Leaving the village was easy enough only two guards on duty at the main gate, one was already dozing, a quick jerk and hold on the throat of the other suffocated him to the point of passing out quickly enough. He set the body back against the wall so it would appear that he'd simply fallen asleep on the job.
The woodlands outside the town were his domain now, under night's cover he was a well trained implement of chaos. Though his senses were clear, his mind still suffered the haze of the drugs he'd been ingesting. Rage flowed through him, and an urge he'd not felt in some time welled up.
A brigand silently trying to rob a sleeping group of merchants proved the perfect target for this. Flicking his wrist he dropped one of the blades hidden within his bracers into his waiting paw. Another quick motion, a soft whistle through the air, and the brigand made a grotesque gurgling sound.
Fandruzsch growled quietly, he'd missed. The knife had been aimed to strike between the eyes, hard and fast. Instead it had punctured the man's throat, doing little other damage. Too far out of practice...in another time and place, that would just have cost the slayer his life.
Beginning to suffocate and drown in his own blood, the brigand didn't notice the approaching figure, nor put up much of a struggle as the collar of his tunic was grabbed and used to drag him out into the woods. Desperately he clenched at the wound, as if that would save him.
When they came to a suitable clearing that allowed the light of the moon through the canopy to the earth below, Fandruzsch released the half dead brigand. But instead of putting him out of his misery, he watched, and waited. Each moment that passed was another moment of pain, curious, the brigand seemed so attached to his own mortal life, struggling to try and cover the wound, stop the bleeding.
Flint from his toolkit, a steel blade, and kindling yielded by the nearby forest allowed him to start a small campfire. The light danced eerily in the terrified eyes of the deceased bandit. He'd drowned, in the blood that poured directly down his throat from it's wound. 'Pathetic' was the thought that crossed Fandruzsch's mind, he should have been paying attention.
The thought of what he was doing never occurred to the killer as he ran the bloodied blade over the corpses throat, slicing it open posthumously. Next he slit open the chest, breaking the rib cage in order to tear the man's heart from his chest, this was then tossed into the fire to burn to dust. Folding the arms over the opened chest, he slipped the hilt of the knife under the dead man's paws, blade down. It had been his trade mark all those years ago, and the mindless killing returned him to it without a thought. Soon, he would find her soon.