Keeping his head low, as he’d been advised to do, consisted of sticking to what was safe and familiar. Relying on Lancaster’s tome and the Den’s portal system had made doing so too easy a feat. Bjorn used the tools at his disposal to make movement efficient, rarely seeing more than home and the Bunk Backpackers hostel where he worked.
He’d taken a liking to the dusty crafting bench at the Den, and found the hours to pass without notice whenever he sat himself down at it. Occasionally he ventured to the forge to satiate his curiosity, but molten metal was not his calling. The rest of his time was spent consuming the vast array of knowledge at his fingertips and honing in his telepathic skills. Whether or not practice had perfected his powers, he didn’t know. But the headaches had declined in frequency, and he found it easier to contemplate an existence beyond the safe familiarity of home and work.
It’d been weeks since the masquerade had fallen. Bjorn had found comfort in routine and not paid the unfolding events any mind. He wasn’t ready to deal with the world as he’d come to rediscover it, and from the headlines he glimpsed at here and there, it seemed the world wasn’t ready to deal with him either. So when he sought to clear his mind, he considered his options with care.
The last time the vampire had ventured into the city’s underbelly, he’d broken his handgun while attempting to beat a resilient mooncalf over the head. Lancaster had since furnished him with a gun. It was time to put it to test.
The weapon fired with greater accuracy than he’d imagined. Bjorn was eager to meet the woman who’d made it. Pi d’Artois remained a ghost to him, never seen, though familiar through his study of local vampire lore. Until she returned from her travels and he could shadow her work at the forge, he’d focus on his aim. A gunsmith surely needed to be as good, if not better, a shot.
Stepping away from a fallen zombie, the vampire reached into his pocket for another magazine clip. Instead of the hard edge of the bullets’ casing, he felt something entirely different.
“Hey!” he shouted, turning around to face the sneaky sod.
He’d taken a liking to the dusty crafting bench at the Den, and found the hours to pass without notice whenever he sat himself down at it. Occasionally he ventured to the forge to satiate his curiosity, but molten metal was not his calling. The rest of his time was spent consuming the vast array of knowledge at his fingertips and honing in his telepathic skills. Whether or not practice had perfected his powers, he didn’t know. But the headaches had declined in frequency, and he found it easier to contemplate an existence beyond the safe familiarity of home and work.
It’d been weeks since the masquerade had fallen. Bjorn had found comfort in routine and not paid the unfolding events any mind. He wasn’t ready to deal with the world as he’d come to rediscover it, and from the headlines he glimpsed at here and there, it seemed the world wasn’t ready to deal with him either. So when he sought to clear his mind, he considered his options with care.
The last time the vampire had ventured into the city’s underbelly, he’d broken his handgun while attempting to beat a resilient mooncalf over the head. Lancaster had since furnished him with a gun. It was time to put it to test.
The weapon fired with greater accuracy than he’d imagined. Bjorn was eager to meet the woman who’d made it. Pi d’Artois remained a ghost to him, never seen, though familiar through his study of local vampire lore. Until she returned from her travels and he could shadow her work at the forge, he’d focus on his aim. A gunsmith surely needed to be as good, if not better, a shot.
Stepping away from a fallen zombie, the vampire reached into his pocket for another magazine clip. Instead of the hard edge of the bullets’ casing, he felt something entirely different.
“Hey!” he shouted, turning around to face the sneaky sod.
0h 51m ago: Rowan tried to steal from you, and you caught them!
9h 54m ago: Rowan tried to steal from you, and you caught them!
