Return of the Monster

[Storm Veritas]

Closed to grim and osato

Radasanth was a funny place. On the surface, it was the idyllic old town; a bustle of commerce, smiles on the faces of the merchants and bargain shoppers alike. Police roamed the streets armed only with their clubs and muscles. Children went to organized and structured schools, and the offspring from town ventured forth unto the world, eager to spread their brainpower to all jobs that paid well. It seemed as though these cobbled streets may have truly been lined with gold, and on the early autumn mornings, with the sun rising slow off the eastern horizon, that glint of the ultimate dream even appeared to manifest itself.

Yet the secret lifeblood of Radasanth was well hidden beneath the shining veneer. Those that dared to walk the streets at night did so at their own risk, as the most sinister of humanity often lurked just outside the glare of fiery streetlamps. They robbed, pillaged, and raped the town frequently, putting a scare into the “good folk” who carried their change-purses high and tight to their wrists, ready to throw it down and run, leaving a small take in joyful exchange for their lives. Sure, two-thirds of the rich and daring had never even seen a mugging, but the stories did all the work needed to scare them from the streets. The monsters had won over the night.

Once upon a time, Storm Veritas was perhaps the worst of all the monsters. He was a man without a name, the tall and slender fellow who never left them living. Killing came natural to him; whatever taboo it was that surrounded death disappeared at a young age, as killing swine on his father’s farm was really not so different from gutting the rich. At least the pigs were inherently innocent. They were no less filthy, he had found, and in fact cried far less than the phony-brave diplomats who wore highbrow clothing and never knew to fight instead of beg. Thin and frail, half of them could probably take that abomination of a man bearing down on them.

But they never had the courage to try. Never important to them to protect themselves, when throwing money at a problem solves everything.

Perhaps when he started he considered himself a contemporary Robin Hood; he certainly took from the rich, and gave to himself, a poor man by any standards. Yet as his activity rate flourished, he found himself able to buy the finer things, to run the higher deals. He merely killed them in spite; the faceless denizens and the silver spoon-fed. None of them mattered. None of them were real.

And neither are you.

Returning to this one horse town, he found himself not so unlike those he had terrorized. He had money; the petty pursuits of the poor were beneath him now. The finer things were his, and he looked the part. His pressed white shirt was starched and taut to his now-muscular frame. A tie neatly matched his charcoal vest, and the warm feel of a thick wool coat caressed his shoulders. His hair was pulled back slick and smooth; an aquiline nose leading before a pale and yet strangely handsome face. Tall, athletic, and handsome, he could easily pass for what many would call a human being now. Of course, those that accused him of humanity had no idea what they were talking about.


~*~

“Another scotch, brut, single malt. No water, and no training wheels this time. I’m a big boy, Roland.”

The bartender slid a crystal snifter to him with a debonair ease, Storm’s skeletal fingers quickly dominating the glass. The low amber hue to the room was simple yet elegant, and piano music softly whispered from the back of the room. Fine mahogany wood was everywhere, giving a deep burgundy richness to the elitist establishment. The bar was lined strictly with rich men and stunning women; obvious high-end prostitutes looking to lure in the whale. The shifty, steel cold eyes of Veritas danced about the room, a conscious swagger to his gaze. He was supposed to be a big-timer now, or so much he told himself.

The lovely tavern was a playground for him, and the alcohol he freely consumed was more sand than swing-set. After all, he was shopping tonight, looking for another large score, another fun time. It wouldn’t take long. A fat, elder fellow was sipping what looked to be a well-Irished coffee, and by the side of his ebony three-piece, a buxom blonde stirred a martini glass with a slow, deliberate twist. Her hand suggested a definitive action, dimples popping at the corners of her mouth. Large, even, stunning white teeth and brilliant blue sapphires sparkled at the man, and her voice was soft, sultry, and just below discernable.

Your name will be... Sabrina…

A quick splash, and the scotch was downed, the empty glass filled with gleaming gold coins. They made little matter now, as they’d never fill the void. Standing, his hand quickly rifled into his belt, seemingly tucking in a shirt that strayed while sitting. Pulling the hand forward and into his pocket, none would see the flash of steel beneath his fingers before he thrust the hand back into his pants pocket. He walked towards the lovely girl, his eyes on the old man all the while. The dance was about to begin.

[grim137]

Murder, pillage, steal, vandalize, destroy, in his relatively short life Tarry Whealer had done all of those things and then some. Yet that wasn’t even the worst part, not by a long shot. The worst part was that he was supposed to be one of the good guys, at least in his mind. He was supposed to be a sort of hero for the weak and down trodden, a modern day Zorro if you will. The only problem with that notion was that he was absolutely addicted to the smell and taste of blood and to the wonderful feeling of strength and pride you get when you single handedly end someone’s life, when you defile their being more than any rapist ever could and control their fate in a way most people would never get to experience, not even the richest, most high ranking people. It was because of this that people had a tendency to die at the vampire’s hands like the worthless animals that he usually felt they were, so the whole hero thing usually didn’t work out.

“Cattle, that’s all they are to me is cattle. The rich jerk offs, the vampire hunters, the thieves, the whores, the drunks, the women, and the children are all the same. I’m no longer human so I shouldn’t have to worry about killing them. It’s no different than when they squash a cockroach under the sole of their boots or when they chop a cow up for sausage. Besides at least the ones I pick to die deserve it.”

That was how he justified his often horrible and sinful actions to himself. That was how in his mind, which was scarred and deformed nearly beyond recognition, killing some how became a normal, natural thing to do. It was why he was slowly becoming immune to the mental and psychological effects of committing acts, almost on a regular basis, that were too horrible and disturbing for most normal people to even so much as think about.

Tarry moved calmly through the dark, nighttime streets and alleys of Radasanth away from the glow of the streetlights and the ever-vigilant eye of the Corone Armed Forces (CAP). Unlike the rest of the residents of Corone Tarry had no fear of what lurked in the shadows at night, of the murderers, thieves and rapists that infested the nooks and crannies of the city waiting for an opportune moment to strike and pounce on their next victim. No, in the few short years since his blooding, the mentally unstable vampire had grown accustomed to the night, the shadows, and the things it hid. In fact on a night like tonight all the criminals that were normally feared should have been afraid because tonight, Tarry was out to feed.

Slowly the vampire slinked through the darkness like a snake through the grass until he came upon his prey. Standing in the empty back alleyway of The Golden Chalice, a well known, relatively high class place for people to go and get hammered, stood a gorgeous young girl. Long legs, bright green eyes, dark red hair, and clothing that would make a porn star blush with embarrassment. Tarry knew her type well, an outcast of society that tried to make a living off of what ever talents they had, in her case those “talents” probably involved doing a lot of stuff naked with rich people for exorbitant prices. In other words the poor elfin girl, who looked to be barely over 19 years of age was the kind of person nobody would give a fuck about if she turned up dead, the perfect target for a hungry predator. It really was a shame she had to die, but that was how the circle of life went.

“Can I offer you a good time” she said seductively as Tarry walked slowly and calmly out of the shadows of the buildings and into the light generated by the lively bar towards his intended to prey.

“Actually miss, I believe you can” said the sly vampire; talking as if her idea of ‘good time’ was the same as the one he was thinking of at that moment.

“Well then what ‘ill it be,” she said walking closer “for the right price I can do almost anything.”

“Good to hear.”

Those were the last words the girl would here coming from Tarry’s calm, almost emotionless voice, because it was at that moment the he attacked with such speed and skill unlike anybody else that was out on the streets that night, or in Radasanth at all for that matter. The vampire’s left hand shot out and grabbed her around the mouth, his enhanced strength easily preventing her from opening her mouth to scream or from his escaping his clutches. His other hand quickly moved from his side to the inside of his coat, around the handle of one of his daggers, and back out side in the girls luscious neck.

Once he slit her throat he cupped his mouth gently over the open wound and let the rich, red liquid flow freely down his throat, being careful not the let a drop of the liquid flow out of his mouth. There was no emotion in Tarry’s movements; to him all he was doing was going through the motions. When he was done, the blind vampire wiped away the few stray drops of blood off his lip and threw the girl's body down at his feet like a toy he had become sick of playing with, and sheathed his dagger again. There was no need to hide the body, the CAP would merely assume she was just another unfortunate victim of a murder and all she would become was another statistic.

With a satisfied sigh Tarry walked back off into the nighttime shadows, truly feeling content after the feeding. It truly was good to be back in Radasanth.

[Osato]

Radasanth had quickly become almost home for the young sell-sword. It had not been his first stop after leaving the islands off the southern coast of Corone, but it had definitely been one of the most interesting. Scara Brae had entertained his lust for adventure to a degree. Radasanth had nearly fulfilled it though.

Osato had been wandering the streets of Radasanth for some time, possibly a month or so. Trouble had found him sometimes; at other times he had gone and found it. People had paid him well for both. Things had been going well for the sell-sword and drifter; he had started becoming jack-of-all trades almost. The young man had never expected what would come next though, never expected that people would begin falling around him. He had found peace, or a sense of belonging at least.

In the tavern of the aristocratic, The Golden Chalice, Osato had found himself that night. In one hand was a very thick, almost muddy looking drink. It was called ‘the final draught’ and was supposed to be a one hit kill for anyone’s alcohol tolerance. In one had was that mug, in the other was a tall, thin glass of cherry rum (a flavor that he had never heard of). Across from him, in the tawny light of the tavern, was another like him.

The sell-sword did not belong in the circles of people that frequented the tavern. It was not his place to be among the elite of Radasanth. But it was the place of a fellow soulless being. Tiyein had been raised on Yerria as well, but almost a hundred years before Osato had. As soon as the two had found each other it was an instant connection between them. Though the rich soulless had a hundred years behind him of growth, had a full century to gather his funds and establish himself in Radasanth.

Radasanth had only been the beginning.

Tiyein was a respected trader and merchant of Corone. Through many years and changes, the older soulless man had founded ports for his company in all civilized parts of Althanas (and some others). To say he was rich would be an understatement by far. To say he held a market with the value equal to a small crown was a little fairer. Osato had only been taking advantage of what he could before he would have to move on.

“Drink up boy!” Tiyein cried as he finished his flagon of ‘the final draught’. The alcohol did not even touch his eyes. Osato could not help but smirk, that smirk that spoke of his love for adventure and mischief. “It will only get warm, and then you’ll actually taste the thing. That’s that least of your worries, but it will definitely dampen your spirits a bit.”

“Down it goes then,” Osato said as he lifted the mug above him as if saluting the gods and goddesses. May the Thayne bless me, the glint in his eyes said to the roof overhead. And then it was gone. It seemed all one gulp. Cries of the already drunk humans around him rose as he slammed the empty mug on the pristine, mahogany table. It would do little to him, as it had done to Tiyein, but Osato would have something to blame his outbursts on at least.

“Does the body good, doesn’t it?” Tiyein cried through his laughter. Tears were beginning to run down his face as his laughter increased, joining in with the wealthy merchants to either side of him. The man was a marvel to Osato, a true model for the drifting soulless. The sell-sword could not help but notice things about Tiyein that resembled his own.

Osato tightened his grip around the pendant to the deity Am’aleh. It was the same, or very similar at least, to the one that the merchant had around his neck. Tiyein had cause to wear it though, just as much as the young sell-sword did. He had been raised on an island, no doubt placed in the hands of either the navy or marines before finally leaving and venturing into Althanas.

“Osato, how about the other hand now?” Tiyein was insufferable sometimes, as the young man had found out. Behind him, as if just a backdrop, the rest of the aristocrats were splurging. Bar whores, far better then any Osato had ever seen, were working their wares around the room. He could see the older wealthy sipping at their drinks and talking quietly, the louder youth tossing about coin like it was chaff in the wind. It was them that the whores were most concerned with, though every once in a while they would try for the older ones, one last fuck before returning to their wives of decades.

[Storm Veritas]

The girl was working over the old codger well, and she practiced her craft with remarkable ease. The old fool was eating out of her hand, leaning in towards her, smiling widely. The deep wrinkles that flashed at the corners of his eyes upon smiling told Storm that the old timer was smitten; there was no lack of authenticity to his lust. It was merely a matter of time before the man would take her home, so Veritas knew that the time to act would quickly be at hand.

The old man stood as though a trained dog merely seconds later, excusing himself briefly to the girl. It was time.

Weak bladdered old prick. If only you were going home alone tonight, I might even have been able to let you live.

Storm stood from his stool with a nod to the bartender, the pompous half smile offered to assure that he appreciated the service. He was barely three steps towards the bathroom before he started moving his fingers, the static buzz giving him a scent of ozone that he was sure only he could detect. The fingernails were glowing blue now, although in the dimly lit room they would not be seen.

He pressed through the hickory swing-door and instantly saw the man at the first of three toilets, dehydrating himself with one hand planted firmly on the wall. The other two doors were open, in vile shape and Veritas was upset the old bastard wasn’t sitting, it would make the whole ordeal much simpler. Undeterred, emotionless, he said nothing as he walked behind the elder and pressed the glowing blue hand against his back. A pulse, a lurch, and the man was falling quickly. Storm moved fast to catch him, turn him, and sit him. Locking the door to the stall, he stooped and crawled quickly to the next toilet, careful to not allow the filthy floor to touch his fine threads.

Poor old bastard, heart attack while jacking off to the thoughts of some fifty-coin whore. Sad, almost.

He smiled as he imagined what the discoverers of this relic would think, although there were other issues at hand. No sooner had he reached the sink than the door opened again, some forty-something silver spoon making a sour face and swinging his hand.

”Jesus, it smells like someone fucking DIED in here.”


~*~

He was back to the bar instants later, now nestling up to the brunette whore. She was smoking, something cheap and weak and flavorless, seeming entirely less enchanting than she had only moments before. The fragrance she wore was soft and nice, some sort of baby-powder scent, but the smell of smoke now overwhelmed it.

Screw it. We’ve come this far, might as well have a little extra fun too.

He moved to her, pressing his face just over her shoulder. There was no time wasting trivialities with this human sewer; she was far beneath him now. He was a god, for christ’s sake.

“Let’s cut to the chase, sugar. Five hundred for the night. We leave now. My place. No more questions.”

Her hand found his quickly, and a smile flashed bright white teeth back at the murderous Veritas. He was going to have a very good time.

The door to the tavern opened seconds later, and Storm was gone before anyone missed the poor old man with a tragic heart attack.

[grim137]

((Terribly sorry for the long post delay and the realitivily short post.))

“Well I'll be damned, not only was dinner satisfying but I may just have desert to,” thought Tarry who was completely unable to suppress his grin of satisfaction.

The blind vampire had just picked up the life force of a man whose blood was far more desirable than perhaps anybody else's on Althanas. It was the man who had not only humiliated the blind vampire twice in the famous Theatre of War but had also for some reason spared the arrogant livelike vampire. Tarry had just picked up the life force of the man known as Storm Veritas, and as luck would have it the guards seemed completely uninterested dark streets where the con man lurked less than block away, back at The Golden Chalice.

“Must not have noticed him among all the other stupid fools,” said Tarry out loud to nobody except the cold night air.

Slowly the vampire turned and walked, almost reluctantly towards The Golden Chalice or, more specifically, Storm Veritas. The vampire was having mixed reactions about the con man. Tarry hated the guy and wouldn’t hesitate to kill him for a second, hell in two cases the blind vampire had gone well out of his way to murder Storm Veritas. Yet for some reason that just couldn’t seem to register in the blind vampire’s twisted mind, the murderous con man had spared the life of the one creature that truly wanted him dead.

That was why each step the vampire took was filled with hesitation and that was why every time Tarry took a step forward there seemed to be an urge in his powerful body to step back. Yet Tarry in his curiosity had to try and figure out why somebody like Storm had spared his life despite the circumstances. Despite his reluctance, the blind and troubled vampire was able to over ride these feeling of reluctance and makes his way forward. It would only be a few moments before two of the most dangerous creatures out that night, would cross paths yet again.

[Osato]

“A hardy one you are!”

The cry roused the young sell-sword from his near unconscious state. Too many drinks, too little time. Even the soulless were not able to handle so much, especially as young as Osato. A stupid grin crossed his face as he looked about the room. People were moving slower, or maybe it was his perception. An elderly gentleman rose from his table, leaving the gaudy whore to wait for his return. As soon as he stood she shuffled a hand across the table, apparently collecting a small sum of money that he had left for the ‘favors’ that she had promised. Very trusting of him.

In a drunken haze, just past that buzzed state, Osato’s head lolled around like it was on a ball joint. His eyes caught up just a bit behind his head movement, a pounding headache working at the back of his mind. Another stood, this one caught his attention. He looked like the type that was supposed to be about the room, yet he was not throwing his coin about like all the rest of the young aristocrats.

As soon as the young man rose Osato’s eyes followed. The sell-sword was instantly sick. His head was swimming and the rise of bile in his throat was barely restrained. He stood, excusing himself to the uproar of the others at the table. Tiyein had a knowing look in his eyes that disgusted the young man. He was cocky, arrogant, and knew he was the better of the two. The younger man sneered as he turned, barely restraining himself from throwing up on the elder soulless being.

Cocky bastard, I oughtta gut ‘im.

Trivial thoughts and mute threats were all that came and they served no purpose but to fuel anger that rose with the spirits. Osato rubbed at his head without thinking, the headache would start soon, and if he could just get rid of that last drink the woozy feeling would undoubtedly leave within the hour. Out of the bathroom came the one from the bar, he did not say a word at passing and moved past him like a ghost. The young man gave little heed other then noting a smug atmosphere at his passing.

The swinging door opened quickly, with little hesitance. Osato stood as if amazed for half a second, then the door began closing again. He quickly tossed his hand up before the door swung back with a vengeance unwarranted. It may have had a long, tough life but Osato did not want it’s next victim to be him. As the door swung open the thick, pungent air quickly escaped like a trapped animal. It alone was enough to have made the sell-sword sick, even without the torrents of alcohol coursing through him.

“Does nobody clean these places?” He asked to the empty room. He randomly closed one eye, then the other. It did not help make the place look any better, but it did give a little amusement. Silently the man chuckled as he stepped in, his thick leather boots rapping quietly on the floor. The first door was slightly ajar, but the drain clogged before it turned him away from it. The next door was open even less, but it was not a drain that caught his attention this time.

Puke spewed from the man, no longer able to be held back. He turned and was just in time to rush into the first stall. As soon as he finished, feeling much better by the way, he once again returned in front of the second stall. Blood was moving like a stream from the dead man seated atop the toilet. Rivulets of crimson were following a small path to the drain.

Sudden dread dawned across Osato. The shot of adrenaline was enough to awake a nearly forgotten sober, or at least give the impression of sober. He charged through the door, pushing aside a stumbling drunk as he made his way in. The loud cry of anger registered only in the back of his mind, as did the surprised eyes of Tiyein and the others. Osato pounded his hands atop the bar and looked into the keepers face. “Where did that man go? The one that was sitting up here… his empty glass is still there,” the sell-sword pointed at the empty shot full of coin. His tone was cold, serious. There was no time for questions and the demand in his voice surprised the barkeeper.

“He… umm… went out… couldn’t ‘ave been more then a couplea minutes. Yeah, he went with that wench that was sitting next to him… a pretty brunette one. Why?”

No time for questions! He spun around, looking at Tiyein and giving a passing nod. If the man was willing to kill someone as old as the elderly man, and for who knew what, then he was most likely going to kill at some other time. Osato had no intentions of seeing people get hurt, but what drove him even more was the prospect of catching up to the guy. It was adventure that he lusted for more then anything, more then looks or booze. With a passing word to the barkeeper he started for the door, his sword was strapped at his waist and his hair was tossed back.

“You may want to check the bathroom, stall two...”

[Storm Veritas]

Outside was much more hospitable than the dank innards of the tavern, where so many clichéd voyages began. It seemed like all of his adventure began behind the bottle, but perhaps this was merely coincidentally linked to the fact that every evening carried a similar tone. Out here, he found the air revitalizing, and a soft, steady mist of light rain cooled his skin and head. The recent killing had elevated his heart rate, but he had done too many of them. The switch reset, and he was relaxed inside, as though his simple, mindless destruction was little more than buying this whore a drink. They effectively served the same purpose. The unfortunate tramp on his arm was babbling incoherently, some gibberish about ambition and college and moving to Salvar.

He could care less, and he stared as he walked, his gaze transfixed on a warm firelight. The streetlight was suspended ten feet from the cobbled path, a lone amber hue fighting back the night’s repressive din. It was scintillating, and far more…enthralling than the mindless twit on his arm.

”…and this is only my third week on the job! Can you believe it? Let me know if I’m talking too much, but generally I only end up with the ugly sort, and you… so HANDSOME!! Looks like the lucky day for both…”

The chatter was incessant, and Veritas fast considered that his selection was quite a bit short of what he had hoped for. She was testing his patience relentlessly, and she drew his attention away, holding it hostage so he could focus on her. She truly was beautiful; the soft rain lending a darker shade to her clothes, the lavender dress now largely violet, and now strapped taut against her athletic and buxom physique. The general beauty was hidden behind her veneer of stupidity now, though, and Storm saw only her idiotic babble. He spoke to her, his voice believably amicable. He seemed even interested.

“Hey, sugar, I know we have all night, but you just look too good to pass up. I need to get my hands on you. Let’s duck back here for a second, have some fun!”

They hadn’t walked two hundred yards from the decrepit pub when he pulled her by the hip to a small hideaway alley. With one last cold glance to the neighborhood, he was reaching for the blade at his hip. This would be fun

[grim137]

((Storm, if you have any problems with the minor bunnying of the prostitute let me know and I'll fix my post ASAP.))

“You really should be careful Storm, haven’t you heard that there are criminals out at night?” said the blind vampire, laughing slightly at the irony of such a statement given who he was and especially who he was talking to.

Slowly the blind yet ever deadly vampire stepped out the shadows of the buildings that hung ominously overhead and into the warm, twilight glow caused by the combination of lamp and moon. It hadn’t taken long for the blind vampire to reach his destination since that destination had unwittingly moved closer when he left the tavern.

The vampire was in a dangerous mood, a fact that was made clear by his gleaming fangs, which were in plain sight for all to see, and the fact that his hand rested ever so casually atop the hilt of his blade. Under any other circumstances the vampire would have quickly tried to destroy the con man and desecrate his slender yet deceivingly deadly body, but not tonight. For the moment at least the mentally unstable assassin of the vampires had no attention of painting the alleyways with a fresh coat of the blood of Mr. Veritas.

“After all Storm, I’m sure you’re well aware of how easily somebody could die out here and the murderer would never be found,” said the vampire, chuckling once again at his own twisted humor as he continued to walk closer with the same cold yet confident stride he almost always had especially when stalking potential prey.

As Tarry began to move closer he noticed the pretty little whore trying to move closer to her newest employee that was Storm Veritas. After all vampires weren’t exactly known among mortals for their kindness and generosity especially the ones that stalked the streets at night.

“Don’t worry toots, you have nothing to worry about, I just had dinner,” replied the vampire once again in response to the girls obvious, fear induced movements. “I’m here to talk to that piece of shit you’ve got hanging your arm. There’s a few questions bugging me and luckily for you two lovebirds I need Mr. Veritas there alive to answer them.”

[Osato]

As soon as the night air struck him Osato was enveloped by an instant of dizziness. Spots were dancing before his vision, his head felt weightless, and his stomach rolled while giving idle threats of emptying itself again. The young sell-sword promised himself and Am’aleh too that he would never drink so much again. Of course the promise was as half-hearted as his stomach’s churning, but it made him feel at least a little better.

Despite the black orbs in his line of sight he scanned the area. A light rain was dripping down on him like an ocean spray on a boat. It was more of a nuisance then anything serious, but it was enough to wake the half-sober Osato a little more. His thin, silky hair was clumped together as it was wetted, easily soaked through, and began dripping like melting icicles onto his shoulder. The mercenary, lost in thought and the spur of the moment, turned from side to side.

There you are you little…

But what was Osato really going to do? The man was walking at a swaggering step, his body and the wenches swaying side to side. The rather adventurous sell-sword watched for half a second before realizing that his head was bobbing from side to side. With a concentrated effort he stopped, though the swaying, dizzy sensation remained. He was looking at the back of the man from the bar, a man who was almost exactly like Osato himself in height and weight. He seemed to be spread out a little more in upper-body strength instead of lower-body strength though.

With a quick movement the woman was scurried into an alley, only a couple hundred yards from the tavern. Apparently he did not even worry about being so close, or could not contain his primal nature to kill. Without waiting any longer the young man set forward, each step less graceful then normal and issuing a slight rattle of the one loose steel gaiter.

A sickly, tainted voice was speaking from the alleyway when Osato found the edge of the opening. He knew it could not have belonged to the human who had exited the tavern; otherwise even the greedy whore would have been turned away. This was someone else, someone who knew the killer. He, assuming it was a male, was speaking with an air of confidence with a thick undertone of malice. Carefully the sell-sword peered around the corner, allowing his gloved hand to grip the side of the slippery, broken, and fungus covered corner. What he saw amazed him.

It was a real vampire. Not the amazingly sexy kind in the stories with the long, straight black hair and pampered nails. This one was different. He still had the cliché leather jacket and thick leather boots. But his hair was of a white color, his eyes were covered by an ample wrap of black cloth, and his skin was too dark. If Osato had not seen the pointy teeth that gleamed with the opening and closing of the vampire’s mouth he would have never guessed him as a creature of blood.

Veritas, the name rang a bell but as the vampire had added the ‘Mer.’ title before, it was probably a last name anyway. Osato smirked as he removed his sword. If trouble was going to break out he would be the first into the alley to remove the woman. If trouble caught him up, like it so often did, he would stand his ground and fight. As it looked from around the corner, shrouded in only shadow, the two men seemed at odds. Egos were flaring like two storms meeting along a front line. Osato had no doubts that if they could be compared to storms there would be lightning flaring between the two and thunder rolling ominously in the background.

[Storm Veritas]

The guttural voice behind him was a haunting ghost from the past, and it drew away Storm’s attention from the sumptuous little slut he had recently befriended. He knew who it was before pivoting his head an iota, for it was the voice that had nearly brought death to him twice now. It was a jolt down his spine, a sinister sneer that made his hair stand on end.

Tarry Whealer.

The vampire was small, squat, but incredibly powerful, and in the time that Storm had developed he had seen the vampire progress into something otherworldly. The speed, the reflexes, the sadism… there was nothing that would surprise Veritas from this old adversary. The toothy grin and cocksure posture told of an enemy who knew he had gotten the drop on the dastardly Veritas.

With his hands slowly creeping to his belt, and daggers within fingertips’ range, Storm listened intently to the garbled voice of the undead. Whealer was crafty, conniving, and nearly as dishonest as the fire-handed heathen himself; why had he not taken the chance to kill him yet?

“So you come here to take me alive, then, handsome? Or just take me?” The words of the silver-tongued assassin were biting and filled with sarcasm. “That type of grin makes me think that you’re getting a little lonely in the saddle.”

It was a start; enough to buy time and throw off the vampire. Whealer would probably have expected some battle heavy taunt or other sort of sordid innuendo; Storm would afford none. If he kept the powerful killer off guard for any amount of time, it would only extend his own life expectancy. Pulling the girl back with him, deeper into the dank and sulfurous alley, Storm continued his diatribe, eschewing the old friend with exceptional vitriol.

“Now, if you don’t mind, I’d like you to end this extended cock-block unless you plan on doing something. Me and this fair little damsel have some business to attend to, and I have no interest in a swordfight of your particular persuasion.”

[grim137]

Tarry couldn’t help but smile at Storm’s sharp tongued, if not fairly predictable, response. The bitter, sarcastic insults that Storm seemed to enjoy throwing around so much when Tarry was present had become almost as common and as expected as the blind vampire usually trying to kill the malicious human. Still it seemed today that Storm was only in the mood for one of the actions and was far more interested on using is muscles on the wench around his arm.

“You’re fucking hilarious you know that Storm, a regular goddamned comedian,” said Tarry with the same sort of cold yet cocky sounding voice he was known for “but sometimes you confuse me. Like our last encounter in the Theatre of War, you had me unconscious lying face down in a pool of water. You could have taken that little blade of yours and jammed it through my heart. That would have kept things simple between us because then I would know rather or not I should just kill you and the bitch hanging around your arm or if I owe some sort of godforsaken debt to you for sparing my life. So what is it, answer my question so I can be on my way, why the hell did you let me live?”

The speech may have been a bit clichéd especially the part at the end but it got the message across. In Tarry’s mind there was always something weird going on, some little worry or doubt or something that kept driving his paranoia and insanity. So when there was a chance to reduce those worries and doubts and possibly get himself to feel less paranoid it was always good to take it.

Tarry was now almost completely focused on Storm and the response that would surely come out of the mouth of the con artist. Even the creature that seemed to be eavesdropping on the conversation a few feet of away failed to alarm the normally jumpy vampire.

[Osato]

To say the display before the soulless was not amusing would have been a lie. The two had a background, where ostentatious, and full of anger. The one known as Storm Veritas had a biting tongue. His words were spat like venom and yet they seemed to be dodging around the topic. Osato could not help but feel as if the man held a small tinge of fear beneath the firm façade.

The other side was the vampire.

He was harsh and biting just as much. But in his case true diction was forgotten or perhaps never really present to begin with, and was compensated for instead by pure vulgarity. The soulless watcher could only sigh as he listened, a very quiet and cautious sigh. The cliché vampire’s speech was no better then his clothing, though the underlying idea of what had happened between the two came to the forefront of the conversation. The two definitely had a history, though from what the vampire said it made little sense.

Theater of War, it was like the Citadel, but a tournament between combatants. It was a place of glory, prizes, and apparently lasting rivalries. It had been a good deal of time since the last ‘season’ of the combatant-like environment had been run, and yet the two still held grudges. Didn’t kill him? What would it have mattered anyway? He would have been revived as soon as the illusion was put aside and the two had been separated… why make such a big deal over such a small grievance?

But such were the ways of the people of Althanas. Grudges were long-lasting. Hatreds never seemed to dissipate even after they were sorted out. But most of all needless battles were waged over problems that held little significance to anyone more then the arrogant and often macabre population of Althanas.

Osato remained hidden, biding his time in the shadows. If they had seen him no indication had been given yet. His hand was wrapped around the hilt of his blackened blade and waiting. If he could interject during the fight, or at the end, he thought he might be able to not only save the poor whore but also destroy two murderers.

[Storm Veritas]

Oh, Tarry, you predictable son of a bitch. I should have known that whole “not killing” you deal would bite me in the ass.

In truth, the decision to spare the life of the nomadic vampire was far more strategic than Storm would let on. Trying - and failing – to kill the powerful Whealer would certainly lead to the vampire chasing him to the ends of the earth. Allowing him to live, giving him some thought that perhaps Veritas had used some paltry semblance of compassion would allow him the breathing room to roam free of the charges of the vengeful beast. After all, Storm had already been tailed by the vamp before, and found the chase altogether exhausting.

Of course, assuming that Tarry Whealer would see compassion when it was offered was an assumption two hairs dumber than offering him sunblock.

“Well…” he began, spewing his typical gibberish at un uncanny rate “I could have killed you, but where is the adventure in that? Kill a downed man, make no profit off of the whole deal… and then risk you being reincarnated by the monks of the Theater of War?”

He had said too much, but kept a firm face as he pressed a kiss into a very frightened young girl. She was lost in the shuffle, and Storm knew that he would likely have to kill her before he could have his fun. She was cold now, clammy and scared, shaking in his arm as he held her between him and the vampire, a half-hearted hug that served more as protection. Whealer would sense this weakness unless he acted quickly.

“Now, I let you go because you’re not so dissimilar, and I thought that together we could have a little fun. Hit the town, and paint it red with these fools. You didn’t seem to inherently opposed to a little anarchy. We’d have a f*cking riot on our hands.” Perhaps he had elicited a thought.

“But not with her, and probably not tonight. Only a few more hours before the sun comes up, and I’m pretty sure that’s bedtime for you there, handsome. Now, if you’ll excuse us, I have business to attend to.”

His heart was in his throat as the girl was falling limp in his hands, passing out in fear of the ghastly undead. He had no idea what Tarry Whealer had in store, but it likely wasn’t going to end well.

[grim137]

Off all the emotions Tarry had partly expected to stem within his body from Storm’s response, disappointment was certainly not one of them. Yet that was precisely what the dangerously mentally unstable vampire felt. He had expected the crafty con artist to reveal some sort of well-laid plan as to why he had let the vampire live despite the circumstances, but that was not the case.

“Looks like I overestimated his intelligence. Hmph, go figure.”

“You know Storm, I must say your answer is rather disappointing. I was expecting some well thought out scheme from the man who actually managed to outwit me twice in a row. Instead you spared me because it was a waste of time and you didn’t want to take the risk. For a second there I actually thought you were smarter than the rest of the moronic primitives on Althanas. As for your wonderful offer, I’ll have to decline, I’m feeling a little tired since I just ate,” responded the blind vampire

With that last statement Tarry wheeled sharply around on his heels, effectively turning his back towards Storm. Slowly the vampire began to walk away. As far as he was concerned his business with Mr. Veritas was done unless Storm or the eavesdropper observing from a distance had something else to add.

[Storm Veritas]

It had worked. He wasn’t sure precisely how, but he had convinced Whealer that he was legitimately out to paint the town red, just a hedonistic buffoon looking for a good time and not concerned moreover with his own welfare. The vampire fired off a short barrage of condescending remarks and turned, beginning to plod away disappointed and generally disgusted with Storm’s lack of foresight.

That’s it, you stupid son of a bitch.

While he was hedonistic, and certainly one out for a good time, Storm was a thinking man. A conniving one at that, but he had improvised effectively and felt a swell of pride with his deft manipulation. At the same time, that same swell was squashed by the scorn of Whealer, who had haunted his nightmares on too many occasions. The terrified girl falling limp in his hands, Veritas gave her a subtle push and leaned her gently against the stone wall of the one of the buildings which marked the alley. She slumped carelessly, but her low level consciousness kept her predominantly erect. Whatever. He wasn’t careful for her well being, but thought rather playing the role of courageous anti-hero could potentially coerce such an unfair maiden into getting more adventurous between silken sheets.

But that was for later. Now was for redemption. The short, muscular physique of Tarry Whealer carried a swagger as he strutted away, and it drove Veritas to the end of his last wit. The cocky little vampire was no longer so vastly superior. He was no longer the dominant force that Storm feared. He would not be allowed to continue to stalk him. No more.

The blades flipped out from his hip with speed and venom, his brow furrowing tautly and body becoming rigid again. His thoughts of sexual conquest were completely displaced in favor of fervent aggression, and he eyed the tender flesh of the blind undead as target practice. He burst forward, only five or six steps away, oblivious to the splashes of urine soaked puddles and demonizing lamp light that could potentially disclose his identity.

Today was his day to kill, he thought, rearing back his dagger in a pretense to the strike. Today, there would be no mercy.

[Osato]

At the back of his mind it was like a story.

He was, of course, the savior of the story. Osato was the one to rescue the poor damsel in distress, break through the lines of oppressors, and maybe even get a reward. However the delusion was nothing more then a whisper, luckily, and the soulless mercenary knew better then to interject quite yet. But the antagonist of the story was wrong. There were two of them, and they both hated each other instead of Osato.

It was an eerie twist on an already eerie night. The soulless shifted as the vampire turned, giving his back to the world. The sell-sword smirked as he turned. Perhaps he was not needed after all. Perhaps the situation would resolve itself and he could run to the watch with the name of the one that killed the old man. Or maybe the fight had only just begun and the conniving bastard behind the mask of ‘Storm’ was only biding his time.

Daggers found their way into Storm’s hands. Osato held his breath. It was about to begin and anticipation built in his chest. He slowly let out his breath when he realized that he had been holding it. The mercenary slowly rose to his feet, still crouched, and moved towards another box behind the dagger-wielder. He had been as quiet as a mouse and could only hope that the man did not have some sort of freakish hearing.

As soon as the cover was safe he moved again, this time rising to his feet. It was time, he was thinking. Confidence exuded from the young man but he moved no further. His hand was wrapped around the blackened longsword. His knuckles had gone white with both anticipation and stress.

Dear Thayne, he thought as he waited behind the possible battle. Whatever I have gotten myself into, watch me… please?

[grim137]

“Predictable…"

There was an old saying that went ‘keep your friends close and your enemies closer’ that while correct to a point was actually backwards. It was your friends that you had to keep closer because you didn’t know what to expect from them, your enemies on the other hand were always going to try and screw you over making them much more predictable as Storm had just so aptly proven.

The two enemies may have only had two battles together but it was certainly enough for them to learn some of the tricks they each had. The blind vampire was already well aware of the fact that Storm hated him almost as much if not more so than he hated Storm and that Mr. Veritas was a backstabbing, murderous scoundrel who believed in killing somebody by any means necessary even if such means were considered dirty and dishonorable. For two creatures to hate each other as much as Storm and Tarry hated each other it truly was surprising how much in common they actually had.

As the ever familiar ki energy began to flow through the vampire’s body once again, this time towards the back of his neck, a sigh of relief could be heard escaping from his lips. He was, in a perverse sort of way, glad that nothing had changed between the two because the kill or be killed relationship he had developed with the lightning mage Storm Veritas was one of the few things in his life the often troubled and mentally unstable vampire truly felt he could count on.

Storm's attack from behind was simple enough for the vampire to devise a counter to. In a split second after Storm launched the attack the vampire launched one of his own. From the back of Tarry’s neck a burst of ki energy shot forth straight at the attacking Storm Veritas. Tarry doubted the attack would do Storm in, after all the conniving con artist had witnessed the attack before, though the fact that it was coming from a place other than the vampire’s hands was likely to leave the vile man a bit surprised in the worst way possible.

“And so we clash again…”

[Storm Veritas]

To be fair, he never had an honest chance of stopping it.

Storm Veritas had grown in leaps and bounds since he had first met the blind vampire, growing his mystical command of the lightning arts and becoming the beast that he now was. Along with this was a development in his sadism, but with faster reflexes and daggers and enchanted gifts, he was a forced to be reckoned with.

And he wasn’t even close.

The back of the neck –the neck! – of Tarry Whealer burst out in an explosion, some ionic combination of pink and white ephemeral hate that seared its way towards the lightning mage. Caught in mid stride, the blast hit him squarely in the chest, knocking his momentum out cold turkey and casting him to the ground before the unconscious whore like bag of trash. He landed in a cold splash of urine soaked water, warm and foul and humiliating.

You prick. You son of a bitch. What are you?

He was confused, stunned by the prowess of the beast, and infuriated. The shot was immense, but the adrenaline which coursed through his veins diffused what would become a dull ache a few days later. He would not accept defeat so quickly. His legs reared, rolling knees to his chest before he snapped up, sitting and sneering at the muscular young enemy.

“Cute trick, no-eyes. Guess I should have known better than to think you didn’t know me better.”

It sounded better in his head, but he couldn’t waver or hesitate. It was a narrow alley, dank and soaked and disgusting. The tight quarters would have to work to his advantage. The long, stagnant and vile puddles would work for him this time. His eyes furrowed beneath a hateful brow, and hands lit aglow beneath thin gloves.

“But you’re not the only one with new tricks, motherf*cker.”

With that, a blast of channeled electric power coursed through the alley, hitting hard into the long puddle and following forth towards the man named Whealer. In the dim lamplight, Storm couldn’t tell if the undead were immersed or not, but should a toe happen to graze the water in the stone alley, it would become immediately obvious.

From his periphery, he at last caught the assault of a third party. Something else, someone else, someone who had gotten much too close, much too fast.

Shit.

Osato, go ahead and bunny a (non-terminal) hit on me if you like.

[Osato]

A touch of eminence reached the vivacious amethyst eyes of the sell-sword. Before him where two of ‘the greats’. The names were coming too him. Storm, or Mr. Veritas, was a monster. The man before him was no better, Tarry Whealer. Realization dawned over the soulless warrior as the two initiated their combat. Both were well known among Althanas, both were powerful in their own rights. Osato mentally hit himself as he drew the blade before him.

A cold sweat broke out on him as the Whealer hurled a spike of magic at his opponent. It was time. Osato charged towards the poor woman. Her slumped form was limp against the wall of the grimy alleyway. Why was it always an alleyway? The sell-sword turned ‘hero’ shook her lightly and muttered to her hurriedly. “Get up. You need to get out of here, now! Those two are starting to fight. This is no place for you. Here,” he stuffed three gold pieces in her clammy hands. “Take that and get out. It should make up for the night and lack of business. Now hurry!”

As she stood Osato spun to Storm. Things were going to get very dangerous very quickly. Pulsing bolts of lightning issued from the human. Magic was loosed and the poor soulless warrior was stuck. He hated magic. He hated those that used magic against him more specifically. It may have ties to deities and powers of the gods, but it was a despicable practice that ruined lives all around. The battle was beginning and Osato was standing at the side.

He charged forward.

His hands were clutching the longsword tightly. His white knuckles were tensing even more as he closed on Storm. Tactics, strategies, plots and plans… they were thrown out as he moved. The alleyway was small, too small for a longsword. Instead he would be forced to use hand-to-hand combat instead. The blade, nonetheless, remained out just in case.

A heavy, plated fist arched away from the hilt towards the face of the young man. If things were going to start getting messy Osato wanted to assure he was the one beginning the mess. The clenched fist arched effortlessly for the side of the face. A good hit would break the man’s cheekbones. A better hit would break it and send him falling. What he was hoping for was to knock him completely out though. Knock one out, he thought quickly. Barter with the other to get out of here. Whatever the case Storm is the murderer. Tarry may murder later, but I know this one murdered already.

[grim137]

“Bingo, direct hit,” thought Tarry with a sadistic, psychopathic sort of glee as his attack hit its target head on.

Like a shark that smelled blood in the water the vampire began to walk forward. The bloodlust, while weak due to the recent feeding nonetheless began to drape down over his body like a sinister and deadly cloak. It seemed that at last the livelike vampire would have a chance for the sweet, dignity restoring revenge on Storm Veritas that he so rightly deserved. Of course it seemed as though Storm had other plans and that Tarry’s right to make Storm die a horrible, bloody death would once again be temporarily taken from him.

The familiar crackling of Storm's lightning sent Tarry moving to the side, ignoring the little bit of filthy water that had splashed on him as a side effect of sorts from Storm getting blasted. Unfortunately for the blind vampire his assumption that the deadly attack was aimed straight at him proved to be off and this time it was his turn to suffer from an unwelcome surprise. Tarry had just fallen for the same trick twice, luckily this time due mostly to the fact that he wasn’t soaked nearly as badly as he was last time the effects weren’t nearly as dire, but that didn’t mean the attack didn’t hurt…a lot.

The blind vampire fell to the ground against the wall of one the buildings lining the alleyway, clutching his right leg where the blast had been most effective (since that had been where most of the splashed water had landed) and mumbling a countless number of curses towards Storm’s name. The blind vampire didn’t need to see his leg or examine it in any way to know that his enemy’s attack had put the injured body part out of commission. The leg was twitching erratically as the muscles struggled in vain to absorb the electric shock, a sharp pain filled the leg and was slowly creeping up the rest of the vampire’s body, and the faint smell of burnt flesh, leg hair, leather and canvas began to slowly trickle into the crisp night air.

“Son of a bitch! When did he get so powerful!?” thought the angry and slightly dumbfounded vampire. Storm’s attack had barely grazed him so to speak yet it had done a lot more damage to him than many warriors or wizards were even capable of.

It was a then that Tarry noticed that the eavesdropper had finally made his presence known and was attacking Storm Veritas. Now most people would be happy to have somebody help them vanquish an enemy as powerful and cunning as Storm but Tarry wasn’t like most people. In fact the livelike vampire was actually further angered by the interloper’s interference The way he saw it this new ‘hero’ was denying him the right to take Storm’s life, a crime against him that he simply could not allow to happen.

“Goddamn vulture, get your own prey, this one’s mine!” yelled the angered and slightly crazed blood sucker as he sent another blast of ki energy flying from his hands, only this one was aimed towards the weird creature attacking Storm.

“Damned, good-for-nothing hero wannabe.”

In the midst of all the chaos the blind vampire didn’t even noticed the freaked out whore running away, likely to inform the guards that there were two very dangerous criminals on the lose.

[Storm Veritas]

The bolts hit the water, splashing and crashing and searing his repugnant adversary with a sizzling assault. He relished in it, filled with a morose satisfaction to hear and smell flesh burn. It’s a terrible scent – one that can never be forgotten, but it also reminded Storm of his growing power. It was immense, awesome, and wildly satiating, yet unfortunately short lived.

He heard a splash from his flank – his “seven o’clock” as his militant friends would call it- and turned too late to see the oncoming assault. Some flash of white and black and shadows came at him, flipping through the air and sending a terrible smashing right hand through his face. It was too fast to hear, react to, or avoid, and the pain was immediate. He spun hard to the right, hands high and knees weak, he was falling, crashing.

Flesh met stone as he hit the brick building with hands and face, beleaguered, bewildered, lost. While not unconscious, he was completely disoriented; the once sharp visage of Whealer and the street-girl behind her fading into a hodgepodge of greys, browns, and yellows. The sound was dulled and the pain was sharp but wide, feeling as though his face was shattered and ruined.

Oh, f*ck… Where… What…?

The search for answers was futile and pointless. He was staggering from the wall, trying to find movement, scanning desperately as he faintly recognized something in the distance. He was slowly beginning to recover some clarity, but lingered as the hopeless drunk, helpless.

Never had he been so wrought with fear, so vulnerable. The daggers flew from his hips instinctively again, spinning into stretched hands that he held away. A desperate attempt to keep the enemies at bay, to buy him some seconds before his composure took hold once again. One thought was beginning to echo in his brain.

Who the hell was that? What’s really going on here?

[Osato]

When the blow connected it was as if a weight had been removed from the shoulders of the young mercenary. Not only had it been a success, but the man’s firm façade was just that… a façade. Osato’s blow had been crushing. The collision of bone and steel even made the young sell-sword wince. But the job had to be done. If he had been in the place of Storm, however, he could only imagine what pain he would be in.

As he staggered away the bellowing of the vampire caught Osato’s ear. He turned, letting his cold amethyst eyes hold Tarry. The wrappings around the vampire’s eyes were for some reason comical, under the circumstances. The sell-sword restrained himself however, and instead brought his sword to the forefront. His opponent swung his hand before him very quickly. The movement almost caught the sell-sword off guard. Osato ducked to the side and barely caught himself on the wall as a blast of magic hurled through the alleyway.

Behind a rather large, iron dumpster the mercenary turned hero squatted. On the other side of it was a raging vampire, lusting for blood no doubt. Before him was the dazed and confused murderer. The situation had taken a dire turn towards the worse. Osato could tell he was on a very precarious perch, balancing on a thin wire over two cages. To one side was the tiger, Storm. To the other side was the viper, Tarry.

“Blasted luck.”
~*~

“Help! Somebody!”

The words echoed through the still night. The woman crying them was weeping as she ran, stumbling across the flagstones of the streets. Around her people gave her un-approving glances, she was after all nothing but a dressed up whore. Why would anyone care about them? Especially when she was running away from the slums towards the ‘better part’ of Radasanth.

“Dear spirits, somebody help me!”

“You there, halt!” The words were heavy. The crying whore spun around, almost falling over with her momentum. Before her was a small detachment of Watch guards. Their chain vest and cudgels could have set them apart no matter what setting they were in. It just so happened that the four of them looked like they were part of the background. “What is the problem?”

The one demanding was tall. His head, just like the rest, was covered with a small leather cap. “The alley… that way… two monsters are fighting! A block in the slums! Another… he’s there too… he’s going to die!” She said between sobs.

“Whoa there, take it easy. Let me get this straight. In the slums there is a fight between two ‘monsters’ and some guy? And the guy is going to die?”

“Yes! You have to hurry!” But the watch was already moving.

[grim137]

“Figures, fucking wannabe hero’s always run away and hide as soon as things get dangerous. Oh well, at least this means I don’t have to worry about his interference any longer,” said the vampire scornfully as the hero avoided his blast and responded by diving behind a dumpster.

The vampire slowly rose to his feet a task that was rather difficult for him since thanks to Storm he could only use one leg. Yet with the help of his sword and the wall next to him he managed to get up. By now Tarry felt no pain in his leg, nor anything else for that matter, Storm’s electrical blast had damaged the nerve endings in the limb to the point that its owner felt nothing at all from it.

Of course none of this mattered to Tarry now. All that mattered to him was that he was finally going to get his well-deserved revenge. He was finally going to make up for all the pain and humiliation that the con artist had inflicted upon him. At last after what seemed like an eternity (in reality it was only a few months at the most) he was finally going to make Storm pay for his crimes against him.

“Good bye Storm, its been fun,” said the cocksure vampire taunting the injured criminal.

With those final words Tarry cupped both his hands together. Bright and violent ki energy began to surge through the vampire’s hand. Quickly it gathered filling the space between the vampire’s gloved palms. The energy quickly formed a sphere that was ever moving, ever flowing, ever crackling with the energy that it was made of. And during it all Tarry laughed. In a second his attack would be ready and a beam unrelenting energy would demolish Storm, ravishing, destroying and defiling the lightning mages body. Or so Tarry had hoped.

“Halt, in the name of the Nation of Corone I declare you, Storm Veritas and you, Tarry Whealer under arrest!” came the booming voice of Corone guard.

Knocked out of his state of mind and successfully startled by appearance of the guard captain and his four men, Tarry's aim was knocked off just as his attack was fired. The powerful beam flew harmlessly over Storm’s head crashing into a nearby building where it detonated and destroyed a good chunk of the stone and steel structure.

“Son of a bitch!” yelled the vampire in anger and frustration caused by the fact that the guards had just stopped him from achieving his desire to kill Storm after he had come so close to his sinister goal. Tarry’s foul words echoed through the many empty ally ways of the before dispersing into the night.

Grabbing the hilt of his blade tightly Tarry decided that one way or another somebody at that moment was going to die. The crazed and blood lusted vampire figured that since the guards would stop him from getting to Storm that the unfortunate man of the law would have to do.

Quickly Tarry spun around on his good leg drawing his tungsten blade from its sheath in a deadly arch. The guard proved his training well and took advantage of the fact that the vampire’s slightly hindered speed of the spin (from the injured leg) by bringing his circular shield up to block.

The force of the vampire's attack knocked the guard to ground but before Tarry could follow up on his attack and finish the guard the twang of a crossbow firing filled the air and a steel bolt pierced the unprotected shoulder of the predators right arm. The vampire dropped his blade in pain and noticed that one of the other guards had a loaded crossbow aimed squarely at his skull.

“Further resistance will result in death,” said the downed guard captain as he got to his feet again “now Storm and Tarry come with us or be executed here!”

[Storm Veritas]

Chaos had its way of becoming a regular about Althanas, and incredible fortune smiled on Storm as this pattern was not broken. Tarry was above him, dominating him, charging up some terrible strike of death when a noise came from the light. It was authoritarian, empowered, and was followed by a searing hiss and an explosion just behind Storm.

The wave of energy knocked him straight again to cobbled brick, his eyes raised and a newfound sobriety ensured. He stood a bit taller now, the cobwebs beginning to clear as he heard the interchange between the officer and the two rogues in the alley.

How in the blue f*ck does this guy know my name? And if he does, why in the name of all that is good and holy would he come here to face us down alone?

A snap-twang, and the truth was disclosed. There were five of them, numbers being the overriding source of courage amongst these guards. A crossbow bolt struck the sinister vampire to his side, and Storm laid his stare upon the bow-wielding guard with eyes fixed upon him. A grim face and tough-guy smirk was worn with pride by a man who had no idea who he was dealing with.

Back to prison? Abused by your idiot friends, starved, ridiculed, and fending off rape? I don’t f*cking think so.

He was exhilarated now, the rush of the outnumbered scoundrels against a sea of the men in blue being an appetizing opportunity. Aligning with Whealer was not something Storm had truly intended on undertaking, but it certainly beat the alternatives. He felt as though he had nothing to lose, as only two of the men held crossbows, and one had just fired.

Five of you? All they sent to take ME down? Don’t you know who the hell you’re dealing with?

Arrogance held a longer lived place in his mind than his experienced humility. Besides, these were merely mortals, not the walking undead like Whealer or the deity Storm fancied himself. This was no match; the pigeons had been led to the cats.

He raised his hands slowly, the long fingertips facing high as he reached for the sky with a painstaking speed. It was candy from a baby. With only a squeeze of his hand, an explosion of the electric energy leapt forth, hitting the crossbow swinging fool squarely in the face. It was a sickening, grisly thing, yet none would be given to the details. None would see the explosion of flesh, the flash-boiled mucous of the eye which sizzled forth, or the seared skin. The man fell back helpless, the bolt firing errantly and breaking easily into fragmenting stone.

As if reborn, Storm was smiling, the twisted grin reassembled across his face. The breakout was fast and furious, his blood quickly racing. He saw it clearly now, the pain in his face and jaw merely white noise in the background of racing adrenaline. He saw it unfold as though in slow motion. The four turned to the blast, a mixture of awe and fear. The archer fumbling for another bolt, futilely trying to set it back firmly upon the taut string. The two short-sword wielders stood frozen in time, a bit confused as to what course of action could possibly be any more right than out and out retreat. In the midst of them all, the recently confident captain who had witnessed things spiral out of control in the way of a fast-coursing blast of electricity surging past his face.

They were all dead, and likely knew it.

[Osato]

Things were playing in the hands of the hopeless mercenary.

Around him a cacophony of booming voices and clattering chain’s reported the presence of the Watch. With their arrival a cool smirk surfaced on the face of the man. Backup had arrived for him; he was no longer a lone hero. Osato turned to look past the dumpster just in time to see the bolt from the crossbow wiz past the vampire. Booming voices continued and it seemed as though the Watch had completely missed the sell-sword.

The faint smell of defeat dawdled in the air around the sell-sword. Without waiting for anyone to notice him he moved. With so many people in such a small area he knew he had no hope of using his longsword. The blackened blade rested against the wall to the other side of the dumpster. Osato rushed up behind the last man of the five man squad that had arrived.

With a deft movement one of the two short swords slipped from its sheath. The man’s head snapped towards his side, his hands falling much to slow to stop the minor theft of the blade. “Hey!” he had begun, but was initially cut off. From high overhead a bolt of light crashed down and struck the pavement. Whether merely to scare, ward off, or a botched attempt to injure was unclear to the mercenary. What was clear, however, was that Storm was the human of the two, and it was him that would be easier to deal with.

As the dumbfounded watched for what the murderers would do next, wide-eyed and wandering, Osato moved. His stolen blade whirled into motion as he gracefully danced through two guards. They were moving again. The one whose sword had been taken caught the mercenary in his attention again. His call issued again, but it did not matter anymore.

“This one is the murderer, though I have no doubt the vampire will or has this night either!” Osato’s call caused two of the guards to turn towards him. But he darted past them and snapped the blade forward. With a deft swing its razor edge rose quickly and efficiently, searching for a place within the lightning wielding bandit’s body.

((Feel free to bunny where the blade goes and what not…))

[Storm Veritas]

::sadly, I guess Grim is out, so we’ll have to bunny him too moving forward.::

When order stems to chaos, it’s only the chaotic who respond in turn. Being the law abiding and generally mild, the tough guy type constables never stood a chance. Whealer, an animal, was on them just as quickly as Storm could lash out, assaulting two as the silent assassin of the night commanded them to move forward. It was terrible, and all too frighteningly familiar for him to see the vampire lash out, yet a pleasant feeling to know they were temporarily aligned.

The source of the sound was his attention now, the few crossbow wielding fools likely doomed to a swift fate at the hand of the vampire. The voice was near him, and approaching fast, and this time the lithe savage would not be caught off guard. Those that heard the battle cry responded in turn, attempting to defend themselves against the maniacal attack of the vampire and the electrical lunatic. The many fast turned to few. The lone voice of reason amongst the noble belonged to the man that had hit Storm, and nothing would pleasure him more than to return the favor.

I hear you. Come around…

The pit-pat of feet were quiet in the carnage, but he heard them all the same. Though his body was beaten, his head still not-quite-clear, he was shored enough to prepare for the assault of the swordsman. More than one such brave fool had fallen at the hands of Storm Veritas, and he found it very likely that a similar fate would lay its cold hand upon this bold buffoon.

Come get it, motherf*cker. Not this time.

When the hard step came, he leapt, ignoring the pangs and ravages of his body. One knee drove high, its taut-wrapped foot finding hold of a stony brickface. He catapulted off this foot again, a second jump higher and mightier than the first. His knee thrust up as he rocketed back, his body flipping effortlessly over an undoubtedly surprised assailant with a sharp blade cleaving air.

A brief silence. When he bounded so gracefully, he felt godly again. The eyes upon him burned with jealousy, a collection of outclassed mortal men set to find their ends upon the blades and hands of a few very terrible enemies. It would all be over soon.

The daggers were drawn now, and the man seemed out of position. With one venomously perched in each hand, Storm descended violently, every intention of driving the blades behind the collarbones of the attacker. It would make for a quick, grisly death, and allow for him to move on to finding a way out of this mess.

::Bunnying allowed::

[Osato]

The warm, fluid smell of blood with its unique tinge of metal began to drift in the night air. It was to the left, or maybe to the right. It did not matter to the young ‘hero’ anymore. His sole attention was stuck on the murderer Storm. His feet clicked their echoing report as the steel-toed gaiters skipped across the uneven cobblestones. Heavy concentration worked on his nerves.

As the blade of the short sword whirred through the air Osato turned. His opponent was springing into action. Naught but air met the edge of the small blade. Instead it was split-second reactions that saved the face of the young sell-sword. Time tested battle-hardened tactics would have made the split-second maneuver easy, but for the young mercenary it was all still too new. Practice against set foes was a lot different then real combat against a monster.

Before he could turn Osato heard a clash of blades. The metal on metal noise resounded sharply in his ears. Without turning to find out what happened he ducked and pushed himself forward. A quick backwards swing brought another echo, just luck. The short sword caught one of the two daggers.

Amethyst hair flared wildly, sapphire eyes searched in desperation. What came to sight was purely the work of karma. The young hero had been spared the blades of the honorless fighter. In place of his neck a rather thick blade of a quick thinking guard. Deep down the stomach of the soulless warrior rolled. It had been too close.

Frantically he stood and pushed away from the wall with his hand. The commandeered sword was raised once again. As quickly as he had first struck he moved again. This time it was not a wall to Storm’s back, but a opening wide enough to begin any form of escape.

“Head him off!” One of the wounded guards said as he shook his pointed finger towards Storms back. “Don’t let him out!” Another called.

“We can handle it from here,” the guard who had saved the soulless’ neck said without turning from the deadly eyes of Storm. “You can stand down and leave if you want. We can deal with this one.”

But Osato thought otherwise.

[grim137]

The bloodlust, it consumed him, it cursed him, it corrupted him, it made him a monster, and it kept him alive.

His natural predatory instincts kicked in as the vampire assaulted the guards. The bloodsucking creature had been so close once again to fulfilling on of his most overwhelming desires, the desire the murder Storm. The death of the con man had been so close that the vampire could almost hear smell the scent of blood and death in the air emitting from Storm’s body. Yet these filthy guards, these lousy mortals who were inferior to the fanged swordsman in every way dared not only to interfere and stop Tarry from the wonderful completion of his goal but attacked him as well. There could be only one fitting punishment for such insolence and that was death.

The guards were trained to handle common thugs. Thieves, bandits, even the occasional serial killer or traitorous soldier but all such things were simple mortals complete with mere simple mortal strengths and massive simple mortal weaknesses. Even veteran guards were under trained and ill prepared to deal with the supernatural, creatures such as Tarry with powers that surpassed that of your common criminal and simple mortal. Normally when you put a crossbow bolt in the enemy's arm and severely out numbered said enemy then that enemy was supposed to surrender, not fight and even if on the rare occasion that it did fight it supposed to be weak and nearly helpless from the injury. Such was not the case with Tarry and the guards were about to learn of dangers of fighting a creature that was born and created outside the cozy confines of the island of Corone.

With fury and speed on slightly dimmed by his injuries the blind and blood lusted vampire lunged forward to at the captain of the guards. The captain never stood a chance. At close quarters against an animal such as Tarry being caught off guard was sure to be a fatal mistake, something the captain learned all too late. There was no scream, no clichéd last words or last ditch effort to defend himself from the captain. There was only the sickening crunch as Tarry's powerful jaws pierced the skull as if it was paper and sunk into the tender pink brain housed within.

Once again the loud snap twang could be heard coming from the crossbow of one of the near by guards but with fear and surprise filling the young do-gooder’s mind and body the aim was understandably off, a fact that was only accentuated by the loud metallic bang that followed as the bolt hit the dumpster and bounced harmlessly off of it and onto the streets. Unfortunately for the young lad all the shot succeeded in doing to drawing the vampire’s attention towards him.

Tarry’s movements were quick and his attack was once again brutal, merciless and effective; the signs of a skilled killer at work. With a quick movement the deyln blade of one of Tarry’s daggers flashed quickly before imbedding itself deep in one of the eye sockets of the poor youth. The unfortunate hero fell to the ground, dead in an instant, his hand gripping the handle of the blade that had taken his life.

Tarry was now in the most dangerous state of mind he could be. His body and mind were being completely controlled by madness, the blood lust. It was this state of mind that he entered far too often for his liking that had made Tarry such a dangerous and successful killer for so long. There was no remorse in him, no sorrow for the brutal acts of murder he had just committed. That would come later, but for now he was mostly numb to feelings guilt and morality.

As blood and other fluids flowed from the desecrated bodies of Tarry’s two latest victims by the pints, mixing roughly with the dirt, filth and rain water of the streets Tarry couldn’t help but chuckle. He heard the whimpering of the guards who had pinned themselves against a nearby wall with their feeble steel short swords drawn. Overwhelmed by the gut-wrenching stench of blood and death and seemingly completely paralyzed with shock and fear, the guards attracted the vampire the same way a large wounded fish would attract a shark. For now Storm and Osato ceased to exist in his mind as the madness driven monster limped slowly forward to them.

“Now that your friends have been punished appropriately what shall I do to you? After all, I can’t let your sins against me go unpunished now can I?” asked the vampire mockingly.

[Storm Veritas]

They said that they could handle him.

They were wrong.

One of the guards had misdirected a wild, vicious attack, a hammering deathblow that should have been driven through the shoulder of the nameless attacker. Storm was enraged, his fury clearing his mind of clouded thought, spinning and striking again with a violent and agile hostility. The first dagger, one misdirected from the fool-hero’s sword, was now nestled in the head of that brave idiot guard, driven hard underneath from below the jaw line. The flesh yielded easily, the tongue cleaved simply, only the roof of the mouth offered resistance to the dagger.

Withdrawing the blade just as quickly, the crunching, squishing sound gave him a sickening satisfaction. His ambush thwarted, he would relish this little victory. His eyes darted rapidly, stealing a good assessment of the ever-growing threat.

None of you can touch me.

He had other words for the silent attacker. He took a long gaze upon him as the sword-swinger began to circle the troops. They were coming around, and though Tarry would undoubtedly cleave his way through many, the numbers probably made any chance of victory impossible.

They wished to block his escape, but this certainly wasn’t their call to make. It was his – and his alone – because if Tarry Whealer was distracted he had no time to waste on some self-righteous samurai type. Looking at the tight-packed walls of the alley, he already had his escape route. He gave a quick and gratuitous verbal assault before he would take off.

“I’m not done with you, asshole. You’ll see me again.”

Normal men would have been trapped between two three-story buildings, but Storm Veritas was a distant stretch from a normal man. With a single bound, he hit the wall hard, popping back and jumping opposite the wall, twisting in the air to meet the other brickface. Another pop, and he was leaping and twisting again.

POP. POP. POP.

Within four bounds he was pulling himself over the rooftop, lifting himself up and sucking in two lungs full of deep, fresh breath. His wounds would take their toll later, but he didn’t feel them now. With the stars above and the action below, he considered raining down a taste of hell in the form of an electrical maelstrom from elevated position. It would kill many.

Nah. F*ck it. Cut your losses.

He was moving again, his feet driving him away from the rooftop to the next, one story shorter and less than ten feet away. Taking a right turn, he found another. And another. He was a predator now, simply running. Not from the action as he saw it, but around it – there was always going to be another night.

Radasanth would be his again. Storm Veritas was back.

[Osato]

The gushing of the blood from the slaughtered guards was far more then what the mercenary had been expecting for the night. His head was throbbing. His eyes were roving. Problems were rising one after another. Osato was stuck in the middle of it and all around him chaos ensued.

“I think I may stick around,” the sell-sword said off-handedly. “It looks like you will need all the help you can get.”

As if on queue the cry of a massacred guard pierced the night air. The other guards, despite their years of training, turned to see what had happened. In that split second the sneering bastard, Storm, took his opportunity to escape. With a final quip the man began to bound from wall to wall, spanning the narrow gap quickly. Osato pointed to the man, yelling after him, but the guards were already occupied… apparently having already given up on the first murderer.

Slowly the men circled around the vampire, leaving the sell-sword in the background. His mouth was dripping with the blood of the innocent protectors of Radasanth, his eyes crazed and lost in a world of bloodshed. The dingy, damp puddles of tainted rain-water were overpowered by the stench of death. It was a stench that caused the sharp, noble nose of Osato to cringe.

The guards, what few there were left, began to part to either side of the vampire. Though they never let their guard down they did leave a clear line of sight from the murderer to the soulless ‘hero’. “Sins?” Osato asked as he backed up, the edges of his plated boots clicking lightly on the slick cobblestones. “What sins have I possibly committed that an atrocious beast like you could have been sent to forgive me of?”

Osato’s eyes looked from side to side. There was little left in the alleyway that was not smashed, shattered, or dead. Most of the debris would be of little use. However, there were plenty of stakes, or at least shattered pieces of wood from crates. According to myth stakes killed vampires. Or, at least, that was what Osato could remember.

“And who are you to be sinned against?” He was stalling for time. More guards were on the way, needed to be on the way. Without waiting for a command one of the three began moving towards the exit. If more were not coming they would be soon enough. “Are you one that is so pure, so perfect that people can only sin against you? Have you too not sinned? Have you not killed innocents?”

[grim137]

In the same way that many drunks and drug addicts often did, Tarry Whealer, the once proud agent of Najin and the apprentice of the great vampire lord Lestat Vermeshi, had finally hit rock bottom. The bloodlust, the disease that infested his very DNA had once and for all consumed him by that point. The smell of blood, the scent of death, the agonizing, rage inducing feeling that his nemesis Storm Veritas had once again slipped through his fingers, and the surging adrenaline that had come from it all plus many other things all combined to form a sort of cocktail stronger than any drink or drug could ever be and it forced its will upon the vampire’s already twisted mind. Ever since he had picked up a weapon and had his first kill all those years back he had been fighting the bloodlust. The advanced, scientific environment of Najin had tried (and some would say succeeded) to manipulate it where as the hostile, kill or be killed environment of Althanas had strengthened it. Now after years of fighting it the disease had finally won.

The reason Tarry no longer fought the bloodlust was because he must have finally realized there was no point. He remembered the words of his creator and tormentor Do’negh about how he was destined to kill and that there was no way to stop his destiny. Somewhere Tarry must have figured Do’negh was right and stopped trying to be the good guy and accepted fact the he would always be murderer. So now the blind vampire had just given up trying to change what he was apparently supposed to be and just let bloodlust that so often drove him to commit countless horrible deeds overtake him.

There came no response to the hero’s words, and there likely never would be from the livelike vampire. Had Tarry been in a different more sane state of mind he might have made some sort of sharp tongued remark, might have made some sort of self centered comment, hell on a particularly rare occasion the troubled swordsman might have even responded intelligently with insightful answers to the hero’s questions. But such wasn’t the case and the hero’s words fell upon mostly deaf ears.

Yet just because there was no response from the vampire’s lips didn’t mean the words had no effect. The words of the hero must have seeped through the red mist of the bloodlust that currently engulfed the vampire’s mind. They must have gotten past it to have at least touched the part of Tarry’s subconscious where he was still human and thus had human morals and values because the crazed predator ceased his assault on the two guards, giving the humans time to run to away to the safety of their comrades in arms. Storm was gone now; killing the humans further would not allow the vampire to get back at him and would only create more reasons for people to hate him. The words of the hero had actually penetrated deep enough so as to allow some sanity to seep through the rage and thus allow Tarry to realize that fact, even if the vampire had no conscious clue as to what the hero had actually said.

With this slight crack of sanity and Tarry’s newfound opinion of it, the blood lust began to disperse from his mind and instead began to spread out through the rest of the vampire’s dangerous body. No longer was Tarry fighting it, now he was embracing it the same way a small child might embrace their mother. With the disease no longer centered solely on the vampires mind but instead being spread thinly through out his body and becoming more integrated with the vampirism, sanity was able to surface to a point. The disease had finally evolved and was more like the same entity as Tarry instead of a like a parasitic that fed on the vampire’s sanity.

With his newfound sanity and mindset that had been triggered by the sudden and unexpected events of the night, Tarry only smiled. As the guards surrounded him he simply dropped to his knees, threw his weapons onto the dirty ground before him and held his hands in the air with his palms open to show he had no hidden weapon. The vampire knew he couldn’t beat all the guards plus the hero so he figured was better that he surrender now and make his escape when it comes time for his public execution than it was to fight and die then. Plus he knew for a fact while he didn’t believe in honor or mercy, the guards did and killing an unarmed, out numbered creature who was literally on his knees surrendering counted as dishonorable. Yet just to help make sure the guards got his surrender message he retracted his fangs, and bowed his head.

Sure enough instead of doing the smart thing and killing the monster then and there, the guards instead raised their weapons and moved in. There was a lot of care in each step. With almost every step the guards took forward they were ready to take to more in the backwards direction just as quickly. While this was understandable to the blind vampire given the fact that he had murdered several of them in brutal and grotesque ways, it was a bit annoying.

Yet eventually after a moment or two the guards seemed to get the idea that the vampire had accepted defeat and surrounded him. As several of them continued keep there weapons ready one brave guard moved up behind the vampire and bound his hands tightly with a rope before forcing him to his feet.

Rudely the guards hoisted him to his feet and shoved him forward. He was held by three men while a few others stayed on guard to aid there comrades should Tarry decide to attack again. Of course he didn’t and in a few moments the blind vampire was out of the alleyways and well on his way to a small, damp, roach infested jail cell where he would likely rot for a day or two until government of Corone decided to execute him.

“Storm Veritas you may have escaped me again but you unwittingly made me more dangerous than ever. You’ll never escape me, because I have all eternity to exact my revenge, and so help me god that day will come,” thought the vampire with a sadistic glee as he was hauled off. Getting arrested was only a minor annoyance to him. He would escape soon and when he did the hunt would begin again.

((Spoils request: Upgrade to my enhanced physical attributes ability: The ability now includes Tarry's stamina, tolerance for pain, reflexes and agility. The stamina and tolerance for pain are always proportionate to Tarry's strength while the reflexes and agility are always proportionate to Tarry's speed. This is a result of the blood lust evolving.))

[Osato]

Osato was not an expert on vampires, having never seen one in real life before, but there were a few things that he had read in books before. The first and foremost of those ‘things’ was how to handle a vampire when they were in their bloodlust. All the books written by the very knowledgeable sources suggested not being near one. When forced to be near one, it was wise to avoid looking into the vampires eyes. Both of the suggestions did not apply to the situation at hand, and the young sell-sword decided to find the writers of those books and add his own suggestion.

However, oddly enough, the next sequence of events that took place shocked the young man. The vampire yielded. Not verbally, but he physically gave up to the young mercenary and the remaining guards. To his sides he tossed his weapon to the ground, the hilt of one of them splashing in the dingy puddles. With palms up, fangs retracted, and kneeling the Watchmen moved in.

The young man’s hand rose to stop the closest one, sure it was a trap. His grip on the sword never went lax. His muscles tensed as he balanced on the balls of his feet, ready to lunge. But when one of the brave guards tied the vampire’s hands behind his back Osato finally relaxed.

“Good work out there,” the voice came from one of the guards. A heavy hand dropped on the mercenaries back. Osato almost lost his balance from the touch alone. His body quivered, his joins felt weak, the after-affects of the pulsing adrenaline held tightly to his muscles. Ragged breaths beat out relieved sighs as Osato turned and looked at the blood-soaked guard. “I’m glad you held them off long enough. No telling what those two would have done tonight…”

Osato watched with tearing eyes as the bound vampire and his guards turned the corner and headed away. In the back of his mind prayers of thanks to the Thayne were forming, as were promises never to drink and many other little ‘sins’. “Yeah,” was the only response the guard was given.

“Don’t worry about that other one. We’ve dealt with problems like him,” the smug look on the guards face made Osato cringe. He wanted to tell them that they were dealing with Storm Veritas. He wanted to tell them that the murderer was powerful, that he shot lightning from his fingers, and that he would kill again. But the guard began again. “If he stays in the city then we’ll catch him. If he tries to run, the Rangers’ll get him easy…”

“Say, you should come back with us to the Watchhouse, there’s bound to be a reward on the head of that beast.” The suggestion was kind, but the mercenary did not know what to think. A dull headache was forming where the quick thoughts of battle had only moments before been. Still shaking, he pushed back his hair from his face.

“I guess I will,” Osato replied. “Let’s wait till someone comes to clean this mess up. I would not like it if people looted the corpses of the honorable guards.”

((Spoils: Whatever reward I can get for information about Storm and the live capture of Tarry… lol))

[Witchblade]

Introduction: - 8 I love your intro’s, all three of them. I think all of you did a good job of portraying your characters. Though Osato’s character seemed a little out of his sorts in the bar, Storm and Grim, your characters fit in beautifully into their surroundings and where you placed them. I found it extremely easy to float my way into the heads of both Storm and Tarry, however Osato was a little harder. Osato, your role and your writing felt choppy at times, though it did get better throughout the quest. The ‘good guy’ you had your character portray felt…forced though.

Setting: - 7 The description of the establishment was not very vivid but I found it was enough to give it that seedy look, besides, how hard is it to describe a local pub? The ally you had the fight in was a tactical advantage and disadvantage at the same time, however Osato and Storm were the only ones who really took advantage of this. Grim, you just seemed to have your character there, try interacting with your surroundings a little more next time.

Strategy: - 6 This is something that I mentioned in the setting. The environment was the only strategic place, mostly used by Osato to hide behind boxes and dumpsters and such. Storm you used it to help your attacks against Tarry and to escape, but other than that it didn’t come into much play. This score would be a lot higher if all of you had used the setting to your advantage.

Dialogue: - 7 The dialogue, though rather unnecessary at most points in the story, was enjoyable. Some of the lines that came out of Storm’s character’s mouth were downright hilarious and insulting all at the same time. I loved it. Some of the things out of Tarry’s mouth were not as poetic yet fit his character well, Osato didn’t talk much, but then again, given his situation I’m not surprise.

Character: - 7 Characters were neatly portrayed in this, yet I didn’t think that any one of your characters’s had any kind of ‘development’ occur. Grim, you seem to have something going on, but I have no idea what it is. And Osato seemed a little forced into the role of hero, though the others fit well into their ‘monsters lurking in the shadows’ role, Osato seemed awkward in his. It was almost like you were trying to force him into a role you’re not accustomed to having play either with this character or with any other.

Rising Action: - 6 The rising action was lacking. Though the conversation in the alleyway seemed important to both of the characters it took too long to get to the battle and the battle was too short lived. Osato just kept mumbling to himself about becoming a hero and saving the girl while hiding behind things and Tarry and Storm kept throwing insults around. I enjoyed the tongue in cheek game that was going on between the two of them, however things didn’t pick up until the guards arrived and then everything just kind of wrapped up, it was disappointing, I was looking for more of a fight between Tarry and Storm.

Climax: - 7 Like the rising action, this too suffered. The climax, I believe, is right when the guards burst into the alleyway to help out the ‘hero’ of this story, even there even is one. There was fighting and there were a lot of guards dying, there were five of them to begin with but it seems more like eight or even ten of them died. It was like they kept multiplying and then instantaneously dying. How did the guards know it was Storm Veritas and Tarry Whealer fighting in the alleyway, no one told them, they just showed up and automatically knew it was them.

Conclusion: - 6 The conclusion definitely needed some help. Storm runs away and Tarry gives up the fight surrendering to more guards. They must have just kept filtering into this alleyway. It was lacking and disappointing, though I’m sure Osato got some kind of satisfaction for capturing the famous Tarry Whealer. The explanation given for why Tarry gives up wasn’t good enough in my mind.

Writing Style: - 8 All of your writing styles were very enjoyable to read. Grim, you’ve improved a lot since I’ve been gone from Althanas. Osato, there were times when I was a little confused because of the way you structured your sentences. Try to make things simpler. Grim, you had a few run on sentences and grammatical and spelling mistakes, you all did actually, but nothing major that would affect your score.

Wild Card: - 7 I really enjoyed reading this thread, it kept me entertained and interested all the way through. I’ll definitely be jumping on the sequel to it once it’s done.

Total Score: 69

Rewards!


Osato gains 600 EXP and 1000 GP for the live capture of Tarry Whealer!
Grim gains 2,000 EXP, a jail cell and the modification to his ability, which will have to be further approved by an RoG mod.
Storm gains 2,500 EXP!

[Thoracis]

EXP added!