Thousands of leagues I fell. An eternity of terror, feeling my existence slipping away.
I was no longer graced. I was no longer controlled by the Fates.
I was mortal.
Hurtling towards the earth at speeds unimaginable.
And yet, a smile cracked across my face as the wind assaulted me.
The Fates had no control over me.
I was free.
Falling to my death.
But for these last moments, I was free.
His once-graceful wings lay cracked and diseased across the shadowy forest's turf. His eyes shone in the night, a brilliant green. No one else sat in this clearing, just me, and his prone form. I struggled to get the words I need out. I wanted to ask him if he was okay. If he needed help.
When all my instincts told me to run. Run far away from him. He was one of them.
A horrible demon, here to kill and revel in my blood and soul. But I stayed. A stupid move.
Do you...do you need help? He stayed emotionless, cocking his head at my words, revealing more scars across his face. It looked like he had been stricken with the omen, blisters all along his skin, a deathly pallor, but the fact that he was moving at all was proof enough he wasn't. I looked at his arms and legs, searching for the telltale signs that said he was one of them. No claws, no distended fingers, no spider-like tattoos inscribed along his arms or legs. He was as a human. Excepting the wings, of course. Upon inspecting him more, I started to realize the full extent of the injuries. Ichor poured out of the huge crevices along his wings, and crimson nectar escaped through the multitude of cuts along his body, no doubt caused by his fall. Did you fall? I asked, my voice cracking, not really expecting this visitor to be able to speak.
He grimaced, sadness pouring in liquid form out of his eyes.
Yeah...I fell he said, uncertainly, startling me.
I walked closer, despite the gut feeling I was starting to have. It felt like he was one them, the dead things. But he wasn't. He was living. He was breathing. His skin didn't reek of graveyard dirt, his eyes didn't look like glassy orbs, his fingers weren't spiked tendrils, and he spoke. They couldn't do that.
Oh, and he wasn't killing me.
I stepped closer, kneeling next to him, and started touching the torn flaps, running my fingers along the sensitive material. He shuddered, but made no attempt to stop me. Wings...Are you...*gulp*...one of them? I asked, not able to hide the fear in my voice.
He cocked his head again, staring at me curiously. Them? he asked with a strangely light tone in his voice.
I nodded in response.
Them, you know, the dead ones? The vampires? I said.
In one quick movement, he stood up, catching me off guard by both his quickness and his nudity.
I hadn't realized his lack of clothing moments before, and blushed.
The nudity gave me a chance to see even more damage, everywhere on his body. It was a wonder that his body was still whole, considering everything it had went through.
He seemed unaffected by my response, and looked down at me.
I am not of their kin, he said, with the same strange tone in his voice as before.
I breathed a sigh of relief, trusting him implicitly for no reason other than I didn't believe he would lie to me. The bad vibe was gone, leaving a naked stranger in my midst. I went searching in my pack for spare clothes to fix this, when I stopped suddenly.
A church bell pealed in the distance, signaling the coming of the night. The coming of the dead ones.
Nosgoth was not a pretty place when the dead ones were out.
I went rigid at the sound, tears forming in my eyes. Even though I had knew this was going to happen, I didn't feel ready. The man looked towards the church bell, smiling warmly. He had no clue of what was going to happen. The bell was going to stop in roughly a minute. And the sun would finally set. And they would be free to slaughter and revel in the few mortals dumb enough to be found outside the Citadel's walls. The tears in my eyes poured freely, as I kneeled on the ground, praying to God to make my end quick.
And still, the man stood smiling. The church bell rung on.
And then stopped.
I closed my eyes, hugging myself as I heard hideous screeches in the distance.
They were coming. In my head, I felt sad for not having been able to help the stranger.
But there was nothing I could do, I'd be dead in moments, and he too.
And then he laughed.
Giggled, really, which isn't the most common behavior for a man facing his death.
I opened my eyes, and turned to him.
He was staring at some object just out of my eyesight, right out of the clearing.
I followed his gaze and gasped.
Dozens of sets of red eyes staring at us, hungry and longing.
But not a one moved closer, moved for the kill.
One by one, they crept off into the night, to hunt others, leaving me and the stranger in the clearing. A long awkward silence passed between us as I looked up in wonder at him.
He turned to me, smiling with childish delight.
I'm Michael! he said excitedly.
I-I'm Amber, I stuttered in response.
And so began the journeys of me and my lost friend Michael.