CHAPTER FOUR: Amongst the Living.

Of course, not all those capable of wielding a sword or winding a crossbow were Heroes. Some were greedy ruffians, others miserable tricksters and con men. The majority of these wicked souls had come together to form loose groups of bandits and thieves. A handful had even taken to the seas, becoming the first pirates in Albion since before the war.

Not far from Bloodstone, on a dreary cliff side path, one of these men could be found. Highly regarded as one of the most dangerous outlaws in Albion, this man leaned lazily against a signpost, gazing at the ancient and yellowed map in his hands. He wore heeled and buckled boots of worn leather, and his clothes were of a light but sturdy fabric, stained by long hours of travel and sea-spray.

He lifted his shockingly light blue eyes, surveying the coast line, then dropped them back down to the map, fidgeting with the golden hoop in his ear. "Curse ye. Useless thing." He muttered, folding the map and tucking it into the breast pocket of his coat. The outlaw strode to the edge of a sheer drop off, eyes narrowing as he gazed down over the cliff.

This man's name was Raphael. He led a scruffy gang of Bandits and Pirates out of Bloodstone (which even in these times was a lawless pit, filled to the brim with crooks, drunkards, vagabonds, whores and thieves). He wasn't an evil man, not in the typical sense. Yes he stole, yes he killed (when necessary), but was he one of those that wanted the world in his hands? No. He was simply greedy. He lusted for gold, wealth, women, possessions, followers.

On this particular day, he was out on the coast, looking for an old cave which was reputed (according to the map he had 'obtained') to hold items of great worth. Treasure, in other words. And Raphael was never one to pass up on unclaimed treasure.

His handsome face broke into a troubled frown as he gazed up and down the cliff face. The map had said that the cave should be here, or very close by. Of course, the map was old, ancient even. The land would have changed. Perhaps the cave was no longer reachable, or had collapsed, or had disappeared into the sea.

The sound of footsteps broke into his thoughts, and he turned swiftly, hand dropping to the hilt of the sword girt by his side.

"Raph, me cully, I found yer cave!" One of his crew mates came jogging up the path, slightly out of breath, but nevertheless filled with excitement.

Raphael's face broke into a wild smile, and he started forwards. "Aye! Lady Luck smiles upon us, matey!" he clapped his comrade on the shoulder, eyes flashing with excitement. "Whar be this cave? Tarry not, fer I'd like t' see it wi' me own eyes."

The pirate led Raphael along a broken and disused path, which became treacherously steep and slippery not too far from where it broke away from the road. They moved at a crawling pace, winding their way down the cliff face, eventually coming to the cave.

"Avo guide us…" Raphael whispered, taking a step into the dark maw. Stalagmites and stalactites hung from the ceiling, and the steady drip of unseen water echoed throughout the cavern. "Thar be treasure here, wager me last gold piece on that."

He took a few steps in, squinting into the pitch black. It was no good, the darkness was too thick to permeate. "Light me a torch, cully." He called over his shoulder to the Pirate, and in moments, a flaming brand was held aloft in his hand.

It was a few seconds before he realized he was venturing into this cave alone. He turned on his heel, shooting his companion a glance. "Are ye not coming? Have ye lost yer guts?"

He pirate shook his head quickly. "Nay, but I'd not enter yon darkness, not fer all the gold in Albion!"

Raphael shook his head, grabbing the pirate by the shirt and dragging him in. "Move yer feet, ye lilly-livered curr." He snarled, shoving the man into the cave. The bandit would never admit it, but he had a similar feeling to his companion. This was a bad idea, but the lure of gold and jewels was far too strong for him.

They didn't have to go far to reach the "treasure". Not far in, on a tiny island surrounded by a few feet of icy cold and slowly running water, was an ancient, moss covered chest. "This be it…" Raphael wasn't surprised to hear his voice trembling. His comrade hesitated, taking a few steps back. Once again, Raphael seized a handful of his tunic and held him. "Don't be turnin' yeller on me, mate." He said, raising his eyebrows threateningly. "Ye expect me t' carry the loot out on me onesie? Git walkin', ere I spill yer cowardly guts."

He strode through the water, half dragging his companion with him. They reached the chest, standing either side of it, gazing down at it. It seemed to call to Raphael, enticing him to take his reward.

"Garn, open it." He muttered, gesturing towards the chest. His companion looked horrified at the mere thought of it, but after taking note of the gleam in Raphael's eyes, he knew there was nothing for it. The pirate dropped to a knee, fumbling with the heavy latch. The lock was rusted beyond recognition, and a few quick strikes from the short bladed axe he carried were enough to break it. It fell to the ground, and he flipped the lid of the chest open. Raphael leaned forwards, expectant, excited.

The chest, however, was almost empty, except for a bundle of rags at the bottom. Raphael stared at them in surprise for a moment, then quickly glared at his companion. "Well? Are ye waiting for? A sign fro Avo?"

"Nay, nay!" The pirate reached into the chest and pulled out the bundle. He removed the rags to reveal a very old and extremely ornate white mask, decorated in black and red. There was something very…. Alive, about this mask. Something sinister.

"A mask? A bleedin' mask?" roared Raphael, kicking the lid of the chest closed in his annoyance. "D'ye know what I went through t' get that bloody map?"

The other man paid no heed to Raphael's ranting, simply staring transfixed at the mask in his hands. It seemed to thrum with a dark energy, and he had a sudden desire to wear it.

"…all fer a mask!" Raphael threw his arms up in disgust, staring moodily back down towards the pinprick of light that was the mouth of the cave. The other man, however, had given in to his sudden desires. Slowly, he pressed the mask to his face.

Instantly, he let out a high, keening shriek, and red light blasted seemingly from his eyes and mouth. A dense crimson fog obscured him, and he was lifted into the air.

"What're ye doing?" Raphael screamed, turning around and staring, transfixed with sheer horror, at the sight before him. The man's wails of agony slowly subsided, fading into nothingness, and the cave shook with ancient power.

From within the red fog came a burst of manic, high pitched laughter, and the crimson eyes that had haunted Weaver's sleep burned brightly in the mist. As soon as it appeared, the aura retracted into the shape of a hooded man, who's outline glowed in the darkness, before solidifying and touching back down on the ground.

For a moment, Raphael stared into those dead eyes, those wicked coals. He couldn't move, couldn't speak. This was beyond comprehension. The evil creature eyed him closely, and a dark humour crept into those eyes. He leaned forward. "…Boo!"

Raphael let out a silent scream of terror and fell back, sprawling on the sandy floor of the cave. He gazed up at the monster, then was seized by a sudden bout of courage. He scrambled to his feet and drew his sword with a flurry and a snarl, an act which made the creature titter lightly behind the mask. "Ye'll not take me, demon." He growled, brandishing his sword.

"Demon? Oh yes, I like that." The masked man laughed. "Although you seem to think that I'm going to kill you… Is that so?"

Raphael looked slightly perplexed, but kept his blade raised. "Aye, o' course. What else d' ye and yer kin do but kill?"

"Oh, we do many things. Like, offer people everything they could ever desire." The demon's voice dropped to barely a whisper, but Raphael heard every word.

"Offer… Everything?"

The monster took a step towards him, admittedly impressed by Raphael's courage when he didn't turn tail and flee. "Yes, yes indeed." He paused, tilting his head slightly, his red eyes glowing brightly. "I know your type. All the gold you could spend, all the ale you can drink… All the pleasurable company in the world. I could give it to you."

The tip of Raphael's sword dropped a few inches, his eyes softening as he imagined himself surrounded by wealth and women. It seemed too good to be true. "Aye, I b'lieve ye could. But who are ye t' make such an offer? And there must be a catch."

The demon laughed, nodding. "Fair questions indeed my friend. I shall answer them in the order asked. I, am Jack of Blades. Perhaps you've heard that name? Judging by how pale you've become all of a sudden, I take it you have. Your second question, I believe, was what was the catch? No catch. I have a dream, a dream of Albion falling at my feet. As powerful as I am, I could not do this alone. I would need… followers. And rest assured, my followers are rewarded extravagantly."

So, this creature, this demon who had been brought back to life by Raphael's own acts, was none other than Jack of Blades. A thousand questions rose to his lips, all of them pertaining as to how he could be here, when he died so long ago. "He were never alive t' begin with… Ye can't kill summat which isn't alive…" Spoke a small voice in his head.

An involuntary shudder ran up Raphael's spine at the very notion. But there was something in Jack's words which had caught his interest. "Reward, ye say? All the gold, and women I could ask for?"

Jack nodded slowly. Mortals were so easy to manipulate. Too easy, almost. Why, this one knew exactly who he was, yet at the promise of a few carnal pleasures, he was ready to fall at Jack's feet. "Might I hear your name, lad?" he asked in a horribly polite voice.

"Raphael. Raphael LeMounde, at yer service." He swept Jack a short bow, lifting his hat off his long golden locks which had been swept back into a ponytail. "I believe… I believe we may be able t' look after one another, Jack."

"Oh yes, I think we could become quite good friends." Jack uttered another high, cold laugh. Raphael had signed a deal with the devil himself. Jack of Blades was reborn.