8 May 2008, The Manchester Examiner

Midnight Violence Strikes Portsmouth Wharfs

The Tillson and Marshal Transfer Company Warehouse burned in a mysterious fire that came burst through the south end of the structure around Midnight. The offices and loading dock area of the structure were destroyed in flames hot enough to cause the masonry to crumble. Termed 'a war zone', by police officials, fire fighter and investigator efforts were hampered by exploding ammunition within the structure.

It may be some days before authorities can safely probe the wreckage of the building and look for clues. Several workers from the company were thought to be inside at the time of the blaze and it is not known if they reached safety.

After Dark, at the Communal Haven, Auburn, Maine

Skelton's dark eyes fixed on the breach of the shotgun, listening as the news was delivered by the runner from Kittery. The scared neonate left quickly, probably glad to be on his way back to his pack, leaving Skelton alone with his thoughts.

Tillson and Marshal went up in flames, no apparent survivors, great mysteries left for the Kine to unravel. Of course, the list of suspects for the deed was long, since Ace spared no expense in pissing off and on as many people as possible. The darkness in the Brujah Antitribu's eyes grew as he realized that anyone could have been holding the match--including Pendragon himself.

The shotgun hit the table with a thud as a throwing knife was pulled from a boot. He considered the edge, the anger rising in his eyes as McCarthy stepped in, almost like he knew to be there. Skelton's gaze rose to meet the Assamite's as the dagger flew from his had to bury itself in the wood of the wall. He hated McCarthy, really, but the weird assassin with the twisted ways had made himself quite useful in the time since he'd showed among the locals. "On cue, McCarthy. Why don't you tell me what's going on out there?" he said with a cool tone.

McCarthy smiled a weird toothy grin at Skelton. It was a good night, one that paid off with information that he'd been after for a while now. "Welp...you knows about the fire over cross in Portsmouth, so I'll not be troubling you about it." Skelton's nod affirmed that and he started to speak again "Got word from our boy up north...says that something big is happening but didn't know exactly what, but that ole Pendy is doing something in Concord. They had him looking all over for signs of some elusive Ventrue."

"Any luck?" Skelton asked, dark eyes still burning as he rose to grab his knife from the wall.

"I'd say not, from the way he was talkin. They also gots some irons in the fire to move some stuff around, specially down toward Salem and Providence."

"Manchester?"

"Dead quiet. They might be hiding in their holes, thinkin that Pendy's burning the place down again." McCarthy said with a toothy grin.

"Doubtful." Skelton grunted with an arrogant flick of his blade at the wall again. "You find our elusive friend, the Knight Inquisitor?"

A wickedly cruel smile parted the Assamite's lip "Oh...yes indeedy. I think I did. I'll go extend your invitation to her, just as soon as she shows back up again."

Skelton levelled a venomous gaze as McCarthy, who actually shifted in spite of himself and said "Good. Ms. Remington and I need to talk."

Same night, In an old house in Lebanon

Jacques Sirque left Pendragon's study amid a barrage of flying objects. While he was privately amused by the events in Portsmouth, and even wanted to shake the hand of whomever took the little smartass out of the picture. Pendragon had forced him to embrace the fool and then had blamed Sirque for every infraction that the moron made.

It crossed his mind that Ace might be pulling something, but then he dismissed the thought. Ace was a brute and a thug--clever simply wasn't in him. Either way, the potential collapse of vanguard in Portsmouth presented fewer problems than the raging Pendragon surmised. Sirque had eyes most everywhere and knew that the Sabbat might try to move over there--or not. It would be very interesting to see who swooped in and...who was backing them.

He placed his hands in his jeans and strolled away down the dark hall, comfortable in the fact that the information from the spies flowed smoothly and efficiently. Sirque held a lot of the cards in his hands these days, especially with the rest of the brood uncertain as to the whims of "The Boss". The now dead, neonate who delivered the news from Gunther was a basic testament to why Pendragon's child, not necessarily Pendragon himself, would keep control and would someday take his sire's place.