Post by Charon Nachtweber on Feb 5, 2012 21:29:44 GMT -8
Come elders, come pups, come hear the legend
Of the butcher of White Rats pack.
He slaughtered them all right after the moon
And left their corpses to feed the maggots.
The Nosferatu will pay for his deeds,
But the butcher still roams free in the night.
The butcher still roams free, so pups, beware!
Behave and don’t draw the vampire’s gaze,
Or the butcher will hang you from your guts!
December 11th, 9:08 pm.
”Fetch, you worthless cur dog…”
Power laced Charon’s words and a rivulet of blood trailed down his arm. The vampire stood eye to eye with his new Garou slave. From the depths of the shadows he had come, and from the depths of hell he would stamp horrors on the memories of those who would see his new work. This pack was in his territory. That would end soon.
The Garou shuffled off into the den to deliver his message: A meeting between powers was to be had concerning territory rights. That message was never sent to an alpha from a Nosferatu, so the one that led these mongrels would be at best surprised to receive such a request. From that, he would destroy them. Five minutes, ten, fifteen minutes passed before his enslaved wolf returned with an escort. The non-enslaved wolf snarled at Charon, who merely flashed his own fangs. For whatever reason, that seemed to cow the youngster. A wafting perfume filled the night: fear. Charon chuckled, and the scent spiked even more. Together, the gruesome threesome walked towards the warehouse. Charon thoughtfully licked the trail of blood his wound had created. In the moonlight, his fingertips glittered with his silver claws. The young Garou froze at the sight of them.
”You can’t bring those into the den.”
A malicious smile revealed the vampire’s mouth full of shark’s teeth.
”Are you going to stop me?”
The expression and the words reduced the young scout to a whimpering, scuttling waste. Pathetic, really, Charon thought. If these dogs thought they owned the night, but then insisted on insulting him with specimens like this, then there would be no regrets at their destruction. And destruction they would face. Tonight, the White Rats would join the Ghost Fangs. It wasn’t often that a pack would go to war with a Nosferatu clan. The Fangs, if Charon remembered correctly, had attacked his own Nachtweber clan when he was still very young. They’d been destroyed in the resulting war. Charon remembered the instruction his elders had given him following the battle: Kill the alpha and the pack would destroy itself. Now, he was headed to war with the slinking jackals of this city.
A door opened, a door closed. Before the killer stood a broad, angry blonde with an eyepatch and a sneer. Three inches taller than Charon’s own height with a corresponding bulk, Akerele looked like a man used to bashing heads together to get his own way. Charon lowered the hood of his cloak and gave the wolf a warm smile.
”I’m sure we can dispense with the…unnecessaries…?”
He gave the escort a pointed look and the coward fled up the hallway and up the stairs. The vampire watched him run and noted that the room into which he fled carried the scent of many more wolves. Good. The lookout’s reports that the entire pack was gathered seemed to be true then. Slowly, he brought his gaze back to the alpha who gave challenge.
”The hayell are ye doin’ in mah territories, yah tampon suckin’ corpse?”
”I’ve come for several reasons. To make you famous throughout the Garou nations. To make the night beautiful. To claim your territory as my own.”
Akerele’s eye narrowed at Charon’s proclamation. At the last statement, he roared and launched his bulk at the smaller predator. The lunge was both dodged and blocked. Charon let his enthralled wolf take the fight from the alpha. He had more important things to do with his time. He passed the roiling, squalling mass of Garou and swiped the leader with a handful of silver claws. With the leader’s blood, he placed a spell upon the corridor. Darkness. That seemed to enflame the man more. A wet ripping sound and a screeching howl announced the severe wounding of his slave. Charon snarled silently as his minon’s lack of skill and quickly mounted the stairs. The wolves kept fighting and Charon began writing. Around the door, he wrote layers upon layers of spells.
Aleph, jagel, tsoume, naven, echthi, jagel, chri…
Fear, rage, confusion, and recklessness were written into the door with alpha’s blood. The pack was tied to their leader and their leader would drag them down. Akerele was finishing the scout and now hunting for the vampire, but the Nosferatu was finishing the door and hunting for the alpha.
Charon cast aside his cloak and listened in the darkness. There, heavy breathing, pounding heart, malodorous scent…Charon leaped from his perch on the stairs onto the werewolf and clawed the already injured leader as deeply as he could. Silver, reinforced with Nosferatu magic, did its dirty work along with his slashing fangs. Akerele was felled by his own inattention to how dangerous a houseguest he invited in.
With that taken care of, Charon returned his attention to the door. He sauntered up to the portal and ran his claws down the metal. The shrieking din, the smell of blood…how many of the pack in their were scared out of their wits? He issued his first challenge.
”Hey in their…how cozy is your kennel? Your alpha is dead…who wants to avenge him?”
He didn’t shout, knowing how sensitive Garou ears were. Someone no doubt heard him, and they’d fly into a rage that would cause the pack to self destruct. As he suspected, moving to one side of the door, they were too enraged to consider that something nasty just killed their leader. Two wolves boiled through the doorway and immediately fell victim to the vampiric spells. They roared, they howled, they plunged into the blackness and began fighting each other. Charon merely laughed and moved in to dispatch them. Silver claws, after all, made quick work of a foe both too enraged to think and too allergic to silver to do more than die. Wave after wave of idiotic wolves came to investigate, fight, and die. Finally, covered with an assortment of bites, claw marks, and blood, Charon had no more challengers. He ascended the stairway and entered the pack’s den. Cowards and pups were all that remained to be slaughtered, and they were quick work for the Beast of Bavaria.
And now…the fun portion of the evening.
Artfully, Charon began dissecting the victims of the night’s slaughter. He worked diligently until dawn approached. His work was good. A corridor of hanging bodies flanked the corpse throne that the prideful Akerele sat upon. He was stripped of his pride, stripped of his territory, and stripped of his skin.
Charon had bound him with strips of intestine with runes on them designed to draw vermin. In a matter of days, the entire pack would be a feast for the flies. He retrieved his discarded cloak and left for his shelter from the sun. All was well in Charon’s world.
Of the butcher of White Rats pack.
He slaughtered them all right after the moon
And left their corpses to feed the maggots.
The Nosferatu will pay for his deeds,
But the butcher still roams free in the night.
The butcher still roams free, so pups, beware!
Behave and don’t draw the vampire’s gaze,
Or the butcher will hang you from your guts!
December 11th, 9:08 pm.
”Fetch, you worthless cur dog…”
Power laced Charon’s words and a rivulet of blood trailed down his arm. The vampire stood eye to eye with his new Garou slave. From the depths of the shadows he had come, and from the depths of hell he would stamp horrors on the memories of those who would see his new work. This pack was in his territory. That would end soon.
The Garou shuffled off into the den to deliver his message: A meeting between powers was to be had concerning territory rights. That message was never sent to an alpha from a Nosferatu, so the one that led these mongrels would be at best surprised to receive such a request. From that, he would destroy them. Five minutes, ten, fifteen minutes passed before his enslaved wolf returned with an escort. The non-enslaved wolf snarled at Charon, who merely flashed his own fangs. For whatever reason, that seemed to cow the youngster. A wafting perfume filled the night: fear. Charon chuckled, and the scent spiked even more. Together, the gruesome threesome walked towards the warehouse. Charon thoughtfully licked the trail of blood his wound had created. In the moonlight, his fingertips glittered with his silver claws. The young Garou froze at the sight of them.
”You can’t bring those into the den.”
A malicious smile revealed the vampire’s mouth full of shark’s teeth.
”Are you going to stop me?”
The expression and the words reduced the young scout to a whimpering, scuttling waste. Pathetic, really, Charon thought. If these dogs thought they owned the night, but then insisted on insulting him with specimens like this, then there would be no regrets at their destruction. And destruction they would face. Tonight, the White Rats would join the Ghost Fangs. It wasn’t often that a pack would go to war with a Nosferatu clan. The Fangs, if Charon remembered correctly, had attacked his own Nachtweber clan when he was still very young. They’d been destroyed in the resulting war. Charon remembered the instruction his elders had given him following the battle: Kill the alpha and the pack would destroy itself. Now, he was headed to war with the slinking jackals of this city.
A door opened, a door closed. Before the killer stood a broad, angry blonde with an eyepatch and a sneer. Three inches taller than Charon’s own height with a corresponding bulk, Akerele looked like a man used to bashing heads together to get his own way. Charon lowered the hood of his cloak and gave the wolf a warm smile.
”I’m sure we can dispense with the…unnecessaries…?”
He gave the escort a pointed look and the coward fled up the hallway and up the stairs. The vampire watched him run and noted that the room into which he fled carried the scent of many more wolves. Good. The lookout’s reports that the entire pack was gathered seemed to be true then. Slowly, he brought his gaze back to the alpha who gave challenge.
”The hayell are ye doin’ in mah territories, yah tampon suckin’ corpse?”
”I’ve come for several reasons. To make you famous throughout the Garou nations. To make the night beautiful. To claim your territory as my own.”
Akerele’s eye narrowed at Charon’s proclamation. At the last statement, he roared and launched his bulk at the smaller predator. The lunge was both dodged and blocked. Charon let his enthralled wolf take the fight from the alpha. He had more important things to do with his time. He passed the roiling, squalling mass of Garou and swiped the leader with a handful of silver claws. With the leader’s blood, he placed a spell upon the corridor. Darkness. That seemed to enflame the man more. A wet ripping sound and a screeching howl announced the severe wounding of his slave. Charon snarled silently as his minon’s lack of skill and quickly mounted the stairs. The wolves kept fighting and Charon began writing. Around the door, he wrote layers upon layers of spells.
Aleph, jagel, tsoume, naven, echthi, jagel, chri…
Fear, rage, confusion, and recklessness were written into the door with alpha’s blood. The pack was tied to their leader and their leader would drag them down. Akerele was finishing the scout and now hunting for the vampire, but the Nosferatu was finishing the door and hunting for the alpha.
Charon cast aside his cloak and listened in the darkness. There, heavy breathing, pounding heart, malodorous scent…Charon leaped from his perch on the stairs onto the werewolf and clawed the already injured leader as deeply as he could. Silver, reinforced with Nosferatu magic, did its dirty work along with his slashing fangs. Akerele was felled by his own inattention to how dangerous a houseguest he invited in.
With that taken care of, Charon returned his attention to the door. He sauntered up to the portal and ran his claws down the metal. The shrieking din, the smell of blood…how many of the pack in their were scared out of their wits? He issued his first challenge.
”Hey in their…how cozy is your kennel? Your alpha is dead…who wants to avenge him?”
He didn’t shout, knowing how sensitive Garou ears were. Someone no doubt heard him, and they’d fly into a rage that would cause the pack to self destruct. As he suspected, moving to one side of the door, they were too enraged to consider that something nasty just killed their leader. Two wolves boiled through the doorway and immediately fell victim to the vampiric spells. They roared, they howled, they plunged into the blackness and began fighting each other. Charon merely laughed and moved in to dispatch them. Silver claws, after all, made quick work of a foe both too enraged to think and too allergic to silver to do more than die. Wave after wave of idiotic wolves came to investigate, fight, and die. Finally, covered with an assortment of bites, claw marks, and blood, Charon had no more challengers. He ascended the stairway and entered the pack’s den. Cowards and pups were all that remained to be slaughtered, and they were quick work for the Beast of Bavaria.
And now…the fun portion of the evening.
Artfully, Charon began dissecting the victims of the night’s slaughter. He worked diligently until dawn approached. His work was good. A corridor of hanging bodies flanked the corpse throne that the prideful Akerele sat upon. He was stripped of his pride, stripped of his territory, and stripped of his skin.
Charon had bound him with strips of intestine with runes on them designed to draw vermin. In a matter of days, the entire pack would be a feast for the flies. He retrieved his discarded cloak and left for his shelter from the sun. All was well in Charon’s world.