Senhor_do_gamer

It’s a new Dark Age for the dead. When the Second Inquisition's vampire hunters hacked phone lines and computer networks to expose and destroy vampires all over the world, the elders turned to undead couriers like you. For ten years, you’ve raced across the desert between cities, delivering vital information and supplies. But when an old friend reappears with a plan to disrupt the blood trade across the American Southwest, everything you’ve built starts crashing down.

Outrun the Competition. Drive, hide, or fight back! Unleash the powers of your blood in ancient Disciplines to change form, vanish from sight, or dominate the minds of your enemies. Employ blood magic, inhuman strength, and the creatures of the night to escape destruction—or just run your enemies off the road and keep driving.

Ashaigloarie

Those old coveralls let you pass as a maintenance worker just about anywhere; they were better protection from prying eyes than any Nosferatu's invisibility arts.


"Carrying water for the Ivory Tower, eh, Menas Blackburn?" Julian said with a little chuckle, hoisting the plastic gallon jugs out of the back of the Tracker. Each read ¡Buena suerte! or something like it in blue Sharpie.


You didn't laugh. This wasn't humanitarian work.


Or maybe it was. The desert Princes still fear the thing that slept under those sands. They told you that if it woke up hungry, it would tear this land apart.


"How long you think we're gonna do this?" Julian asked. Julian talked too much, but sometimes he cut through the bullshit with words that carried a constellation of meanings. How long: decades? Centuries? We: neonates, nothing but larvae in the eyes of their elders. And this: this awful work.


12