Bloodhunt

[Aurin]

Somewhere in Gel'Grandal
60th of Searing, 124 of Steel

Aurin tried; he really did.

He was in the Imperium, overseeing a few things for Portions for Foxes, his keiretsu, reconnoitering with Herr Valentin Valentin on his quest to steal from the untouchable rich and, well, line his own pockets, and he was checking up on Carina and her hare-brained scheme that seemed like it was never going to come into fruition, alas. She needed Imogen around to balance out her particular brand of intoxicant-fueled crazy. Not that he was one to talk.

Burning the candle from both ends, it was night now, and he had come most recently from Zaichaer, where the covens and, from what he gathered, the government, was trying to figure out what to do with Dreyfus Monteliyet, der Vampir. Carina, being a Railrunner herself, had supplied him with some intelligence that she thought might help. It had required quite a bit of research on his own, but he thought he had traced down a few of the living leeches.

He couldn't stay long and he was, he thought, rather hot on the trail. There would be goods soon gathered in Kalzasi that needed his particular magic trick to get it to Torin's valley and the people there who depended upon him. While the runesmith was abroad in Sol'Valen, learning elven tricks, Aurin had agreed to look out for his valley. For once, that wasn't just a double entendre.

"Why do they always go to ground in the sewers?" he asked himself quietly, rhetorically.

Standing on the manhole, he tested the slipstream. Not wanting to test his might against the heavy metal, he judged it safe, then blipped out of existence, and back in, down in the darkness. He landed on his feet, crouched down and quiet, letting his eyes adjust. A quick trick of the glamours and he didn't have to smell what was rotten in the state of Gel'Grandal's underground. Best that way. Fuckers thought their shit didn't stink.

Thankfully, he had landed someplace dry. The concrete was moist and gritty under his bootheels, and he made a reflexive note to ensure he kept his footing.

He reached out with his knowing trick and caught the "scent" of blood. That wasn't it, not exactly, but he hadn't been formally trained with this one and he parsed the knowing via one of the senses he did understand. There were other things down here, he felt; dangerous things lived below.

So be it. He had blades and artefacts and other things to get him through. He had to know what the deal was with these so-called Vitalasi, how to protect his people from them, and, perhaps, how to control them for his own purposes.

[Masagh]

---

A quarter of a season’s careful searching had turned up nothing except a near death experience with a Kathar legionnaire and soggy boots. Since the Kinvaren Coven’s ambush and the massacre of their lower echelon enforcers Masagh had seen nothing of them. Whoever their informant was knew Creth was on their scent and remained dormant. It infuriated him.

He stepped out into the grimy crossroads of the two main thoroughfare tunnels of the sewers, Fingerbone Charm in hand. Palm flat, he invoked the charm’s magic, watching it spin in his hand until his vision blurred and his ears roared. He growled and turned on the spot until he faced the western tunnel. His vision cleared and his ears went silent. The ghoul ground his jaw and adjusted the heavy pauldron on his shoulder. He had grown to hate the brief loss of senses when he used the pointing charm.

He began to walk through the shallow puddles and heaps of debris in the direction. It was a slower search than simply flying above. That being said, Kathar lightflingers weren’t typically patrolling the sewers so here he was. The Fademantle’s chains clinked as he walked, the relic moving with its own wind.

“Is today the day?” Indira asked inside his head. She had taken to simply haunting his body when they were in unsavory places like the sewers. As though a ghost could become dirty if she didn’t want to.

“I don’t know.” Masagh said, hearing the edge in his own voice. “Maybe we’ll stumble on them being staked through the heart by some enterprising redveins.” He rasped with flat humor. Indira was here, trudging through the sewers with him. He shouldn’t take out his sullen mood on her.

“Hmm, maybe. They seem pretty well connected in Gel’Grandal. Really old faction, lots of money.”

“We’re an older faction…” Masagh trailed off, no argument to give to the second part of her assessment. The Creth had money, but not influencing the politics of the city money. He stepped around the corpse of what could have been a human or a large dog that was covered in rubbish and rats. It was probably a dog, this wasn’t North side after all. The rats didn’t spare him a glance.

“Yes, but you all live in the sewers so…” Indira retorted.

Masagh stopped walking. The tunnel had come to a dead end. He stared at the mildewed and pockmarked stones.

“Can’t argue with that.” He muttered.

He tore a rent in space with his mind and stepped through. He appeared further along in another tunnel. This one was wider and dryer. Masagh gave a silent thanks to that at least. He set the Ghoulblade on his shoulder as he walked on. He would give it another few blocks before he used the charm again.

He was just resigning himself to a night of trudging through shit when movement caught his eye. Many nasty beasts lived down here in the sewers, but this hadn’t seemed like that sort of movement. He was used to sewer dogs, crocodiles, the disconcertingly large rats. That was all a part of the sewer ecosystem. This had sent an alarm trilling down his spine.

He turned in the direction and walked carefully, his footfalls silent. There was a human ahead. He had the warmth of life in his cheeks and a shock of red hair. Was this his Kinvaren prey?

Masagh lowered the Ghoulblade into a ready stance and stepped forward. The man was tall and lanky and bore the unmistakable signs of being from the living world. He was clean for one. Masagh could see he was armed, but not if the man had noticed him yet. They were both half shrouded in shadow and he was nearly fifteen meters away.

“What are you doing down here, redvein?” Masagh croaked in a loud rasp. “You a Kinvaren lost down in the muck?”

---

[Aurin]

Not for the first time, he was glad of the harrowing experience of a dual initiation for all that he had his seeming trick. It was summer in a sewer, and he could convince his nose that he was skipping through an orchard of cherry trees blossoming. He found a rhythm that wasn't regular, steps, hops, and the occasional vault to keep his boots clean. Anyway, he didn't want a bloodsucker to hear steady footsteps following lest they be warned to prepare an ambush. He always wanted surprise on his side. It required his arcane sense to track the bloodsucker, however.

Aurin was like a bloodhound.

Perhaps that was why he was seen before he saw. He was seen by someone other than his prey. But the hairs on the back of his neck rose and he paused, examining his options at a crossroads, though he knew already which direction his quarry had gone. When words came, his hazel gaze snapped to track it, and he saw something in the dark. His sembling trick sensed more: a soul of sorts, the stink of something like necromancy. Gods, he still had a visceral sense memory of the taste of ghostwine, and trauma to remind him what that taste brought. Not a necromancer, he decided, nor another bloodsucker.

Odd. Redvein, that wasn't slang he knew. Kinvaren, however, was a name associated with his prey.

"Hunting a Kinvaren down in the muck, friend," he said, and friend was more a wary warning than any sort of affection offered to any stranger in the sewers of the Imperial capital.

There were comforting hilts in his hands, and he didn't seek danger without all the runeforged artefacts Torin had created for him. He sensed similar magics upon the stranger, as well, so he was well-equipped whoever he was. Aurin hadn't anticipated the Kinvaren having allies down here, and he briefly considered a vault to safety rather than risk an ignominious death down here.

But if he couldn't figure out how to exterminate a bloodsucker tonight, he might still come away with this with some worthy intelligence, and so he stayed.

"And you?"

[Masagh]

---

As the human turned and his eyes bore into him, Masagh saw that he had distracted by some working of his own rather than merely fooled by his own stealth. The red haired man was a mage, and his gaze seemed to pierce Masagh in a way not completely mundane. For a moment Masagh thought this might be the patriarch of the Kinvaren. He had heard of the vampyre from his mother. Reed thin and vicious, with a shock of red hair.

Upon closer inspection Masagh saw this man was not Hytori. The Kinvaren patriarch would never be caught dead in the sewers, despite making his lackeys hunt Ghouls here. The human’s next words surprised Masagh.

“Hunting a Kinvaren down in the muck, friend.” He said, without hesitation. Masagh saw the man was familiar with the name by the way he said it unflinchingly. This was a monster hunter of some kind. It made Masagh worry.

Be common definition, he was a monster to most.

“And you?” The man asked, still eyeing him. His lean form was taught, as if he stood ready for anything.

Masagh let his shoulders relax on an impulse. He lowered his blade and pushed back his hood. Stepping closer into the light he met the man’s gaze. He had recently resolved to walk his own path, to make his own gambles. This seemed to be one of them.

“I recently killed a half dozen them with… allies. They ambushed us.” He explained in a low grating rasp. Masagh held up the rune covered fingerbone charm to show the stranger. Sensory magic had a way of distracting one. Masagh expected that was how he had managed to get so clos to this man without detection in the first place. He couldn’t use the charm again in his presence without a bit of trust or risk a stabbing in the back.

“I have been using this vampyre finger to point me towards them so that I may carve out more of the cancer from Gel’Grandel.” He finished, still holding the fingerbone charm out before him. Would the mage recognize the necrotic artefact? Would it bother him? If necromancy of this caliber bothered the man, introducing himself as a ghoul was surely out of the question. That being said, Masagh hadn’t feasted on fresh living flesh in half a season. His nature was probably evident to a man who could see with magics.

“Its reliability is… wanting.” Masagh admitted, his eyes flickering down to the fingerbone charm. “It may be leading me to a hideout of vampires or a single vampire this one knew well. I do not know.” His jaw moved left and right for a moment. “But I do know it leads west last I checked, a few blocks back...”

Masagh hoped that bit of honesty could set the stage for more to come. He dared not hope for the trust of a redvein, but certainly the enemy of my enemy was my… backup? Perhaps he could get some answers out of the man as well.

“How did you come to be hunting the same prey as me, not that I’m surprised the Kinvaren don’t lack for enemies?” Masagh asked. He rested the long blade of Ghoulblade against his shoulder again, a decidedly relaxed act. On the blade, the gaunt faces of undeath moved and shimmered dully. He shifted self-consciously so the eerie sword was in shadow.

---

[Aurin]

Necromancy, he decided. The Grymalka had sort of accepted him, though he hadn't been initiated as he had been into several others of the major covens of Zaichaer. That was fine. As long as he had them on his side, he was content to leave their works far from him. There was too much of his trauma tied up in ghostwine-soaked memories, but he had been listening to them speak, learning from them. His ambitions aimed high and information was his currency; the more he knew about just about anything, the better.

His sembling trick was potent, but he didn't have all that much experience with the undead and he didn't want to spend too much time studying the man. At the moment, his magically amplified instincts said this one wasn't an immediate threat to him, and that he seemed to be speaking truth insofar as he was sharing.

Aurin didn't pull one of his blades, though he could be quick on the draw if he needed to be.

"Good on you and your allies," he allowed gruffly. He squinted at the finger bone compass, and considered for a moment before adding, "That aligns with the trail I'm following."

"A powerful bloodsucker threatens people I care about in another realm," he explained, leaving out identifying information. This one might be a temporary ally, but he was hardly Aurin's bosom companion. "I caught a trail here. Investigated. In following up, I uncovered some of the Kinraven activity. The one I'm hunting... hm... seems weaker than the one I have my eye on outside the Imperium. I want to learn how to control and eliminate them if the need arises. This one seems like someone ought to take him out." He paused, the alert, almost feral vulpine look on his face melting into a conspiratorial smirk. "Are we playing for the same team tonight?"

It was a tentative offer, but it was in good faith. He didn't know what this man was, nor what he might sense innately. Anyway, Aurin had long ago learned that clever half-truths were better than outright lies, but he wasn't lying—at least not here and now. He didn't want to take out someone who was of the same mind as he was with regard to this Kinraven bloodsucker, and it would be nice to have someone to watch his back going into unknown territory.

As soon as the Kinraven was down, he might have to watch his back again, but...

[Masagh]

Interesting. The Kinvaren had made enough of a mess in their dealings to draw enemies from other nations to Gel’Grandal. Masagh appraised the man again, now as a potential ally rather than a redvein threat. If there was anything that could convince the Creth to work with living humans, it was a shared deep hatred for the Kinvaren Coven.

“Hmm.” Masagh rasped. “Didn’t know the Kinvaren were international. Suppose I should have known, their greed knows no bounds.” He stepped forward carefully. “I think we are on the same hunt... friend. I’m Masagh, knight of Creth.” He said shortly, sidestepping around the man while giving him space. “I will take the lead if you direct me.”

He intended it to be a sign of trust, though tentative. He would show the redvein his back and be the first into danger. Masagh lifted the blade from his shoulder and looked over his shoulder at the man. “I have Runes to work with, Reaving and Traversion chief amongst them. I am also, as you have seen, a Necromancer as well as something of a Runesmith. Though I don’t know how much those will help. I can take the point if you want to point me.”

Then he turned back to the sewer tunnel ahead and began to make his silent way along. He moved with practiced ease around the muck and detritus of the sewers, keeping his blade up. His eyes watched for threats in the darkness, but his mind was hard at work. He wondered what opportunity it meant for Housen Creth if there were potential allies outside of the city. If he could finagle a contract with a redvein faction of foreigners, could that bring some new advantage to his family?

They had to be powerful if they were sending an assassin across the world to hunt a man. Masagh stepped into an open area of the sewers that was a crossroads of five tunnels and looked around, turning slowing until he was convinced there was nothing. He glanced again at the man. Was this an opportunity in truth or just a lucky convenience? He would have to assess how the day went and if worse came to worst he could just slip away.

“Which way-” A splash and an echo from the tunnel to the right. Masagh spun and pointed the Ghoulblade in an instant. He sent a Duplicate materializing from the tip of his blade and Dancing across the distance. It slapped into the sewer dog like a javelin, pinning the unsuspecting beast to the stone wall. Thew thing gave a startled yelp and then died. The Duplicate dematerialized as Masagh relaxed and let the aether focus fall.

“Ah, sorry. Could have sworn that noise was something else…” He muttered. “Which way from here?”

---

---

[Aurin]

"The threat to my people isn't a Kinraven," he clarified, "but I do business in Gel'Grandal and, well, they seem like bastard fucks. So if I can learn a thing or two by hunting and staking a less powerful one, then I'll be better prepared if the big bad becomes a problem. So this is pro bono work on my part. I'm Aurin Kavafis." He didn't bother coming up with one of his personae; he was wearing his own face today anyway. He didn't go into his connection with Zaichaer's covens, either. Whatever this Masagh of the Creth knights did or didn't tell him, he was going to follow up with the Grymalka. It wasn't that he intended to betray Masagh, but the world was full of fair weather friends, and he didn't know how easily this one would flip to enemy once the Kinraven blood was spilled.

He found himself pointing the direction of the trail with one of his knives. Oops, he thought, not remembering pulling it. But he sheathed it before Masagh made his back and open target. Trust worked both ways, and would be tenuous at first.

"Mm." He misliked sharing his arsenal, but tit for tat. "Semblance, Masquerade, Traversion, and some Negation." He was being honest, if underselling. Negation was the only one of his runes that he hadn't mastered, at least according to the witches he knew, and they were particular about their hierarchies. That was why he preferred being a bit of an outside contractor, unless they wanted to make him their Witch-King or something. Then he might even return to Cathena to see who all might have survived past shenanigans. But for now, he had to focus on the task at hand. Daydreaming was for daytime, and it was never day down here.

"Using Masquerade to mask the smell," he added with a short bark of laughter. "Let me know if you'd like me to do the same for you." He was using the fancier names for his tricks so he didn't seem what he was—self-trained in most of them. Seeing, seeing, traveling, and warding were how he thought of his tricks, but now that he trucked with witches, had a master enchanter in his back pocket, and the like, he liked to be able to communicate intelligently when he could.

"Mists," he cursed, managing not to jump at the necromancer's hair-trigger response as well as to the warped beast he had killed. It reminded him of the mist-corrupted creatures that had roamed Zaichaer's streets. Gross.

"That way," he indicated quietly. He considered taking point, but much preferred not having his back bared to someone who could fling a blade as well as, if not better than, he could.

"We're getting closer." This was quieter still. He didn't know how keen a vampire's senses were, but he imagined they were keener than his own. Hence, everything was coming in filtered through his Rune of Semblance. "I think it's just the one. Easy kill. Relatively. Do you need information from him or just his true death?"

[Masagh]

---

“No, thanks.” Masagh replied to Aurin’s offer. He hadn’t noticed the smell to be honest. It was such a common place odor in his life. He doubted he smelled better. The ghoul sniffed briefly at his shoulder and frowned. Eh, it’s not like smelling good would improve his impression much anyway.

Masagh looked in the direction the red haired mage indicated. He was certainly bringing a lot of utility to his pro bono work halfway around the world. Just how powerful were his benefactors, Masagh wondered. The ghoul nodded and set off in the direction indicated.

The tunnel curved back and forth, one of the wide road ones that drained both sides of the street above. The downside was that visibility was limited and distance obscured by the curving walls. Masagh turned his head back slightly at Aurin’s next words.

“I do need information from him.” Masagh confirmed. “But if we happen to kill it before it speaks, there are ways to extract the information after.” He shrugged a shoulder and turned his full attention to the tunnel ahead. “I’ll just require the head.”

Masagh walked with the tip of his blade raised at chest height before him. He didn’t know how reliable the redvein’s magical tracking was, or if it was true it was only one. He had listed his Runes, but seemed to be holding his capability close to the chest.

“So,” Masagh grated, stepping into the larger circular sewer beyond. There were squat load bearing pillars here, like a forest of stone. “What did the Kinvaren do in your city to have an assassin come calling?”

His boots sent silent ripples through the two inch high water as he stepped carefully forward. The black water reflected the stones around them in the limited light. “You know, got to be something big for you to take your grudge to the sewers of a city across the world.” He muttered. He turned briefly to look at Aurin.

A flurry of movement caught his attention in his periphery. Ghoulblade whipped up with a flash. Something struck Masagh’s blade and barreled into him. He was thrown to the side, almost losing his footing. Water flew up around him as his boots dragged. The ghoul impacted one of the pillars hard.

Pain shot through his back and he grunted. He kept his grip on Ghoulblade though, and raised the Pact weapon before even catching his footing. Masagh turned to face the new threat.

---

[Aurin]

"The threat to my people isn't a Kinraven," he said again. "It's a Monteliyet. Potential threat." It was entirely possible the deals Eshar and Valencia had made with him would prove mutually beneficial, especially the one Valencia would pay for with what the Zaichaeri government was giving away for free. Well, if it benefited the covens, who was he to say no? But he would like to know how to eliminate the threat if Monteliyet became a threat.

"I—"

And the Kinraven must have been able to obscure his aura somewhat because Aurin had not seen that coming. Something knocked Masagh back and into a pillar, and Aurin just danced back and flung both his runeforged knives at the shadow. They landed with a satisfying, wet pair of thunks and then the spell steel released a messy bit of spellwork, disrupting the aura of his victim. He didn't know exactly what it would do; it might depend on where they knives scored. In any case, they wouldn't do anything good, but it might have been wishful thinking that they would take down an unsuspecting vampire.

He called to them silently and the knives appeared once more in his hands. He flicked them out and down to his sides, trying to get the blood off of them. Then he focused his Semblance upon the shadowy attacker.

"My friend here just wants to ask you some questions," he called out. And then he's going to help me kill you. It would be difficult to saw its head off with these knives, but thankfully, they weren't the only blades he had on him. To each task, there was a tool.

With a blip, he vaulted elsewhere, pitched his voice to a different timbre.

"You're surrounded. Best give up, no?"

[Masagh]

---

There was a disconcertingly deep pop as Masagh rolled his shoulder forward. He gave a ragged growl as he righted himself and turned back to the combat. Aurin was already moving, a graceful fluid motion. There were a twin glint of steel as he threw something at the dark-clad vampire. Masagh head a wet sticking and took the opportunity to charge forward.

“My friend here just wants to ask you some questions.” Ha. Any Kinvaren vitalitasi with half a brain would know that was a lie if they recognized the Creth armor on Masagh. It only took a few eaten hearts to build a grudge, and theirs was centuries old. “You’re surrounded. Best give up, no?” Aurin finished, distorting his voice and teleporting out of sight.

“You heard him Kinvaren rat.” Masagh growled, stepping towards the vampire with sword raised. “Give up now.”

The vampire did not give up. Not surprising. He turned his focus on Masagh and the ghoul could finally see him half clearly. The man was still standing in the shadow of the large pillar, but his face was partially visible. He was older with a grey mustache and deep bags under his eyes. He carried a short sword and a hatchet in either hand and wore piecemeal armor of black leather and chain. It looked like a custom piece made specifically for the man. He also wore a few trinkets and pouches on his person.

The vampire shivered and his veins bulged. Masagh had seen this ability before. The vampire lunged at him with the superhuman power of heightened agility. Masagh got his blade up before him and parried the short sword. He countered with a strong side strike off his own and then lunged into a vicious series of strikes.

The Ghoulblade Danced from his hand and spun in the air once before Blinking. The long claymore appeared over the vampire’s head, swinging down hard. The Kinvaren dodged and the blade struck the pillar with enough force to send stones and pieces of plaster flying. A cloud of dust rose up and began to fall on the water below.

The Vampire sent a cloud of bright red into the air, masking he presence. Masagh held his hand out for Ghoulblade to return. Before the blade came to him, the vampire burst from the cloud. He moved with the focused precision of a trained killer. Striking low, the vampire cut forward with both his weapons.

Masagh was forced to Phase through the attack, reaching back with one arm to grab the vampire around the neck. He lifted the smaller Man up and slammed him down by the throat. Sewage splashed up and blinded Masagh for a moment.

It was all the vampire needed. The short sword struck deep in Masagh’s left thigh, disappearing for inches in the flesh. Then the hatched slashed across his lower gut. Masagh groaned and Blinked away, leaning against a nearby pillar and summoning his blade.

“I think this one’s got some enchanted devices!” He yelled around the room to wherever Aurin was. Then he held his hand out to manifest the Ghoulblade again.

---