The Grey Dust

The Blood Compact

Silly Magnus. A base you stop you from religious fanatics. Does it have at least a shower or bath? If it does, Bedivere can drop in.

The Blood Compact

<Snipped quote by Shikaru> I am sorry for being angry with you. Just try to have fun.

@Wraithblade6

No fun having is allowed here. Only occult worship of cthulhu...

The Blood Compact

<Snipped quote by Shikaru> Well if you had actually been posting Shikaru, had you been building the story, creating the setting, directing the battle, keeping Magnus active and interesting, like a proper gm, people would not have lost interest. As it stands, I'm going to keep "doing things" for a little while, because I like Wiz, Grey, and Rusalka and Silent... if she would stay. Maybe new plots will develop. Write if you want people. Whatever you want. Pray for a spontaneous miracle.

@Wraithblade6

Or alternatively, consult the Necronomicon for dark powers to raise an army of the dead to write pages for you!

The Blood Compact

I think I'm going to officially check out of this RP, guys. It just hasn't grabbed. :/

@Silent Observer

A pity, It seems the major players remaining are dropping out. Shame.

The Blood Compact

"One in the same son. What business proposal do you have for me?" The call traced from a large private estate just right outside of London west side. Identifiable on a satellite map rather clearly through the fenced high walls and privacy of box hedges. A quite spacious use of land to store some antiques, although let not the fancy topiary garden and decorative fountains fool anyone into thinking the place was at all rustic. An advance security system was set in place to monitor visitors and guests who came in and out of the grounds to prevent would be thieves from entering as noted by local permits and building records. The manor which stood upon its ground was clearly styled in a late-Victorian setting with its balconies and ledges, although it was one of the imitation buildings which was constructed in relatively modern times. The real jewel was the Welsh Estate as a real historically built house, although that merely a historical landmark bought by the last few Collectors and maintained for the state using his funds. Though for the sake of business the London Manor was more convenient, and perhaps inviting important guests and associates peruse his toys, the estate did come with its own private helipad for quickened travel. "Hello, dare I ask who is looking for me? Did we have business together? I'm afraid my memory is not quite what it used to be and my people hadn't the foggiest of the details, what was it you needed?" The old man calling himself The Collector repeated himself absent-mindly as he had no idea he had already said those very words seconds earlier. "Mathew Stone is it? I think I've heard of you lad, come on down for natter then if you have time to meet, I'm afraid my memory is not quite what it used to be and my people hadn't the foggiest of the details." Fortunately a sheet in front of the octogenarian gave him some semblance of knowing who it is he was talking to without having to ask the man over and over again. That was probably the closet thing to an invite Mathew would be able to get from an old man with advanced Alzheimer's. Then again, would the Old man even remember inviting the younger man down to visit and chat business? In truth someone beyond him was taking care of the business transactions and estates, a silent partner maybe who could be managing the grounds. It would be something after all to imagine this man waking up every morning and forgetting he lived in this place.

The Blood Compact

The Collector. He was not a vampire. And yet he was a vampire. He was never one man. Yet always was one. An alias in business. A name in trade. A mark in history. A timeless title. Amassing a fortune was of no small means. Through the centuries blood was split and money was earned. Old money, long and ancient hoarded from the great splendors of Rome. From the silken path to the wicked triangle, from the pillage of nations to the rise of steel. Wealth was certainly an object which the Collector preyed upon, like a vampire thirsts for blood. With wealth came the bounty of things afforded, the market was but a plaything for one so richly ancient. But men had their vices, all did, and those who longed to fill the role of the Collector would be granted such. For The Collector was, a human unmistakably, in wanton lust after material goods in their short life. Each man claiming the several estates left by their aptly named predecessors. Men of money, they sought to win the title and the inheritance of the last, accumulating in the generational fortunes which rose through both above and below. Yet they all missed the truth behind the curtains as the real collection was neither located in any of the mansions and manors scattered throughout Britannia, nor in great caches anywhere else in the world. The greatest of these treasures were kept at Camelot where the one true collector slumbered submerged in the sacred halls. From this spot he moved the nation: the sleeping puppeteer. The most current incarnation of the Collector however, was an older gentleman who was a placeholder for the genuine article, dressed crisply in a business suit not unlike the one Bedivere wore. He too was pale, and bore a head of white hair like wisps across his dome receding. This was the public figure of The Collector, a face of humanity to assume the guise of man. With the rotations of a few placated humans more than wiling to sell themselves out for a life of luxury, Bedivere had created himself a puppet and created himself a puppet. A faux effigy to contact, a conduit of business, and it was he who served as the associate-guised patron in the shadows. So perfect was the ruse that not even the Collector himself knew who the real man behind him was. The only rule was to never question the invisible man, especially at night. By the time his coffee cooled, Mathew would have already had a call for him. Information worked both ways, and as little Mathew knew, as too did Bedivere cared. Although certain this would change, and the human could become a potential threat. But did Mathew not think for a moment that the greatest collection of all was not of tangible objects? Surely a man of his intellect could surmise that a being called the Collector, if he assumed he was a long lived vampire surviving under multiple aliases, kept at least a few tabs on men such as himself? Or was he that naïve to believe himself untouchable? Humans were after all, easily controlled, just as he used his men, so too did the other chess masters at the table. It would almost be offending for Bedivere not to have at least note of the man's potential, as a corporate peer may on another. It was a path most interesting that the two would now meet on. "Hello, dare I ask who is looking for me?" A voice on the other end of the line greeted Mathew, an accent clearly identifying though the registered number belonged to the Collector's London Estate to eliminate the need for confirmation. "Mathew Stone was it? Did we have business together? I'm afraid my memory is not quite what it used to be and my people hadn't the foggiest of the details, what was it you needed?"

The Blood Compact

Does Becca still think Mith is worth killing?

@Wraithblade6

Bedivere would certain disagree. He'd say the boy would probably be a waste of silver as he seems to find death regardless.

The Blood Compact

Yeah I'm still here. Just haven't had an idea of what to post for a while. Seems everything's kinda gone snooker loopy here too ehehehe...but yeah I'm still not sure what to post.

@Rusalka

Consider a trip to the local library to do some research?

The Blood Compact

That's the difference between Magnus and Bedivere. Although Bedivere runs things in the shadows actually. But he is a bit more cultured and level-headed than your usual elders who speak out of age expecting everything to kneel before them.

The Blood Compact

It hinges on Shikaru's being here to progress the plot along, however 3 days is a time to wait.