England 1254

The stench of death rose up from everywhere, seemed to penetrate the very soul and mark it for life. The thin fog that hung over the setting became denser, soon the corpses were blurred to the eye, but that did little to cover the horror.
A dark feral figure landed with no audible sound in the middle of the scene, seemed to materilaize from the fog itself. It remained in a crouching position for a few seconds and then stood up to its full height, a little over 2.20 meters. A solitary wind parted the fog for a few seconds, uncovering the figure's face, which caught a glimpse of moonlight causing long yellowed fangs and unnatural yellow eyes to glint, then the cover that the fog provided was reestablished. The figure sniffed the humid, rotting air and cocked its head to the right just in time to notice an arising figure, not very different from his own.
"Xgrath..."
"Aye, sire."
The voices were far from human, guttural and coarse...bestial.
The new arrival, Xgrath, walked to his sire, not minding the crunching of bone as he stepped on the already rotting corpses.
"Why have we come?"
A muscular, clawed hand gestured toward the gruesome scenery. "Isn't it obvious, childe?"
Xgrath narrowed his eyes, his feral red eyes.
"Nay, this was a mortal battle, not of our care..."
"Ye think so? Thou lost yer sense?"
Xgrath blinked and then for the first time took a sniff. His acute nose caught various scents, the most obvious were the rotting corpses, but other than that no alien scents for a forest.
"I do not understand thee, sire Odnan"
Odnan fought back the urge to physically injure his childe.
"Look further from the obvious..."
Xgrath blinked and then sniffed the air again...there masked by the rotting flesh, the fog and the forest scents was the smell of garou.
"Garou did this?!"
Odnan shook his head. "Nay, childe, do ye notice claw marks on the mortal bodies? Teeth marks?"
Xgrath looked around, enraged that he had not caught the garou scent since he arrived to the scene, he was decided he was not going to miss any more details...
"Nay...only weapon wounds. Swords and arrows... But why the smell of garou then?
"That, childe, is the question that answers your first question."
Odnan's massive figure moved towards the center of the forest.
Xgrath's mouth contorted into a vile gesture that portrayed the rage that grew within him, his fangs seemed to grow as he snarled.
He had been embraced 3 years before, but that fool Odnan still kept him by his side, like a common fledgling being taught bu his sire. A low growl came from deep within him, The day would come when he would be strong enough, and when that day arrived he would make his sire pay for the humiliation. Someday.

England 1255

A blood-chilling howl in the distance forced recently knighted Sir Odorf of Kingshill to calm down his steed, who seemed to be just about ready to throw his owner off its back and run as far away from the forest as it could.
"Find thy courage, Erso...remember thou art the steed of a knight now..." Odorf patted the horse, he didn't know if he was trying to calm Erso the horse or Odorf the knight. All the stories he ahd heard as a lad came flooding back to him, the wolf-men , the blood-sucking demons, the phantoms of fallen soldiers...all the creatures that inhabited forests such as this.
"Calm down, thou art a bloody knight for Saint Peter!" He mumbled, barely realizing he was talking to himself and not his horse. The forest couldn't be darker, but there wasn't a cloud in sight to cover the feared full mooon.
Erso stopped suddenly and neighed nervously.
"Wh-what is it?" Odorf instincitively drew his longsword and regretted having taken the shortcut through the woods, it would spare him two days of journey back to Kingshill, but he now suspected why travelers didn't use it.
He reluctantly dismounted after hearing a branch crunch not 6 feet away.
"Who goes there!?" Odorf tried to sound calm and manly, but the result was more of a wavering yelp.
Erso neighed fiercely and caused Odorf to fall on his rear end as the horse stood up on its hindquarters and took off faster than Odorf had ever seen it run before...off into the dark ominous woods.
Odorf gulped loudly and stood up, looking around, barely noticing the fact that his prize-winning horse had fled along with all his belongings.
Behind Odorf a shadow landed, feral eyes catching the moonlight and glinting fiercely.
The figure stood up to its whole height, roughly 2.20 meters, over 7 feet of raw muscle covered in coarse gray hair.
"Don't thee fear the garou, mortal?"
Odorf screamed as he urinated his pants and dropped his longsword, turning around, staring up at the fierce, merciless yellow eyes and matching bestial fangs.
"Thou should know that this is garou territory..." The bulking figure took a step toward the crying mortal who was on the floor, crawling backwards away from the monster. The coppery scent of warm, fresh vitae rose up to Odnan's nose, even over the powerful smell of urine.
"Thank thy god that I got to thee before the garou," Odnan smiled, showing his pointy feral teeth to the knight, who kept calling for his "mum".
Odorf's adrenaline full body stood up and bolted away, in other circumstances he would've bben surprised by the speed he had accomplished. But not 20 yards after, he found himself surrounded by 6 giant, snarling wolves. THe human somehow managed to turn around but he hit something warm and hard and fell on his rear end once again. He looked up at his obstacle and found the same wolf-man.
"Thou sould know that it is not often that mortals enter this woods, they fear the monters, thou see? That is why I need to take thy gift to me, even If I did feed just yesterday."
Odorf felt being lifted off the ground by his shoulders by claws that dug deep into his skin and he soon felt himself screaming as two 2 inch fangs found his yugular.

Walc cocked his lupine head towards the dying scream, unmistakenly human. He looked down at his fur-covered stomach where a rather big scar could be noticed. The scar was the remnant of a wound that had caused half his large intestine and most of the small to exit his body not even a year ago.
The same wound caused by Lupus Mortis in the hands of that killer, Odnan. Hate rose up within him but his tail also unconciously traveled to rest between his legs, he would try not to run into Odnan again, at least not alone.
He picked up the scent of what seemed to be a horse and leapt into the night.

Locksley, England 1295

"Childe, wake up."
Graventhorp sat up in a quick, alarmed gesture. He spotted his sire's towering figure exiting the cave, Odnan wanted to be followed. The young Gangrel looked around, he was beginning to get used to the weekly..what was the word his sire used?..right,havens. This one was a particulary well hidden haven, a cave that had an entrance 15 feet from the ground. The cave itself wasn't big , just enough for his sire and himself...altough he had never seen Odnan sleep in his whole year as a Gangrel.
His tongue swept across his mouth roof, it was dry,he was thirsty. He sniffed the stale, humid air...he still had trouble figuring scents out, the only one he could recognize with complete certainty was the one of blood.
"Childe!" Odnan's feral voice roared and echoed in the cave, causing Graventhorp to almost cry out. He stood up, almost banging his head on the cave's ceiling, checked that he had his sword with him and exited the cave with a jump.
He landed smoothly on the soft, damp, forest ground, but before he could exmaine his surroundings he felt himself flying through the air, crying out in pain as he hit an oak tree that splintered.
"Always alert. Use thy senses, that is what we Gangrel do."
Graventhorp stood painfully and, like his sire had taught him not long ago, he healed his wounds...growing even thirstier.
"Sire...I need to feed."
Odnan nodded. "Aye, ye do." And with that the ancient Gangrel produced his weapon, Lupus Mortis. Graventhorp didn't know the weapon's name, but he knew it was special. He also knew Odnan would teach him about it when he found it prudent.
The young gangrel surprised himself by dodging an unexpected attack from Odnan's sword, but still cried out in pain when Odnan kicked him and sent him flying, this time hitting a different oak tree, which also splintered.
"But I thought-"
"That thou need to feed does not mean that thou WILL feed. Thou should be prepared to fight with no vitae in thy body."
"Vitae?"
Odnan bared his terrifying teeth when pronouncing "Blood, childe, blood."
"But then howd'st I heal?"
Odnan smiled "No vitae, no disciplines..no Blood Healing."
Graventhorp nodded. He had a lot to learn.
His sire turned his head and leaped ina lighting quick movement. Before Graventhorp could react, Odnan landed on the ground again. He had done that before, the neonate knew he had used a tree top to sniff the air better, and maybe even see what had alarmed him.
"Garou."
"Ga-?"
Thunderous crashing everywhere, slintering and cracking of wood. Gigantic forms entered the clearing. Garou. Four of them.
"Walc..." Odnan smiled noticing a black lupine with a noticeable scar across its stomach...a scar that remindned Graventhorp's of his own scar, which he fashioned from shoulder to belly.
"Thou shall regret your embrace, kindred!!"
The garou's voice was even fiercer than Odnan's.
A Red glint caught Graventhorp's eyes, he turned and noticed a strange glow coming from his sire's sword, and after a whistling, like that of a swinging claw, it all turned black.

(this is great stuff thorpe

"Childe...wake up, fledgling!"
Graventhorp heard some dixtant, pained moaning, and then realized it was his own voice. He painfully willed his eyes open and his vision slowly blurred back into focus.
"Drink." A familiar, bestial voice commanded. The neonate blinked several times, sat up, barely, and noticed something resting on his lap...before he even realized he had picked it up and bitten into it, draining the vitae in it. He felt how strength returned to him in a surprisingly quick way. He looked down at the warm object in his hands and realized he had bitten into a garou's leg.
He stood up, renewed, and examined his surroundings. In the same clearing where he had lost his conciousness laid bloody mangles that could've sometime been part of a garou...or more than one. They had been completely mutilated by the looks of it. HE narrowed his eyes and found Odnan staring at him, almost studying him.
"Sire, what happened?" Graventhorp was surprised bu how steady and strong his voice sounded. He still had not gotten used to the new raspy quality it had aquired...a bestial quality.
"Garou attacked."
"Aye, but-"
"I killed two, the others fled, cowards."
The young gangrel cocked his head sideways.
"Thou killed two garou by thyse-"
"Thy training for the day is not complete, childe."
Graventhorp studied his sire...he had no wounds whatsoever.
"Shape of The Beast."
"Sire?"
"Shape of The Beast, like I taught thee..."
Graventhorp snapped back to attention. "Aye, sire." And using the newly acquired lupine vitae that traveled through his veins, he assumed the shape of a wolf.

((that's great thorpedo :grin:

(( Awesome posts man :smile: ))

Kingdom of Locksley, England 1301

A solitary, blood-curling howl rose over the cold, humind air, like a sign of what was about to happen. Two cuadruped figures erupted from the forest, bringing an abrubt end to the midnight silence, running at an alarming speed towards the castle.
The Castle of Locklsey had stood as a sign of the kingdom's prosperity for generations. Locksley was famous for its fine family of knights and lords. Brave, loyal men that served God. Only two soldiers kept guard of the castle, Locksley had never been the target of an attack, yet, so defense wasn't the highest priority.
The two wolf-like figures entered a tall hedge that surrounded the castle, and seconds later two humanoid ones arouse from the hedge.
"Have thy weapon with thee?" A guttural, rough voice asked.
"Aye." Another less feral, but still guttural voice responded.
"Will they let thee enter it without conflict?"
"They ought to. I am the kingdom's heir, am I not?"
"Thou were the heir, aye, but not anymore. Thou art part of another race now."
"Still, my looks have not been changed that much."
"Remember to use thy senses, and do NOT let thy feelings get in the way."
"I've no feelings save loathing for this place."
"Go on."
The shortest figure exited the hedge and walked around to the main gate.
"HALT! Who goes there?" The guard noticed a silohuette, but his eyes were no good in the darkness.
"Don't thou recognize thy sire?"
Stalos, the guard, blinked, trying to see through the surrounding darkness. What was the man talking about?
"The sire of this place is inside! Who goes there?"
"Thou have more than only one sire...open the gate, now."
"S-sire Graventhorp?"
"Who else? Now open the door!"
Stalos hesitated. Graventhorp had left for the latest crusade years ago. Even against his parents' wishes, for he had not been knighted, he had not even been a squire. They did not want someone from Locksley to serve in a crusade as a mere soldier. But Graventhorp had still left. Stalos remembered his outstanding swordsmanship and his strong character, Graventhorp had always resented the way his parents treated him like mere cattle.
"Open the door I say!" The scream made Stalos jump.
"A-aye, sir!" And with that he signaled the peasants that were already waiting for his signal, who pulled open the huge wooden double doors.
Graventhorp remembered to stay ouf the fire's light, for even though his eyes were still hazel,his looks had turned much more feral. He hoped they would think of them as his adult features.
He crossed the treshold and the main courtyard without a word. He slammed open the thick, heavy wooden doors that were the entrance to the main hall and sniffed the air. His father had always been foolish, for he never had more than 10 guards in the whole castle, but it seemed like he had gotten even dumber, for Graventhorp's senses told him his mortal father was close, and there were only 2 guards in this whole section. He crossed the main hall, walked up the small flight of stairs up to the open double doors the lead into the Throne Room, which was empty, and began to turn left, where the royal chambers stood before he stopped himself, haveing sniffed and heard something, and turned around.
The figure seemed surprised to have been noticed, and reamined silent.
A wide, feral smile crossed the Gangrel's face.
"Ah...father."

The plump, yet sturdy, figure of Lodfrat, Lord of Locksley, stood in front of an opening that the Gangrel had not known of, a secret passage of sorts. Lodfrat carried a long knife with his right hand, it glinted with the moonlight that filtered in through the gargantuan window behind the throne with a silver-like pureness.
"Ye wanted to kill thy own heir from the back?" Graventhorp said, still smiling.
"Thou, creature, airn't my own nothing, and thy kind are naught welcome to Locksley..." The young gangrel's ears were surprised to hear a sturdy, confident voice. And then his eyes noticed that the Lord was actually smiling. He drew his longsword intimidatingly.
"This creature's ears have heard that things that should not do so, do happen in this place..." He was careful to let his blood-stained fangs to show in the moonlight, trying to push fear in the mortal's heart. No success.
"Thy ears have heard wrong, for everything that goes on in the peaceful kingdom of Locksley is God's own will...well," Lodfrat added with a smile, "My own will..."
Graventhorp was once again victim of his unexperience, for from the passageway behind his mortal progenitor, two figures appeared. They were dressed in orange and red tunics, respectively, and had a certain scent to them...
"Tremere." It was the gangrel's un-beating heart the one that filled with fear. This were Tremere of the stronger kind.
"We shall rearrange thy bones, pup, and then thou will serve clan Tremere, and no other!" The tremere dressed in orange hissed.
"Uh-Clan Tremere and Locksley, do not forget..." Lodfrat ventured, ignored.
The gangrel, surprising even himself, jumped back with a backflip milliseconds before a bolt of lighting scorched where he last stood. They were playing with him, testing him.
"O, what have ye brought on thyself..." the gangrel muttered fearfully to himself.

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[i:2b923214b1]Only the dead have seen the end of war...[/i:2b923214b1]

[ This Message was edited by: Graventhorp on 2002-03-22 14:41 ]