The land of Dori'ba was a harsh mistress. The sky was usually full of dark black clouds, as if an eternal storm of torment, anguish, and death loomed in the very atmosphere. Tonight, the sky was hauntingly clear. It was the waning hours of afternoon right now, soon the moon would rise, and sun would set. Tonight was to be a full moon, a night of terrors anywhere in the world, let alone Dori'ba. The lands of Dori'ba were unforgiving of those who passed through with life still contained in their bodies, and tonight was no exception.

Ayaker walked slowly through the dead grass, glancing occasionally at the gravestones surrounding him. He was wearing more clothes then usual, for although normal cold didn't bother him, this place gave him a kind of chill like no other. He could feel the rot of the slain lingering in the soil beneath him, the pestilient smell lingered in the air at all times.

He had yet to encounter a zombie , but he held his Double Bladed Mercy in front of him at all, times, gripped with both hands. He knew the silence would only last so long. The hungering fiends of death never sleep.

Ayaker saw a small cottage looming ahead, he remembered that there was supposed to be a paladin living there. He was a noble man, who fought off the undead for a living. He would help passerbies to get through the Land of the Dead, though these individuals were lucky and few.

Ayaker decided he would stop in to the cottage, perhaps resting for a while in the Paladin's protection. As he approached the cottage, a foreboding feeling came to Ayaker. THe lamps in the house were not lit, surely the paladin would keep his oil lamps lit in such a place. Ayaker approached the mold covered wooden door. It looked like it hadn't been used in a long time, monstrous sized spiderwebs covered the frame. Ayaker decided to push open the door. Forcing it open took quite a bit of work. Slowly the door swung open, letting off a deafening creak.

Ayaker stepped inside, the sight that greeted him was a mess. Rotten food littered the floor, and tables were knocked over, as if there had been an emergency pressing the Paladin. Ayaker turned to walk out, the sickening feeling increasing. As he turned, he was greeted face to face by a gnarled zombie in tattered clothes. The ghouls skin was turned a sickly hue of green. His bottom jaw was rotted so much that it seemed his nose was fused to his neck. Ayaker reacted as quick as he could, swinging his blade of mercy, and quickly cut the head off of the zombie. The severed head fell to the ground, where it let out a deafening moan. The rest of the body fell backwards, its stiff body finally resigning its curse.

Ayaker wiped the sweat off of his brow, and stepped over the zombie. The paladin wasn't here, something had happened to him. Ayaker would have to find out at some point. He heard some sort of movement, and he whipped around to see. Someone was watching him.

Kenith was crouching atop a gravestone a couple yards from Ayaker's position. A curious smile flashed across Kenith's otherwise un-shifting face. He leaned forward a slight bit, the grin reappearing again and staying there for a while.

The stranger looked as though garbed in almost rags. The remains of a once elegant coat hung from shoulders swathed in a torn grey shirt. The only thing on his entire body that would show any sort of wealth was a single watch that hung from his neck. Upon its glinting cover was a symbol. It would be almost impossible to recognize unless you knew its original owner. However, perhaps the most eye drawing feature was none other than his eyes. There was nothing unusual about them physically; it was what they portrayed that was so peculiar. They were partially hidden behind dark locks of midnight black hair, and of an almost red hue of brown. The eyes showed an odd mix of sadness, pride, intelligence, and insanity.

Kenith made a faint wave with his right hand, showing a rather pale hand. Another faint glint could be seen within the recesses of the sleeve, a dagger. He looked at Ayaker from between the locks of hair that hung over his forehead. He nodded to the house, giving the impression that he knew what happened. This time the smile was not just a curious grin, but one that only a vampire could perform. Showing his fangs was what sealed it, he had been the last living thing to creep through the house when another still lived in it. Then, only one person ever walked back out again.