Copyright © 2002 by Syvia (Aka Rebecca K. Friedrick). All Rights Reserved.

Disclaimer: I don't own Blood Omen 2. etc. etc. etc.

Author's Notes: There shouldn't be anything overly surprising in this chapter, and remember, some of this info is just assumed from things you hear in the game, but some is completely unfounded. *flashes poetic license*

Alright! I'm reaching out to new audience members. ~_^

Shadow66- *grins* Well... Dulce's story is over, but lots of other stories have yet to be told.

Esoteric- *hugs* Of course you want to see Marcus! *lol* True- there is a narrator... but his/her bits are going to be shorter in some of these chapters. Note: There's more than one person who could be telling this story. I haven't actually decided who it is, although it's a very knowledgeable and powerful person, obviously. ^_^ And you are most welcome.

Snark v2.0- And behold, the voice of the creator screamed back, and in her scream were four words, and they were- I'M WORKING ON IT! *lol*

DHA- *lol* Wow, that's a tall order, but I'll do my best.

Ranmyaku- Thank you! ^_^ I'm watching for your fics as well, remember that. :-D

Natasha Compagnon- Thanks!

Megara- *lol* Your suggestions are good anyway and thank you for them!

FireFX25- Hi-eeeeeeeeeeee! *grins* Sorry- I needed motivation. Didn't get it until recently. ^_^ Awww, I'd never ignore you! Thanks!

Wow... it took me a while to get back into this. *sighs, shrugs* Well, I did say it would be a slow process. But now, (three months later) in honor of FF.net's reopening, here's the next chapter. ^_^

A Chameleon in the Graveyard

One may believe, for a time, that they possess the role of hunter. Death often comes upon them unexpectedly, for they do not protect against it, or if they do, their protection is proof merely against those predators that are similar to themselves. Their ignorance regarding the more dangerous hunters is their undoing. Sometimes, when focused on their prey, another hunter will appear that they were never aware of.

Ket had been a member of the Graverobbers' Gang for at least thirteen years. These hunters did what their name suggested. They accosted Grave Diggers while in the process of filling in new graves and pillaged the corpse for valuables. Similar treatment was given to the gravedigger. If a mourner was found alone in the graveyard, they too were robbed of any useful possessions.

Ket worked the night shift, as did they all, waiting for prey to come across him, detaining them when they did. Tonight seemed the same as any other night... it was not.

*****

There was mist tonight. It lay over the ground, thick and heavy, obscuring the grass. Ket wondered to himself why the keepers went to the trouble. It wasn't as if there were plant-life anywhere else in the slums. Most people who came here came to see this funny green stuff that grew out of the ground- not the carved stones dotting the small hills here and there in the landscape. Ket looked around from the shadow of a small mausoleum, listening.

There was no noise. No cawing of birds, no footsteps. He was alone for the moment. How boring. He took to studying a tombstone that sat close to him. The yellowish stone was weathered by time and abuse from his own spiked club. Despite the tedium that sometimes ensued, Ket liked his job. It was easy work, peaceful, and appealed to his morbid sense of humor. There were those who still buried their dead... a fair amount, enough to keep him in a fairly profitable business anyway.

More and more of the city dwellers had taken to cremating their deceased, the purpose being to keep their loved ones from being turned into vampires. Ket laughed at their stupidity. How could vampires raise the body when everyone knew the beasts couldn't tread on Holy Ground? Although he personally wondered just how 'holy' this ground really was.

His eyes searched over the silent earth. Mist rolled and coiled about the ground, pale white, no substance, yet thick enough at times to veil the land in its pale embrace. Ket could see it creeping over the earth, moving steadily about. It was a foolish thought, he knew, but there were times... when the mist seemed almost alive. A small sound came from his left.

The thug whirled about and bared his teeth in a feral smile. The peasant caught his breath, stammered a few incoherent negations, mouth open, hands up in a defensive manner.

*****

A true chameleon changes, not at will, but with its emotions. Blending with its environment infrequently, if at all. Vampires, if they live long enough, or have power enough, master the art of disguise. One can have the finest spell of illusion at their disposal, and give away their true selves with an unconsidered word and a violent action. One must learn to disguise all aspects of themselves to fool the wary.

The chameleon, also, is not one of the greatest hunters, but at the time of his reawakening, neither was the hunter who is the subject of our tale. He killed in stealth in order to regain his strength and hide from greater enemies. Why waste blood in killing a lowly dog when a panther awaits you further along your way?

*****

The thug smiled and tucked another purse under his belt, watching amusedly as the young couple rushed away from him. Despite the slow start, it had been a prosperous night. Ket grinned and jingled his belt pouch gently. He'd gotten more in two hours than in the last three nights combined.

He was pleased enough with the evening's take that there was no need to stick around. Ket decided to call it a night... go find a cheap mug of ale... maybe a cheap whore to go with it.... Ket smiled to himself. He turned around, and came face to face with a city dweller. Well... one more couldn't hurt.

"Greetings, friend," he smirked. "Might I have a moment of your time?" He advanced on the man, who was shaking with fear. Ket hefted his club and unconsciously flexed his muscles. "We can do this one o' two ways... ye' can hand your gold over easy-like," his grin widened, "or I can bat you around for a while."

"I- please, I haven't anything of importance, sir, I-"

Ket laughed. "It's the ones who make excuses that usually have the best loot. Now hand it over before I smash in your face and take it off your dead body," he said, swinging his mace to emphasize the point. "What's one more corpse in a graveyard?"

Shrinking away from Ket, the old man reached into his pockets. He brought out a handful of brass coins and a small, greatly tarnished, silver pocket watch. Ket dropped the coins into his belt pouch and examined the timepiece.

"Me granma's... it don't even work no more..." the man murmured a tad wistfully.

"If it did, maybe you coulda avoided meeting me," Ket smirked. "Right, now the rest."

The man looked up at him, startled. "But I haven't got anything else-"

"Come off it, old daffer. You wouldn'ta given up your grannie's watch if you hadn't been holding something more important. Now give it up."

The peasant reached a shaking hand into his pocket and brought out a small glass phial. Ket snatched the bottle out of the man's nerveless fingers and examined it. "What's this? Some kinda perfume for your woman?"

The old man laughed nervously. "It's cheap and smells so bad that I don't know why she wears it."

Ket didn't believe him. "Then you don't mind if I smash it?" he asked, drawing his arm back.

"No!" the old man cried involuntarily, reaching out for the bottle. Ket gave him a questioning look and the peasant realized his mistake. "It's medicine for my son," he admitted softly.

"Then it'll fetch a fine price," Ket chuckled, tucking the phial into his belt pouch.

The city dweller seemed to gain some backbone and stepped forward, reaching out to him. "Please-" Ket looked at him, making the man pause, but the old one persevered, "please, my son is very ill... he'll die without that potion, I-" He looked up into Ket's uncaring face and trailed off, his eyes burning at the injustice of the world.

"Consider yourself lucky, old man," Ket smirked. "You still have your life. It's dangerous to wander around Meridian at night..."

"Indeed," a soft voice murmured beside his ear. Ket flinched in surprise, then gasped as a sudden, intense pain blossomed in his back. His head, jerking on his neck, tilted downward long enough for him to notice the mist, coiled around his feet. The pain continued for a few moments- he dimly realized someone was screaming- then there was nothing.

*****

Screaming, his clothing splattered in blood and gore, the old one took in the sight of pale white fingers, topped with black claws, which were curled around Ket's still throbbing heart. He gasped as the hand dropped the spurting organ and faded back into the mist.

The mist, he realized, was the key. Our prey turned and ran from the softly flowing current of air and moisture. He ran to a corner of the wall, put his back against it, and screamed again at the sight of a pale, fanged man drinking the thug's blood. Our hunter spared him not a glance, but lifted Ket's club from the ground and walked off into the night.

After a time, the old man gathered his courage and took back the objects Ket had taken from him... as well as the rest of the pilfered valuables.

The old man's son grew well again with the aid of the precious medicine and they lived. How long, how well, I know not. But they escaped one predator with the aid of another, acting as a chameleon in the graveyard.

==============================

*smiles* Liked it? Review please!

See- I'd just finished the latest chapter of RB and felt the need to murder someone horribly to relieve stress. Ket was elected. *pats the corpse (with a bloody hole in his chest) on the back, who falls to the floor with a loud thud* Don't mind him. :-p

Again- Reviews? :-D