En un momento de ocio retorné a una viejo forum que visitaba en mi juventud, un message board basado en un juego de PC que a su vez estaba basado en un juego de rol al estilo Dungeons & Dragons (creo que acabo de sacar y ondear la bandera geek, vea?). El juego es conocido como Vampire: The Masquerade, y no postearé más sobre lo que trata para no aburrirles. El chiste es que surfeando por los Archivos antiguos del Forum encontré una de las "historias" que un versión joven y aburrida de mí escribió tiempo atrás y; aunque sé que a ustedes no les interesa, me trajo gratos recuerdos y pus...es MI blog, no? Asi que aqui está la primera parte o el primer "post" de la historia. Es en inglés no por mamada mia si no porque...pues el forum era en inglés. Y en cuanto a ficción se me facilita más ese idioma. Si noto interés chance explico lo que no entienden y posteo las continuaciones. Welcome to the World of Darkness.
Lupus Finis Battuere
The blade swung in a hellish arc, the air in it's wake drained, filled with an absence of life. It's keen edge connected with the beast's paw, slicing cleanly through fur, muscle and bone, severing it. The yelp of sudden pain and surprise traveled through the misty setting of the Irish forest as the moonbeast took sudden evasive maneuvers, flipping away from its attacker.
The feral figure of the garou's adversary emitted a raspy chuckle as it gave the sword a quick rotation, making the fine edge whistle through the air.
"Surprised, flea bag? It sure 'as sliced through things more impressive than garou, ye know?"
The lycanthrope growled menacingly at his foe, clutching its bloody stump. It had underestimated the kindred, a mistake it would not make again.
"Lucky strike, pup. Prepare to be chewed on."
Graventhorp's fanged mouth spread in a sardonic grin, challenging. The garou crouched, preparing to leap and abruptly paused and hesitated, staring at the spot where its claw used to be.
Thorp let out a disdainful snort, "Paw not growin' back, eh fido?"
The garou blinked confusedly, it had never had difficulty in regenerating lost body parts, what was happening? Its gaze wondered towards the city gangrel. The kindred stood almost seven feet tall and wore a tattered black overcoat over a blood-stained shirt. He fashioned a shoulder-length gray mane of hair, thick fur-like hair not very different from the garou's. His features were as feral as only over seven hundred years of unlife as a member of the Gangrel clan could contort, yellowed un-stealthy fangs protruding from the mouth. But what really made you stare were the eyes, or, better put, the life-less craters were eyes should be. The kindred was obviously blind, but seemed to have no handicap in battle; that had been the moonbeast's prime mistake, underestimating the eye-less bastard.
The garou's searching stare then turned to the weapon the kindred held on its right, clawed hand. It unconciously took a small step back, recognizing. The silver hilt had the shape of a wolf whose muzzle engorged the keen-edged blade as it returned the full-moon's shine with an unatural glint, but seemed to give light of its own as well. It then noticed intricate patterns and embroiderings glowing on the blade, patterns the garou knew were visible only under a full moon's light.
"Lupus Mortis" The garou muttered, awed.
Thorp let his mouth elongate in a half-smile: "Suitable last words."
Without warning, and invisible to the naked eye, the kindred raised the ancient weapon over his head with both hands and gave a sudden flip forward. With blood-gifted superhuman speed and strength he rotated several times, a deadly spinning disc that reflected the moon's silvery rays.
His feet landed gracefully several meters ahead, creating a small whirl of fog and dirt. Some meters back, the fully erect figure of the bulking garou stood, lower legs spread open, seemingly frozen.
Slowly at first, but then gaining speed, a shiny silver line elongated vertically from a point between the beast-like eyes, growing in both directions, succesfully separating the beast symetrically. The fully lengthened streak shone bright for a full two seconds before the garou's two halves, with a sudden burst of speed, separated in both directions with a moist SCHLOOP followed with two hollow thuds as each divison landed on the soft ground.
Thorp was sniffing the cold air, searching for any other foes, when it began. What the kindred noticed first was a high pitched hum coming from his sword, what he failed to notice, lacking eyesight, was a blinding light that grew in brilliance until it illuminated the entire setting.
"What the..!?" The usually accomodating hilt began to vibrate in Thorp's hand, barely at first, but gaining strength speedily until the city Gangrel was fighting to keep his grasp with both hands, growling. It was as if the ancient blade suddenly wanted to abandon its master. The growl became a full scream as the sword's vibration shook the kindred's entire frame...and then he lost the battle, losing grip.
The freed sword floated, point up, a few meters from its owner, still radiating a silvery brilliance that seemed to flood the entire forest. The blade then began glowing an intense red and began shaking violently again as a feral, echoing chuckle filled the air. Thorp took a step back. Something had gone wrong, very wrong.