elvanmpiro's Story

Jackson Dawes shouts, trying to find life, or just someone to talk to, "Hallo! Anyone there?"

Fog? In the forest? It wasn't unheard of, but still caught her off guard. The blue spark that followed gave her even more cause for concern, especially given there were arcane magics that often gave off such a glow before catching an unlucky mage or unfortunate victim in up in their wicked embrace. Steeling herself against what might potentially come next, Catherine drew on a small tendril of her own power and wrapped it tightly about herself waiting.

"I am..." She started to reply to the voice, expecting nothing less than some obnoxious mage or other that didn't know what they risked in challenging her. At least that's what the last however long in the Dragon's court had been spent; defending territory and putting down dissidents. What she hadn't expected was some scrawny youth, panicking because his fancy electronics hadn't worked the way he had intended them to.

"Aschen?" Catherine asked regarding the youth standing before her. She had a distant and dim memory of a race that had called themselves the Aschen, but it wasn't anything more than that. The impressions they had left were hazy at best, and at worst something she didn't waste her time on. Then he continued to babble on about filming and four wheelers, the purpose of which eluded her.

"Are you done?" She drawled slowly, clearly unimpressed with whatever it was he had been trying to do.

Daemala Tauvyr noticed a lot of smells. Some new, some old. She was out for another stroll with her shadow. It seemed it was time, soon again, to rally her kind and clench a fist on the night.

But first, some fun.

The talons of her shadow scratched at a tree as she reached to touch it, but didn't. Lycanthrope. Werewolves. They were here, somewhere. It seemed they weren't all scared out or tamed ages ago. As much as she hated to admit it, some of her best patrons over the years were dirty dogs.

There was also another smell.
A familiar smell, while completely unfamiliar.

Vampires.
Other vampires.

Daemala tucked the memory in her mind, deciding she might find them. After all, they had found the Vankoryth Detente. She grinned. Her fangs flashed. Oh, what a lovely night!

Kethyr Naethus ran on all fours, the cool wind of the night swishing through his red fur as he bounded through the Cursed Wood towards the sound of the motorbike.

There it was! The red werewolf yipped as he spotted a glimpse of it flashing through the trees up ahead. He picked up speed, turning to run along side the scent trail. Faster, faster, faster, until there is was a couple trees away. He took a flying leap over a log and landed with a bark, excited to be racing and romping.

Lewis steps out of nothingness, leaving the non-space with the sound of a dull thump.

He immediately reaches into his vest for a GPS device. He's careful, he's had the sound muted and the obscuration spells covered his traces from most means that weren't magical, so he was pretty much covered when it came to the werewolves and vampires out on patrol. He was a near-expert in non-detection as well, able to step lightly and agilely into places that only the best of trackers were able to find, something he's pretty sure is a sense only humans or lesser-powered creatures would have to rely on, as vampires and other 'kin' relied heavily on their higher senses, rather than on basic skills, another thing to be glad for.
If anybody were to notice him, which while unlikely wasn't impossible, they would see what looked to be a shadow that slowly faded into something like a person, then into the armored figure that he would be seen as close-up.

He turns on the GPS, then slowly navigates through the woods, pausing at every snap and noise to analyze his surroundings. He stops around a rotted tree to remove a shovel, a black, folding affair, and quietly navigates to a tree, where he cuts a line wrapped around the trunk.
A large, black bag falls to the ground, which the armored man moves deftly to catch. He lowers it to the ground, opening the straps to reveal an assortment of knives, as well as one hatchet and a short machete. He removes both of the larger bladed implements, attaching them to sheathes at either side of his belt, and then tucks four throwing knives into a strap across his chest. He throws the bag back on after closing it, and then sets off to the next point.

He continues on, gathering a compound bow and quiver at the next stop, and then moves on to his final point, when he comes to a clearing. Well. There were two individuals standing over his next point, about seven yards from where he buried. He supposes he could throw a knife into an eye or fire an arrow from a distance, but he doubts that would prevent him from being noticed. Werewolves, as one of them seemed, were notoriously hard to kill, and he couldn't take it out from a distance with the weapons he had. He might be able to take it in melee, but that would require a grapple, and he didn't have time to spend fighting some dog-blooded freak.

He decides to remain with his anonymity, and just stands where he is, bow in his hands, an arrow nocked, staring directly at the two from some shadows.

I am chen hello

Lewis, or rather, the Judge, a mindset he quickly forces himself into, doesn't respond for a moment, standing still as the two back away. These aren't people, just filth. Still. Best play nice. He steps forward, putting both of his hands on his shovel. "Don't speak to me." He eyes the werewolf for a moment before beginning to dig, then stops, standing back up to face Kethyr. He pauses for a moment, then unbuckles his weapons belt and drops it on the ground, throwing down the throwing knives, machete and axe, then looks back up at the werewolf. "Happy? Back off. I don't want to fuck with you right now."
He leans forward again and begins to dig again, quickly uncovering a large metal box, which he grabs by the handle and pulls fully out of the earth. It was heavily similar to a rifle case, but much wider. He considers opening it for a moment, then kneels down and grabs his belt off the ground.
"Thanks. Bye."
And with that, only pausing to grab his bow off the ground, he walks away, into the shadows once more, obscuring himself as he does so.

Ulrich Paternosta smelled the dogs, but had bigger fish to fry. So long as they didn't fuck with him, he wasn't gonna be fuckin' with them.

"Hey!" Ulrich barked through the trees, clipping from one shadow of a tree to a distant other with supernatural speed.

Where was this bugger? Mr. Show-All-On-Up-An'-Drop-'em-Threats-'s-If-There-Waren't-Nun-Treaties-An'-'s-If-Their-Kind-Waren't-Abou'-Ter-Git-Justice. He haad delegated the transport of Zosimos to someone else so he could handle this but he'd be damned if he missed the actual trial. He'd be damned!

Ulrich Paternosta looked at the dog, looked to where Lewis disappeared, swung his hand to his hips and harrumphed.

"Fuck this," he declared, glazing again over the dog woman. For a brief moment he remembered the Lutetia directive. Get good with wolves. He harrumphed again.

"I've got shi' ter be doin'. Trial. It's an open affair," He shifted from one foot to another and hardened his gaze. He wasn't inviting her, but she seemed...invested. It was whatever. He had to be there, though.

Besides, they weren't causing...trouble.

"G'night," He nodded at Eurydice and turned on his heel, clipping away into the shadows.