sorry for the delay in posting this, I had to think about the direction of this story, but i have a plan now and progress can continue.
disclaimer: i dont own warhammer or anything in it, gamesworkshop does
Chapter 4
Owen approached the cemetery at a trot. Dawn was nearly here and he had to get indoors. The cast iron gates gleamed in the pre dawn light as he hurried toward them. Stone gargoyles stood on either side, manic grins seeming to mock him, gods he hated those things. He had to go past them every day for the last thirty years, they were creepy. Owen slipped through the gates, closing them behind him. Then he marched purposefully forward, his boots crunching on the gravel path.
Approaching the doors to one of the more ornate of the mausoleums Owen paused, and sniffed the air. There was something, almost familiar, but somehow wrong. Probably just some idiot come to pay his respects to his dear old grandmother Owen thought. He snorted to clear his nose then hurried on to the doors. He removed an ornate iron key from his pocket. Fitting it into an equally ornate lock Owen swept through the door and slammed it behind him, moments before the leading edge of the sun peeked into view on the horizon. He sighed in obvious relief now that there was a thick door between him and direct sunlight. He chuckled quietly to himself, he never understood why he did this, challenge himself to stay out that little bit longer than was safe. Maybe he wanted to finally die, or maybe the fear of true death made him feel that little bit closer to being alive. Whatever, thought Owen, I get to keep on living for another day.
Descending the stone steps to the lower section Owen thought how the smells of home were always comforting. The dry hint of ancient bones, the mustiness of age, the whisper of dusty cobwebs. There was something about crypts, they just felt homey. Of course then every vampire under the moon started sleeping their days away in graveyards. It was ridiculous, now everyone and their mums knew where to go looking for vampires. But damnit, he started it, he was there first and he was not going to move just because some young bloods decided that they were going to steal his idea.
Reaching the bottom of the stairs Owen immediately realized that something was wrong. His bed (no he wasn't going to use one of those ridiculous coffins unless he was on the move) was untouched, the table in the corner was still slightly crooked, just as he left it, and his bookcase with his extensive collection of books still had a fine layer of dust on the shelves. Nothing had been touched, but still something was wrong. No, someone was wrong. There was someone else in here. Owen took a wary step forward into his room. Then jerked around as the door swung shut behind him. Hell, Owen thought, hiding behind the door, simplest trick in the book. If it weren't for the damned sun, affecting me even down here I would have smelled this punk a mile away.
Owen swung around, getting a look at his intruder. A man, he looked about twenty five, short cropped hair and dark brown eyes. He had a thin face and was wearing a leather jerkin and plain trousers. What caught Owen's attention most however were the twin long knives in the man's hands. Ordinarily Owen was little bothered if anyone was armed or not, but those knives had a suspiciously bright gleam to them. Silver, Owen snarled at the man who, it seemed, knew his secret.
"Who are you, what are you doing down here?" Owen hissed at this potentially dangerous stranger. As he did so, he readied himself to either leap forward and rip the mans throat out if he showed weakness, or dodge backward if he showed any sign of attempting to stab him.
"Hello Owen Marius Shusselburg. Oh yes, I know full well who you are. I am here to put an end to your blasphemous existence once and for all, for the crimes you have committed and to keep your evil from spreading!" The intruder was shouting by the end, his righteous anger clear in his voice. With this he leapt forward to sink both knives into Owens chest.
He would have succeeded too, if not for the supernatural speed that Owen possessed. Whirling away to the side the vampire managed to draw his own sword to meet his attacker's next blows. If it had been night then the fight would have been over in moments, however in the day Owen was weakened, even down here. He was slower, less overwhelmingly strong than normal. The attacker had been wise to strike during the day, Owen thought viciously, parrying the right hand blade, and ducking the left which followed. He focused fully on the fight, letting his predators' instincts, combined with years of training, guide his actions.
Owen danced away from his attacker, remaining ever wary of those knives. The young man grimly followed, keeping up a rain of blows, using his two weapons to full advantage. Engaging one with Owen's blade then using the other to strike at him. Against another man it would have worked, against a vampire it was a little less successful. Owens blade flowed to wherever his attacker chose to strike, his speed that much faster that he was able to hold his own.
This intruder was good, very good Owen thought momentarily, but not good enough. Owen had been steadily backing away up until this point but now he pressed the attack, his sword darting ever more swiftly, seeking blood now rather than simply to be defensive. The sweat stood clear on the intruder's brow, he could only keep this up for so long but Owen was free of that problem. He would get tired, but more slowly than a mortal.
The strain was starting to show as the young man tried to finish the fight quickly, his attacks growing ever more reckless, leaving gaps on his own defence. Owen remained focused and cool, parrying his attacker's wild blows. The moment had to arrive, the attacker's strength would give out, he would miss a parry and it would be over. Finally it happened. In his desperation the young man had tried to drive both knives simultaneously into his enemy's chest. Owen slipped sideways to avoid them, sliced his own sword over the back of one of the man's hands and trapped the other in a vice like grip with his free hand. Shocked at the sudden pain the young man's knife slipped from his fingers and fell to the floor. His other hand now immobilized by the vampire. The fight was over and they both knew it.
"You little fool" Owen snarled at his beaten foe "Did you really think you could defeat me in a straight fight? Now, I want to know how you new my full name," Owen's voice had become smooth with enforced calm. "and you are going to tell me." Owen had been truly shocked when this intruder had announced his last name as he hadn't used it for almost fifty years. Not since . . . well never mind that.
Owen tightened his grip on his prisoner's arm, encouraging a response and forcing him to drop his remaining knife. Keeping a careful watch on the young man Owen kicked both knives into the far corner, out of reach. He shouldn't have left the young man's bleeding hand free. Moving it slowly so as not to attract notice, his prisoner had removed a small draw-string pouch from his pocket. As Owen turned back to face him, the young man threw its contents at his face.
The effect was immediate, Owen screamed and let go of his prisoner's hand, trying to wipe the powdered silver off his face. In its dust form silver would burn the skin off of a vampire, but ultimately not kill. It still hurt like a bitch. Owen staggered backwards, temporarily blinded. The young man took his opportunity to get out of reach, back towards the door and stairs beyond. He obviously wanted to attack, but his only weapons lay beyond Owen, the knives sitting together in the far corner. Even blinded the young man new it would be foolhardy, the vampire was still armed and still capable of running him through if he tried to get past. The anger at being thwarted clear on his face, he backed away toward the door. Owen had ceased wiping away the silver and although still incapable of seeing his enemy, started advancing toward where he had last been. Owen's ears strained for a noise that would give away the young man's position. Foolishly, the young man gave it to him, calling back from the doorway
"You may have escaped justice today, but know this, I will fulfil my duty, and my father will have vengeance. I believe you know him as Henry . . ." He didn't finish his sentence as at that point he was hit in the calf by Owen's throwing knife. As the young zealot had been ranting on, Owen had released one of his knives from its sheath on his wrist and thrown it towards the source of the noise. Considering he was blind and in a lot of pain, hitting him in the leg wasn't that bad.
The young man screamed in pain and anger, but as Owen was now approaching rather rapidly he dived up the stairs, limping as fast as he could to the top. Lucky for the young man Owen was in no fit state to pursue him. Knowing that he would be unable to catch him before he made it outside Owen merely slammed the door behind him.
His face was in a state, Owen knew that, but it would heal by dusk, all he needed was rest. He staggered to his bed, all other priorities forgotten until the evening. He would have to hunt down his attacker and finish him, but overwhelming weariness put a halt to that for now. Owen collapsed on the bed, still fully clothed and sank into blessed sleep, until it was time to hunt again . . .
more reviews means faster progress.
Also a speacial thanks to L choopa cabra, your right, victor is sick, but you gotta love him
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