Sebastion Martelle's Story

Kethyr Naethus sighed and went on his way, paying his tab and slinking into the night.

Winne Rineswurth loudly scootched her chair an inch closer to Awinita.

Ulrich Paternosta stepped into the warm interior of the tavern. He gave it a quick scan and grunted. She wasn't anywhere in sight; good. There was something off with Ms. Tauvyr as of late. More off than usual.

Stone and Boyle followed in shortly after. The pair of vampires sort of taking in the sights of a rather rich looking drinking hole. "Nice. Nice. Hey Stones! They got the nice chairs! Take a peep at them!" Boyles made his way over to a table. A chair with rich velvet cushions that he ran along his hand. "Look at that. Feel that. Good right?"

Stones followed in not even giving the chair a look.

"Ish fine." He said bluntly. He moved to the sight. Taking in a strong nostril fill of something. Hm.

"That one." he pointed to a bottle behind the counter. A cup? "No. That one." The whole bottle? Okay... He uncorked it and began to drink it very greedily.

Deliveries to the Tauvyr Tavern were more regular with the new ownership of Fantasma Vineyards. The bottles were stocked and varied though many of the labels familiar some a more threatening make. Labels with letters that squirm and images with unsettling angles. One such bottle festooned with the dual masks Sock and Buskin sported others etched into the glass. Though these of anguish and horror if one should peer closer. Perhaps a warning for its label 'Thousand-Faced Wine' that said little else of its make than bottled in Fantasma Vineyards. A cigarette alit behind the bar though the embers fell first out of memory than the light of one's eyes. A bit of red ash falling in life before the eyeless grin of Ebrabbos underneath her wide brim hat and thick cloak. Long hair pours from under her hat to float past her shoulders as locks snake around her shoulders as to threaten by rising there. Though the eyes obscured beneath her hat their ill-defined shape inviting one to stare too close as they stared back. The cigarette in her mouth flared but never burnt down as she unpacked a box of wine from behind the counter.

"Careful now, " the tone lost about some unclear sarcasm, "There are so very many faces of regret that deep in a bottle of wine."

Stone and Boyle were now separated. Boyle was now at the side of Ulrich beginning to get comfortable in this soft velvet chair. A wide grin as his shark like mouth slowly blended back into a row of normal teeth. "Blimey! This is delux ain't it!?" He asked the other vampire. Before he began to speak again. "Look. The two of us are on a hunt. But not to cause trouble. Stones can be a bit violent. He comes from a violent times you know?" He told the other. "We are looking for a criminal. Or someone close to that."

Stones was at the bar. He drank half of the bottle and was surprised that the alcohol actually had some affect on him. THe huge man now turned to the stranger. He looked to her fancy hat. He nodded. "Good fashion." He told her at first. "We both know this is not wine."

"I half think he's a bloody caveman sometimes. EH?" Boyle asked the other with a laugh.

Stones Acute hearing picked that up. And without even missing a beat CHUCKED a rather dull tankard right at his noggin. Knocking the other mercenary over the chair. "Ah! Sorry! Sorry Stones! Common! Just a bit of fun!" He uttered

Ulrich Paternosta hitched his pants and settled into a velvet chair himself. He listened close to Boyle. Ulrich asked, "Hunting who, or what? If'em any danger to the Hollow, best be on the hunt, too."

Ulrich Paternosta shook his head as the tankard bounced. If the lady of the house was here she'd shit a brick.

Stone and Boyle regathered back at the table. Stones standing there while Boyle got back up. Stones stood there as he handed the etching back to Boyle. The other vampire had been better at talking. Most times. Unless they wanted to frighten people. Stones was much better at that he felt.

Boyle handed the other a etching. An etching of a man done in charcoal. The likeness was very well done. Man in his forties, very long slant nose. Dark hair. Short cut. Very fierce looking eyes. "That is who we are looking for. And trust me he is dangerous anywhere we gather." He told the other Vampire.

"This shit gets powers. What does he do? Immediately what most shits start to do. Start to think he's a bloody god."

The visage was of a vampire in circles called Feastus. A Vampire that had started a sanguine cult installing him as their living deity. "But most of these shitheads don't try to bother the established covens... So we got the call."

Ebbrabos curled her mouth as she took her cigarette in her hand for a deeper dark to focus on Stones, "Oh, some of it was wine when I started. I hate to waste product acquired after some fortunate... firings. Now, much of it is whine."

Cigarette to her lips never seemed to draw down but alit with an ember where keen ears found outcries for succor, "Thus Feastus destroying things to which he is not entitled? How interesting a pyre is ordered by the powers that be. Good thing hunters aren't the only ones who know how to burn."

An empty gaze deep enough to drown hope in looked very pointedly at Boyle as she took the cigarette out. A grey cloud breathed out with a sickly-sweet scent of meat and charcoal unmistakable to those that know it. Hat down toward the empty tankard.

Ulrich Paternosta nodded and grunted. He didn't recognize the face, but had it memorized now. Those who thought they were untouchable were the most dangerous of all. The woman with the cigarette spoke up on the matter. Ulrich's ears perked.

"You know bou' this?" Ulrich spoke up across the bar to the Ebbrabos. He recognized her from around. She was from over at the vineyards. Ulrich didn't like the look of her, but what was he to say? His brow lowered. Things were getting out of hand around Aslund. Terrorists in Wing City, cultist leaders gone off the deep end. He shook his head.

"A threat this large? Huh. Sounds like my business if yer lookin' round these parts," Ulrich then said to Boyle and gave a hard nod.

Stone and Boyle felt like they were now starting to get somewhere. It was their job to exterminate this Feastus and the rest of his trouble making cohorts. The invitation of others to join their hunt was not unwelcome.

Boyle did more of the talking. Though Stones gave Ebbrabos a stoic look. Quietly studying the details of her face, her expression, the large man was more animal than vampire. Huge, feral, subdued but ready to pounce at a moment's notice. He tried to read her movements and motions. Trying to get an instinctive feel at what sort of person was joining their dangerous hunt.

"His name IS Feastus. His group of wannabes are called the Sanguine Feast. Typical bunch of psychotic mortals who think because they can murder to make their sad lives feel something that they are on our level." They were not. "We should expect heavy firepower, conventional firearms, automatics, shotguns. Nothing we can't handle."

"But..." Stones interjected.

"I was getting to that!" He snapped back. "BUT... Before Feastus left he had broke into the haven of a very respected and venerated scholar of our community. A scholar who had in their possession a LOT of powerful magic relics. We are not exactly sure what exactly... but we do know most of them date back to the 11th century."

"First and Second Crusades..." The large vampire added.

Ulrich Paternosta leaned back at the news of the robbery. This was a lot to contemplate. How had news of this not yet reached The Hollow? Ulrich supposed this was a side effect of being well hidden, secluded, and generally avoided by mortals.

Wait a second.

"The Sanguine Feast, eh? You said mortals. Feastus ain't one of 'em, but he's leading a band of murder-hobos, is that righ? An' now they got a bunch o' magical shit, eh?" Ulrich drummed his fingers on the table. This was not good, "An' you did say mortals?"

Ulrich Paternosta leaned back at the news of the robbery. This was a lot to contemplate. How had news of this not yet reached The Hollow? Ulrich supposed this was a side effect of being well hidden, secluded, and generally avoided by mortals.

Wait a second.

"The Sanguine Feast, eh? You said mortals. Feastus ain't one of 'em, but he's leading a band of murder-hobos, is that righ? An' now they got a bunch o' magical shit, eh?" Ulrich drummed his fingers on the table. This was not good, "An' you did say mortals?"

Ebbrabos shifted sideways a bit toward Stones a small bottle in her hand. Though she leaned in and lifted her gaze to his it left no indication of eyes there. As the eye followed the curve of her cheeks toward where eyes ought to be her pale skin faded away to bare hint at some structure within moving deep inside. A single awareness peering back out from the murk back at him. Her hole for eyes slithers and jolted in long movements of something indiscernible at strange angles above the playful tenting of her riding gloves.

"Careful looking into the abyss, Stones. We Can See You TooOOoo." Said her partly echoed voice in a off-pitch singsong.

She poured three shots of clear liquid though something for a burning clarity of mind than the alcoholic muddying, "Have something nice from my own supply! It won't do to have some tyrant causing problems in my backyard."

In a switch to rest her chin on the palm holding her cigarette, she answered Ulrich after some thought, "Hm. No, I haven't bought any supplies from that kind of vain creature. Nor made any promises to the vain. Though vain foresight does tend to strike an excellent bargain I'd be happy with."

The words were very particular. Vain things like something calling itself a god never saw the paths past their own meat. The cigarette in her mouth she took a long drag with the screechy whine that issues from it.

Causing trouble brought problems and she was feeling charitable, "I'll show him a good time when you're done with him. Just send him my way. Though I'm quite sure the pursuit of power has gained him a number of friends buying new presents for him. They so often surround themselves with those content to only serve, hmm?"

There were a number of cultists in the area who would not be lucky enough that they should go to hell if they died. Though they certainly might burn for not paying what's due.

Stones pushed the glass back to the stranger. A stranger he was starting to think was not entirely what she seemed. "This is not what I thirst for..." He said point blank. The bottle had been rather muddled with the bad attempt to mix the wine with the blood. Maybe a century or two back that would have pleased him. But now. The true hunger came when he opened his maw of rows of razor sharp teeth and clamped it into something living and terrified. Self control just ensured him that he didn't go on a rampage at every second.

Boyle liked the prospect of two allies in their new hunt. Sort of answering the questions to his best abilities. "All mortals besides Feastus. I think they are deluded into thinking they someday he will turn them into vampires. But the shit can never share with anyone else." He warranted. "The most loyal of his followers have been conditioned heavily to feel no pain and to have their minds dulled to fanaticism. He has the gift of Voice and [/b]Gaze[/b] where he can entrance and hypnotize and dominate the will of others. Powerful abilities too... Our initial plan was ripping out his tongue from his mouth at the start of the fight to ensure that wouldn't be too big a problem but even then that would require sneaking up on him."

Ulrich Paternosta nodded once, "Rip out th'tongue. A good plan! Shit."

This Feastus concerned Ulrich, more so that the cultists had found industry around the Cursed Wood. The fact that mortals were wrapped up in it was worse news. Mortals weren't safe in the Cursed Wood without protection of someone. Feastus didn't seem like protection. In fact, between Feastus and the Sabbat, it was a wonder the WCPD even let Ulrich through the doors! It was a wonder there weren't flame-lit pitchfork parties attempting to burn this place to the ground.