Chapter 1: AB Negative [Solo]
Naked came the stranger. Down the twisting staircase of the tastelessly adorned dwelling, Raydin spotted the 27-year old brunet. The mansion looked as though it could have been built 200 years ago. But it wasn’t, Raydin smirked knowingly to himself. The once proud estate once belonged to an equally proud Petty Duke, who unwittingly found himself out a pretty penny on account of a bad habit. I should visit the races later, Raydin ponderously mused, I feel like tonight I might just get lucky. Nowadays, the neglected grounds were home to Underwood’s many rowdy ruffians, seedy street urchins, and sinful seducers. Under different circumstances, this would be my kind of crowd, Raydin alliterated self-amorously.
“You must be A-Adam!â€, the asthenic brunet rudely interrupted. Raydin furrowed his eyebrows, evoking a barren field once rich in claret grapes used only for the finest wines. “Actually, it’s pronounced Aydamâ€, Raydin enunciated vexedly with imperceptible difference. As many still fail to see the vital importance in the service blood-thieves such as Raydin himself provide, it is commonly understood that it is safest to assume an alias when carrying out business. “Oh, r-right, of course it isâ€, the 5’9†guttersnipe pitifully stuttered. “Actually, there w-was something else I have been meaning to ask you.†Raydin scoffed at the audacity of these words. A request? Knows the impertinence of these freaks no bounds? With the inevitability, speed, and sheer mass of a lone birch completing its descending collapse onto the crisp, leafy ground, Raydin pushed himself against the ochre-haired wastrel and towards the southern wall of the 20 square feet room in which these momentous events betided.
His shoulders pinned against the brittle spinney that was the once gracefully embellished wooden wall he used to spend long hours adoring in his youth, Mahlakim sloped aghast. Looking into the glowering pair of greyish-blue pearls that wafted gently from side to side at a height of roughly 6’1â€, he could not help but feel secure. He recalled the time he broke his father’s beloved pair of gilded binoculars only to be scolded and yet softly reprimanded. His father had reacted firmly and in anger, yet Mahlakim felt that even after all that his family had endured, he was still loved and cared for. He remembered that incident because it made him feel similar to the events currently unfolding. Specifically, he felt that the way he recollected his father behaving towards him, and specifically his intentions, were alike to what he now ascribed to be at the heart of Raydin’s demeanor. In fact, the way Raydin was acting towards him mirrored the way his father used to act towards him. One could say there were certain qualities that his father possessed that it appeared Raydin also possessed. In point of fact, Raydin now as his father in the past have both --
As Raydin continued to look down into the glazed-over foggy twin pomes, he could not help but feel morosely lugubrious. Milk of the poppy, Raydin brooded to himself, teeth suckling to convey resentment and exasperation to no one in particular. If this were any real person of value, I would be sick to my stomach right about now. Being trapped in your own recurring inane thought truly is a punishment I would only wish on that strumpet that mixed up my breakfast at the inn this morning. Now furious at the thought of someone disrespecting his clear verbal directive, Raydin pushed the seemingly lifeless body further into the wall using both of his white-knuckled hands. Without support, Mahlakim slunk to the ground like a day-old log of soft bread that never had any vitality to begin with. Towering at 6’3â€, the coat-clad gangly specter bellowed: “So what is it, then? Shall we go on with it? Half a gold per vial is more than generous for your filthy ichor. Come to think of it, I have half a mind to reconsider our arrangementâ€.
For a fleeting moment, the clouds overcasting Mahlakim’s murky eyes parted and like a sunbeam peering out from behind the haze, a shred of glistening awareness fell upon his orbs. “Take all of it. Take it all!†His words echoed within the windowed, first storied room, across old, unloved bookshelves, betwixt cobwebbed candle holders, and along splintered curtain rods that appeared to be fashioned out of sturdy oak, most likely logged around Ninyama and voyaged the long way through Capitol City, where, sold to a skillful craftsman, they must have fetched a hefty sum. Never breaking his gaze onto the lamentable wretch, Raydin quizzically puzzled through the enigma that these words betrayed. All of his blood? He would perish in a woeful instant! Does he not grasp the gravity of his words? Mahlakim uncharacteristically stoically held his sad stare with the determination of a man who had nothing left to lose or live for. The determination in his eyes… Does he have nothing left to lose or live for? Raydin novelistically thought. “T-take it all awayâ€, Mahlakim now somberly crackled. Raydin exhaled. He understood.
With the practiced professionalism of an obsessed novelist racking back a typewriter carriage, Raydin flung backwards his coat hem with his left hand, revealing what to Mahlakim must have appeared like an oversized gray-glimmering floret grip. Continuing his body’s leftward momentum, his right hand’s fingertips soon found the familiar feeling of rough, marine-grade celestrium. The deceptively hefty mass filling his bone-dry palm engendered a surge of anticipation rising up his radius. Every crevasse on the battle-tested haft tied to a bloody memory, Raydin bore an intoxicated smirk. This was the part he always enjoyed most. With a resoundingly onomatopoeic shliiink, the bladed oversized syringe parted with its sheath. Stoic as an overgrown persimmon tree battered by the ages, obliquely collapsed against a mossen boulder, only razor-sharp and ferrous, the syringe-blade shrieked through the damp air. Mahlakim’s mouth agape in an incredulous grimace, the cold shard found its target.
Deeper and deeper the cuspated tube drilled through ailing layers of grayish skin, rotten fat, and what little brawn remained of Mahlakim, ransacking his body of its very vitality. As the grim husk turned from sickly, coppery rust to dull alabaster, Raydin felt his heart’s meaty thump reverberate through his veins. He felt powerful. He was losing control. What? No, I can still hold on! I can stop anytime I want! Raydin obliviously lied to himself. Pupils darting about chaotically and without purpose, his eyes glazed over and the familiar gentle embrace of euphoria whelmed him completely. “F-fatheeeer…â€, Mahlakim faintly released, the only liquid remaining in his body now pooling in his wavering eyes, like a silvery lake peacefully undulating amidst the hushed Winter moonlight. As the red sap violently gushed, Mahlakim gurgled his last anguished thought. What a poetic contrast, Raydin would have sardonically lauded, had he not been consumed by ghoulish ecstasy.
Suddenly, what began as the sonic equivalent of a pebble carelessly kicked down a gravelly hill rose to the thundering clamor of an approaching stampede. The echoing crescendo betrayed their numbers. There were many. With the violent brutality of an axe splitting a wooden door into splintereens, a hefty key angrily scraped against tough bronze. A resounding chunnnkk indicated that teeth found their pins, releasing the rotor, and allowing the deadbolt to recede back into the lock body, empowering the door to swivel freely around the hinges mounted on the opposite side of the lock. Two pairs of heavy, well-worn leather boots riotously crashed into the 20 square feet room. Pure horror in the face of the grizzly scene unfolding in front of their eyes, the city guards drew their metal. Screams and shouts, smells and sights assailed Raydin’s senses simultaneously. Pleads for explanation and surrender fell on deaf and bewildered ears. A black and grey orb, 3 inch in diameter and with the dimpled imperfections of cheaply forged iron. Curious how it flew so fast, Raydin pondered with a hint of a smirk as his temples cracked onto the stained ash floor.
Raydin awoke to the unfamiliar and exotic features of a 24 year old Fallien woman. He had spent many dry summers in the dunes of Fallien before he became a blood thief, working as a handyman for hire on various trade caravans. He was intimately familiar with the customs and people of the vast and desolate region. The Junoesque physiognomy of the female human confused and intimidated him. ‘The name’s Risk’, the 5’7†chain-clad amazon greeted, her upper lip rhythmically hammering down, molding the sound into what appeared to be words. Her teeth do look like anvils, Raydin remarked intelligently and without a hint of leftover blunt force trauma. Risk’s already creased brow furrowed further looking down at the dimly simpering sorry lump of red cloth. With a sigh she resigned and extended both shackle-bound hands. This must be the beginning of a beautiful friendship, Raydin beamed as he clumsily clasped onto the outstretched appendages.
