Path of the Vampire forum

At first glance there would be no signs of life. Nothing to detect that in the rustic master bedroom of CT #302 there was any hope left for the stretch of skin and muscle that was absent of respirations to count or warmth to be discovered by the investigative touch.Like dark storms brewing into the credible warning of more to come lids lifted like shades giving up on their purpose in a low budget motel room. Killer eyes steeled to set wide open finding the ceiling above him was where he last saw it. Just like it should be. Now that the day’s last light faded the cascade of obsidian hair dangling from the pillow down to the bedside floor showed signs that the presumed dead could actually rise more than once or beyond a thousand times.

Kitchi was greeted by nothing in physical presence beside him. Not that he expected anyone in particular. Paskus was reachable only with his dreams when he was granted them. Outside that this was how it had to be and had been for so long that he had come to prefer it for the comfort and space it afforded him. Not that he was entirely alone. He was subjected to a haunting that was unshakeable and entirely active and real.

It was present in action no matter what he did to get out of reach. So much so that he never fully escaped the weight of doom trying to gain access to him. In the past it rarely failed to take hold and set him off his chosen course. It carried the possibilities of threat, tapping at his balance of energy and sense of control. Simple actions like crossing a street needed to be approached with the preparation of anything happening. Lately it was getting to even out far more in his favor or he was just getting that good at dodging the dangers presented to him. Either way it was becoming a routine that the woodland cree was willing to accept as much as the ingrown toenail that really never went away once he cut it.

It … scratch that. The black magic Iskwêw responsible always came back just like the hunger that clawed at his insides. It was like an invisible chain he was sentenced to wear. The cursed gnawing that he answered to because there was little choice since the decision was made for him years ago. No surprise the bear responsible for what he was went AWOL and disappeared. Machk was long gone and for all he knew never to be seen again. That guy certainly had his own hell handed to him to deal with so Kitchi wasn’t about to throw stones over getting the short end of the Acheron death stick. Reality was hitting him and it was up to him alone to deal with it.

Awake, burdened and alone there he was three floors above the Wickbridge section of Harper Rock towering in the earth seasoned skin he was born in. It was same **** on a different night yet it never failed to motivate his bare form to rise from where he chose to take his imposed rest. From the coiled sheets that failed to hold him down the darkness found another to be cautious of while the moon was in it’s glowing reign. A killer was leaving the cool bed that held him and potentially lethal first steps were made to join the nightly hunt.

From the cleansing natural rock shower and into the fit of what he permitted to cover his body only minutes passed. Wearing the expression of ancient chiseled stone he left the interior walls of the apartment behind. A purposeful stride lead him out of need and in favor of getting closer to what could possibly sate some of what drove him to head out into the darkest of nights. What couldn’t be satisfied would be dealt with on his terms. The fluid movement of wide shoulders and a silk train of black hair flowing behind was barely noticed as the doors closed to the lobby. Nothing caught his attention until the moonlight landed on his head. With the flawless motions of a ceremonious greeting his face turned heavenward. The chatter ceased between those making visible efforts at stepping around his imposing frame when he disappeared into thin air. The odd out of place scent of fresh cut black spruce and the sharp hint of blood filled the lungs of those left to inhale out of need.

“Did you see that?” One asked the other clearly bewildered at what just happened. “He just poofed.”
“The tall dark guy with insane hair?” The door was pulled open so the one asking for a credible witness could step safely inside. “Nope. I didn’t see a thing.”

Silence. A deafening silence covered the wilderness when he appeared from what would seem nothing more than thin air. A minor sense of disappointment etched into the flesh on his forehead. It was too still for the world that should be moving with purpose. The woods were to be considered wise as a whole. Nature was prepared for infiltration and penetration from outsiders. Kitchi knew where he was standing all too well. The movement of his feet caused the earth beneath to sing with the snap of sacrificed twigs and the crunch of rock as he traveled beyond the first line of trees. A pungent odor worked through his nostrils and lungs as well as settling on the surface of his tongue. The sour heat of large game sank in his pores and invited him to make the attempt to catch it if he was willing to use the energy.

A fierce speed found his form. In the first stretch of his leg the woodland cree was pulled from the ease of the casual pace of walking and thrust him forward into a full sprint. As he divided several bushes with his body the lining of his mouth captured the pollen of the hidden sedate blooms that were requiring daylight to discovered. He moved faster evading the distraction his parted lips offered while taking to task the further stretch of his sprint and leaving it behind.

Wild eyes watched him from the distance safely concealed from the threat he posed while he stayed on the path of his intended prey. A few of the fast, the hungry and spirited nocturnal predators attempted to join in on the chase. An impromptu pack always lessened the burden of catching what fought to survive.It was fruitless on all accounts. None were successful in intervening or scoring what was to be his once the killer left his feet.

His elongated fingertips produced lethal, razor sharp claws. Weapons or tools they could be considered. In this case they were used for leverage. Each one governed by the powerful vice grip of his hands penetrated the warmth of the first layers of the massive bull moose that naturally struggled beneath. Easing his grip his legs wrapped around the body beneath and secured his catch. A graceful smooth passenger above, Kitchi made it look easy and effortless. Riding it’s startled mass deeper into the darkness had branches biting at his face on the rebound of the impressive rack in the lead. Clouds from the beasts lungs washed its potent scent over him as he stayed with the attempt of it’s life preserving run that would end sooner than later. The moose would provide what he needed in blood, bone and hide as it had for his people for as long as the woods and woodland cree had been one. It's spirit would be honored like the rest.

Like the curse of an angry woman out for blood it came over him with the wrath it had never presented before. It took its fierce hold and as soon as it did the grip he had on the beast beneath him lost its strength. Kitchi found the world spinning around him as he lost his connection to what he had been drawn to.

Shadows belonging to the eyes that witnessed what happened next became a blur within the dark evergreens and the sudden rush of unexplained wind that delivered him hard and fast to his bounce on his knees. Silken flames of obsidian lengths spiraled as the killer tumbled to avoid the return charge of the beast that traded the defense for an offense approach. Heavily it charged narrowly missing him. The scent of warm woods enriched blood clung to the air around him. Swiftly he managed to rise with a fluidity that had him one with the flow of what called for him. She was searching and he was shifting the course of his hunt.

A sprint centered on finding her had him clearing the nearest line of trees and breaching into the open field. If only he could fly with the spirit of his claimed eagle guide. He felt it within reach but the choice was uncertain. Instead he accepted the ease that celerity delivered. Out of thin air and into the shadows outside the northern station of Cherrydale the long legged Cree picked up his stride. Adopting the sounds of worn, snug fitting boots clapping at the hard city surface beneath. The sounds nearly blend together as he picked up speed and sank into the darkness where few truly care to go. Not unless they were looking to run into something like him.

As soon as he was back on solid ground in the grounds of the dead he caught the scent of her left behind. He followed it with the pull it provided to him as if leading him just where she wanted him to be. She was on the move but it was getting strong. Then again, so was he. The rush of power he held within rose like a storm contained in his steeled eyes. Each step taken had the want for her presence rising. The one wearing her name and beckoning him to close in. It was then that he found himself a witness to a curious site. His black magic Iskwêw was crouching and she was not alone. Solid as the woods ancient trees he stood unmoving. Watching expressionless and waiting.