Path of the Vampire forum

Bjorn’s mood was much improved following a shower, the tension in his shoulders washed down the drain along with the evidence of less than honourable thoughts. He towelled his hair in a way that would make a mess of his natural curl, and moved about the room in search of a clean pair of trousers.

Under the steadying spray of water he’d considered his options and decided against exerting himself, for though his mood had improved his mind remained burdened, and he wasn’t willing to tempt his luck against some of Harper Rock’s newest and uglier breed of monsters. Experience had taught him that irritation was unreliable fuel and the payoff was seldom cathartic. No, he was much happier with the prospect of revisiting the places where he used to wage war against his limitations; the reappearance of bloodline figureheads was bringing forth memories of the years he’d spent training and tailoring his craft and tonight seemed as good a night as any to take a gander down memory lane.

Trading his favoured camo jacket—the one he’d had tailored over time and recently fashioned the lining with out of his anonymity cloak—for a waterproof windbreaker, Bjorn packed its inner pockets with a modified Glock 36, a silencer, a few magazines and a hunting knife. A second knife was holstered at his ankle, beneath the folds of denim scrunched at the hem where his heavy-duty combat boots began. Rare were the occasions he travelled this light, but where he was going there’d be little to no military oversight and the creatures that lived in the caves he’d long ago bested in most, if not all, fights. Tonight he was not intent on starting any fights, but he sure as hell would end them should they find him.

Tome in pocket and an empty, rolled-up 15L backpack stuffed into the other, Bjorn made for the fadeportals. He’d mapped out his route as soon as he’d decided on his destination, opting to bypass the city altogether and stick to the outskirts. If he took his bike he’d have to deal with not one but two checkpoints and, though his hand was healed, he could still feel the phantom cut from whence he’d dug the microchip out and wasn’t eager to go through the process yet again. Also, in settling for the windbreaker he'd forgone the NADUMA patch sewn into his camo jacket that facilitated most of his passages.

No sooner had he materialised beneath the Quarantine Zone did he continue northeast below ground until Moss End. His reasons for doing this were two-fold: (1) to test the Grigori’s offer of the Watchtower (for which he found the sewer entrance and no means of entry) and (2) to cut past the eastern farmland—unmanned at this hour—that’d bring him closer to Algonquin Caverns.

Bjorn had been subjected to the fae’s ill intentions enough times to remain alert as he stepped into the forest, but his newfound gravity-defying abilities allowed him to make quick work of the thick, nettled undergrowth that covered the ground. Within minutes of leaving his quiet abode he’d crossed the city proper and was now descending into the damp caves, unzipping his jacket to retrieve the hunting knife. It wouldn’t do to be caught out, fumbling for a weapon whenever one of the sirens took notice of him, though for the time being they seemed content to keep their distance when he glanced their way.

He surveyed the entrance, long enough for his eyes to adjust to the cave’s particular shade of darkness, and to be hit with the realisation that it’d been at least two (if not three) years since he’d last ventured to these caverns, and as such didn’t remember their layout. Rolling the sheathed knife over his knuckles once, then a second time for good measure, Bjorn decided to go in the opposite direction of an idling encantado worker and followed the distant rush of water.

---

The last person Bjorn expected to come across was the one person he found two right turns later. It wasn’t easy to tell from this angle, but with a tilt of the head he got a better look of the downturned face.

“Caligrace, that you?”

[ Wearing ]

Bjørn watched the grimy blue gem bounce across the damp cobblestones and interrupted its trajectory with the precise tilt of his foot. He glanced back towards Caligrace and allowed himself a generous look, tracing from her hands down to the tips of her boots and then up her body to the top of her firelight locks. She was as lovely as he remembered her being, if a bit dishevelled. The familiar sight of her carved dimples into his cheeks.

They are? He glanced back down. “Huh.” His smile reappeared when she told him it was nice to see him. It was a mutual sentiment then, which was how he found it all too easy to follow her lead and speak from the heart. “And you, Red. Looking good.”

Bjørn carefully rolled the purported sapphire under the sole of his heavy-duty boots, pressing only a fraction of his weight down on it; he didn’t want to crush her precious find to fine dust if the fact weren’t actually true. He took a step back and dropped to his haunches to retrieve the stone, rolling it across the taunt fabric at his knee to wipe off the grime before holding it out for her at the centre of his open palm.

“Why you collecting these anyway?” He motioned with his chin towards the pack she’d drawn his attention to seconds prior, meeting her eye briefly before his gaze slipped off of her face to scan the tunnel behind her. It was a force of habit born from hyper-vigilance and continually fuelled by his need to protect those he cared about. His attention was back on Caligrace within the blink of an eye however—a fraction of that even, for he had always found it hard to look away.

It really was good to see her again.

The periphery of one’s sight was never still or empty, not in Harper Rock where the widening rift exhumed all manner of threats, most of them unbound by the laws of physics, too quick and too fluid to catch in time if one didn’t lay in wait for them. As Caligrace explained her reason for being down here, Bjørn rose to his full height. Now that he'd revealed himself to be no threat to her, he untucked the stealthed knife he’d stashed up his sleeve upon first seeing her and lazily twirled the weapon out of habit in the process of readjusting his grip on it. If something did appear out the corner of his eye he’d be ready.

“Foraging for a few pieces to practice on,” he replied, casting a glance about them to confirm he’d not missed a blade or pommel upon spotting the red headed allurist. “After guns, it seems like the next logical step in all things weaponry... Still pretty **** at it though.”

A familiar silhouette rounded the corner up ahead, further down the tunnel, legs first. Aware of Caligrace’s aversion towards spiders and unwilling to draw further attention to the both of them by reaching for and firing his weapon at it over her shoulder, he shifted his weight to stand sideways, motioning with his empty hand the way he’d just come.

“Wanna keep looking for stuff together this way?”

Bjørn must have taken a turn too early since he could still hear the rush of water but had yet to come across it.

Bjorn was prone to restlessness, particularly in the company of other others. His experience as a fledgling had left scars upon his psyche and no matter how far he’d come since, how hard he’d trained and purposely he now lived, there were a great number of things he preferred to being out in the open, especially any place where one’s presence was enough to incite an attack. Strength in numbers was no empty maxim, but even if the two of them could easily take on the sirens that lurked in these caves, standing idle made sitting ducks of them both.

So yes, bored was one way to put it. He was in no hurry to correct the assumption, not when he could read Caligrace’s discomfort even without her level of extreme empathy. If anything he sought to ease her nerves, for the last thing he wanted was to create another potential enemy by feeding into her fear.

Walking slow and steady along a projected straight line, Bjorn pocketed both his hands and the sheathed knife into his jacket, long arms awkwardly bent and jutting out. He did a bizarre half-step back and to the side dance, sliding behind Caligrace so he could position himself along her right side. There, he bumped her with his left elbow, a silent offering he had no expectation she’d take but an open invitation nevertheless. This way his offered arm wouldn’t get in the way of his dominant hand should he need his gun or knife.

The jorogumo he’d seen moments ago kept its distance, its presence an unpleasant skittering at the periphery of his attention. Nothing had yet to outright attack him—them, but Bjorn couldn’t shake off the feeling that something was going to happen. He felt watched, noting how the fae remained close enough to be heard, but not to be seen or sidestepped. He knew better than to point it out.

As the corner neared and he guided them around it, he figured he could tackle the one thing on his mind he could do something about, even if it was only to seek an opinion on it. He’d not yet spoken to Every, but he was curious as to where Caligrace stood on the matter, if she, unlike the rest of them, had had a different experience.

“The Grigori elders are back. D’you ever meet them?”

Where Bjorn was prone to restlessness Caligrace was prone to distraction (or so he’d learned when they’d trained together) but despite the trait’s resilience he was heartened to see it so seamlessly integrated into her demeanour, found it endearing. The corner of his mouth quirked to the side as she reached for the emerald. (There were probably other green stones in the world but Bjorn’s precious gem knowledge was subpar at best and not likely to improve, so he chose to leave it at that and not ask, mostly because he wasn’t particularly interested in the answer.)

“I haven’t, no. Elliot was the one who first told me about them. Every’s talked about them too, but neither seemed to have particularly good things to say. I was on Crownet earlier and tried swinging by the Watchtower on my way here since they claim it’s open to all blood, but,” he shrugged, “I don’t know. The response on the thread seemed lukewarm at best. Hard to respect people who weren’t around to earn it in the first place.”

Yes, that was bitterness coating his tongue and tingeing his words. It wasn’t a secret amongst their group how he’d come to be this way and while he’d long ago put to rest his feelings towards an absent sire, and later towards Elliot, the Grigori elders returning and calling for unity amongst blood served as kindling. Sires were a delicate topic amongst current company, and he was self-aware enough to keep the rest of his thoughts guarded, focusing instead on the admiration and respect he felt for the one who hadn’t abandoned him.

Silver linings were tarnished by the feeling creeping at the back of his neck. The rush of water over stone, the echo of the shallow rapids that tapered into slower, deeper waters, did little to alleviate it.

What if it’s something in the water?

After all, all kinds of new monsters seemed to spawn in the neighbouring towns, and there was no telling they only made a home of those half-submerged buildings.