Legend of Ransera

After his initial riposte, the Kinraven and Masagh were too often in too close of quarters for him to comfortably attack; that was the downside of having an ally, even a temporary one. They might not remain allies for long, but Aurin wasn't in the habit of back-stabbing without a damned good reason.

While he was paused from the action, though, he was not idle. He conjured sounds and even smells for the vampiric senses of soldiers closing in from several directions. He vaulted for a better vantage.

"Ew," he mumbled to himself when Masagh got literally in the shit. He might not allow himself to smell the sewage, but he knew it was there. He steadied himself; vomiting now wasn't going to help anyone. At least for the short period of their exchange, lengthened as time often was by battle in the blood, he was able to observe a vampire fighting; they weren't a hegemonic bloc or anything, but it gave him some things to watch out for.

And then, finally, there was an opening and Aurin vaulted directly behind the fell creature and he began to stab as fast as he could, one-two, one-two. They might merely slow it down, but if it needed blood for its thaumaturgy, then every big of magic it worked and every drop of blood he spilled was less power it would have to kill them—or kill him; he didn't know what happened to whatever Masagh was when driven to that point.

He vaulted back, sure its reflexes were quicker than his. When it turned, he flung his daggers for its eyes and whispered to Whomever might be listening for a little bit of luck to aid his skill.

It was as much a dance to stay out of Masagh's way as to do his share of the damage to their shared prey. When he wasn't stabbing, he was watching with all his senses, arcane and otherwise. It took but a thought to have his blades back in his hands, blessed be their enchantments. Watching the vampire struggle and fight taught him a great deal, though he might not be able to articulate it all just yet.

Once Masagh had him in a lock, Aurin vaulted up close. The Kinraven beast didn't stop struggling, though, and it seemed Masagh's attention was on adapting to whatever it did to wriggle out of his grasp.

"So they run on blood... and so does their magic."

When a flailing arm got loose, Aurin slammed the heel of his boot down to pin it, then impaled the pale palm, nailing it to the floor with his blade. Kneeling, he plunged the other blade between the two lowermost ribs. His smile was nasty. Without words, he repeated the stabbing up between each set of ribs until he pulled out, followed by a gout of dark blood from the vampire's armpit.

"You're going to die today, Kinraven. That is not in question. How long it takes and how much it hurts depends entirely upon you."

Despite the odd violent spurt from violence done upon his undead flesh, the vampire's blood didn't seem keen to come out. All the same, he was so perforated now that the magic seemed to be losing its hold on itself.

"Do you understand?"

Blood-red eyes gleamed at him defiantly, but it was growing brittle, his struggles weaker. Aurin plunged his dagger between collarbone and neck, careful not to damage the vocal apparatus. He pulled it free.

"My steel is sharp, but it would still take some doing to saw off fingers, toes, cock and balls... I come from a long line of sick fucks, friend. I suggest you cooperate."

Eventually, that defiance seemed to crumble. Aurin patted his cheek, then nodded to Masagh.

"I'm just studying. I think you have the list of direct questions, hey?"

Hazel eyes watched with acute interest. His arcane senses augmented his observation; he would know if the Kinraven was going to attack before he moved, so even if he moved faster than Aurin's mere mortal body could, he could be practically prescient about it. And Aurin was nothing if not a survivor.

When Masagh looked at him, he looked back, auburn brow raised in question. But it seemed as though he were just calculating the risks inherent in speaking plainly in front of a relative stranger. Aurin could understand that. They were fast allies here and now, but as soon as the vampire was dead, anything could change. The foreign ne'er-do-well wasn't looking for new enemies in far-reaching places, however. If nothing else and barring any hard passes on Masagh's side of things, he was interested in having an odd sort of contact within the Imperium which was older apparently than the Imperium itself. The House of Creth, he said to himself, looking back at the bloodied vampire when Masagh's attention turned back to him.

His eyebrow arched again when the vampire addressed him, as if vampires didn't eat the living. At this point, Aurin didn't truly believe in the innocent. There were the more innocent, perhaps, and if he himself had any weaknesses, it was the few people he tried to keep safe from the worst of the world without showing undue attention lest one of his enemies take things out on one of these more innocent creatures.

Aurin blinked. That had been a rather quick interrogation. He hadn't even had to do much.

"Wait, wait, wait... you don't want to trap him in your mother's locket or whatever? I mean, all right. Just seems like a waste." He turned his eyes back on the blood-red eyes of the magical predator. "All right, all right, all right. Now to kill you dead... pierce the heart, remove the head, and burn everything, correct?"

He might very well have been asking the Kinraven himself how to do it, or Masagh. But Aurin was prepared to find out what worked by trial and error. He had brought silver, as well as a wooden stake. Mists, he had even had a rather garlicky past few meals so it would be in his blood and possibly cause an early release if he was bitten.

The ginger exhaled pungent breath into the vampire's face. No amount of brushing had gotten ride of the scent of garlic entirely. He was just going to have to let his body process it.

"My breath. That's gross, yeah?" he asked the vampire.