The reputation of the Banu Haqim amongst Kindred, or as the common rabble preferred, the Assamite, was not a good one. They were considered kin killers, assassins, murderers and in general weren’t well liked because they served both a necessary function while refusing to step into clan politics. They were not wrong, of course. They were all of those things. But they were also a lot more.
’We will serve’ Zalaam had promised the god. He had set his clan down a path that they would cleave to utterly and without flinching. The ultimate loyalty.
In the dead of night, the moon covered by the thick cloud cover that heralded a storm, Zalaam slipped from the dark forest and looked up, his first proper look at the vampire temple. It was impressive, a well-lit sanctuary, easily defensible. He moved, swiftly and smoothly, beneath the gates and up the stairways, searching for the first meeting hall.
When he found it he knelt, approving the generous array of pillows and laid out his gift. A visitor should always bring an offering to be polite. A vial of fresh blood and a bowl of prunes. Then he waited, patiently and like stone, ignoring any and all that passed him by. He was here only for Grendel, to reaffirm the pact he had made.