by Gavin Bennett (Changeling: The Dreaming | Fiction)
It�s time.
Midsummer has come and gone. The sky is still bright at night, but they know that will not last long.
It�s time.
The magpies are circling in the evening sky, calling to one another, their secret language heavy with vulgarity. The Magpies fought a war with the crows an eternity ago, for the right to know the secrets of all things, they say.
In New York City, as the sun sets, the wizards set to work. In their vile laboratories, in their black basements on the Lower East Side, in their blasphemous eyries above the very clouds, the work their magics, and prepare.
"The lord has called us," they whisper.
It�s time.
The wizards serve many masters, and now one of them is calling them.
It�s time.
The first one to come to Montreal is a small young girl, maybe 15 years old with eyes the colour of soiled velvet. She comes up on the Amtrak train, from New York, through Boston and then across the border. The police at the border step away from her, do not ask for her passport. One later vomits, convulsively for hours on end. He saw her eyes.
The second one to come to Montreal is a tall, bland, unimportant man who dresses like an accountant, and steps off an American Airlines flight at Dorval. He passes, unseen through the terminal. He walks into the city, a fair distance, unnoted by any. It is evening, and the Cross of has been lit. It is a strange irony, he thinks.
The third one does not enter the city by any mortal means. He seems to have always been there, waiting in a certain building in the Old Port. He works his magics, and prepares. The raw materials are plentiful here.
It�s raining in Montreal. Thick, rancid rainclouds cluster heavily over the city, their fat bellies burned red by the cities glow. The summer night is terribly, unnaturally warm. The air feels oily and no wind blows.
A storm is coming.
They meet, down by the harbour, in the old port, the three magicians. Tourists pass them, laughing and alive; American, French, British, some from further away, across the rest of Canada, all enjoying the texture and the dreams and the music and the lights and the sounds of one of the oldest cities in North America. Even in the rain, they pass, drawn by the nighttime shimmer of the Old Port, the carnival, the shops, the flicker of the lake yachts.
"The women here are beautiful," one remarks.
"I wonder how they taste, when their souls have been torn away," another remarks, half jokingly.
"There will be time later, for that sort of thing," the third says, dismissively, and then they walk away, to prepare for what has yet to come.
"What of our little project?" one asks, presently.
"Him? I think we should make him earn his keep."
"I think so too. I think he should be pleased, because I am certain his conscience must have been troubling him these past 30 years."
The laugh, a private joke.
"And those others?"
"We shall simply have to kill them, they have become bothersome."
The shadows of the city seem to swallow them. They do not pass unobserved. A man pale as moonlight, dressed as a priest, watches them pass. Their presence concerns him deeply. He does not like to worry. But he is worried now. Even killing people this night brings him no relief.
Introduction:
This is a continuation of the Ex Libris Nocturnis Changeling Chronicle. It is a fairly downbeat story, and it is not intended for the player�s characters to emerge triumphant. They are about to receive an object lesson in the way the world of Darkness works. They are manipulated, used and then discarded when their use is finished.
Like much of the story so far, this story is set in Montreal, in Canada. If you really want to see what the city, and the Old Port (the scene of most of the action in this story) looks like go see "The Whole Nine Yards" starring Bruce Willis and Matthew Perry. It�s a pretty silly movie, but the scenery is nice. For World of Darkness information, check out Montreal By Night and Nights of Prophecy, both supplements for Vampire: The Masquerade.
The scene will shift dramatically in the next episode.
Scene One: Hints.
ANTONIO:
I hold the world but as the world, Gratiano;
A stage where every man must play a part,
And mine a sad one.
GRATIANO:
Let me play the fool:
With mirth and laughter let old wrinkles come,
William Shakespeare,
The Merchant of Venice.
One of the characters awakes in the morning, to find a letter, on their bedsides. It is a letter from a vampire.
The letter reads:
Sir/Madam
My name is Father Juan Carlos.
I am writing to you in an effort to share my concerns about events that are transpiring. Yes, these events should not touch directly on my people, but they do. I am concerned. I have a deep and abiding love for this city, as befits my kind.
To be brief, this evening, I observed the conversation of certain people whom I would consider unwelcome in this city. They are from New York, by their accents, but that is all I can tell. They seem to wish certain persons harm, and I am told by a certain friend of mine that it is you they wish harm to.
I cannot reveal her name, but she knows of your kind, and is somewhat akin to you.
If you doubt my goodwill, please find enclosed certain details of your good selves, as has been revealed to me by my friend.
Fear not, my friend is not known to you; I hope you suspect no intrigues on my part.
I am concerned about the future. Nothing more.
Yours,
Father Juan Carlos.
Copy and past this letter, and print it out, using a handwriting font, and place it into a nice embossed envelope. As for the "enclosed documents" � place in the envelope something about the characters, which few would know.
Father Juan Carlos is a member of the vampiric sect known as the Sabbat. The Sabbat rule Montreal in a manner Duke Mablung only dreams about. Or at least the Sabbat believes they rule Montreal. Montreal, rather, rules them, utterly. But that is not an issue for the fey. Yet.
There is nothing else remarkable about the letter� save that there is nothing remarkable about the letter. There are no clues to be divined from it, whatsoever. Considering how an old vampire wrote this, this is surprising.
Nothing else remarkable happens that night.
Scene Two: A visitation.
The characters are relaxing, in a bar, when a man comes up to them, sits down, and smiles at them. He is a tall man, but not overwhelmingly so. He wears conservative, but casual, fashions.
"I do not have much time," he says, "they have given me this time, an hour, to walk the earth again. They wish me to speak to you."
If asked about this statement, he explains further:
"I have been damned to wander the world of shadows forever. I am not dead, but I am certainly in hell, or close to it. I belong to certain people now. These people are worried about certain events occurring. They wish me to contact people who may help."
His voice is slurred. His eyes are dark, and distant. He is very pale, and his hands shake.
"I have to get drunk," he says. "I want to taste living booze for a while; not that other stuff, made from people."
If asked his name, he will reply: "I used to be Magus Gideon of the Order of Hermes."
Eventually, he will whisper, in a fearful, paranoid voice: "I do not think that my masters have any hope of preventing that which is to come. I want you to find someone. His name is Ray. Larael, something like that. He claims to be a fallen angel. Hell, I don�t know what he is or is not� find him, and tell him. Tell him that he was right, he was right... tell him. Tell him about the Northern Lights. Maybe he knows already. Tell him about the Strawman."
The man�s conversation is strained, and further details are rambling and incoherent. He is getting very drunk. After about 55 minutes of game time has passed, he will, sit up straight, fix his tie and look straight at them.
"My name is Bernard Chisholm. I was once a magician, a Magus of the Order of Hermes. I am not dead, but I may as well be. I have spent two years in Hell, or similar. I am a messenger; that�s all. I have been told to tell you that the Kingdom of Northern Ice is being deliberately isolated from Concordia. Once it is isolated, it will be easy pickings. The Dark Kin have returned. They are waiting for the omen of the bleeding sky. Once the sky bleeds, they will ride across the ice, and the oceans, and slay all in their paths. They will light the second candle in the sky. They will bath the moon in blood, as the old prophecies say. Do you understand?"
If the characters answer in the negative (as they should), he will shake his head, and say: "No? Pity."
He will stand up, fix his jacket, and walk away.
"Have you ever heard of the ghost train?" he asks, finally, turning around, "it is a train fuelled by tears which travels between heaven and hell, down the sides of Mount Qaf. I would advise you all never to set foot upon it."
Then he will turn around, and cry out, in an anguished voice:
"Nooooooo�.. Not yet!"
He disappears then, leaving the characters sitting around wondering just what the hell that was about.
What Was That All About?
Magus Gideon, now plain old Bernard Chisholm, was a Mage of the Order of Hermes. He belonged, in a very general sense, to a group of mages who attempted to investigate the nature of magic. Their main effect was to cause a deep rift within the order, dividing magi along "occultist" and "philosopher" lines. (One group investigated the teachings of the ancient magi, Bonisagus, Trianoma, and other, more obscure figures; the others debated the validity of such concepts as the effects of magic on reality). This rift was kept very quiet, but moves were afoot to purge the order of Chisholm�s faction. The purges died with the defenders of Doissetep. Perhaps, in hindsight, this purge was necessary, because Chisholm�s faction stumbled upon secrets and truths best left hidden. Chisholm�s friends all died in the name of those secrets, and Chisholm was hunted almost to death. He found sanctuary, but that sanctuary had a terrible price.
Chisholm will be paying that price until the end of time. He now lives at the whim and mercy of certain powers of the Underworld, and Hell itself. Those powers have given him one hour to walk the earth. In return for this grace, he has been asked to deliver a message.
He didn�t deliver it. Chisholm is stronger and cleverer than his masters. He does not trust their intentions any more than the intentions of whatever it is that is causing the problems of late.
He is trying to nudge the characters to find someone called Larael. Larael, he believes, is the only person who could free him from his captivity.
Scene Three: Blackmail
They are summoned to the Duke�s palace. They are shown inside without any ceremony; it is daytime, the club is closed, and besides, by now the guards all know them. A few are somewhat respectful, the rest, merely nonchalant. The weather is hot, clear and somewhat humid.
"Friends," the duke begins, "I have a problem."
The Duke�s Problem:
Two days ago, I received a letter from someone claiming to have damaging information on me, regarding an incident in Biafra. In return for their silence, I would have to agree to certain things. Now, there is one minor problem with this would-be blackmailer�s plan. I was never in Biafra. I have never been to Africa. Now, this person is displeasing me, and could be in a position to threaten us later on. I want you to find him, and convince him of the error of his ways. I am sending you because I can trust you, and because you are not involved with the local power politics. I shall have my secretary forward to you all the relevant details. Thank you for your time."
As they leave, they can hear the Duke mutter: "Biafra, indeed!"
Really?
Of course not really. The Duke is being blackmailed alright, but not about some incident in Biafra. (Which he did visit in 1976, by the way, and there is plenty about his doings there that would be attractive to any blackmailer.) No, this blackmail is of a far more serious sort. It relates to why he is in power in the first place; and the people who helped him get there. They want the favour returned now.
They are coming to Montreal, and they intend to hold Duke Mablung to his promises, of 30 years ago.
Discussion:
OK, what now? Do they run this errand?
Is it mere "make work?" for the characters? The Duke does not trust them, that much should be obvious, and it is quite possible that he is trying to keep them out of his hair. Or is this a cover for something else (it is).
The Duke�s secretary will give them the following information: a series of PO box addresses in Quebec, Ontario, New York State, and British Columbia. Phone call traces to a series of Bell cellphones purchased in Connecticut (according to the reports of the Duke�s agents). That is all they have to go on. Not much, is it?
Scene Four: Ambush
While they are leaving the Duke�s palace, one of the characters gets a call on their cellphone. (If they don�t have a cellphone, a public phone a few feet away rings, insistently. It seems, also, that only the characters can hear the payphone ringing.)
The voice on the other end is cultured and educated; it belongs to someone who has studied in Canada�s finest universities, and in Europe.
"Hello, please allow me to introduce myself," the person begins. "I am calling from Toronto. My name is Frederick Ap Eiluned. We have been� observing� the developing situation. I fear to say that this is beyond our abilities to deal with. But I digress. Our divinations have told us that you are about to be killed. Hide."
The line goes dead.
Then the sky rumbles, thick black clouds obscure the sun. There is a sudden, thundery, downpour. The mortals run off the street into shelter, leaving the characters alone on the street, beside the phone. The rain gets heavier. Bolt lightning shoots across the sky. The wind picks up, driving the rain harder at the characters. If they suspect that this foul weather is aimed at them� they would be right.
Five homeless men, dressed in rags and tatters amble towards them, seemingly unaffected by the rain. As they get closer, the characters can see how hideously mutilated they are. They have nails and screws and wires driven through their skin at random points; they are all missing fingers, or eyes, or some other feature. All of them have flayed arms, which seep and bleed. They have no tongues. They get closer, as they get closer, even through the rain and the wind, the characters can smell them.
They just keep getting closer and closer.
What do the characters do?
If they let the people get close, then the homeless men will attack them�
If they attempt to strike first, the men will fall, seemingly dead, without a fight. But if the characters stop to investigate their bodies� they get back up.
If they retreat, they will discover another three blocking their escape route� and the rain gets heavier. It also becomes bitterly cold. So cold, in fact, that the characters are at +2 difficulty to do anything, so discomfited they are, by the elements.
The fight:
They are facing a type of thing that the Werewolves would call Fomori. They won�t know this, nor will they really care. There are two for each character. They have been sent to kill half the group, and drag the other half off to some horrific fate.
Aftermath:
When the fight is over, and the fomori have been killed, the characters can examine the bodies at their leisure. All have been tortured and mutilated in some hideous manner. Each bears, on the back of his neck, a brand, some odd mystic sigil. The brand glows even still, even after the men are dead. Looking at it makes the viewer ill.
After a little while, the cavalry arrives, in the form of a few Sidhe knights. It is, of course, too late for them to help, but they do offer sympathy. They will treat any wounded characters.
Scene Five: Investigations.
This scene is pretty free form. How do the characters react to the attack, and what do they do about it?
Here are some possible suggestions:
This scene can go on as long as the Storyteller deems necessary. The point of this scene is to try and make the characters be proactive. Let them go looking for trouble instead of trouble coming to look for them. At the end of the scene, they should know that the fomori were under the control of a group of Mages called the Circle of Red. If they are really unlucky, the Circle of Red is looking for them too. Indeed the Circle of Red knows about them already, and the Circle of Red believes the characters to be threats. They don�t know that the characters are fey, but they suspect. They would rather the characters dead.
Note:
The Circle of Red is a group of Mages mentioned in passing in the old, old Werewolf supplement Rage Across New York (I think, sorry!). Not much is said about them, so I am making some educated guesses.
Secondly, Fomori do not think of themselves as Fomori. I have no earthly idea what a Fomor would call itself. The Fomori of Werewolf have nothing to do with the Fomori of Changeling� maybe.
Scene Six: Dancing with Vampires till Dawn:
That night, they receive another visitor. This one is somewhat more corporeal than the last one. His presence should raise hackles on the characters� necks. He reeks of banality � he is, after all, a vampire.
He is a reasonably tall man, as much a priest, in mannerisms, in unlife as he was in life. When he speaks, he speaks as a catholic priest. He speaks down to almost everyone, he is somewhat aloof; he has his own personal morality, and he judges others by this yardstick. He refers to the listener as "my child," or "my son." He speaks in very religious terms. He is of Spanish ancestry, a chaplain to the Conquistadors of old Mexico. A man of impeccable morals and great standing within the church, he took his Embrace hard, and it changed him, utterly. Now his morality is all that keeps his terrible nature in check.
He will motion for the characters in attendance to sit down. He sits away from them, looking towards them.
"Good evening," he begins. "My name is Father Juan Carlos. Before you ask, and before you realise, I am, indeed, what I appear to be. A Vampire. I do not, as you may notice, cast a shadow. I must address this issue now, before it causes offence."
He will ask the characters for their names. He will be a very gracious, charming guest, if a little snobbish.
"Now, I contacted you recently, by letter, because I had become aware to certain�threats� to your well-being. I was, however, unable to do anything about these threats, for one because I am� limited by my� nature, and for another, because I do not actually know what this threat is, and what it entails. There are, however, others of my particular nature across Canada, and some of them correspond with me with a degree of regularity, seeking guidance of one sort� or another. Now certain of my correspondents have noted the people of your kinship, and noted that they are in some degree of trouble. My correspondents have been unable to precisely state what the trouble is. They talk of something called an "Accordance War." However, those of a more Northerly placement speak of their acquaintances disappearing. Indeed, one of my correspondents reported that he had made a sort of alliance with one of your kind. She reported that a thing, a person, ambushed them, something� which had claws, made of ice, and a terrible chill in their eyes. Their enemy controlled the very weather, she said, and turned a summer�s day to deep winter. The thing killed her friend, and others of your kind. I have not heard much else from my correspondent since. I do not believe that she is still alive. I am come to the conclusion that whatever killed her friend, killed her also. This is not a matter to be taken lightly. I am quite confident of my correspondent�s strength and ability."
He will answer any question to the best of his abilities, but that is all he knows. He has actually seen several other portents of the Red Lord�s awakening, but he has mistaken them for omens of something else, specific to his kind.
If the characters are particularly unimpressed, he will remark, sharply:
"I study the worst powers and forces of this world, little fool, things that would stop your pathetic heart by merely hearing of them. I do not have the time or the inclination to listen to your idle, stupid concerns. These summer nights are short�too short. I do not have time to waste. That I would stoop to wasting time with you should be some indication of the importance of this information. I do not want to see my city destroyed, do you understand?"
Either way, he leaves soon after. When he has gone, the characters will find another white envelope lying where he was sitting.
Inside the envelope is an address.
It�s for a building in the Old Port, near Basilique Notre Dame.
Is he really that helpful?
Of course not. He doesn�t like threats, and he know this one concerns the characters one way or another, so giving them what help he can to go and kill that threat is in his best interests. If they die in the process, then it is of no concern to him.
Scene Seven: Investigations
This is time for more detective work. Let the characters make calls, do legwork. They have the correct address of the Circle of Red�s Chantry in Montreal. However, if they simply go and charge in, they deserve all they get.
Scene Eight: A Brief, Bitter Conflagration
If they take this information to the Duke, he will look exceptionally happy, in a false kind of way, and praise them for their hard work. These are the people. From New York, too, he will exclaim.
He will grow quiet, after this, and sit down. In return for a freehold in Montreal, and a choice of holdings in the Eastern Townships and the South Shore, he is asking them this one thing. Find his tormenters and kill them. This is not forbidden by the Escheat, he tells them. This is the work of some force in Concordia, he tells them, the Shadow Court, perhaps. It is a ruthless thing he is asking of them, but then, it is necessary. This action is not directed against him, he tells them, rather it is directed at Montreal�s Changelings. He has their ultimate safety as his responsibility. He will offer them magical weapons, glamour, chimerical servants, anything� as long as they agree to kill these people.
It�s only a short drive from west St. Catherine�s Street to the Old Port.
That�s where everything starts to go wrong. Very wrong indeed.
They don�t even get close to the building.
Play this up, high-tension approach through the darkened, streets, tourists passing by, all sorts or mortal life passing by them� but they are on a dark and terrible mission. Then as they get closer to the Basilica, the weather changes, and the rain starts to fall. The street clears of tourists in minutes. The power goes down across the city. The streets are completely dark.
Then something worse happens. Any transportation they have suddenly stops. They are alone, on the empty streets, in the rain.
And then, nothing happens.
Yet.
Leave them there, just talk about the huge thrum of the rain on their car, the howl of the wind down the streets, the darkness outside.
Let them wonder what to do now. They could retreat or go on. Once they move, once they get out of the car, however, things are going to be� difficult.
Let them walk, and try to force themselves through the wind and the rain for a while. The lack of anything happening should be even more disturbing.
Then it happens. Everything goes black. The three mages hit them with a very powerful ritual. They wake up, where they fell, in the rain. Their weapons have been taken away from them. A young girl, who does not look older than 15 stands in front of them, ignoring them. She seems to be talking to the air.
"So, we are here now. Did we wake you from your slumber?"
Silence.
"Ah, I see. Things have not gone quite as you had planned? No? Well we are not here to talk about you, or the doings of the Decani. We are here to ensure that you get to wake up. Not anytime soon, but soon enough."
Silence.
"Interested now?"
Silence.
"Do not get me wrong. You are unimportant to us. Utterly. We have bigger fish to fry. When all the Sleepers awaken, you will awaken too. We think this will happen soon. Aid us, accept the souls we have given you, play your little games, and then we will help you too. I trust we understand one another."
Silence.
She turns to the characters and looks at them, condescendingly.
"Thought you were going to charge in and sort us all out, did you? Fuck you. You don�t count, ok? You don�t have a hope. What did you think you were? Angels of the olden times, ready to kick ass with a flaming sword? Hah!"
She looks around.
"Oooooooh, I am scared, the scary fairies have come to mess me up! Oh help�.help�..! hahahah!" She dances around them, laughing at them. "Now, there is someone I want you to meet."
The rain stops, and Duke Mablung is there, with several of his knights.
"I am sorry," Mablung says. "But certain things are necessary for a prince, as they day." He shakes his head, and walks away. When he leaves, the girl leans over to them, and says: "we were going to kill you, but in the end, we realised you weren�t worth killing," then she disappears.
They are alone, in the rain, betrayed.
Notes:
For more information on how to run evil magician types in your chronicle, check out Infernalism: The Path of Screams, for Mage: The Sorcerer�s Crusade.
Use the stats for a Neonate Vampire in the Changeling: The Dreaming rulebook to simulate the powers and numbers associated with the fomori. For more information on the Fomori see Werewolf: The Apocalypse.
