Unusual friends --

The alabaster walls were spotless in the noonday sun. A gentle breeze drifted lazily amongst the large green trees that covered the landscape. The only sound to be heard was the echoing of footsteps as Tyrian made her way towards a black metal door set in the white stone. A single sentry waited outside, watching the angel make her way down the hallway. Tyrian stopped outside the door and glanced in through the small slot that served as a window.

"Anything from him, Mirg?" she asked.

The large misshapen orcish form of Mirg shook his lumpy head.

"Perhaps we made a mistake? Usually we don't risk converting someone who has been a vampire that long."

Mirg considered her for a moment through his large blue eyes before shrugging.

Tyrian sighed before walking back down the corridor.

"Let me know if anything changes.

Silence. Where were his companions? His tormentors, bullies, annoyances, guardians? He called to them but they didn't respond. Silence.

He had awoken some time ago (the sun never set so he couldn't measure the passage of time) to find himself in a small, white-walled room. Thick bands of a crystalline substance encircled his neck, biceps, wrists, chest, waist, and ankles. Their purpose was to prevent spell casting as he had found through painful experimentation. Without the use of magic he was out of ideas and had resigned himself to covering himself with a blanket and hiding in a corner.

Silence. Without them he felt naked and vulnerable. They had been with him for so long he had forgotten what it was like to be without them. Despite his reliance on them, he couldn't allow them to see it. Silence.

He couldn't tolerate it anymore. He needed them. He needed to get out of here. He needed magic, freedom, and blood. He craved the destruction. It was a siren's call, beckoning him to unleash his arcane powers upon the weaklings that surrounded him.

"To me, my warriors! To me and we shall sunder this land beneath our wrath. The angel will not live another day!"

Tyrian had barely made halfway down the hall when Dakkon's hoarse voice reached her. Spinning on a heel, she sprinted back to the cell and peered through the slot. The vampire had only his head showing from under the blanket; a pitiful site overall.

"Progress, I suppose," she said glumly.

Dakkon suddenly stared at the slot, silent. After a moment he lunged, claws aimed to rake the angel on the other side. Tyrian did not flinch as Dakkon slammed against the door. Jumping back to his feet, he crashed against the door repeatedly, screaming for "the angel's death".

Tyrian did not move.

After ten minutes of the futile effort, Dakkon slumped to the floor. His soft weeping carried through the door to Tyrian's sensitive ears. She glanced at Mirg in surprise.

"I think he's ready. Open the door," she commanded.

Mirg pressed against the door until a small rune appeared, then sunk his arm to the elbow into the metal before pulling back. The door slid silently into the wall leaving Dakkon to tumble into the hallway, still weeping. Kneeling, Tyrian placed a hand on Dakkon's forehead.

Before she could pull back, he grabbed her wrist and twisted hard. Caught by surprise, she grunted and sprawled facedown to the ground. Mirg appeared by her side and helped her back to her feet. Looking down the long hallway, she saw Dakkon sprint out into the wooded area.

"At least he's suffered no permanent physical damage," she sighed.

Freedom at last. To be touched by such a being was revolting to him, but the feeling of freedom overwhelmed it all. Darting from tree to tree, he scurried across the branches listening for any sound of pursuit. There, in the distance, someone running near him. The sound of leather and steel. He would ambush this one and use the weapon to remove his shackles. Then true freedom.

He didn't have to wait long before a small figure wearing leather armour and brandishing a shortsword ran beneath his hiding spot. He dropped from the trees and landed behind her with nary a sound, yet somehow she still heard him. Whipping around, she slashed the shortsword in front of her preventing him from bowling her to the ground.

Her? It surprised him to see a female such as this one. She used the wrong weapon. Her ears suggested she was a pureblood elf, also wrong. Her armour was the wrong colour, as were her eyes and hair. Who was she?

Taking advantage of his hesitation, she jabbed at his chest, catching him across the ribs. He hissed in pain, grabbing the wound. He paused again and stared at his hand.

"Blood?" he asked incredulously. "How is this possible?"

"Because you aren't a vampire anymore, you fool," she huffed.

His eyes darkened at the insult as he took up a defensive fighting stance.

"I doubt that, female. My skin is still a delightful pale colour, I have no desire to share the company of an angel, and I see I am still feared," he said with a smirk.

Feinting towards her, she jabbed at him again. Weaving to the outside of her attack, he grabbed her wrist with one hand and braced his other against her armpit. With one smooth motion he heaved with all of his strength, feeling muscle and bone tear and break. Before she could scream, he spun and braced his shoulder under her ruined arm and pulled. She collapsed to the ground and passed out from the pain.

Taking a step back, he admired his work. Picking up the fallen sword, he knelt next to her prone form. Staring at her, he was confused at the emotions and thoughts that were running through his head. He knew he had to kill her, but he couldn't determine a reason. The urge to kill her came from some well established habit, but some part of him told him that she didn't need to be killed. He sighed and stood, dropping the sword.

"Don't get me wrong, I could have killed you if I wanted to, I just didn't want to," he addressed the unconscious female with a laugh.

Turning to proceed deeper into the woods he found the angel standing in front of him. Looking behind him for an escape, he saw three more armoured figures blocking his escape.

"I suppose it ends here?" he sneered.

"Only if you want it to."

"My companions?"

"Dead in a manner of speaking. It's a bit complicated."

He arched an eyebrow in confusion. "How could they be dead? I tried for years to kill them but they always came back."

She shook her head. "Again, it's complicated."

He glanced around at the angel and her soldiers. Although they were in combat stances, none of them had their weapons drawn. He began to question his belief they were his enemies.

"Who are you?"

"I am Tyrian Archangel. You've already met Neia," she said, gesturing to the fallen elf. "Perhaps you'll allow her to be taken to the infirmary?"

He glanced at Neia and nodded, dropping out of his combat stance. "And perhaps you'll answer my questions?"

"Such as?"

"What is my name?"

-- In Unusual Places