Unrest in the House of Shadows

[None So Blind]

You have heard me tell this story many times before you sleep.
This time listen carefully, and I will tell you once again
and this time understand that what I'm telling you...
Every single word is true. You need to know.
There was another who came before you.
He was a hero and your brother and my son.
He fought the darkness, the darkness won.

The Protomen - Unrest in the House of Light

Beneath his feet, the Port was a living ant hill. People were spilling in and out of ships, loping in straight lines down the street that led into the city. Several men carried heavy crates from the port authority building to one of the largest of ships.

"Inlu'thin," he told Queen, the pretty black and green finch that perched on his bare shoulder. "Nothing but insects." His voice was caramel and contempt, sliding thickly across the little bird as she ruffled her feathers. Every time the Drow spoke, she felt as if she needed a bath. Kor had that effect on her: the hatred they shared was only matched in strength by the life bond that kept them together.

We're leaving this place for better shores, so why should I learn your tongue? She was bored, wondering why they were sitting on the edge of a hotel rooftop across from the docks. She'd watched Kor purchase their tickets, somehow managing to find a cheap fare in a town of swindlers and hard bargains. They could be sitting in under an umbrella shade at the port cafe, leisurely waiting for their boat to board. Instead, they were hiding in the rafters, so to speak, assassins or predators unwilling to be down with the prey.

She twittered nervously as she cocked her head to the side, glancing down her beak at his face. It revealed nothing but hunger in his amber eyes. If it weren't for their lives bound together, she'd be dead now. There was an understanding between them of predator and prey, and Natamrael found herself far too low on the food chain.

Kor finally stood, turning his back on the port. In the crowd, clumsy pedestrians unsure on their feet after getting off the ship had been milling around a familiar face. The captain who'd sold him tickets had been a pale elven character. He'd had the youthful, seemingly mild and innocent face of his people, but brimstone had sparked behind his dark earthy brown eyes. Kor had decided, as he began to scale down the ladder that had led up to the roof, that the man had been his kind of people.

[Monster]

Beneath his feet, the ship rocked upon the gentle undulation of the waves. Around him, the tiny storeroom he'd been allowed was as silent as a grave - and stunk like one, too. The blood in the corner, sitting since before the first rays of the sun that morning, was dry. In the shadows where the candle light did reach, he could see one pale hand, spotted here and there with drops of red. The fingers were curled, stiff, and flies alighted on the dead knuckles. They buzzed in the stench of the dead meat he'd left behind, that tangle of skin and bones, the useless husk. That stowaway upon the ship, huddled, shivering in the little room. He liked to think that the captain had known she was in here and had given her up to him. That elf had looked as feminine and as faye as any of his race, but there had been a certain fire in his movements and words. Abel decided, as he scowled at the cramp in his back and the ache in his old skull, that he'd taste that elf's blood before he got off this ship.

All he had for a bed was some bunched together rags for a pillow, and the cloak that he'd mocked the sun with as he'd traveled to Alerar. Abel reflected that he was probably a pretty shitty vampire; all the tales that he'd used to hear talked of noble and sophisticated lords who all but took their life-meals with a silver blood-letting knife and a napkin tucked into their collar. He was admittedly, stupid and sloppy, and had been burned for as many times as he'd caught something tasty and loud to eat. He was still nursing a scorch on his forearm from a few days ago, bound with a dirty bandage now, from when he'd reached out of in alleyway at noon and yanked in a fat merchant. He hadn't even noticed the pain until he was done and he was wiping the smears off his face.

He was, however, as good a killer as any that the Coalition had amongst those they'd enslaved, bribed, lied to, or blackmailed. In a fashion atypical of them, they hadn't even told him what he was to do here. They gave him the ticket to the ship and pointed him towards Alerar, and gave him the charity of a few words about lost agents. He supposed, perhaps, that Foo would appear in time and give him his instructions. Abel Metzger was, without a doubt, a monster and a blood thirsty killer, but even he could not stay out of the sway of the thing that called itself Foo - even it scared the shit out of him. He'd never actually seen Foo brandish a weapon, or shed any blood, but it was simply the unspoken promise of violence and the one thousand and one ways he could assuredly dish it out that made him sweat bullets in front of the black garbed thing. He liked to think that if it wasn't for Foo, he'd splash around in the puddles that came out of the Coalition leaders after he'd stabbed and cut their weak warm living bodies.

But even that was impossible. Blinking sleep out of his blood shot eyes, he raised a hand to his chest and touched the outline of the little orb sticking out of his pale, ghastly flesh beneath his shirt. It wasn't a collar on his throat, or a chain on his leg, or rigid bars all around him, but it was enough; he still wasn't free. He didn't show it often, because he liked them to think he was a lot simpler and stupid than he appeared, but having to follow someone's marching orders irked him. He hadn't even liked doing so in the army. But he was a naturally violent man, and if he wanted to kill, he'd reasoned that he should do so in war. Most men wanted comfort or gold or power, but Abel had always been simple; he liked sticking knives in people's throat and listening to them choke.

He glanced upwards, towards the cieling of the little storeroom. He'd slept all day like he usually did. He could be lazy and obstinate when he wanted to, and today he was in that sort of mood, coupled with a certain thirst that could only be slaked with liquor. As he pulled his tobacco pouch from the folds of his cloak and began rolling a cigarette, he wondered if they had yet set sail to...wherever. Abel didn't even know where the ship was going, and he didn't care; he'd been told to do so, and he had something of a lust for continuing his undead life and not being burnt to a frozen crisp by the orb.

On unsteady feet, he climbed to the upper deck, muttering irritably as his matches spuutered into life and rapidly died. At last, he'd lit his cigarette, stepped into the fresh air - and squinted, scowling at the fading sun. He hadn't slept quite as long as he thought, but it didn't matter. The light was too weak to do anything but turn his terrible white skin red. People began murmuring around him, edging away, dragging their friends off for something else. Abel smiled, and the dusky sunlight glimmered off his fangs.

[None So Blind]

The bird had lost her mind. Kor sat back on one of the bunks in the dingy passenger room, watching as she moved quickly from rafter to rafter. Her shadow was splayed and distorted from the swinging lantern, and Kor tore his eyes from Natamrael to look around the room again. The long walls that ran down the length of the room were dotted with cots bolted to the walls. Four sets of two bunks on each wall, it puzzled Kor that a ship that could at least hold sixteen only booked one passenger. While it was true that several of the cots were torn from the walls, broken wooden frames mangled on the floor and rusting nails exposed, there were too many empty beds to explain. A cheap fare from Alerar to Corone was nothing to sneeze at, and the last time he'd been at Etheria, there'd been many a shrewd passenger churning for a cheap fare to anywhere.

The walls were stained black with soot and dinge, great strips of dark and redwood creating the effect in the swaying lamplight that they were trapped in bleeding walls. The room was quiet, even with the muffled footsteps on deck. Kor's eyes closed and he listened. Following the thump and shuffle of sailors above, he tried to visualize what was happening on deck. Footsteps milled like cattle in pasture, seemingly random, based around tasks and the louder scratch of cargo being pushed and pulled towards the holds. Then, interestingly enough, the footsteps all began to slowly move towards the portside of the ship. It was as if a great net had been cast through the crowd, pulling them to - or from - something unseen.

Why won't you listen!? Natamrael's voice pleaded, an annoying gnat that he hadn't the patience nor desire to swat at the moment. Ignoring her, he leaned over and blew the flame from the lantern. Darkness engulfed them, and he was traveling. He could feel Natamrael's panic in the room, alone, but it was nothing to him. He moved through the shadows on the ship, jumping from room to room, lazily glancing around. He went through the Captain's Quarters to the Mess, and finally glanced through the Shadow Realm, sliding into the lee of a large cargo box on deck. He saw a figure standing on deck, watching the water or perhaps the sunset. He was indeed what the crew seemed to be pulling away from. Kor only saw him from behind, an arm relaxed at his side. It was hurt, wrapped in a bandage and the skin was as red as sin. Was this a devil of some sort, or a mere man who'd spent too much time working in the sun.

Letting himself fall back into the shadows, their cool darkness caressing his dark skin as they pulled him through the dark plane where he could run, free from the material need of doors, Kor began to trace his way back to the room. Somewhere in the darkness, he tripped, falling against a wall and found to his ire that he was back in the material plane. A doorknob jammed into his side, bashing against ribs. He scrambled for it, his hands wrapping around the brass knob before the door opened, spilling him into the hallway.

He saw the flies in the light that filtered into the room before he saw the girl they landed on. She was staring at him, dark eyes seeing past his measly human body and into the void beyond life. Kor knew the place she traversed, for he had once been dead. Footsteps caught his ears, and not bothering to shut the door, he sprang towards the girl, fading into the shadow her body made against the wall beside her. When he emerged in his own room, he was shaking, the smell of blood in his mouth. When he found his matches, he sat down on the cot. The finch was watching him, a knowing glint in her beady dark eyes.

"What is that?" he asked her, his voice dry. "The phindar on the ship... the monster. You know it's scent, don't you?"

The bird hopped from the rafters and fluttered down to his knee. Her feathers were fluffed, her expression as worried as a birds could be.

Concordia is no stranger to vampires and evil spirits. That's what I feel here.