Furious Angels: Vater Unser

The most deliciously cold night swept in to sever the head of the long autumn season, marking the spawn of winter as the sky vomited flakes of ice crystals for a fortnight. A pale figure, with deep, recessed eye sockets and an insidious grin leaped from behind a bush, pouncing on a rabbit. Having caught its prey, the man rended the flesh from its bone as the poor animal screamed violently, globules of blood and meat oozing from its still squirming body. A mouth placed itself below the writhing and bleating animal, and savored the taste of its dripping innards before dipping it into his mouth and crunching down upon the animal, finally ending its miserable existance.

The man now felt rejuvenated, having consumed some blood to make up for what he lost when he was recently shot. The ragged, leather trench coat he wore was pitted with bullet holes in the back, exposing a grey pin-stripe vest underneath. His face was waxy and powdered, and that evil grin, baring his bloodied and sharp teeth, just never went away. He placed his ice-cold hands into the pockets of his coat, and skipped gleefully along a narrow path that was slowly being consumed by the blizzard. Nightfall had long stricken the land and the frosty eyes emblazoned between curtains of matted blond hair shone with a malevolence that outsported Satan.

Trevlac Ehrgeiz hummed as he skipped along the path up the mountain to an interesting landmark - a monastery which was run by a very naughty priest. "Twinkle, twinkle, little star, how I wonder what you are. If you come down here to me, I'll surly eat you with glee. Children gaze as you shine; I just want to make you mine." He carried on with his improvised song until the monastery was within sight. When he was within eyesight of a single spearman standing outside, Trevlac crouched and walked as though he were sneaking. The man holding the spear stared at him curiously, and once Trevlac had just crossed his shoulder, he lowered his polearm and shouted "Cease! What is your business here?", but Trevlac merely placed a hand to his lips while still hunched double, and shushed the guard, grinning widely. Perplexed but unamused, the guard made to cut off the vampire's path with his weapon. Trevlac stopped, still bent double he let out a small giggle and suddenly grabbed the spear and broke the end off. Before the guard could react, there was already a spearhead lodged in his throat. He secreted blood like a geyser; Trevlac could smell its divine scent, and ran his long spidery fingers across the guard's neck as his life was slowly but painfully extinguished. Feeling his work there done, he straightened up and looked rather seriously.

"You know," he started, hitching his coat straight and smoothing out the wrinkles in his vest, "I don't think monasteries need armed guards, do you?" he said to the dead body. Then giving him a polite bow, Trevlac marched onward through the gates and up the front stone steps, every clod of his large boots pounded with the weight of an iron ball. And then gently, he knocked.

While Trevlac was enjoying the amoral act of violently punching holes in a monastery's security system, a boy was running through the snow-covered woods. He looked like he had barely come of age. His footsteps were muffled by the new laid snow, like an unreasonably cold blanket. The boy had just been enjoying the blood of someone's daughter when his pursuer burst in and started beating the shit out of him. He thought, like most youths who've just been bitten, that he could lose his pursuer with his newly found enhanced speed. He, however, had the shit luck of having a pursuer who was also a vampire.

The pursuer, by the name of Luther Grather, as he so kindly introduced himself to the boy before ramming his fist into his face, caught up to the boy and pinned him to the tree. For a second or two, there was a silence between them as the snow fell from the tree over the two.

"You and I need to talk," Luther said, in a calm manner, "And I'd appreciate it if you'd stay still for a second."

"Fuck you, you shit," the kid said, which turned out to be a bad idea, as Luther twisted the kid's arm to the point where one errant twitch on Luther's part would break the kid's arm like a twig. The kid screamed in pain and tried to struggle out of Luther's grasp.

"Look, you little shit, I'm normally a patient man," Luther said, "but the Cabal is dead and I want that brand you so lovingly tout on your skin. And I'll get it whether you're dead or not, but I'd like to know who else has that brand."

"The FUCK are you talking about?" the kid yelled, clearly pissed, "I don't know about this "Cabal" and I definitely don't have a fucking brand. Now get off me, you faggot!"

Luther growled and tugged at his arm. The kid tried to resist, but Luther, despite being thinner than a rail, was stronger than the kid. He extended the kid's pointer finger and bit down on it. The kid screamed as Luther wrenched the finger free from the kid's hand. Luther chewed it a bit, swallowed and then spat out the finger bone. The kid looked at Luther with utter fear. The air then became punctuated with the smell of the kid's urine as he pissed his pants out of fear.

"Well, now you're afraid, aren't you?" Luther mockingly said, "Now... lie to me again and you will start losing more limbs. Now... where are the other Cabal members and where's your fucking brand?!"

The kid was crying now. He just wanted to run as far away as he could from this crazy fucker. "I don't know, man," he pleaded, "I don't know what you're fucking talking about!"

Luther growled more, then ripped off the kid's shirtsleeves. He looked at the kid's arms to find the brand. But there was not brand. Hell, there were no markings of any kind on the kid's arms. Luther sighed. Whoever told him this was the kid he was looking for was going to have to die, most likely via a sledgehammer to the face. He let the kid go and turned, thinking for a bit. The kid was still, as if frozen to the tree.

"Dude... can I go now?" the kid asked, cautiously. Luther, without missing a beat, turned around and sank his fangs into the kid's neck. He then started tearing him apart in blind rage, furious that he had been lied to and he had to take his anger out on someone. He then continued drinking from the severed limbs and head of the skin until he was satisfied. He then took a handkerchief out and wiped his mouth and his clothes as much as possible. He stood up, stretched and scratched the back of his neck.

"I need a fucking beer," Luther muttered to himself, as he calmly walked towards the village, leaving the remains of the kid behind to be fed to the animals..

There was a bedlam outside, and it bothered father Ordin Hvalte greatly. He was enjoying the perfect peace of the muffling snowfall, eating a meal prepared by the nuns, and someone had to go fuck that up. With a growl he hurled his wineglass into the wall, the deep red liquid and fine glass splattered across his room. He peered through the window next to where he sat, through the palm-sized snowflakes, and recognized a black formed dancing about near the door. A guard lay upon the ground... what was going on?

There was the sound of footsteps on the landing outside his quarters and a gentle knock. He froze, his features hardening. "Come in," he muttered simply, his mouth forming into a tight line.

The door slid open and a bashful nun stuck her head in, looking to the ground where there lay a broken wineglass.

"There's someone at the door.. father.." she stammered. He nodded and waved her away.

The priest stood, wiping his mouth with the corners of a cloth he produced from his back pocket and replaced it. He straightened his priestly color and tosses a trenchcoat about his shoulders. In a flash he was down the twenty six steps that led to his door behind the pulpit, and to the massive entry gate. Flexing his arms he lifted the portcullis, which clanked its way to the ceiling by purpose of the heavy counter-balances hidden inside the walls and opened the door proper slightly. A strong winter wind blasted through and a man with blond hair stood over the body of the churchly guard. Ordin grimmaced slightly but caught himself, for his features softened upon seeing the commoner. He seemed to transform and emit an air of caregiving and earnestness.

"Yes? What can I do for you, my son?" his imminence cooed, gazing gently into the cold eyes of the stranger.

A long, Cheshire grin suddenly erupted onto Trevlac's face, creasing and cracking the skin like molten lava. After hearing the priest's request, Trevlac pulled out a roll of parchment, held it high above his head, and let it drop. It unraveled all the way to the ground and continued rolling out another twenty-five yards. Making no attempts to pick up the ragged parchment, Trevlac cleared his throat in an aggrandized way. Then he took a deep breath, recited a few scales "Do re mi fa so la ti do, do ti la so fa mi re do." and began reading.

"His excellency, Lord Trevlac Victor Ehrgeiz, Dragonslayer, Master of the Dead, Ice Meister, and Lover of Kittens, has requested an audience with one Ordin Odysseus Hvalte; Priest, Scoundrel, Lover of Wine, Molester of Women, and master of all things red. He would like to--" suddenly the vampire chucked the scroll aside, rolled his eyes and pursed his lips, "For God's sake just get Ordin to meet with the man, I hate this messenger job." and then he pulled an ivory comb from his back pocket and ran it through is damp hair. Some of the snowflakes fell off but other than that, it retained its shape exactly. Trevlac's low profile breathing was not fogging the air in front of him by much and he simply stood with his weight on one hip, staring down at his fingernails impatiently.

Luther finally got to... wait, where was he? He thanked whatever divine being was watching over him, if any, that he hadn't frozen his balls out here. He started to look around for the exit out of this what he guessed was a monastery, although that was just a hunch on his part, when something caught his eye. Two men appeared to be having a conversation at the entrance of a building. One was obviously a priest, the other... Luther didn't know him, but he guessed from the parchment he was a messenger of sorts. Luther was tempted to get closer to see what they were talking about, but then remembered he couldn't give two shits about what they were talking about. He then turned around and proceeded to find the exit out of this place.

Who was this madman that assaulted the priest with his nonsense? Babbling insanity and acting an undeniably unscrupulous manner. This strange man wore heavily on Ordin's patience the moment he had born witness to him. He cocked an eyebrow, let out a painful sigh, and opened the door a little bit more before folding his hands behind him.

"I am sorry, my son," he said with an unconscious air of haughtiness, "I know no man by this name. However, if you wish to find a place where you may find a home, the Arkham sanitarium is just down the street. I could see you there, if you like. You seem far to sick to be out in this weather."

The man reeking with insanity seemed unpredictable and dangerous. Father Hvalte fingered the hunting knife that slept silently, tucked into his belt.

Eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning. Trevlac's blue orb ocular recepticals gleamed at Ordin and he exclaimed "Absolutely! Yes, I'll take you on your offer." he was whooping for a good long time before Trevlac finally stopped, cleared his throat, slicked back his hair to reveal a mountanous brow, and look up at Ordin solemnly. "I take it you are the Father, he spoke respectfully with much seriousness in his voice, "Thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking time out of your assumedly busy day to escort a lowly servant of the great Lord Ehrgeiz to a new home. I would do anything to escape his cruel tyranny and unjust treatment. You are truly a godsend, great sir. Please lead the way, Father." Trevlac bowed and opened his hand, extending his arm in a random direction as if that were their trajectory.

A small cloth bag, tied loosely with twine fell out of the messenger's coat pocket and chinked softly in the snow. He had bent over too far and his bag of solid gold coins dropped off and spilled in the snow. Trevlac's eyes were closed so he paid no mind to it and slowly he rose to his full height again, twisted his face into a sincere smile, and opened his eyes expectantly at Ordin.

Ordin eyed the messenger wearily as he vaulted through another series of meaningless contortions. No doubt things he had seen other people do and in his schizophrenic mania, simply replicated. He didn't notice the small bag that had tumbled from the stranger's clothing and into the thick, powdery snow, which was evident as he pushed his boot down upon it and began strolling in the opposite direction from which the fool pointed.

He passed by the crumpled, blood strewn, body of the guard on the ground, giving it nothing more than a glance. What kind of a madman was he dealing with? One that wouldn't be helped through mistreatment at the Arkham asylum which, in reality, lay more than two hours away by buggy in Arkham. This messenger boy appeared to be an outsider, so he wouldn't know any difference.

He stopped and turned to the fool, making sure he was following. Arms still clasped behind his back, thick wool coat fluttering in the freezing wind.

"Coming, my child?" he cooed like bough of a wind-torn oak.

A look of child-like awe erupted over Trevlac's face as the priest cooperated. Inside though he was kicking in anger; his goal was to go inside the building but now they would be walking away from it. He had hoped to use the ever-popular reverse psychology but it failed. Either the priest was stupid or he was cottoning on. Either situation would be bad for Trevlac and detract from his goal. Heeling to Ordin like a puppy, he started speaking very fast, such as a socially inept person who does not realize what a fool he is, "So my name's Victor and I like frogs and torturing animals and having sex with dead people and warm, cuddly, fuzzy blankets. Tell me something about you now, Father!" but Trevlac did not pause for a reply as they walked.

He could not, for at that moment an bullet slipped into his shoulder and he was knocked back a few paces in surprise. Trevlac snarled, the blood dripping from his wound, but it began to close up relatively fast, his hand stayed over the wound so that it wouldn't be possible to see is healing. Gritting his teeth and contorting his face into a wicked grin, the vampire took out a .454 Casull revolver and pointed the mammoth gun in the direction of the shot. He didn't fire, he only began giggling a small bit and moving closer. Randomly, he spun on his heel and to the left, just a moment before another shot was fired and a bullet whizzed through his coat.

"Now that was a close one" Trevlac said to father Ordin. "From the accuracy of the shots, I'd say the sniper's using a rifle with a long barrel.", Trevlac suddenly spun again, as if he had been counting the seconds before doing so. Yet another bullet whizzed by. "By the time between each shot I'd say it's a bolt-action, probably an old wooden Springfield." This time, he dropped to the ground and laid down. A bullet whizzed by the left of where he was standing, if he had turned, it would have gotten his heart.

"And from the adaptability of this person, I'd say they're a pro." It was going to get harder to pre-empt the shots, he knew. But it was obvious that the person hiding in the snowy trees taking pot-shots at them was only aiming for Trevlac. Knowing that being an assassination target would blow his cover instantly, Trevlac got behind one of the trees that fell out of the possible trajectory of the several shots fired so far. If there was only one opponent, he'd be safe there indefinitely until they showed themselves.

Confusion filled the priest's head but was quickly replaced with tactical resolve. Shots were being fired, but the only target seemed to be the messenger boy. Nobody in this town could possibly have a reason or the will to attack the priest; there were hundreds of followers in the surrounding area that would string them by the toes and torture them to death. Knowing this, he simply stood still. Next, he began to wonder why someone would be shooting at this idiot messenger.

He reached into his jacket and withdrew a sawn-off .44 Winchester, and pointed it at the cowering man behind his tree.

"Why are you being fired at, boy?" he shouted, losing the faux-kindness and resolve he had tempered himself with before and allowing his true-self to shine through. His brow furrowed until it seemed to resemble a snow-strewn wrinkled piece of leather,

The shotgun in Trevlac's face was abrupt and unexpected, but he carefully hid his surprise under the guise of a smile. "That's what Lord Ehrgeiz sent me here to speak with Ordin Hvalte about." Trevlac replied as though he had just remembered something importantly. He knew that he could kill everyone and abandon ship if things went really south, they were just in the woods right outside the gates after all, but that should be a last resort. All of his careful planning would be dashed to pieces.

Trevlac paused in his speech and then looked at Ordin, "Obviously I can't talk about it while I'm being shot at. Basically, Lord Ehrgeiz wants to warn you of danger to your life and estate much as his life and estate are in danger. And he hoped...that since you were both in the same situation, you might could both stick together...?" He said the last part awkwardly as if acknowledging how cheesy it must sound to others. But that was what Trevlac was going for. The messenger boy was too innocent and crazy to not be taken at face value. But it was true...at any moment that sniper could decide that his number one headhunt wasn't worth it and switch to his number two: Ordin.

Tears dripped down Trevlac's face and he wiped them away with his wrist, his revolver waving around as he did so. Sniffling a bit at his plight, Trevlac stood with sudden resolve and dashed to a tree. It was obvious that the sniper was to the north. Any good sniper that had taken three four shots and failed would have killed himself or given up. Apparently not this person which served to either show tenacity or that he was really a rookie. The woods were dense enough that when he ran, Trevlac could mix it up with a bit of doubling back or twisting or dancing, each time just missing a bullet. He ducked behind tree after tree, and mixed up his pattern of where he'd run next. Trevlac was playing with the shooter's mind; snipers don't like luck, it's their enemy. They rely on perfection and controllable circumstances.

Now the sniper was being toyed with. Trevlac noticed that his aim was getting more off than before and the time between firings was at least one extra second. That would have been disastrous for his guessing of when the next shot would be fired if the aim was still good. Upon reaching the last forty feet between Trevlac and the shooter, he suddenly jumped from behind his tree, and aimed up into the branches of another tree, firing once, twice, three times. Each time letting the recoil subside from the titanious revolver before firing again. Trevlac whooped a little, taking in the excitement of possibly ending the person's life.

Trevlac hits the sniper -2 focus

Random number (1,10) : 8

Three cracks of revolver shots split the freezing, snow-filled air as this strange messenger boy apparently dispatched an assassin. What in the devil's name was going on? Why was there an assassin after him, as well as a complete stranger he had never even heard of? As if they were related in some way? "Trevlac", hah. What a hideous name. The priest swallowed in a contrived manner, holstered the shotgun within his coat, and trotted over to where the boy was standing. Furrowing his eyebrows, he spoke.

"Son, William, was it? Ah, fine. Is there more than you can tell me about what is going on? I've never heard of this... Trevlac, before. Why would someone be after us?"

He peered over his shoulder, his gut wrenching in defeat. A plan had gone awry, and he was not used to this. He must learn from his mistakes and carry on. Things could become dangerous if he was not mentally prepared for anything.

Foggy cloudlets were being poured vigorously from Trevlac's maw as he fought to regain his breath and soothe the sudden rush of adrenaline. Thinking back, there were way too many times he could have been shot besides just that grazing that healed relatively fast. The deceiver put on his best messenger face and turned back toward the priest. "My name is Victor, sir." he puffed, albeit less deeply now. Then he took a seat on one of several stumps of cold trees which had been logged for building use. The messenger folded his hands and crossed his legs much like a wife might when having a 'serious talk' with her husband.

He sighed and explained, "Trevlac is a land owner in a cold region of the planet who is being hunted for his monopoly on a certain mine. The mine has ore that is often used in strong materials and thus is very valuable. Plus he harvests dead bodies from their graves and performs sexual intercourse and necromancy on them which isn't a hit with the locals." the messenger called Victor cleared his throat awkwardly and gave a pained grimace before going on, "Well apparently this group has also targeted you for similar acts of deviance. Pretty much anyone they think to be 'unsavory' such as tyrants, domineering men, sexual deviants, and psychotics. They call us evil and hunt us fervently. All of us 'sinners' need to form an alliance just as they have if we're to survive this ridiculous persecution." and he bowed his head toward his folded fingers sadly. He put on a look of deep regret for existing, for ever being Trevlac's messenger.

Luther followed the priest towards, he presumed, the sniper's body. However, he kept a safe distance from him, so as not to attract attention. When the sniper started firing, Luther ducked behind some cover, thinking he was the target. He saw, however, that it was the mysterious messenger boy that had visited the priest that was being targetted, judging from his movements .

Well, well, Luther thought I have a nagging doubt this guy wasn't asking for a confession. Luther's curiosity started to overwhelm and when the sniper stopped shooting and the priest ran towards his location, Luther quickly followed.

He caught up to the two of them and they seemed to be engaged in conversation again. Luther kept his distance, hiding in the trees. He didn't know what other abilities the messenger had and he didn't feel like being on the receiving end of either the gun the priest was sporting nor the messenger's. However, he did want to know what they were talking about. He closed his eyes and focused, trying to hear what they were saying under the abient noise. Which, thankfully, wasn't much.

"... Plus he harvests dead bodies from their graves and performs sexual intercourse and necromancy on them..."

Well, that was rather poorly timed, Luther thought. He then heard that this messenger was apparently gathering "sinners" to avoid persecution or something to that effect. Luther moved a little closer, trying to keep as silent as possible, so he could hear more of this..

Luther manages to get near Ordin and Trevlac undetected. If fail, Luther is detected by the two.

Random number (1,10) : 10