Time was running out.
The last droplets of his serum still lingered at the base of the vial. The last one, now gone from eager consumption. However long it would last, Quinlan couldn't say. A week, two, maybe a month at most? For now it would stave off the burning sensation of pins traveling down his veins, his blood congealing and flaring in an agonizing sensation.
He could take the pain, but this attack had been worse than one he'd had in months. And if he didn't find more ingredients soon, there wasn't any telling if he'd survive the next burn when it came. He wouldn't allow himself to be ruled solely by desperation, though. He knew where to get most of his ingredients, thankfully certain places in the forest were ripe for the picking. Others...were more difficult to come by.
Something nearby was happening, he could feel it in his blood. Quinlan looked up to the moon and breathed heavily and the branches, it seemed, parted on their own, pointing to the way. There was blood nearby, he could feel it. Not just any blood, blessed blood, the lifeforce draining and boiled in ritual. Somewhat figuratively speaking.
He wasted no time, bolting toward the sensation, where it was growing stronger. He could see images of blood dipping into the facet of the moon. Blinking hard, he pushed the voices from him, the whispers of his curse, the owner of his soul. Not tonight, he wasn't going to die tonight.
Maybe tomorrow, after a good shag and a beer.
Quinlan pushed through the brush and bramble, stopping short of a clearing where a lithe figure stood. He held his breath, watching, feeling his heart race in the absence of running. With their back to him, he watched onward as blood dripped into the top half of a skull – human from the portion of it – tipped upside down like a bowl. The blood dripped down into it, and he held released the gentle hiss of his breath with a rustle of oncoming wind.
Slowly, he whispered in his mind. More than the blood, he eyed the hair that draped down the figure's back. Elven... He hadn't seen a pure elf in months and none recently with hair like that. He knew a few people that would be interested in such hair.... For now the blood was momentarily forgotten. Quinlan drew himself out from his hiding place, stepping painfully slow from the branches and brush until he cleared the edge of the circle of trees.
The daggers under his jacket. Fingers slipped around a roughly hewed handle, pulling it out as he slowly crept up behind the figure, dagger facing forward in hand and he reached up to grip just the end of her hair, blade reflecting in the breath of a second until it was within millimeters of cutting it.
[If this makes no sense or needs editing, let me know! I'm kinda loopy at the moment.]