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thekailing [9:48 PM]: helloooo
thekailing [9:48 PM]: wait there's many chats?
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thekailing [9:48 PM]: fuck my life.
Denver's Union Station in LoDo (lower downtown) houses the Temple of the Sabbat. This is both a testament to the transient nature of the Sabbat Crusade and a sign of the young vanguard's willingness to bring the Sect into the 21st century. It also illustrates how deeply the Sword of Caine has pierced into the heart of Denver. The central hub of over 120 miles of commuter and light rail lines and 20 miles of bus and rapid transit radiate out from Union Station, the station itself currently undergoing a massive redevelopment with construction projects leaving large sections of its interior closed to the public.
Those of the sect who do know of the location are stunned to find them able to maintain a presence in such a high-traffic area, and wonder what elders tug the strings of contractors, transportation conglomerates and railway unions to maintain it. Others venture a more unsettling proposition: mastery of Caine's disciplines or some foul blood magic has made the place inviolate.
Neither prospect is reassuring to those not of the Sect.
The nightly comings and goings of construction personnel, transit workers and the city's many commuters and drunkards heading for downtown's bar scene from outlying neighborhoods allows for even the most uncivilized Sabbat to come and go unmolested. The same cannot be said for the former groups, though, as this is quickly becoming a feeding ground.
Behind the station large swaths of land sit in various stages of development. Great bowing beams will one day join to make the main train shed. Further back are half-finished pedestrian bridges. Hulking mounds of earth dug out for underground facilities and basements dot the site. The laid foundations for a light rail plaza, shuttle and bus depot are at the far ends, some filled with cement and others deep pits lined with rebar and temporary wooden reinforcements. Union Station will rival the transportation concourses of many great American cities – if it ever gets finished. For now two cranes rise up above it all, but at night these gargantuan metal dinosaurs are frozen in place.
Most Sabbat know that the use of guns within the Temple has been disallowed, and even the presence of Cainites outside of the invitation of ritae is discouraged. Paige Harrow, Gui Cavalcanti and Brent Orly, the priest of their pack, vigorously enforce the sanctity of Cainite hallowed ground.
Bulldozers and other mammoth machinery fill what will one day be the underground bus hanger of Union Station. Beyond the fenced off and secure areas are portions inaccessible to pedestrians, and past them, deeper into the older tunnels that riddle the city's foundation, is the true Temple's proper.
Great exhaust tunnels plunge down to the old boiler room of the original station, now forgotten along with other aspects of Denver's history lost below the ground to progress.
The Veins and Altar of Caine
A seer of the Malkavian antitribu, him and his pack long lost in the war with Denver's Camarilla, had his Brujah packmate tear down three of the walls to reveal the mining tunnels that remain from the city's earliest settlement. He dubbed these the Veins of Caine, the locale of no few Games of Instinct, and enterprising Nosferatu antitribu have been exploring their depths for months in order to give their packs an edge.
The boilers have been dismantled, some carefully by the Sect's artisans, others torn by vitae-strengthened hands, all shaped into jagged-edged baths, medieval torture racks, and aspersoria for the blood and vitae shared in the Vaulderie, Scarlet Feasts and other Auctoritas Ritae, while other bowls of rusting metal hold oils lit to bathe the Temple in firelight.
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