I could NOT beleive it!!! After the blissful experience of being alive...in someone else's body but still, alive...I had been shoved back in the redness of The Void!!

But I had learned things....

The sword...MY sword...Lupus Mortis....was still around, and in the mangy claws of some Pup that seemed to live in the city! Gangrel living in a city! But that was not the most interesting of the things I had found out....Lupus Mortis had other powers, hidden powers.... It could change kindred into Kine! Actual Kine! With a beating heart and working stomach! It had also gotten strong...very strong....stronger than even when it was where it belonged, in my hand!

I began to understand more of my state...I was inside the sword. My "companions" had been the enemies defeated by the sword, bits of their life energy, soul if you wish, absorbed, adding to the blade's might! I had likewise been killed by the sword, but not a fraction of my soul, but the entirety of it had been eaten, sucked by the blade. And then some of the souls absorbed had not added to the might of the sword's...but mine! That's the electrical jolt!
The energy made me capable of concious thoughts again, eventually. I would've smiled. Soon, when I gained enough power I will have the might to do more than just float around...yesss...

((LMFAO!!!

[quote:4a8e600b9d="Graventhorp"]((BRAVO!!! This is awesome, I mean wow!! Who's writing this? Seriously, I need an autograph!! Do you have a manager?))[/quote:4a8e600b9d]

((LOL...well if you don't kiss your own ass, who will? lol Yes ppl I'm the guy that's Lupus Mortis AND Graventhorp...and Santa Claus doesn't exist!))

"Really Mr. Nash, at the risk of sounding boorish, I must admit I do NOT see what there is to talk about."

The rebuke was obviously not what the experienced Ventrue had expected. A long time member of Cascadia's Kindred community, the vampire calling himself Mr. Nash was a bit of a rarity. He was every inch a Ventrue, nearly bordering at times on stereotypical. However, he valued neither wealth nor influence.

Even as his face reddened with moving vitae, Nash's mind was awash with his true undead fascination, conflict. Indeed, the newly appointed Scourge was an expert in the subject, molding it into a finely tuned art that had overtime served him from the battlefields of the great Civil War to the corporate struggles of the Final Nights.

Now, as he stood in Gabriel O'Brien high rise office in the center of bustling downtown Cascadia, his desire for turmoil and confrontation was nearly visible in the depths of his eyes.

"Forgive me Gerousia, I did not wish to overstep my boundries." Nash was an older gentlemen, a southern dandy in his youth. Far and away the most prominant feature on his face was a pair of pearl white mutton chops that descended towards the edges of his mouth. His face retained much of it's mortal flush even in death, and broad proud features were visible under an awning of bushy white eyebrows.

At last Gabriel set aside the papers he had been scanning and shifted his full attention to the figure standing before his desk, a gesture which would have made most cringe in discomfort. Nash was no fledgling however, and had no intention of backing down. His large barrell chested form was as imposing now as it had been in 1863. O'Brien, being a former southerner, could respect that.

"Your position Mr. Nash," he paused, adding a slight smile. Clearly an attempt to belittle the good Mr. Nash, "is one that commands very strict and clear guidelines. Find unknown Kindred, and bring them before the Prince. If they are Anarchs, Sabbat, or any other manner of street filth, you have the authority to use whatever tactics you deem necessary."

"Within the confines of the Masquerade of course." Nash added, raising one fluffed eyebrow.

"Of course." Gabriel replied, leaning back in his chair and returning his attention to his work once more. Mr. Nash, not used to being ignored, turned and began the long, uncomfortable march back towards the office door. As he stood at the threshold, he turned a final time.

"He's Caitiff sir." The Seneschal never took his eyes from the page as he placed a hand on his chin.

"I did say any manner of street filth. Pray, don't make me repeat myself Mr. Nash."

"Of course not sir."

***************

"What do you think Ryan?" the question was obviously intended for the intellectual delight of the owner. Mr. Nash, now adjourned in his finest suit ensemble, an authentic Victorian top hat and coat, only wanted the verbal reassurance of his younger protege who sat behind the wheel of the car.

"I think the .44 is a fine choice for this evening Sire." Ryan was as much a scarcity as his undead master. In sync with the modern age of automobiles and high tech equipment, he had longed in his mortal days for the pomp and delicacies of the Victorian Age. In his Sire he had found a direct link to that bygone era, and served as a humble driver and lackey.

From the back seat, Nash lifted the Adams & Webley .44 pistol from it's red velvet casing. An old steamer trunk, customed designed with weapon holsters within, served as a travel able armory. The firearms therein were true antiques, meticulously upkept through the century, as only a true gun enthusiast could administer.

Remington Derringers, single action pistols, Mauser 7.65 mm, Starr Army double-action, and even a Colt "Peacemaker" .45 made their home in the top portion of the old steamer trunk. Beneath the felt covering several rifles were strapped to the bottom of the trunk, awaiting their masters use.

"You don't think it's too understated do you Ryan?" Nash questioned, glancing up towards the apartment building near where the silent car had sat for nearly an hour. In the window high above, the sounds of passion could be heard to the acute senses of Caine's Childer.

"No sir, if anything I truly wish you would invest in something more powerful...perhaps a more....modern weapon. I do have contacts that I could.."

"That will be quite enough Ryan!" Nash snapped, shifting foward and slipping the .44 into a specially crafted vest holster beneath his coat. "You know how distasteful I find those new 'automatic' weapons. Loutish things they are, requiring both minimal intelligence and skill from their owner."

"Of course Sire, forgive me."

The haughty figure stepped out from the back seat, fixing his top hat firmly atop his head. The Victorian Age was the only one he ever truly felt comfortable in, and though it was bending the Masquerade, in the relative confines of the night it was doubtful anyone would notice his strange attire.

Circling the front of the car, he stopped briefly by the driver's door and extended a single gloved hand.

"Ryan, my walking stick if you would." Ryan handed Mr. Nash his walking stick, a simple ivory cane that concealed a slender blade within it's body. As Mr. Nash approached the front of the simple apartment building, he glanced up at the window. Even the hunters could be hunted....

[i:ff155fa0ec]I stayed overnight. Spending as much time with her as I could before I left for the old cemetery.

The area was barren. Were the trees any more skeletal, it would have looked like the dead were pushing their way free of their damp, decaying coffins. The taxi pulled away, leaving me alone. The scant lighting merely adding to the emotion that things weren’t quite right. I patted my right side, feeling the .38 nestled there, my eyes sweeping across the rows of tombstones and marble crosses as I walked onward.

A sharp cry filled the air, something taking up roost for the night I hoped. Walking forward my keen sight traced the outline of the mausoleum, it stood angrily. A marvel of 19th Century masonry. The oblong length of stone ended with a heavy, similarly stone door. The door was shrouded in blackness, the low lights failing to reach it’s imposing face.

It made sense that Benny would have told Thorp of our encounter. The little rat turd would want to cover his indiscretions. It made equal sense then, than Thorp knew I was here.

It would be the perfect place for a trap. But that just made it all the more obvious. I leaned against a toppling gravestone and watched.

Better the prey comes to me, than the hunter steps into the snare.[/i:ff155fa0ec]

Just as the City Gangrel was beginning to think he should change his tactic or deplete his blood pool, his ears caught a nearing taxi cab's engine. After a minute or so the cab pulled up next to the cemetary's entrance. Some seconds later his obfuscated mouth spread in a smile, so, the hunter was Caitiff. He reeked of human female, but that didn't mask his true scent.

The hunter was no amateur, he expected the ambush, he had stopped in his tracks about 5 meters from the mauseleom. Thorp let his blood continue to make his body nearly invisble and crawled on all fours on the high wall, nearing the newcomer. He packed a revolver...and this one DID carry rounds. He paused for a second. This Caitiff could carry all sorts of disciplines, Thorp had to be cautious, think his strategy well.

If anyone could've seen him, they would have seen a nude feral figure crouching on the wall, pausing for a second, and then crawling down the wall silently in a spider-like move, approaching the Caitiff. Thorp kept on crawling on all fours even when arriving to the horizontal floor and began moving behind the hunter, putting himself between the door and the prey. Then with a silent yet quick move he stood up and noise-lessly unsheathed Lupus Mortis...then willed his body to become visible again.

[i:30ee9a953a]Nothing. Not a damn thing.

It looked like I was going to have to pay Benny another visit. This time I wouldn’t be gentle. I scanned everything, the shadows, underbrush. If it was solid I looked at it. Even scanned the glare of the weak streetlights.

[color=white:30ee9a953a]“I’d advise you to turn round boy.”[/color:30ee9a953a] Owain’s “tone” felt wrong. Like he sensed I was about to enter a world of hurt. I pulled the revolver, spinning the chambers as I turned. Dropping to one knee and taking careful aim.

[b:30ee9a953a]It[/b:30ee9a953a] stood like a man. But even a fool could tell that the thing facing me wasn’t remotely human, and hadn’t been for centuries. The weapon it held was a cruel vision of ancient forged steel.

It stank of fallen prey, and the ruins where it’s eyes should have been, were testament to it’s hardship. The hairs that littered the scarred body thankfully hid the obvious areas. In a curious way it looked almost pitiful. But I knew it would be pitiless in combat. I maintained my stance, pulling back the hammer.

“And you would be Graventhorp? I’ve been looking for you.”

Were it not for Owain’s reassuring murmurs I would be shaking...[/i:30ee9a953a]

A light flurry of snow danced on the wind before coming to rest on the ground. Countless statues of angels, each cold and grey, stood frozen forever in this winter wonderland. A single pair of small foot prints told of someone's solitary walk from a hole in the rusting wrought iron fence towards the Catholic crypts on the densely wooded side of Cascadia Necropolis.

Witnessed only by the statue of the Virgin Mary and her babe in arms, the heavily cloaked figure stopped at a crypt and with head cocked to one side it peered out from its hood with bright green eyes. A slender arm shot out from under the cape and with a sudden flash of glowing forged steel, the chain and padlock fell to the snow covered ground.

Just like a thief in the night, the figure moved stealthly, closing the heavy door behind her.

Graventhorp smiled inwardly. The hunter was scared...he may have been no amateur but he was no veteran either, at least not in kindred ways. But still he maintained his position, taking careful aim at Thorp. Something kept him there, gave him courage...they were probably paying him alot, this guy sure was ambitious.

"And you would be Graventhorp? I've been looking for you."

He even kept his voice steady, someone not paying attention might think this guy was not scared at all.

"Aye? Well...ye found me."

For some reason the urge to rip the flesh from his bones dissapeared. This guy was not a regular bounty hunter, he had too much...Thorp struggled for the word....humanity, was it?

"So I see. You going to drop the sword?"

Thorp smiled, his yellowed feral teeth still reddish from the last time he fed, his unstealthy fangs glinting in the moonlight.

"Ye scared of the sword, huh?" Thorp rotated the sword making it whistle through the air and then sheathed it with one quick movement. "I can still cut yer head off, y' know?"

The Caitiff stood up slowly, putting his gun away.

"Yes, I can imagine. But I'm not here to fight. I'm not stupid."
"No? Then what were ye plannin' to do once ye found me?"
"Well I had intended to tell you who sent me, see if it jogged your memory any."

Thorp raised an eyebrow.
"What kind of bounty hunter are ye? Betraying yer employer like that..."
Thorp liked this guy, he couldn't beleive it, but he liked the guy.

"I'm not a bounty hunter. I wasn't told to bring you in. I was just told to find you. And considering my client's reputation, I thought it'd be polite to ask."
"Ye thought it'd be polite to ask?" Thorp laughed, his raspy voice resonating through the empty cemetary. "Ok, pray tell, who sent ya?"

The Caitiff seemed to relax, he could tell he wasn't in mortal danger.

"Gangrel. Name of Carne. He sounded awfully interested in your whereabouts. Judging by the aura coming from that sword, I'd say it's that he's interested in."

Graventhorp's brow furrowed, giving him an even more animalistic expression.
"Carne?" Carne, that was a name he had not heard in many years. They had met a little after Thorp had turned City, in Ireland. That mutt had more blue blood in him than many Ventrue.
"That fag's in Cascadia? An' after Lupus Mortis, heh?" Thorp felt The Beast growl and howl in him, his will barely containging it. The Caitiff must have noticed, for he took a step back. After a few seconds the City Gangrel regained control. In that instant he heard a clang not far away...metal with metal...sword with chain. He paused a few seconds and a familiar scent invaded his nostrils. He smiled.
About a minute or so later a hooded figure emerged from the entrance that separated this part of the cemeteary with the others, on the mauseleom's right.
The Caitiff seemed confused and then turned in a quick movement, as if someone had yeleld out to him there was somebody behind him.
The hooded figure halted and turned towards the kindred, its face covered in shadow.
"Bats, meet....uh...what's yer name?"
The caitiff seemed less than a second away from taking out his gun.
"Uh...True. Sam True."
Thorp made a gesture towards the cloaked figure.
"That's Batgirl the Cappadocian."

"Mr True" she bobbed her head, "Am I interrupting.... something...?" She had heard the underlying growl in Thorp's voice as she approached and knew from past experience that it wasn't a good sign.


((oh man this is major writer's block. I can't believe this is all I'm gonna post right now. If I can think of something I'll extend it.

"Nah, Sam 'ere was just about to tell me where I can find an ol' acquaintance to bite his fuckin' head off..."

The Caitiff stared at the newcomer like a baby staring at something for the first time. [i:b612c9cad4]Welcome to the big leagues[/i:b612c9cad4] Thorp thought, sensing Sam's inexperience with the ancient.

"Oh? And what brings thee to this parts of town?" Batgirl's cool voice came from under her hood as she approached the duo, standing next to her old friend.
"Ah, well, " Thorp nudged his head towards the mauseleom "that's me new shack o'er there."
Batgirl pulled her black hood back, revealing yer pale yet beautiful features. Sam could not stop staring at her, Thorp wondered if he had even seen a cappadocian before, they were not as common these days.
"I see. It has been abandoned for some time now." She turned towards the City Gangrel. "This old acquaintance of yours and acquaintance of mine?"
Graventhorp shook his head. "Nah, balllicker mutt by the name of Carne. But he's more of a hairy prissy ventrue, if ye ask me."
Batgirl nodded. "And what's Mr. True's relation to all this?" Her eyes met with Sam's. They seemed to burn a hole through him, Sam couldn't help but turn away.
"Uh..I was hired by Carne to track Graventhorp down. He probably was after Graventhorp's---weapon."
Batgirl nodded and took a glance at the sheath hanging from the City Gangrel's nude figures.
"We can not deny the blade has brought issues before."
"This ain't 'n issue, Bats, we can dispose of the jobby-jabber before sunrise and concentrate on the real issues."
"Actually I don't think Carne will be such an easy target, his place is a fortress." Sam was finished with his sentence before he realized he was including himself.
Thorp's mouth stretched again in a feral smile.
"Believe me True, few "fortresses" are good cover..."

Jobby jabber? Graventhorp seldom failed to surprise Batty with his varied and often colourful vocabulary. She glanced at her pocket watch, noted the time and looked back at the pair.

"This so-called fortress... where is it?" she asked, half expecting to be told to mind her own business and rightfully so. History should have taught her to be wary when accompanying Thorp and his sword. As for Mr True, she only had a vague reference from Thorp as to who he was. He probably had his own hidden agenda too.

She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, her cloak fell open enough for them both to see she was armed. Just then Sam began to speak.

_____________
((It's short but it's there and it's IC lol

[i:ada2dd4630]I looked at the two Elders. The Gangrel, although older, seemed to bear alot of affection for the woman. I was sure that the Cappadocians were extinct. Her aura just felt, well, old.

“So lead on little one.”

Hmm little one eh? I heard Owain roll over in hysterics as I finally holstered my .38.

“Well, not that it’ll do us any good. But sure, follow me.”

I turned, pulling my scarf tighter around my face. The woman, Batgirl? Good grief, the names my kind came up with. I mentally smirked as the Gangrel, still naked, dropped to all fours. Wuffing as he trotted past in well, wolf form I guess.

“You want us to walk all the way? His penthouse building is over on the east side.”

“If you wish. I can’t imagine a cab driver will willingly carry our feral friend here, do you?”

She had a silken voice, matching the porcelain-like tone of her skin. I nodded and crossed the street.

“No offence, but I can pass for normal. I’m not so sure about your robes, or the fact that Mr. Thorp is wearing paws. Maybe the alleyways?” I didn’t give her time to answer, and Thorp didn’t wait for us to either. He dashed forward, disappearing into the alleys that fed onto the main street-way. I scanned ahead, sensing only a few homeless guys sleeping off a cocktail of methylated spirits and soured milk. Safe then.

It made sense that Carne wouldn’t expect a visit. All the same, Vierge [b:ada2dd4630]had[/b:ada2dd4630] been tailing me since I arrived. So it was equally likely that we were walking into a firefight.

What I would do to have Erin’s shotgun handy.

I shook the thought from my head. Owain had bailed me out of tighter spots, I only hoped he was in good spirits.

Heh spirits. I openly grinned at the accidental pun. Batgirl just cocked her head and looked at me strangely.[/i:ada2dd4630]

((OOO! this is a damn good thread!))

The flimsy apartment gave way with even more ease than Nash had expected. Without faulter, the Ventrue rushed into the darkened room, his .44 glinting in the meager light a few flickering candles provided. The apartment was humble, obviously mortal. Trinkets of recent vacations and distant family members were barely visable, even to Cainite eyes.

A few bits of homely furniture decorated the otherwise empty room. The dapper Ventrue allowed his auspex to permeate the room, his psychic reach sloping from his haughty form and weaving serpentine-like over the span of the tiny apartment. A few unseen cockroaches, a sleeping parakeet.....

'[i:afc1b9561b]Aah, here we are.....[/i:afc1b9561b]' Nash smiled as he inhaled the scent of lust and the warm, heavy scent of fresh blood. Deep within his chest, the Beast uncoiled, and the game began.

For an instant, his dormant body sprung to life, an emulation of human activity. As he crept down the hallway towards the lone closed door, he could feel his tongue begin to bathe itself in a pool of saliva. His heart began to pound, and his stomach groaned as the smell of blood and sex grew stronger. Standing mere inches from the door, he could sense the pair on the other side, too enraptured in desire to note the quiet footsteps in the hall.

'[i:afc1b9561b]Caitiff....hmmm physically weak. What's he doing here?[/i:afc1b9561b]'

As he threw open the door, the scene before him unravelled with a brand of jerky slow motion. The room was certainly pleasant enough at one time, but now the gentle peach of the walls was streaked with tendrils of blood. The shag carpet was darkened with ever drying pools of vitae that trecked in splotchy footsteps towards the bed.

Even to the undead, the twisted lovers were a grotesque sight to behold. Two writhing bodies lay interlaced on the bed. The woman was obviously Spanish, her long dark hair plastered with a mixture of sweat and blood to her rounded curves. She wore what at first appeared to be tattooes, but as Nash's eyes adapted to the change in light he could see the trails of blood left by the Caitiff's tongue, streaking from her neck down her torso, snaking down towards her pleasure.

On top of her, a thick figure was hunched, his pale naked body glistening with blood sweat. In the faint light, Nash could barely make out the outline of a black tattoo in the shape of a hand on his back. He turned as Nash entered, and stared hard with a pair of raven black eyes. Jumping from his perch atop his moaning victim, he lurched towards Nash, his naked form still engorged from the mixture of feeding and sex.

"Tut tut my boy." Nash quipped, stepping aside with ease. The blade of his cane dagger shone in the lamplight as he arched it in one fell swoop and plunged it through the center of the Caitiff, spilling his newly acquired vitae across the rug.

"Ah....shit...." he groaned, realizing he was outmatched. Nash relaxed, but kept his hand firmly on the hilt of the blade, ensuring the attacker would remain pinned as long as he willed it so.

"Yes, you've gotten yourself into quite the predicament. Barging into the Prince's city without an introduction was foolish enough, but then to feed from his personal herd?"

"I swear...I didn't know...it was his...." the Caitiff spat between mouthfuls of uprising blood. A quick twist of the blade brought torrents of howls from the young Kindred, howls that only taunted the Beast within Nash.

"Liar....well...perhaps you haven't warrented destruction. But you've more than worn your welcome. I'm not in the habit of starting crusades against Sabbat fledglings." Nash glanced at the woman, who lay on the bed curled into a ball, stimulating herself silently. "By Caine's breath, you did quite a number on her didn't you?"

Nash laughed and within the duration of a moment he was deep in the recesses of the woman's mind, manipulating her thoughts and memories. As her grip of reality slowly began to disjoint Nash watched with increasing rapture. By the time he released his grip on her, she was hystarical, leaping from the covers and shrieking at the top of her lungs. She pointed at the Caitiff and cowered in the corner, clawing at her throat.

"RAPIST!!! SOMEONE F*CKING HELP ME!!!"

The Ventrue laughed over the screams and withdrew his blade from the Caitiff's back, kneeling down to floor level as he did so.

"Not much time now." he whispered. As his defeated foe moaned and struggled to heal the now gaping hole running through his torso, Nash walked over to the chair where his filthy clothes lay in a ball. Searching his pockets he removed several key items and slipped them into his own overcoat.

Then, with one fluid move, he opened the window and slipped into the night, disappearing down the fire escape and into the darkened alleyway below.

As the Caitiff burst from the apartment building and out onto the streets, fully intent on escaping the wail of sirens in the distance, he caught the watery red design left by a car speeding off into the early morning traffic.