#Appalachian anarch free state

[the-diary-of-bernard-sims]

At last... progress.

I will elaborate.

My name is Bernard Sims. I am Archon for Justicar Juliet Parr, on assignment away from once-great London to prevent the rise of thinbloods creating a new free state in the Appalachian region of the United States.

So! The trip to Bedelia's nursing home was... eventful. I initially suspected all we'd need to do is speak to Bedelia, have her point us in the direction of the book, and be on our way, but such was not the case. My compatriots floated the idea of a stealthy entry, but I waved off the idea. After all, this was the haven of the ostensible Prince of Atlanta! Surely with enough ceremony and gladhanding, an easy resolution could be found!

How very wrong I was.

Even before entering the site, we found a ghastly statue outside the entrance of Bedelia's son Benison. I'm not terribly good at spiritual matters, but I have a bit of insight; that said, it was new information for me when I was told it was acting as a feta fetter, chaining down a number of spirits which circled overhead. We never addressed that; too happy to be gone, once events were done. We sadly may need to leave that little chunk of slavery be... for now.

Upon entry, we were invited in by distressing, disembodied voices behind us, beckoning us in and welcoming us. A note for the Prince - that may invite someone in in the literal sense, but it is INTENSELY offputting. We introduced ourselves to the nurse at the front desk as family (which in the strictest sense is somewhat true), but apparently I was not initially believed (which is strange; family should transcend all boundaries! Why can't Miss Bedelia have a strange British nephew or somesuch stop by to greet her? Ridiculous). Thankfully, Dorcas was on hand to smooth things over; I suspect a local accent helped sell the ruse. So... off to the Scarlet Room with us.

The room was your standard affair for an elderly Malkavian... filled with the dead and defaced portraits of her contemporaries. She, of course, was wishing to waste our time, so, we played bridge. I'm only familiar with whist, so I struggled through, but she decided to tip the scales in our favour (cheat) and link my eyes to hers and hers to mine.

This will be relevant.

Once our game was complete, we retired to her room of horrors, and that was when things... soured. Please believe me when I say I did all I could to reach a peaceable solution, but the situation escalated out of my control. When we inquired about the situation, she retrieved a book labeled Memories or somesuch from her chair (her ass, her ass, I must be firm with this, IT WAS UNDER HER FUCKING ASS) and started to reminisce about the good old days of her being a racist old bitch landowner from the time of America's infancy, as if looking over old pictures from days of yore.

But the connection between our eyes was still intact, so I saw what was in the pages.

It was the Codex.

The damnable Codex was under her WRINKLED MALKAVIAN ASS CHEEKS THIS ENTIRE TIME.

I, of course, asked if we acquire (temporary!) access to the tome to resolve the situation, but she refused, screaming "The Codex is mine!" like a spoiled child and setting her minions on us. Thankfully, the minions were a human manservant, an animated corpse, and a middle aged nurse, so it wasn't the most difficult encounter, but the fact that at least I wished to end things without bloodshed likely complicated matters, as I was hesitant to take violent action. But things did end peaceably, as desired, but in a fully frustrating way (how shocking).

Now, I admit that I am behind the times when it comes to technology. Every new piece of equipment developed past my siring seems to never find purchase in my mind. But just prior to that, I remember a device called a mimeograph that was used to make copies of printed pages. I remember working one briefly to assist the London sheriff at the time with a task dealing with our unembraced colleagues.

Apparently the home had a new version of that device that could copy books. Silas brought up the device (a Zur-Oks? Seer Ox?) and Bedelia was fine with us making it.

All that battle and all we had to do is make a trip to her office. Unbelievable. At least her manservant is embraced now after we had to put him down. I'm not sure why Bedelia didn't do that earlier.

In any event, after the Seer Ox was done making the copies (and after Bedelia twisted the knife by having us assist with the mess caused by the melee), we made haste to Mr. D's manse to deliver the paper, and he was more than happy to accept the miserable pile of pulp, as Lorenzo would be incensed at the slight, and an incensed Lorenzo (I remembered his name. It can be done!) is a controllable Lorenzo. I did inform him surreptitiously that it was plain that the ghoul was jockeying for power, but he was understandably aware. That said, it may not have been an entirely hollow gesture; if it was obvious to an outsider, perhaps that means patience is thin and prudence is necessary.

As long as they don't start a war before I leave.

At long last, though, we have our invite to Mr. Willow's court! ... which grants us passage through the north... so we can FINALLY deal with the anarch threat, whatever form that may take.

Bloody hell, nothing is simple here.

Signed,

Bernard Sims

[kingofdoma]

Yes, I admit it! I am (also) Bernard Sims, Archon for Justicar Juliet Parr, currently investigating the threat of an Anarch free state in the Appalachian backwoods! While I'm anachronistic and would likely have never have entered into a movie theatre since being alive, were I to see this film, I am sure I would be instantly enamored with Snuzzles and would have to be told repeatedly that he was not real and shouldn't steal into the Marvel backlot to capture him and keep him as my pet! It is now canon to my actual VtM character!

Florence Pugh as Yelena Belova THUNDERBOLTS* (2025) dir. Jake Schreier

[the-diary-of-bernard-sims]

I will not be releasing this entry.

I am Bernard Sims.

... I dare not say it... but I must.

... something is wrong.

Which makes no sense! Everything is as it should be. Well, they WILL be. We've made an important stride.

I slew the Prince.

It is a relief, because things have been going poorly thus far. Lindsey, the aide-de-camp? Traitorous. Intended to deliver Depp* into the hands of the lycanthropes, and damn Silas to boot. Apparently, the Hound caught wind of it when Dorcas and Alicia showed her Lindsey's resignation letter, and went off to go blow up the limousine and fill Lindsey with lead**. I don't know what she was going to do to Silas and Depp afterwards, but he never found out. Apparently, the spark to this entire wildfire ended up being their salvation. Dusty, I believe it was? The one who Silas found on his land with Kayleigh and indirectly alerted the Camarilla to this Gordian knot of a local situation? He helped them escape by neutralizing the Hound (I believe by hitting her with a sentient car?) and providing them with transport (aforementioned sentient car). Apparently the payment was taking back Depp.

... that will be untangled later.

In any event, once Silas related that tale, we sought to figure out our options. At this point, it became clear that the Prince and his sons were corrupt, and we got our confirmation when Gilbert, the seneschal contacted us to put together a meeting with the Prince, one which we would use to get to the bottom of things once and for all.

Then the fucker decided to stake us.

According to him the next night, we were in danger and had to be transported away quickly from our lodgings for protection. I prefer to not be put into torpor for our protection, but he was owed his boon, so we went to confront the Prince.

And I killed him.

I am sure of it.

... and that is the unsettling thing.

I am a confident person, no doubt. But I have never been more sure that I killed the Prince than anything I've been sure of in my life. I am more sure that I killed the Prince than I am sure of my own NAME. Every time I try to even poke at that memory, I am greeted with the solid assurance that it is absolutely the truth. It REJECTS questioning, and that has unnerved me more than most things do.

My only option is mistrust. From this point on? I will not allow myself to be unsupervised. I'll try not to let my misgivings be known to the rest of the group, but... my trust in myself is shattered. All because I killed the Prince. ... at Gilbert's behest.

I...

... that can't be true. It must not be.

But I may be the least qualified to make that conclusion.

Sincerely,

Bernard Sims

*No relation (is that a title? He keeps saying it, but I have no idea what he means by it).

**A shame. I'd have liked to have gotten a pound of flesh from that traitor before she expired, not to mention Morgan refuses to release information on her family for me to relieve my tensions. Nothing is fair in this world.

[the-diary-of-bernard-sims]

If I could begin this with a series of "ha's" that properly conveyed my amusement at our situation, I would.

My name is Bernard Sims, and I am Archon for Justicar Juliet Parr, on assignment away from once-great London to prevent the rise of thinbloods creating a new free state in the Appalachian region of the United States, and what I am about to say brings me no pleasure.

I had to protect our mole.

A brief summary: after (foolishly) entering good Mr. Gilbert's sanctuary without permission (in my defense, it did not occur to me that the sprawling factory-like setup WAS a sanctuary until I'd already erred; he has my boon as recompense, which I hope is sufficient) to investigate our missing transport, I...

Stopping to emphasize - OUR TRANSPORT WAS ABSCONDED WITH. Impounded, in fact, and, as it turned out, it was a result of our friend from Atlanta... Leopold? ... the deli owner necromancer under Mr. D's thumb - he lashed out and inconvenienced us for petty, unjust reasons (he got his information, regardless of its form - why he hangs onto this grudge is beyond me). But... I'm short on time. I'll sum up.

Firstly, Morgan was thankfully located - apparently, she had a meeting with a potential business associate - Pentex. Yes, that name should sound familiar - they're a multinational conglomerate or some such thing... who have access to advanced technology that can turn Garou into even more hideous, monstrous creatures. With any luck, Juliet, if you're reading this in the future, it will be a footnote in our travails here that need not warrant further thought. I live in hope for that.

Also, the informant was Tony Depp, which I suspected from the moment I learned there was one present, but did not want to express those concerns without cause. Also, with any luck, he has relayed the following to you, if not in person, directly, as we sent him off with Morgan's aide-de-camp back home to let you know...

... this entire city is rotten to the core.

While the prince's two idiot sons may be... well, idiots, they appear to be the very source of the thinbloods in this region. Jeffrey apparently makes them freely, and his brother covers up the deed, and then they gallivant off to Dollywood or whatever (I'm not immediately remembering all the details) to add numbers to the anarch population, with their sheriff murdering the ones she finds as a kind of cover. There's other business with a trafficker of some sort peddling drug-addled victims to our people, the thinbloods being reincarnations of indigenous peoples here somehow (which means I should apparently stay my hand in slaying them, which is the BIGGEST complication in my eyes) and the Prince either being completely oblivious to it all or tacitly approving of it for his own ends.

In short, things are poor here and the job is far greater than I imagined entering into it. With any luck, we'll be meeting with this Dusty character soon to start making some headway in this whole situation. Wish us luck.

Sincerely,

Bernard Sims

[the-diary-of-bernard-sims]

... we have a traitor in our midst.

My name is Bernard Sims, blah blah blah, will enter later.

I need to be brief. I'm unsure if these are being monitored.

Chi has informed me of someone feeding information to this Baron of Dollywood. He says he does not know who it is, which makes me suspect him. It could be any of us. It's irrelevant. We will be expected in dear Miss Parton's lands.

Unsure of what else is safe to relate. I was not monitoring Dorcas, Silas, or Morgan, the latter of whom has vanished without trace, though her assistant is still with us. Extremely frustrating.

Will update once allegiances have been laid bare.

Sincerely,

Bernard Sims

[the-diary-of-bernard-sims]

We have a lead.

My name is Bernard Sims. I am Archon for Justicar Juliet Parr, on assignment away from once-great London to prevent the rise of thinbloods creating a new free state in the Appalachian region of the United States, and we have actually made some strides forward in the pursuit of our quarry.

A quick update, as there isn't much to tell, though what little detail is to be told has great value. We presented ourselves to the Prince, Nolan Prescott, making contact with his seneschal, Gilbert Drake of the Nosferatu, Prescott's sons Jake and Jeffrey, brothers of Ventrue, whose... misguided enthusiasm belies, at the very least, an ability to forge a CV (Juliet, I will be referring them to you on the off chance they are competent; enjoy the clown show if they are not), and their Hound, Maria Ferrara. The last in that list pointed us to a Monty, self-proclaimed Baron of Dollywood, who may be the source of the thinbloods.

We shall sally forth.

[the-diary-of-bernard-sims]

So, I forgot to talk about Kinsley.

Again, I should elaborate.

My name is Bernard Sims. I am Archon for Justicar Juliet Parr, on assignment away from once-great London to prevent the rise of thinbloods creating a new free state in the Appalachian region of the United States.

Kinsley was one of those thinbloods.

According to Silas, all of this started with her little band. She was a... consort, for lack of a better term, for the thinblood leader (name escapes me). There was a conflict, and Kinsley ended up in torpor and in Silas' custody. I in fact met Silas when he came to the Art Museum with Kinsley, and the reason why I did not bring her up is that she largely spent the entirety of the last entry's events in a drug-induced stupor. We would need her, you see, to assist us when we eventually (finally, at some point) found the anarchs and dismantled their plans. Exactly how, I wasn't sure, but you don't cast aside a potentially valuable asset such as that. This worked in her favour as well, as she was kept among the living, for as much meaning as that term has in our world, until such time as she was no longer needed. A few days or weeks amidst humanity is better than none, in my opinion. And who knows? She may have found a measure of mercy. Granny Dorcas intended to keep her at her residence to keep house after all this was done.

I'd have eaten her, but I am me.

In any event, once we returned from the séance, we were blessed with a (remote) visit from Victoria Ash, who, of course, wished to see this anarch business dealt with as soon as possible. She was gracious, in her generosity; she was willing to offer the Giovanni assistance at the renewal of their agreement with the Camarilla when their contract ended in a few years. Full membership or an improved settlement; whatever would grease the wheels. So, we prepared to head back to the delicatessen to parley with Mr. D's man Lu... Louis? I can never recall... but when we went to collect Victoria's man Chikara, he alerted us to a... change in plans.

Kinsley had found a balcony and cast herself from it.

We were all immediately suspicious, of course. It would be simplicity itself to place a suggestion in her mind, have her remove herself from the situation, hinder our progress. It couldn't be focused on at the moment. We went to the delicatessen, spoke to their manager to get a hold of L-person to get a hold of Mr. D to offer the request, and while we waited, it turned out that Silas, apparently a silver-tongued devil, secured his own release, having convinced Mr. D that he was more valuable in the field securing his damned book than mouldering away in his mansion. So, coterie bolstered, so to speak, we then sought to confirm Kinsley's status.

As it turned out... her exit was her own. From what Silas tells me, she was in poor shape when he and Chikara secured her body at the hospital, barely fit for torpor and she... had no interest in remaining in this world. Silas gave her the Final Death. A good thing, for all the value such a statement has coming from me. I often wonder about how I will exit this life... an attack from an enemy? A desire to leave after centuries of life? Perhaps I'll be one of the last ones standing when the sun expands and this sinful little rock is consumed in fire. That might be nice. I'd wear Crookes' lenses and swimgear, just for the fun, I think.

In any event, things are finally progressing. Thanks to a tip from our dear friend Marlene (who... really needs to improve her lounge act; I almost want to give her pointers, but her ego likely couldn't take it) when these are added to the Archives, have that struck , we are to go speak to Bedelia again at the "home for the infirm" she stays at. With any luck, we'll be able to give these people all what they want, and then, what they need; security, safety, stability.

It's really what any civilized Embraced would want.

Signed,

Bernard Sims

[the-diary-of-bernard-sims]

... bloody hell, I don't like slavery.

I should explain myself.

My name is Bernard Sims. I am Archon for Justicar Juliet Parr, on assignment away from once-great London to prevent the rise of thinbloods creating a new free state in the Appalachian region of the United States similar to the one narrowly averted in California. It is important work and I am working diligently to resolve the issue as quickly as possible.

Now, before I proceed, please let it be known that I am no great fan of vulgarity. At the end of the day, I suppose I am a refined British gentleman, or at least have been forged into one, and such things are not for one such as myself.

I FUCKING hate it here.

I am explicitly here to solve an existential threat to the power of the Camarilla and indeed all established power structures the Kindred have established in the region. If I am thwarted at any step, an army of thinbloods could very well flood out of the mountains and unseat the entire hierarchy.

So why on Cain's green earth is every major player in the area trying to entangle me in local politics?

My task here was initially simple - travel from Atlanta to a gathering of thinbloods just north of the northern Tennessee border, and pull up the problem by the root. But, due to that territory being under lycanthropic control, and no other methods of transport being viable, we had to seek passage by consulting with a Mr. Willow.

Now, an expected complication arose from this - my local contact, who goes by "Granny Dorcas", has not had contact with Mr. Willow in decades, and had to contact someone else to find where he is holding court. That someone was Mr. D, a local mafioso and member of the Giovanni who decided... to be the latter, and, without prompting or need, kidnapped one of my team, a local named Silas, due to some pre-existing grudge, expecting to extort some value out of me.

This was revealed to me moments after I found I needed Mr. D's assistance and was going to request his help regardless.

Wonderful.

So, I, Dorcas, my girl Friday Morgan, and Victoria Ash's heavy Chikara (a samurai, I suppose?) whom she dispatched to keep an eye on the situation, head to a grotty little delicatessen in a limousine provided by our hotel to see this Mr. D about directing us to Mr. Willow and releasing our comrade. Who we do find is Mr D.'s top man... Lawrence? Lauzon? ... something Italian, I can't recall... some manner of necromantic sorcerer who seems to think we're in some sort of hardboiled moving picture about gangsters, because he bids us join him to head to Mr. D's estate, and then dominates our driver's mind and summons spirits to pin us to our seats as if this wasn't our intended course of action in the first place.

I can see spirits as part of my gifts, so I asked the one pinning me down if it enjoyed its current status. It didn't respond.

So. We arrive at Mr. D's palatial estate. We're patted down and ushered in (I happily hand over my sword and my gun, to put them on edge, and am sure to instruct them to give our driver the meatball sandwich I promised to acquire for him... I don't TRULY care, but getting my opponents off balance with niceties is one of the few joys I can extract from the encounter), and are made to meet with the man, who is wholly unimpressive. And, of course, we are given a new task... we are to facilitate a séance to summon the spirit of some old vampire so we can acquire his powerful grimoire for Mr. D's likely unsavoury desires. And, of course, there is a twist; this is the former lover (I think? ... the details ebb from my mind with increasing rapidity) of our lovely patron Bedelia, who is, one, extremely old even for our kind, and two, Malkavian, and they are already prone to mental instability to start with (not that I begrudge them... you can't help what you're bitten into. Besides, dear Ms. Parr is Malkavian, and if anything, her nature adds spice to our conversations), and he will only appear if she is present for the proceedings.

So, at this point, we are to acquire a book by making a mentally infirm old woman attend a séance on short notice, so we can release our compatriate and contact Mr. Willow, so we can gain passage to go THWART THE THREAT THAT PUTS THE UNLIVES OF EVERYONE STANDING IN MY WAY AT RISK.

Baffling, no? WELL, IT GETS WORSE.

Surprisingly enough, the old battleaxe was easy enough to convince to come to the séance. We simply put the idea into her head (without even any extranormal effort) and she not only jumped at the chance, but strong-armed the woman running the event to welcome us to the area into performing the rite that very night. So, we went to a gaudy parlor filled with appropriative attire and decoration (I'm a century old Brit; I'd know) and, eventually, summoned the old coot.

Pay attention to the word "eventually"; I'll get back to it in a moment.

The old man arrives, possesses Bedelia for good measure, and... of course... gives us another task. Oh, he'll give us the book, but oh, his beloved's spirit is trapped in a statue from when the Second Inquisition struck the city, and if we free her, he can have a new body, or something, or somesuch, and blah blah blah. At this point, my blood was boiling at a fever pitch and I barely retained any of what he said. We made our excuses and left immediately for fear the spectre would hear what I said next, which was expletive filled and dismissive of everyone who'd sent us on a wild goose chase.

The eventually... was Sue. She came forth at the séance before the old man did. As I said, he was an old vampire. From the American South.

You can imagine what her relationship was to him. A slave. Captured, even after death. No solace, no way to escape even after passing through the veil.

I was, to my shock, disgusted at the situation.

Thankfully, we were able to remind her that death meant that the only thing holding her back was illusory, and she was able to pass on, but that moment just made me... LOATHE the entire enterprise.

Bloody hell, I don't like slavery.

I am a hunter. I seek out my prey and kill it. But that prey is free to run. I do not pen it in and remove the sport; I do not shackle it or beat it into submission. If you have an exit route, or a bolt hole, or a defense to strike at me with, that's the game. Fair play. I shall not remove your spirit and call myself grand.

So? I'm done. I am done with these... fuckers. I'll save you from yourselves, you clods, if only to keep our society as a whole from crumbling into nothing. Mr. D wants the book? He can have the slaveholding old fuck. I'll have them consign his shitty old soul to an amulet or whatever the fuck necromancers do so they can get their damned book. I'll speak to Mr. Willow, get our damned passage, go deal with the actual problem, and return to London if only to wash the stink of this entire area's shortsightednes and incompetence off of me once and for all.

... I FUCKING hate it here.

Signed,

Bernard Sims.

[the-diary-of-bernard-sims]

Well.

That was infuriating, but ultimately fruitful.

My name is Bernard Sims. I am Archon for Justicar Juliet Parr, on assignment away from once-great London to prevent the rise of thinbloods creating a new free state in the Appalachian region of the United States, and we are finally, FINALLY on our way.

But not without a hanger-on or two.

Upon returning from delivering the document to Mr. D, Chikara informed us that a request had been made for us to give a ride to one Tony Depp, an Embraced comedian who needed transport to Knoxville. Initially, I thought, "well, as long as he's not a hindrance, it will be fine". And initially, I was right.

... initially.

So, in order to gain audience with Mr. Willow, we would need two things - a token in the form of a gold coin for entrance (one that Mr. D provided... I am far more amenable to him now that he is not actively making my task harder), and appropriate clothing. Thankfully, motion pictures are a big industry in this city, and our Mr. Depp had a contact that could get us into a wardrobe department to acquire our garments. There was a hitch (when getting payment for the man, he tried to isolate and hold up Silas, who drank from him and paid him off for his trouble) but ultimately we acquired our attire without major incident. (Shame about the golf cart. Depp's man left it behind after his encounter with Silas, but it proved too logistically difficult to bring along. Too bad. It might have served us well in the backwoods.)

So! On to the freehold! I in my doublet, the ladies in their dresses, Silas as a plague doctor, and Depp... as a jester.

I should have seen it as the omen it was, and I don't mean Silas' attire.

Upon arrival in the opulent (imagine the purest definition of the word; this was it) space of these Fair Folk, we were greeted by one of their barons, Sabrina, and, as a breath of fresh air, mostly wanted us to STAY OUT of their affairs. We were given passage, and even a guide, one of their number, Fiona, to take us through the territory, on the condition we make ourselves scarce as quickly as possible. We were nearly on our way...

... and then Depp saw a stage.

For some, unknown, bizarre, FUCKED UP reason, Depp decided to ascend to the stage (even after our host made it EXCEEDINGLY clear that our presence would be respected, but barely tolerated) and perform a... tight five? His mediocre comedic performance. Thankfully, the crowd was amused, rather than livid, and Depp was allowed to make his exit.

Once we arranged to meet Fiona to (finally!) leave the city, I let my displeasure with Depp be known. In short, if he has the gall to pull a stunt like that again, I will reintroduce him to sunlight.

He seemed to get the message.

But, things are successful. We have transport, we have our guide, and we have a route (driving wide of Clinton and its power plant, going through Witherville, then Barlo, and then as close as we can get to the anarch campsite by vehicle until we have to track on foot). With any luck, we'll have this put away in a few days.

We dropped off Depp in Knoxville. Good riddance.

... blast it, I still need to get boots.

Sincerely,

Bernard Sims