complete, and his talents were better spent elsewhere.
The night’s stillness fractured as the unmistakable screech of tires cut through the air. Alexander froze, his heightened senses narrowing in on the roar of an approaching vehicle. A battered sedan burst into view, swerving wildly down the cobblestone street. Its windows rolled down, and shadowy figures leaned out, their shouts tearing through the quiet: “FUCK THE QUEEN!!” The first gunshots followed, sharp and chaotic, their flashes illuminating the darkened street. The bullets weren’t meant for him—he realized this quickly—but they found their target in the hotel’s grand entrance. Stonework shattered, ornate carvings exploding into clouds of debris. The echo of shattering glass joined the cacophony as the hotel’s windows splintered, raining shards across the pavement like jagged stars.
Instinct carried him forward into a crouch behind a nearby column as the sedan sped away, its tires leaving scorched trails on the cobblestone. His sharp gaze followed the vehicle as it vanished into the night, the voices of its passengers still ringing in his ears. The Agoreans’ recklessness was almost festive, like a grotesque parody of celebration, but their message was clear: they had no love for authority, even if it wore the guise of Eudaimonia.
Rolling Face Danger vs 6. 2, 3, 4. Strong Sucess. Focus +1 (6).
As Alexander dives, he manages to avoid fire.Question: are his tires in one piece? 50/50. 17. Yes.
Question: is anyone hurt? Likely. 91. No. It really was just a "fuck you" to Olympus authority.Our question is: should Alexander pursue the culprits? I think not - he probably could chase them, but he doesn't have a firearm, which means there's little that he could to make them stop. He's gonna go inside, amidst the mayhem the ensues after the shooting. He's gonna have activate his Sixth Sense to see which of the many hotel employees is the best one to guide him toward the Hierophant, and that's where he's going.
Sixth Sense (7) vs 3d10. 8, 7, 8. That's a miss. "The power is activated, but not without consequences.
Pay the Price. 1d100. "A friend or ally is in harm's way". Damn. I know exactly what's going down.Alexander finds the clerk - scared and running around just like all the other ones, but good enough at his/her job that when Kane demands to know where he can find Ms. Corvinus, recovers his/her senses enough to point the way.
How is the Hierophant's mood when she meets Alexander? 33, 23. "Ferociously dull". She's fumming with anger at the attack. Alexander can sense it, but it is invisible - she's like a dangerous ocean, quiet on the surface but filled with danger. He can sense the storm threatening behind her every quiet and calculated move.
Alexander finds her, kisses her hand and bows. When he is allowed to speak, he tells her of the his job sowing chaos with the Agoreans, tells her about the fragile alliance they had with the lycans, and how he managed to instill chaos in it.
How does she reacts? 49, 38. Heal health. She considers it a sucess - it even seems to calm her down a little, little bit. She sits behind her desk and ponders: "You know what this means, don't you, my Hand?" - and when Alexander remains silent, she continues: "The Agoreans already know their alliance with the lycans is no more. They are angry. This attack... that's despair, and it means war."
The scene was chaos. Guests spilled out of the grand entrance, their faces masks of confusion and fear. A bellhop cowered behind a luggage cart, clutching at his cap as though it could shield him. A screech of tires echoed down the boulevard, the attackers already disappearing into the anonymity of Santa Maria's restless streets.
Alexander rose fluidly from his crouch, his tailored coat dusted with grit but unscathed. His gaze flicked to his car. Miraculously, the tires remained intact—just another layer of the calculated insult this attack represented. No casualties, no real damage. It was a message, a sharp-edged "fuck you" aimed at the Olympian authority he now embodied as the Hand of the Hierophant.
Without a firearm and with no real incentive to pursue the assailants, Alexander pivoted toward the mayhem unfolding inside the hotel. The shouts of frightened staff and guests filled the opulent lobby as they darted between marble columns and gilded decor.
Activating his Sixth Sense, Alexander sought clarity amidst the chaos, his mind tuning to the invisible threads of intention swirling around him. But the power's invocation came with an unwelcome ripple—an omen of consequence.
Alexander’s jaw tightened, and his steps quickened as his sharp eyes found the front desk clerk. The young man, shaking and wild-eyed, froze as Alexander’s commanding presence engulfed him.
“Where is she?” Alexander’s voice was low but firm, cutting through the clerk’s panic like a blade. The clerk stammered but managed to recover enough to point toward the stairs. “Ms. Corvinus—she’s upstairs, in her office!”
Alexander inclined his head in acknowledgment, his steps smooth and swift as he ascended. The weight of Seraphina Corvinus’ mood—ferociously dull, quiet yet brimming with stormy menace—pressed against his consciousness before he even reached her door.
Inside, the Hierophant was a portrait of control. She stood behind her desk, the dim lamplight gleaming off her perfectly composed form. Her anger was invisible but palpable, like the deceptively placid surface of a storm-tossed sea.
Alexander approached, bowing low as he took her hand to kiss. “My Hierophant,” he began with measured tones. “I bring news.”
He detailed the events of the night—the shooting, his observations, and the progress he’d made in sowing discord among the Agoreans and their lycan allies. His voice remained steady, respectful, yet clinical in its delivery.
Her expression softened slightly, her anger ebbing to calculated stillness. “You know what this means, don’t you, my Hand?” she asked, her voice silk over steel.
Alexander held his silence, waiting.
She leaned forward, her words deliberate and weighted. “The Agoreans know their alliance with the lycans is no more. They are desperate. This attack? That is the scream of despair. And it means war.”
Her words hung in the air, heavy and inevitable, as Alexander straightened, the faintest flicker of resolve sharpening his features. Santa Maria was descending into chaos—and he would be its quiet, measured blade.
I'll roll to conclude Kane's elegy of sowing chaos amidst the Agoreans.
Fulfill your Elegy (9) vs 3d10. 4, 10, 5. Weak hit: "there is more to be done, or you realize the truth of your quest." - I won't even roll for this. There's a lot of questions in the air: who was it that answered the lycan's call? How did the Agoreans find out about their alliance? Why, even in despair, they opted for a message like the shooting? Even for anarchs, a pass-by shooting on the heart of Olympus Authority... There was something more. And then...
Now for the paying the price. Alexander's beeper goes off. It's a message from Lina: CALL ME. URGENT.
He asks Seraphina to use her line, trying to keep his cool: "Hierophant, if I may be so bold and ask to use your landline? One of my retainers just sent me a message. Seems urgent."
When he calls - on speaker - the voice that answers isn't Lina, but Cassius's Drake, the head of the Agorean operation in the Industrial District. They kidnapped Lina.What does he says? 61, 28: "Misuse expectation." Something along the lines of: "I bet you thought yourself so smart, Mr. Kane. We know what you did. And we have your ghoul. Consider this warning number two. And tell the hands on your leash that the Agoreans are coming for them."
The Hierophant’s office was cloaked in silence, the kind that weighed heavy and pressed into the skin. The antique clock on the wall ticked softly, its sound swallowed by the thick air of expectation. Alexander Kane stood motionless, his hand brushing over the scuffed leather of his boot, steadying himself before he spoke.
“Hierophant,” he began, his voice low and calm, though the tension beneath was palpable. “One of my retainers has just sent me a message. It appears to be urgent. May I use your line to address it?”
Seraphina Corvinus turned her gaze to him, her storm-gray eyes narrowing slightly, searching his expression for any hint of disarray. After a pause, she gave the faintest nod, her hand gesturing to the landline on her desk.
“Proceed.”
Alexander crossed the room, his boots faintly scuffing the polished marble floor. The receiver was cool in his hand, grounding him as he dialed with precise movements. The line clicked and hissed faintly, and as it connected, he said, “Lina?”
The voice that answered was not hers.
“Well, Mr. Kane,” came the smooth, venom-laced drawl of Cassius Drake, the Agorean leader of the Industrial District. “I bet you thought yourself clever.”
Alexander’s grip tightened imperceptibly on the receiver, his jaw setting into a hard line. He said nothing, letting the man’s words slither through the silence, his sharp mind cataloging every nuance.
“We know what you did,” Cassius continued, his tone taunting, but with an undercurrent of menace. “The lycans? The alliance? Did you truly think your meddling would escape our notice?”
Seraphina, seated behind her desk, watched with an impassive expression, though her keen eyes flicked toward Alexander, assessing. He met her gaze briefly, his own steel and unwavering.
Cassius’s voice darkened. “We have your ghoul—what was her name again? Ah, Lina. Spirited little thing. Brave, even. But fragile.” He paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. “Consider this your second warning, Kane.”
Alexander spoke then, his voice cold and precise. “And what is it you want, Drake?”
A dry chuckle echoed on the line, followed by the faint hiss of a cigarette being lit. “Tell your queen, or your Hierophant, or whoever’s holding your leash, that the Agoreans are coming. The next warning will be far less polite.”
The line went dead, the abrupt silence pressing into the room like a suffocating fog. Alexander replaced the receiver with deliberate care, the tension coiled within him threatening to unravel.
Seraphina’s voice broke the stillness, smooth as silk but weighted with quiet authority. “The Agoreans are emboldened.”
“They’re desperate,” Alexander replied, though his tone betrayed the doubt gnawing at the edge of his certainty. The questions swirled in his mind, unanswered and multiplying: Who had betrayed the lycan pact? How had the Agoreans gained their knowledge? And why would they choose such a crude, reckless gesture—a shooting—to send their message?
Seraphina rose, the dim light glinting off her dark robes, her presence commanding the room. “You sowed chaos, my Hand,” she said, her voice carrying an ominous edge. “And now you must reap.”
____
The night continues - but through someone else’s eyes. Here ends the First Act.