Christof Romuald walked silently through the still town. He had been alerted to the presence of a large Silvermane Werewolf, haters of his kind, Vampires, and he and his coterie had been dispatched to take care of the beast. It had been exactly 400 years since his Embrace and he was the most powerful of his coterie, just recently moved from the Neonate rank to the Ancillae, in between Neonate and Elder and had rightly earned his position. In his 4 centuries, he had earned the nicknames Christof, Glutton of Garou blood and Christof, Antediluvian Stalker. He walked down the street this night though, as a hunter or the hunted, for he could not seem to find the Werewolf and was well aware of the fact that it may have been stalking him while he was searching for it. He froze as he heard a yell to the south and drew his familiar Unholy Broadsword. He recognized the voice as his friend Wilhem Streicher and as he rounded a bend, he saw Wilhem lying with a huge Garou on top of him, maw inches from his face, 3 inch long razor like teeth glinting in the moonlight. This was one of the old ones, he could tell by the power of it's presence. Suddenly it snapped it's gaze up to him, thinking that it had Wilhem pinned and didn't expect it when Wilhems' chain-mail covered fist slammed into it's head with a literally bone jarring impact, sending it off him and a few teeth flying off into the night. The beast turned back to Wilhem and slammed it's barrel-like forearm into his chest, sending him 50 yards away, to slam hard against a wall and lay silent. Christof crouched and sprang at the Garou, blade clanging heavily on the beasts old hardened claws, sending waves of numbing force through both the Garou and Christof. The Garou swept his other arm forward, ripping though chain mail and flesh like it was supple leather. Christof sprang away, growling in agony as he looked at the claw mark across his chest and looked up. The Garou was running at him and he would have no defense against it. He growled and waited for final death but suddenly, a streak of flame lit up the night sky and buried into the Garou eye, leaving a singe mark on Christof's face where it had gone over his shoulder. The Garou staggered and howled in screeching agony, crouching low to avoid the next flaming crossbow bolt. He growled at the young-looking woman behind Christof.
"You will regret that young Kindred." It growled and turned, leaping over the city wall silently, disappearing into the night.
Christof spun and saw his other companion, Lily Starblighter running towards him. They both turned and ran to Wilhems' side to find that he was out cold, with at least 12 broken ribs and a broken collar bone. Christof's ears perked as he heard the clang of metal off in the distance, but not like sword clashing...like armor clanking. He scooped up Wilhem and both he and Lily ran to a small wine cellar near the Jewish Quarter of the city and locked the door to anyone who decided they might search. They had chosen this place as their haven when they arrived in the city and hoped no one would try to break down the door to search here during the day, and find them all healing and resting in their coffins, exposing them to the deadly sun. Christof set Wilhem on a crate and snatched a bottle of blood from beside his coffin, pouring some past his fellow's lips and waited. After a moment, Wilhems' yellow eyes snapped open and he tried to sit up. He instantly regretted it though, laying back with a groan of pain.
"I've gotten my ribs crushed 4 times now while hunting Garou with thee Christof. That is another bottle of Vitae you owe me this month. Of VERY high vintage. Preferably kindred, Assamite clan of at least 6 centuries 'eh my nocturnal friend." Wilhem spoke slowly, the pain in his ribs not depleting his friendly personality.
"Friend if I had connections to such high blood I would be gorging myself on it right now, not hunting an ancient Werewolf who seems to be stronger then all of us" Christof reminded him. Wilhem grunted and the Lily spoke up.
"I found out from a good source, that thee Garou friend is indeed acient. Almost 800 years old, and is much stronger then thou both put together " She spoke quietly, as was her norm. After a moment Wilhem sat up. He was a fast healer and with a full bottle of blood in him, it only took him a moment to heal most of the damage done by the Werewolf. He smiles at Christof.
" I know how to be him. And Christof, Your the bait." Wilhem grinned and he started telling the other two his plan.
****
Christof walked through the dark woods slowly, feeling slightly murderous towards Wilhem. His friend had described his plan to them and to Christof, it sounded like the equivalent to suicide, not a plan to kill the werewolf. But when Wilhem had offered him a chance to give a better plan, he had mumbled accent to his and waited while Lily went out to gather the supplies from the Gypsy shop and the Blacksmith. He froze when he heard the low growling a few hundred feet behind him and turned. Sure enough, the Garou stood there in the path and as soon as he turned, charged. Christof spun and took off down the trail, using his vampiric blood to call upon unnatural speed and agility, matching the werewolf behind him dead evenly. He ran for his Ancillae rank. He ran for the respect and the power. Mostly though, he ran to save his own vampiric neck from the snarling Garou behind him. He quickly discarded his chain mail and cloak, hoping to slow the werewolf slightly. It didn't work though, the Garou just swiping the things from his path. Christof saw the point Wilhem had marked up ahead, with the werewolf fast on his heals as his blood became lower, slowing his super-natural speed slightly. He ran past the group of trees and dove with all his strength away from them. In a flash of metal, hundreds of silver arrows and crossbow bolts slammed into the Garou behind him, almost killing it. And if that wasn't enough, above him spilled a vat full of melted silver, covering him and hardening instantly around his howling form. Christof looked back at the statue as Lily and Wilhem emerged from the trees. Lily took out a piece of parchment and studied the Garous' markings.
"His markings match the Knight of Saint John, Cosmas's scars by his eyes. We will mark him down as Cosmas and return this to the Prince in nearby Vienna." She said. Wilhem helped Christof to his feet and had to support him, as his calf and thigh muscles were all shot to crap. They slowly marched back to the city and Christof slept that day, satisfied with his work, and reassured once more that his reputation was well earned.