Berlin by Night

They want to see a true Brujah?

Maxwell. Mother fucker!

I’m asked a question, I answer honestly, and am then ridiculed for it.

Maxwell threatened me with the wrath of the Tremere clan should I “rattle” the masqurade. Me? I wasn’t even there during the incidents they were so fucking concerned about! So upset they can’t even get their facts fucking straight.

And Nichole accuses me of being disrespectful of Wilhelm! One of the few Kindred outside my group I DO respect. She doesn’t know what disrespect is yet.

Ozzie White? Crazy fucking Malkavian. Let him come to the East and speak that way. Laugh at me? Fuck you Ozzie. “60 to 70 Kindered must possess that number.” (mocking tone) Kidred Ozzie, not mortals. So fuck you for being so insane you can’t see your own hand in front of your face cuz you think it’s a fucking lollie pop!

Cut off before I had a chance to make my case, shut down because Peter is pissed and wants to use us to cover up his shit storm. They used us and tossed us aside like a greasy condom.

“clandestine manner?”

Fucking Garek told Peter EVERYTHING! Holy shit! We sought help from Erica and were given shit to eat. We are the ones operating in a clandestine manner?

Certain East Berlin Kindred? Fuck you.

At least I pissed off the elders a little. I would love for more than one of them to find them selves in my scope…but I have to be smarter than that and not let my anger get the better of me.

Dieter is the only one I can say I didn’t have a beef with. I like him in fact.

Sigh…if only Erica wasn’t his child.

On the up side I am servitude to a hot elder. I’m sure she is going to fuck me over…but maybe I can fuck her over a bench, and a couch, and a stove, and well you get the idea.

Arty and the Circus Berlin

I’ve had a couple hours to think about tonight. I may have doomed my entire group of friends. My whining about my sire, my insistance that I might be killed if I disobeyed him, has pushed Kord and the others into my mess.

I have no real proof my sire would kill me, but I do feel it was possible.Is it true I let them think this was fact to benifit myself? I honestly don’t know anymore. My guilt over thier current situation clouds everything.

I am sure of nothing, outside of Peter’s guilt. He is responsible for the Turks attacking in the East, and he is using us all as scapegoats to cover that fact.

Our little trial will pull notice away from the fact that he is involved and probably responsible for the attacks in the first place.

If any of us lives past tonight, we need to rethink how we do things.

We need to have a clear leader, not to take the heat but one to guide us. We need to adhere to what is best for the group. We need to organize ourselves. We’ve let the elders of this fucking city lead us around by our balls too often.

Fuck sides…we work for our own damn interests.

And Gerak…I’m not sure what to do about him any more. I do not trust him. He has a lot of bridges to repair before I am ready to again.

I have bridges to repair too.

Just don’t know how.

The Journal of Alban Fernholz

Journal of the Reverend Alban Fernholz:

Nov. 22, 1992

Had an unexpected visitor last night, and though he arrived on the heels of a fierce Autumn storm, he was most pleasant indeed. A Mr. Rupert Schwarze, a tinker and weaver of fine rugs. He is a well-travelled gentleman with an old-world charm and elegance to him that made me feel right at ease. And I must not have been the only one to take a shine to our visitor, as Fritzi set out our finest table settings, dusting off those usually reserved for holidays.

Mr. Schwarze had a healthy appetite and a thirst for what wine we had, but he was a memorable guest, regaling us with tales of his travels across Europe and Asia Minor. Quickly the hour grew late and as Fritzi and the children turned in for the night, I couldn’t resist staying up later than usual discussing religion and the afterlife with this engaging man.

When I retired for the night we had found that Fritzi, bless her heart, had set up some bedding for our guest before the warm hearth in the kitchen. I was looking forward to walking and talking with him in the morning, but he was gone, leaving behind a fineely woven rug in show of gratitude – a piece that, I dare say, would not look out of place in a king’s palace.

Jan. 3, 1993

While walking the fields with Rolf the lad seemed troubled. I knew he had something in his craw and I waited patiently for the boy to be out with it. What he told me shocked me to the core and, though he swore by the Holy Father, I still am not sure I believe him.
Rolf claimed that our visitor some months ago, Mr. Rupert Schwarze, had left his fire-side bedding during his stay and ventured to the children’s loft where he, to put it grossly and bluntly, had his way with out little Inga.
Rolf claims to have been awake during it and was too struck by fear to move in aid of his sister, or to even form a shout or cry of distress. This I find hardest of all to believe, as Rolf is a sturdy and strong lad and a most protective older brother. Something is troubling Rolf, and has been for some time. Could he be making this up about Herr Schwarze to conceal a greater problem? I fear the devil may have his hooks in the boy.

Later – Fritzi seems as disbelieving as I concerning Rolf’s tale of Rupert Schwarze, though she does mention that the following morning all the children save Inga had wet their bed sheets – something which she neglected to tell me at the time. I’ll have to look into this and speak with the children about it at supper.

Jan. 4, 1993

We excused the youngsters and spoke with Rolf at supper last night. Rolf angrily left the house at my suggestion that he may be engaging in deception, before leaving he claimed that Mr. Schwarze had paid visits to the children’s loft on several occasions since that first night. Each time Rolf was too afraid to act against the man defiling his sister.

When we gently asked Inga, Kurt and Ludolf the boys seemed to have no memory of these visitations – the whole line of questioning upset little Ludolf greatly as he wept so violently he had Fritzi in a fit and it took her hours to soothe him enough for sleep.
Inga fled to the loft and I followed her. We had a long chat and what she finally confessed to me disturbed me so greatly that I am too ashamed to speak this to any living being, including Fritzi. Inga confides that it was her older brother Rolf who forced himself upon her at night, several times. The immenseness of this sin overwhelms me and without the closeness of God I would collapse in despair. Inga and I prayed together, for peace and guidance and, at the blessed child’s insistance, for the salvation of her brother Rolf.
Tonight the boy will sleep in the barn. Tomorrow he will be leaving by train to stay with his mother’s brother outside of Bremen. I pray all will be well with my family. How will my flock and my community look upon me if they ever learn that such a sin has occured in my own house?

Feb. 14, 1993

The worst news possible today. Took Inga to a doctor in Berlin and he has confirmed what Fritzi feared – the girl is with child. May Rolf burn in hell for what he has done to his sister. We are telling the neighbors and community that the girl is very ill. Will have to keep her indoors as much as possible until we can find a place for her to have the bstard child. God help us.

March 12, 1993

A tussle in the loft woke me last night. With gun in hand I rushed up to find Rolf trembling with fear on the floor and the three younger ones huddled together in tears. Seems the lad took it on himself to run away from his uncle and returned here, he claims he followed Schwarze in through a window. What devil has hold of him to create such a sinful want of his own sibling?
Hard to look at myself in the mirror after doing what I have done, but I had to look out for the well-being of my family and poor Inga. I was forced to have the police pick up Rolf. Where they take him I do not know, nor do I care to. His soul is in the hands of God now, I must turn my back on him, though it pains me to do so and my heart is heavy with guilt.
Inga’s health seems poor. She is losing weight, her skin is clammy and pale. I can practically see her bones, yet her stomach is full and round. The doctor in Berlin suggests she is healthy, just too much stress and strain on her mentally. More bed rest.

March 15, 1993

Fritzi had a disturbing meeting today with Ludolf’s teacher. The troubled boy has been expressing the shame of his family at school. Fritzi brought home several pictures drawn by the boy, most of these pictures depicted a man in black coat and hat with a violet scarf (the very same clothes Mr. Schwarze wore when he paid us a visit) climbing into the window of our house or gazing through the window of the children’s loft. Other pictures depicted a hellish looking Mr. Schwarze carrying a large bag over his shoulder, and still another showed the gentleman driving a wagon pulled by fire breathing dogs.
It disturbs me greatly that the young ones have been affected by this. All this time I assumed they slept through Rolf’s sins and that our conversations were kept from them. Did Rolf tell his same lies to his younger brothers? Will the younger boys continue to have nightmares and fears of this stranger, it seems a simple mentioning of Mr. Schawrze is enough to reduce them to tears.
What if Rolf was not lying?
He was always an honest boy, we raised him right. A fine, up-standing lad who never lied and never mistreated others. Always helped his neighbors, always did right by his family and his community. Is guilt driving me to forget his sins? My poor boy, what father sends his son away to protect the integrity of a stranger?

March 20, 1993

I cannot sleep. I cannot eat. My sermons are discombobulated and sloppy and my congregation constantly asks what is ailing me. It is guilt, shame and uncertaintity. I pray constantly for guidance and finally God has sent a messenger.
A deformed little dwarf pushing a manure cart spoke with a thick, dirty accent and I had to plead with him to repeat his words several times before understanding them. “Prayers help little when one invites the Hastrman into his dwelling.”
That was all he spoke and the limping little dwarf would speak no more. The Hastrman? A boogeyman? A fairytale? This could not be. Was I to blame for my child’s loss of innocence? for my son’s arrest? For my children’s nightmares? For the unweaving of my family’s security and sanity?

Sometimes I wake in the night and think I hear noises. The creaking of the floorboards in the loft above my own room. Inga’s soft frightened whimpers and a hellish scent seeming to permeate through the floor above me. The scent is rancid and foul, like breathing deeply of green, spoiled meat infested with maggots. I fear for Inga and know I must go check on her. But I, just as my son described, am too frozen with fear to act. I know that only meters away my daughter is being preyed upon by a twisted devil – yet I cannot rise to help. Cannot form words. I often pull the covers over my head and close my eyes and weep like a child afraid of monsters. I too have wet my bed on these occasions. I must be going mad.

April 1, 1993

I have been unable to locate Rolf, I need to find him, need to seek his forgiveness and free him, for only as a family, with God on our side, might we fend off the demon that has wormed its way between us.
Today I write to a Berlin priest who has written extensively on demonology. A Father Gilbert Bretl. I pray he can help me in this. Help to save us from the minions of satan and help to keep this foul demon from my child.

Inga’s health grows worse. Her weight loss is alarming and frightening, she resembles a corpse with a swollen stomach. It pulses, it has a feeling of wrongness to it. I now know that she carries an unholy seed within her. God forgive me for what I must do. I can see no other means to salvation other than destroying this unborn babe and perhaps even Inga with it. Even as I write this I know I cannot. Cannot harm my child, cannot harm the babe she carries, for what if I am wrong? I question my own sanity now, I am slipping away. God help me. God please help me.

April 5, 1993

Again the deformed dwarf serves as messenger. I smelled his manure cart before I saw him. Over swarming flies and the stench of his cargo he whispered to me my chance at salvation. Not for me – I know I am lost, or at least, know that I must let myself be lost to save those I love.
He promises me blood. Blood to nourish and sustain Inga. Blood to feed the unborn child she carries. Blood to give her life. He gives me a chalice filled with deep, thick crimson. Hidden in the folds of my jacket I bring it home and have Inga drink its contents. I stay at her side through the night, praying for her health.

April 6, 1993

I awoke on the floor beside Inga’s bedding. Color has bloomed on her cheeks for the first time in months. Energy courses through her. My child dances and gaily sings as she helps her mother in some minor household chores.
I know not who sent the foul little dwarf to me, but I thank God for my child’s health.
Father Bretl wrote in response to my letter. I have informed him that I was mistaken. God has shown me the path to salvation.

July 14, 1993

The dwarf, the blood peddlar has been hard to find, only in late night fog or gloomy rain. More blood must constantly be sought, as Inga’s health deteriorates quickly after each draught. He tells me last night, “No more. Seek guidance from the darkness. Seek blood among those who so blindly follow your word.”
I have made my first pact with the darkness. Those who once sought my advice and spiritual guidance now seem to obey my every suggestion and believe my most blatant lie. My congregation have been more than willing to donate blood, I claim many reasons and uses ranging from medical to spiritual. A different lie opens a different vein.
And now the dark whispers want more. I shall give more, I will form a cult to serve its wishes, I shall do anything it needs, as long as I keep getting what I need for a little bit longer. It is only the matter of months before the unholy child is out of precious, angelic Inga, then this can end. I am ready to pay the price for my sins, but for now I will heap them high, for they assure my child’s life.

July 30, 1993

Last midnight I performed my first Un-holy mass. I have made four converts – mostly spiritually empty locals whose names shall remain a secret. I encourage them to seek the darkness, to form their own pacts and to seek blood. Sweet blood given in unholy sacrament to the darkness, but used to fuel the light of Inga. I know what I have become, I can no longer plea to God for forgiveness, no longer entreat him to help my family. Their lives are in my hands now and my soul has been promised to another. I shall burn for eternity but if it means that Inga walks in the light of Heaven then I shall burn with glee.

Andrea Suess RA

Death of local attourney ruled suicide
Sept. 13, 1993

Authorities have ruled the death of prominent

Mitte Attourney, Andrea Suess, a suicide. “It is
the case of an obvious overdose,” quoted police
spokesman Dirk Gormann. Gormann further added,
“It’s sad really, a talented, successful and
attractive lady like that… Just goes to show,
drugs do not discriminate – everyone’s a potential
Ms. Suess has been practicing law in Berlin
since 1985; she graduated from Humboldt
University’s School of law in 1982. She has no
surviving family but friends and colleagues say
her absence will be felt in the landscape of the
city’s legal houses.
“She was the kind of lawyer that actually gives
lawyers a good name,” said Mitte judge Helmut Kintz,
“She was never afraid to take on an unpopular case
and never seemed capable of turning down a client
who was truly innocent and truly in need. The client’s
ability to pay was always a secondary concern to Andrea.”

DM Logs
Story Logs

Mid-October, 1993

The old Volkswagen pickup rattles and teeters as it lumbers down the rugged dirt road; Moonlight beams onto the rusted and cracked exterior and reflects in the round and empty eyes of the headlights that are not presently operating – as if the lack of lights might lend stealth to the creaking groans of the bouncing truck.

Within the cab a large, broad-shouldered man seems intent on the road ahead; his two most striking features would have to be the lack of a left arm and the hellish red glow of his eyes. Perhaps even more frightening would have to be the mass of fur and tusks on the seat beside him – the great boar’s head noses out the window, the wind sweeping over the dirty, razored short furs of snout and upper body that pokes into the chilly night air.

The driver’s crimson gaze shifts to his grunting and snorting passenger, a look of concern and uncertainty crossing his thickly bearded face before his focus returns to the fog-shrouded fields and road that lie ahead of him. It was the type of night that puts one on edge; the fog that always seems to linger over this cold place seemed to seep into the truck and touch him like icy fingers, and the landscape seemed to be changing, decaying, as if he had driven through once-fertile lands straight into some abyssal painting. It felt… Wrong.

“Easy Gage, we’re almost through it,” he comments to his side-kick, though the words do nothing to soothe the agitated boar or the driver himself.

He frowns at the sight to his left – the wall of trees give way to a barren and fallow field stripped of all but weeds and the frame of an old water tower. Thick fog swirls and rolls over the field like some misty midnight tide, slicing through the razor wire that cordons off the plot of land and it hangs like a death shroud over the decayed, limbless and barkless trees that stand like ghostly white sentinels over the barren land.

Within the truck the driver is speaking again, a whisper of words calmly mumbling over his lips as if in rote; the steady flow of Latin verse is repeated once, then again, seeming to occupy the driver and lend some measure of comfort – though the comfort seems an outward affection at best and is belied by the action of his single hand leaving the steering wheel long enough to retrieve an old shotgun and rest it across his lap.

With the firearm within easy reach the truck rolls onward, picking up speed and roaring through the moon-lit fog, causing the banks of misty air to froth and churn in its wake; driven with a determination to get somewhere – or to get out of somewhere – in a hurry. The truck bounds on. The creaking of axles and rusted steel clang through the fog while the grunts of the boar are swallowed by the night. From within the darkened cab the sound of Latin verse grows louder.


Local Businessman found shot in Car

At 4:15 AM Thursday morning police found the
body of local businessman and philanthropist,
Detlef Boedker, dead behind the wheel of his
auto. The police suspect foul play but no
information was forthcoming.
Mr. Boedker is survided by his ex-wife Marla
and his two sons Wilhelm and Karl. He is
known for his contributions to many local
youth charities and to programs to keep
teens off the streets.
Police spokesman Heinrich Frauch asks that
anybody with information contact the investigators
at Berlin Polizei station, Treptow.

Nov. 29, 1992

Rochus pauses midway between the Egyptian Museum and Charlottenberg Palace and with a sigh he glances down at the number scrolling across his humming pager. He pushes a hand through his curly brown hair, adjusts his glasses then continues walking onward. His walk is as casual and unassuming as always as he continues forward, but he can be heard to mutter to himself, “I’d better see to this.”

Once below Prince wilhelm’s Palace he makes for your conference room and uses the open phone line found within; after dialing and waiting a few moments you can hear as his frustrated voice carries into the hall through the partially closed doors.

“Look, I’ve already told you that I have no sway in the District Attourney’s Office or the city police…”

He pauses as if listening to the speaker on the other end of the line, and when he speaks again his voice has softened considerably.

“Hey, I am truly sorry about your father, but losing loved ones has to be an accepted part of your new existance.”

Again there is a pause with the Ventrue filling in a quick, “Yes I understand.” And “I am aware of that also.”
He concludes the phone call in a tone that suggests that he wants no further part of this topic at any time.

“Berlin is a big, dangerous city and I’m sure that there very well may be a serial killer walking the streets – probably more than one. But the fact that this psycho is targeting the homeless and the destitute leads me to believe that he is not one of us, I think you’re on the wrong path here. Now, please accept this as my final word on the topic. If you want to pursue this avenue then please look elsewhere for assistance. Goodbye Madame.”

With the phone call finished he exits the conference room, using his keys to bolt and lock the door behind him. He then tells any loitering in the hall to get to their rooms as the sun will soon be up. He then walks briskly down the hall to his own apartment.


Fräulein Faust -vs- Nov 18, 1992

The door chime rang. My sire paused then went back to her teachings. Moments later an underling asked permission to enter the room. She waves him over. He hastenly moves to her side and whispers in her ear. I have to giggle inside how they sometimes forget the monsters with immaculate power we are and such things as whispering is a mortal clutch they preserve. I can forgive their forgetfulness as Tremere are refined and exact creatures one tends to forget they are with immortals. The underling scurries away and my sire continues to finish the lesson at hand. She informs me a car is here to transport me to elders within the city. I notice her pause (very hard to pick up) with watchful observant eyes. At that instant I remember lesson one Tremere bow to no clan. I get ready and ask to be pardoned. As I walk away I think I can feel my sire smiling inside (something she has not done for a very long time) as she notices I do not rush, but move with grace and elegance.

As the car reaches the destination I quickly learn that not only will I be meeting elders, but both Princes. As I enter the room with both Princes being present several observations come to pass. First is the lack of formality of meeting Princes without sires present. Secondly this seems like a cloak and dagger child’s type of game. Both of these observations explain to me why the Camarilla is so up in arms by what the hell is going on in this city. Both Princes match exactly what the stereotypes are saying about them. Which begs an even bigger question what the hell is truly going on in Berlin?

Art?? I get the importance of it, but do you really want peoples first day on the job to be something this important if it means that much to you?? Apparently throwing a hog poge of rookies at it raises more questions to me than if somebody actually stole it. Time will tell.

Fräulein Faust vs Leadership
Dec 7, 1992

Who stole this? I want this returned to me no me no me. The back and forth between the two Princes is priceless. I understand this is most likely a pissing match between both of them, but for being such elegant ancient monsters they almost appear as children fighting over toys. This is my mental note as to why the Ventrue lead and the Tremere have no part of it. Why waste countless centuries over pissing matches when you could be harnessing the power of your true potential instead.

So some art was stolen. Looks like the m8’s that did it were pretty well rehearsed and focused for the job at hand. Did a pretty decent job at not leaving any loose ends, but ends are always left loose during a crime you just need to know where to look to find them. Why did they bring so many for such a physically small heist? Why did they select the specific date and time of their choosing? The list can go on forever the important thing is to get answers to all questions and start building the framework of the crime and then apply the puzzle pieces to it. We should determine shortly the size of the framework for this crime.

Fräulein Faust vs Freedom
Jan 18, 1993

Getting the Princes blessing to stay in the city, now that shows me it looks like I am on the right track. Just keep this minor step from going to my head (ego) and continue moving forward still remains to be my plan. Keep remind myself where I fit into the food chain helps keep me in perspective. I do not see the Princes as such children anymore now I am getting a grasp of their workload and level of responsibility to the city. Stay quiet stay small and be lucky to claim small victories wherever I can. I do not think I should shoot for vast victories until I gain the experience on how to handle the little ones. I think back and I truly believe my parents would be happy for me even though they would not understand much of it if any at all. Knowing I honored them before Prince Gustav I think would have meant a lot to them that I took that chance. Now it is just time to see what I can do with myself.

Fräulein Faust vs Thaumaturgy protocol
Jan 22, 1993

Now that one of the “bad guys” has been apprehended the real work starts for the Tremere clan. The blood research on the victim who decided to fuck with the mighty city of BERLIN. We will drill so far back on this offender we will be able to tell who is great grand-sire is. Not to mention all his blood bound pawns will be mapped out for us. I will admit this guy was extremely elusive and it took a lot of different resources that the group was to assemble and put together. In the end we found a way to get it done and we nailed it as close to perfection as possible. I should be able to have the steatites generation so we know what option we have available to us for questioning and either we have if is a thrall to another kindred. This guy proves to be slippery so we have no idea in kindred terms if he is efficient at this or not.

Kord's Log
Kord AdventureLog

A limo was sent by to pick me up today. Wish I had some warning, I was going to meet both Princes! I could have slicked my hair back, and got gussied up.
Apparently there is a whole slew of new licks waiting for approval from the Princes. There was one from each clan, except two Brujah, and no Ventrue. The Princes want us to protect some Egyptian bust, from some thieves. There seems to be some possibility they are snake vampires. They gave us a Ventrue advisor(not surprised), and he named Heinrich(Tor.) as our spokesman/leader. We spent the next hour brainstorming, jotting down questions, and equipment requests. Probably mostly for naught, since we haven’t even seen the friggin display yet, but it helped us get to know each other. Perhaps some bonds are even forming. We’ll need it! This crap is going to take teamwork.

Nov. 30, 1992
We were at the Museum for a week and a half, though it seemed longer. Met some important Kindred, and got a small taste of what interaction with them will be like. It went with very few hitches. We are now taking the bust(real or fake) through the subway tunnels into East Berlin, where we will be free from it, and hopefully accepted by the Princes. We must bring it to a succesful conclusion, or die trying. It stinks of politics to me, and I don’t like it.

Dec. 7, 1992
Finally the bust is deliverded to East Berlin. We had to use brawn, as well as subterfuge. Our reward is to be ordered to find stolen artwork(from West), and bring it to the East. No matter our decision, some elders on one side will be pissed. We have stepped in a big pile of politics. On top of all this, our succes with the bust, was lessened by a major rule breakage fighting in the subwasy tunnels.

Dec. 8, 1992
We have caught the security guard responsible for the stolen artwork. He was a pawn. Only time will tell if we can catch the real thiefs. I hope we fail. If not the West elders will be upset with us. I have given my word to bring the artwork to East Berlin(even if we were coerced into doing this), and will stick to it. If we recover it I will do my best to return it to the East.

Dec. 10, 1992
We may have made a mistake making deals the way we did. We are still flailing around trying to recover the Egyptian artwork. Not much success. The last couple of nights my flailng has been some of the most inept yet. We failed at Habibs. We failed with Donnerson. And we failed,( or so it would appear) though not through our own fault, we had some failure with Remy Martin.

Dec 28, 1992
Through sneaking, prying, and a juicy handout of info. we were able to capture Habib. There was a brief fight at the airport. Habib was questioned as well as beat, and had little to tell. We were given permission by Prince Vilhelm to use lethal force if necessary. I gave him 5 minutes to talk or he would die. He called my bluff. I was not bluffing.

Dec. 30, 1993
We took one of Habibs retainers as a source of info. Garrick has fed him twice, so he is very compliant. He has led us to an old war bunker far outside of Berlin. This old abandoned bunker has been the scene of many sacrificail rituals. We have killed the few gaurdians/janitors, as well as finding a very expensive as well as old (sacrificail?) dagger.

Jan. 16, 1993
A little time for some personel matters. The coterie did not get together much. As a side note, the dagger we uncovered in the bunker is thought to be magical. Garrick has tested the dagger on some innocent people. How much better than the original usage is this? Moron.

Feb. 10-13, 1993
Rasputin has asked us to help the Nossies. We captured a pair of combatants in the subway tunnels for him. Apparently they have been screwing with his clan. He is happy and says his clan would be happy to help us in the future.

We met with Timor. The two we captured for Rasputin were Timors men. He is unhappy with us. We must help with Turkish gang activity to attempt to make ammends.

Helping elders seems to get us in trouble. At the very best it seems to be a two edged sword. We are all bleeding badly.

Feb. 14-15, 1993We have followed some high ranking Turk gang members. Or rather attempted. If I was not involved it would be comical. Somehow we stumbled and bumbled our way to save Stefans retainer Baur from an assaination attemp by said gang members. Stefan is happy with us.

Feb. 16, 1993
I need a drink. attempting to do something about the Turk gang and talk Garrick out of his impulsive actions has been very trying. As a coterie our actions affect each other. I used to think Garrick didn’ understand this. I now feel he does not care.

We captured a high ranking gang memeber. It makes me feellike I am being pulled several ways. I gave my word to Timor, and would like to stand by it. But Garrick has told all to Peter Kleist, and this is going on in the West, so to get access to this area he mustbe brought to him. Arty has said several times failure would mean his death by Timor. I can’t have that. I didn’t see a way out until I was told the West only needed blood. Whew! A comprimise! Timor got the bodies, Peter got the blood.

As I write we are now awaiting judgement from Prince Vilhelm and the primgen. I had recieved incorrect information. There was no cxomprimise. Both sides wanted the bodies, and Artys life was not at stake. This is the deepest we have been in it. The West is VERY upset with us. I have been misled often these last few nights, and largely because of it may not survive.

Make it a double.

Feb 20, 1993
Our punishment from the Primogen of the West was fair, and possibly even life saving. Each of us must serve a Primogen member for one year. I was stuck with the Brujah Dieter. This primogen meeting was my first time speaking to him. Not sure what to expect. A fucking Brujah? Hope I don’t get dragged to one of these raves I’ve heard of. Too much potential for violence and frenzies. At least it was not Maxwell.
After meeting with Dieter, it seems as if my responsibilities will fall under servent or security guard. There was a whole list of shit to do. Fuck! At least I’m not serving Maxwell!

November 19, 1993
We were on temporary release from our servitude with our respective elders. This I believe was with a little nudging from Prince Vilhelm. The reason for this mini vaca? To find my sire Lentz, who has disapeared apparently somewhere in Lubars district.

November 21, 1993
After searching, and asking questions, dealing with a fallen priest, fighting some type of demon(?) monster, we have recovered my sire. He is in torpor, but luckily not dead.


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