Alerts from across the front came racing into the cockpit of Jurgen's Huntsman, and he sighed in a very tired sounding way when reports of a mercenary company with the banner of three talons on a field of grey came in, since he knew all too well who those particular band of mercs were. But through the sigh, he started chuckling a bit. Of course they would cross paths again, seemed that was a common occurrence at this rate, whether on the same side or opposing. He looked at the placement map of where his troops were, the only ones not in position were, unsurprisingly, his Harasser's who were out in the forest edge, and the fighting clearly spooked them and sent them racing back into friendly territory. Good, they were not feeling unusually brave today, that saved him the trouble of having to dispatch an order telling them to withdraw immediately. He didn't want to replace them without a good reason this day.
Jurgen snapped out orders from his vantage behind his tank line, well hidden in the rubble created by artillery barrages that had been pounding away as much of the defenses as possible, creating more than they had started with for creative defenders. Jurgen and his men needed to be creative, since they wouldn't be winning any slug fests straight face to face style. "All Dawn Runners, all Dawn Runners, now hear this. Make to your entrenchments and make ready to repel the first assault waves. Our old friends in the Dark Talons have come calling, led by the Queen Bitch of the Universe herself." That got some chuckles out of his men, the main reason he did it since they all knew it wasn't hostile, and they really didn't hold animosity towards the other mercenary bands. After all, they all had to make their pay somehow, so it was just the business of the day. Jurgen snapped more detailed orders out, having lightened the tension a bit.
"Musketeer's, your the first hitters against light and medium mechs, as well as anything you think is worth the ammunition. Harasser's, fire at anything you can do some reasonable damage to. Warrior's, to the skies the moment the first enemy mechs get within range of you, but don't go high up, and keep moving, who knows what kind of AA they might have. Hit hard, hit fast, but don't get yourselves caught in a corner. Engage at your own discretion." The first units to reach his section of line were infantry and their APC units, which got set upon from four different pieces of rubble, from the appearance on their side of the lines. Harasser's with medium lasers could do some work against a variety of targets, the APC's didn't stand much chance, and not many infantry were able to bail out, and energy fire would take care of those survivors.
The key to the survival of the Dawn Runner's in their defensive plan was a whole series of set defensive points each unit would shoot and scoot to, firing from one point until danger dictated they move to a new, seemingly random point, engage from there, rinse and repeat. Slower units wouldn't be able to pull it off, but the high speed, hover capabilities of all his units made it possible. The Warrior's would strike the first mech's that got into range of them, the ones they could damage at any rate, moving like flies, randomly swerving to throw off aiming protocols and keeping low enough that missile attacks could be avoided by ducking down into their landing safe zones within the deeper city proper. They would hit and run both flanks, popping shots at the oncoming tanks while sitting out of range of most weapons, abusing the Autocannon range while ducking down as soon as something started paying attention to them, before popping up again and scooting, firing again from different air space.
Jurgen had his Huntsman powered up, but held back in reserve, watching for any serious, high value threats towards his section of line. If the heavier mech's hit his section of line, he was the only chance they seriously had of bringing them down. The sole other mech in his company, the Stinger, was fighting, jump jetting from hot spot to hot spot, firing its own medium laser and machine gunning down hostile troops, the twin guns scything down lightly armored men with ease, while the medium laser would give some mechs pause, the fast moving, quick hopping light mech was a hard target to hit from between rubble piles and volleyed fire from friendly artillery units, being given targets from their forward positions, and by the Dawn Runners themselves, pointing out likely coordinates for valid hits, but his section of line was an apparent ghost division, moving fast enough some enemies swore that there was more there than was really the case, and word would probably reach others about this phenomenon. How long the Dawn Runner's could hold this defense, well, was up to partly chance, and partly how strong enemy opposition got in comparison to the support they would get. Jurgen had a fighting retreat series of lines set up, maximizing his advantages while minimizing his weaknesses, always keeping in mind changing battlefield conditions, waiting for the perfect ambush strike moment to arise.
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All Caramilla Vampires, Inigo Malzahar
Inigo Malzahar stood upon the stage, alone. He had quite a lot on his mind right now, understandable, considering the events that had kicked off this wonderful night. He hadn't risen with the plans of finding the Prince, a vampire that, while they had never seen eye to eye, understood the value of information and gave him fairly free reign to do as he saw fit to get the job done. So they got along well enough, from a professional point of view. And he would not have wished a final death upon the Prince, not at this moment at any rate, there was far too much at stake, if his information and sources were reliable, and they had never failed him before. He had enough time vested into this network for it not to fail on him, and he had experience in this kind of work.
Inigo was in his usual great coat, leaning upon an old cane that seemed to support the vampire's weight more than anything else, although this was all smoke and mirrors. He had not removed his hat, a wide brim that had served him well for a good many years now, and he had invested some money in keeping in working order. His attire beneath was clean, but nothing flashy or fancy. A vest, dark slacks and working shoes made up a rather humble attire for someone of his standing. But Inigo did not readily stand on fancy garb, he spoke like an enigma many times as it was, there was little need to dress like one. He had a few other items on his person, nothing he gave any serious thought to. He had popped by his abode, collecting a few things he wouldn't take in the presence of the Prince, weapons, for example, and came here after sending the ghouls on their merry way.
Inigo knew arming himself against many of his enemies was a joke, but it kept up the illusion, and wasn't that the job of many, in the end? Lie to the face of the humans, let them think nothing was wrong, that nothing that went bump in the night was any more substantial than a heavy breeze or just an unstable tea kettle, and not something far more dangerous. But such thoughts were for later musing, as the ghouls arrived to receive their orders. "Go, fetch your masters, rally all those among the Caramilla to this home of drama. There is words to be had this night, for wrathful foes unseen have wrought woeful wickedness upon our kind. The flames of war have been unleashed, and discussion must be made as to how we shall demonstrate our response in kind, what deeds and actions must be placed in motion to preserve our mission. Go now, you have your orders. Ensure that the Seneschal especially is aware and present, one such as that will be required."
The ghouls would go, informing all the vampires of the Caramilla to go to the theater downtown in Boston, that a meeting of dire importance and emergency had been called, and that time was of the essence in this moment.
Inigo Malzahar stood upon the stage, alone. He had quite a lot on his mind right now, understandable, considering the events that had kicked off this wonderful night. He hadn't risen with the plans of finding the Prince, a vampire that, while they had never seen eye to eye, understood the value of information and gave him fairly free reign to do as he saw fit to get the job done. So they got along well enough, from a professional point of view. And he would not have wished a final death upon the Prince, not at this moment at any rate, there was far too much at stake, if his information and sources were reliable, and they had never failed him before. He had enough time vested into this network for it not to fail on him, and he had experience in this kind of work.
Inigo was in his usual great coat, leaning upon an old cane that seemed to support the vampire's weight more than anything else, although this was all smoke and mirrors. He had not removed his hat, a wide brim that had served him well for a good many years now, and he had invested some money in keeping in working order. His attire beneath was clean, but nothing flashy or fancy. A vest, dark slacks and working shoes made up a rather humble attire for someone of his standing. But Inigo did not readily stand on fancy garb, he spoke like an enigma many times as it was, there was little need to dress like one. He had a few other items on his person, nothing he gave any serious thought to. He had popped by his abode, collecting a few things he wouldn't take in the presence of the Prince, weapons, for example, and came here after sending the ghouls on their merry way.
Inigo knew arming himself against many of his enemies was a joke, but it kept up the illusion, and wasn't that the job of many, in the end? Lie to the face of the humans, let them think nothing was wrong, that nothing that went bump in the night was any more substantial than a heavy breeze or just an unstable tea kettle, and not something far more dangerous. But such thoughts were for later musing, as the ghouls arrived to receive their orders. "Go, fetch your masters, rally all those among the Caramilla to this home of drama. There is words to be had this night, for wrathful foes unseen have wrought woeful wickedness upon our kind. The flames of war have been unleashed, and discussion must be made as to how we shall demonstrate our response in kind, what deeds and actions must be placed in motion to preserve our mission. Go now, you have your orders. Ensure that the Seneschal especially is aware and present, one such as that will be required."
The ghouls would go, informing all the vampires of the Caramilla to go to the theater downtown in Boston, that a meeting of dire importance and emergency had been called, and that time was of the essence in this moment.
Jurgen sat in the cockpit of the Huntsman, designated Command and Control unit for his mercenary band, on the virtue that he was the personal pilot of it, reading the incoming data streams, mission reports, progress on digging in and creating fighting holes for his hover craft, the ambush points that he needed to be aware of, a whole myriad of data one wouldn't think an average merc commander would think necessary. But such things were perfectly necessary and even vital for Jurgen, who was analyzing the situation, directing his men and their vehicles to go about their jobs. He had to handle this situation very carefully, a defensive siege was not necessarily the best job for a force like his, but the pay was good, and an old friend had asked him to help out. So here he was, organizing raiders for a siege. The Huntsman he was sitting in was powered down, so it couldn't be detected, only enough power to operate his display and communication system, waiting for the time to come online and strike out against the first heavy attackers. But to do that, he had to consider his allies in this situation, the State of Allavar. They had FedSun backing, one reason why he was here, and the pay was good, better C-bills than the other side was offering, so that was the why of the matter.
The how would be difficult. Defenders naturally had the advantage in many cases, here was one such case even facing a pincer maneuver that was inevitable. The entrenchments were facing the most likely avenues of attack, cased by his own Harassers and their high speed recon. The H7's he had were hidden, under cover and in ruins that hid the fact they were hangers. No one on the enemy side, mercenary or otherwise, should know that those armed VTOL's were waiting to react to a call for reinforcements from either side of the city. The key to his defensive contribution was his speed, he could get around to hard points in the defenses, he was piloting the slowest unit in his regiment, and you could hardly call a ground speed of almost 90 km/h, with a 150m jump distance, slow. The ground pieces that were entrenched alongside the unarmored infantry were solid, well protected, and covering the likely killzones. His concern would be hostile Battle armor units, small, fast, armored infantry that could outperform their fellows and be dangerous to just about everything he was fielding. His men had standing orders to evade them, rather than try to fight them. Especially if they were in numbers, just report their positions and movements if necessary for retaliatory efforts by units equipped to handle BA.
His men had been active, picking off those that ventured too close, whether they were scouting or aiming to cause trouble within their ranks was irrelevant. The medium lasers on the Harassers took care of them handily. That was the job the Harassers were proving excellent at. His Musketeer's had already been set up hidden firing posts, that they could bail from the moment they were needed elsewhere, or the position wasn't defensible anymore. The Warrior H7 VTOL's were standing by, Autocannon/2 and SRM-4 ready to provide fire support wherever it was needed. They were even more fragile than his Harassers, but safer since they could fly and sit out of range of a lot of attackers, the AC/2 gave them solid standoff distance. His XO was in the Stinger, a Med laser and machine guns gave it a decent, if unimpressive, armament to provide support from. The shining gem of his defensive force was the Huntsman, and omni mech with weapons to deal with most any threat. They had participated in raids while buying the defenses time to be built, and some of the enemies no doubt remembered the Huntsman opening fire, getting attention so his Harassers and Musketeers could raid their supply lines before all of them fled. Things had slowed down as the noose tightened around this city, relegating him to the job he had now, coordinating raids and picket defense as they waited for the assault to begin proper.
Jurgen faced his corp against the forest, which some might think a mad plan, but there was reasons. The plains had no cover, and he suspected the heavy vehicles would be coming that way, from recon reports, and they would stand zero chance against them in an open field. His forces in the forest, though, could operate better, even with the looming threat of Battle armor advancing as well, an idle claw could turn a high speed Harasser into a careening wreck of debris if done right. No, when it was clear the assault was starting, his Harassers had fire positions that were preselected for them to retreat to and open fire from, keeping their exposure minimal while their ability to return fire, maximum. But recon also reported heavy mechs, real heavy ones, were on this side as well. That made him apprehensive, but he had little choice now. There was no fleeing at this point, this was a stand against better equipped foes, at least for this type of work, and he was getting paid to do it. For now, all he could do was wait and see who came knocking, maybe some old acquaintances were waiting on the other side of the line, which would make things real interesting real quick. But for now, he took in reports, gave out new orders, reaffirmed standing orders, and made sure his men were as ready as they could be for the oncoming storm.
The how would be difficult. Defenders naturally had the advantage in many cases, here was one such case even facing a pincer maneuver that was inevitable. The entrenchments were facing the most likely avenues of attack, cased by his own Harassers and their high speed recon. The H7's he had were hidden, under cover and in ruins that hid the fact they were hangers. No one on the enemy side, mercenary or otherwise, should know that those armed VTOL's were waiting to react to a call for reinforcements from either side of the city. The key to his defensive contribution was his speed, he could get around to hard points in the defenses, he was piloting the slowest unit in his regiment, and you could hardly call a ground speed of almost 90 km/h, with a 150m jump distance, slow. The ground pieces that were entrenched alongside the unarmored infantry were solid, well protected, and covering the likely killzones. His concern would be hostile Battle armor units, small, fast, armored infantry that could outperform their fellows and be dangerous to just about everything he was fielding. His men had standing orders to evade them, rather than try to fight them. Especially if they were in numbers, just report their positions and movements if necessary for retaliatory efforts by units equipped to handle BA.
His men had been active, picking off those that ventured too close, whether they were scouting or aiming to cause trouble within their ranks was irrelevant. The medium lasers on the Harassers took care of them handily. That was the job the Harassers were proving excellent at. His Musketeer's had already been set up hidden firing posts, that they could bail from the moment they were needed elsewhere, or the position wasn't defensible anymore. The Warrior H7 VTOL's were standing by, Autocannon/2 and SRM-4 ready to provide fire support wherever it was needed. They were even more fragile than his Harassers, but safer since they could fly and sit out of range of a lot of attackers, the AC/2 gave them solid standoff distance. His XO was in the Stinger, a Med laser and machine guns gave it a decent, if unimpressive, armament to provide support from. The shining gem of his defensive force was the Huntsman, and omni mech with weapons to deal with most any threat. They had participated in raids while buying the defenses time to be built, and some of the enemies no doubt remembered the Huntsman opening fire, getting attention so his Harassers and Musketeers could raid their supply lines before all of them fled. Things had slowed down as the noose tightened around this city, relegating him to the job he had now, coordinating raids and picket defense as they waited for the assault to begin proper.
Jurgen faced his corp against the forest, which some might think a mad plan, but there was reasons. The plains had no cover, and he suspected the heavy vehicles would be coming that way, from recon reports, and they would stand zero chance against them in an open field. His forces in the forest, though, could operate better, even with the looming threat of Battle armor advancing as well, an idle claw could turn a high speed Harasser into a careening wreck of debris if done right. No, when it was clear the assault was starting, his Harassers had fire positions that were preselected for them to retreat to and open fire from, keeping their exposure minimal while their ability to return fire, maximum. But recon also reported heavy mechs, real heavy ones, were on this side as well. That made him apprehensive, but he had little choice now. There was no fleeing at this point, this was a stand against better equipped foes, at least for this type of work, and he was getting paid to do it. For now, all he could do was wait and see who came knocking, maybe some old acquaintances were waiting on the other side of the line, which would make things real interesting real quick. But for now, he took in reports, gave out new orders, reaffirmed standing orders, and made sure his men were as ready as they could be for the oncoming storm.
Character Sheets:
Name: Inigo Malzahar
Generation: 9th Generation
Clan: Tremere
Disciplines:
+ Auspex
+ Dominate
+ Thaumaturgy
-Path of Mercury
-Path of the Father's Vengeance
-Prey on the Soul's Fear
Personality: Inigo moves in his own ways, often times in apparent contradictions and illusions of aid and help offered to those around him. To those that have only met him, he is a curiosity and oddity, with an apparent inability to simply speak plainly and clearly, always dancing around a subject for the apparent sake of his own amusement. This maddening habit of his has often driven people off or made them vastly underestimate the Tremere Vampire, all of which was to his own personal plans and schemes. But they need not know this, and unless one gets to know the vampire, one only sees the maddening, albeit relatively harmless, scholar mage of the Tremere clan wandering about, doing his own thing.
The truth is far more shockingly clear, both in his own thought process and his goals. Inigo manipulates his foes, and the foes of the Tremere and Camarilla in general, without bloodying his own hands. He hides behind his words and his apparently unassuming demeanor, gathering a disturbing amount of information, both with and without his Disciplines, and can be found plotting and scheming in his abode. Indeed, such round about and indirect methods of conflict suit Inigo, however, others are rarely so patient with the apparently mad vampire and his methods, taking the information and acting on it without waiting for Inigo, and often times failing because of a missed key point that further analysis would have revealed.
Inigo relies on this scholarly, studious mentality when dealing with those that deserve to see past the facade he maintains, focused on his information network and his research into further applications of Tremere Thaumaturgy and mixing of paths, especially when it comes to breaking his foes, he finds a morbid fascination with how a being reacts to being forcefully confronted with that which they fear the most and so man times break down in the face of such things, but he often keeps such opinions to himself, saving such dark commentary for when he has broken another fool who crossed him, his work, the Tremere or the Camarilla.
Biography: Born into a family of scholars, who resided within Spain, Inigo could claim to have no real hardship in his early life, exploring both the realms of knowledge and magic, fascinated by the rituals and power that was fabled to be brought about by such things. Raised to revere knowledge and its tenants as sources of great power, he would leave home at a young age, for the never ending pursuit of knowledge, of those known, unknown, lost and forbidden, no such things would keep him from delving deeper into many a sane and maddening text at the same time. All this would lead up to his first encounter with his future Sire.
Inigo has long since forgotten her name, but he remembers the meetings clearly in his mind, memories of better days. He was a mortal still, and crossed paths with the Tremere woman, although he had no idea what he was getting himself into. Forbidden knowledge, ancient power, all offered up in a package that would have tempted any sane, grounded being. And Inigo was hardly grounded or sane by that point in time, forbidden tomes and knowledge tended to have that effect on the merely mortal mind, no matter how potent or effective it might prove to be in such acts.
His madness and sheer drive for knowledge impressed the Vampiress, who quickly garnered the permission necessary to Embrace the mad scholar Inigo. He didn't see it coming, but the Embrace and binding with the Clan elders had a stabilizing effect on his mindset, but he was still unstable at best at times for a long while, as he grew more mature, so did his control over such madness, although it often remained as a cover for when dealing with other beings. Such madness sometimes took charge early on, and memories of his Sire both tutoring him, and restraining him, were frequent and intermixed at times.
The two eventually parted ways, once Inigo was stable, though the reason why now eludes the vampire scholar, who assumes there is a very real reason that he can't remember when he can recall other events with such clarity. While he resolved to figure it out one day, he had more pressing matters at hand as he advanced further in his clan standing, finding himself an information broker and seeker for the Camarilla, often times going well out of his way to accomplish this goal, developing his insane, round about manner of doing work, much to the aggravation of the less patient, some warrior clans came to mind here, but he did not seem to mind. He was thriving on such things in his unlife, and he gladly kept at it. But his own goals and plans were hardly forgotten, even if others would believe they were, and he has the means to seek them out now.
Appearance:
Equipment: Colt M1911A1, Silver edged Sword cane, $222 Cash, Cellphone, notepad and pen
Name: Inigo Malzahar
Generation: 9th Generation
Clan: Tremere
Disciplines:
+ Auspex
+ Dominate
+ Thaumaturgy
-Path of Mercury
-Path of the Father's Vengeance
-Prey on the Soul's Fear
Personality: Inigo moves in his own ways, often times in apparent contradictions and illusions of aid and help offered to those around him. To those that have only met him, he is a curiosity and oddity, with an apparent inability to simply speak plainly and clearly, always dancing around a subject for the apparent sake of his own amusement. This maddening habit of his has often driven people off or made them vastly underestimate the Tremere Vampire, all of which was to his own personal plans and schemes. But they need not know this, and unless one gets to know the vampire, one only sees the maddening, albeit relatively harmless, scholar mage of the Tremere clan wandering about, doing his own thing.
The truth is far more shockingly clear, both in his own thought process and his goals. Inigo manipulates his foes, and the foes of the Tremere and Camarilla in general, without bloodying his own hands. He hides behind his words and his apparently unassuming demeanor, gathering a disturbing amount of information, both with and without his Disciplines, and can be found plotting and scheming in his abode. Indeed, such round about and indirect methods of conflict suit Inigo, however, others are rarely so patient with the apparently mad vampire and his methods, taking the information and acting on it without waiting for Inigo, and often times failing because of a missed key point that further analysis would have revealed.
Inigo relies on this scholarly, studious mentality when dealing with those that deserve to see past the facade he maintains, focused on his information network and his research into further applications of Tremere Thaumaturgy and mixing of paths, especially when it comes to breaking his foes, he finds a morbid fascination with how a being reacts to being forcefully confronted with that which they fear the most and so man times break down in the face of such things, but he often keeps such opinions to himself, saving such dark commentary for when he has broken another fool who crossed him, his work, the Tremere or the Camarilla.
Biography: Born into a family of scholars, who resided within Spain, Inigo could claim to have no real hardship in his early life, exploring both the realms of knowledge and magic, fascinated by the rituals and power that was fabled to be brought about by such things. Raised to revere knowledge and its tenants as sources of great power, he would leave home at a young age, for the never ending pursuit of knowledge, of those known, unknown, lost and forbidden, no such things would keep him from delving deeper into many a sane and maddening text at the same time. All this would lead up to his first encounter with his future Sire.
Inigo has long since forgotten her name, but he remembers the meetings clearly in his mind, memories of better days. He was a mortal still, and crossed paths with the Tremere woman, although he had no idea what he was getting himself into. Forbidden knowledge, ancient power, all offered up in a package that would have tempted any sane, grounded being. And Inigo was hardly grounded or sane by that point in time, forbidden tomes and knowledge tended to have that effect on the merely mortal mind, no matter how potent or effective it might prove to be in such acts.
His madness and sheer drive for knowledge impressed the Vampiress, who quickly garnered the permission necessary to Embrace the mad scholar Inigo. He didn't see it coming, but the Embrace and binding with the Clan elders had a stabilizing effect on his mindset, but he was still unstable at best at times for a long while, as he grew more mature, so did his control over such madness, although it often remained as a cover for when dealing with other beings. Such madness sometimes took charge early on, and memories of his Sire both tutoring him, and restraining him, were frequent and intermixed at times.
The two eventually parted ways, once Inigo was stable, though the reason why now eludes the vampire scholar, who assumes there is a very real reason that he can't remember when he can recall other events with such clarity. While he resolved to figure it out one day, he had more pressing matters at hand as he advanced further in his clan standing, finding himself an information broker and seeker for the Camarilla, often times going well out of his way to accomplish this goal, developing his insane, round about manner of doing work, much to the aggravation of the less patient, some warrior clans came to mind here, but he did not seem to mind. He was thriving on such things in his unlife, and he gladly kept at it. But his own goals and plans were hardly forgotten, even if others would believe they were, and he has the means to seek them out now.
Appearance:
Equipment: Colt M1911A1, Silver edged Sword cane, $222 Cash, Cellphone, notepad and pen
Aye, I'm in, sure as sure.
Alright, heres the CS
Vic smirked when the sandwich's arrived, giving Alistair the pay and a tip for running out that far, setting Lilin's sandwich to the side so she could take it when she was done dealing with the kid, whom he didn't believe a word out of, on general principal. Storm like this was the perfect excuse NOT to work, and she didn't look the type to be one of those hard working, studious types. But he chuckled at Alistair's comment, replying easy enough. "I noticed, makes me glad I beat the storm front here. Been knocking out some research, been getting damn near a hundred calls within an hour of that bombing, bastard Our Father's Fathers decided to dump a bunch of work on me. And to think we didn't have enough terrorists to be digging on without adding another to the pile, eh?" Alistair was welcome to hang out, obviously, but he needed to take Lilin her sandwich, since she was being a librarian right now.
Approaching the two, he caught the question about Operation Freedom. More terrorists, but an older, more known bunch. At least compared to Our Father's Fathers, who had literally just cropped up on the map, and historical tie ins to them being few and far in between. But he smirked, handing Lilin her sandwich as ordered while commenting. "Here's your food, Lilin. And Operation Freedom are a secretive bunch, not surprising for terrorists. But they haven't kept good and tidy trail of their past, not like this new group, eh?" He smirked, appearing all good natured and well mannered, but a devil could have a silver tongue and honeyed words but have nothing but business and analysis from every word someone said, and didn't say. After all, he did pick up some things from his devil blood, or so he joked when confronted on it every now and again.
Approaching the two, he caught the question about Operation Freedom. More terrorists, but an older, more known bunch. At least compared to Our Father's Fathers, who had literally just cropped up on the map, and historical tie ins to them being few and far in between. But he smirked, handing Lilin her sandwich as ordered while commenting. "Here's your food, Lilin. And Operation Freedom are a secretive bunch, not surprising for terrorists. But they haven't kept good and tidy trail of their past, not like this new group, eh?" He smirked, appearing all good natured and well mannered, but a devil could have a silver tongue and honeyed words but have nothing but business and analysis from every word someone said, and didn't say. After all, he did pick up some things from his devil blood, or so he joked when confronted on it every now and again.
Victor nodded, chuckling at the thought of half of Houston getting shocked if she let a sneeze loose. "Well, give me time to get clear of the backlash zone if you feel a sneeze coming on, yea?" Looking over the old paper articles that Lilin brought forward, he was starting to form a mental profile for these guys. Old roots, very, very secretive and well used to keeping what they want private, private, and leaving very little in the way of a trail behind. Problem with an organization, is that it always leaves a trail of some sort. No matter how small, miniscule, or disjointed, everything in the world leaves marks of where its been, where it is, and where it will be going. No matter how much effort is put into making that different, nothing is untraceable. One just needs the determination to do it.
Glancing at Lilin, and raised an eyebrow at her knowledge of Luminescence. "Perhaps you'd be willing to share over a couple sandwiches, if your hungry? Figure I know a place that might deliver in this mess, not too far from the library anyhow. I'll ring em one, see what they have to say." Said place happened to be Lotuswich Shoppe, a sandwich place right on the border of Elf Territory, and he had their number for when he was too swamped with work to go out and wait in line, or even leave his apartment or the library, for that matter. But he rung them up, and once they answered, he sounded off in a warm and friendly tone. "Evening Lily, its Vic, how's the weather treating you?" Once she had a chance to respond, he continued. "When a lull hits, could you send one of those 6in salami melts you make and, hey Lilin you want anything?" If she did, he would pass the order along, if not, well, he would wrap up. "When a lull hits, or not, your call, could you get that to the library? I'm working on something again, you can probably guess what."
Glancing at Lilin, and raised an eyebrow at her knowledge of Luminescence. "Perhaps you'd be willing to share over a couple sandwiches, if your hungry? Figure I know a place that might deliver in this mess, not too far from the library anyhow. I'll ring em one, see what they have to say." Said place happened to be Lotuswich Shoppe, a sandwich place right on the border of Elf Territory, and he had their number for when he was too swamped with work to go out and wait in line, or even leave his apartment or the library, for that matter. But he rung them up, and once they answered, he sounded off in a warm and friendly tone. "Evening Lily, its Vic, how's the weather treating you?" Once she had a chance to respond, he continued. "When a lull hits, could you send one of those 6in salami melts you make and, hey Lilin you want anything?" If she did, he would pass the order along, if not, well, he would wrap up. "When a lull hits, or not, your call, could you get that to the library? I'm working on something again, you can probably guess what."
Adrian shrugged when she mentioned not wanting to be a vampire, considering it was more and more clear it wasn't her choice, even if he had totally thought she was lying earlier. "Seems some things we can't control, might as well do what you can with it. People die every day, from mundane and not so mundane things. It can't really be helped, and if it wasn't me, some other poor sods would be dead, and you wouldn't be sitting here regretting it." She couldn't control her kin creatures, and hell, he didn't really choose to be a slayer because he woke up one day and went 'Hey, lets kill vampires today!'. No, that was a longer story he wasn't going to share unless really prompted about. And he had to hide that kind of pain, the Order didn't take kindly to weakness, or displays of weakness. It meant such things would happen in the face of vampires, and that would be death, in their minds, and failure, more importantly.
"Its the best I could have expected out of the circumstances. You have my thanks on it, should keep it mostly together." He watched her retie it with strips of her own clothing, commonplace battlefield tactic there, so it wasn't foreign to see. But he didn't expect her to do so, and he looked back at his rifle, cleaning out the bore of it, one of the bolts sitting by his side just in case. When she asked about the few days complicating things, he shrugged. "It probably will make things worse, but I'm too damn slow right now to make it anywhere on my own. We are better off at night, and things need to settle down a bit first. Both the bloodsuckers and Order hunters. Itchy trigger fingered morons..." She was eyeing his rifle, and that got a chuckle out of him, opening the break action up to clean the other half of the barrel. "Oddly designed, isn't she? Break action rifles ain't commonplace, I grant you that. Let alone ones that fire bolts, but thats the trick. They compensate, expecting a rifle shot, and get a crossbow bolt instead. Each round is designed to crystallize the vampire blood, lethal in the torso obviously." He casually explained the tool, having been needed to countless times, and saw it no more a weapon than a hammer or spade, just another tool to be used.
"Its the best I could have expected out of the circumstances. You have my thanks on it, should keep it mostly together." He watched her retie it with strips of her own clothing, commonplace battlefield tactic there, so it wasn't foreign to see. But he didn't expect her to do so, and he looked back at his rifle, cleaning out the bore of it, one of the bolts sitting by his side just in case. When she asked about the few days complicating things, he shrugged. "It probably will make things worse, but I'm too damn slow right now to make it anywhere on my own. We are better off at night, and things need to settle down a bit first. Both the bloodsuckers and Order hunters. Itchy trigger fingered morons..." She was eyeing his rifle, and that got a chuckle out of him, opening the break action up to clean the other half of the barrel. "Oddly designed, isn't she? Break action rifles ain't commonplace, I grant you that. Let alone ones that fire bolts, but thats the trick. They compensate, expecting a rifle shot, and get a crossbow bolt instead. Each round is designed to crystallize the vampire blood, lethal in the torso obviously." He casually explained the tool, having been needed to countless times, and saw it no more a weapon than a hammer or spade, just another tool to be used.
Adrian was quiet as Victoria explained the condition of his ankle. He sighed, just his luck really. Had to jump out of an airship that was getting swamped, shatters his ankle, and only lives thanks to the vampiress before him, who was collecting water for him to drink. Made one wonder what things would be like without that Vampire King running everything into the ground for the sake of revenge. He couldn't help but wonder if the Order would be the ones running things into the ground then, and he suspected they would be. Hate did drive people so. She put the options forward, before blaming herself for what happened to that airship and its crew, and he couldn't help but shake his head in disagreement. "You were shot in the leg, by me no less, and dragged onto that ship against your will. That was inviting tragedy, especially since it was obvious we were not the only ones on the hunt at the time. And that was just survival, I wasn't going to hold that room on my own, even if you helped. Jumping was the only option that gave me a snowball's chance in hell of surviving."
Victora offered to escort him to forest's edge, and he tested the weight on the splint, grimacing as he sat back down. No, he decided, that wasn't going to hold up, even using his rifle as a cane. "That isn't going to be feasible, it would probably be evening before I would drag myself back to that nearby town. And the Order is probably sweeping for survivors now, and I'd rather not get picked up just yet. I need to go back and, well, question their logic about opening fire like that. They couldn't know whether the ship was lost yet or not." He knew their tactics, scorched earth, but the loss of an airship was not something to take lightly. They were, after all, expensive as hell. But he stayed put on his rock, for now, he didn't want to risk putting too much work on his ankle, considering when he tried to stand, it nearly gave out with a splint. Yea, she was right, it was completely shattered. Hopefully it won't be a problem after a doctor gets a look at it. But he wasn't going anywhere right now, so he set his rifle on his lap, and started cleaning it, checking the parts to make sure it wasn't too damaged from the night's work.
Victora offered to escort him to forest's edge, and he tested the weight on the splint, grimacing as he sat back down. No, he decided, that wasn't going to hold up, even using his rifle as a cane. "That isn't going to be feasible, it would probably be evening before I would drag myself back to that nearby town. And the Order is probably sweeping for survivors now, and I'd rather not get picked up just yet. I need to go back and, well, question their logic about opening fire like that. They couldn't know whether the ship was lost yet or not." He knew their tactics, scorched earth, but the loss of an airship was not something to take lightly. They were, after all, expensive as hell. But he stayed put on his rock, for now, he didn't want to risk putting too much work on his ankle, considering when he tried to stand, it nearly gave out with a splint. Yea, she was right, it was completely shattered. Hopefully it won't be a problem after a doctor gets a look at it. But he wasn't going anywhere right now, so he set his rifle on his lap, and started cleaning it, checking the parts to make sure it wasn't too damaged from the night's work.
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