Gangrel Antitribu Newsletter

Official VEKN Gangrel-antitribu Newsletter Volume 6 Number 12 December 2003.


In this Cold, Damp and Windy Issue .....

FICTION: The Case of the Hand on the Door, Third and Final Instalment.
DECK: Black Hand Anarchs


i'm still gibbering slightly over the Black hand in general and the
!gangrel therein in particular, but i think first impressions are
valuable, and here are mine, at least as regards the Black Hand
expansion !Gangrel.

Jalan-Aajav. May i kiss your sneakers, sir?
Advanced Sebastian Goulet. All of your Allies belong to us!
Soldat and Skryta Zyleta. Anyone for a threesome with the handsome Mr
Maria Stone. i once had a mad student who looks exactly like you.
Fabulous discipline spread. And fabulous, erm, spread tout court.
Jesus Alcaza. Hmmm. You remind me of a guy named Carter. Together, you
remind me of how good weenie celerity can be. Hmmm, and thrice hmmm.
Talons of the Dead. Wow! And you say this is going to happen to me
every month for at least the next thirty years????? KEWL!!!!!!!!!!


FICTION: The Case of the Hand on the Door, Third and Final Instalment.

In fact there were two luncheons at High Force Hall that Sunday, three
if one counted the servants. Shortly before the Land Monitor rattled
up to the door, Professor Ramanishi had arrived from Petersfield and a
successful operation on MacAndrew. Shown into the house he presented
Gaston the cook with a bloody parcel, which the Frenchman accepted
with evident pleasure and gratitude. A little preparation later,
M'Kwazi was summoned to the kitchen, from which he emerged carrying a
covered tray. This was born up to the second floor, where the strange
meeping thing that had been Kelly was securely held.

Down at the old Varney place luncheon was delayed, awaiting an
important guest; and eventually, half an hour late, the Imperial
German Attache for naval affairs drove up in a smart Mercedes motor

"So very sorry for lateness, Mr Fitzgerald! Most grateful for the

Fitzgerald smiled, his large luminous green eyes seeming never to rest
on his interlocutor's face, but always to be trying to make out
something in the shadows that surrounded him.

"Come in, allow me to introduce my son George, and this is Dr

"Ah! So very interesting! Such perfect preservation, apart from the
lips and ears! Can he hear us?"

"Alas no, we were only able to summon the animal soul back into the
body. The human soul went into a ring, we think, and our information
is that the Britishers have it, without knowing what it is. But we
will recover it, and the sacrifice will be made worthy."

"Worthy of this famous Long Man, you mean?"

"Just so, the great evil which Robinson awoke in the City of Pillars
and which has been hungering for him ever since. He tried to escape it
by fleeing to the distant past, where he died and was mummified,
causing himself to be wrapped in these linen bands whose hieroglyhs,
read aright, provide instructions on the building of the very
Anachronomatic engine which took him there. But now we have recovered
him and the Long Man has his scent again. We hope to bring it to the
surface tomorrow night, and then it will be led towards London, using
Robinson as bait."

"When will it arrive?"

"The old writings suggest the speed of a running man, so say 8 to 10
hours. It is preceded by a cloud of mephitic vapour that can kill a
man in minutes."

"Excellent, the fleet is prepared and the bombardment of London will
begin the moment your signal is received. Moments later, Zeppelin
airships will appear over Edinburgh and Dublin, dropping aerial
torpedoes and weapons respectively. At the same time, our agents in
India will inaugurate revolt. The British Empire will be overthrown!"

The Attache's eyes were glittering and his face flushed with
excitement at this prospect. Fitzgerald smiled.

"Freedom from oppression, our hopes and dreams fulfilled. Come through
to lunch, and let us toast the downfall of all tyrants!"

Through they went, leaving the withered mummy that had been Robinson
still strapped into its wooden chair. Fitzgerald had been partially
right about the state of Robinson's re-embodyment, but wrong about his
ability to hear and to understand. Robinson's thought reached out of
the house, up the hanger and down to High Force Hall, where Harnden's
guests were now taking dessert in the drawing room.

The sad death of Jamie Taige apart, Harnden's guests were in a
positive mood as they cracked nuts, sliced figs and selected dates, a
mood comprising 30% fine Madeira and 70% belief in their successful
overthrow of evil. As evidence of this good humour the volume and
hilarity of the conversation had been increasing since they came
through from lunch, and so it was some minutes before they became
aware of the insistent rat-tat-rat-rat-tat-at-at which was coming from
a little box located on the occasional table by the Bay window. All
their eyes turned towards it. rat-rat. rat-tat. tat-tat-tat.
rat-tat-rat. Then O'Keeth spoke.

"It's .... Morse ..... hang on, let me get a pencil ....."

And after some minutes of frantic scribbling, this is what O'Keeth had
written on the fly-leaf of a convenient book:


The tapping continued as the friends spelled out the message. Once
they had done so, Jefferson opened the box. Inside was the scarab

"I'm guessing this is the one "they" mustn't get?"

Before anyone could answer the floor of the house gave a great lurch;
glasses crashed to the floor and then the whole building gave a
convulsive shudder. At the same instant, a vile smell began to
permeate the room. Without any need for discussion, the whole party
staggered towards the French windows and out into the garden.

"Shona, Colum, Jack - take the ring and go to London, the driver will
take you. Quickly! Ramanishi and I will make preparations for your

They raced round the corner of the house to find the driver already in
the car, and the engine running. No sooner had they leapt aboard than
the brake was released, and the car sped off down the drive. Looking
back, it seemed to Shona that a wave of earth followed them for some
hundreds of yards, but in the gathering afternoon gloom it was hard to
be sure.

"So is this wise - rushing off to London on the tap-so of a
poltergeist, or whatever it is?"

"Not a Poltergeist. That was Robinson. Poor fellow, I misjudged him."

"I thought you thought he wasn't dead?"

"Undead, then - he and the stolen mummy were, are, one and the same,
it's obvious to me now. He left our era by time machine, the
Anachronomatic engine, going back into Ancient Egypt to escape the
notice of the Long Man of Windhover hangar. But now he is back in our
time, thanks to those Sinn Feiners and their Daemonic dabbling. So
much now falls into place!"

"This Long Man then, you know what it means?"

"Death and Degradation, the End of the Empire, maybe of Life itself on
this island. It's a, a, a horror from the old Celtic past. Legends say
that the first people of this island, the Fomorians, had commerce with
it, carving the chalk in its hideous likenesses, or alleged likenesses
- for it is invisible to mortal sight. The largest of those chalk
carvings supposedly was on Windhover hangar until defaced by the early
Christians. The Fomori called it up by the sacrifice of a special
individual, and there's a confused account of a terrible mile-long
blankness that choked and crushed their enemies, and then themselves,
those that did not flee to Ireland, leaving the land a stinking desert
for hundreds of years, and corrupting their line so that in the end
the whole race died out - it's in the so-called Fourth Branch of the
Mabinogion. I only remember little bits of the text, let's see ' In
the spaces between the worlds it walks. By its stench shall ye
sometimes know it, and yet see it not, but ever it is aware of thee,
and hungreth for the soul that knows the way. ' "

"That would be Robinson, the soul that knows the way?"

"Yes, or anyone else unlucky enough to know the Thing Which Should Not
Be Known. By the way, where are we?"

"Just past Petersfield."

"It's just occurred to me that it would probably be quicker by train.
Driver, please turn the car around - we want to get to Petersfield

The driver braked, but rather than the car turning round, he did - a
Colt revolver in his hand. As he raised it Jack and Shona realised
that it was not the driver, and Colum, who had known since they set
off from High Force Hall that the man beside him was Kennedy, found
that he had to make a decision between his friends and the cause to
which he had dedicated his youth. A sharp struggle later, Kennedy was
stunned and bound, and the three friends stood panting over his
recumbent form. O'Keeth's decision had been made.

The car was the only serious casualty of the fight, stopping several
.45 slugs with important elements of its mechanism; so, leaving
Kennedy in the vehicle, the three companions set off back down the
road towards Petersfield. It was quite dark by now, and the way was
slippery with fallen leaves. As they came over Alton Edge they could
see the lights of Petersfield below, and Shona sighed with relief. At
the same instant there was a faint click, and the air ahead of them
filled with strange diaphanous floating abominations, obscene
congeries of tentacles, claws and writhing amoeboid bodies several
feet long. Each of the companions gave an involuntary shriek, and the
things began to move towards them. A strange ozonic smell preceded
them, and Shona cried out again.

"The, the Museum! The things that killed Aitchison!"

They were upon them now. Levelling her pistol, Shona blew one of them
to gelatinous shreds. O'Keeth emptied Kennedy's revolver into another,
hardly slowing it, and with a hideous scything of drooling insectoid
jaws it seized hold of his arm. O'Keeth fought free, but the wound was
terrible and his head spun with pain and loss of blood. Jefferson too
was bitten, but he was not trying to fight; he was running, running
madly into the midst of them, flailing his arms and then leaping -
there was a splintering crash and a grunt. Like snuffed candles, the
things disappeared.

"Help me, o help me, guguguguguughh ......."

Recovering, Shona and O'Keeth ran as fast as they could towards where
Jefferson was struggling on the ground with a huge strong man wearing
thick black-glass goggles. It took all their combined power to subdue
him, and then they saw that it was the Vicar's son, George Washington
Fitzgerald, lying on the ground amidst the shattered remnants of what
looked like a large camera.

"What the dickens is that?"

"Apart from broken, you mean? I think it is a dark-colour lantern -
it's supposed to illuminate the spaces between the worlds, so that
THEY can see you, if you can see them - hence the goggles, I imagine."

"Shhh! There's someone coming!"

Indeed, the sounds of a pony-cart driven at speed were now plainly
audible. Bundling their captive off the road they waited in the
darkness as it approached, and were very relieved to see that the trap
was driven by Harnden.

"Where's the car?"

"Ahead. The driver-impersonater is still in it. And we also captured
one of the Fitzgeralds. This is the machine he used to kill

"They'll both hang for murder. We found the real driver choking on his
own blood in the garage. Let's get them, and this machine, down to

Once down in the town the Irish patriots were delivered to the police,
and the three companions to the train station. Three hours later they
were turning the key from the museum chest in the lock of 29a Great
Clarendon St. In the basement, shrouded by a dust sheet, was the
Anachronomatic Engine.

Early the next morning the Engine was in Harnden's pony-trap at the
foot of Windhover hangar and the party were waiting the signal to
attack the Varney place. Suddenly the ring, in Jefferson's waistcoat
pocket, began to vibrate, and at the same instant a head appeared out
of an attic skylight, followed by a body that, though humanoid in
outline, scuttled like a stiff-legged spider over the roof and down
the wall. Shouts and shots came from within the house, evidently
directed at the strange fugitive, which was now staggering down the
drive to the gate, jerking occasionally when struck by a bullet.
Watching through field glasses Harnden nodded approvingly, and when he
judged the moment right he lowered the glasses, raised his hand and
fired a flare pistol. Seconds later the old Varney place was smashed
into atoms by a six-inch shell from the Land Monitor, and the Empire
was saved, at least for the moment.

Of the strange dry thing that had been Robinson, suffice it to say
that it was reunited with its ring and its engine, and that it
disappeared from that age of humanity. No-one of the companions liked
to think about it very much, and in time they began to wonder if it
had all been an hallucination. Perhaps it was. Shona and Jack were
made Members of the British Empire for their services. George
Washington Fitzgerald and Timothy Kennedy were hanged for murder at
Petersfield and Pentonville gaols respectively. Their last words were
"Ireland for ever! Ireland shall be free!", and eventually it was.
Colum O'Keeth, a renegade to his own land, was decorated and promoted
and became an important operative in British Military Intelligence. He
also acquired the undying enmity of the IRA, with the consequence that
..... but no, that was a different affair, and this is the End of the
Case of the Hand on the Door.



DECK: Black Hand Anarchs

This is a concept deck which didn't really work out in practice, and
yet i'm nearly sure that there is a viable strategy in here - to make
a deck of Black Hand Anarchs, using all the funky-but-subtle specials
of those two groups to do horrid stuff to people. i only played this
version once, getting thoroughly kicked in by Michael's !Brujah, but
as i say still think there is something to work on here, so have not
TOTALLY liquidated it.

DECK NAME: Black Hand Anarchs
CREATED BY: Legbiter
CONCEPT: Cross the Black hand with the Anarchs and, erm, see what
comes out.

2 x Henri Lavenant pot qui DOM OBT
2 x Selena AUS DOM THA
2 x Banjoko obt pot DOM
2 x Wah Chun-Yuen cel dom pre POT
Tarbaby Jack dom ser ANI OBF POT
Blackhorse Tanner AUS DOM FOR
Soldat cel dom obf POT PRO
Yasmin the Black dom pre AUS THA

12 dom, 8 pot, 4 obt, 4 aus, 3 cel, 3 pre, 3 tha, 2 obf, 2 qui, 1 ser,
1 ani, 1 pro.

30 masters [15 normal, 15 trifles]
WMRH Talk radio
Political HG
Elysian Fields
4 x Blood Doll
Anarch Free Press
Anarch Railroad
Hospital Food
Seattle Committee
3 x Dominion
5 x Life in the City
5 x Galaric's Legacy
5 x Corporal Reservoir

60 minion, 30 of which Anarch/Black Hand, 30 Happy Families
6 x Diversion
4 x Improvised tactics
2 x Body bag
Highway Haven: RV
2 x Stolen Police Cruiser
4 x Car Bomb
4 x The Mole
4 x Skullduggery
Flaming Candle
Circumspect Revelation
.44 magnum

30 non-anarch; 12+12+8+4+4 = 40
[12/40] x 30 = disciplineless [9]
[12/40] x 30 = dominate [9]
[8/40] x 30 = potence [6]
[4/40] x 30 = Obtenebration [3]
[4/40] x 30 = auspex [3]

Death of my Conscience
3 x Undead Strength
2 x Thrown gate

Pulse of the Canaille
2 x Telepathic misdirection

4 x Conditioning
4 x Deflection
3 x Tenebrous Form

2 x Ministry
2 x Watch commander
4 x Forced Awakening

This deck definitely needs work, and as a first approximation it will
be made a "true" happy families deck, ie MASSIVELY increase the amount
of Dominate which, as we all know, is a Good Thing. Probably cut the
masters radically and go with just dom, pot and disciplineless/Anarch,
raise up the going-to-anarch cards a little, and try again.


And that is NOT it for this year. There will be a Christmas special
just before the happy hols, with all the usual fun from Legbiter hall,
plus Hot Tips for Christmas gifts, and maybe even a deck or two. Seeya