1 The Right Hand of the Purifier

"Hmm. Choices, choices." Kell thought to himself as he walked into the tavern. His deep, hooded eyes peering through even darker shadows from within the hood of his cloak, the lower half of his face being hidden by a warm wrap or mask of sorts but when the man stepped within the bar he pulled it down around his neck and took in the atmosphere and every sight and sound all at once, enjoying that as much as he enjoyed coming in out of the dark night and into the warm glow of the Tavern. He did leave the hood up so it was fairly difficult to see his face by anyone who was not directly facing him and as He stood near the entrance any who did look to him would see that his dual daggers were within easy reach, and his bow unstrung as that particular item was of value to him for many reasons and so kept safely tucked away. They would also see a man of youthful appearance but with a vibrant intensity, grace, and noble bearing that belied that same youth. Dark facial hair was kept neatly trimmed and short but only added an edge of masculinity that again marked him as wiser than his years despite the look of him. If any were to request that he give up his weapons he would hand them the daggers and his quiver but keep the unstrung bow at his back, if none challenged him they would simply remain as they were when he entered. When no one requested he divest himself of his weapons he had taken enough time to warm up and casually scan the room he then walked in further and directed himself to the nearest empty seat at the bar, ordered food, mead and a whole loaf of their freshest soured-dough bread, a special favorite of his and then went about seemingly minding his own business until food arrived and ate. The sounds and noises of the tavern were comforting even if somewhat empty or perhaps slow for that time of the evening but it didn't matter to the stranger he was, at least at that moment and at that time. Some perhaps had known of him, but none had ever set eyes on him to know that it was he the man often spoke of in whispers as something of a death dealer, or a hunter, or as a reaper as some would call the shadow that dealt with those abominations of nature that would fall at his feet when his weapons were drawn. But here in this simple setting, he seemed ordinary enough without being uninteresting, in fact, he seemed very much the kind of person who would carry such knowledge and tales of ages long past, whether it be through years of diligent study or by the gift that Time had given him to accumulate it. At last, his food arrived. Kell thanked the staff kindly, if briefly, and then graciously paid for the meal before eating a bite. He broke off a section of the rich golden brown loaf and smiled catching the scent of it and the still-warm interior of it before taking a bit and savoring it and the meal set before him. Stew of any sort was always welcome on nights like these, that heat and warmth would keep him going through the night if needed and with his chosen profession he often did work through many a long and sleepless night. When he had finished the stew and the small portion of bread he carefully wrapped it in a small, waxed linen sheet to keep it from drying out and tied it to his belt. He sat back in his seat and pulled out a very long, intricately decorated and ornately carved pipe he sat and observed the people, watching them come and go about their business as he casually began smoking. The wisps of smoke seemed to curl around him as if by magic, and indeed they were being manipulated by magic and drifted slowly upwards in hypnotizingly slow curls and waves towards the ceiling before finding their way outside where they dissipated into the air. It was entrancing and relaxing even to the man who played with the smoke. Those who did not know any better wouldn't even begin to know what it meant, and those who knew anything about magic and the supernatural beings who wielded them would know it was a small distraction to turn attention away from what it was that he was really doing. The deep shadows of the tavern held even more shadows and magic, dancing smoke, and serene silence that came from the man as he took the time to unwind and relax in the Tavern while seeing to it that no one would catch on to what it was that he was really doing, spying. Seemingly self-absorbed in his own methods of relaxation the dark-featured man with the hood up sitting near the bar smoking spent hours watching, gathering information of all kinds and of all sorts finally paused in his observations and musings and refilled his pipe slowly and almost ritually. The pipe held a special blend of dried herbs that were able to enhance the senses of the one smoking them, and relax the mind as well as the body. If used to extremes it could induce vivid dreams both waking and sleeping and one would even say that they were often transported to another plane of existence or reality or another level of awareness altogether. That was not the most remarkable aspect of the blend that Kell used, nor the least, but there weren't many who would understand their purposes or the variety of uses it held. As he finished filling the small bowl at the end of the long pipe he would light it and continue manipulating the smoke in long curling tendrils as it danced up to the ceiling once more and then vanished into the night through the smallest of gaps in the materials of the building into the night air. Kell took his time smoking on his pipe and gathering intel whether covertly or overtly as it was and then when the smoke died once again he tapped it out into a small black pouch and tucked both it and the long elaborately decorated pipe away for safekeeping and then made his way to the exit, pulling up the warm black wrap over his face and nose and then stepping out into the night air to find another location to weed out more of the corruption of the Earth.

Azrial Voltarene: He had followed the scent of the smoking pipe for miles, the smell of the magic behind the being that would stop and puff on the pipe from location to location, searching, hunting, taking in as much information from everything and every one that surrounded him, his techniques seemingly menial to those that passed him by, even the supernaturals would pay him not head, however, those silver serpentine eyes were ever watchful, gifted to him from his creator to allow him to see the corruption of ones path, but this man's path was odd, it could split in two if the man allowed it, though still young in his life, the choices he made now would forever change both paths willing or otherwise. The best part of watching this man, his sister had already spoke highly of him and the one he called his grandfather, or sire if you were looking for proper terms of his world, though his world was far darker than even the shadow clans would even begin to understand. He sat and watched, concealed with a discipline to keep him unseen by all, including the one he watched, even with his magic he wouldn't be able to see the Purifier, the dark blonde hair pulled back in perfect rows of braids pinned to his head tightly to keep his vision clear of everything, the thick black mask wrapped around the lower half of his face to hide the fangs within his mouth, the black faded scarf to hide the fact he had no pulse, the heavy material of his clothing posing as the layer of armour though he truly had no concerns of the mortals and their weapons, the wraps around his hands hiding the black lines that had formed to appear like those of a skeletal hand, right down to the dual dagger slung across his back, and the multiple blades tucked into the belts around his waist, not one ounce of any of him would be seen by any eyes within this tavern. Once the man rose back to his feet after hours of his contemplation he made his way out the back door, slipping through the alleys of the town to follow the man, no sound could be heard, no scent to coat the air, not even a presence of being watched could be felt, just the cold air that hung in the night. His sister was right though, this one was more up his alley that even her own childe, too bad he had already been claimed.

Ceallaigh Malgarius: Kell made his way through the night-dark streets of the town, not too quickly either, just going about his business. He had stayed nearly the entire night and did in fact wish to return home at something of a decent hour mainly because the sunlight hurt his eyes a good deal more than they had before he had been turned, the earliest rays of sunlight could be seen over the trees on the horizon as he walked up to the gate on the other end of town and stopped briefly to speak with the guards posted before heading out to the woods. He had a temporary shelter, a set of caves that he liked to visit whenever he needed to put some distance between himself and his familie, or the clan rather. Mainly because he and his grandsire had been at odds again and Kell was just the type to up and storm off from the castle. Sure, Malik knew where it was that he went, but he always left him alone knowing he would usually cool off and return home again once he had time enough to think. Times were sure different as a Kindred though, and even with the time he had behind him some things were just impossible, like his grandsire and His training methods. The smell of the herb he had been smoking still lingered about him and he did a few back turns and such just in case he had been followed, using a burst of celerity here and there because he was fairly sure that he had not been followed. It was usually fairly easy to catch the scent of any human followers but supernaturals not so much, not with his training still incomplete and his stubborn ass not studying as he should have been. By the time he made it to the cave that was his home away from home the birds were making an awful noise and he grumbled a bit trying to settle, setting his bow on the floor of the cave next to him as he sat down on a nice sized rock at the back of the largest of the rooms of the cavern and leaned back against the wall. Pulling his hood down over his eyes so the light that did find him would not obscure his vision and settled in for a snooze, thankfully not full sleep or he would have passed out completely. He was groggy sure, but the disciplines he had studied made some things a little easier at least now that he wasn't so young and weak.

Azrial Voltarene: The young man was trained, just not fully, he did take the time to watch over his shoulder from time to time to ensure he was not being followed before using any of his disciplines, but the scent of those herbs were too easy to follow even if he did have his own abilities to make following the man that much easier. It seemed to a favorite of locations for many different supernaturals, whether it was this cave system or another, the darkness they provided even in the daylight hours, however he himself always found an issue with caves, there was only one way in and one way out, such was the case with this one, they were deep sure, but there was no way to get out of them through a back door or some tunnel that lead in a different direction, there was only one way in and out of the system, luckily for him his own home was not too far away from this location, stategically placed for the off chance he did finally get his chance to speak with the young kindred. The way the man sat, held his frame, even the movements of his eyes behind the lids spoke of his depth of sleep, Azrial however, was a great deal far older than even this man's grandsire was, tracking and hunting was practically second nature to him, but it was those stranger serpent eyes that would allow him to see the 'life' as it were of his intended target, to know exactly what tainted the being of the one he was after, and this one .... well that had truly yet to be seen, even by his own gaze. His footsteps made no sound as the heavy boots carried him close enough to press his foot against the unstrung bow firmly, undoubtly he would attempt to go for the favored weapon, "Chiar ar fi trebuit să îți termine studiile Ceallaigh, sau preferi cu adevărat Kell?" (You really should have finished your studies Ceallaigh, or do you truly prefer Kell?) his voice was calm, oddily enough, there was no echo within the caves either, at least not for his voice. Ceallaigh Mauger: He didn't snap awake like some would and immediately leap into action, Kell did become instantly aware of the danger he was in by the sound of the words spoken by the voice that suddenly appeared out of nowhere. He knew he hadn't been followed so this had to be someone of lower gen than he and much older, that he did know because his grandsire spoke in much the same way, those tones and phrases and even the sentence structure someone used was old and unique to that time period. "I do prefer Kell, yes. Only my sire calls me Ceallaigh." He growled at the use of the name, eyes open but he had not moved aside from tilting the hood of his cloak up slightly to get a better look at the man who spoke to him but not make eye contact of any kind. "If you've heard that name then you would already know that I prefer it." He added, hedging a bet that it would be a very bad idea to attempt to attack the other man for any reason and let him have his say. "And by that I know you must have been watching for a while. So with you already knowing who I am, I would inquire as to know your name and perhaps level the playing field a touch, sir. It is only fair as you do have me cornered." he had a chip on his shoulder a mile wide, obviously and he sneered slightly when he said "sir" to the man who clearly had to be his elder by the age he was guessing he heard in his speech. He also pointedly did not speak in Romanian and instead used the Irish-Gaelic that was his mother's language as well as his milk tongue in defiance of his grandsire's orders. Not to mention the rebelliousness that had lasted him several decades by now but had also made those decades stretch overly long on most occasions. Visiting his retreat was supposed to be like some sort of sanctuary and now it definitely wasn't that. Azrial Voltarene: "Dar Ceallaigh nu este numele pe care ți l-a dat mama ta? Îi onorezi amintirea cu limba ei, dar în aceeași respirație o dezonorează pentru sfidarea șiretului tău, sau poate este sfidare față de unul mai în vârstă." (But is Ceallaigh not the name your mother gave you? You honor her memory with her tongue but in the same breath dishonor her for defiance of your sire, or perhaps it is defiance towards one older still.) Oh yes, Azrial knew a great deal more about the man before him than even this one though he might, he would always gather every shread of information available on a target before he would attempt an approach, just so that he knew all the rignt strings to pull and buttons to push, all with that calm voice, he could see that the tone alone irritated him to no ends even so it made it all the more savoring to him. "Dar văzând cum întrebi atât de politicos." (But seeing as you ask so politely,) he stepped off the bow and lifted it with the toe of his boot only into the air and grab it from the air, "Numele meu este Azrial Voltarene, din clanul Tzimisce." (My name is Azrial Voltarene, of the Tzimisce clan.) The silver gaze looking over every detail of the bow, the craftsmanship, the curves, even the string that hung loosely, "Și am o propunere de luat în considerare." (And I have a proposal for you to consider.) Ceallaigh Mauger: The words and the voice that spoke about his mother and dishonoring her by defying his grandsire and not using his true name but a nickname of it, "That cuts harsh, but I think you can do better. My mother has been dead for at least a hundred years. I'm a Revenant, she never had a drop of Kindred blood touch her lips. She was pure." He spoke in a low tone and slowly stood to his feet, glancing downward as he then spoke his name and he slowly rose from the rock to his full height, at six foot two inches he was fairly tall and even unusually so. "I know who you are, Azrial, brother to the sire of my sire." He called him such and looked down at the man, not having realized how much taller he was than the Ancient Tzimisce until that very moment. "She speaks of you often." His gaze hardened somewhat as the ancient one looked over the bow he had crafted himself. "What sort of a proposal?" He asked, the sound of a slight annoyance in his voice creeping through despite him trying to remain calm. Azrial Voltarene: "Mai bine? Exact la ce trebuie să fiu mai bine? Eu sunt ceea ce sunt, fac ceea ce fac, pentru că aceasta este calea mea. Ceallaigh, văd două căi înaintea ta, una foarte bună ar putea fi puritatea în care vorbești mama ta, să trăiești în pace și prosperitate, să lupți de-a lungul clanului tău, așa cum ai fost mereu menit. Pentru a deveni moștenitorul averii nepoților și a lua numele pe care îl deține pentru tine." (Better? Exactly what is it I'm supposed to be better at? I am what I am, I do what I do, because that is my path. Ceallaigh, I see two paths before you, one could very well be the purity in which you speak your mother held, to live in peace and prosperity, to fight along side your clan as you were always meant to. To become the heir of your grandsires estate and take the name he holds for you.)He lifted those silver eyes from the construct of the bow in his hands and handed it back to Ceallaigh, despite making eye contact, he would feel no intrusion within his mind, at least not yet. Those dark 'feelers' as they were snuck about silently, effortlessly, no sign of actually being there, he could feel the doubt, he could hear the second guessing within his words, and that distant gaze within his eyes. The height difference meant nothing to him what so ever, he was the cause of so many rather large and very big beings to fall to their knees, but he didn't want to that to this one, he wanted him to join him, "Nu o să mint Ceallaigh, calea pe care ți-o ofer nu va fi ușoară, va fi pictată în sângele celor îmbrăcați, clanul tău te va smulge și te va îndepărta, probabil îți vor spune că calea este greșită. Dar ce este atât de greșit în a dori puritatea pentru pământurile și pentru cei care locuiesc în ea, pentru a curăța ființele care nu sunt atât de pierdute, a scăpa de pământul celor care sunt prea departe?" (I will not lie Ceallaigh, the path I offer you will not be easy, it will be painted in the blood of the tainted, your clan with shun you and turn you away, they will likely tell you the path is wrong. But what is so wrong about wanting purity for the lands and those who dwell within it, to cleanse the beings that aren't so lost, the rid the land of those who are too far gone?) All he needed was on opening in that wall he had learn to build within his mind, a small hair line fracture was all it would take, that single doubt, that singular hint of desire. "Fiți mâna dreaptă Ceallaigh, permiteți-mă să vă curăț și să vă arăt, că doar pentru că suntem înrudite, nu înseamnă că nu există o cale pură pentru noi, așa cum a existat pentru mama voastră." (Be my right hand Ceallaigh, let me cleanse you and show you, that just because we are kindred, does not mean there is not a pure path for us, just as there was for your mother.) Ceallaigh Mauger: He didn't intentionally look at the man but they did make eye contact momentarily and he felt still on edge but not the kind that meant there was an intrusion into his mind and so did not worry about him reading his thoughts as he felt he had blocked off things fairly well, when in fact he didn't. His mind was a mess of chaotic images, resentment, anger and hate, and nothing was very organized, just a lot of locked doors that had no lock or handle on them. Blurry images of letters that were too fuzzy to read anything, no one could go in and no one could get lost inside them, especially him. Despite the chaos his mind was mostly calm but the longer the man spoke the more that doubt slipped through as his eyes widened. He had not condsidered that this man could very well have guessed at so many things, or was it that Azrial really knew him better than his own sire and grandsire did? "I know I am not pure. I have accepted that I will never be pure. I am a godsdamned hybrid. I have a demon iside of me that revels in that blood, my blood rages inside me and the hunger never goes away. And my grandsire wants me to feed those desires and give into the bond with the other side of me that he woke, that sickness that I am and fight every day. I would destroy that part of me if I could. The beast inside me wants to destroy more and more and more all the time so more blood would not be out of the question." He couldn't believe he had just spoken his thoughts outloud as if this man was a friend already, or at least seemed to care what he thought. "I've already been shunned by the clan, my own sire can't even look me in the eye when he's disappointed in me. I wish I had died when my mother had died then I'd at least be pure then." He had a really hard edge ot the words he spoke and the anger and hate and self-loathing was very clear. "I had Malik's blood in my system when she and I drowned." He finally said it, well not all of it but it didn't need to be said. A vampire's blood could do those things when the drink was freshly taken. And from there he knew. Azrial did know him. He smiled at the man and restrung his bow. "I wonder how you can understand how much I need this, and for you to offer that truth to me so freely in exactly the way I needed to hear it to see the truth of it all. Do you sit on the wall in the Castle while my grandsire and I fight?" A bemused tone and a raised eyebrow was all the change that appeared on his expression and speach, with that litling Irish brogue of his coloring his words. "Show me."