Snippet #2541180

It was a long and eventful night for Ragenard, full of many new unknowns and questions, all leading up to this moment.

He had vacated his apartment within Bloodstone territory shortly after making up his mind, packed all of his meager possessions into a single overgrown trunk, and spent the night in a literally lousy motel room while he gathered his thoughts aided by a bottle of good whiskey. Likely the last he would be affording for a while.

He now stood poised to approach the mouth of the beast. A group of people who hunted people like him. A group of people he would arguably be crazy to even consider joining, both because of who he was, and what he was.
And yet, here he was. Sometimes crazy was the only way to get what you wanted most.

Ragenard dropped down from the perch he had been standing oon watching the approach into Mandragora University. Despite it's humble beginnings, the purpose of underneath it all was obvious to anyone with the eye to see. The way the land itself was shaped around the perimeter, how clear and devoid of clutter it was. Perfect firing lines in case of attack.

He had no doubt that within seconds of dropping from his hiding place, eyes somewhere within were aware of his approach.

Not one to waste time, Ragenard began to slowly make his way towards the front gates. He walked slowly, nonchalantly even, but just beneath his skin he held his rage like an armor, ready to spring into attack if needed.

He was in his human form now, and fully clothed, or as much as a werewolf who spends most of his life fighting can be said to be clothed. Black combat boots, dark gray and black patterned fatigues pants, and a simple white muscle shirt that left no folds or crannies open to the imagination made up his ensemble.

It was chilly still in the foggy post dawn hours, but he left his coat back at his shitty motel room. If he was going to get shot today, he reckoned it would not be because a jumpy guard thought he was reaching for a hidden weapon in his pockets. Not that there was any need, as he was intentionally walking down fully and visibly armed.

Around his torso he wore a peculiarly runed baldric of the sort one would have used for a big monster of a sword or axe a few centuries ago in the region, made up of supple black leather on the inaide and worked cunningly through with plates of boiled leather that seemed to have no seams to them. All throughout could be seen runes worked into the leather itself, barely visible unless you had the eyes to see them when active.

As none of the handful of enchantments centered around the runes were active, both it and it's contents were plain for the world to see. Hanging to either side just off his hips, two wide loops contained a pair of odd sawn off shotguns, indentifiable as such by general shape, but all a mess of sharp points and strangely colored gunmental and golden alloys swirling about.

Then there was the obvious centerpiece to his weaponry, a big ass sword, which despite obviously being there, did not reveal much about it due to it's being tightly wrapped hilt to tip in oilskin.

Thus it was that Ragenard made his way to the metaphorical gates of the Ardelean Society, nonthreateningly and respectfully disengaged, but visibly prepared and a vision of casual lethality.

"Oi there, guard. Yes you. I know there's probably like 20 of you hiding somewhere nearby, and you no doubt either know who I am or will be told so shortly" exclaimed Ragenard immediately as he drew up to the gate and saw a small guard station off to the side, he held himself neutrally and comfortably as he carefully gesticulated with his hands as he spoke, being careful to keep them above waist level and slightly extended, unmistakably away from his sidearms.

"Be a good chum and direct me to your boss?"