Foundations - Oil Rigs - Victor Morton

Continueing the hunt, blood still fueling his movement, he clubbed any mortal he saw, along his path from flame to edge of steel construction. Taking each after the blow grabbing and tossing each into the ocean below, either thru feat of strength or will of mind if the edge was too far. Floating upon the oceans surface they could be harvested later. As he reached the edge of the rig, he jumped into the air eventually succumbing to gravity until his mind focused and falling became flight, up and away from the inferno below.

Never realizing how beautiful the sight could be, of such destruction. he watched it for a reflective moment, only a moment, for even at this range his beast cringed at the sight. Sharpening his sences in a search for survivors, cautious to avert as much of his vision as he could from the intensity of the fire.

For many minutes he watched the flames and billows of smoke rage before him as he slowly sank in the sky down to the waters edge. Drawing closer as he did so. To allow the flames to consume the vessel would defeat his purpose, this rig needed to sink in a controlled manner. The flames were just to sell the effect and remove any valuable resources they might try and recover had he left them in their tanks.

Releasing the magic that held him aloft, plunging into the depths below with a small splash. Once under the water his sight hightened. The flames would provide a great deal of light, yet likely not enough at times.

Swimming the remaining distance several feet underwater, if you could call what the warlock did swimming, it had been centuries since he had done so, and it was only his fueled muscles that provided him any grace. Continueing until one of the four giant cement collums that drove into the depth was before him. There he searched for any protrusion along its surface he would be able to get a good grip upon.

Taking a firm grip with both hands and steadying his feet onto a lower set of handles. Looking to the rounded surface of the support collum and summoning his magical understanding of the Tranmutation of materials and watched as a large portion of the wall became vaporous, like the flesh of a ghost. As the process consumed a large section of cement, bubbles of air cascaded outward as water rushed to fill the gap, threatening to pull him inside with it. Eventually enough water would be taken on too upset the careful balance of ballast, compelling the rig down into the depths.

Victor watched the process and attempted to predict when to seal off the vaporous hole so that the decent would be slow enough to bring the rig softly to the sea floor.

Releasing the magic, letting the wall solidify once more, releaved at being able to relax his grip upon the handles.

Looking down at the seemingly endless dark depths, placing his hand ypon the wall before him, feeling its rough surface and fortifying it against the impending landing before releasing the handles and floating in the water waiting for the upper decks to catch up with him.

Soon any possible survivors would have to be dealt with.

Now was a time for indulgence. All the important steps were tended too already.

Withdrawing his dagger from his belt, holding it above the water grabbing it with a mental hand before sending it launching towards the raft. Soon they would lose the hope they had just gained. Soon they would become fodder for the sharks, and he felt the preverbial fin rising in his back.

Drawing the dagger back into his hand, before swimming closer as they dealt with the diflating raft. Remaining under the water as he approached. Dagger still in hand he gave quick strikes at their legs, one by one like the fin of a shark sweeping past them.

Sewing the seeds of confusion was just the first step in inciting panic. Swimming down a short distance, enough to get a good head of speed as he surfaced, jetting out of the water to his waist. His dark hair slicked back by water, contrasted sharply with the gaunt and nearly white complexion that reflected the moonlight as much as the dagger that he drew up, then plunged downward into the chest of his first victim, before drawing them down into the water with him a few feet before releasing them and returning back to the gathered group.

The joy of being able to hunt like this for once was exilerating, and for the first time saw why some chose to take up martial skills beyond practical application.

As the workers floated above him, he swam close enough to grab a leg, then thrusting his blade up and along their leg, allowing it to sink deeper into their flesh as it progressed before releasing their legand extracting the blade as his once more swam down out of reach.

The rest would be used to fuel his initial set up unside the rig. He would need the capacity to hold their blood, so with a practiced thought he condensed the blood within him.

Approaching the nearest of the men who swam away, Victor reached out with his hands, to grapple their leg, drawing his fangs and sinking them in, to extract all but the last pint of their blood before leaving them for the sharks.

Each of them would follow suit in the same fashion, they were only sources of blood to him any more, his fun had been had, there was enough blood in the water to draw sharks from quite some distance, now was a time for business, and a great deal of blood would be necessary.

They would all perish in the blue, they may see him for a moment, yet that did not matter anymore.

Gorged on blood his direction changed, returning to the rig, seeking out its massive skeleton that likely now rested upon the sea floor.

Once there the warlock checked over its surface for any exterior damage.

Finding one of the ballist collums that remained sealed he teleported his way inside. The absolute darkness made examining the rig difficult. A difficulty removed with the casting of a short ritual that enveloped Victor in hundreds of tiny wisps that swept to the far corners illuminating everything in a faint white light.

Looking over the interior. his mind figured out placement and locations for doors and walls, so its vast emptyness would be of greatest use to him. Calling upon ritual he brought a major struxture into existance. A short ritual later, he repeated the process then healed the thumb that he had severed. Over and over again this process was repeated until the blood that he held was just enough to sate his hunger.

The work was not complete, yet enough was done for him to begin the awakwning he had planned.

There was a fondness he held for the location, its secrecy, its fortification. This was what a home was supposed to be.

Letting the Wisps fade into nothingness, he focused within the darkness, closing his eyes. "From here shall rise my army of death to bring about oblivian and strike fear into the hearts of my enemies." Opening his eyes to the darkness, his voice lowering in gutteral hatred. "From here he shall be avenged." A tear of blood seeping from his right eye as he thought of his brother.

Hand clenching tightly around his cane, tapping it once upon the floor, and he teleported back to the chantry.

(Scene)