[align=justify:20cb8fea52]The wind blew through the mantle of night, clouds stirring aloft the full pregnant moon, death-masked, melancholically gilded by the halo that surrounded its ancient omnipotence and cruel potency- for what could be created on such an ominous lunar tide? The chilling howls echoing through the forests, rebounding off the fortress of mountains that separated these fiends from the villages below⦠the reverberation foretold they craved flesh and blood; it stirred in their veins driving them to the madness of the change⦠the metamorphosis into wolf. How Angevin abhorred these ill-noble cretins, sniveling, drooling beasts that were nothing more than cretins wishing for the status and elegance possessed by those much like her. There was something proud in being one of the midnight tempters, a certain code of honor that granted loyalty amongst certain kindred⦠but there was also that inkling of brooding sadness. She was only really loyal to one other outside of her precious and grandiose clan, and it was him whom she now watched from the sanctuary of shadows. Her brother. Only for the reason to offer another blade should he require it. Angevin fully well knew he could protect himself, she didnât keep at his hastened pace, out of sight because he wasnât able to watch out for himself⦠she was there only for the reason to offer her arms like any whom held a heart sacred like a treasure chest, as one would protect⦠family.
Remaining silent, prowess surpassing even the stealth of feline predatory nature⦠having spent time with the Assamites of the East honing their skills and attributes with a keen eagerness; Quietus being a well adapted trait in her night-tide hunts and reconnaissance. Perched on the silhouetted crag of jagged obsidian, shrouded between both worlds of gilded light and darkness, shading her from recognizable detection; piceous clad limbs swathed in black tourniquet of leather⦠constricting as physique leaned over the ledge allowing her features to illume with glowing incandescence. Monochromatic façade of chiseled structure and defined contours framed by billowing flags of sable rivulets; her figure ever so slightly silhouetted betwixt darkness and pale moonfire. Flambeauâs of frozen ice piercing the night, permitting unnatural sight to stab through the thick blanketing inkiness down below. She didnât need any real instigation that things were about to get âinterestingâ, the fast movement whistling through the bidding tapestry, a few inaudible innocent sounding snaps of branches and twigs⦠and the howls bleeding through the night in cacophonous symphony. They were hunting the blood⦠seeking the trophy of her beloved kindred this night⦠not that of the cattle.
Rubicund-sanguine apertures formed into a sneer, angelic lips peeling back to reveal glistening ivory white fangs⦠legs moving beneath her maintain her minuscule weight, arms palm down against the rock as body lunged forwards, pushing her over the edge to plummet to the surging blackness below. Seconds had passed as boot heel commented to the sodden ground below, a slight impact to recoil against legs in a springing fashion, much like a cat always lands on its feet elegantly after a fall⦠so too did Angevin. Right hand sweeping against bodice over towards the hilt of her blade, Damascene Scimitar sheathed against thigh. One rapid action, and that blade was liberated from its slumber⦠gripped with agile strength yet relaxed around her wrist to enable swift attacks and maneuvers that made most appear amateur in comparison. Movement now deigned with purpose, pace hastened only to have her path interrupted by one of those snarling rodents⦠black fur matching that of the night, bulky, matted fur gleaming with the gore of a kill⦠nigrescent eyes gleaming with feral madness as maws parted to reveal razor-sharp jagged canines.
Hot breath pluming from nostrils as it snorted, body hunched and preparing for the attack. Of course it may have looked formidable if Angevin hadnât seen one before, these days they were common, not even worth a gasp of horror- seen one smelly, drooling flea-bag mongrel dog⦠youâve seen them all. Her head tilted to the side, eyes rolling as sound incurred a sigh of boredom⦠the blade of the scimitar held against the exterior of her thigh, the smooth satirical edge tilted to reflect the moonlight, giving it the appearance of a macabre grin as the light traveled along the periphery. Left hand rising to usher an impatient 'Come and get it' gesture. As if it needed invitation⦠lunging clumsily at her shoulder with teeth and claw. Angevin simply pivoted like a ballerina bring the Damascene scimitar directly down against its neck; the carefully honed blade sheared neatly through collarbone, metamorphic flesh and vertebrae⦠the massive head coming free almost instantly while Angevinâs beauteous face gave nothing more than an expression of aloofness- gaze shifting to another canine juggernaut melting from the veils of night as if born from seismic breach.
Strong accent of Romanian mocking, jeering, dripping with sarcastic and acidic sultriness âWhat are they teaching you asinineâ these days, eh?â Flawless intonations as the grace with which she shifted her grip "Mutt against kindred?"Angevinâs voice alternating from the acidic dulcet to a more venomous bitter cacophony. "No, no. You must do things in the proper fashion."Grip tightening "Like soâ¦" She didnât wait for it to attack her, moving at the speed undetectable, a shadow, an amorphous blur from heightened celerity far beyond any expected of one so seemingly young. Appearing up close and personal, left hand already balled into a tight fist, knuckles snapping into its throat- one⦠then plunged her fingers precisely into those black menacing sockets- two. One-two, quicker than a child could draw breath and harder than what any mortal could strike. Rubiescent lips tautly smiling as the formerly formidable opponent clawed in panic at his ruined eyes and crumpled windpipe. No sight, no voice- and no chance to invoke his otherworldly abilities⦠now she could do the rest at her leisure⦠one that would make an âexampleâ of his foolishness.
Meager moments passed, the flux of minutes nothing but a constant flow of time that meant nothing- time was just a foolish mortal device, so unworthy of their existence from the darkness, their beauty that even the angels envied yet dared not bequeath them of such heavenly wings. Crumbled bodies, pools of crimson blood mixing with the dirt that shimmered black as the moon caressed their libertine; midnight sacrifice or more rather a remembrance of just who exactly ruled these majestic mountains, and nor would the kindred hide from their howls of war. Nigrescent lanterns beaming malevolent in the darkness as chin lifted to the direction of where he walked in silence⦠was his mind plagued? Sweeping upright from her crouched position as the final pelt of fur was flayed away from the lifeless bulk of meat just in front of genuflected knee. Blade swiping over leather to drain the last remnants of Garou vitae, then sheathing it swiftly as svelte figure vanished into the thicket of forest and overhanging hedges of weeping willow. Angevinâs pace bringing her directly to the side of her brother, a black mass of fur draped over her left shoulder⦠an accolade displayed with pride. Not having the chance to say a single word, beforeâ¦
The remaining Garouâs gathered around, enclosing them in an ambush⦠or so their feeble minds would think. Right hand bringing the blade up against her chest, sanguineous rapture flowing in drops to the ground, permitting any should they bother to sniff⦠they would know it was the blood and pelt of their fallen brothers. A cold smile displayed over those lips tinted with the blood of the one she had tortured and flayed the pelt straight from his back without mercy, without sympathy⦠briefly turning to her brother and offering a casual nod of obeisance "Lovely night for a stroll isnât it dear⦠brother?" Right slender brow arching in curious intrigue, those cold mirrors staring directly into his eyes with a hint of cynicism hidden behind dulcet timbre. Angevin had no clue if any other kindred were about who had heard the Garouâs approaching and rose to defend their blood⦠all she knew is that it wasnât going to be the end of them, but certainly the end of those. The tip of her blade swinging outwards to the first approaching beast, apex directive as eyes swept with that same motion of defiance. "Moarte la cel ciine! Salutare la cel Singe!"[/align:20cb8fea52]
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