Post by Victor Adelai on Mar 13, 2017 20:24:59 GMT -8
Your strength can only be tested against the worthy.
Vashon. The Gangrel had said Vashon was unclaimed. But it's a fool that trusts the words of a Gangrel. Not that they are duplicitous, they just tend to be fools. It takes a special degree of wit and cunning to be treacherous and most Gangrel just didn't have it in them.
Originally the Lasombra 'king' had sent him into the grotto under a church in a boring place called 'Kirkland'. There had been zombies wearing decaying uniforms, starving terrors, and some mammoth beast of the sea. It had taken him less than an hour to pacify the place, bathed in darkness and blood. Not a worthy concept. Perhaps if the rulers of the estate had been in attendance, but the rumors were some oddity of a Ventrue had slain them a few weeks prior. Shame, really.
So the Gangrel had suggested Vashon.
The island was wealthy, with a clearly leftist bend to things. Most of the island reeked of overly large houses and pot smoke. The rich occupants had refused to allow a bridge to be built to their precious island, so boats and ferries were the order of the day. Just over ten thousand souls graced the wooded land jutting out of the Puget Sound. For all intents and purposes, the Gangrel had been wise in his recommendation.
So the creature had pulled itself from the Sound and slithered along it's banks. For the first few nights, it could find nothing out of the ordinary about the place. A peaceful little slice of Heaven ripe for the claiming. But on the fourth night, his prowling had been interrupted. The quiet snuffling at the opening of the alley and five dirty humans started to walk in. Well, two humans and three possible hairy giants. All bore tattoos of a green flaming spear on their forearms. They spoke softly to one another, saying that 'it' had gone down this alley. The shadow creature looked around, and finding himself quite alone, shrugged wispy shoulders. Darkness exploded from him, thick and tacky. Their howls muffled and echoed in the dark sphere.
There was a brief melee. These creatures had the ability to warp and distort perception. The shadow creature had elected to retreat initially, but found that the alley seemed to loop in on itself and he couldn't leave. Another shadowy shrug. This time tentacles exploded out from various points in the darkness and lashed out at the, what seemed to be werewolves, with calculating strikes. Two of the five were bloody mangled bits in a matter of seconds. The largest of them drew a silver sword and started to strike out in a wild frenzy, but succeeded in only downing one of his wounded allies.
The shadow beast laughed. And laughed. And laughed. He would have taunted the mighty warrior, who had regained his senses enough to attack the wall he was painted on to no avail, but then the strangest thing happened. The small woman (who would have been attractive if she had bothered to shave at all) drew the tattoo off her skin to hold a flaming spear. And much to the shadow beast's surprise, when it stabbed into him, it burned.
He fled, then, leaving his tentacles to fight the good fight as he slithered out of the darkness and into the sea. The night was his, even if he had retreated. The best the shifters could call this was a Pyrrhic Victory. While his wounds would knit in time, their dead packmates wouldn't rouse on the morrow. Echoes of his laughter swept across the island.
The third time he returned to the island, he brought one of the hunters from the Camarilla. An Assamite who was known for her skill, but seemed skittish around the werewolves. The beast couldn't fathom why; they seemed worthy adversaries, but nothing more. They encountered a brief resistance, but no wolves manifested in the night. So, the shadows had swollen to encompass the woods, and tear down centuries old trees by the root. They were tossed about like kindling. In the debris he spelled out his message, along with a burner cellphone's number that he had picked up, if they wanted to negotiate terms.
"This island is mine. Leave and there will be no further bloodshed.
-V."
They never called.