Did it? I never asked the Kodeks for it's Kritikal Konsenzus on Martin's work. And I'm not wasting my time with it at present. I WAS wasting my time with it last week. Presently I'm wasting my time with translating much worse stuff into Polish, in order to earn
On that note,
Chapter Five (part one)
Vidal excused himself as soon as evening came, claiming it was his turn to man the Abbey. Most members of the Bishop’s coven were indeed required to take turns at being on standby there, Vidal included, so that might have even been true. Even more so, given how easy it was to verify the schedule. The Jester didn’t seem to be surprised either. With the other Abyss Mystic out of the way, you got down to business.
The pack took the news of the coming mission well. Just as you planned they would. You painted Lange as a high-ranking, high-risk target, knowing any true Cainite’s pride would do the rest. You even played the necessity of capturing the Tremere alive to your advantage. You allowed your face to show a hint of doubt whether the Bloody Jester’s licks would manage to do so. Before long, they nearly tripped over themselves while boasting how adept at capturing Camarilla they were. Mike even found some stakes and the pack merrily started sharpening them.
The nomads also loved your idea of recreational activities. The Bishop had promised to inform you beforehand of Lange’s arrival. He had also warned you: “They are getting restless”. Add to that the need to test the pack’s combat prowess and your need to… make up for the first impression you made, and it was obvious what to suggest.
The customary feast that would your little woodland foray was also an important consideration. With that kind of action offered, the Bloody Jester could hardly refuse you a fifth of the Kine’s vitae. That wouldn’t be quite enough to satiate you, not after your fight with Vidal and after arising this evening, but you were sure you would manage.
As Bernarde went to fetch the pack’s van and the others were prepping their weapons, you searched your backpack for the first of your blood bags. Sleeping bag, flashlight, hunting knife, pottery shard, spare sunglasses, there! A plastic bag filled with delicious vitae, not with the odious mass of concentrated blood cells the Regional Blood Bank was preparing for all the hospitals in the city. As you gobbled it up hungrily, the honking of a car horn came from the nearby road. The van was there.
***
You did not expect the sand to be so irritating. Actually, you should have. The forest roads found in the Masovian Landscape Park were definitely not fit for regular traffic. The van dragging you was managing pretty well despite the sand though. If only the bloody thing had the decency of sticking to the ground, instead of getting inside your clothes!
That was the price you had to pay for survival, though. Having enhanced your senses, you could hear the heartbeat of deer, or the sound of feet on the ground, but you had to endure a heightened skin sensitivity too. That price, however, was well worth it. The Masovian Landscape Park, a stretch of forest the size of several cities, adjacent to Warsaw from the southeast, had been anathema to vampires for ages. And, much like the Kampinos National Park to the west, it had surprisingly endured all attempts of deforestation.
Even the declaration of wildlife preserves in these forests came as a surprise to Warsaw’s vampire population. Have the beasts learned to protect their hunting grounds with pen as well as with fang and claw? You wonder. But then, a piercing howl ends all such thoughts. It came from your left, from the direction opposite to where the van’s headed. Having learned how canny the beasts can be all the way back in the States , you resist the urge to focus on that direction. Instead, you tightly grip the shotgun Harley lent you, and eye all directions nervously.
Behind you, in the van’s open door, the pack is loudly cheering your balls. They’re all armed to the teeth too, naturally. In this little game they are the hunters and you are the bait. Of course this is the only type of hunt where the bait has a chance of survival directly proportional to the caliber of the gun it carries. Yours, you think, isn’t half bad.
Then you see them. Three black-shifting-to-red auras converging on the van. Just as you expected, two of them are visible to your right, and only one, the howler’s, can be found to your left. They are still way too far for a reliable shot, even if one wouldn’t count all the trees obscuring the line of sight. They will, you realize, get quite close to the van before they actually come into view. You pray to Caine it won’t be close enough for them to attack immediately. But you can’t be sure of that. At least your aural perception will warn you just before they decide to lunge at you.
You're sure the Lupines would be hard pressed to keep up with the van on a decent asphalt or even concrete road. But the sandy shit here allows them to catch up easily. Two slavering werewolves burst through the undergrowth some ten metres behind the van, their hulking, three-metre forms clearly visible in the moonlight. You open fire, and the pack, as one, follows.
