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Table of Contents 2 - Sight of a Future - General Fiction A Letter to Misha - IC Vampire 3 - Perspectives - OOC General The AIL Files - OOC General Blood Dolls - Poetry 4 - If I Were You- Poetry 5 - Qedeshan Theology Part II- IC Vampire 9 - The Lost Art of the Chronicle- OOC General 10 - Review of Meet Joe Black- OOC General Insights Into the Toreador - OOC Vampire 12 - Understanding Disciplines: Auspex - OOC Vampire 16 - Los Quetzalcoatles- Poetry 19 - Letter from the Editor - OOC General Discovering Garou: Rage by Tye Graham That's right, the power of the Garou. It's what gives each and every one of them the power to hand a serious aggravated beat down to all those leech characters. It's what keeps them going, and I figured it could use a little explaining. After attending ICC, it left a lot of questions in my head about what Rage could do and how the rules worked, so I thought I'd do a little delving and this is what I turned up. The two important things about Rage are knowing how to get it and knowing how to use it. Using it is fairly well spelled out in the rules but could use a little translation. Since there are a ton of ways to get Rage, we'll cover the normal ones. See Rage, Page 6 |
YESTERDAY by C. Jaison Williams The room was awash with color: bright, vibrant, intoxicating color. It was almost enough to quell the darkness from outside. The night called to him, no, to his hunger like a siren’s song. But he sat amidst the bright neon signs, pastel walls, cool countertops, and faded black & white stills of the diner quiet, still. He had spent a good few hours idly stirring a cold cup of coffee, untouched, while not gazing at the open newspaper in front of him. Wars here, births there, a victory, a defeat all in stark black & white messages of other places lying unfulfilled, unread. He sat quietly letting the jukebox play tune after random tune, each one birthing image after image within his mind’s eye of his youth, his middle age: of summers, winters, springs and falls. Dreamlike remembrances of starry nights and sun-filled days. The sun... oh god it had been so long since the sun. Days spent in the grassy fields outside of town, breezes blowing softly, sun tanning his once healthy pink skin. The motion of the waitress passing trails that thought, warping then breaking it. Hair caught up in a practical bun, with rebellious wisps dancing to their own wild tune, dancing around her pink rosy neck reddened by her stiff, starched collar. She moves with a slow dogged, yet smooth, motion from table to table offering the same practiced smile. To customer to customer she passes, that smile, soft of lip showing just a hint of teeth, warm but distant, open but neither sensual nor frigid. A smile she has probably used a hundred upon a hundred times... See Yesterday, Page 4 |
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