DISCLAIMER: Oh for God's sake, I don't own the newsies! Let's make this easy, though. I only own Runner Conlon, Morning Dew, River, Malakai, Micah, Jeshua, Ahdi, and Father Romanik. ^_^ Newsies are owned by Disney; everyone else owns themselves. Oh, and the song lyrics featured in some chapters don't belong to me but rather are the property of various artists.
~*ETERNAL AVENGER*~
Chapter Two: A Bottle of Rum
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Southern Europe; The late 1400's
I hear it fading; I can't speak it unless you will dig my grave. We fear them finding, always winding: Take my hand, now be alive. You see I cannot be forsaken, because I'm not the only one. We walk amongst you feeding, raping. Must we hide from everyone?
"So, what has caused you to travel the many miles from Poland merely to see me?" Gemma 'Onyx' DeFelice turned a page in the book she was perusing through and then glanced up at the young woman with whom she was traveling through the street centers of Italy, staring at her with eyes set under the dark lashes that served to give her a mysterious look. Her long usually tousled hair was done up in regal braids this morning, the raven-black locks donned with basil leaves, as if she were a Greek goddess. She was dressed in shades of crème and gold, her confining apparel typical of the aristocracy and those who didn't have to move as quickly as their impoverished underlings; although the high class barely even moved by foot when one mused over it long enough, and this was wonderfully exemplified by the fact that Onyx was allowing her man servants the 'honor' of carrying her through downtown on a majestic litter the size of a child's playhouse.
Kitten watched the commoners and peasants scurry about all around like hordes of locusts executing their mindless and seemingly insignificant tasks from behind the golden veils of the litter. She felt of the utmost prestige being carried to her destination while they had to labor for all aspects of life, and taking gratitude for the social ranks she had been dealt by fortune upon birth, she took her mind off the masses and met Onyx's cool gaze. "The decadal meeting approaches. Runner wanted us to spread the word to our fellow halfbloods, and even though you're of the purebred race, I thought you might like to assist us."
"Oh?" The vampiress closed her book and let it rest on her lap for later amusement. Her lightly tanned olive complexion was without a flaw, its smoothness more perfected than the silk touch of a rose's petal. A light smear of rouge on her full lips and just the slightest hint of shadow on her eyelids, she could be quite the seductress, but she lacked desire to undertake the task.
"You see, the Conlon Dynasty is ever-expanding, spreading the malice of an anti-halfblood propaganda which will see the end of my kind. Though we intend to present an outcry to Aerenthal for assistance in this matter, it would do us well to have allies within the vampiric community as well. I know without a doubt that Spot is brainwashing his fledglings to despise the…"
"I'm not one of his charges," the other replied swiftly. "I'm a scion of Darrien Bailey's lineage, though you probably know him more by the alias Lord Combat. In any case, Combat and Spot have long been in constant rivalry. I don't think you'll have too much trouble convincing our brood to join Runner in defying this dynasty you speak of." Her eyes became distant as her keen senses detected a strong presence, the aroma of one's aura trailing into the litter and drugging her. She tried to get in tune with its distinctness for it was only through this manner that she might recognize its bearer, but her mind was unable to place a name on the individual, and this very much distressed her. "Stop," she ordered her man servants in a gentle but demanding voice. They, in turn, discontinued their tread and awaited further direction.
"What's wrong?"
Onyx didn't answer the half-blood immediately. Rather, from under the pillow onto which she leaned, she produced a small glass container marked with the runes of a primitive tongue. Unscrewing its lid with accurate delicacy, she opened the container and soon after a most distinguishable odor invaded the atmosphere, smelling of cilantro and hot spices. Kitten leaned closer to her companion and saw that the content of the mini jar was in fact a thick cream that teased her curiosity to a certain extreme, but before she could press any inquiry concerning the enigma, Onyx began dipping her fingertips into the cream and then smoothing the white paste across her face until it seeped through her pores and disappeared. She repeated this process until it suited her and then did away with the container after placing its lid back on.
"A facial mask," she at last responded, a half smile adorning her lips. Kitten understood then. Unlike their pureblood counterparts, the hybrid weren't susceptible to ultraviolet light. Though their lineage sprung from the same demonic ancestry, the misfortune never was a prominent trait in their genetic makeup. From their vampiric forbearers, halfbloods had only inherited immortality, telepathy, and other supernatural strengths of the like-not to mention an innate blood lust, though most of them abstained from the condemned habit. Kitten was an exception to that last claim, however, for she very much enjoyed downing the red wine that ran through mortal veins. Too long had she fellowshipped with the purebreds.
Onyx pulled back the curtains of the litter and stepped out onto the grounds below, blinking in the face of the sun as she willed her body to adjust to the transformation. The great ball of fire yet weakened her to some extent, but not to the fatal degree her kind so dreaded. "Ah, look," she said, pointing to a queue of young men and women lined up on a platform at the center of downtown. Each individual had their hands bound behind their backs, and a wooden slab hanging from a rope around their necks. "It's a slave trade that calls me forth. I've been looking for more servants, too. How convenient." She perambulated forward, then, fully expecting her companion to fall in step aside her.
And Kitten did, though her attention was more so glued onto the events carrying on around her. There were minstrels and poets on every alley corner screaming out the plots and limericks of their tales to the melancholia of the masses, the enactment of mystery plays trying to gain the interest of potential audiences as their actors performed skits with zealous passion, guild members screaming aloud the benefits of their company and the advantage it would do one to join…all of this adding to the already vociferous cacophony of the overpopulated city. Young water-carriers dodged this way and that like needle through thread as they raced to present their families with the requested drink and a variety of livestock tried to flee from the hands of the local butcher. Street centers were gutters into which were thrown rubbish, compose, and the carcasses of dead pets…sewage that would only serve to sicken those passing by. Kitten hated to travel among the mortals, the diseased beasts that they were.
The slaves lined up for today's auction were few. On any good day, the overseer had at least thirty-five strong workers ready to be purchased and put to labor, but business was apparently losing its touch for there were only seventeen prospective hands available and all were under the age of twenty-two. With hands clasped behind her back, Onyx scanned the row up and down with scrupulous eyes. There was a female child who would make for a good docile food servant, but she appeared to be ill and was much too homely for the vampiress' liking. Teenage twin brothers found her inspection next, but they gave off a sense of mischievousness she was not patient enough to deal with. "Still…the one with the potent aura…"
That's when she saw him. Pale and silent, but of a strong build, he was at the end of the line with head hung low and dark eyes brooding over his unfavorable fortune. She smiled in spite of herself and approached him in quick predetermined steps. When she was inches away, he finally drew himself up and stared her straight in the eye, unafraid of what she might do and uncaring of what her decision would be. His hair was naturally brown but was dirtied to a foul extreme with sand, dirt, and the hay of stables where he had probably been forced to sleep. Smudges of mud were streaked across his face and arms and his tunic was torn for the times when his rebellion had only been counterattacked with the scorn of his masters. She circled around him once, noting the welts on his back where leather whips had met skin and returned to face him.
"You've a presence that has called me from my solid mental state, child. What is your name?"
He looked at her as one would stare at a fellow gone mad, and did not apologize for it either. What of this presence? What of this mental trance she had been in? He looked down at his bare feet, feeling the blisters on his heels, and parted his lips to speak but the dryness of his throat prohibited such communication. "I…my…" Only a hoarse sound had been produced and he entered a coughing fit at having even accomplished that.
One of the brawny men in charge of the slave trade noticed the boy's attempt at a transaction of words with the woman and came charging down to the end of the line with rawhide thong in hand. He knew his laborers well, and if this hardheaded and stubborn boy was trying to persuade one into giving him freedom again, he wouldn't hesitate to place a few burning lashes on the youth's backside as he so many times had done. "Madam, such a notable lady as yourself would have no use for this trash. Come; let me show you the others we have to offer. There is a respectable boy in his twentieth year who would make an excellent manservant. Come…"
Kitten by this time had joined Onyx's side and was watching the occurrence unfold with apparent indifference up until the thoughts of her comrade intruded on her thoughts. Use your whorish swindling to distract this sycophant, the pureblood hissed. I've business with this boy and only your bedroom games will allow me the time for small chat. Kitten groaned in annoyance at the order. She didn't care too much for the common class, but of a lower rank than the vampiress, she'd have to follow the demands. "Oh, good sir," she said to the man, placing a small hand on his upper arm in a suggestive manner. "Such hard work you put into this business…Ah, how I would faint at the mere idea of it all! You seem like a strong man who deserves rest…and a little fun, no?" She slowly turned him around and began to lead him away with her flirtatious, shallow words and cunning tricks.
Onyx grinned at this and turned back to the boy. "So, I believe we weren't quite done. Your name?" Remembering then his difficulty with voicing his answer, she placed two fingers over his throat and after whispering something foreign to his ears, she posed the question again.
The boy made the effort to speak again, and this time was surprised to find the ability at its fullest. "How…how did you do that?"
"Your name, please."
The simple request sent a chill down his back. So much explanation was due him and yet the only thing she desired at that moment was to know his name. But why? He took a step away from her and examined her features, trying to unmask any clues she might give off should her facade crumble away. No such luck. Finally, he renounced his obstinacy if only to receive the answers to his own questions and indulged her. "My name is…well, I'm known as Slick. I lived on a manor far from here but my villainous lord sent me away for thievery. It was hardly a crime, however, for he would have us starve if I hadn't the courage to filch from his lands every now and then! He was an egocentric, self-enamored brat, though." Memories were unleashed as he pondered upon his past, and he shuddered at the remembrance of the damned heritage the lord had revealed to him. "Lord Combat…may hell claim his soul…"
Onyx raised an eyebrow at this, smirking in recognition of her sire's name. "Oh, I'm sure Lord Combat had other reasons to rid himself of you…" She signaled to one of the overseers and when the man approached her, she placed in his hand the standard amount of gold coins which was the going-rate for young slaves. Satisfied with the paid fees, the man nodded at her and then set to cutting the binds on Slick's hands and the rope around his neck. Within seconds, the boy was freed from his restraints and received a shove from the overseer before the man gave him a look of warning and then returned to tend to the other customers.
"Then you know him?" Slick asked, massaging the pain that yet resided on his wrists where scarlet marks throbbed from the pressure of his now gone rawhide ties.
"Oh yes," she answered him. "You might say we're rather close." She started off then back toward her litter, already thinking of what task around the courts she'd give her new servant. He was much too filthy to enter into the abode just yet, but perhaps in time he'd develop the mannerisms and respect needed to reside within palace walls.
The boy didn't make the slightest move to follow her, too great was his shock. "Wait, where are you taking me? I won't go back to that manor, you hear me? I won't go back!" He began backing away again, shaking with fear. His eyes were wide with the trepidation of a forest animal meetings its predator and he raised his voice against the woman. "I won't be his peasant again, ever! You can't take me back! I'll just run away again!" His outcries had attracted the attention of the overseer with the whip, and when the man fell witness to the forthcoming escape of one of his slaves, he dashed toward the boy ready to strike.
Onyx was quicker. With light's speed she rushed to Slick in a graceful glide and outstretched an arm just in time to catch the sharp tail of the whip between her fingers. Enraged, she jerked the primeval weapon with an effortless hand movement and caused the overseer to tumble forward over his head. "Lay a hand on my servant," she said between clenched teeth, "and that hand will touch nothing again." With a frightening glower, she snatched Slick's arm and then dragged him through the crowds like a mother leading away her whining child.
It wasn't until they were a reasonable distance away from the slave trade that she spun him around and addressed him. "Whether it is your pleasure or not, you belong to me now, child. You would do well to accept that fact and hold your tongue unless it's death you'd like to meet." Her grip on his arm tightened. She'd never understand why it was always the young she adopted into her brood, but it might've had something to do with their stout hearts and pride. Her facial expressions smoothened. "Most importantly, know your strengths. You could've long ago obtained your freedom. What was stopping you?"
His breath came out in short pants and he regarded her once again as if she had lost her sanity. What befuddled him now was her sheer magnificence and splendor. She reminded him of the clan of nobles who would flood into Lord Combat's halls for feasts and entertainment. Perhaps he had seen her before, perhaps not. Too distracted by her striking features, he shook his head and simply shrugged.
"Bloody hell, what have I gotten myself into?" She continued pulling him away from the bustling crowds until she reached the cobblestone borders of an alley void of all but stray animals. For the briefest moment, her thoughts turned to Kitten and her present rendezvous with the overseer who had given them trouble, but she dismissed the problems of the young woman and pressed Slick up against the exterior of a brick edifice to speak with him. Bringing her fingers to his lips, she forced his mouth into a would-be smile and studied his teeth closely, pleased when she came across the telltale signs she had been searching for. "Confound it, dear boy," she said with a grin. "How long have you been in the dark? How long has this secret been kept from you? Didn't you know that you were a halfblood?"
Slick shook her hand off him and tried to break out of her hold, but she was much stronger than him and in the end, he remained still and kept his stance against the wall. "Of course I'm halfblooded. My mother was Polish and my father was French. What has that to do with anything?"
"Silly child," said she. "I speak not of the races man has imposed upon himself. When I mention the word halfblood, that is to say that your heritage is a cross between that which is good, and that which is evil. In short, pure-hearted you may be but the blood of vampiric predecessors now flows through your veins."
"W-what!" He struggled against her once more, but she was like a woman made of steal, clamping him down against the wall mercilessly. "You've gone mad! There…this is ludicrous! I am not…what do you want with me? This is…this is…an offense against…this is…" He was starting to develop the habit of not finishing his sentences. For the second time after having met someone of the immortal race, he passed out and fell into an abyss of confusion.
~*~*~*~*~*~
There were three classes of individuals in a society plagued with wars, diseases, and the greed of the aristocracy. Those who prayed, those who labored, and those who fought. At least that's how Gypsy saw it. Her cyan eyes took in everything they saw as she passed through the villages southeast of Vatican City, bringing up the caboose of a ragtag assembly featuring the likes of Runner, Bumlets, Mayfly, Itey, and Rebel-the last two of which were walking hand in hand. The young woman sneered at the display of affection conveyed by the couple and wished by all means that the sappy Romantics hadn't been chosen to undertake the mission that called for seriousness. But such was life, and perhaps this was what led her to her views on the drudgeries of a mortal's life.
On her trek through the city, one landmark she had passed that had contributed an ocean's worth to her deep-seated contemplation and philosophical analyses was a towering cathedral of profound measures, one that had made her feel like a mere ant confronting the Roman Empire. It had made her tumble down an endless chasm of paradoxical queries and battles with her inner self. The monasteries were the homes to pilgrims, crusaders, and the poor…where the flickering lights of candles and the smell of incense could make the most wavering faith strong again. The painted glass windows told the stories of courage and belief to the illiterate masses, and travelers journeyed miles simply to behold the tombs of saints should some healing power be bestowed upon them, or to pay their respects to the reliquaries. And then the holy books; the illuminated manuscripts with patterns drawn in colored inks made of copper, honey, and crushed insects…Gypsy sighed.
It seemed as if the mortals had more purpose in life than had she! As much as she would ridicule man, as much as she would deem him a fool for his numerous mistakes and crimes, as much as she would spit on his ideas of happiness and love…he yet had more purpose. He could still make a name for himself in the history books of the scribes; she couldn't do such a thing, however, for she wasn't even allowed to make evident her immortality. Acquaint herself with others and then watch them die as she never aged, that was the curse she was forced to bear. Her entire identity would have to be forsaken as she resumed her guard behind the veils of the shadow realm, where death ever lurked. Always would she have to hide. This having driven her to the point of madness, she had burst out in indignation against her leader.
"Why are we even going on this insanely ridiculous hunt for idiots?"
Runner, from the front of the group, had turned around in one smooth motion to face her. It was evening, and his eyes had been sparkling like apple cider under the pinks and lavenders of the dusk skies. He was apparently tired, and Gypsy's perpetual complaints only added to the exhaustion. "You're the soothsayer, Gip. Why don't you tell me? Wasn't it the rumors that brought us here? Wasn't it your having seen the future that swayed our fate to this area?" He had crossed his arms lazily and as he stood there in his black trench coat, he projected warnings past her mental guards into her mind. Watch yourself, Gip. I'm hardly in the mood to entertain your childishness. And so the protests had ceased.
Currently, she was seated atop the upper edge of a tall cement wall, once again watching her brethren as they conversed with one another and waited for Runner to return from the tavern he had entered into in search of three pirates rumored to have found the acclaimed Fountain of Youth while on their recent overseas adventure. It was a happening she had foreseen in one of her dreams, and after relating the message to Runner, the leader of the halfbloods believed it was indeed something that needed to be researched. And so, here they were.
Her ever-watching eyes shifted to Itey and Rebel. Giggling as they whispered sweet nothings into one another's ears, they sat upon a stack of discarded crates and gazed upwards at the star-dotted heavens. So happy were they, even while in the midst of a forthcoming war that would shake the very foundations of the immortal community. So content, light-hearted, and laidback were their actions toward one another as they swooned over words and joined hands. Mayfly sat across from the couple on the freezing bricks of the alley, smoke encircling around her face as she took a long drag on a cigarette and then exhaled the poisonous fumes from her lips. After their last meeting, she had since changed her attire from the loud colors of her flamenco dress to simple slacks, a dirtied tunic, and a hat that wordlessly spoke of poverty-level status. For once, her comedic loudmouth tendencies were at a standstill as she tuned in to the world around her. Something was wrong.
Gypsy and Bumlets noticed the slight disturbance as well. The former leapt off the wall and landed on cat's feet upon the grounds of the corner her company occupied, crouched like a panther about to attack its prey. She gestured to the others to silence themselves and then furthered forward cautiously. There were shadows prowling in the distance where the city was void of light, hugging the darkness like tortured ghosts, nearing the small fellowship of halfbloods slowly but inexorably. They appeared to be the shades of persecuted beings, with their shoulders hunched over and their saliva-drenched incisors acting as stalactites of a portal to hell. The flesh of their faces was mutilated, pieces of skins peeling off to reveal muscle and bone, and their eyes were simple black holes that stared off lifelessly.
Bumlets' face paled. He staggered back a few steps, unable to take his gaze off the monstrous intruders. They were vampires no doubt, but what foul witchery had subjected them to an afterlife of heathenistic proportions? "B-back away…" he ordered the others and they didn't need a second invitation to rush to their feet and gather themselves against the wall Gypsy had earlier sat upon. The beasts sneered and growled at the retreat and marched onward yet again. The motion of their limbs while doing so was unworldly as they accomplished body movements that defied the written rules of science and commonly accepted beliefs concerning humanity. Bumlets fumbled in his pocket for the cross he had purchased last year from a pawn shop and held its wooden structure out before the beasts. "In the n-name of God, in the name of J-Je…"
The beast closest to him lunged forward and pinned him down to the ground, its breath smelling of an age-old butcher block. It snarled in his face and began to tear through the halfblood's shirt with razor-sharp canines already stained in red. Bumlets hurled the deranged vampire off him and scooted away from the scene for a chance to gather himself before the others attacked, but their next offense had already been devised and no sooner had one from their number fallen, they all began attacking at once. Three enclosed Gypsy into a corner, snatching her hands and pulling her in every which way to tear her apart piece by piece. She screamed against them and fought back, freeing her hands and clawing at the face of one beast with glassy nails that saw no end to their current assault. But then, the ground beneath seemed to be pulled from under her as her feet were seized and dragged across the way.
Mayfly bolted toward Itey and Rebel, not caring much for fighting this battle alone. Once at their side, she was flung around to face the horrid looks of one of the attackers and with heart hammering within her, she raised her cigarette and put its fire out onto the forehead of the vampire. In turn, the beast tottered back with face in hands and growled in distaste of the action. During his moment of weakness, Mayfly kicked at its stomach and legs, ultimately bringing it down to its knees, and when at last she had unsheathed the dagger all in Runner's party were required to carry, she carried out a bloody decapitation without second thought.
In minutes, the numbers in the beastly army had dwindled and all that was left were the halfbloods and one final vampire who proved to be of exceptional strength. It faced the others with Gypsy in its arms, a knife's blade against her neck. Gypsy's eyes radiated with hatred. She would much rather cut her own throat than fall casualty to a vampire's slaying, but such self-sacrifices would not have to be made that night, for blazing through the alley flew a flaming arrow aimed straight for the heart of the undead creature. And it didn't miss its target.
The vampire roared in agony and reeled away from the halfblood it had taken as prisoner. The arrow still protruding from its front, its lung cavity became illuminated like a paper lantern set alight from its inner shine, and seconds later, this same marvel began to cave in on itself. The fire rushed throughout the vampire's body and instantaneously scorched the already dead flesh until the creature was no more than a piece of parchment melting away from the inferno's heat. Alas, where once was light, there remained only a heap of black rags, bones, and ash…all of which disappeared in a red light before any hands could touch the damned remains.
The halfbloods stared at the sight, awestruck and breathless. It wasn't until Gypsy turned around to face the outlet of the alley that the others followed suit, remembering there was yet thanks owed to the one who had saved the girl. This one stepped from the shadows yonder and entered into the space where the moon's light yet bathed the walks, revealing himself to be none other than Runner Conlon, returned with two of the three young men he had gone to find. He let out a deep sigh, a crossbow hanging idly from one hand and a certain sadness lingering in his face. "Spot's armies are increasing. Apparently, he's even managed to recruit our barbaric predecessors." He seemed as if he'd wanted to say more, but he was interrupted by the lyrics of a singing wanderer.
Fifty men on a dead man's chest. Yo-ho-ho and a bottle a' rum! The lyrics ended short after each repetition as the singer took a swig of his whiskey and then continued on. Yo-ho, Yo-ho, a pirate's life for me! He laughed hysterically and lollygagged down the streets like a lover whose wedding proposal had just been accepted by the maiden of his dreams. Finally, he caught up with the halfbloods and their two new companions and flashed them a toothy grin. Standing almost six feet tall and wearing a red bandana atop his black gossamer hair, he would've come off as daunting had it not been for his amicable greeting. "Well now. 'Ello, mates! How's the day fairing ye, ay?"
"Ah, Spades, ya bum!" replied a tall blonde who stood to Runner's left. He wore an eye patch over his left eye, a bandana around his neck, and an expression that clearly showed he was put to shame by his comrade's drunken speech. His hair was a ruffled mess, and his clothes were soiled with hardships from his most recent voyage, but with broad shoulders and a clear state of mind, he definitely had to be the leader of the trio. "Ay, pardon me friend here," he said in an accent the others couldn't recognize. "He loves the ale more than he loves his self! But he's an honorable pirate, nonetheless. That be Spades. Ye can call me Blink. And my first matey here, well this would be the respectable Racetrack Higgins." He draped an arm over the other fellow's shoulders in an affectionate manner, as if they all were brothers.
Racetrack offered a half-smile to those to whom he was being introduced, still not understanding what Runner wanted with his ship buddies. "Ay, it's a pleasure to meet ya," he said with a nod. His hands rested on the midsections of his suspenders subconsciously and he shifted his weight from one foot to the next in wait. He was shorter than his companions, but looked the type that could easily bring an explosion of entertainment and laughter into a party. His black hair was cut somewhat short, a few waves brushed over his forehead, and his face was almost boyish in its round shape and delicate features.
"It's been said you three have become immortal by drinking the elixir found at some enchanted fountain," Gypsy said as she drew closer to them, no longer shaken by the recent attack. "Is this true?"
The two pirates froze at the mention of that which they had believed had been kept secret, lest Spades had blurted the details to someone during his slurred recitations of their voyage. They glanced back at him, but the tallest of the trio had silently passed out against a light pole and was now being thrust into a dizzied sleep. Blink shook his head at this and turned back to the mysterious strangers who demanded to know about his personal business. "Why are ye so interested in knowing, ay? Care to strut with the immortal race like me mateys here? Ye know, it aint all what it's cracked up to be."
Runner actually smirked at this, and shared a look with the members of his brood. When his emerald eyes returned to Blink, they were dancing with mordant amusement. "You have no idea how much I agree with you on that notion, Blink."
~*~*~*~*~*~
Rain fell in a deadly ammunition that night upon the city of Paris, but the pellets of water sounded no more threatening than the buzzing of a housefly from within the stone walls of the citadel where three vampiric sires gathered to discuss matters of politics and consequences. At the head of a rectangular, polished table made of cherry wood sat the lord Spot Conlon with a cigarette dangling precariously from his lips. The flickering of the fireplace's flames across the way brought out a fierce glow in his eyes as he attempted to pierce his gaze through the flesh of his stubborn comrade. Fingers tapping onto the vellum where already written was a treaty to unite the three most prominent lines of vampire in the day's society and body drawn up with royal prestige, he waited for an answer.
Combat met his stare with one just as equivalent in vicious nature. His icy and pale green eyes were drained of any care and he offered no more than a sadistic smile clearly announcing his intention to deny the Conlon Dynasty the power that would be born through joining forces with his kindred. From within his glorious robes of crimson and black, his tall lean figure was already quaking with excitement at the idea of verbally sparring with his number one rival. "I'd sooner plunge a stake into my heart than give you the benefit of using my men for some foolhardy crusade to cover the world in darkness."
"That can be arranged," Spot replied coolly, showing nothing of his inward reactions.
"And what exactly do you plan on telling Aerenthal come this confounded decadal meeting? That your proposals for genocide should be reconsidered? That cleansing the Immortal Confederacy of the halfbloods will prove advantageous to us?" He shook his head, eyes narrowing with rage. "To hell with you, Conlon! Since when did we ever need permission to murder the foul brutes? I slaughter halfbloods because it's my ordinance, not because some Elven lord gives me the right to do so! This battle hasn't anything to do with him!"
"Without an edict being written through his name, we can be put to death for these acts!" He had remained calm throughout the entire meeting, but for this statement, the strength of his name and his very being thundered against the walls as he exclaimed the words.
Combat, already on his feet, was pacing the width of the room, his hands making elaborate gestures in the air as he measured out the syllables of his words and their meanings. "I will not submit myself to a coward elf who thrives on the acceptance of his underlings. We're far better than that! We have the whole world in the palms of our hands and all we need do…" He held out his hand palm upward to demonstrate his beliefs, and then brought his fingers down in a tight fist as if killing an invisible creature. "…is crush it to death…"
Spot's eyes glanced sideways to Jack Kelly, the third of their small party. Jack was taken aback by the brutality of Combat's actions, but said nothing on the subject. He knew of the hatred that surged through the vampire's blood, and it was for this very reason that he and Spot had desired Combat's alliance with them. With Spot's leadership, Jack's rationality, and Combat's malice, their empire would be unstoppable.
Spot rose to his feet as well and crossed over to the manor lord with a wicked smirk. "Very well, then. You may call the shots when the time calls for our massacre." In his hands he held the treaty, and he laid it out onto the table before him as if it were a sacred entity. "But before we can begin to act in unison, we must fuse our powers. So what will it be: ally or no?" Combat grinned and produced from the insides of his robe a dagger with glistening blade. He slashed the sharp weapon across the tip of his finger and then signed his name in blood to the sordid story that had at that moment come to life.
~*~*~*~*~*~
@-}--- Until next time, thanks to everyone who has reviewed! Reviews are very much appreciated and when writing, I usually remember who my faithful reviewers are and try to give y'all your time in the spotlight. So keep those reviews rolling in and Happy Thanksgiving!