The storm answers your call, the clouds darken to black in moments as your hunger deepens to utter uncontrollability, Their flesh is demanding to be torn, their veins crying out to be dragged out. As the sun is swallowed, you emerge.
Hunters have already seen the raiders, or at least noticed them as they rush back, screaming various things in their tongues and bringing about panic as women and children go hiding whilst men arm themselves.
In your case, you simply walk, trying desperately to control the deep, unshakeable hunger as it screams over and over to kill, kill, kill. The smell is intoxicating, it's been so long since you've just drunk. Men rush past you, going to acquire more weapons and form some sort of fighting formation and as soon as they leave your front, the time comes.
Snow kicks away in a tidal wave as you accelerate at immense speed, clawing, tearing and roaring as the mortals near. They are many, perhaps fifty, it matters not, their weapons gleam with blood coverings, symbols carves into their wooden hafts that send out light waves of heat, it matters not.
To Feed
Roll=90-135 (Still A Vampire)=-45
Vs
Vengeance Raid
Roll=93-15 (Spirits Appeased)=78
The first man to die is one at the front. He raises an ax in an impressive display of reflexes before you sink fangs into his throat and drain the blood from his body in mere seconds. Tossing him away with a crunch of bone and cartilage, the world blurs away as you speed to the next man.
They die in this fashion, all of them. In the beginning, they try and swing axes at you. The blades bite somewhat deep and certainly draw blood but it matters not, cuts and stabs are nothing, not when you can feast. Perhaps ten die before they begin running, and then another ten die trying a last-ditch effort to slay you.
The last fighting man, at least, makes a true effort of it, swinging his axe towards your neck and, on a whim, you allow him to do it. The axe slices clear past your neck and sends your head tumbling to the snow-covered ground.
His expression of elation is truly precious, especially when from the stump of a neck, with noises of wrenching flesh and tearing bone sprouts a new, blood-covered and grinning head. Surging forth, you rip him open to get at his heart's blood, drinking deep and satisfying yourself.
The hunt for the rest of the men is truly joyous, their deaths violent, their screams music and their blood filling. Painting the snow with them is the most fun you've had in months, joyous until finally, the last one is killed, his life dragged into you, settling the hunger and easing your mind significantly.
Falling to your knees in the snow, you stare at the darkened sky with relief, your mind cleared and your body no longer aching.
To Notice It
Roll=8-90(Peerless Analysis)=-82
Vs
The Hunter
Roll=97-120 (The Lurker In Snow)=-23
A breath catches your ears, near-silent and whispered. In the scream of the blizzard, it is barely noted, but indeed it is. Eyes drag towards the source, staring at the snowy drift which hides a heartbeat, you smile at the prospect of another meal, rushing forth only to dart back as a creature slams out of the snow drift.
Nine feet at the shoulder, it is obscenely muscled and covered in stripes of orange and black, teeth thicker and longer than some blades just forth from its body-swallowing maw whilst scything claws push free from crushing paws, like a cat but writ-large. From the snow rises a man in a hunter's garb, white fur with light fur.
Yet you cannot see his face, no matter how hard you try, the opening of his hood is utter blackness, holding no light, no image, no being. The being tilts its head before patting its beast on the flank, easing its growl. It kneels and draws a symbol on the blood-soaked snow, and as your eyes dart down to observe it for a moment, his heartbeat disappears.
Eyes searching, you find nothing but death in the area around you and eventually, as the cold seep in to chill you to the bone, must rush back.
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Returning to the village, you are a sight, you imagine. Coated in blood and showing the gifts of hell clearly with every motion. You pay little heed to the villagers or the nerve-stricken warriors, pushing the doors of your cabin open.
Slamming into the nearest pile of furs in the vague image of a seat, you stare at the ceiling, considering the future.
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The first thing you attend to as matter of course is cleaning yourself and your clothing, preferring not to smell of blood for the next year and drive yourself mad in the process.
The second order of business is collecting the corpses, a task which you are beginning to find annoyance in, especially with the bone-chilling cold apparent in every damned step, more than once has a limb completely locked itself due to the ice and you've needed to spend hours perilously close to a flame for it to thaw.
The physical labours are grating and the hunger, whilst controlled is still roiling. Some of the villagers have taken to leaving offerings of milk and honey at your doorway, enjoyable enough to snack on as you spend your time pursuing other courses of action.
Perhaps an investigation into that strange being you encountered is one such course? But where to even start?
Hunger 3/10
Only 70% of Focus available.
Regeneration=15HP/Turn, STR rating enhanced by +4
Will increase by +2 every turn.
Corpses-70
Sacrifices-150 Humans. (Can be exchanged for Hunger at a rate of 10 humans per Hunger point.)
Materials-10 (Gold and salt scavenged from the home and nearby river.)
Focus-84
