The sun sank slowly below the horizon, leaving behind a red glow that eventually faded to pink. That pink turned to purple, and the purple to blue, before the stars filled the sky and the swaying of the ship upon the ocean's finicky waters came to rest (so to speak) at a dock. Stars filled the sky quickly and the moon rose high overhead as a fog drifted about, obscuring everything. The captain spoke quickly and quietly to the second mate, who headed below-decks quickly and without speaking a word. His boots clomped across the wood planks of the creaky old vessel and down the sturdy iron rungs of the well-used ladder that led to the lowest and most well-hidden hold.

It was his hold. He had paid for it specifically. No one knew why, not even the captain. The captain also did not know why it was that a large sarcophagus had been delivered to the room. He was paid far too much gold per voyage to ask questions. He took no other shipments, for when he was called, he was expected to be there. The man's name was entirely unknown to him. He was as mysterious as the night skies, both in his wealth and in his odd mannerisms - his 'eccentricities'. But he paid well and required only a lack of questions. For the amount of gold he was paid, the captain knew all too well how to keep his bloody mouth shut. He did so and he prevailed. Ten thousand gold marks of Lomedoran weight and shape would have been enough to keep a paladin's mouth shut - or perhaps keep it agape. Either way, the captain of the Gray Bulk wasn't about to jeopardize his chances at getting the next payment. On the other hand, he seemed to lose crew members every time he transported the man; but what was a few hundred gold out of the full ten thousand each voyage? It was like selling a canoe and buying a warship with the profits.

What the captain didn't know, of course, wouldn't kill him - literally. Sebastian was not a man to be questioned. His bare feet touched the cold floor of the iron-wrought hold slowly as he rose, the pale-fleshed corpse of the former second mate lying before him like a sack of dried meat. Sebastian stretched his muscles briefly, feeling the power of fresh, warm, mortal human blood flowing through him once more. His steps were slow and casual, yet he covered the ground of the hold in seconds. His hands grasped firmly the rungs of the ladder as he climbed and his feet found their footholds easily. It wasn't long before he was breathing once more the salty sea air of the Palanen Ocean and the aftersmells that were the very heart of a port - a port called Adune, specifically. There was no sign. There was no direction at all. There was only Sebastian's knowledge that he was in Port Adune to guide him. Yes, he knew well that city. He had been born there, after all, but it had not been so large and prosperous, so busy and noisy, as it was now. Of course, 'now' was a relative term; the night winds had stolen most of the diurnal prospects of that famous (or perhaps infamous) port city. Despite his inability to remain stationary, Lomedor was Sebastian's home.

The captain asked no questions as he strode the length of the ship. He made no comments as he lowered the gangplank himself. He scurried off quickly and paid Sebastian no more mind than a fly on the wall as he made his way down it and into the city. That was what he had been instructed to do, of course; the less he was known, the better - especially considering that business in Estolad. Of course, it hadn't been entirely his fault; sure, the lasses had followed him like flies to honey, but it was the village guard that had attacked him. Their suspicious nature had led to their deaths. Regardless, it had been almost forty years since that incident. He hadn't been to Lomedor, or Ea at all, in over twenty years; he spent most (if not all) of his time at sea. Surely he had been forgotten about...right? Who would remember someone that had killed a score of people some forty years earlier, even one who did not change over the course of centuries in appearance, voice, or walk?

A satisfied, if small, smile came onto Sebastian's handsome squarish face as he strode through the nocturnal streets of Lomedor. Once again, he was reminded of the smell of blood, for it was always in the back of his mind; such was the plight of a vampire, he supposed, but blood was ecstasy and life to him. Thus, it didn't really bother him much. Besides, it was more the sounds of Lomedor that he remembered - if only the night sounds. But now the present sounds of the night permeated his thoughts as well, including the footsteps of one not too distant from him. He was being followed. His pace slowed from that of a casual stroll to a complete stop as his eyes narrowed in distaste; the smile, however small it might have been, was now gone completely and his lips were thin.

"I do not like being followed," he said in that deep, extremely masculine, and somewhat husky voice of his.

He turned slowly, dramatically, to face his apparently equally casual pursuer. He stared at the stranger nonchalantly, though it was clear even without his simple and dangerous statement that he was not at all pleased.

"Who are you?" his voice called out, though neither loud nor quiet were his words.