Indeed it was a most brisk night, but nothing that he couldn't handle thus far. The brisk winters of the Kilanthro Mountains were an acquired feeling, and anything that had to do with the snow and the cold were just fine to him. And usually, he wouldn't bother with a travel coat fashioned from the fluffy skins of carnivorous animals. He was a hunter for godless sake, he could handle anything life through at him. If he could best beasts that were ten times his size he could best the elements. Yet, the exact wherefore and why he had come this far south was not something he would readily disclose, no matter how he hardened himself against when he came her to do.
For all his life he'd been focused on one thing, the trade of vampire slaying, though so many were few and far between these days. He hadn't exactly had a chance to get much info on the one that he'd followed all the way here to the Zantaric. It had been more than ten years since he'd last been here. Yet, he'd made some valuable connections. If they weren't dead, he was intent on looking them up; perhaps they might have some info on the beast that was haunting these streets, looking for fresh prey and even fresher victims. Because he'd heard so little of the creature from his contractor, a spiky little woman who seemed to like the smell of gin on her breath, he was forced to make several assumptions about his prey as he tracked the abomination. Exactly who it was and what is was doing here would probably remain a mystery. But he was determined to carry though with the job he was paid to do.
Venaede pulled the hood of his coat over his eyes, a blanket like piece of cloth that fell over his armor and had a hole in the middle that he slipped his head through and had a hood attached to the back of it. He kept his breath steady as he walked down the edge of the slippery streets of this town that was murder city. He kept his hands beneath the coat and one particularly on the handle of his ax-whip, a weapon that both saved his life and nearly ended it on a number of occasions. The bottom-line was that his work was not for the faint of heart. Over the years, he'd learned to become cold-hearted and apathetic about what he'd done and knew that it was for the greater good. Sometimes, good things could spring from feelings of hate if one knew how to hate the right thing.
His boots were light on the slippery stones, but the serene night encapsulated the slight sound and made them almost echo on the buildings around him. Yes, he was another night wanderer. And perhaps he belonged to it just as much as the creatures he hunted. Yet his hunting was unlike theirs in the sense, that he received no pleasure from flaying the flesh of monsters that hunted and slaughtered mortals like cattle. And perhaps they were something like cattle, flocking to each other, helpless without their shepherds. Yet, there was at least one of them that would fight against the tide of blood that washed his way. He would wander the night too, and cull the beasts until his dying day.
Venaede kept his head down and refused the meet the gaze of the passersby on the street. Feeling a need to withdraw himself from the thinning crowd, he turned a corner into an empty alleyway, yet found it strange when he heard some scuffling nearby. Was this his creature, the vampire he was sent to hunt and dismember for the coming dawn? He couldn't be sure... But still, he clutched the shaft of his weapon out of both habit and necessity. And then slowly stalked forward into the darkness to investigate. But where was it coming from?
