The First Samhein

[Ürei]

Some say…
That when you die…
Death comes to you and tells you…
What is in store for your immortal soul…
And to each person, Death looks different…
He or she appears to you as you most want them to…
…I don’t know if that is true…
Death never showed when I died…




The First Samhein




“What is there to live for, really? My first love is dead and my last love is lost. My life was about vengeance and hate, but now even my enemy is dead, lying eternally under a mile of earth. I escaped from my prison, but what point was there? There is nothing left for me to do. No ambition, no love, no anger, no hate. I am empty…just as empty as this glass…”

The bartender nodded solemnly, not sure what to tell the Elf and simply grabbed another bottle of the grape wine he had requested. Giving the sorrowed but not yet drunk man a warm smile, he filled up the glass and said the only thing that came to mind, “Just fill up your glass and start again. Find a new love, find a new home, and make a new life.” Managing his fat with dexterous ability, he swung around and replaced the wine bottle on the shelf behind him then turned yet again in the small space behind the counter and moved to serve other customers. Leaving him in peace seemed the best option right now, for that Elf had a lot to think about.

“Dresden Myrmidos…Dresden…Dres-den…It’s a good name. Isn’t it? A new life…a new home…a new love…a new name?”

Dresden’s eyes suddenly lifted from his swirling glass, the hypnotic wine breaking its hold on his mind. Looking into the mirror he watched his face, a face that he had yet to get used to. Lightly tanned skin, raven black hair with streaks of gray, smooth skin and slight wrinkles as a sign of his age, and the once glorious gold of his eyes dulled to a pathetic stone amber. Smiling, a fake smile, he looked at his teeth. Solid, flat, but still a perfect line; the canines barely come down farther then the rest of his teeth, instead of the sharp lupine fangs. Silent, he whispered his name and watched his light lips forming the words breathlessly. Suddenly, like a switch being thrown, a new word came to his mouth, one that had not been spoken from it in such a great many years.

Sabbat…


“A new life, a new love, a new name, but I’m going home.”

With the speed and grace of the Elf he pretended to be during the daylight hours, Dresden spun from his barstool and swept his gaze over the tavern. Elven warriors, bards, and human minstrels dotted the place as if it was a carnival for musically endeavored beings. Every face in the establishment was lit up with joy, music, and laughter. Almost disgusting to watch as the stage performers let throw a lilting and soft but still amazingly beautiful symphony that made him feel like he was deep in an enchanted wood. Holding back a groan at all the ways that these obnoxious elves entertained themselves, he made his way to the door, staying as far in character as an Elf as he could to not attract attention.

Dusk was not but a few hours away and he had hoped to be far out of the small Elven city before nightfall. Already the shadows were deepening and his path down the well paved streets that weaved in and out of the strange and magnificently unusually built city wavered so that he remained in as much light as possible. Moving to the edge of town, trying to get over the smooth curving arches and overhanging buildings and into broad daylight, he began to move faster, using the speed his daytime form gave him to his advantage. Turn after turn, the fields of Raiaera could be seen only in glances, but soon burst out before him, a golden sea in this late Fall season. Sighing in relief, he moved out into the fields and then found a patch of trees to lean against.

Hunger plagued him and not just the usual, but a thirst for the blood he used to rely on. His sharp eyes lingered on the towers and curves of the Raiaeran city before him, the sun dropping slowly into the horizon behind it. Flames burned across the sky, giving one last desperate stream of light before dusk fell. If Sabbat was to be found again, he would need help. The creatures of the Night were going to be rampant this night, for it was the night of Samhein; his first Samhein having returned from the dawn realm.

“Lorenor…I may have lost you…but I am going to continue your legacy. Sabbat will live on, through the night and burning its blighted fist forever into the history of Althanas.

…Night…

“If you can hear me, love, I do this for you. I’m going home for you.”

The silence that had descended with the light was broken by a sound of bursting skin and the splattering of blood across the trees. Two long bony limbs had burst from Dresden’s back, and at a rapid speed sinew, muscle, and hide spread across them, forming a pair of massive wings that were nearly the size of his body. The daytime tan faded into a marbled white that he could be proud of, and he fingered the lupine teeth and fangs that grew back. Entirely painful process, but it was a familiar agony that he welcomed. It reminded him of the old days. Arching his back and spreading his wings, Dresden howled into the night, a bone chilling and blood curdling wolf’s call. Night, hear me, and fear me. Leir has returned.

[Witchblade]

It was a new sense of freedom; one she didn’t know what to do with.

It was a newly acquired piece of knowledge that she could impart upon no other.

All she’d ever wanted was a fraction of the truth and she’d received that and so much more when Althanas was laid bare before her in all its glory, in all its disgrace. To think that such a world could be nothing more than the elaborate workings of the human mind, to think that every race was hand created by someone and that every living and breathing person here was nothing more than a puppet through the strings of their creator. All their thoughts were not their own, all their actions were dictated for them and every challenge they faced was something thought through by their creator. It was all a lie and they had no sense of freedom, but she did.

Freedom wasn’t free.

With it came an understanding of the world around her she didn’t want. It was still something she had a hard time fathoming, because to her everything here was real, it felt real, it tasted real and it looked real. It made her wonder now that she knew the truth of her existence, did that in some way make her real? Was a creature that understood its existence and had its own thoughts thus classified as a living creature or was she still only a figment of some demented woman’s mind?

These were philosophical questions that she did not wish to burden her mind with, yet she could not help but think them. Life had become a seemingly complicated balance of existence after her experience in The Iron Fort and it left her wondering as of late if it would have been better for her to have never known this truth. It was giving her nothing but a headache and what was she supposed to do with it anyway? She imagined that telling other people within Althanas would do her no good, no one would believe such ramblings, it still amazed her that she had even considered them. What good would even come from telling another being this truth?

It left her feeling more alone than she could ever remember her being.

With the loneliness came the depression, the vile degradation of her mind that slowly release The Malice, a voice she hadn’t heard in many moons now.

I know what could make you feel better.

I’m not interested…

Now, now, no need to be testy with me. It’s been a while since you’ve been weak enough to allow my coming through…

Witch snarled and clenched her hands into tight fists, lamenting the very thought of her being called weak even though she knew right now it was true, she was mentally and physically weakened by this new burden of the world around her, Leave me be. Crawl back to the darkness from which you came and fester until I find a way to kill you…

She felt the presence recede to the corners of her mind, corners she had never dared venture into and once it was gone she fell to one knee. There was such a crushing presence within her, something she couldn’t even begin to explain. It left her feeling drained, it left her wanting to do nothing more than give in to the darkness and never return. She had never experience anything like this before, it was as if the mental knowledge was affecting her so much there were physical repercussions for it that were beginning to take their toll on her body the more she thought about her current situation. Every person she had ever met in her lifetime was no more real than she, every event that had ever occurred to her planned and thought out, everything about her life was made up by someone else, someone who probably held the key to her entire past, one she was uncertain of wanting to know about now. If this knowledge was weighing her down so much, then what of the knowledge of her past? She had long since given up her search for that, but this reminded her of those blank moments in her mind that something was supposed to fill yet nothing remained.

Her hand braced itself against the grass and dirt before her, the long strands tickling the underside of her palm. Digging her fingers into the soil in frustration, she ripped up the plants by the roots, hating her own newfound sense of weakness as she felt like screaming from the depths of her throat. But all that came out was a muffled, painful cry that was nowhere near to relieving what she felt on the inside. Her own pitiful cry was drowned out by the sound of something else, a howl, so very similar to the call of a wolf, but her sensitive ears picked up something different within the rising notes.

Picking herself up off the ground, the halfling began her useless wanderings once again. She had no where to go, she had no safe haven in which to hide herself at the moment until her mind was once again settled the presence of The Malice within her brought a sense of unease. It had been too long since that voice that talked to her and for it to suddenly appear now could only mean her own stability was wavering. The sun was gone now and the sky was beginning to darken. Already she could see the faint sparkle of stars dotting the darkest areas, the orange and red still blazing in the west. The fields that had been bathed in a golden glow were now being overrun with shadows and darkness that affected her eyes little. The forests were already blackened and she imagined the creatures of the night were slowly awakening from their slumbers, her, she never slept. The blissful ignorance of dreams was something never afforded to her, something she’d never needed before either. The night was and its coming was a relief to the tiring wanderer. If only she could find some kind of refuge in the night.

[Ürei]

Drama was in every fiber of Leir’s existence, and as he spun and faced the massive trees that stood at his back, it was in the idea of drama that inspired his actions. Going to theatres and watching tension-wrought plays and productions had played a toll on his mind and the way he thought, so though he didn’t enjoy bragging or showing off, he still burst into the air and latched onto the largest of the trees. Using his wings to gain some height, his steel claw-like nails dug into the massive tree’s trunk. Leir was no expert on trees and couldn’t identify what breed it was, but only knew that it reached somewhere near hundred feet in the air, and whilst the Elven city he had just left was not half a mile away, it was quite high enough.

Climbing with increasingly rapid speed, moving up the trunk like a dark cat, he soon reached the first branches and enclosed his wings to step onto one the more firm ones. Releasing the trunk, the demon leapt from branch to branch, twisting and turning to avoid being knocked out of the air, gaining distance in leaps and bounds. Soon his leap brought him out of the canopy of leaves, landing on a broken off trunk top high above the ground. Everything stretched out before him, the beautiful uncultivated land of Raiaera, and for that moment, he had his kingdom. Standing at the head, it felt as if he owned everything, and with one hand, he would crush it all. Chaos and pandemonium would be his name. But all of that would wait, first he had an annoying Elven tavern to squash!

Bursting from the treetop with a powerful leap that sent leaves flying, Leir glided out into the air, feeling absolutely free. Soon, gravity decided to kick in and began tugging at the demon, but as he spread his wings the night wind caught them in full and his entire form exploded upwards and forward with incredible speed. Soaring over the small stretch of land that separated him from the city, his eyes scanned the ground and spotted a few denizen creatures of the land moving about. None of them seemed important, but as he passed over the city, Leir’s gaze began to search for something else, the sign of that deeply aggravating tavern. Everyone within would learn what life was about. No songs, no happiness, no wine and lust. It was about sorrow and misery, and they must understand that.

Circling around the city once or twice, taking advantage of the wind and heat to keep himself high above the Elven city, he finally spotted the building he wanted. Watching it for a few moments, he found a large circular glass window that he remembered seeing in the lobby. It was perfect, and releasing his hold on gravity, his wings folded and he dived down. Cutting the air like an arrow, the demon used his wings to steer himself, then pushed down harder and harder, speeding straight for that massive rose window. Such glory must have been put into art like that, and such glee it would give him when he smashed through. Reaching out one hand to his side, the skin quavered and changed, turning into the demonically twisted metal gauntlet of the Lich. Shoving his fist down as he fell among the buildings and arches and fluid bridges, the metal broke through glass like butter, the sound louder then he would have thought as colorful shards of glass shot outwards into the lobby, impaling some but simply scaring most of them.

Slamming into the opposite wall, holding his claws in the carved wood to keep aloft, the demon surveyed the frightened and confused patrons with a malicious grin. A couple young ones and minstrels moved towards the single door, but intending for none of these joyful mortals to skip out on his lesson of pain, Leir burst from his perch and skidded across the floor to the front of the door. Standing straight up, spreading his wings, he roared again. Night, hear me, I offer you blood on this night, the beginning of Samhein! Blood for the tribute, blood for the heart of darkness to be born again.

“Don’t be scared…you will all die tonight…I am helping you pass on…as violently as possible!”

Laughing maniacally, he didn’t hesitate to pounce on the closest person who had dared to brandish a weapon against him. Dodging a drunken sword slice easily, the demon spun and shoved a long metal claw deep into the man’s gut, holding it there for a moment as he relished the surprised expression on his face. Then, ripping upwards and out, he sprayed the man’s entrails and guts across one of the scared minstrels. There was perfect silence as the man fell to his knees, but once his face hit the ground with a large thud, the night filled with the terrified screams of Elves. A sound so enjoyable, Leir almost wanted to simply stand there and relish in it. Yet, there was work to be done.

The screams continued on for a while in the night, but soon they ended, one by one, growing weaker until finally the last was cut short by a gurgling cry of pain. Leir could be found in that tavern, laying on one of the more comfortable couches, which he had moved to the center of the room, grasping a half-cleaned skull in his hands and chomping down on some Elf flesh. Soaked in blood, with a small pile of skulls accumulating nearby, the demon was never happier. His doublet had been ripped open at same time, and his strong yet thin chest showed though. His wings were spread out across the comfortable leather, lazily leaning over the edges as he reclined his bare feet on the slumped over body of the bartender.

“Sorry, barkeep, your advice was helpful but all that fat just looked so damn good!”

Laughing privately to himself, as if someone was there to hear him, he continued to finish off the head he was working on. Never before had he tasted Elven flesh, but he must admit, that it was quite exquisite. Samhein was a night to feast and be at home with your heart, and his feast was just beginning. Hopefully this event had attracted nearby bloodthirsty creatures of Raiaera, and he would take whatever comes and venture deep into the heart of decay, Antioch.

Come, darlings, come to me and bathe with me in the blood of pathetic mortals!

[Witchblade]

Where am I going?

She didn’t know.

What am I doing?

She didn’t know that either.

Her mind tried to force the myriad of unorganized thoughts aside, but every time she pushed on away one another worrisome thing slipped in and took up residence. Offhandedly she wondered where the old man was, the one who has bestowed upon her this great truth, this vast amount of knowledge that was supposed to free her from the manipulating hands of her creator. How did he deal with the knowledge he had and how could he justify telling others what he knew when it tore them apart on the inside? How existential her life had become and how she wished the giant trees towering around her could offer some kind of comfort to the wandering murderer.

Comfort.

She sneered at the word. So unlike her, what had she turned into, a snivelling coward that wondered at the philosophical meaning behind every plant and animal? The halfling cursed herself and the weakness that befell her. Soon she would find herself no greater than the humans she so enjoyed killing and she was no human, she needed no comfort in her life. All she needed was the constant flow of blood brought about by one of her weapons and the sounds of screams as she silenced one life right after another. She needed to look into the eyes of one human or another and watch as the life slowly left them leaving nothing but a blank, glazed puss of flesh staring back at her, accusingly as if she cared for the life just lost.

I told you this is what you need. Enough with thought, now is the time for action, now it is time to bathe yourself in the blood of others.

Witch placed one of her hands on her forehead as the words echoed around in her mind. The craving to kill, to take life was growing stronger within her and she knew The Malice was helping it along. Her urges for this sort of behaviour had always been the strongest when it was around. She had to be careful. Though placating itself now, The Malice was not a force to be toyed with, it lusted for control over her body perhaps even more than it lusted for blood and she had fought long and hard to keep her body her own. There had been times when she’d lost control, when she’d been weak enough to no longer suppress the creature within her and those memories were nothing more than a blur of sights, sounds and smells. She was a prisoner then within her own body as she watched what The Malice did without the ability to stop it. All she could do was fight for control, control she could never regain until finally her body was physically knocked unconscious. Her memories in times like that were almost as bad as the flashes she received from her past, yet still she remembered how her own two hands had nearly killed Xilium.

Xilium…you are just another controlled puppet in all of this. Where has your creator gone to leave you to the dust?

I thought I told you to go away…

This is much more entertaining.

It mocked her, after all, it could hear every thought that passed through her head. It knew everything about her and more so. Her fingers pushed back from her forehead, forcing strands of her hair away from her face as her nails scrapped against her scalp, the light amount of pain a sudden welcome. In times like this it was best to ignore The Malice and hope that it quickly retreated and left her to whatever peace her depraved mind could find.

There’s something nearby.

Her muscles tensed and all her senses abruptly came to life. She sniffed the air only picking up the smells of the animals and the wood though she could feel the life essence, the energy of something else, something that wasn’t a nighttime creature, at least not a natural one. Though The Malice was not always to be trusted, it too needed to look out for Witch’s well being, after all, if Witch died, so too would The Malice.

Look to the sky.

She did. Her eyes shot to the darkening expanse above her watching the figure of something fly by the night’s sky towards the West. It honestly struck her as what she would look like from the ground were any creature to look upon her as she flew passed. From this distance she could not tell if it was male or female and her sense of smell could not help her for the wind scattered it quickly. Her instincts said it was a male and she trusted her instincts more than anything else. Intrigued, the halfling began heading in the same direction, more than pleased with the distraction away from her own problems. Her pace quickened, her once dragging steps now expertly moving through the tall grass and then navigating over broken branches and bumps and rises in the forest floor as she broke the tree line. It didn’t take her long to come across a small Elven city settling down to sleep for the night. It was nothing compared to the vast intersecting streets of Eluriand, its simplistic houses boring compared to wondrous arches and artistic designs that made up that large city and easily captured even her eye. The biggest difference here, these streets were filled with the screams of the dying and the silence of the dead. The taint of blood saturated the air and following the last of the cries the murderer found herself winding through cobbled roads and passed darkened windows.

No cavalry was coming to the rescue, not this time.

Those inside their homes were probably too scared to leave them and come to anyone’s aid. The sound of death usually does that to people.

With her nose and her hearing it was easy to find the building from which this all originated from, a small tavern tucked away on one street. By now there was only silence, the kind of silence one rarely heard. Reaching the door, the halfling wrapped her fingers around the rusted handle and pushed the door open. Immediately the smell of death and blood grew ten fold and her eyes quickly pierced through the sullen light within to see why, the first thing that drew her attention was a man sitting aloof on a couch in the centre of the room, eating the flesh of the elf at his feet.

Disgusting…

Why he would wish to feast upon such filth was beyond her. But still, it was an interesting sight to behold. The wings at his back covered most of the couch, his shirt slightly ripped open allowing her a glimpse at the pale contours of his chest and in his hand was the partially clean skull of someone who had been living not too long ago. How picturesque. The entire room was covered in the blood of those that had fallen to him and she didn’t bother counting the bodies that lined the floor.

She leaned against the doorframe, her arms folding under her already ample bosom as her hip balanced her against the door. Her body was mostly covered in her cloak and her face shadowed by her hood. He wouldn’t be able to see much save from her nose down and it was hard not to notice the purple markings on her face and her sewn lips, which were a stark contrast to her alabaster skin. Her scar was partially visible, the line was there on her left cheek and across her left eye but he couldn’t see most of it. He wouldn’t be able to see most of her at all.

“Hmm, pretty…”

[Ürei]

Leir felt it long before he saw it; coming at him like a boulder of power plowing through the streets. Even the taste of the sweet but sour Elven flesh was barely savory anymore compared to the dark energies that were rolling towards him. His cry in the dark had been heard, and something way beyond his own level was coming to answer his call. This demon dearly hoped that whatever it was, it didn’t enjoy demon flesh. Then, as the door he had previously barred fell open and revealed a veiled woman, beautiful in shape but hidden by a black hooded cloak and an aura of mystery. The only significant things he could see were a curiosity-invoking scar and even more strange stitches, sewing up her mouth. Why such things hadn’t been removed were among one of the many questions on the edge of his tongue, but it would never be stated. Not yet.

She leaned up against the frame of the door, and from where Leir was sitting he felt as if he was drowning in the woman’s aura. Whatever she was, his league had long been lost far below her in the deep dark. For a split second he thought that maybe this had been a bad idea, to call out Raiaera’s nighttime creepy crawlies on the day when even the deepest of graves were split to emit their unyielding occupants. But, that all fell away when the demon remembered why he was here. Sabbat was to be reborn, and if that were to happen, he would need strength. Sintuioch wouldn’t possibly admit him through once more, and Antioch was a land of danger and corruption. Samhein spread across the world, and if Raiaera was bad, then Antioch, a land of dead, would be a thousand times worse. With this in mind, he straightened himself on his chair, leaned forward, and let his wings gradually fold onto his back. Wings almost invisible behind him, a sincere smile spread across his face when the word, “pretty” came into his mind.

So, if she can’t speak, then she lets me know what she wants me to hear by thought. Interesting.

For a moment he just surveyed her, trying to get a sense of what could possibly be hiding under that cloak. She was a dark entity, and a tinge of undeath came with her, but the sense was too strange for it to be a Vampire Lord or any normal type of Immortal Undead. Finding the simple feeling of her to crawl across his skin like nothing he had felt before invigorating, his smile spread a little wider. A dark respect had formed for this being, maybe because of the way she presented herself. Finally, he decided on his course of action and spoke, hoping dearly not to offend her. If he did, it would probably be the end of him. Or, at least, hurt a whole lot.

“My name is Leir. I am glad you find my midnight snack pretty. I was truly hoping that someone like yourself would come, for I am seeking help. I want to return home. So very much am I weary of traveling across these lands aimlessly, and my heart beckons for me to return home.”

Standing up, his wings folded under his skin, a tiny bit painfully, but he didn’t even cringe. Without losing stride, he strode halfway across the room, not getting close enough to discomfort her, and slowed down. A wanderer always knew another traveler, and his instincts told her that the road was her only home as it had been his for so very long. Maybe it would convince her if he could give her what every day he longer for. A place to be that was guaranteed safety.

“If you would help me, I maybe can help you. Being a wanderer is so very hard, and I know it too well. Just as I know there is times when you want to just find a place to lie down and hide from the world, and feel safe. Please, come with me, and I promise there will be a home for you there as well. What do you say, will you help me?”

Standing, he reached out one hand, just enough for it to be an offer for help, not an offer for her to step up to him. Leir had known, from the moment he felt her, that he was far below her. It would take convincing, not controlling, to gain her assistance. But anything was worth it, because she was the type that he was looking for. This woman could make Sabbat powerful, to gain its goals, and deep in his heart, he wanted to give her a home and relieve her of the wanderer’s worries.

[Witchblade]

She watched him carefully from the darkness of her hood, listening to each syllable as he poured forth his speech just for her, someone he was looking for, just for her, someone he needed the help of. He moved from his position on the couch, his wings returning to the flesh of his back and though he didn’t show it she knew it hurt, why, well because she was in his head and because she owned a pair of those herself. As he spoke to her she listened with her ears and her mind for any falsities that may lie in his words, but she found none. He appeared to actually be speaking the truth with her though the depths of his mind held far more secrets than she was willing to indulge herself with at the moment. The only thing that kept coming to the forefront of his thoughts was the word Sabbat, something she could tell stood for so much more. And one other word, one other name, one she hadn’t heard mention of in a long time.

Lorenor…

The demon before her approached and offered his hand, dripping with the blood of the victims around him. He was saturated in it himself and he smelled more of elf than he did anything else and it was repulsive to her nose. She’d rather him smell like the demon he was.

Taking a step forward, the halfling cocked her head to the side as she began to move in slow deliberate steps around the man, her footfalls making barely an audible sound to his ears and the soles of her feet carefully avoiding the dead and dismembered. She was stalking him now. Like he was prey, she was predator and she was wondering how best to deal with him. He would certainly be a much more challenging battle than were she to raze this entire village to the ground, he would put up a fight. He wouldn’t win and that was not only her arrogance speaking to her but his strength was far beneath hers. She may toy with him for a while and enjoy the pain she was inflicting upon him, but it would end all too soon when his heart eventually stopped beating. Oh yes, he would fight, he would cry and then quite possible, he would die.

She blinked a few times and cleared her head. It was The Malice influencing her again, she knew it, she could feel its essence crawling over her skin like the disease it was, affecting every aspect of her thoughts. If she wasn’t carefully she’d turn into another mindless killer far beyond the worse of her already monstrous personality and depraved mind. The murderer pushed the thoughts and cravings aside as she continued to circle the demon before her, showing none of her inner struggle.

So he offered a home, a place of refuge for her to escape to and how The Fates mocked her with the very thing she had been thinking of only moments before, or was it that someone else who controlled the very environment around her? Still, would she take such a gift from this…demon, this stranger before her? Would she continue to play the loner or would she act and do something that could prove beneficial to her well being, not to mention how nice it would be to finally have a place in which she could call her own, a home. It was an interesting thought but all she could picture were four barren walls surrounding her, enclosing in on her and suffocating her. A place to live was nothing she’d ever needed before, why should she need it now? But a part of her rebelled and spoke of a need for it, a place she felt safe in, a place where her guard could actually be lowered. It was an interesting idea for she couldn’t remember the last time her guard had been down, perhaps never.

“You offer an interesting proposal…Leir.” Her words were like a seductive caress to his unguarded mind, unintentional, for what would she need of seduction? “A home for the weary wanderer…”

You don’t need such a thing. Spill his blood and be done with it, he mocks you with such an offering.

On any other day she may have agreed, on any other day she may have killed the stranger and be done with it, but in her current situation it was appealing. She was weak, no, she didn’t want to use that word, she hated that word, she was wounded. The knowledge passed on to her was causing mental strife within her that was beginning to affect her in physical ways she had no idea could occur. It was maddening to be in such a position. Besides, it was not herself asking for help from this stranger, he was in fact asking for her assistance and merely offering her something in return.

“It intrigues me…”

Her arms fell from the crossed position under her chest and returned to her sides, her fingers brushing against the hilt of one of her daggers as she continued to contemplate. By now she had reached the sofa the stranger had once been laying back against so nonchalantly, until she had walked into the room. Without her realizing it she had wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her dagger and removed the weapon from its sheath, the sound audible in all the silence. She quickly returned it to its place of holding.

I cannot believe you’re actually considering his offer…you’re doing more than considering it, you’re actually going to accept are you!?

Yes…

He’s pathetic, he’s disgusting, he’s…he’s…

Shut up…

Clearly The Malice did not appreciate the idea that she could recover her mental stability rather easily were she in a place of rest, where her mind could freely work out her problems without worry of the consequences of her questions. This would of course bring The Malice one-step behind in taking her over. What a shame really, on it’s behalf anyway, she was quite content with her control. The longer she kept it the better and the less influence that thing had on her the less she was likely to give in to it’s indulgence for blood. And the less likely she was to kill the man before her.

“I shall accept…however, I wish to know more about how you know Lorenor. I could pick through your memories in order to find out myself if you refuse… and I promise it to be painful.”

The hood fell away from her face of it’s own volition as she finally stopped circling him like the predator she was.

[Ürei]

Despite the fact that the prying fingers in his mind, Dresden never once pulled back or tried in any way to stop her. If she wanted to test him, see if he was telling the truth, let her. The demon wasn’t hiding anything from her, and there was no point in pulling a curtain over the truth if it would come out eventually. Anyways, since his request for help was honest, it could do nothing but help his cause. His concentration was slightly distracted and when she spoke into him that she would accept, it took a moment to sink in. But, before it did sink in the name Lorenor was spoken and it burnt a stitch into him. Almost gasping in shock he spun around, staring at her as the hood fell. Staring deep into those bloody eyes, Dresden searched for any clue as to how she knew his love. Maybe she had information on where he was right now, or maybe she was in contact with him.

Ever since the severing of his connection with Saraneth, the triangle of emotions that constantly passed through the three of them, Saraneth, Lorenor and himself, also collapsed. When one goes so long with that close connection, never being alone and never once going without being able to feel your love, it was heart shattering to lose. As Leir emerged from his dawn prison where Kadaverakous had kept him he felt broken and so very alone. Just as when his form had first been resurrected on Althanas, it was such a deep and destroying sense of isolation that his soul itself was damaged by it. But, something clicked inside Leir when he watched her. A hope that wasn’t there before; maybe, just maybe, he would find Lorenor again, and once again fill that empty void within his soul. Gaps that only love can breach.

The question still stood however, and the empty space that his thoughts had taken up was beginning to grow uneasy. If the demon lost his cool now he might also lose the tiny fragment of a fraction of acceptance that this creature had for him. Regaining himself, he spoke honestly of what he knew of Lorenor, but didn’t say everything. Most was still burrowed deep within himself, so deep that even if she dug, she may never find it.

“Lorenor was my partner in finding our home deep within the bowels of darkness. I found a love within him that I couldn’t feel in any else, and thought never would after the death of my first love. I am returning home, and hoping that one day he may find me again. The last I saw of him…he was being changed…and I have lost my link with him. If you are looking for him, I cannot help you anymore then I could help myself.

“The night of Samhein grows darker, and with the full moon high above, Death will have turned over all its minions unto this dark earth. If you wish to help me, then we must leave soon, or else our path will close. The entrance to our destination will close as the Samhein ends.”

Lorenor…if you are out there, find me. Please, find me, on this darkest of nights.

With barest of hopes that his silent prayer was heard somewhere in this wide world, Leir turned and walked towards the door of the tavern. The visage of the female was something that he burned in his memory. Her blood red eyes, her dark hair, and the stitches that held nothing but secrets in. More eerie then anything else, her presence felt as if she wasn’t alone. Something else was taking note of him, and he hadn’t noticed it until the creature was inside his mind. Each step she took, she bore the foot of a soul that was at war with itself. The way it felt was…shocking and he could only imagine how it effected her. When the demon had reached the door, however, all these thoughts were whisked away as he realized he had never properly introduced himself. Turning, he tried his best to hold in a smirk as the door fell open, highlighting his form with brilliant silver moonlight, making the fresh blood shimmer.

Unable to control himself anymore, he grinned, a long canine showing under his lip. Speaking softly and precisely, Dresden spoke both inside his mind and aloud at the same time.

“My name once was Leir, but now it is Dresden Myrmidos,” he declared, knowing she would sense if he didn’t tell the full truth, “Would the one who helps me tell me her name, or shall you remain as mysterious in name as you are in form?”

[Witchblade]

So he had found some heart-warming sense of human emotion within Lorenor. It disgusted her that he would desire such a thing. He was a Demon, what did he need with petty human emotions. And why, pray tell, would a man like Lorenor need them? The truth was though she knew very little about the Vampire Lorenor for their time together had been short. He had come and gone. Disappearing like so many of the others that had crossed her path before him. So many others that she could no longer remember. But he stayed with her, as memories faded and faces and names became a blur that she could no longer distinguish, his remained. Like the face of Xilium, they remained. Why, she didn’t know. Perhaps it was because of the help Lorenor had given her, perhaps it was that small piece of truth he had bestowed upon her. Before she met him she’d had no idea what she was, but he had told her. Half of her parentage was vampiric and he had taught her small things about vampires while trying to hide his puzzlement over her ability not to need blood to survive. It still was bit of a puzzle to this day, the truth behind it unknown to her.

He had certainly been an interesting acquaintance and should the day ever arise once again, she would like to cross his path. But now was not that time, now was a time of something else. As the Demon before her began to leave, the halfling followed behind, pausing only as he turned once again. His display a little too dramatic for her tastes but he seemed to enjoy it.

“I am Witchblade…you may call me Witch.”

He was eccentric and very careful with his words. She was beginning to like him already. Like and truth were two completely different things and trust was something she did not hand out. He was a Demon and as a Demon she expected him to act to fulfill his own needs and wants because that was what Demons did. It was what she did.

Feeling some movement from her rucksack, Witch paused her advanced towards the door. The sound of protesting grunts and a purring growl emerged from the black, leather as the sides considerably shifted with whatever was moving around within. A few seconds later, the top flapped was pushed aside and two white, scaly paws emerged. Each paw adorned with five long, sharp, black claws. They were quickly followed by the head of a dragon. The baby dragon yawned, revealing a row of extremely sharp teeth. His eyes opened and the pure black orbs stood out intensely against the white of his scales. Slowly, he reached forward and dragged the rest of his body out of the rucksack, sitting atop his favourite perch, Witch’s shoulder. He stretched out his wings, the underside of them silver and shimmering in the moonlight cast through the open door.

“Good morning, Daegun…”

The psychic link remained open, though she was intentionally talking to her familiar, Leir would be able to hear her as well.

The little dragon purred his response as he slowly became aware of his surroundings. He sniffed the air and then focused on Leir. Leaping down from Witch’s shoulder he walked over to the stranger, his tail bounding from side to side in excitement as he went. Not even the pile of bodies bothered him. He simply climbed over them and walked through the sticky piles of blood leaving a trail of bloody footprints in his wake.

You should learn to keep that thing on a short leash.

If only I could keep you on a short leash…

Bounding over to the Demon, Daegun carefully sniffed his leg before a rather playful sound emerged from the depths of his throat. Placing his paws on Leir’s pants, Daegun waved his tail around expectantly. Witch narrowed her eyes. Though it was not something she freely voiced, Daegun was very important to her and his careful and trusting nature was something she did not share.

“No, Daegun…”

The dragon looked back to his master and then removed his paws from Leir’s leg, leaving two bloody paw prints on the white surface. Walking forward, the halfling walked passed Leir and into the clear night. The fresh air immediately refreshing her and washing away much of the elf smell that had permeated that small tavern. Daegun ran after her making strange grunting noises as he tried to get her attention but she knew what he wanted.

“I don’t think so. You’re covered in the blood of elves, I don’t want that disgusting smell all over me.”While he had emerged with blood all over his paws and even his legs, the halfling barely had a drop on her.

The dragon seemed slightly disappointed by this fact, but quickly found something shiny to chase after and ran ahead of her. His form stuck out in the darkness like a beacon. The light from the moon practically made him glow.

[Ürei]

Witchblade…very descriptive. A wicked sword personified in a demon, forged by the dark and never losing its edge.

Unsure whether he would be able to get used to calling her ‘Witch’ all the time, Dresden thought back to the last time he had encountered a witch. Even though it was completely unrelated to this, his thoughts fell on Maede, the foolish lady who had once been one of his race but was gifted with the painful transformation into a mortal when she betrayed Leir for the third time. This betrayal, however, was also to her entire race, and she hadn’t deserved being a Lucaviafate anymore, for it was her fault that Saraneth knew of the existence of those dark entities he released to destroy his race. Saraneth the cruel, and Maede the wise.

I wonder if she is still alive. She is a wicked little thing, and last I knew she was trying to discover a way to replenish her immortality. Some dark grail for those with powers as great as her own. Heh, if she lives somewhere, I need to pay her a visit. Remind her that I, too, am still breathing. Breathing and hating.

Maybe vengeance wasn’t dead yet, but there were definitely more important things to do. Dresden was about to turn to leave when a dragon made an appearance. The beast had a strange heart to be both deeply innocent and trusting and still finding love in the cold being that stood before him. The care she exhibited for the being gave this demon a sense that maybe there was more to the lady then what he suspected. Maybe she was a bit more human then the frozen shell she put up suggested.

Grinning as the beast leapt on him, Dresden pet its head before she called it off, only to let him watch it lead her out into the street. Following her with careful ease, he glanced down at his once-white clothing. His vest was torn asunder down the middle and his pants were so deeply stained in blood that they nearly appeared black in the dim light. Before passing through the threshold of the building, he reached over and grabbed a long coat from one of the minstrels who lay dead at the door. It, too, was soaked black with Elven blood, but the demon pulled it on anyways. Wiping his hands off and licking a few pieces of meat from under his fingernails, he finally glanced at the woman, Witch.

“There is a temple hidden deep in the blackened ash lands of Antioch. At the back of that temple is the shrine acting as a gate into Sintuioch. If one doesn’t have the key to get it, it will close when the Night of The Living ends. There are quite a few methods for reaching Antioch at such a time, but I suppose the fastest that I know of would be taking a trade ship. We can…kindly convince someone to lend us a hand.”

He turned down the street, towards the Merchants Quarter, which lay near the docks. This city was inland, but a massive river ran nearby and they weren’t far from the ocean. Antioch wasn’t far, and unless Witch had a better plan, then they could find a Raiaeran Trade vessel which were famous for their speed. Spell singers that controlled the wind were often aboard, and the trade vessels had been plentiful lately due to the growing tension with Alerar. If war was going to start, everyone wanted to be well-supplied.

Howls and screams filled the night, though, and Dresden had barely gotten inside the Merchant’s Quarter of the city whose name he could not pronounce when he saw one of the larger sources of misery. A massive bonfire had started up in the docks and was slowly spreading to the nearby buildings. Around the fire was a rather large riot group of Elves fighting against what appeared to be a combination of zombies, solidified shadows, and some demonic looking bull thing that Dresden had no name for. Groaning audibly at the distraction, he scanned the waters for a suitable ship and only found two. One of them was dangerously near the wind-swept flames and might catch hold anytime. Unfortunately, the other available trade ship was docked on the other side of the flames. The mob of fighters and monsters was in their way.

“Well…this is interesting. Got any better ideas?”

Chuckling softly, both in humor at the irony and at the annoyance that everything else was also out tonight to cause chaos. Sometimes chaos was just a pain, even if he supported its spread and creation.

[Witchblade]

The halfling had not noticed it before. The smell of the Demon beside her, bathed in the blood of the elves had masked it. And the death they had left behind was yet another thing to hinder her nose and her senses. But still, as they drew closer to The Merchant’s Quarter the fire had begun to reach her sensitive nose. The distinct smell of burning wood and burning flesh. It was an interesting combination but she enjoyed the smell of the wood far more than the flesh. Humans, elves and any other creature did not smell that great when they were burning. There were other smells permeating the night air as well but as they entered The Merchant’s Quarter she had been unable to identify them. Once her eyes caught sight of the fight before her it all fell into place.

Undead…

The elves were supposed to have beaten the undead yet here they were, continuing to fight the abominations. The distinct smell of something rotting was what had been disturbing her. It was not a scent she enjoyed. She would take the smell of a human over that any day. This was an unfortunate set back though, the Demon beside her had wished to use the ships now burning a beacon into the night as their transportation. Unless they joined in the battle it was not something that seemed likely to happen.

Come, come, join in on all the fun and carnage…

She gritted her teeth and tried her best to ignore the blood lust and the lust for death. She hungered for it and the smell of it so close was making it hard for her to ignore.

You know you want it, there’s no point in denying yourself…

Her claws extended against her will. The halfling forced her hands into tight fists and felt the bite of her own weapons as their sharp points easily pierced her flesh. Dark, blue blood welled over her fingers and dripped to the cobbled street below but in the darkness it looked black.

Stop fighting it, give in…give in!

She squashed the groan even as it began in her throat. But she couldn’t stop the pounding that was beginning to thunder through her skull. It was like the beating of a heart only it wasn’t hers and it was loud and overpowering… The halfling shook her head and pressed a hand to her forehead. Blood smeared across her pale skin but she ignored it, she had more important things to worry about. Like the overwhelming sense of darkness that pushing against her mind. The Malice was trying to take over and she was doing a poor job fighting against it. She couldn’t keep this up for much longer, but she couldn’t show weakness in front of the Demon beside her. Witch needed to get away from the fight, from the blood and from the death. If she stayed here there was no doubt in her mind that The Malice would eventually win.

“We fly to Antioch…” even the telepathic words sounded strained.

Recovering as much of her composure as she could, Witchblade slipped her rucksack from her shoulder. The blood smeared against her forehead—her own blood—she wiped away with her cloak before she released the clasp and let it slip from her shoulders. The black material pooled at her feet but she quickly scooped it up and placed it within the rucksack. Underneath the darkness of the cloak one could not have seen much of her body, but now nothing kept wandering eyes at bay. Black leather adorned her legs, worn from travel and scuffed where it disappeared into black leather boots. A pair of sai glinted in the moonlight from either side of her boots and though they did not look outwardly dangerous they were deadly in the right hands. Her top was black leather as well, sleeveless, it tied up the front but she always kept it loose and showing much of her…assets. A belt adorned her waist with ten sheaths on it but only nine hilts of nine throwing daggers were within them. Along the small of her back were twin daggers each carefully sheathed.

Daegun came bounding back towards her as she finished tightly buckling the straps of her rucksack.

“Time to fly, Daegun…”

Standing straight, Witch called for her wings. The sound of flesh tearing and bones cracking filled the night almost drowned out by the noises of the faraway battle. Black bone came first, quickly followed by the black membrane that spread between. The pain of forming her wings was something she was used to and all the more welcoming for it chased off the darkness of her mind that had been threatening to take her over. Stretching out the newly formed appendages, Witch quickly took to the air. The motion of her wings sending the blood they were covered in flying off in all directions. Only a few feet into the air, the halfling turned and looked to the Demon and waited for him to join her.

[Ürei]

The flames were rising higher, licking the full moon and roasting its fat belly in a deep hearth. Smoke had now concealed the fighters from view, but their Elven and inhuman screams still broke the air. Waves of heat were beginning to approach them, the air shimmering in front of their faces. A scowl grew slowly on Dresden’s face as he watched the procession of chaos. First one boat, then the next, leaping from deck to deck unmercifully until finally the last sail had been shredded by the claws of flame. The demon repressed a sigh as his claws retracted that they never even got the chance to fight for a boat. Just as he turned to look at Witch he heard the message and a pang of guilt and pain sprung inside him.

She was undressing, and though she was beautiful, he could barely look at her. Turning away, he placed his head in one hand and tried to think as quietly as he could manage. Not exactly sure if she could hear his mental ramblings or not, the demon had to make a decision quick. Every fiber of who he always thought he was screamed at him, denying the possibility of asking for help. However, at the same time, this night was a very special one and it would only come around once a year. It would be a waste to ruin this perfect opportunity just because he couldn’t get the courage to break his pathetic dignity and ask for assistance. Then, to add even more complications, he had to worry about what she would think of him, a winged beast that couldn’t even fly. A broken doll.

Growling at himself and halting the internal struggle, Dresden’s head inclined skyward. The stars were out tonight, playing audience to the horrific deeds that would be performed on this day. They were the stadium sitting in silence around the moon, divine eyes forever searching in all directions for an interesting bit of reality to view. It would be beautiful for him to one day ascend to those stars again, on the wings of his own willing. Something that he had not been able to do ever since Saraneth scarred him, ripped from him his ability to break free of gravity. An ability that now sat just under the surface of the skin, waiting for the right time to be wakened.

Maybe the time is soon, but it isn’t now. I must ask.

His eyes fell from the heavens and he faced Witch with a very serious and set face. For a moment, he only watched her as she let her dragon, Daegun, out of the bag and he took to flight with her. Then, with a grin, he reached up one hand in an obvious request for assistance.

“The one that I hated once tore my wings from me. Then, in anger, he stole from me the skies. I cannot fly. I will ever hate him, even as he lies in his grave, for that.”

It was a statement, but at the same time, another request for assistance. Now he wasn’t only asking her to help him open the gate of Antioch and bear the never-before defeated defenses of Sintuioch, but also carry him there. It was against his Lucaviafate pride to make such a demand, but now was not the time to be stubborn.

“Antioch waits…and it has never been known to be patient.”

Now the decision was all hers. She must decide whether he was worthy of her help if he couldn’t even keep up with her. However, Dresden would have never asked for help if he was as powerful as Witchblade. They both had offers for each other, and even a demon can come to trust another demon. If Dresden was ever to trust anyone, he felt he might trust Witch.

[Witchblade]

He couldn’t fly?

But she had seen him. Earlier in the evening he had been flying across the night sky towards town. That was what had drawn her attention. And in the tavern he had been relaxing against the sofa with his wings spread out behind him. Yet there was no lie within his words, only honesty. It was hard to lie to a person who had a direct link into your mind and even in there she detected no dishonesty from him. Then why could he fly before but not now?

One question from a many. It was his problem becoming hers because she was going to have to carry him now.

He’s pathetic…

That was a word she knew all too well, for that was a word she used often. The halfling had always been of the mind that a person should be strong enough to deal with what life threw at them on their own. To ask for help was to show weakness and the strong always exploited those weaker than them and crushed them in the palm of their hands. It was the way the world worked, it was the way she worked. But there had always been the small part of her personality, that little unexplainable thing that told her anyone who could swallow their pride and ask for help deserved it. Witch had never been quite sure where it came from but she had lived by it many times already.

Lowering herself a few feet, Witch reached out and wrapped her fingers around Dresden’s wrist. The coat he had stolen from one of the dead else was covered in blood and she could feel the still wet liquid squish through the material to her fingers. But it was better than touching his flesh. In fact she had only clasped him around the wrist because he was wearing the coat and this way she would not physically touch him.

“Be careful of the spikes on my armguards…” and don’t touch my skin.

Why she didn’t add the last part she didn’t know. It was something she liked to keep to herself though. Not being allowed physical contact with others was not exactly something one mentioned in idle conversation. In fact, it was something she didn’t mention at all if she could. It was a nuisance though and had hindered her too many times in the past. One of the more recent times being her trip to Salvar in which she met the Drow Izvilvin. He had touched her and she had seen scenes from his past she cared not to witness. A previous trip in Salvar had nearly left one of her allies dead when he’d touched her. It was a hard thing to control and in this state if Dresden were to she had no doubt in her mind that The Malice would easily overpower her.

Using her own brute strength, Witch hefted the Demon off the ground and then quickly took to the skies. The town the below them quickly shrank until it looked like nothing more than a children’s toy. The smell of the fire was still in the air though from this height she could barely detect it but the blaze was evident. It was a guiding light to those out tonight. But they were heading away from it.

“Which direction…?