The next event is: THE SECOND SUMMIT
Date: 18/04/26 (18th April 2026) 12pm to 9pm
Location: St Peter’s, Liverpool Grove, Walworth, Southwark, SE17 2HH
Tickets: £30 per person
Other Details:
- The venue is accessible with a disabled toilet. It should be unlocked for the event but if it is not, we have access to keys.
- Once again there is to be no alcohol on site
- There is a small carpark, however, it is £10-15 and must be booked on the Just Park App. Street parking is also available.
- The venue very close to the nearest bus station and easily accessible via Waterloo
- There is a café at the front of the building which may have members of the public in. Please be aware of this before charging out covered in blood.
First Summit Recap
Delegates from five of the six recognised London factions gathered together under the supervision of the Administrators. Their primary goal was to tackle the ongoing Artificial Vampire crisis. A small group of delegates left the summit to capture an Artificial Vampire test subject to prove the Administrator hunger treatment worked. It did. The Artificial Vampire, Jay, regained his faculties and was questioned by a number of delegates offering insight into the Artificial Vampire condition and proving, once and for all, that treating them was possible.
Deeming making the cure indefinitely too costly and unwilling to slaughter to the afflicted, the delegates instead voted to exile all Artificial Vampires from London. The Pilgrims were the most vocally against this motion but were outvoted.
At one point during the Summit, a letter from the Purists, the only faction not represented, was delivered to the Traditionalists. They chose to share the letter with the assembled delegates. It was a challenge and a warning, calling for all delegates to abandon magic and come to the Purist way of thinking or risk war. The delegates, for the most part, rejected this warning outright.
Using collected omens, the delegates were able to divine two things. First, exact locations of the flowers used in the treatment of Artificial Vampires. Second, that the Purist’s main weapons consisted of things referred to as The Veil and SPEAR.
At the conclusion of the Summit, many projects had been funded, a number of Advisory Motions made, and one superweapon created.
Crises
SUMMIT
THE SHIFT OF DECEMBER TENTH
The expulsion of ARTIFICIAL VAMPIRES from London was a complete success. Forced spreading of the TREATMENT through bites allowed the transient population to spread the effects further and further North. The fighting was careful, lasting over the course of two weeks and moving systematically from the South, across the Thames, and out into the unknown wilds of the North. The movement was steady, and fighters rotated consistently to avoid bargaining and injury, resulting in low casualties and zero non-hostile fatalities.
The safety did not last long. Thirteen days after the ARTIFICIAL VAMPIRES were expelled and militias returned home to various FACTION-aligned territories, and the bodies raised by the ADMINISTRATORS returned to their resting place, a great quake shook London.
The ground split open. Fog began to billow from the myriad cracks along the city, all on major roads and walkways. The holes ran too deep and too dark, but it is not the depth that is a threat, but the fog itself. It silvers in the moonlight, and causes disappearances. There are survivors who have passed through, but most vanish. Those that do return report a moonless sky filled with burning comets, great forests, and the death of rationality and good sense.
Across the city, ANOMALIES have increased in subjective intensity. To bring to note; the gaze of the Eye seems to drive people mad, causing them to cower and shelter from it; scouts and pathfinders attempting to remap London without the vampires find themselves lost as they can only turn right in Chiswick and the marks left bleed; the Thames Barrier transfixes all who look at it, and leads to temporary partial blindness; and most troubling, all major population centres appear to suffer some bespoke horror.
Concurrent with these events, leyline magic appears unstable, as if ‘wobbling’. Research has revealed that the leylines themselves are vibrating much like a plucked string, leading to the event being dubbed ‘the shift’, ‘the shake’, ‘the strum’, and ‘the wiggle’.
The ADMINISTRATORS have reason to believe that not only will these events not stop, but they will grow in intensity until the movement of the leylines is under control.
ERUDITES
A LUMP IN THE BED
Not everything has snapped properly back into place. The central Campus District is off, askew, shifted one step to the left and two inside itself. In a word, it’s uncomfortable. In fact, it is impossible; a space in which it feels as if geometry and sense break down, where there are five right angles to a full turn, streaks of light in the eyes even when it’s dark. Only it’s not – measurements have been taken. Everything is exactly as it was.
Everyone, from pupils to peers, has begun to act worried. It always happens after someone moves though the central district, but then it follows them. The first sign is an inability to sleep. No matter where, or how, or how much padding they have, they feel as if they’re being prodded awake. Different people report different experiences, whether it is mental or physical, but the outcome is the same. Once the tiredness hits, they can never be comfortable. Their clothes fit wrong, their bodies are wrong. They are misshapen.
People have taken to corrections, as they’re known, reworking their dorms, their clothes, their bodies. None of it works, but the more extreme surgical cases have led to visits to the infirmary, and a small handful of deaths. Most refuse medical aid, and need to be taken under sedation. Without immediate intervention, this threatens to tear the ERUDITES down from the inside.
To make matters worse, the cult that formed around Ramiel appears to be immune to the effects. Even those members kept in detention in the central district have had no trouble sleeping, claiming the light keeps them pure.
EVOLVERS
GROW TO THE CLOUDS
Mutations are common in EVOLVER territory. In fact, they are praised. The amount being performed at the moment, however, is all but impossible to keep up with. Discussions at the conferences have begun to revolve around an idea of insufficiency. Survivors have been purposefully wandering without protective clothing into areas of highly concentrated radioarcanum, and waiting until they feel something shift under their skin. Interestingly, the affected seem mostly to grow rapidly in size, and with it, hunger. Strange new cravings arise, most often for raw, bloody flesh. The medical consequences have been difficult to keep note of, as some of the afflicted cannot fit through the doors of Saint Mary’s Hospital, and associated territories do their best to contain their own, albeit similar, oddities. In all of them, growth seems to be the common trend.
In farming outposts, plants have ruptured from the ground, and have started to rush towards the skies with what can only be described as purpose; a veritable will of their own. Great rumbles stamp across the unclaimed lands between towns. Every EVOLVER knows that there is something greater than them, something that sees kin and kith as little more than pests, at best as cattle. Two splintering movements have formed, one to placate whatever lies above, another to climb higher and higher, and cast a skybound throne to the ground. Both need to change, to evolve, to grow, and will go to any lengths to ‘better’ themselves, even if it means abandoning their health, their bodies, even their minds.
PILGRIMS
A CROWN OF CLAWS
There are some who believe the snapping back of the leylines is not merely a natural phenomena, but a message. A message that magic is angry at its warping by mortal minds, that the hand that guides does not take well to being guided. First spread in rumours, but quickly spiralling out of control, calls for martyrdom have become louder and louder across all PILGRIM territory.
The movement has a leader, that much is certain, but locating them is a difficult, even impossible task. No mundane or magical methods of detection have led to a culprit, even with physical evidence left behind. A message, and a severed hand. The message reads “If a rose fells a lion, it must be plucked”. The hand has an iron nail driven through the palm. With no doctrine, there’s no clear heretical movement, not even an emerging heterodoxy. What it is causing is disruption. Work stations are being abandoned, rituals neglected, with the only message left being rose petals, or bramble thorns, or a scrap of paper bearing the image of a rose, or a hand and nail. Clerics have attempted to stifle the flow of information, but the effort has proven futile, and as it spreads, more and more work is abandoned. Soon, the PILGRIMS will not be able to support themselves.
The Council of Authority has arrested those who have abandoned critical posts, and, unable to understand them, sent them to the Council of Faith for questioning. Without fail, and without communication, they give the same information in the same dreamlike state. An abridged and paraphrased version follows:
“This is not Trust, but Taking. Our rituals and machines drive the point deeper. The Hand screams. We must remove ourselves from it.”
Uncertain as to how to proceed, the Councils have requested the SUMMIT intervene.
SURVIVALISTS
WHEN THE SHERIFF COMES TO TOWN
The continued survival of the various people within the SURVIVALISTS’ territory relies on a number of factors, chief among which is the ability to communicate. With individualist militias and gangs making up the bulk of society, it is only through trade between these groups that those without weapons or farming equipment can eat, travel, and tend to other business. It is only because of a deal between the Kings and the Water Carriers by the ‘reservoirs’ that all people are given safe and mostly clean water.
These relationships are breaking down.
At first, it began small. Reports of a tall figure, whistling all the way, always just out of sight, around the corner. Then, things started going missing. Then everything broke down.
Different factions accuse others of sending this ‘Sheriff’ after them. Nobody exchanges anything. Thameside gangs have taken to throwing negotiators in the river, Heathrow shoots at the ground if anyone gets too close. Fortunately, there’s no chance of any of this boiling over to war, nobody wanting to seem to be the authority for everyone else to rally against, but that’s small comfort. Within various communities, people are turning on each other, ousting their leaders, or splintering into smaller, even more individualist groups, or even just to individuals. All SURVIVALISTS are left to reckon with the fact that there may be more dangerous problems then who gets to rule the waste.
They can still hear the whistling, the Sheriff is just around the corner. Some days, they’re accompanied by the sound of straining rope, or the click of a pistol.
TRADITIONALISTS
WHO’S AFRAID OF THE BIG BAD WOLF
The fog rose from the Thames late one night. It had sat there, making the water seem silver and white, for three days, then, all at once, it blanketed the streets of Westminster, to Chelsea, and Fulham. It spread across the whole of TRADITIONALIST territory. Streets went quiet, for the most part, but the Civil Guard soon found themselves dispatched to deal with more and more reports of theft, assault, and other violent activity.
Soon after, a number of ‘false’ reports began to emerge of glowing red eyes peering through the fog. Rumours spread and spread until two weeks later, nearly every citizen could attest to hearing the sound of a great wolf howling in the night.
After that, the streets went dead. Citizens protested until the Guard were sent on nightly patrols, but even they were affected, becoming twitchy and paranoid, firing on nothing, or wandering off into the fog, returning next morning with strange wounds and no memory.
People quickly became worried of some internal threat, hiding somewhere. Some people began tearing at walls, others began to cast blame. They never trusted their neighbour, they say, they hoarded ration cards and forged their books, and now their teeth are too long, just look at them! The parties of Parliament have begun to splinter, openly attacking each other. The Londoners accuse the Reds of trying to undermine democracy. The Reds accuse the DAG of having known the fog would spread. The DAG accuse the Londoners of promoting attacks on Lycans. Lacking orders from a fractured Parliament, the Guard does their best to keep order, but as fighting breaks out and nightly attacks get worse, it becomes hard to tell where the wolf is, who acts out of desperation, and who’s taking the chance to settle a score. The difference at this point doesn’t seem to matter much. As Red cadres begin to organise workforces, DAG petitioners prioritise magical care, and Londoner bureaucrats scramble to seize old world goods from the black market, it looks like the fragile alliance of powers is breaking down.
The Cabinet and Speaker have successfully sheltered themselves in the Paddock, and have convinced a few loyalists to distribute messages. They urge unity, but require the intervention of the SUMMIT to ensure it lasts longer than a few weeks.