A chill began to rise, seemingly from the soil, as The Adept rested at the base of a tall oak in the forest. Night was beginning to fall and soon the trees would be cloaked in impenetrable darkness. This was when his contact wanted to meet. Due to the mass of commotion he and his beautiful companion had stirred up Stateside, they mutually agreed to go on a European campaign. He heard an engine rumbling in the distance, and headlights rolled over the hills as an old soviet all-terrain vehicle crawled through the harsh, snowy terrain. The Adept stood as the vehicle slowed to a stop in front of him, shadowing him in it's headlights. A man hopped out, the wintery ground crunching beneath his black boots as he strode around the front of his UAZ to greet the Adept. This man had agreed to get him some weapons so he could get some real work done on this side of the globe.

"Pleasure to finally meet you, my friend." The Adept said, throwing up his right hand in the traditional Norse manner.
"Likewise, hope you had a safe journey this way. Is the missus with you?" The old Scandinavian said, scratching his chin through his flowing, white beard.
"No, she stayed behind at the cabin to cook dinner. So, what've you got for me in there?"
"Well, let's find out." The man said, gesturing the Adept to follow. They strode to the back door of the UAZ, opening it up to reveal six Pelican cases stacked vertically on the floorboard. They worked together to carry them and rest them on the hood so that the Adept could inspect them. The Norwegian fished into his VSR surplus trousers and retrieved a key he used to unlock the six cases, popping them open to reveal an assortment of firearms.

The first thing to catch my eye was the AKMSU, a 7.62 chambered AKM with a stubby little barrel and an underfolding stock. How he managed to get such a rifle into France was none of my concern, but none the less I'm still impressed. Pointing at the rifle, I asked him to hand it to me. I swept open the stock and brought it to my shoulder, aiming on the headlight as to see the sight picture. Crude, as with most Warsaw guns, but sufficient.

"You might like this." The Norwegian said, grabbing a Kobra red dot optic and passing it to me. I slid it onto the side rail and flipped down the quick detatch lever, then looked through the sights once more. A perfect red dot replaced the crude irons, and as I panned it through the darkness, I noticed it was set too high to get a proper cheekweld. Not that I would need one as the redot was pretty much paralax free. I set the rifle back in the case and handed him a wad of cash, 1,500 Euros. In the case at the top of the pile was a variety of suppressors and a pistol, a Makarov PB. The PB was an integrally suppressed variant of the popular Makarov PM, The Norwegian explained as I looked it over. He handed me a full magazine of 9x18 and told me to give it a try. I loaded the magazine into the gun, racking the slide and bringing my sights to a rotten stump on the side of the road. I fired all 8 rounds into a grouping about the size of my hand, each shot making a crack no louder than a car door. A thousand Euros should do for this, and he accepted the payment without complaint. I continued to look over his inventory, buying a Tikka T3 bolt action rifle in .300 Winchester Magnum before finally calling it a night. We shook hands and parted ways. I carried my new tools of the trade a kilometer back up the hill towards the cabin where I would be staying. French Antifascists would be holding a rally in the city soon, and that seemed like a perfect opportunity to evoke some chaos.

The screeching vocals of "Beholding The Daughters of the Firmament" blared in the background as I sliced up a bundle of carrots to toss into the stew I was preparing. Lately I've been filled with worry that we'd be discovered, even though we were not suspect for the crimes we've committed together back in the states. But he seems confident we'll be okay. We DO have the Nekalah on our side afterall. If we managed to get away with everything else, we should be fine. Although, I am officially a missing person ever since he killed my parents and set me free from their Semitic doctrine. That case, with luck, will go cold soon in wake of all the mayhem we've been causing. The door swung open, startling me, but I felt a sense of relief as I realized it was just Master returning from buying those guns from that Norwegian hermit. Such a beautiful family he had, hopefully Master and I would have a family like that some day.

The next day, the Adept decided to take a drive. He followed the backroads out to a section of the Autoroute that connected two moderately sized cities. He put his van in park, set a couple meters back into the treeline, and waited. He rolled down both windows and supervised the traffic with his binoculars. There weren't many people out at this hour, in this brutal climate, but in the distance he heard rap music resonating from a Renault Clio. He zoomed in to see four Africans riding in the vehicle, and immediately started the van and rolled out into the road. The Africans came to a screeching halt, and they honked their horn repeatedly. The Adept picked up his AK and rested it on his lap as all four doors on the green Clio swung open. They approached his van, wielding knives and bats and cursing at him in broken French. The Adept smiled, stepping out of the van and raising his rifle. Shocked to see a firearm, they froze.

"DO NOT FUCKING MOVE, NE BOUGE PAS!" The Vampire shouted, firing a round off into the air. One of the negroes tried to make a break for the woods, abandoning his companions, but his escape was halted by a hail of 7.62. The simian fell flat on his face and clutched his abdomen, screaming in Somali.

"ABANDONNER LES ARMES!" He demanded, and the Somalis quickly set their weapons down and raised their hands above their head. The Initiate exited the vehicle and ran around behind the Africans, pulling their arms down and zip tying their hands, then kicking them in the back of the knee to make them kneel. Wielding her Makarov, she instructed them to follow her and began loading them into the back of the ban. The Adept sprinted across the highway and grabbed the wounded victim around the waist, hoisting him onto his shoulder and bringing him along with the other refugees. The Initiate closed and secured the doors, then got in the passenger seat. The pair sped down the Autoroute and back onto the trails to their cabin. These refugees would be excellent hostages to film some inflammatory footage.