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Post by Stefan Wolf-Bane on May 4, 2012 4:18:39 GMT -5
Stefan breathed in deeply as he walked through the city streets. He was so very close to home. So close he could smell it. But this was as close as he would go. He couldn't take the painful memories that still plagued him to this day. He rubbed his fingers over the locket around his neck. "I will avenge you Catherine.", he whispered. He kissed it before letting it drop. He sighed he was here for a visit to get away from the constant fighting. He wanted to see home. But peace wasnt part of his nature so he wasn't sure how long this would last. He hadn't smelt a bloodsucker sense he arrived so maybe there wouldn't be to much of a problem.
He looked around Rome.It was such a beautiful city and so worth the trip. He might even find a few lycan brethren here. Not that he cared to much. He wasn't a very social person, not sense he lost his beloved and offspring. No he preferred to keep to himself it was better that way. Though for all the years he had been alive, though he had lost count at this point, he had never been recruited for this war. He had always been alone. But then again he hadn't really been in the radar for others like him to find him. there weren't to many of his kind in Germany. but he heard there were very many here.
But at this point he had heard of the lycan separation from a few passing lycans he had befriended. So he was so very unsure if he wanted to join. One thing he learned through all his years, you can't fight a war divided. And right now the lycans were in fighting, making them so very much weaker. So was it even worth it. He chuckled to himself. Then again whose side would he join. He had never given it much thought. He sighed pulling a coin out of his pocket and flipping into the famous fountain of Rome. He wished for the same thing he wished for every night, the same thing he knew never would come true. To see his wife and children again.
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Post by Szandor Colden on Sept 10, 2012 21:45:36 GMT -5
The smell of Vampire was faint as he left the ruined den. After only a few blocks the scent had completely disappeared. With no more clues as to where the Vampire might be at this very moment, and orders to return to Alena, Szandor plunged into the heart of the city toward the direction of the Leonardo di vinci international airport.
Darkness had completely fallen as the night wore on; the streets quickly emptied of people. Soon, Szandor found himself largely alone on the streets.
The lights were on at Rome's famous fountain, looking exceptionally brilliant and happy amidst the dark, angry night. A lone man stood at the fountain, staring in. At first, from a distance, Szandor took him for a drunk human out late, since he appeared to be somber and alone. But drawing nearer, he caught the unmistakable whiff of Lycanthropy. On taking a second look at the man, Szandor noticed that the man stood much too rigidly for a human; his posture commanded respect and showed strength and discipline. Those were attributes Szandor associated with the training of the armies of old; he, himself, had been trained as such in Sparta millenia ago.
Szandor approached the man from behind him on the left, "Brother." Hopefully this other Werewolf would recognize him as one. "Were you living at the den in town? Did you see any Vampires in the vicinity?" He did not hold out much hope that the answer to either of those questions were positive, otherwise this Lycan should have been present at the destruction. But he had to ask, just in case this man had any information on what had happened not hours ago.
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Post by Stefan Wolf-Bane on Oct 2, 2012 11:31:27 GMT -5
Stefan flinched as he felt a presence approach from behind. He could smell its scent in the air. thankfully it was only another lycan, but even so he wasn't letting his guard down. You could never tell who friend or foe was especially in this time when so many lycans slaughtered themselves and not just the leeches. "Brother", Stefan relaxed a bit and turned facing the lycan who was speaking. What, or whom, he saw puzzled him. He looked the man up and down. His ice blue eyes taking in the mans form. He looked like someone he knew a very long time ago A man that he trained with in Sparta a man a few years after he left who he heard was dead. It was like seeing a ghost. "Atreus", he whispered but was shaken into reality as he heard the question. "No, I had just arrived, im visiting close to my homeland", he absentmindedly touched the locket around his neck. "those leeches were here!", his demeanor changed and his jaw shook in anger. "I didn't even catch wif of them when I got off the plan".
The mans voice even seemed familiar to Stefan. And his anger dissolved into confusion as again looked the other over. He was a lycan, so this could be him, but then again it could be someone different entirely. He took a shot in the dark, "If I am correct brother you once went by the name Atreus, did you not/", he asked. His eyes searched the other to prove him right.
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Post by Szandor Colden on Oct 3, 2012 9:55:51 GMT -5
Damn, it was as he thought; this man knew nothing of the happenings at the den. It seemed he would get no further leads here.
Sensing the other Lycan's anger and distress at the mention of a Vampire was reassuring, "They're gone now. Stayed just long enough to slaughter green pups. I just missed them myself." Szandor's own anger grew at his words; the disgust was almost overwhelming. He wished the leech had stayed just long enough; wish he'd arrived in time to catch the coward as he was leaving. Then Lucia and Pablo might still be in safe hands, and Alena's anger would have been largely unprovoked.
Szandor attributed the other Werewolf's initial look of confusion for being approached by a stranger, and his consciousness did not even let him hear the man's first, soft utterance of 'Atreus'. But the outright question of Szandor's past gave him pause. Atreus. That was a name he'd not heard in centuries; no, even longer. It felt foreign to him, almost unrecognizable. It took him a moment for the name to actually click. "Atreus..." Oh yes... that was what I was called. My Human name. For a moment, the events that had taken place only hours ago faded into the background as visions of an old life came slowly back. That person had had a different duty; one to his state. He'd had a wife and children, all of whom believed he'd been killed in a skirmish against the Messenians millenia ago, and who, themselves, were long dead. He'd been a mortal once, with mortal cares, ages ago. That person, Atreus, had died long, long ago. "I was once known as Atreus, yes. I am now Szandor. You seem vaguely familiar, Brother, but I cannot place you." Taking a closer look, Szandor knew his first assessment of the man's posture might have been correct; that he was a man of power, more power than just that of a Werewolf; that he was a seasoned warrior.
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