the storm is coming in

[Vheissu]

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Set on the 28th, noon? Devil’s Demesne. Other leaders welcome but not necessary.       INCHARACTER       It was cold. True, it had been frigid for several months, and Vheissu had seen snow, ice, and freezing rain. Yet this wind was something else. The ginger man gripped his sarape tightly about him as his tangled hair whipped about his face, lashing against his habitually squinted eyes. The road seemed to wind on forever, carrying him around the mountain rising up on his left. He did not particularly desire to climb it, yet the trail was his siren, and he would follow it into Hell itself if he had to. Which is likely, thought Vheissu grimly.       The man stopped abruptly, dropping to all fours to sniff the cracked pavement in front of him. He moved forward for some time in that attitude, wandering from one lane to the other, sometimes doubling back to sniff at a particular weed sticking up through a crevice or an overturned bit of asphalt. The trail was becoming muddled. Vheissu must have been close to a heavily populated place, for more and more scents were crossing into his path. The mongrel glowered, the expression pulling at the scars across his lips. He straightened and continued along the road, pulling the sarape tightly around him once more. Though the new scents were problematic, the man was not too concerned, for there had not been a creature yet who he could not find. He would finish his task.       Indeed he had come to a well populated place, for the unmistakable signs and scents of a packland soon met him. Another complication. The man sighed, the deep sound vibrating his chest. Normally he would have continued walking, not heeding the invisible fences that stood around the territory. Vheissu did not have the time or patience to deal with silly formalities. Yet by the smell of things this particular group seemed to be unforgiving of trespassers. Another sigh. Pulling the sack from his back, the ginger rummaged through the few contents and drew out a pack of cigarillos and a box of matches. He lit one and squatted, peering around at as much territory as he could see. No one for miles, or so he could tell. It was highly likely that he was being watched, as he suspected of the nature of the clan to be secretive, elite, and militaristic.       Vheissu flicked an ear, took a drag of his cigar, and stood again. There was only one thing to do. The trail led right into the territory. A clever move, not surprising, though complicating and frustrating as Vheissu was sure it was intended to be. “All right.” The ginger man lifted his head and howled a long coyote howl, signaling his presence. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too long. He was not a very patient man.

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