[i]Vasile[/i]

Vasile sank back against the stone carved chair, his long legs extended out, elbows resting on the arms. He watched her, so pretty she was, cold and shivering with fear and pain. The deep crimson blood dripping down her pale skin. He would never grow tired of it, his hunger stirred with her whimpers and the tendrils of red coursing down her thighs. He had cut her, she was his latest project, another subject for his flesh carving to create servants. He was pondering his next move, tired already of the same monstrosities he had been making the last few decades. Vasile was bored, he wanted something new, something that would strike fear into the hearts of the mortal sheep. 

His fingers touched the silver cross around his neck and he smiled a slow, lopsided grin. He was handsome in a severe way, his high cheek bones and sharp chin gave little room for softness and that was just as well for he had none in him. Vasile turned the cross around and finally stood up, walking over to the girl that lay strapped to the table. 

“Good news,” he said, speaking in a low pitched voice that had a hint a growl. A practiced sound that when spoken in the ear of some infatuated mortal would send a thrilled shiver down their spine. “I know what I want with you.”

“P-please,” she blubbered. They always did. “Let me go...I...I can’t...”

“You don’t have to,” he said, taking out a bone saw and he turned back to her, a slight smile on his elegant features. “You just will. You are mine and I use you as I see fit.”

He set the saw against her arm, he used an old fashion one, no electronics that was just tacky. 

“You did not mind so much last night, when I ravaged you and drank from that pretty neck?” 

He chuckled, a cold dead sound and he began to saw into the soft flesh. Her screams echoed off the stone walls, a sound he had long grown accustomed to and rather liked. They each sounded slightly different but the terror was the same. They just did not understand, their lives were nothing but small tokens, to be used by their elders when the need arose. 

Once her arm was off, Vasile set it aside, he could use it later. He tasted her blood off his fingers as she writhed in pain, her eyes rolling back in agony. He dusted the wound with a powder, a potion made by him to stop the bleeding instantly to prevent her premature death. 

Vasile’s dark grey eyes moved over her and he playfully pinched her cheek before stepping away to his storage area. He removed the limb of a taloned creature, long and scaled with claw tipped fingers. He had created it, from several sources and now he had a subject to mount it on. The pretty blonde he had picked up in the night club would become his own harpy, a rather interesting idea he had while perusing books of ancient mythology. Chimeras, griffons, harpies, and other such creatures melded from various body parts of human and animal. It had given him inspiration and he set back to his work with a new enthusiasm. 

The Archbishop wanted a war and he would gleefully supply new soldiers for it. Hours slipped by as he molded the girl’s flesh and bone into a bent, twisted creature with clawed talons for fingers and a gaping mouth full of razor sharp teeth. She was his ghoul now, she would obey and beg for blood from him. She was under his control, another minion in the ranks that served the Sabbat’s war against the Masquarade and the pesky hunters that pushed their holy noses into business that was beyond their ken. 

He was bending one of the girl’s ribs, stretching it to help expand her lung capcity all the while she cried in horror and pain. When one of his ghouls shuffled in,he glanced up, irritated. He was a hulking brute, used by Vasile as a bodyguard, his pale flesh hung in folds, pitted and scarred with thick tissue that acted as armor. The vozhd curled his lips at the smell of fresh blood, his teeth yellow and razor sharp. 

“What is it, I’m busy,” Vasile said, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his arms coated in gore. 

“Master, the message has come for the meeting,” the ghoul gurgled out in his ruined voice. 

“Ah, damnation now?” he hissed. 

The meeting that Gunnarsson called, he was going to have that bitch Thorhild in attendance and he disliked the she wolf. He sighed with annoyance, finishing up what he was doing and giving the subject a shot of tranquilizer to settle her down so she would not move around and ruin his work while he was gone. 

“Carl, come with me and send Frank in here to guard the room,” Vasile ordered. 

He cleaned up, dressing in a dark suit, his hair slicked stylishly back. Vasile made his way down into the meeting, walking through the winding tunnels. He was late and stood in the back, listening to the plans against the Camarilla. He watched the Archbishop, they had known each other for many years and he wondered what Gunnarsson had up his sleeve. Why bring in that Garou? War against the Masquerade was nothing new, they could take back Boston without the help of dogs. He shot a look toward the attractive black haired woman and felt a small shiver of desire, what a ghoul should would have made if she had been human.