The First Sarafan

Azrael awoke, not really sure where he was, not even sure of who he was. "What happened? Where am I?" he asked stumbling to his feet and groaning in pain as his head started to throb with pain. Strange thoughts flashed through his head, of golden light and falling, endlessly falling… He shook his head to try and clear the haze from his mind but it brought him nothing except more pain.

He looked around and saw that he was in a room, a room that was completely unfamiliar in all aspects. Surrounded by wooden walls, he lay on a straw pallet, above him was a thatch roof and against the far wall was a hearth with a fire burning brightly. Closing his eyes he caught glimpses of golden walls and servants to do his bidding, then the vision was gone, vanished from his mind faster than the blink of an eye.

"Where am I?" he asked again, louder this time. "So ye be awakenin' at last do ye? Well it be about time that's fer sure", came an old voice from across the room. Azrael looked over and saw an old man and upon looking at him, he instantly knew everything about him. From when Joseph, the old man, had broken his knee at the age of five, to how Joseph had found him, bruised and unconscious in the forest not far from here.

"So it is Nosgoth I am in. But why? For what reason am I here?" he asked speaking more to himself than to Joseph. "Err, ye be here 'cause I dragged ye here when ye was all cut an bleedin'" Joseph answered. "Thank you Joseph, but I was talking about the bigger picture, I feel, for some reason that I am not native to this place."

"Hey! How do ye be knowin' me name?" asked Joseph, immediately on the defensive, "Ye been spyin' on me?" and he held up his weapon ready to spear this strange being. "Hold good fellow", responded Azrael, "In truth I am not sure how I knew your name, as I am not sure of many things", looking across he saw that Joseph held a spear pointed at his heart. A glimpse flashed across his mind, along with a voice commanding him, someone he respected, "Go forth… vampires… help the people…" and then it was gone.

"Ye ain't beein' a bloodsucker is ye?" asked Joseph nervously ready to spear him at the slightest hint of an attack. "Rest assured Joseph, I am no vampire", Azrael stood up and felt his head, where the blood was beginning to crust over from whatever it was that had struck him. Seeing him stand, Joseph made ready to attack, "Wait", called Azrael, "If you have some water here I will show you that it does not hurt me, will that suffice as proof that I am not a vampire?"

"Err, just wait a second then", and Joseph shuffled around for a few seconds then hesitantly came closer holding a wooden cup, filled with water. Taking the cup Azrael poured some water over his hand, which had no effect other than to wet it. Then he lifted the cup to his mouth and drained the rest of the water in a single swallow.

"So if you ain't a bloodsucker, then where does ye hail from?" asked Joseph, still holding the weapon, but no longer pointing it at the stranger. "To tell the truth I am not entirely sure, my memory seems to missing large pieces", replied Azrael, "However I do know that my master has sent me here to deal with vampires. Yes that is right. To help the people as I can."

Feeling dizzy, Azrael sat back down on the bed again, fighting against the nausea that had suddenly swelled within him. Then he passed out once more. "Well, ye be needin' some rest that's fer sure", said the old man as he covered Azrael's unconscious form with a blanket and washed the wound on his head clean. Then the old man made a bed for himself near the fire and lay down to rest as well.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Meanwhile, in a forest encampment not that far away a group of bandits were engaged in a heated argument, the object of the argument lay in the leaders hands, an evil looking two-handed sword, it's blade curved back and forth many times from hilt to tip. The crosspiece had been crafted in the image of a vampire's skull, with two fangs stretching down to the blade, which extended from the skull as if it were a tongue. The hilt strangely enough was remarkably plain, bound only with leather. However the weapon exuded an aura of power.

"That's it Lorath! Hand over the blade now or I'll take it from your corpse", one of the men screamed and then he rushed the leader with his own sword out. Lorath merely stood there waiting and as soon as the man was in reach he brought the weapon down in an arc that sliced the man from shoulder to hip-bone causing a spray of blood and gore to coat all those who were near. The dying man looked up at him with astonishment in his eyes as his torso fell down to the ground next to his legs.

Lorath smiled evilly, "Well, does anyone else wish to die today?" the men standing around all shook their heads. "Then I suggest we get ready to attack the nearby town, their pitiful guard will not be able to stand against us now." He held the sword high as blood ran down the blood into its mouth. Watching the blade with fear, Gareth could have sworn that the eyes burst into red light as the blood touched the fangs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Watching from the shadows with interest, the robed figure smiled as Lorath held the blade high. It would be interesting indeed to see how this twist played out. He had travelled far to be here and while he was expecting someone else to be holding the blade, this situation would suit his purposes far better.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The fires from the town's run lit the night sky for miles around. The bandits had spared no one, men, women and children had been cut down where they stood, or in most cases, they had been slaughtered from behind as they ran. Many bandits had fallen to looting the houses for the petty trinkets to be found within, with many small fights breaking out over minor baubles. Lorath stood in the centre of the town, surveying the carnage with savage glee. The sword pulsed in his hand, sending shivers up and down his arm. Licking his blood coated lips he lifted his head to the moon and howled in animalistic fury.

Gareth shudder as he watched from the shadows, he felt sickened as he looked around his home town, especially when he saw his sister's corpse lying near Lorath. She had a gaping wound in her back where he had plunged that cursed blade in, as well as a gash across her neck where Lorath had bit her and drank deeply of her blood. Gareth had heard the rumours about creatures of the night and how they fed on humans, but like many he had discounted them. Now he knew they were true.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Azrael awoke, hearing the sounds of screams off into the distance. Looking around he saw Joseph already up, standing guard with his spear pointed at the door. He tried to stand up, but was overcome by dizziness and collapsed back on the bed. Hearing him, Joseph looked over.

'Aye, it be a sad business for anyone who be out in them woods tonight.'

'What…. What is going on?'

'I'd say a bloodsucker raid from the sounds of it, but the thing is I ain't never seen none of em around ere, cept for the rumours o'course.'

At his words a memory resurfaced amongst Azrael's mind, that of his weapon, taken from a demon long before, it took a creature of great power to control it. Even then he needed to continually fight with it for control. Azrael had willingly taken the burden up long before, continually searching for a way to destroy the foul thing, but to no avail. Until recently that is, when he had discovered a fragment of an ancient manuscript that had described the sword and it's forging place, Nosgoth. So he had come, hoping to find a way to be rid of the evil weapon once and for all.

'Dear God no,' he whispered in horror as he thought of the awful possibility.

'What's ye problem?'

'My weapon… A sword… Did you see anything like that when you found me?'

'Nae, ye had nothing but the clothin' on ye back. There was however several different pairs of footprints around ye body. P'raps they managed to find it.'

'Pray that they did not, good Joseph, for if it falls into the wrong hands I fear greatly for what could happen to this world.'

The next morning Azrael awoke early and despite his still throbbing head and constant bouts of nausea he struggled outside and began to exercise. Over the next few days he gradually returned to full strength, although of his memories, very little had returned. Finally, a full week after he had been found by the woodsman, he decided to set out and discover what happened to his blade.

'I must depart Joseph, I thank thee for thy kind help during my illness, but my head has healed and now I must set out and discover what has happened to my sword.'

'Aye, I thought ye might be saying sometin' like that, but abide here a moment longer if you would', and Joseph made his way back into the cabin, returning with his spear. 'Here, take this, I cannae bear the thought of ye perishin' so soon after'n I helped ye to get better.'

'I cannot in good conscience accept it Joseph, for to take it would leave you defenceless.'

'Tis alright lad, I kin make more of 'em easily enough', and he pushed the spear into Azrael's hands.

'Very well if you insist, I will gladly accept your gift. Once more I thank you, for your help and this spear, but now I must leave. Fare thee well Joseph, may your remaining days be peaceful.'

'Aye, fare thee well Azrael. May ye find success in what ye do.'

And with that, Azrael turned and left the old woodsman, heading into the forest to where Joseph had found his body. Once there he tracked the bandits to their camp and saw that it was deserted and had been for some days. This bodes ill, I know it, They must have found the blade and now it has taken control. I must hurry if I wish to halt this before it goes too far, he thought as he paced around the camp looking for where they had gone.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

'Ahhhh Azrael, ever the trusting fool', said Joseph, staring off into the woods as his tone become deeper and the flesh melted off him, revealing the form of a hideous demon. 'My vengeance comes ever closer, you will never leave this place, light-bringer', the demon hissed as it's form dispersed into the air.