1899. New York City. Ritz Hotel.
The elder's eyes snapped open. Normally, he was highly alert when he woke up -- a fact he took a bit of personal pride in. Now his senses were dulled, his eyes unfocused. His nose itched, although he couldn't put a finger on why. He pulled his eyes open and blinked a few times, rubbing his eyes. His arms were like lead, his eyelids felt like stone pilons, and he just couldn't figure out why.
He dismissed the sentinels of shadow that watched over him while he slept, and their chittering as they fled alerted him to something that was wrong. It was then that his nostrils finally caught the scent of smoke, and then his eyes were awake.
The room he was in was part of the Ritz's largest suite on the 19th floor. The bedroom he was in had no windows, but light was coming from somewhere. The crack beneath the door to the foyer was slightly visible. That was when he realized it was daytime. That was when he realized how truly in trouble he was.
An unearthly howl arose from somewhere a floor or two beneath him, where his closest associates were. He frantically rushed around the bedroom, trying to find an exit. He pulled open the door to the foyer, and looking into it was a little bit like a mortal staring into the sun. The barest hint of sunlight was visible in the room, and he tried to summon the darkness to block it away.
He had heard the stories of sunlight's effects on Obtenebration, but had never seen it in person. The shadow of darkness instantly cracked as though a pane of glass, and slowly one chunk after another fell out, leaving huge beams of sunlight, brighter than they were before, glaring into the room. The sunlight illuminated the smoke that was filling the room -- the ceiling was not visible.
Thoughts rushed through the elder's mind. Was Carpenter behind this? Was the Camarilla trying to retake the new Sabbat conquest? What would happen to Pieter?
He retreated into the bedroom -- smoke was rolling through the vents and more shouts and screams from the hallway and the floors below. There was nothing he could do other than hope the fire would pass him up. Or the sun was setting, but the light in the foyer was far too bright. He curled up in the bathtub in the adjoining bathroom, trapped, awaiting his fate.
As the flames finally got to the Lasombra and he suffered the flaming, screaming finality of Rotschreck, the Nosferatu rolled over in his sleep and smiled, happy in his satisfaction at a job well done.