A/N: Alright, you know what, I'm not even going to feed you any lines of
bull-shit that I'm going to post quickly and everything because just when I
think I'll be able to find the time to produce a semi-decent chp. the world
ends up in total chaos. So as a result, this chapter in itself probably
won't be that great either but. . .you know. If you don't like it I'll come
and. . .grease your handle bars.
At the southernmost point of Terrielle, where the ocean spray first collides with the sandy beach, there is an old stone castle that was rumored to be a fortress. But any man, living or dead had long forgot the war it would have been used in. There were rumors among the landen villages that spoke of this old castle, whispers repeated among the villagers that explained why the shadows lining the old walls were so unnaturally dark, or why after more than twenty centuries the castle was still in perfect shape. Many believed that it was a prison for the undead, souls that would not be reborn in the Darkness or become demon dead would be sent there to fulfill the sentences for their evil. If they only knew the truth. . .there were worse things than ghosts that stalked the night.
As a small sliver of moonlight lit an inner chamber of the old fortress, one of the shadows that cloaked the room detached itself from the others. It was darker that the night that had conceived it, and the other shadows seemed to retreat in fear. The shadow stepped into the elusive light and waited. As the full moon struck it directly, human qualities appeared. Smooth white skin, ebony hair, and the mysterious glowing red eyes all were evident on what was once a mere shadow. The new-made man surveyed his surroundings with hungry desire and an unsatisfiable curiosity. He studied his hands, his skin, touched his lips, all with an ecstasy that not even the most pleasant experiences could match. The human body was a marvel to him, of course he had not been human in over twenty thousand years.
Finally reminding himself of the other duties that awaited him, the man turned to the men who had served him faithfully. They could not yet know that they had been played with, the destruction and chaos that would follow because of their actions this night, because, for now, he needed them, as much as he despised to admit it.
"Robe me," he hissed into the night and, as if his absence had never been noted, men, different from the ones he had left twenty centuries ago, yet foolishly alike, stepped forth to answer his desires.
"My Lord," one of the young aristocrats who had funded this little venture stepped forth. He was not Blood, not part of the ancient enemy that had imprisoned him for all these years, but he was brash, arrogant, and easily duped, "My Lord, all the orders you have given have been carried out with perfection. You will find everything you need has already been taken into account, all the pawns you mentioned have been put into play. If you are not too exhausted from your . . .err. . .transformation, I would like to discuss some business prospects with you-"
The man paid no attention to the youth, there were more important prospects to consider. There was only one pawn's progress he was interested in, but what he needed now was information other than the bits and pieces he had heard from his ignorant servants on this part of the Veil. He stormed past the courtyard where he had been reborn and followed from his memory that was twenty centuries old, the path to the throne room, leaving his servants gaping in confusion including the stuttering aristocrat.
As he had expected, the young man followed him, determined to get some answers at the very least. The shadow man sat upon the throne that had been cleaned for his arrival and smirked with chilling, bloodless lips at the audacity of his young follower. The aristocrat shrank back from the gesture, all thoughts leaving him at that particular moment.
"Now," he spoke, his voice colder than ice, "Tell me that the spy we hired has made it into SaDiablo Hall."
"Al-almost my m-master," he stammered, dropping to his knees, "W-we have paid a generous sum to her to m-make sure s-she succeeds. I-is there an-anything else that m-mi-might please you my m-master?"
The man retreated into the shadows of his throne, the only light coming from the strange glowing eyes. One test, he thought smiling to himself, a test to see how potent my powers are after centuries in retirement.
"Yes," he hissed, in a somehow teasing whisper, "It would please me for you to die."
"But master!" he shrieked in protest, "I have done everything you have asked me to do, I have made it possible for you to return, I have ordered men to their death just to make this night possible, but I have done nothing to displease you!"
He sobbed on the cold stone floor, realizing how futile his protests were, now understanding, at the end, the fate he had brought upon the realms.
"You will not be obedient to your master and do as your told?" the shadow man laughingly demanded, "Then allow me to assist you in following out orders."
The youth screamed as darkness entered him, poisoning his blood, chrushing his organs. Warm sticky blood oozed from his mouth smattering on his fine coat and breeches. Within minutes, he was dead.
The man used tendrils of air to throw the broken corpse against the wall, to be used later as an example of what it meant to disobey an order, and of what the price would be for failure. The night paid homage to the kill, swallowing it with shadows until it was all but out of sight. His demon eyes danced with the darkness that had extinguished the youth's life, and he threw his head up to once again rejoice in the sweet feel of the night air caressing his skin. And the dark responded, ready to await the call of its prince. It was anxious, it had been dormant for too long, and he smiled in pleasure as he again took his throne. An ominous, and almost maniacal, laugh escaped his lips, letting the world know the Night Prince had returned.
* * * * *
Draca's reptilian eyes flew open as she awoke from her sleep. She could still feel the darkness that had besieged her mind and hear the laughter that had tormented her dreams for hundreds of years. She knew then that she and Lorn had guessed wrong; even after centuries of experience they had underestimated their ancient enemy who was as cunning as he was ruthless. Rumors had circulated, fearful whispers that a rebirth could occur, and she had disposed of the small group of followers who had boldly talked about reviving the Night Prince. She realized now that that group had simply been a decoy, placed there to make her think she and Lorn had eliminated the potential threat. It was obvious now that the ancient pair had never even come close to catching the ones who would plunge the world into a second darkness.
Draca felt her old bones shrink with despair and she cursed herself for being so foolish. Now all the free people of Jaenelle's Purge would suffer for her folly. How could she have easily fallen for the trap and not even suspect anything until a couple of moments ago? She knew she had to find Lorn.
The Keep's Sentchel flew among the old tomes of literature, all useless. One sight, however, made her pause. Raine had fallen asleep on a book, her fiery tresses spread across the pages protectively. Draca shook her head, knowing she was studying a book on government after the time of Witch. The apprentice had been sleeping here every day for a week. Draca also knew of the girl's dream to be Queen of Ebon Askavi, the ambition practically rolled from her body in waves. She would need all of it against the coming threat.
Draca ran out in the foreboding, no longer safe, night. She began to change forms when a noise in the brush startled her.
"Oh don't let me disturb you," Torsh snorted flame in amusement, "I've never seen a transformation before."
Draca was startled that she hadn't been able to see the kai'tori, but didn't allow herself to dwell on it.
"You would do well turn the other way," she remarked sullenly. There was no hissing on her part now; they were speaking in a language known by no mortal for many, many years. The fierce predator did not turn the other way, but faced her squarely.
"It has begun then," he said sadly, "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this."
"Torsh listen to me," Draca said fiercely, pinning him down with her gaze, "You, Lorn, and I are the only ones who know about the impending threat, and you only know because you were told. I am going to Lorn now to see what must be done, but there is one thing I know for certain. The threat to you and your charge will increase dramatically. You must be careful, our enemies must not catch her. If you do not want the responsibility-"
"Draca, don't even speak like that," he cut her off, though she was his superior, "I would gladly lay down my life for that girl, not just because she's a charge, but as a friend."
"Torsh," Draca exclaimed, alarmed, "You are meant to be a silent stalker, not a friend. If she becomes too attached to you, and you die, she will be too distraught to do what must be done. Think about the repercussions of what you do! It is forbidden-"
"I know Draca," he interrupted again, "Trust me, you have nothing to fear."
Eyeing him cautiously, she dismissed him from her mind and disappeared into the unforgiving night.
At the southernmost point of Terrielle, where the ocean spray first collides with the sandy beach, there is an old stone castle that was rumored to be a fortress. But any man, living or dead had long forgot the war it would have been used in. There were rumors among the landen villages that spoke of this old castle, whispers repeated among the villagers that explained why the shadows lining the old walls were so unnaturally dark, or why after more than twenty centuries the castle was still in perfect shape. Many believed that it was a prison for the undead, souls that would not be reborn in the Darkness or become demon dead would be sent there to fulfill the sentences for their evil. If they only knew the truth. . .there were worse things than ghosts that stalked the night.
As a small sliver of moonlight lit an inner chamber of the old fortress, one of the shadows that cloaked the room detached itself from the others. It was darker that the night that had conceived it, and the other shadows seemed to retreat in fear. The shadow stepped into the elusive light and waited. As the full moon struck it directly, human qualities appeared. Smooth white skin, ebony hair, and the mysterious glowing red eyes all were evident on what was once a mere shadow. The new-made man surveyed his surroundings with hungry desire and an unsatisfiable curiosity. He studied his hands, his skin, touched his lips, all with an ecstasy that not even the most pleasant experiences could match. The human body was a marvel to him, of course he had not been human in over twenty thousand years.
Finally reminding himself of the other duties that awaited him, the man turned to the men who had served him faithfully. They could not yet know that they had been played with, the destruction and chaos that would follow because of their actions this night, because, for now, he needed them, as much as he despised to admit it.
"Robe me," he hissed into the night and, as if his absence had never been noted, men, different from the ones he had left twenty centuries ago, yet foolishly alike, stepped forth to answer his desires.
"My Lord," one of the young aristocrats who had funded this little venture stepped forth. He was not Blood, not part of the ancient enemy that had imprisoned him for all these years, but he was brash, arrogant, and easily duped, "My Lord, all the orders you have given have been carried out with perfection. You will find everything you need has already been taken into account, all the pawns you mentioned have been put into play. If you are not too exhausted from your . . .err. . .transformation, I would like to discuss some business prospects with you-"
The man paid no attention to the youth, there were more important prospects to consider. There was only one pawn's progress he was interested in, but what he needed now was information other than the bits and pieces he had heard from his ignorant servants on this part of the Veil. He stormed past the courtyard where he had been reborn and followed from his memory that was twenty centuries old, the path to the throne room, leaving his servants gaping in confusion including the stuttering aristocrat.
As he had expected, the young man followed him, determined to get some answers at the very least. The shadow man sat upon the throne that had been cleaned for his arrival and smirked with chilling, bloodless lips at the audacity of his young follower. The aristocrat shrank back from the gesture, all thoughts leaving him at that particular moment.
"Now," he spoke, his voice colder than ice, "Tell me that the spy we hired has made it into SaDiablo Hall."
"Al-almost my m-master," he stammered, dropping to his knees, "W-we have paid a generous sum to her to m-make sure s-she succeeds. I-is there an-anything else that m-mi-might please you my m-master?"
The man retreated into the shadows of his throne, the only light coming from the strange glowing eyes. One test, he thought smiling to himself, a test to see how potent my powers are after centuries in retirement.
"Yes," he hissed, in a somehow teasing whisper, "It would please me for you to die."
"But master!" he shrieked in protest, "I have done everything you have asked me to do, I have made it possible for you to return, I have ordered men to their death just to make this night possible, but I have done nothing to displease you!"
He sobbed on the cold stone floor, realizing how futile his protests were, now understanding, at the end, the fate he had brought upon the realms.
"You will not be obedient to your master and do as your told?" the shadow man laughingly demanded, "Then allow me to assist you in following out orders."
The youth screamed as darkness entered him, poisoning his blood, chrushing his organs. Warm sticky blood oozed from his mouth smattering on his fine coat and breeches. Within minutes, he was dead.
The man used tendrils of air to throw the broken corpse against the wall, to be used later as an example of what it meant to disobey an order, and of what the price would be for failure. The night paid homage to the kill, swallowing it with shadows until it was all but out of sight. His demon eyes danced with the darkness that had extinguished the youth's life, and he threw his head up to once again rejoice in the sweet feel of the night air caressing his skin. And the dark responded, ready to await the call of its prince. It was anxious, it had been dormant for too long, and he smiled in pleasure as he again took his throne. An ominous, and almost maniacal, laugh escaped his lips, letting the world know the Night Prince had returned.
* * * * *
Draca's reptilian eyes flew open as she awoke from her sleep. She could still feel the darkness that had besieged her mind and hear the laughter that had tormented her dreams for hundreds of years. She knew then that she and Lorn had guessed wrong; even after centuries of experience they had underestimated their ancient enemy who was as cunning as he was ruthless. Rumors had circulated, fearful whispers that a rebirth could occur, and she had disposed of the small group of followers who had boldly talked about reviving the Night Prince. She realized now that that group had simply been a decoy, placed there to make her think she and Lorn had eliminated the potential threat. It was obvious now that the ancient pair had never even come close to catching the ones who would plunge the world into a second darkness.
Draca felt her old bones shrink with despair and she cursed herself for being so foolish. Now all the free people of Jaenelle's Purge would suffer for her folly. How could she have easily fallen for the trap and not even suspect anything until a couple of moments ago? She knew she had to find Lorn.
The Keep's Sentchel flew among the old tomes of literature, all useless. One sight, however, made her pause. Raine had fallen asleep on a book, her fiery tresses spread across the pages protectively. Draca shook her head, knowing she was studying a book on government after the time of Witch. The apprentice had been sleeping here every day for a week. Draca also knew of the girl's dream to be Queen of Ebon Askavi, the ambition practically rolled from her body in waves. She would need all of it against the coming threat.
Draca ran out in the foreboding, no longer safe, night. She began to change forms when a noise in the brush startled her.
"Oh don't let me disturb you," Torsh snorted flame in amusement, "I've never seen a transformation before."
Draca was startled that she hadn't been able to see the kai'tori, but didn't allow herself to dwell on it.
"You would do well turn the other way," she remarked sullenly. There was no hissing on her part now; they were speaking in a language known by no mortal for many, many years. The fierce predator did not turn the other way, but faced her squarely.
"It has begun then," he said sadly, "I had hoped it wouldn't come to this."
"Torsh listen to me," Draca said fiercely, pinning him down with her gaze, "You, Lorn, and I are the only ones who know about the impending threat, and you only know because you were told. I am going to Lorn now to see what must be done, but there is one thing I know for certain. The threat to you and your charge will increase dramatically. You must be careful, our enemies must not catch her. If you do not want the responsibility-"
"Draca, don't even speak like that," he cut her off, though she was his superior, "I would gladly lay down my life for that girl, not just because she's a charge, but as a friend."
"Torsh," Draca exclaimed, alarmed, "You are meant to be a silent stalker, not a friend. If she becomes too attached to you, and you die, she will be too distraught to do what must be done. Think about the repercussions of what you do! It is forbidden-"
"I know Draca," he interrupted again, "Trust me, you have nothing to fear."
Eyeing him cautiously, she dismissed him from her mind and disappeared into the unforgiving night.