The Dead Travel Fast

Its a cool January evening when Petra Nicholson, Julian Eckhardt and Ruby Drake sit together in a seedy bar and grill, The Sarsaparilla, discussing their recent journeys to the crescent city. It sure seemed like any other night, until it happened. Innocuously, of course. Things always begin innocuously.

He looked normal enough, this kindred who approached them. Mason was his name, and he just wanted a moment of their time. He had to go to Louis Armstrong Park, to meet a guy, but some toughs were on his tail and he just wanted a simple little escort. See, he knew who was guilty of all the recent spate of poachings, and it was none other than his krewe: The Dirty Throws. They were a bunch of neonates, just a few. No problem, really. Once they saw he wasnt alone, he was sure they would not bother him. Its just a few blocks. Less than a mile, for sure.

Together they strode out of the cafe, and looked both ways to ensure they were safe. Mason took a circuitous route, to shake off tails. Everything went as planned, and after about 20 minutes they were strolling through the park looking for his envoy, when Mason dashed off into the park and behind a building. There was a noise, more of a scream, and the three sprinted to join.

When they rounded the corner, not only did they see Mason standing frozen with terror, but they also saw a young woman, fangs bared, throttling a black man. After a shriek, she tore him limb from limb, eyeballed the party, and scampered off into the night. Mason shot a horrified glance at the group and bolted for somewhere, anywhere besides here.

What the fuck just happened?

After a moment of reflection, the group began surveying the scene, looking for whatever clues they could collect. Being new they didnt know who any of these kindred were. Twenty minutes later, their quest for enlightenment came to a screeching halt.

Baron Wastes

While engrossed in their search, they hardly noticed when a group of gang bangers stroll in to the party. One speaks up, and gets everyones attention. His name is Josue, and he is the only kindred of the bunch. He directed them away from the decomposing body, and said his people would take care of it, but for now, they should come with him.

One of his people comes over and puts soft velvet blinds over their eyes, while another leads them into the car. Josue assures them they are in care of the Baron now, be cool, and you will be safe. Easy for him to say!

After a drive they pull up in front of a house, and are led inside. Once the doors close the blindfolds are removed and they are in a large 2 story house, with one of the floors removed (so its like a 20 foot ceiling). Around the edges on what was once the top floor are bands of armed bangers, while a few escort them into the center of a dirt floor. Sitting across from them, flanked by heavily armed guards, is the Baron.

Thick and grey, with only a hint of his original dark brown skin tone evident, it is his dress which stands out. A high black top hat, a black sport jacket and white face paint in the shape of a skull. An imposing figure, indeed, even without the escort.

"Tell me of this night. Leave nothing unsaid."

Together they retrace the details of the evening. The baron nodding along, and occasionally interjecting to clarify a point. Then he takes a moment to enlighten them on some missing pieces. First of all, the dead guy is not some envoy for Donovan, like Mason said, but is Spook Wilson, one of the Barons boys. Second, there is no kindred in town named Mason, or if there is, the Baron has never heard of him and that seems unlikely. Why Spook was meeting with this charlatan is anyones guess. His final pieces of advice come after he identifies the attacker as Caitlin Meadows, once the hound of Augusto Vidal: Do not engage Donovan until you have the answers, lest you might be held accountable.

Father Knows Best

Back in the park, Julian realizes that Father John Marrow resides nearby at Corpus Christi Church. Maybe he might have some insights? Together they trek to the church, and request his audience.

He brings them upstairs to his office and chats with them regarding the events from this evening. He, too, has no knowledge of a kindred named Mason. Otherwise, however, he has little of use to say. On exit, Petra uses her obfuscate to skulk around and see if she can glean any new information, but is not successful.

And the Horse You Rode in on

Dejected, the group walks the night calling contacts and otherwise engaging their normal night lives. A tidbit or two arises, notably that Buckethead, a contact of Petras, believes the Dirty Throws keyed his truck, and he clipped one on a park bench but he got away. He has nothing but contempt for them, and if given the chance he would ice them for no charge.

Out of the night they hear the familiar clip-clop of a horse drawn carriage. Being a scenic neighborhood, these kinds of tours are common year round. Thinking nothing of it, they step aside and let the cart pass, but are surprised when it stops and the coachman addresses them.