Zebulon Duxberry didn't mind the feel of the storm drain under the East India Docks. If anything, he found it soothing. In summer, the runoff kept the limestone cool and damp, and in the winter, the same stone kept out the worst of the chill and the complex network of tunnels ensured that the wind never quite penetrated to the depths. Sure, the smell of standing water could get to you, but it beat the sewers proper, and Zeb found it was the only place that he could quietly meet with the city's more venerated denizens. Certainly, the one he was expecting to meet tonight was hardly the cream of Camarilla society, but a Ventrue was still a Ventrue. They all had the air of the stuck-up, of the too-good, of the noble, as though the world in which they lived was no more filthy than the one in which Clan Nosferatu swam. At least the filth of a storm drain and sewer was honest in that it was filth; he couldn't fathom living in a world of pretty words hiding foul deeds and intentions.

"You know, Zeb, we honestly have to stop meeting like this" a woman's voice echoed from down the tunnel, footfalls growing louder with each passing second. "One of these nights I have a dreadful fear I'm going to never surface again." There was scarcely any light in the tunnel, but Zeb knew precisely what his contact looked like. Tall, lithe, a mop of hair the colour of fire itself, shapely...Tori Legrange had been a useful acquaintance for some time, and unlike most in her clan, she at least pretended to have toleration for him and his ilk. And better yet, she seemed suspicious of her compatriots of the Blood, and of the city's leadership when pressed upon it. "After all, you know what the poem says. That we must not look on goblin men and must not buy their fruits."

"But you know well upon what roots we are fed, my lady" Zeb responded. "And that the fruits I bear to you and yours are more often than not the kind of succulence that your comrades in the night could scarcely provide for you themselves." His voice was raspy, and he stood against the wall, clad entirely in grey; few had ever seen him uncovered, and he preferred for them to guess what hideous horror might lay beneath his iron mask and rumpled suit of clothing. It was better that the great and good be kept in the dark for such things. If you didn't know what the predator looked like, you were all the easier prey...but that was a matter for another night, he reminded himself. "And you know well that whatever fruit I have to offer, you'll buy and more."

Tori finally entered the tunnel where Zeb stood, a coal oil lamp held in hand. He flinched at the sight of the flame inside the glass, not for the terror of the fire, but for the brightness. "And I pray beseech thee, trim they lantern well" he said, bowing slightly. He caught sight of the Ventrue rolling her eyes as she adjusted the wick, the light fading slightly. "Thank you, my lady. I trust you were not followed."

"Bugger if I know, Zeb" Tori responded. "I don't think anything larger than a rat was following me, and it seems doubtful one of them would have the head to follow something the size of a person. Should I have been followed?" She regarded him with a smirk, which seemed to Zeb to be her default expression. Truthfully, he wasn't sure how or why the two had begun to work together; he had little need of her stable of prime vessels, and she seemed to have little need of a smuggler. But from time to time, they found common cause to share information, to keep a channel of communication open between the world above and the world below. Whether his information ever reached the right hands and the right ears, he did not know. But Clan Nosferatu had always made its mark as a pillar of the Camarilla, useful for its ability to warn, to counsel, and to stave off disaster one night at a time. He could only assume his words were heeded.

"Of course not, my lady. But one never knows what lurks in the realm of goblin men" Zeb said. "And be not quick to discount the rat. I find they are becoming more and more clever by the day. And Tikus still roams the underbelly of this city, commanding all of them."

Tori rolled her eyes. "Yes, you mention that name quite often, and yet you seem never willing to give me a blasted detail on just who that might be" she said. "I'm left to assume it's another one of your compatriots run amok. A Nosferatu even you can't stand the sight of."

The Nosferatu grinned behind his iron mask; if only the poor fool knew the truth and knew the things with which he grappled. "And I shall leave you guessing. Tikus simply is an ally to the Clan, or at least they are not an enemy; in a time when mortals wake to the existence of the damned and their minions, I find that state of simply not being antagonised has great value." He stood up fully, quite a bit taller than the Ventrue, an effect of the curse laid upon him at his Embrace. "But it is not information I gather from Tikus that impelled me to seek you out on a night such as this. Another of my clan will deal with them for the moment."

"How thrilling" Tori deadpanned. "You brought me all the way down here so that we could not talk about the mysteries of the sewers."

"I didn't quite say that, my lady" said Zeb. "But the underworld of London holds more mysteries than simply a creature whose identity lays hidden. For instance, what if I told you that I recently heard a name in use that has not been spoken of in this place since the days when Lancaster fought York and the Tudor rose flew from the Tower above these drains?"

"I'd say that in a world inhabited by unliving creatures of dark design such a thing is to be expected, not to be unexpected" she said. "But go on. You've piqued my curiosity."

"What do you know of a Kindred known as The Teacher?" asked Zebulon.

Tori shrugged. "Not a thing. Sounds like something a puffed up Toreador would call themselves before swooping in to claim a prize prospect for the Embrace."

"Hardly" Zeb said. "The Teacher is, or was rumoured to be, an ancient one, dead even when this city was under the domination of Rome. From time to time, the name surfaces in the annals of our clan, appearing just before a cataclysmic moment in the history of London. The Roman invasion, the Norman conquest, the Wars of the Roses, the Great Fire, and then nothing since. Each time, she--it is always a she, somehow--appears before the Court to save a life she sees as worthy, only to disappear some time later, leaving a single chastened and humbled Kindred in her wake."

"An Alastor, then?" the Ventrue asked. "Some agent of the Camarilla? But then, that would not account for the appearances before Thorns."

"Indeed. I know not what she is; our records are not clear, other than that she is old, that she is Kindred, and that she is of curious power" Zeb said. "What concerns me is that when whispers of her circulate amongst our clan, it usually means something dreadful for our kind. And I understand dreadful things have begun to take place."

"We're vampires. Dreadful things are always taking place, old man" Tori said.

"Another fledgling was slain barely a week ago, in the open, by Lady Rochford's gardens. It makes the fourth in six months to fall before a hunter's blade" said Zeb. "Whispers of shadows and darkness creeping fly freely amongst the lower classes of our society, and at the upper echelons, the Tower begins to look a wreck. Combine it all, Victoria, and tell me you do not see danger."

"Unlike you, I have faith in the Sheriff's forces, in the Tremere, in the Queen" Tori said, bristling slightly at the use of her name. Zeb smirked beneath the mask; using it had had its intended effect of reminding the Ventrue that for his politeness to her, they were not equals. Far, far from it.

"Take this message to your clan then, Legrange" said Zeb. "The Teacher is returning to us, and soon; the sources I have on that are unimpeachable and of the highest character. We had best be ready for her appearance, for like the Lord, we shall not know the hour of her return until it is upon us. But when it comes, it will be amidst another wave of terror, and some will not survive it."

Again, the Ventrue shrugged. "I'll pass it along to those who have more influence than I do" she said. "But it sounds like rumour and conjecture to me. A mysterious Kindred returning after two centuries in the wind, and all because a few mortals have figured out new ways to hunt. So what? That happens every few decades. We adapt."

"Perhaps we do, Victoria. But one can only adapt so many times before one forgets the lessons learned in prior adaptations" he said. "And there are few in this city who remember her appearances firsthand."

"Yeah? Well who does? Where are these, how did you put it, chastened and humbled Kindred?" she asked.

Zeb was quiet for a long moment. He had sworn never to reveal the identity of the one remaining student of The Teacher, and he would not break that oath. But oaths were tricky things, and there was always a way around it. His sire had taught him that much before he treated into the shadows, never to return. "One yet walks the night, but who I cannot say" he said, truthfully. "Only that the groans of their past are said to still haunt them in night and in day, condemned never to escape the ceaseless torments of those damned before their time."

"...helpful" Tori said, with a punctuating roll of her eyes. "So report back to the Clan that The Teacher may return, and that that means we should be preparing for Armageddon in Trafalgar Square. Got it. Anything else?"

"Be wary of your flippancy, Victoria" Zeb said, coolly. "Your clan may rule this city, but it does so because the foundations are strong. And those foundations run right through this storm drain, and every other one across London. You would do well to remember that the Camarilla stands because this Clan wills it to stand, and when we give a warning, it is for good reason."

"Very well, Zeb. I'll pass it along" Tori said, with another girlish shrug. "Until we meet again, then. Stay safe." She turned to leave, the light growing slowly dimmer as Zeb watched her fade away. He had every confidence that the message would be passed along to the Ventrue, but beyond that, it would be passed to the others who frequented Tori's brothel. The rumour would spread, and the suspicion rise, and perhaps then the city would truly prepare itself to meet the fate that he could feel waiting for it just out of sight and out of reach. The hunters were the concern of the surface dwellers, and they would be a grave threat to be defeated in time, but he knew in his bones that they were just the first of many trials the Kindred were to face.

On that front, The Teacher's words had been clear.