Lane MacBrenna: Home is where the Heart is.
Prisoners who were sentenced to long years in torpor had escaped the depths of the Prince's Elysium thanks to the fluctuations of the ley lines. Terrible, depraved, murderous bastards for the most part had escaped to terrorize both kindred and kine alike.
Really, there was nothing about the matter that concerned me. So, newly awakened elders running amok again? I dealt with that enough when I was Prince. Dexter and his gang enjoy it far more and require the experience far more. I was born five hundred and thirty nine years ago, soon as I could hold a sword, I started using it. Experience with fighting and killing, I have aplenty.
Yet, something changed in the matter. One of the escaped prisoners decided to make it personal. He decided to enter my territory and claim it as his own as it was his territory very long ago. He is a gangrel who is a member of the Ordo, sentenced to torpor due to repeat breaches of the Masquerade in front of mortals. He wasn't just using powers around them, he was telling his soon to be prey and their families that he was a vampire. His name is Michael O'Connor, and he has already started his old antics again AND decided to threaten me in my territory. In my eyes, evolution is a force in the Ordo. The strong and the smart survive. The strong and the smart should also make it their duty to see the weak and stupid do NOT survive. Michael had decided to demonstrate his stupidity by making things personal between him and I. He made the dire mistake of doing something to concern me with the situation. Michael O'Connor signed his death warrant two nights ago, and tonight he will realize that he is a man living on borrowed time.
I trek up the hill in the heavily wooded area on my manor's grounds. He's out there, waiting for me. The moon is shining through the clouds proving sufficient light for my nocturnal eyes as the rain fell in torrents. I surmount the hill and enter a grove bathed in moonlight, shadow, and the autumn rain. I see Michael sitting upon a log, checking a pocket watch. My limbs begin to sing with the hellish strength of my clan.
"I hope you aren't waiting for anyone." I say, my lips pulling back in a fang baring smile.
"Just for you." He says, rising and taking a few steps to place the gold pocket watch in the dry hollow of a tree. I nod, readying a hundred insults. I had discovered Michael possessed none of the Beast Coil and had in fact often reveled in the embrace of his Beast, during the years previous to his sentancing. I know gangrel have the terrible habit of misting away before the battle becomes decisive, so I just needed to urge him into frenzy and keep him there so there would be no mistake.
"Don't worry, although your torpored body is worth a major boon from the Prince, I'm not going to bring you back in a box." I say, the smile growing as I continue to prepare for battle. For a brief moment, I visualize wrenching a great blood soaked wolf from a cage and staring it into submission. My Beast is but another tool and weapon to be used as I will. I feel it lending me it's feral strength, straining to break free of my mind's control, but failing once again.
"Good. This is a dispute for territory. We do this the old way, the true way. The one who still lives, holds this land." Michael says, a small smile touching his face. He Then he turns to look at something. I glance as well. There is a face in the shadows, a face that matches the description Sara gave me of the gangrel who had sought my permission through her to live within the wilds of my territory. My tennant turns to mist and I look at Michael being overcome by his Beast. I smile at the silently given help, although I am enough of a prick that I could have enraged Michael to frenzy as well, although it might have taken longer...
Michael's hands change into claws and he comes rushing at me as I whisper to the Morrigan, "This Death, I dedicate to You." My hands twist and blacken into raven talons as I run to meet my enemy head on. He leaps at me to close the last few feet, and I leap as well to meet him in the air. It is a wild impulse that I pay for rather quickly. Michael's claws sheer into my collar, and unlike Fate, gravity is not a fickle mistress. She always favors the heavier of the two, and Michael easily outweighs me. The force of his body making impact with mine sends me reeling backward into the mud, with his claws still in me. As I hit the earth, gravity favors him once more as his weight forces his claws even deeper within me. I smile as I grit my teeth, feeling his claws slide through the links of the chain mail shirt I wear to even the playing field a little.
In his current state of mind, he is underestimating me because I am the smaller of the two and at the moment on the bottom.
No one should ever underestimate me, based on either of those conditions.
I dig my right talon into the side of his very vulnerable ribcage and grip into the muscle and bone. Using the terrible strength inheirent to my clan, I pull him to the right and down with all my might while slamming my left shoulder upward in a diagonal arch into his chest. This maneuver aided by the mud allows me to execute an upset and suddenly he is the one on bottom. O'Connor has lost himself to the battle and has no mind in regards to fighting defensively as he continues to rake me with his claws. Focusing all of his will in the offensive is both a blessing and a curse to me. It is easier for me to strike him, but his strikes are far more devastating as he invests every ounce of his primal being into each slash. A slash from the left dislodges me and I hit the mud sliding. He rolls to his feet and sends a clawed foot into my belly. As I slide farther across the glad, I dig my left talon deep into the earth and twist my body to right myself. I have lost sight of him, but I know where he is, he has leapt again and is quickly descending upon my "prone" frame. I roll on to my back and slam my clawed feet skyward, digging into his belly. His weight and momentum bears down on me, forcing my knees to bend and he slashes out with one long arm grazing my chest (if the force of his blow had hit me completely, I would have been finished). I feel my undead heart pump harder as I use my blood to supplement my strength to even greater heights as I extend my legs with such force that my talons dig into him deeper before he is launched to the other side of the glade.
I rise to my feet, but do not stray from my edge of the glade. Charging at him, even if he is prone at the moment is far too risky. I must finish it in the next move, or I will be dead. I feel how close I am to the Lady of Battles, claiming me instead of my opponent. I set my back against a sturdy oak and set my feet together. I favor my right arm which I have used throughout the fight. For all the world I look as if I had run out of tricks.
Before I had claws, I was a master swordsman. I traveled the world to master the fine arts of the blade and tonight I will use a sword maneuver with my hands. In battle it is best to mislead your enemy with many feints and deceptions. Sometimes you must tease your enemy into making a dire mistake by doing something very risky yourself. In this case, I was making him believe my right arm was useless and I was leaving myself wide open. This would only be the second of two very large risks I was taking.
The other risk depending on me being quicker than him and following through with one of the most dangerous of maneuvers, a grand thrust. An attack I will pour every ounce of my force into, leaving myself completely defenseless if I fail to kill him or hit him. He is speeding across the glade with relish as he notices my right arm which is mostly useless now. I urge my heart to beat faster, sending my blood once more like a dark alchemical fluid to strengthen my muscles a final time. There are two things he does not know about me.
I never run out of tricks.
And, I am also left handed.
As he nears and draws back his arm, I dig my right foot into the solid roots of the tree for better purchase. I then twist, turning my body to the right so my left shoulder and foot pointed at him as if I were a classical fencer. O'Connor draws closer and as he comes into what I hope is the correct distance. My lunge starts as I use extend my right foot dug into the tree to give me a solid base as I take a large step forward with my left foot, bending quickly at the knee and digging my claws deep into the earth. I dedicate everything to this all or nothing thrust.
I whip my left arm forward with the speed of a striking adder, my ebon talons glint in the sorcerous moonlight. My eyes bore into O'Connel's.
I feel my talons pierce his chest as his talons miss my head only barely as I move forward with incredible force to meet his own blood fueled momentum. The force of our meeting supplements my final blow, although I am surprised my left foot slides back an entire inch despite my best efforts to keep stance. My left talon explodes out of his back, while I am up to my elbow in his chest.
Our eyes are locked for a moment longer before he crumbles into ash.
I drop to my knees, wishing to rest, but quickly remember the downpour I have been fighting in. I quickly gather up most of O'Connor's ashes to present to the Prince for the bounty of a minor boon if a fugitive's ashes are returned. I do however, keep a handful of ash for myself and walk to the tree (my Beast, still girded tight in my mental grip, does not allow me to feel how grievious the wounds truly are)where O'Connel placed his watch.
I reverently reach in and retrieve the watch. I open it and disover two things. First, the watch was of old Swiss workman ship and second, the battle had only raged for nine minutes. I smile and place the watch within my pocket as I lope back down to my car. I would deliver the majority of the ashes to the Prince and return home where I would place the rest of O'Connor's ashes in a place of honour. He was the most worthy oponnent I had faced in centuries and once long ago, this grim estate was his before he was jailed for his crimes. It is fitting that a part of Michael O'Connor, hopefully what was left of his beastial heart, would be placed with honor at the heart of what was his home. The home he died trying to regain like any true Irishman would.
Really, there was nothing about the matter that concerned me. So, newly awakened elders running amok again? I dealt with that enough when I was Prince. Dexter and his gang enjoy it far more and require the experience far more. I was born five hundred and thirty nine years ago, soon as I could hold a sword, I started using it. Experience with fighting and killing, I have aplenty.
Yet, something changed in the matter. One of the escaped prisoners decided to make it personal. He decided to enter my territory and claim it as his own as it was his territory very long ago. He is a gangrel who is a member of the Ordo, sentenced to torpor due to repeat breaches of the Masquerade in front of mortals. He wasn't just using powers around them, he was telling his soon to be prey and their families that he was a vampire. His name is Michael O'Connor, and he has already started his old antics again AND decided to threaten me in my territory. In my eyes, evolution is a force in the Ordo. The strong and the smart survive. The strong and the smart should also make it their duty to see the weak and stupid do NOT survive. Michael had decided to demonstrate his stupidity by making things personal between him and I. He made the dire mistake of doing something to concern me with the situation. Michael O'Connor signed his death warrant two nights ago, and tonight he will realize that he is a man living on borrowed time.
I trek up the hill in the heavily wooded area on my manor's grounds. He's out there, waiting for me. The moon is shining through the clouds proving sufficient light for my nocturnal eyes as the rain fell in torrents. I surmount the hill and enter a grove bathed in moonlight, shadow, and the autumn rain. I see Michael sitting upon a log, checking a pocket watch. My limbs begin to sing with the hellish strength of my clan.
"I hope you aren't waiting for anyone." I say, my lips pulling back in a fang baring smile.
"Just for you." He says, rising and taking a few steps to place the gold pocket watch in the dry hollow of a tree. I nod, readying a hundred insults. I had discovered Michael possessed none of the Beast Coil and had in fact often reveled in the embrace of his Beast, during the years previous to his sentancing. I know gangrel have the terrible habit of misting away before the battle becomes decisive, so I just needed to urge him into frenzy and keep him there so there would be no mistake.
"Don't worry, although your torpored body is worth a major boon from the Prince, I'm not going to bring you back in a box." I say, the smile growing as I continue to prepare for battle. For a brief moment, I visualize wrenching a great blood soaked wolf from a cage and staring it into submission. My Beast is but another tool and weapon to be used as I will. I feel it lending me it's feral strength, straining to break free of my mind's control, but failing once again.
"Good. This is a dispute for territory. We do this the old way, the true way. The one who still lives, holds this land." Michael says, a small smile touching his face. He Then he turns to look at something. I glance as well. There is a face in the shadows, a face that matches the description Sara gave me of the gangrel who had sought my permission through her to live within the wilds of my territory. My tennant turns to mist and I look at Michael being overcome by his Beast. I smile at the silently given help, although I am enough of a prick that I could have enraged Michael to frenzy as well, although it might have taken longer...
Michael's hands change into claws and he comes rushing at me as I whisper to the Morrigan, "This Death, I dedicate to You." My hands twist and blacken into raven talons as I run to meet my enemy head on. He leaps at me to close the last few feet, and I leap as well to meet him in the air. It is a wild impulse that I pay for rather quickly. Michael's claws sheer into my collar, and unlike Fate, gravity is not a fickle mistress. She always favors the heavier of the two, and Michael easily outweighs me. The force of his body making impact with mine sends me reeling backward into the mud, with his claws still in me. As I hit the earth, gravity favors him once more as his weight forces his claws even deeper within me. I smile as I grit my teeth, feeling his claws slide through the links of the chain mail shirt I wear to even the playing field a little.
In his current state of mind, he is underestimating me because I am the smaller of the two and at the moment on the bottom.
No one should ever underestimate me, based on either of those conditions.
I dig my right talon into the side of his very vulnerable ribcage and grip into the muscle and bone. Using the terrible strength inheirent to my clan, I pull him to the right and down with all my might while slamming my left shoulder upward in a diagonal arch into his chest. This maneuver aided by the mud allows me to execute an upset and suddenly he is the one on bottom. O'Connor has lost himself to the battle and has no mind in regards to fighting defensively as he continues to rake me with his claws. Focusing all of his will in the offensive is both a blessing and a curse to me. It is easier for me to strike him, but his strikes are far more devastating as he invests every ounce of his primal being into each slash. A slash from the left dislodges me and I hit the mud sliding. He rolls to his feet and sends a clawed foot into my belly. As I slide farther across the glad, I dig my left talon deep into the earth and twist my body to right myself. I have lost sight of him, but I know where he is, he has leapt again and is quickly descending upon my "prone" frame. I roll on to my back and slam my clawed feet skyward, digging into his belly. His weight and momentum bears down on me, forcing my knees to bend and he slashes out with one long arm grazing my chest (if the force of his blow had hit me completely, I would have been finished). I feel my undead heart pump harder as I use my blood to supplement my strength to even greater heights as I extend my legs with such force that my talons dig into him deeper before he is launched to the other side of the glade.
I rise to my feet, but do not stray from my edge of the glade. Charging at him, even if he is prone at the moment is far too risky. I must finish it in the next move, or I will be dead. I feel how close I am to the Lady of Battles, claiming me instead of my opponent. I set my back against a sturdy oak and set my feet together. I favor my right arm which I have used throughout the fight. For all the world I look as if I had run out of tricks.
Before I had claws, I was a master swordsman. I traveled the world to master the fine arts of the blade and tonight I will use a sword maneuver with my hands. In battle it is best to mislead your enemy with many feints and deceptions. Sometimes you must tease your enemy into making a dire mistake by doing something very risky yourself. In this case, I was making him believe my right arm was useless and I was leaving myself wide open. This would only be the second of two very large risks I was taking.
The other risk depending on me being quicker than him and following through with one of the most dangerous of maneuvers, a grand thrust. An attack I will pour every ounce of my force into, leaving myself completely defenseless if I fail to kill him or hit him. He is speeding across the glade with relish as he notices my right arm which is mostly useless now. I urge my heart to beat faster, sending my blood once more like a dark alchemical fluid to strengthen my muscles a final time. There are two things he does not know about me.
I never run out of tricks.
And, I am also left handed.
As he nears and draws back his arm, I dig my right foot into the solid roots of the tree for better purchase. I then twist, turning my body to the right so my left shoulder and foot pointed at him as if I were a classical fencer. O'Connor draws closer and as he comes into what I hope is the correct distance. My lunge starts as I use extend my right foot dug into the tree to give me a solid base as I take a large step forward with my left foot, bending quickly at the knee and digging my claws deep into the earth. I dedicate everything to this all or nothing thrust.
I whip my left arm forward with the speed of a striking adder, my ebon talons glint in the sorcerous moonlight. My eyes bore into O'Connel's.
I feel my talons pierce his chest as his talons miss my head only barely as I move forward with incredible force to meet his own blood fueled momentum. The force of our meeting supplements my final blow, although I am surprised my left foot slides back an entire inch despite my best efforts to keep stance. My left talon explodes out of his back, while I am up to my elbow in his chest.
Our eyes are locked for a moment longer before he crumbles into ash.
I drop to my knees, wishing to rest, but quickly remember the downpour I have been fighting in. I quickly gather up most of O'Connor's ashes to present to the Prince for the bounty of a minor boon if a fugitive's ashes are returned. I do however, keep a handful of ash for myself and walk to the tree (my Beast, still girded tight in my mental grip, does not allow me to feel how grievious the wounds truly are)where O'Connel placed his watch.
I reverently reach in and retrieve the watch. I open it and disover two things. First, the watch was of old Swiss workman ship and second, the battle had only raged for nine minutes. I smile and place the watch within my pocket as I lope back down to my car. I would deliver the majority of the ashes to the Prince and return home where I would place the rest of O'Connor's ashes in a place of honour. He was the most worthy oponnent I had faced in centuries and once long ago, this grim estate was his before he was jailed for his crimes. It is fitting that a part of Michael O'Connor, hopefully what was left of his beastial heart, would be placed with honor at the heart of what was his home. The home he died trying to regain like any true Irishman would.