World of Darkness: Portland

Artan Calhoun was done feeding for the night. The
blood of a young rave-crazed boy coursed through him, alive with
alcohol. Still, Artan felt peckish. A walk along the riverbank
tonight; perhaps he would run into a new flavored kine wandering
alone.
Well this is interesting. The mortals were home in bed
like tucked-in children; but there was something to see on the
bank. Artan watched the confrontation between wolf-man and witch.
Every Kindred had heard of both, of course, but Artan was still
surprised to see them. Never before had they engaged in open
conflict such as this. As a vampire, Artan was outraged; this was
a Kindred city, these otherwordlies had no place in it. But the
Sherrif in him was intruiged. Who is this kine the witches are
protecting? Artan wanted to wait until everyone was gone, and
then taste the blood of wizard and werewolf that had been left.
But the mortal was compelling; and if something was going down,
he wanted to know about it.
Artan nearly laughed when the redheaded witch slapped
the kine; only years of hiding in unnatural shadow had trained
him to give nothing away. But then the witches did something that
killed his mood and whitened his
knuckles. He watched as they
marched the mortal into
the haven of Lowell
Miroslav. What manner of
conspiracy could they be
concocting with that madman?
Prince Gareth must
be told of this. No warlock bitch
would make treaties with vampires in his city.