The sun was falling over Lomedor, and dusk was coming to take hold. Red and orange wisps of firelight swept across the sky – slowly pushed back to the ends of the horizon by the growing darkness. The cool spring breeze become more noticeable as the day turned to night, caressing the skin gently like a lover’s kiss, as it passed between buildings. Candles illuminated just a few of the windows in the city, and more flickered to life as the day fell away, becoming characteristic of every building he passed. Erik loved this time of day, for it was when the first flicker of stars began to emerge, but it was also when his eyes were at their strongest. He could see in and out every dark ally and showed no fear to any wandering eyes, making it unnecessary to walk the streets with his hands on his weapons.
Erik meandered along, the tails of a long jacket trailing behind him, towards an Inn at the end of the cobblestone path. Lights dotted the windows of the building, and silhouettes moved about in the gold light. He estimated only a few souls within the building, but his mortal eyes could never see beyond the walls to know until he stepped inside. A gloved hand swept out, pushing the door aside; his body followed by the last bloody rays of the sun. For a moment Erik was but an obscured shadow moving across the tavern floor, until the door closed behind him giving shape to the fire-woven mass.
He was garbed in earthy tones – layers of leather and cloth. He wore boots as black as night that rose to his calves, and a jacket that hanged down passed his knees. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows and his bare arms were exposed, though his hands were wrapped in red leather. Erik wore a sash around his waist, and girdle to hold his blade in place, whose fire-hardened sheath was just as black as the silk that wrapped around it handle. Fine embroidering was strewn across the dark velvet tabard, golden vines decorating the seams of his jacket, and small colorless gems acted as flowers upon the prickly vine. The collar of his jacket was pulled up to the edges of his finely sculpted chin, and his slow, graceful gait emphasized the toned muscles beneath his tight obsidian garment perfected by years of physical training.
Slowly and deliberately he moved throughout the semi-empty chamber, moving to the far end of the room where the stairs wove a pathway to the upper levels of the four story inn. His footsteps dropped heavily against the finished wooden planks, some creaking as he stepped upon them and some leaving the echo of his boot in his wake. He ascended to the second floor, and immediately turned to the door on the left, but as he entered he heard a crunch beneath his feet.
“What in the…” he said, his voice trailing off slowly as he reached down, procuring a letter from beneath his right foot. Inspecting it carefully and closing the door behind him with a kick, he took a seat in his chair. Under the scrutiny of an oil lamp, Erik carefully opened it – the seal looked official, emblazoned upon it was the golden harrier representing the priests of Lothlomendil, and inside was a familiar handwriting. “Dear Erik Van…” he began, his voice trailing off as his dark green eyes swept across the paper, “…Interested in employment… vampire in town…poor district … needs to be taken care… sixty-five go-… bring proof… Signed Lord Elzareth… High Priest…” Sighing, he folded the letter back up and poked the edge into the flames of his oil lantern. Smoke rose from the edges of the paper as he held it erect, fire cascading down the edges near to the base of his fingers, until he waved it out.
He ran a hand through his messy, unkempt hair as he tossed the small fragments of paper to the floor, and he shook his head. He did not care for the High Priest very much. The man was a menace, an untrustworthy soul. Erik believed he was more corrupt than the followers who begged at his feet for salvation, and if anyone needed deliverance he considered the Lord Elzareth the most in need. However, the man had his resources and he paid very well. It was a love-hate relationship, and although he vowed that he would not be involved with the man any longer his financial situation was the spur to put him back under the thumb of the depraved priest.
“Oh well… he said as he stood to his feet and left the inn after having just arrived. Night had come to the city, and all around he could feel the eyes of sinners and thieves upon him, but no harm would come to him. They knew better, for he was on the hunt.
(Sorry for posting here.I deleted text but i don't know how to delete whole post.Can't find da button.)