@big_and_bad: Nice.
Aldeia Lobisomem (CVnU Location)
@alister_vonce said:
what even
@alister_vonce said:
*pulls out a lounge chair and basks in the egos*
@the_psyentist said:
@alister_vonce: Oh, I wasn't asking for permission.
Near "Aldeia Lobisomem", Portugal
Lycans. The so-called natural enemy of vampires, they were reputed to hunt them as actively as they did humans. If only they left the regular people alone as well. If that were the case, Ivan suspected they might even be able to cooperate. And yet, they chose often to prey upon innocent souls. And while Ivan's vendetta against the undead would always be his primary concern, there's always time for a side job between his hunts.
Lycans. They would make brutal foes. Ivan doubted that even his ability to heal could save him from being torn limb from limb. He couldn't be infected, but he could certainly still be killed. They fight like animals, relentless, savage, and uncompromising. What's worse, the more-skilled ones could blend perfectly into society, arousing no suspicion from their friends and neighbors. Like most gothic creatures that Ivan hunted, their powers and capabilities are often inconsistent. Some say they can transform only under the light of a full moon; others insist that they can do so at will, even during the daytime. Ivan had encountered both in his time as a hunter, and the latter were the ones that always provided the most trouble.
At this point, Ivan was confident that he could easily handle any single "were-wolf" that he encountered. His combat skill combined with his regenerative aura would keep him in the fight long enough to score a killing blow. A pack of them, however...he wasn't entirely certain he could stand up to. And it seemed as though he would be dealing with a pack tonight. He would need to be more stealthy.
Reports of missing villagers had been streaming in for a good amount of time now. The area had all of the tell-tale marks of an infestation; a cowardly, superstitious village; an unwillingness for anyone to enter the woods, especially at night; and a distinct element of antiquity. Despite the modern times, there was little technology to be seen in this region.
Good. That's just the way I like it, thought Ivan. Being born and raised in the year 1890 could instill a certain...technophobia in some people. Sure, Ivan used a van to get around in America, and a plane to cross the Atlantic, but all in all, he preferred to avoid such new developments. As he walked down the lonely path into the forest, he lit his torch, and held it above his head.
Some say Lycans are afraid of fire, some say they aren't. Well, tonight is as good a night as any to find out.
The many inconsistencies regarding the creatures of the night had been quite a recurring hindrance to Ivan. He had once brandished a wooden cross in front of a vampiric attacker, only to have his face torn off. He had needed to resort to strangling that particular foe. It had also taken a while for his face to regenerate, and he had to avoid public places for nearly a week. It had turned out that only select vampires were weakened by religious artifacts. Whether it was psychological or mystical, Ivan didn't know. He wondered if Lycans had the same problem.
Ivan's many weapons would weigh down most people, but he never seemed to have that difficulty. The most likely explanation was his mystical endurance. Through practice, he had managed to remain silent, even while carrying so many metal instruments of death. Removing a silver pole-arm from his bag, the Dawnbreaker held it in his right hand, advancing cautiously into the zone that was rumored to be inhabited by all manner of unholy creatures...
"The night life ain't for your kind, boy", his cool, resolute voice warned, his audibly engrossing, symphonic accent rolling with the frigid air of the encompassing darkness, his physical frame having yet to emerge. "You smell... young. Couple of a hundred years?", Casimiro inquired, his casual cadence conversationally asserting his dominance. "Hmm, I see you got fire. A candle that'll be blowin' out in the wind. Anybody be needin' a candle up in here, ain't no wood walker. You outta place, boy", he paused, six foot five, two-hundred and forty-six pounds of bronze muscle nonchalantly swaggering from the enshrouding touch of the surrounding darkness, uniquely hued eyes gazing upon the reputed monster hunter with a carnivorous edge.
"I smelled your scent a hundred yards from here. Wolves are... territorial animals. They don't take kindly to intrusions. No they got their prey but really now, wolves... wolves attack anything crazy enough to waltz into their territory", words halting, yielding to the audible lengthening of his razor claws, the evident growth and sharpening of his teeth and canines, "Are you crazy, boy? Cause this wolf pissed all over this place, and he don't take too kindly to your kind unless he's tearing the meat off their bone". Soon his body contorted and grew, muscle tissue accumulating as the air burned hot in his lungs, dark fur covering his physical frame as the eight foot four nightmare creature accelerated towards his prey, governed by the intention to violently sink his claws in his target's flesh while large 5.7 centimeter long canines rich in pressure-sensitive nerves sought to secure an accurate and deadly stab between his potential victim's neck bones to sever the spinal cord with a bite of unparalleled monstrous force.
Might make a visit sometime, we'll have some fun.
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