Anton Flores, Blood Potency ••••
Anton stepped out of a battered sedan that had been parked on the motel lot and was apparently his to use. The tendons in him wrenched as muscles pulsed with Vitae that burned along every dead fibre, granting a strange strength he found both empowering and hideous.
He looked upon the Farm, taking in its dilapidated state. He decided that the fenceposts resembled a snaggle-toothed sneer and that the trashed upper windows looked like gouged out eyes, glinting in the pale moonlight.
His eyes dart around the ragged outline of trees surrounding the clearing. He turned to Russell, speaking calmly and quietly.
"You have the Sight. What does it tell you?"