Post by brentjoyce on Jan 5, 2008 21:29:08 GMT -8
Cold
Bitter
Winter
Nothing is more depressing then Winter. The freezing breezes, the frigid white powder and the longer nights. A few deep breaths were all it took to ice the dead veins that laid through out Winter. When he exhaled nothing came out, there was no warmth in him. He was as cold as the sub-zero temperatures he dwell in.
Winter laid under a deep shadow, in the mysterious labyrinth of alleys that blanketed London. He was hunting his usual prey the demons of the night. After several nights of observing he found that this was a big junction. They were moving to and fro though this small dark alley. He didn’t move on the first few because they were moving in little packs three or four, and they were hungry.
The hungry ones put up the biggest fights, past hunts taught him this lesson very well. Always go for the full ones, they were bloated and unable to act as quickly as the hungry ones.
Another pack passed by the shadow that Winter concealed himself in. this was an unusual night for hunting as Winter had never seen so many packs. Over the past few years he had taken note that those monsters were creating tighter groups, bigger packs. They could be learning or he and the other hunter could have killed off all the dumb ones, ether way its becoming harder and harder to hunt.
All this thinking made him only think more about himself. The hunters were also becoming smarter creating clans and guilds. Of all the hunters he could think of he was the only one who hunted alone. It wouldn’t be smart for a hunter to hunt alone as it is well known that their prey was far more superior when it came to physical traits. Winter on the other hand was on par with his prey, he could fight toe to toe, even out numbered.
His thoughts soon drifted to his hunger, he had not had a decent meal in months he was hungry. He was incredibly hungry, and he hadn’t feed his hunger in quite some time.
Winter snapped out of thought when he saw a single shadow run towards his position. The shadow stopped and he could vaguely make out a man who was in an overcoat and was holding a bag of some kind. The man was gasp intensely for air. With every exhale a fresh small cloud of escaping vapors rose into the air. Winter knew what he was dealing with. The man was a thief, a common one who had stolen a bag.
He laid in waiting for his real prey but he couldn’t help but long for something the man had and he didn’t. Winter’s throat was dry and he was starting to breathe a bit harder then normal. The man was still standing there unaware of his presents. He was shuffling through the bag while panting a bit trying to regain his energy he lost from. The blood was rushing through his veins.
It was disturbing Winter how much attention he was paying to this lowly human. He started to think in mumbles to himself. He is scum, no one would care if he died. He is a bottom dweller he deserves it. He has it coming to him. Justice has to be served.
No one would ever notice
At this thought as if not even thinking about it Winter darted at the man full speed. Before the man could make a move Winter in his blood lust impaled him with his glimmering silver dagger. He turned the handle of the dagger slowly and the man coughed up a clod of warm glistening blood. The wound that Winter created tore open and the blood flowed from it freely.
Winter was breathing hard and fast just as soon as he attacked the man he bit into him neck. the sweet nectar of nourishment touched the back of his throat.
All these years he had neglected his desire and in a few moments he gave in.
when it was all finished Winter nearly drank the entire supply of blood the man had. Winter looked down at the red stained snow. He then placed his hands directly in front of his face. the smear of the red liquid was all over him. his jacket was drenched.
Winter stood for a moment and then broke down and begun to cry.
He had become what he hated so much...
Winter was a monster.
Bitter
Winter
Nothing is more depressing then Winter. The freezing breezes, the frigid white powder and the longer nights. A few deep breaths were all it took to ice the dead veins that laid through out Winter. When he exhaled nothing came out, there was no warmth in him. He was as cold as the sub-zero temperatures he dwell in.
Winter laid under a deep shadow, in the mysterious labyrinth of alleys that blanketed London. He was hunting his usual prey the demons of the night. After several nights of observing he found that this was a big junction. They were moving to and fro though this small dark alley. He didn’t move on the first few because they were moving in little packs three or four, and they were hungry.
The hungry ones put up the biggest fights, past hunts taught him this lesson very well. Always go for the full ones, they were bloated and unable to act as quickly as the hungry ones.
Another pack passed by the shadow that Winter concealed himself in. this was an unusual night for hunting as Winter had never seen so many packs. Over the past few years he had taken note that those monsters were creating tighter groups, bigger packs. They could be learning or he and the other hunter could have killed off all the dumb ones, ether way its becoming harder and harder to hunt.
All this thinking made him only think more about himself. The hunters were also becoming smarter creating clans and guilds. Of all the hunters he could think of he was the only one who hunted alone. It wouldn’t be smart for a hunter to hunt alone as it is well known that their prey was far more superior when it came to physical traits. Winter on the other hand was on par with his prey, he could fight toe to toe, even out numbered.
His thoughts soon drifted to his hunger, he had not had a decent meal in months he was hungry. He was incredibly hungry, and he hadn’t feed his hunger in quite some time.
Winter snapped out of thought when he saw a single shadow run towards his position. The shadow stopped and he could vaguely make out a man who was in an overcoat and was holding a bag of some kind. The man was gasp intensely for air. With every exhale a fresh small cloud of escaping vapors rose into the air. Winter knew what he was dealing with. The man was a thief, a common one who had stolen a bag.
He laid in waiting for his real prey but he couldn’t help but long for something the man had and he didn’t. Winter’s throat was dry and he was starting to breathe a bit harder then normal. The man was still standing there unaware of his presents. He was shuffling through the bag while panting a bit trying to regain his energy he lost from. The blood was rushing through his veins.
It was disturbing Winter how much attention he was paying to this lowly human. He started to think in mumbles to himself. He is scum, no one would care if he died. He is a bottom dweller he deserves it. He has it coming to him. Justice has to be served.
No one would ever notice
At this thought as if not even thinking about it Winter darted at the man full speed. Before the man could make a move Winter in his blood lust impaled him with his glimmering silver dagger. He turned the handle of the dagger slowly and the man coughed up a clod of warm glistening blood. The wound that Winter created tore open and the blood flowed from it freely.
Winter was breathing hard and fast just as soon as he attacked the man he bit into him neck. the sweet nectar of nourishment touched the back of his throat.
All these years he had neglected his desire and in a few moments he gave in.
when it was all finished Winter nearly drank the entire supply of blood the man had. Winter looked down at the red stained snow. He then placed his hands directly in front of his face. the smear of the red liquid was all over him. his jacket was drenched.
Winter stood for a moment and then broke down and begun to cry.
He had become what he hated so much...
Winter was a monster.