Post by Magda on Feb 8, 2011 11:59:04 GMT -5
This was enemy territory, and Magda damn well knew it. She could have smelled the stink of Angels a mile off, and normally she would have headed in the other direction and moved as fast as possible, but this was no time for fleeing. The Angels, though having proved themselves to be formidable warriors time and time again, had yet to make a big, organised attack in the city. They had yet to make a move worthy of mention and yet they had resided in this city for what? A year now? Two years? More?
Without a reliable calendar system, the weeks and months and seasons had all slid together into a palette of images that blurred into grey. Magda wasn’t even sure of her own age anymore. Was she thirty-seven by now? Thirty-eight maybe? And yet she didn’t look a day over twenty-five at the most.
Mixed blood coursed through her veins. She was a Werewolf carrying impurities from a past life she could barely even remember now, but the instinct still lay within her, swathing her bones and muscles in instinct she had grown accustomed to. Vampires were almost all enslaved by now, and Werewolves were weak to the silvered weapons the Angels has crafted specially for them.
The Angels had not acted, even when she with the rest of Davis’ pack had razed their crop fields and polluted their water. Maybe they had been weakened. At any rate, the fear factor was quickly wearing off.
Relatively warm with her Lycanthrope body heat and under a golden sunset, Magda wore very few clothes, just a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, thick boots, and an archer’s bracer on her left forearm. Fewer clothes would be quicker to shed should the need arise to transform into one of her wolf forms to make a fast retreat from enemy territory.
Since the world’s supply of ammo was almost gone, Magda had let go of the twin Smith and Wesson 1911’s that had been her allies for over two decades, and now a bandoleer of aerodynamic knives hung around her hips. There was also a bowie knife alongside her quiver and a KA-BAR in each boot. In her left hand was a slender composite bow, in her right, with the nock loose on the string, was her arrow, and Magda took cover behind a temple column, acutely aware of her surroundings. As she had approached, she had been constantly relying on her nose and ears to make sure that the coast was clear and that she was quite safe. Farther away into the Angel lands Magda knew that there were people, but for now the temple was empty, and she was well and truly alone.
She wasn’t entirely sure of her purpose in these lands. She was probably conducting a reconnaissance mission, perhaps, having grown weary and disappointed with the lack of action Davis had taken. Perhaps she had figured that it was time for her to scout into their territory, just as they had done into hers, or maybe she wanted to clarify the treasure trove of information that Stramnnar Inkuroski had given her shortly before he was murdered. He had been allowed amongst the Angels, and he had told her everything.
It would have been wise to bring a team, Magda mused, as she crept silent-footed amongst the statues and memorials to fallen warriors that eclipsed carvings of a deity the Angels had long since cast aside. But then again, she could trust no-one but herself not to muck things up, and Magda had a hunch that her mixed blood made her more difficult for an Angel's sixth sense to detect. A team would have just made it more obvious that there were those who didn't belong roaming about the desert. And anyway, there was a reason for the term, 'lone wolf'.
Without a reliable calendar system, the weeks and months and seasons had all slid together into a palette of images that blurred into grey. Magda wasn’t even sure of her own age anymore. Was she thirty-seven by now? Thirty-eight maybe? And yet she didn’t look a day over twenty-five at the most.
Mixed blood coursed through her veins. She was a Werewolf carrying impurities from a past life she could barely even remember now, but the instinct still lay within her, swathing her bones and muscles in instinct she had grown accustomed to. Vampires were almost all enslaved by now, and Werewolves were weak to the silvered weapons the Angels has crafted specially for them.
The Angels had not acted, even when she with the rest of Davis’ pack had razed their crop fields and polluted their water. Maybe they had been weakened. At any rate, the fear factor was quickly wearing off.
Relatively warm with her Lycanthrope body heat and under a golden sunset, Magda wore very few clothes, just a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, thick boots, and an archer’s bracer on her left forearm. Fewer clothes would be quicker to shed should the need arise to transform into one of her wolf forms to make a fast retreat from enemy territory.
Since the world’s supply of ammo was almost gone, Magda had let go of the twin Smith and Wesson 1911’s that had been her allies for over two decades, and now a bandoleer of aerodynamic knives hung around her hips. There was also a bowie knife alongside her quiver and a KA-BAR in each boot. In her left hand was a slender composite bow, in her right, with the nock loose on the string, was her arrow, and Magda took cover behind a temple column, acutely aware of her surroundings. As she had approached, she had been constantly relying on her nose and ears to make sure that the coast was clear and that she was quite safe. Farther away into the Angel lands Magda knew that there were people, but for now the temple was empty, and she was well and truly alone.
She wasn’t entirely sure of her purpose in these lands. She was probably conducting a reconnaissance mission, perhaps, having grown weary and disappointed with the lack of action Davis had taken. Perhaps she had figured that it was time for her to scout into their territory, just as they had done into hers, or maybe she wanted to clarify the treasure trove of information that Stramnnar Inkuroski had given her shortly before he was murdered. He had been allowed amongst the Angels, and he had told her everything.
It would have been wise to bring a team, Magda mused, as she crept silent-footed amongst the statues and memorials to fallen warriors that eclipsed carvings of a deity the Angels had long since cast aside. But then again, she could trust no-one but herself not to muck things up, and Magda had a hunch that her mixed blood made her more difficult for an Angel's sixth sense to detect. A team would have just made it more obvious that there were those who didn't belong roaming about the desert. And anyway, there was a reason for the term, 'lone wolf'.