It was a clear night in the city of Boston, quarter moon shining overhead. The rain had cleared out, and the night was young, which would bring out all sorts from all walks of life, and this would lead to friction and deals being made. Police sirens could be heard from parts of the city, the occasional staccato of gunfire could also be heard echoing from the distance, always just a few blocks closer than one could consider being comfortable with. But this was the reality of living in the city of Boston, gunfire and police action wherever people and criminals got too rowdy, and too bold and were incapable of handling the police that were brave, or stupid, enough to show up and attempt to enforce the law wherever the violence or trouble was going on. It was business as usual in a city like Boston, and even more so if you would look beneath the surface of petty violence and police action. All was not peaceful this night, and for more than the usual reasons. The city was controlled by Vampires, and the Prince of such beings in this city lived well, to put it simply. His mansion was grand, the porch had great old columns resting upon it, towering upwards to support the building while oaken double doors provided the gateway into the private realm of this being of wealth, importance, and extravagance. Such places would also invite the heavy security required to maintain them, and such men and beings of power were indeed here. They were normally about the lawn, patrolling and looking for interlopers, while others would man the gates and posts there, only admitting those who were on the authorized list for that night, and knew the proper security protocols to even gain entry. But this was not a normal night, for this very same security was dead, slaughtered to the man and scattered about on the grounds outside, indicating a far greater trouble going on than usual. Those grand double doors were blown down, a clear indication of the invasion of the Prince's realm by men unknown. More guards were dead within, the grand hall ruined and destroyed in many places, leading deeper into the private quarters of the Prince himself. Said prince was staked in the chest, an action that paralyzes any vampire until it can be removed, while he had been strung up onto a piece of wood by several men who now surrounded him. Crosses hung from their necks, and while they were clearly nervous, their garb clearly spoke of their Catholic origins. From this scene one could draw a whole myriad of conclusions, few of which would fit the apparent capture of this vampire Prince by mere mortals. They had specific orders on how to kill this Prince of the Vampires, and they enacted such things quickly, unsure of how long the paralysis would last, unaware of its permanent effects until removal, or Final Death. They removed his fangs, per the odd instructions, dousing him in gasoline while reciting prayers to their God, for the blessing that would free this wretched creature from its fate of Undeath, whether it wanted to be freed or not was another matter completely. A match would then see the Vampire prince burst into flames, unable to scream or fight back because of the stake of wood rammed into his chest. This affair, and whatever dark thoughts that went through the prince's head, were the last moments of this Prince, for there would be no recovery from such an event. With the Prince ablaze, and fangs in possession, the god fearing men starting dousing everything in gasoline, praying the whole time, breaking windows as they went to feed the oncoming blaze, as they slowly worked outwards, having worked through much of the gasoline that they had brought with them, using what was left as they walked out the main gates to provide a path to light so they would not have to be close to the building when the blaze started. The eldest, and in charge, man of the three lit a cigarette with a match, taking a drag before releasing the smoke into the night air, before tossing the match upon the trail of gasoline, sending a rush of fire into the mansion, which quickly erupted into great flames and billowing black smoke, the wooden, gasoline soaked building burning eagerly and greatly, the lack of rain only accelerated this process further. Such a blaze was clear for miles around, which was the goal all along. - -- [b]Archbishop Hallr Gunnarson & Cecilia Torhild[/b] In another part of town, beings of another sort and creed were gathering. Underground, within a network of tunnels, all part of the old 'Big Dig', Garou and Vampire convened to discuss dark things, none of which would be within the Camarilla's interests. The tunnels were dank, wet, and cramped at spots, but a larger, foyer like area had been discovered and was being used to convene the meeting, which had all sorts of odd, outcast beings. For the Sabbat were here in force, long time enemies of the Camarilla, and there was a Garou present that was not, in many cases, welcome by any other of the more mainstream Garou beings. The Black Spiral Dancer Cecilia Torhild was in attendance, and wherever she went, the Garou would be ready to fight her and stop her goals whenever possible, but were not everywhere to stop her. Here was one such gathering. Arch Bishop of the Sabbat, Hallr Gunnarson, was face to face with the Black Spiral Dancer, a Cecilia Torhild, and they were currently dicussing nothing in particular while the last stragglers trickled in for the meeting. Gunnarson had very specific plans and strategies, while Cecilia was more interested in the slaughter and the fight than the not so gory details of such affairs as their own, but that is what sparked their partnership in this case. Gunnarson could do the underhanded, the sneaky political backstabbery, while Cecilia got to just go after her enemies and loosely keep that in line with the plans and orders of the day. The Arch Bishop knew what he was getting involved with here, but it was all part of the plan, and as the last of the members required entered, he turned the topic to strategy and plans. "Cecilia of the Black Spiral, I have a task for you that should be enjoyable for yourself, if nothing else, as it seems everyone is finally present." Cecilia quieted down for now, humoring the Sabbat vampire and feigning interest, in case it proved boring and nothing to her interest at all, unlike his suggestions indicated. Gunnarson continued, apparently unphased by this. "We know not where the Garou mainstream like to huddle down for a night or day, resting to gather themselves again. I figure you would enjoy knowing where they are living, so I would request that you take several of my vampires and figure this out." Cecilia smirked, she had to admit that would be interesting, and shrugged as several vampires that would be appointed this task stepped forward, and she spoke. "Yea, I can go sniff em out. If your vamps can't keep up, don't expect me to wait for em. Let's go." With that she was gone, the vampires having been specifically chosen to keep up, and Gunnarson turned to the assembled mass and continued. "Each of you have been called here to receive orders, to know your roles in the days to come. The Camarilla, weak as they are in mind, took Boston from us some time ago. We are here to return it to the control of the Sabbat, which is why you are all gathered here tonight. You have your orders, but some of you I wish to see personally, in my quarters. Leaders of packs, masters of war, priests, and others who are noted in your orders, come with me. The rest of you, execute your duties, for the Sabbat, have returned to Boston to reclaim what is theirs." The meeting dispersed, while Gunnarson retired to his quarters in the tunnels, awaiting those that were to report to him, sitting at a desk and looking at the intelligence gathered so far, silent as they trickled in one at a time. - -- [b]Nora Myrna[/b] Outside of Boston by, roughly, 30 miles or so, a newcomer to the area is traveling progressively closer to the area. This person is known as Nora Myrna, a Garou that did not serve the darker powers like the Black Spiral Dancers did, she herself was a member of the Fianna tribe, patrons of preserving the artistic past of the Garou, of music and art, and would hold such things close to them, as fierce about the arts as they were about defending themselves and their kin. As she was a Homid, born of humans yet able to control her beastial self after growing into her first change, she could walk among humans more comfortably than others of her kind, but that did not mean she would take them over the wilderness itself. Arriving at a pond, one could marvel at the lush, verdant growth of the area, and wonder how it had gone unscathed by the ravages of the marches of industry. Looking closer, Myrna would find the markings of her people, the Garou, in this grove, providing the answer as to why. There was a small cave in this grove, verdant wild life and crystal clear water perhaps indicating the place as of some importance to the Garou. Of course, such places of beauty were not unsullied in their view to others, as one could easily see plumes of smoke in the distance, of the fires of industry, often times caused by the Kindred and the humans themselves, never halting to consider the impact on Gaia, or simply not caring. Myrna could see all this, and cursed the Kindred for what they had wrought upon this land, and all land they would tread upon. For they did not seem content in simply letting their curse be contained to themselves, no, they had to go about ruining the land and the lives of others with their miserable suffering and thoughtless, careless actions. She had seen the land ruined by the Kindred before, who many times were the inadvertant source of a place's woes and troubles, and no matter where she went, this always seemed the case. And it was infuriating, how they scurried about like cock a roaches, refusing to die long after they had overstayed their welcome and draining the area of its life, like parasites, for their own selfish gains. Such thoughts would echo in the mind of Myrna as she descended from the hill top she had spotted the grove from, her long journey had left her thirsty, and the land still provided for those who respected and protected its ways. This grove was one such place, and as she arrived at the bottom of the hill and reached the grove, she knelt by the pond side, dipping her hands into the water. She drew the water up, drinking from it and quenching her thirst, all the while her thoughts still dwelled upon those smoke plums she had saw, and how much work clearly was to be done here to free the land of the parasitic Kindred.