|
Post by Legionnaire on Sept 12, 2018 8:07:12 GMT
The voices in Clyde Maddick's head spoke to each other almost as often as they did Clyde. Normally, they could almost be likened to the image of an angel on one shoulder and a devil on the other - they offered Clyde insight and new ways of thinking, encouraged actions, discouraged others, tried to persuade him to think as they did, belittled other lines of thought. They shared only one common thread - they all, in one way or another, pushed him to create. Individual voices Clyde could disregard, and occasionally drown out, though not always without effort - but in those rare instances that the voices harmonised and spoke as one, they became impossible for him to ignore.
Daphne had been gone for several days, attending a prestigious art exhibition over in Da Gama, the Forlorn Isles' capital city. Clyde's hands had not stopped moving since she left, painting, sculpting, cutting, breaking, mending, attaching, and above all, creating. The whirlwind urge to create art had consumed him almost completely and left him barely sleeping, let alone bothering to feed. His hunger had grown unnoticed as time had passed, and now he was well past the tipping point. Whereas normally there were many voices echoing in his head, now they spoke as one, and the hunger in his veins had left Clyde unable to resist their commands.
Near-starving, Clyde had ventured into the basement and strapped himself into a chair of his own devising. This had happened twice before, months and months apart, and he knew how to take advantage in it. The straps on the chair were enough to hold him normally - but a frenzied Kindred, trapped and desperate for food, would break its bonds easily. The thick stone walls and even thicker steel door were another matter. Scattered throughout the well-lit room were art supplies - paints, pencils, clay, wood, canvas, anything and everything he could think of. He didn't know what he would need, but he knew what the voices wanted him to work on - it sat in the corner, a misshapen lump of torturous, frenzied activity.
The rage and hunger of the beast, captured and frozen in time.
Strapped in, the harmonised voices in Clyde's head spoke into his ear, guiding and coaxing Clyde to embrace his desperate hunger and let the beast awaken.
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 12, 2018 8:45:08 GMT
--EAT YOU FUCKER--C'MON--shh--its ok clyde--give in--EAT--DEVOUR--I WANNA HURT THINGS--I WANT SOMETHING TO HURT--this is ok--everything is fine-this is what you are--
Was it his mind? Was it the beast? Did it matter? Whatever screamed in his head made his art that much better. It was clay, it was blood, it was fingernails and skin plastered on a disfigured totem, stabbed with stakes and covered in pulled teeth. It was perfect, but it wasn't there yet, I'm not there, GOD I'M HUNGRY... I'm so hungry... I'm so... hungry. Clyde screamed furiously, and incomprehensibly, in the small room. His eyes were bloodshot and his skin was stretched thin from lack of blood. He looked like a monster. He was a monster. Clyde was a hungry horrid monster and the only thing he wanted was blood. The only thing that would satisfy him was blood. Blood. Now.
It tore at Clyde's mind, The Beast. His Angels became quiet, whispering in the corners of his skull, chittering in anticipation. They had coaxed it out. The other part of Clyde had come to play. With a roar, Clyde raged against his restraints, ready to hunt, ready to escape and feed. The Beast fueled his movements, making him struggle against the leather. His bulging eyes stared at the door out of the basement as he struggled against his restraints, and he hissed as he tried to escape, baring long sharp fangs. I want out. Time to eat.Clyde, earlier had trusted that the time locks on the door would hold. He had staved of the demands of the voices for long enough to at least prepare for the experiment. His latest divine inspiration had been musings on the nature of frenzy and the beast. The voices urged him to give in to the beast. He knew however that he had to keep the residents of Oddhaven safe from any rampage, and more importantly, maintain the masquerade. The door to the basement was reinforced, and Clyde had set a time lock on the outside that would last for many hours, enough time to frenzy and create, then come back down and feed in a controlled manner. His beast at the moment however, was concerned with escape. Free me. Let me loose, coward.
Clyde rolls in frenzy to try and escape his restraints
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 12, 2018 9:31:34 GMT
Clyde twisted his head down and gnawed at the leather binding his arm, twisting in seemingly impossible ways. Eventually his sharp, piercing fangs tore through the leather on the seat restraining him, allowing him to free his hand and tear away the other restraints. He charged the door, salivating and clawing at the handle. It wouldn't budge however. The steel was reinforced and the lock was sound.
What did you do.
The voices in the back of Clyde's skull chittered and laughed. Mocking the ravenous beast, taunting it, taking joy in the fact that Clyde had tricked it, locked the monster in a room with nothing to do but rage.
What did you do!? You tricked me! You tricked me! You're mine! I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!
Whether or not the booming voice in Clyde's skull was truly the Beast didn't matter to him. It still drove his fury and his action. Clyde spent fifteen minutes pounding on the hard steel door, leaving bloodstains from his fingers and bloodied fists. Eventually he flew down the stairs in a rage, picking up easels and throwing them about the room, biting into wood, slamming his forehead against the walls.
It felt like he was punishing himself. It was like the beast knew that the other inhabitant in the body had caged it, and had been taunted into humiliation. He threw paint and his own blood all over the lump of body fluids, clay, and destroyed art supplies. He clawed at it, tore at it, even bit it. That didn't seem to cut it though. It didn't embody the rage that he felt. It didn't describe his self loathing, or reflect the state of being a caged animal! It hurt! It hurt his heart and his mind, and the mysterious voice, be it Beast or no, wanted Clyde to hurt, and he wanted it to hurt bad.
You Bastard. I'll make you pay. I'll make you pay for tricking me!
Clyde walked over to his supplies and pulled out a knife. He put his hand on the floor and brought the blade down on his wrist, cutting it clean off. He screamed in utter agony, tearing off his clothing and wrapping the end of his limb to stop the bleeding. He began to laugh maniacally speaking in a dark and crazed voice, "We'll see how we like this in the morning, won't we Clyde?"
He stuck the hand atop his piece of art. It appeared as if the human soul were reaching out from the depths of an all consuming rage. He had done it. The piece was complete. He would need to partition the clay into fireable sections and make sure that the materials were soundly meshed in a way that would persist the firing process. The preservation of the human matter within the piece would be difficult to reconcile with the other mediums, but it would be worth it. As he thought about the finer details of the piece, he could feel the beast lull within his soul. He was becoming himself again. Himself, yet missing a hand.
Oh fuck. I did that. Clyde looked at his hand in shock. It hurt. It hurt so badly. Clyde started screaming again, unable to numb the pain.
--jeez you're crazy--wow clyde you went the whole nine yards on this one--proud of you buddy--I dunno he coulda done better in my book--oh shut up--you shut up--
The voices chittered amongst themselves as he rolled around on the ground in agony. He began to focus and started fueling what little blood was left in his system to his severed limb, regenerating it from nothing but his own vitae. Muscle and bone materialized from seemingly nothing as his hand began to repair itself before his eyes.
|
|
|
Post by Legionnaire on Sept 12, 2018 10:05:12 GMT
Using the ghoul rules for healing on page 501 of V20, Clyde spends two of his remaining blood points (only one remaining) and rolls to regenerate his missing hand immediately (Stamina, difficulty 8). If Clyde fails or botches this roll he will avoid permanent loss of his hand, but there may be other consequences.
ogPRZpFPp_p_ Just over the line! Clyde succeeds in regenerating his hand. The agony was excruciating, and the usage of all but the last droplet of vitae set the hunger burning within Clyde into a raging inferno that threatened to overwhelm his senses. The Beast, only recently lulled back into complacence, roused itself and thrashed against its cage - but it was still weak, and Clyde held on to himself. His bone regrew, his muscles knitted themselves into being, and his skin flowered from the bed of muscle to form a fresh hand. A last ache throbbed within the new appendage as his fingernails - fresh and pristine rather than permanently coated in paint - regrew, and with a few flexes of stiff fingers Clyde was as good as new. With his body healed, Clyde turned to his artwork. A swell of creator's pride rose within him as he beheld the wrecked and ruined piece of art before him. It was rare that Clyde could appreciate something as both its creator and as a beholder - but as it was the Beast that was the true architect of this piece, and he felt the fury and hunger of the creature wash through him out of the art. For once Clyde had his mind to himself, the voices pleased and quiet, and he closed his eyes and basked in the feelings that swept through him, the feeling of being adrift and alone on a blood-red ocean in a storm. It could not measure up to his masterwork back in America...but then it was not finished either. Clyde had timed his locks well - within fifteen minutes of the Beast's retreat, the doors were open again. Clyde was hungry, unimaginably so - the desire to feed, to replenish his vitae, began to consume him the instant he took his eyes off of the piece. On a Friday night in Oddhaven he'd have his pick of prey - but the Beast, for now at least, was caged, and his creative urges, though satiated, had not abated. Feed or continue working, he could do either - but he knew he only had a few hours at most until the Beast would break its chains again and feed itself. ·
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 12, 2018 20:28:19 GMT
Though satisfied with his work, Clyde worried about what his hunger meant. He would have to feed, he couldn't go on in this state any longer, but he didn't want to accidentally rouse the Beast, yet again, in concern for whoever his unwilling donor would be. Clyde had done it before. He had devoured the vitae of a person entirely before, on accident of course. He had felt so horrid, so terrifyingly guilty, that he even considered embracing them, maybe giving them one more chance at something akin to life. But what good would putting them in his shoes do? His actions shouldn't damn those he victimized to becoming monsters like him. Hunger chewed at his insides as he climbed the stairs. He would have to take the risk. He didn't want to enter torpor from starvation, and he was on the verge of doing so already. He couldn't spend blood to look any more human, so he would have to find a lone stranger and make it look like a strung out junkie. He had done it before, taking blood till they lost consciousness, planting a needle next to them, and calling an ambulance, hoping that the ER could make sure they got enough blood back into them. He walked towards the front door, planning to prowl Greene Village, looking for a lone people in alleys, maybe taking a smoke break near the end of a late night shift. Maybe a drunken loner with nothing to do on a Friday night. He may need to feed on multiple vessels to return to a functioning state. This might be a long night of hunting. He hoped he would get lucky. He didn't want to deal with large groups of warm, blood filled people. With his hunger it might be too much. He could only hope he had exhausted his beast earlier. Clyde plans to find a few separate people, and make them look like OD's taking about 3 or 4 blood points from each.
|
|
|
Post by Legionnaire on Sept 13, 2018 5:56:57 GMT
Hurrying through the empty art studio, Clyde shut and locked the door behind him and slipped out into the night. Clyde rolls to hunt at difficulty 6. Clyde rolls Perception + Alertness as he is searching for isolated individuals.
7rTaPCOPp_p_p_p_p_ Three successes! Greene Village was vibrant and alive on this warm Friday night, with groups of youths barhopping while nightclubbers raced from one venue to the next. Clyde blended in easily to these crowds who didn't look twice at him - after all, he looked just like all of the other artistic types who called Greene Village home, and the few people who noted the hunger in his eyes just thought he was high. Eventually, Clyde picked out a particularly drunk group of friends staggering their way along the twisting streets and began to discreetly tail them. It wasn't long before one tripped over and sprawled across the ground, entirely unnoticed by his equally hammered mates. They drew ahead and staggered around a sharp twist in the road before the lone drunkard could lift himself off the ground; the loner looked around for his friends and decided they must have taken a short cut through a dim, narrow alleyway nearby. Triumphant in the success of his drunk logic, he staggered purposefully into it and out of sight of the main street. ····
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 14, 2018 22:18:24 GMT
Clyde followed the man into the alley, and took some money out of his pocket as he approached the young bar hopper. "Hey man, I saw you trip back there. I think you dropped this." Clyde shouted down the alleyway, catching his prey's attention. "It's like twenty bucks, and it ain't mine, so if you want it you can have it." As Clyde waved the libra at the bar rat, he laced his speech with the dementive power of passion. The words reached through the young drunk's ears, stirring the greed within the his mind, attempting to make him more susceptible to Clyde's monetary beckon.
All the while, Clyde approached his food at a brisk pace, getting closer to nourishment with each word. He hoped monetary enticement would at least stop the man long enough for him to pounce. Clyde hated feeding on drunks, especially when he needed to do more hunting that same night. But easy prey was better than none, and sometimes it was good to feel drunk again.
|
|
|
Post by Legionnaire on Sept 15, 2018 0:00:29 GMT
Clyde rolls Charisma + Empathy at difficulty 5
yQkx5I7vp_p_p_p_p_p_ Three successes, effect lasts for the entire night. The drunk's ears perked up at the possibility of more drinking money - he knew he hadn't dropped anything, but he knew he was drunk, so who knew what he knew? He managed to sluggishly turn around, which was when Clyde's vitae-laced words burrowed into his skull, and suddenly all he could think about was how much beer twenty librae could buy him. Grinning, he staggered towards Clyde, slurring, "Oh, thanksh mate, you're a good bloke, give it here," and reaching out to take the note. ·····
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 15, 2018 0:20:37 GMT
With the money in the palm of Clyde's right hand, he slapped it into the palm of the drunkard, grabbing hold, like that of a sturdy handshake between 'bros'. Knowing that he had a firm grasp, Clyde then grabbed the forearm of his victim with his left hand, and with both arms yanked the forearm of the inebriated man towards him. With that, he simply lowered his head down he sunk his fangs into his prey, biting into the flesh like one would into an ear of corn, breaking the skin, attempting to end any possible resistance with the ecstasy of the kiss before a struggle even started.
|
|
|
Post by Legionnaire on Sept 15, 2018 0:47:39 GMT
Clyde rolls Dexterity + Brawl at difficulty 4 to deliver the Kiss. bcoRsdbtp_p_p_p_p_ Damn, that's one hell of a success. The drunkard could barely cry out before Clyde effortlessly sunk his fangs into his neck. The Beast surged within Clyde as the first drops of blood touched his lips and the Malkavian drank readily and greedily, savouring the intoxication of blood despite the paint-taste of alcohol in the drunk's veins. The frantic hunger threatened to take over as the drunkard relaxed into the ecstasy of the Kiss, letting Clyde draw the blood-filled body closer in a perverted twisting of a lover's embrace. Clyde is starving and rolls Willpower at difficulty 9 (only 1 BP in his reserves) to suppress the Beast and not drain the man dry.
p_p_p_p_p_p_p_p_p_ Great success. Clyde takes 5 BP and now has 6 total. The Beast demanded that he satiate himself, that he gorge on blood and drain the Kine dry. But Clyde was not so easily cowed, and kept the Beast firmly in its cage. He waited until the drunk sagged into unconsciousness before he withdrew his fangs, licking the blood off of his lips and kissing the Bite marks closed. He laid the drunk down onto the alleyway and withdrew a used needle from a pocket which he poked into one of the drunk's veins and left sticking out before using the drunk's phone to dial emergency services. Though a little woozy from the alcohol in the man's system, he knew it would not affect him. He was not full, but the vitae in his veins had quelled the fiery hunger, and he knew he would not have to struggle against the Beast again this night. Vanishing out of the alleyway, he went off to hunt again. Clyde rolls twice to hunt twice more, with the same conditions as previously. Every success on a hunting roll grants Clyde 1 BP. First hunt: p_p_p_p_p_ A botch on the first roll! The first success Clyde makes on the next hunting roll is negated. Second hunt:
p_p_p_p_p_ Three successes, one is negated to equal two. Clyde earns 2 BP and has 8 total. Unfortunately, Clyde's next two hunts were not remotely as successful as the first. His second hunt nearly ended in disaster when a police squadcar pulled up beside the darkened alley were Clyde was about to feed on his next victim and he had to beat a hasty retreat. The second went better, a young woman on her way home from a late shift, but Clyde was forced to kiss the wound closed and disappear when he heard somebody calling for her and was only able to take a few points of blood as a result. Losing himself again in the crowds, Clyde considered his blood reserves and whether to continue feeding or return home for the night. ·······················
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 15, 2018 1:20:49 GMT
Clyde figured he had eaten enough. Should he stay out any longer, he might test his luck too much and break the masquerade. It being the first time Daphne left him in charge of the studio, such an event would not color Clyde as the responsible Kindred he wanted to be seen as.
No longer hungry with blood, and no bodies to sour his night, Clyde wandered back to the gallery to put the finer touches on his work of art. Clyde mused on the notion of what it would take to adhere and preserve the fleshy components of his art. Too often did rot and poor adhesion ruin his grandest ideas. He wondered why the voices seemed so fixated on flesh. If it were blood it would make sense, but the voices too often hinted at their desire to craft flesh in impossible ways. It didn't do him good to pay them no mind. Perhaps there were secrets within these obsessions. Techniques that Clyde could only dream of.
With such thoughts on his mind he eventually found himself near the gallery. With the hunger abated he would continue the night with reason and tact, rather than bloodstarved fury.
|
|
|
Post by Legionnaire on Sept 15, 2018 3:48:59 GMT
Clyde rolls Wits + Alertness to remember something.
mvTWWYz5p_p_p_ As Clyde pushed the door open, he realised immediately that something was amiss - he knew he'd locked the door before leaving, but it had swung open before he'd even turned the key. With his senses alert, he ventured into the gallery. Initially, everything seemed fine - the front room where he and Daphne had their display and for-sale pieces, some of which were fairly valuable, was untouched. Thinking at first that maybe he had forgotten to lock the door - are you sure you aren't just imagining things? teased one of the voices - Clyde left the public section and went into the spacious studios at the back. He felt a surge of alarm at the sight of one of the large loading doors at the back thrown open and quickly scanned the area. Perception + Alertness.
p_p_p_p_p_ Pffft that's bad. Clyde relaxed. He thought he remembered the previous owner saying that door could be a little fritzy, and likely it had malfunctioned and opened itself. After all, nothing else seemed out of the ordinary. He must have simply forgotten to lock the door too. Even the voices assured him he was just being paranoid. ·······
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 15, 2018 4:24:54 GMT
Ehh. I've got all night, maybe I should finally try and fix the latch on that fuckin door. Clyde walked over to go examine the locking mechanism and latch on the door. He knew a bit about locks from his time as a kid getting into trouble in San Francisco, and getting into the good paint cabinets at RHSoD sometimes needed a little bit of persuasion from lockpicks. He was a smart chap and should easily be able to figure out why the stupid door would open on its own. He looked down at the latch and focused in on his visual prowess to help aid him in understanding the mechanism Clyde wants to go figure out how to fix that fuckin door. I think Intelligence + Larceny makes sense to identify any problems with it but it's up to you. What Clyde will do is use Auspex to improve his vision so as to better find abnormalities. If he happens to spot anything else in the process, so be it.
|
|
|
Post by Legionnaire on Sept 16, 2018 1:24:45 GMT
It's an electrical door, so Clyde will roll Intelligence + Technology.
UT_oitZKp_p_p_p_p_ No successes, man, Clyde is not doing so hot. Clyde opened up the electrical box for the automated door, intending to check if there was any loose wiring. How hard could it be, really? Very hard, as it turned out - Clyde couldn't make heads or tails of the bundles of wires inside of the box, and eventually he threw his hands up in frustration and slapped the switch to shut the door. Then he slapped it again, and cursed because it wasn't moving. Stepping outside, he checked to make sure there was nothing jamming the door from closing. Perception + Alertness, difficulty 2
p_p_p_p_p_ Three successes. It wasn't hard for him to notice the screwdriver that somebody had jammed into the receiver box above the doorway, which had evidently fried the system and let somebody open the door without resistance. ·········
|
|
|
Post by Clyde Maddick on Sept 26, 2018 4:34:30 GMT
"What the fuck..." Clyde muttered under his breath. Daphne is gonna fucking kill me. Clyde scrambled back inside and shut the bay door before searching desperately throughout the back rooms to make sure none of their effects had been taken. He first checked inside Daphne's part of the haven where she did most of her work and creative endeavors before running downstairs to make sure nobody had discovered his experiments.
How the fuck could I let this happen? How the fuck... Shit and everything was going so well too... God I fuckin' hate unlife sometimes.
--heeeey don't worry--just chill out--yeah no one wants your shitty art anyways clyde--c'mon who would even want to steal some lowlife's art--Daphne's popular though--yeah--she's popular--her stuff is worth something--
Fuck. Please let everything be there, Please!
|
|