Night of Three Princes

Fox, seemingly calm, walked up to and stared at the Torpered body of Leonard Babbage in front of him.

The stake neatly embedded in his heart, and then the slowly decaying ashen remains of Francis, the man who put it there, by his side. The Nosferatu guest had made quick work of Francis without a word, quickly removing his head from behind after dropping out of Obfuscation, settling the Boon debt between him and Leonard. Unsurprisingly really, Leonard likely knew how he would react, given how the Malkavians had been treated in the city recently, and his announcement of the fate their clan mate at the hands of the Tremere, all in an effort to keep the city from devolving into warring clans.

The City’s power balance was in trouble now, and no one else was coming forward to claim Praxis, any remaining members of the Amaranthine Coven would either be unsuitable or unwilling to claim it. The powder keg that was Edinburgh would tear itself apart if the Tremere were to try and claim it and Samuel would rather eat hot coals than paint that particular target on his back. No, the candidates for Praxis were thin on the ground.

And then, even above the shouting and panic of the court, a voice whispered in Fox’s ear, “Claim it. Claim it now.”

He didn’t even need to look to the source of the voice, but his face turned nonetheless, his eyes however remained affixed to the stake in Leonard, almost as if it was the only thing in the room, the dark blood staining the stake where it pierced the heart.


The Tremere Regent knew the situation as well as anyone. He was a… Ally. They both knew where they stood with each other, neither would try and make a move, or royally piss off the other. A respectful truce, given each other’s standings.
Fox’s gaze left the Torpered body of Leonard and the splinted wood of the stake and gazed across the room, the noise and voices a distant memory as his mind raced. He couldn’t claim Praxis, he couldn’t be an Archon and a Prince at the same time, it was so much to give up, and he had no desire for the power of Prax…

The din of the room was suddenly silenced as a voice boomed out across the Court, Fox blinked, rewinding the last seconds inside his own head.

“My name is Fox of Clan Brujah, and I hereby claim the Praxis of Edinburgh, does anyone wish to Challenge this?”

He had shouted it. It was as if his own mouth had betrayed him. The sentence was barely a formed thought and his mouth just took over and shouted it without a care, and now his mind was racing to catch up with it.

Fox’s hand griped his sword ready to strike against any challenge, his back suddenly pressed against another, he glanced behind him, the now familiar maroon jacket of Samuel, guns drawn and scanning the room for threats, he had barely noticed Samuel leave his seat where they had both witnessed the events that unfolded barely a minute ago.

“Clan Toreador stands with Prince Fox” A second voice piercing the silence. Anitisia, of course she would support him, they had been close for so long now, family almost, or as close to family as Fox allowed himself.
“As does Clan Tremere.” Cerberus stated loud enough for those closest to hear.

The tension in the room suddenly un-wound like a broken spring, the previous shouting and panic now replaced with quiet murmuring of acceptance as plans of favour began to form, a new Prince, a new Praxis, new opportunities.

“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.” The only words whispered by Fox for the next minute before he shook himself and began to focus on what needed to be done.

First a Seneschal, he needed a Seneschal. Samuel? No he didn’t like attention. Anitisia? Yes, Anitisia would be perfect for the role, he could trust her, and he did with his life, she was the first he told of his Archonship and they shared similar ideals. Where was she? Before he made any decisions he would need to get her on board first, she could hardly say no.

He sat down into a chair, his chair, and looked over court, his court, his Praxis and got to work.