Logbook Dated February 27, 2016
Tarisyn located.
Status: Living. Unhappy.
Recommendations to remedy situation:
Purchase a gift.
Say something meaningful.
Refrain from shooting her.
Daily security checks completed.
Eclipse: Acceptable.
New Moon: Acceptable.
Blood Moon: Acceptable.
Crescent: Sub par.
Recommendations to remedy Crescent’s shortcomings:
Fire Head of Security.
Install additional CCTV units.
Install additional CCTV backup drives.
Install additional alarm systems.
Hire additional security units.
Andromeda located.
Status: Alive. Healthy.
Nightly feeding: complete.
Returned to the rooftop Garden of Miss Elizabeth’s estate.
Apartment status: Secure.
Ivory Tower status: Secure.
Nightly hunt: complete.
Take: $4500
Six severed heads.
Four hunter’s charms.
Two hunter’s longswords.
Eight Dorf carbines.
Evening anomalies:
Located a lost weapon. Used. Blood stained blade. Good quality. Must have been dropped by someone on the unfortunate end of a fight. Decided to recondition weapon. Will see about commissioning one metalworker for the task. Perhaps there will be someone up to the labor. If not, the weapon is a fine piece as it is. Will likely remain in collection, for future use or donation.
End Log.
Valon pushed the leather bound book shut, dropping it back into the locked drawer in his desk, before placing his rifle on the desktop. The delicate, nightly work of cleaning and stripping his weapon was about to begin. It was an intricate dance of his skilled and masterful hands, the task he had performed time and time and time again, countless hours of stripping, cleaning, reconditioning and greasing, preparing, and rearming his firearms left him with little in the way of obstacles.
The rifle was stripped and reassembled in less than ten minutes, the cleaned and primed weapon leaning neatly against the corner of his desk. A monstrous box of ammunition dominated the desktop, fingers working individual rounds into one magazine after another, varying rounds clicking neatly into corresponding clips, and stored in a neat, organized manner across the opposite side of the desk. The task was tedious, but necessary.
He would not be caught unprepared.
Finished, he stored the magazines by size of round and weapon the magazine fit, each resting in neat compartments along the drawers of the left side of his desk.
Satisfied with his work, he lifted a hand to flick the desk lamp off, instantly masking him in darkness. He took the Colt .45 pistol from the desk and tucked it neatly into his belt. He never took to the streets without a sidearm, and tonight was no different.
Checking the office one last time, he armed the security and locked the door, the steel caging descending over the glass windows of the shop before he made his way through the all but abandoned building. People still milled in small crowds around the second and first floors, but he alone moved along the third floor walkways, all the way to the parking garage. There, he paused on the top floor of the garage, the midnight sky above him winking with a thousand thousand eyes as he checked his watch.
Nearly time.
Silently, he folded his arms over his chest, standing in stony silence along, beneath the nitrogen lamp of the garage, basked in a crisp, sharp, white light, casting a sinister shadow to his features. He was a menacing presence to begin with, and the darkness that twisted his features into a gargoylesque mask of horror only played to the strength of his position. It wasn’t long before a large, black van with blacked out windows rolled up the ramp of the garage, pausing to idle at the center of the empty top lot, leaving him alone with the driver of the van, and whoever he was stupid enough to bring along with him.
Right on time. Points for punctuality.
