Results of the Millennium Cultist storyline are talliedreverendadams
Horatio Ballard watched the truck roaring closer. Lights off, it raced along the long private road, past the fallow fields of tobacco, illuminated by the clear stars and bright moon above. Despite the assurances he had received, Horatio was beginning to regret his decision to be here and take delivery personally. Having recognized the threat and advocated for this course of action, he felt obligated to see it though.

The vehicle screeched to halt in front of the main plantation building. Horatio nodded to the guards on either side of him, lined up along the long wrap-around porch, before he began to descend. He gripped the railing to steady himself as he lowered his considerable bulk, step by step, and marched forward to meet his guests.

The old Ventrue's heart sank as the doors to the truck swung open. Joseph O'Grady climbed out flashing his distinctive red hair and toothy grin. Clearly not everyone was interested is making this go smoothly.

"Well, well, look who showed up to sign for this crap." O'Grady strode forward. Horatio looked over his left shoulder as another figured stepped from the other side of the cab, but remained in shadows. Ballard peered into the darkness and thought he recognized him from their files on the Sabbat. Sutphen?

"I do not know how the…"

Horatio cut O'Grady off. "No. I suspect you don't."

As the two stood facing each other, there was loud clang as a steel case landed beside them on the pavement. Three more men, ghouls probably, had emerged from the back of the truck and were busy tossing crates and boxes from the covered cargo area. Most of the containers were labeled: Danger, Explosive Materials, Handle with Care, Hazardous Materials, Horatio struggled to maintain his composure as each came crashing down next to him.

A wooden crate smashed open as it landed, spilling Russian knock-off assault rifles onto the ground. O'Grady scooped up one of the rifles and clacked the ammo clip back into place.

"Yep. It's all here. In gooood working condition. I can provide a little demonstration if you like." He gripped the rifle and extended it, pointing it one-handed at Horatio so the barrel hung there a few inches from his nose.

The corpulent Ventrue regarded him coolly. He heard the guards behind him lunging for their holstered weapons and extended a hand to his side to calm them.

"That will be unnecessary… and unwise." Horatio stared down the barrel of the gun for long seconds until a black tendril, a shadow, came from behind the red-headed gunman, and wrapped around the barrel of the rifle. O'Grady let go and the shadow swung around and flashed away, the rifle going with it.

O'Grady turned and walked to the back of the truck. He pulled out a large cloth sack.

"Oh. I almost forgot." He tossed it high into the air. The sack flipped end-over-end before landing with a wet thud on top of the pile of hardware and tumbling to the ground.

The men climbed back into the truck. O'Grady flashed his grin at Horatio before starting the engine.

"This isn't over."

The engine started and Horatio watched them drive off, sighing under his breath.

"It never is."

He reached down to the large sack and pulled it open from the top, revealing a shaggy and bloody face.

"Hello, Reverend. How nice of you to join us."

* * *

Jan Pieterzoon regarded the bulging eyes and clenched teeth of the man sitting across the hard steel table from him. He had considered a more comfortable setting for this meeting, going the flowers and candy and comfy chairs route. But now he was thinking the ambiance in this police interrogation room would serve his purposes.

Jan slapped the newspaper down in front of the man let him get a good look at the picture on the cover.

"Have you seen the paper? A big fire. 37 dead, including the dear Reverend. The authorities are still trying to work out if it was a suicide pact or if someone went nuts with all that artillery. Tragedy. I'll let you know if anyone says anything nice at your funeral. Don't count on it though."

The Reverend barked at him "You! You are a monster and a murderer!"

Jan snorted. "You must be new to this club. But, in this case, you've got the wrong guy. I wasn't even there. Although, I'm about the only one who missed out on that barbeque. By the end there you probably had as many infiltrators as actual converts. You should be more discriminating next time. I think everyone wanted a piece of you. We employed quite a bit of leverage to reel you in. I hope you're worth the effort."

Reverend Adams glared at him while Jan pressed ahead.

"Let's get down to business, shall we? We were onto you from the beginning. We've got your sire. We got people into your little cult. And now you're here. The reason, the only reason, we let things go as far as they did is because we have questions about you, Adams, and questions about these prophecies of yours. There are plenty of folks issuing prophecies of doom and damnation these days. Most of them are nuts. In your case, we have reasons to believe that the source of these visions of yours may be something other than your fevered imagination."

Jan looked into his eyes, deep into his eyes. The Reverend didn't even blink. Jan reached out with his consciousness, boring through with no resistance until he felt like he was holding the young preacher's mind on the end of his fingertips like a crystal ball.

"So, you are going tell me where these prophecies of yours are really coming from."

"My visions and my sermons are the work of The Lord. My message is the message of truth. My words come from Him, the One True Lord, the creator of all and the destroyer of all."

Pieterzoon sat back in his chair, but maintained his gaze. "Ok. Right. I'm going to give you some names. You are going to tell me if any of these are familiar to you, if the One True Lord mentioned them in any of his prophesies. Ready?"

He listed the names, slowly, measuring the preacher's reaction to each. "Hazimel. Helena. Semsith. Lilith. Nergal…"

The Reverend nearly leapt from his chair, pointing an accusatory finger at Jan. "You cannot escape His judgment. There is nowhere you can hide from His righteousness!"

"I'll take that as a… yes…"

"Your precious blood will not sustain you! It will turn to dust. The ancients will rise and feast on your flesh! All will feel the mighty force of His wrath!"

The Reverend was in full fervor. Jan let the tirade continue for a minute or two before he reached forward and grabbed the preacher by the collar, hauling him halfway across the table until they were nose to nose.

"Enough. I have a little message for your Lord. Next time you talk to him, you give him a message. Think you could do that for me? Tell the One True Lord that we will be ready for him. We're not going down without a fight."

He gave the Reverend little double-pat on the cheek before sitting back down and straightening his tie.

"Now, where were we…?"

* * *

The results of the Millennium Cultist storyline are tallied. The Ventrue were the most successful in special storyline tournaments held around the world, edging out the Lasombra and Ventrue antitribu. Look forward to seeing an Advanced Ventrue version of Rev. Adams in a future expansion.