Of the blood ((Ambrose))

[Ursula Wolfe]

Ursula sighed softly as she pulled her sword from the gut of yet another Shaman. There was a small hiss that came from behind her and she knew that it was her Uncle Shadow, someone who she had long since thought of as dead - and technically he was - she couldn't see him, but she knew he was there. He followed her everywhere ever since she had summoned him years ago. “Uncle Shadow, this shaman is controlled by those that helped to kill you.” She said as she wiped the blood from her blade and looked in the direction of his ‘voice’. For a guy that had used the dark side of voodoo quite often, she wondered why he had always disliked whenever she killed a shaman. It was then that she decided that she would do something to appease uncle Shadow.

Ursa pulled out her tome and read the words, soon she had appeared before the ritual altar that Jesse had set up for them. Limbo was empty this eve, which she was fine with this night, she hadn't wanted to be stopped by family as she made her way across Limbo to the fadeportal that would take her first to the family home and then to one that would allow her to appear just outside of the apartment in the QZ. Her home with Jordan. How she missed her fiancé. She shook her head and made her way inside the apartment and up to the floor it was on. She was still searching for him, and still not finding him.

Once she had entered her apartment she was quick to gather the herbs growing there before her presence caused them to wilt too much and they would be useless to her. Then it was a quick clean up in the shower, washing blood and guts from her skin and hair. And with that stuff gone, she was able to dress again. Only this time, it wasn't just her usual black skinny jeans and a tank top. No, tonight it was her long black dress, the cuffs of the sleeves became a v over her hands and red lace wrapped around her middle fingers. The black satin flowed over her curves and emphasized them as it flowed to her feet like black ink. The rest of her outfit had been finished by a red velvet cloak, the hood pulled over her head. She gathered what ingredients she had and then made her way back to the lobby where she could buy the rest of the things she needed.

It had taken her some time, but Ursa was finally making her way out of Harper Rock and into the wilderness, beneath her cloak was the soft mewling of a kitten. This was the one thing she had problems with. Sacrificing kittens, or any baby animal really - though goats she had learned to desensitized herself to their deaths.

The moon was high, waning this eve but the moon wasn't that important to this particular ritual. “Uncle Shadow?” She called out as she came to a clearing in the trees, the moonlight casting a limited shadow, a shadow that then floated away and began to dance about as a thick Cajun accented voice spoke. “I am here, my little lamb.” She nodded and began to set everything up until there was a circle cast with salt and candles, with blood and incense, with crystal and bone. Standing in the middle of the circle, Ursula became to chant, her voice almost ethereal. She began to sway and bend, in one hand an athame, in the other the kitten. With her bare skin touching the kitten, it had grown weak and sick, something that happened with anything living she touched - which is why she normally wore gloves. The wind howled a little and she could hear her uncle Shadow joining in to the Haitian chant. A chant he had taught her long before he had vanished, long before he had died, long before she had summoned him once again. She continued to sway, hands in the air, chanting louder as the wind blew stronger as snow began to fall, as her long black and red hair whipped against her face, arms and back.

[Ambrose Acheron]

Tizoc had been enchanted by a mysterious being before, a Siren’s Song literally had caused a momentary lapse of reason. He had thought a vampire of another line, a young woman at that, had been his Coahoma because of it. He had not forgotten, he had not forgiven. He had attempted to assemble a group of vampies to hunt the creature down but politics between a member of the group and other vampires had derailed the plan. Tizoc had resumed the hunt on his own but the trail had grown cold. He stalked the wilderness on occasion hoping to encounter the being he believed could only be a True Fae, but to no avail thus far.

The night was bitterly cold and the heavy snowfall made the search difficult if not impossible, but at the moment it was his chosen pursuit to get through another night. Hunting was difficult in the winter and if not for his powers of allurism and some careful planning he was sure he would be starving by now. He could still manage to find humans in the city, but the Fae now appeared to be elusive. The hunt, like each night’s hunt previously had been turning up nothing but animals. It was as if the Fae were slumbering. Perhaps they had no desire to attack a vampire who was actively and aggressively seeking them.

He was about ready to concede defeat in his search and return to Harper Rock when he noticed a voice on the wind. He stopped and turned in it’s direction, walking through the blizzard toward it. The voice was speaking in a language he recognized, chants he recognized actually from his time in New Orleans back in the 1700s. It was a ritual by the sounds of it though he could not tell with one. The trudged onward through the night, his attention falling from the Fae and refocusing on the voice of the Mambo.

He hated voices on the wind. Curiosity drove the elder forward though. He wanted to know.

[Ursula Wolfe]

Ursa continued to chant into the night, swaying, bowing, dancing almost as the wind made her black hair dance on the wind. The red highlights looked like blood, the black dusted with the white flakes of the snow. She stepped up the tone and intensity of the chant, each word enunciated with dramatic flare, the sort of flare that came with the Voodoo ways. Her eyes were closed, her head - like her arms - raised to the moonlight. The kitten seemed to be growing sicker, but she could not rush this enchantment, could not skip or speed through it. Like any spell, the words had to be said just right, the emphasis on the right areas, with the right thoughts and feelings in mind.

Swaying, bowing, twisting, she almost looked possessed. In a way, she was, because she was calling forth the darker elements. They came to her so easily. Despite the outward appearance of being loving to family and nice – to a point, she had a dark soul, a darkness that made living things wilt at her touch and weeds grow at her feet. Weeds that were currently slowly creeping up her legs. The wind cause her skirt to lift and flow as if it too had a life of its own, allowing the weeds to touch bare skin and wilt to blackness and crumble on the wind.

She held out her offering, the chanting growing louder still, as if she were screaming them to the gods. Though she chanted in the Haitian words, there were some that were clearly spoken in English. Not just the darkness of the voodoo gods were to be present but the horned God and moon goddess, the watchers of the directs, the elements of life – earth, air, fire, water, and spirit. The flames seemed to flicker, fighting the harsh winds that screamed nearly as loud as she was before they grew large as if someone had turned on a propane tank under them.

[Ambrose Acheron]

The flames erupting as the chanting increased made Tizoc turn slightly to the left as he continued on. His vision was keen, honed by decades of taking the time to notice his surroundings in minute detail to avoid the inevitable hunter around the next corner. He was a creature of caution and patience by nature and this direct approach made him feel edgy. As the woman came into view Tizoc immediately appraised her, gaining insight into her powers, her strengths, her weaknesses. She was not as adept at the finer nuances of ritualism as he was but her knowledge base was equal to his own. He grew slightly more confident than he had been, glancing around once more only to assure himself there was no sign of any of the damnable Fae coming at him through the blizzard. Satisfied he was not being pursuit, one booted foot follows another as he approaches, circling as he does to stay out of her line of sight.

He would not, he decided, interrupt her rite in mid-swing. He would calmly wait for the vampire to finish her work before announcing his presence.

[Ursula Wolfe]

The chanting grew and grew, the wind seemed to mirror the intensity of her tone, of her voice until all of a sudden, Ursa dropped to her knees, her head lowered, her hair falling like a curtain over her face. And then there was silence and the smell of blood, and soon the snow beneath her began to turn red. Just silence, she didn’t need to breathe so she wasn’t out of breath, she didn’t need to speak. She didn’t want too. However, she heard the soft cooing of her uncle behind her and knew that he was with her. He had been pleased by the offering. Then she let out a breath, one of defeat. Ursa loved cats, to do what she did. It was hard on her. Suddenly, her uncle fell silent and she didn’t know if he had left her or if he was warning her of something.

What did she have to fear out here? She was alone in the wilderness, and though she should have, she didn’t fear the fae. Perhaps she should have, but she was growing closer to the demi-fae at least, some rituals coming easy, though the one she did the most was still one that took a lot out of her and left her to the point that she was nearly passed out on the alter. Her eyes closed and then she lifted her hand, sliding it under her hair and wiping her eyes to clear herself of the tears that the sacrifice had caused. Still she heard nothing from her uncle and she was beginning to think he had run off somewhere. He did so enjoy doing that. Ursa lifted her head and glanced around, though she didn’t know why she bothered, she knew she would not see her uncle Shadow. Her own shadow though, that seemed to be staring at something, watching something, ready to attack something behind her.

Slowly she stood, dusting her skirt off with one hand while she held her other hand close to herself, in such a way that it appeared that she was using both hands to mess with her skirt, but the one hidden - her sword arm - could summon forth her sword and keep it out of sight until whoever it is that her shadow wanted to go after made their move on her. Ursa lifted her free hand then and pushed her hair behind her ears, listening to everything around her, for even the slightest hint that she may have to protect herself. That she might have to fight. It was never good to sneak up on her.

[Ambrose Acheron]

Tizoc shared in a curse with this Ursula Wolfe. He looked down at his own shadow, it seemed not to be acknowledging the situation, simply sharpening the onyx blade Tizoc used for rituals. As far as Tizoc had noticed, his shadow, while it had a mind of its own rarely seemed to act with any forethought. It was just as likely to ignore someone as it was to throttle them. Usually it simply mimicked him, though sometimes a split second too slowly, drawing the eye of those around him and making them jumpy, nervous.

He had learned to compensate for that with his Path’s powers. Having read her Tizoc was not fearful of the woman, confident if the need arose he could handle her. Of more concern was the knowledge she could summon others to the place. The young vampire, fairly removed from the source of her blood at sixth generation, had an array of powers Tizoc did not himself posses. Of course the converse was true too.

He decided to start with common ground. “You mix Haitian with Celtic styles and movements. It is… different, Do you not worry about upsetting the Loa by introducing the white man’s ways into their rites?” he asks, eyes on the woman’s back, still from a good distance away. “You can turn around. I am alone and have no reason to hurt you.”

[Ursula Wolfe]

Ursula turned slowly towards the voice, her glacial blue eyes took in the large male with a hint of shock. He knew her words, knew her movements. She continued to keep her sword hidden in the folds of her skirt as she watched him for a moment longer. “The Loa has learned of my style long ago, my Uncle was Haitian, my Aunt and my mother are pagan in general, I was trained by all three in their skills so no, I do not fear the Loa. The Loa has accepted me and my style.” For the most part anyways, the lighter spells - like the one she worked - was accepted. The Loa would not accept her more dangerous or powerful spells, the more power meant that it would take more of herself. Even dead, she did not hold that power.

“As for you not harming me, that is good to hear, I do not have the skill or energy right now to take a fight.” She said, though as she glanced towards her shadow, it was clear that her shadow was always ready for a fight. She however had long since learned to harness some of the shadows, so she was able to rein in the shadow’s need to harm. Still, she kept her sword hidden, the folds of her skirt wrapped around the thin blade. Just because she had used a good portion of her energy on her spell, did not mean she would allow herself to be completely defenseless. Her father - an expert in swordsmanship and fighting - had taught her to be like the tiger, to save just a bit of energy because, at the end, that is when a tiger was at its most fearsome.

She glanced around to make sure that he was as he said he was, that he was alone. Ursa was a girl who was always careful around strangers, she had spotted a girl once within her family’s home and had been close to chopping her down, that is until she had received word that she had been a friend of one of her family and had needed to speak privately with her in a safe place. “Do you often travel the wilderness alone and in such a storm?” She asked, though she could guess that he would ask something of the same of her. Any logical person would be curious.

[Ambrose Acheron]

The storm. It was problematic for a number of reasons. Travelling alone though was something he did in fact do usually. Tizoc was a recluse by almost any standard. What purpose would it serve to answer in this way though? Small talk. Pleasantries. These were niceties better suited going over while indoors and in a safe spot. Not while in the territory of potentially hostile Fae in the middle of a blizzard.

He pauses, letting the Google translate the words she speaks to be sure he understands before he checks on his own reply. Through this brief pause he glances around as if taking in the surroundings for the first time before answering. “I have been known to,” he states, a simple truth. “Have you no altar at which to practice your arts? The wilds are dangerous, the weather inclement.”

He sweeps an arm out around, motioning to the whiteness around them, two dark specks in a sea of snow broken only by trees not yet completely covered by the winter’s grasp. “Do you not fear the creatures that dwell in the wilds?”

[Ursula Wolfe]

She continued to watch him, her blue eyes every so often covered by her black and red locks as they veiled her face. Around Ursula, deep in the snow, the weeds were growing still, growing and then dying at her feet. Her hands rested in her skirt, but her fingers twitched and every time they did, another weed fell to the snow in a withered mess of knots. She nodded to his words and then a small smirk came to her face as he asked of the alter. “I do have an alter, I have several in fact that I could have gone too. However, when calling the corners, it is best to do it out in nature.” She said as she lifted her hands and let some of the snow come to rest against her pale skin.

“Also, it was a spell that needed the moonlight. Though that part is hindered by the storm, it would have been even greater had I been inside.” She lowered her hands and lowered her eyes towards the black and red beneath her, the withered and brown, the death that was something she was used too. His next question danced on the wind and her glacial gaze lifted towards him once more and she smiled, almost viciously this time as she gave a slow shake of her head. “There is nothing in these wilds that I could fear. The fae, they are around, I know it, I have heard the stories, but in truth, I have seen what they can do and I do not fear them doing that to me. It would hurt, sure, but I grow from pain and death. Or can you not see what is around me all the time?” She asked with a small smirk, motioning with her hands to the circle of death she stood within, white and black, red and brown, yellow and orange… death.

“Were you out hunting them? Or just out to enjoy this lovely weather?” She asked, a dark and delicate brow lifting though her bangs hindered the sight of it slightly. The snow had eased a little, the wind was still howling though and it caused an eerie song as it blew through evergreen pines and empty oaks, bare branches causing ghostly whistles that created a song, a haunting song, a song that Ursa wished to move to. And she did, she swayed just a bit, her fingers still moving with a rhythm, her eyes lowering to half mast for a moment.

[Ambrose Acheron]

Hunting them. Yes, he supposed he was as insane as that sounded. Hunting the bane of vampire kind. He made a habit of such actually. The Siren, the other Fae, the Disciples of Crow, any and all threats to the way of life he needed to maintain, anything that was a threat to the Fade. He was undecided at the moment if what the woman had been doing, combining the archaic ways with the newfangled counted as a risk. It was heresy in the old line, the Tozoztontli. He had seen other vampires perform similar feats as he was able to though using different methods. It begged answer to the question of whether they prayed to the same deities with different names or if more than one pantheon held sway over the world.

“I was hunting one of them. The creature interfered with me. I am not sure of the outcome when I find it.” Indeed, Ambrose had no idea what he would do if he were to stumble on the Siren which had briefly corrupted his spirit and mind, leading to him corrupting his body along with that of another vampire. A fledgling no less. He gave a slight shrug.

“What is your name and lineage?” He asked though with a single glance he knew. He wanted to know what she would say on the matter.