����� The man knelt before the cross and started to pray.� He wore fairly loose clothing in shades of gray, the color of neutrality.� Wearing pristine white or deadly black would make too much of a statement, shifting tides of power already against him too much causing death or worse.� Some part of him laughed at the thought, as if mere clothing could placate the Supreme One.� He quickly banished the thought and focused all his being on the ritual pre-prays, the prayers that lead him to his true purpose here: to confess.
����� All too soon the man reached that point and it was all he could do to remain kneeling and not bolt like a frightened rabbit.� Some devout I consider myself, he though, I cannot even bring myself to tell my transgressions from The One Who Knows All.� Stroking the stylized green K embossed over his left breast, his house emblem and the only spot of color on him, he gathered his courage.� Breathing deeply to try and calm the fears that welled up within him.� This time I shall tell all, he vowed to himself. No matter how much it hurts.
With one final breath he reached out and grasped the cross with both hands�and started listing all the horrid deeds he had only told to precious few, and the Creator was not among them.� Abhorring deeds of defiling humans and humanity, lives ruined beyond hope of repair, not even spared the torment by the embrace of death.� As I had planned it he reminded himself with a shudder of revolution.
����� He was a heavyset man, recently come to true manhood. Barely a score of summers had he seen, but in his eyes was darkness and mystery.� On another man those eyes may have inspired fear, but his corpulence and laziness rendered him harmless, to all but the children.� Those he had manipulated to make them do whatever he wished.� Oh the shame! Yet he was not finished; he had barely begun.
����� The fat man told of lies he told, people he�d used, and minds he�d manipulated.� All for perverse wants to feel power and control.� Finally after what seemed hours, he died down and finished.� He had just accomplished the hardest thing anyone can ever do: face the full and total truth about himself in all its dark horror.� Or was it the hardest?� He would soon find out.
����� Then he waited.� It seemed days passed, but he knew it was mere minutes.� When nothing replied he had a fleeting spurt of hope.� Maybe he had been forgiven?� With a joy that surpassed anything the man had ever felt before coursing through his veins, he started to withdraw his hands from the cross�and he was assaulted with pain beyond anything, even more intense than when Ruby told all his dark secrets to the whole village.� Through the pain that racked his nerves almost to the point of unconsciousness, he had a fleeting thought that he should thank her for in ruining his life- for he had made a new beginning with new ideals- but that life seemed awfully short now.
����� Then a fresh blast of pain almost drove him unconscious.� He looked up and saw the Holy Fire of Judgment burning into him.� It seared his eyes and he shut them to block out any small bit of pain that he could�be it incinerated his eyelids and attacked him with even more force since he had tried to deny it.� His skin started to peel away, burnt to cinders, and fresh agony exploded in his brain.� But somehow he lived though it.
For eternity it seemed that he burned, and then suddenly it was gone.� The man looked around for the pieces of flesh that should have been lying around him, but he found none.� Amazingly he was whole again, and the pain was quickly receding to a memory, though one that would haunt him as much as his own transgressions.
����� Then from Heaven a voice more powerful and age defying than time itself spoke to him, but the words were not those of comfort.� The Fire would have been welcomed freely in replacement to the condemnation in that voice.
����� �I� demand atonement!�� The Lord said harshly, and the obese man was thrown into violent spasms of pain by that command alone.� �The small bit of Fire you tasted is nothing compared to what awaits you in death if you do not atone.
����� �You task is to hunt down evil in any form and destroy it.� I give you nothing but what you possess or can learn.� But you may not use the Word or Faith!� Evil you are, and you shall use that against the foes of goodness.� Fail me�� the threat was far more poignant for going unspoken.� �Also, you are stripped of your name, family, land, titles and possessions, other than what you are wearing.� From this moment until you are atoned you shall be know as Gharlhande, and if you former name is uttered you will beg for the relief of the fire. �
���� �When will it be enough?� the man now known as Gharlhande managed to croak hoarsely.
���� �You will know.� I give you one final lesson.� The Voice of the Light intoned.� �Use it well and find you code and weapons to live by within.�
����� The pain that came was even more than anything yet, but it was familiar.� In one instant all his sins were poured upon him and he faced the full truth about himself yet again: every lie, every crime, every perversion.� Gharlhande collapsed and wept uncontrollably.� When he spoke it was in a fervored and hollow tone, all inflection and emotion seeming to have been seared out of him.
����� �My code is honor, truth, and duty.� My weapons are guile, insight, and knowledge.� My purpose is to hunt down evil and destroy it, in any form it takes.� Be it man, woman, child, demon, vampire or dragon; a grief that assuages one person, a plague that grips a city, or a famine that starves a nation.� No quarter asked or given. No bargains or compromises made, I live to kill, kill to live.� The tone was utterly lifeless and it seemed that Gharlhande had lost his humanity.
����� �You have it Gharlhande.� Now begin.� And then the voice was gone.
Gharlhande blinked twice, absorbing all that had been said and done.� He pulled his hands off the cross and yelped as his palms and fingers were relieved of layer after layer of skin till only blood, muscle, and bone remained on the foreside of his hands.� Darkness was descending, and with the last of the sunlight he ripped off his old house symbol.� His blood leached from his hands onto his garb, but he ignored it.� It was nothing compared to what he had just experienced.� He had been at the cross a full day it seemed.
����� The priestess at the gate asked what had happened, for she had seen a blaze of light and heard thunder that had lasted 14 days and 13 nights.
����� Gharlhande looked at how pale and chalky his skin had became, then pulled on a pair of jet black gloves to protect his hands until he could get a proper healer to look at them.� With a lifeless smile he told the priestess �I am Death.�
������ A gust of wind tore open the door to the tavern, and the patrons looked up.� Finding nothing of interest in the blackness, they returned to their mugs, only to look up again as the floorboards creaked and the night made flesh flowed into the establishment.� A man clad so darkly that he seemed dressed in the most ebon shadows stepped inside and a hush fell over the room.� Conversations died down and everyone�s own personal mug suddenly seemed very interesting.� They knew not to pay too much attention to the going ons of others.� Brigands and thieves of every sort often stopped here for food and a room before moving on to their next helpless victims.� The tavern keeper, a tall skinny man with shrewd if ready smile by the name of Willis, was respected by their ilk, and nothing happened as long as a person was within his walls.� One step outside a man might find a dagger in his back and his purse gone, but once you entered that simple hickory door you were safe.� Several marauders that were in attendance tonight spared the shadowy figure a second glance, possibly to see if he was one of their company or an adversary.� Seeing that they did not know him, they too went back to their own glasses.� Willis motioned one of the serving girls over and told her to welcome the man and see what he needed, then direct him to a table or wherever he need be.� She blanched slightly but did what she was told.� He kept good order in his place and all the serving girls did what they were told or were out in the street as soon as they gathered up their things.
����� A remnant of the wind made the dark stranger�s cloak flutter, and in the light of the fire one could tell this was more than just a common brigand.� The fringe was frayed, which bespoke of long travel, but it was of a good if not fine cut.� A little mud stained the hem but it had been rainy the past few days and that was to be expected.� The man had traveled a long way afoot it seemed, and Willis quickly evaluated the man, something he had learned to do on sight over the years, to see if the man would cause undue troubles.� The man didn�t appear to be rich, and his clothes said he wasn�t poor.� The way he held himself and seemed to be talking to the maid in hushed tones, with poignant glances at Willis, spoke of intelligence and manners; this stranger didn�t want to disturb the guests or draw attention to his own person.� The picture of a fairly well off merchant, merchant�s son corrected Willis when he saw how young the man was, a little hard on luck and tired from travel.� A bit of a rarity in this district, Willis thought, but nothing to be too worried about.
����� Willis spared the maid�s white face a passing glance as she lead the man over, and made a mental note to see what was wrong.� Had his wife caught the maid dipping her fingers in the delicious stew she made each evening?� He loved Sarahalil dearly, but he knew better than anyone how sharp she could get.� And besides, thought Willis, all the serving girls got a healthy portion after business was done for the day, so why that?� He came out of his reverie just as the dark stranger reached him and turned on his friendliest smile and said �Welcome to the�
����� He never finished his sentence.� As soon as he saw the man up close he realized why the serving girl was so white-faced and shaky, and he wished for her composure.� The face underneath the wide brimmed black hat was a ruddy white, speckled with what Willis first thought were speaks of blood, until he looked again and saw them and realized they were nothing more than freckles.� Lips that were very full and sensual, like a woman's as she awaits a kiss, rested under a glaringly normal nose.� Short rusty hair, the color of blood long dried framed a face that was plump and gaunt at the same time.� Most disturbing though were the eyes.� Set deep in the head with dark circles underneath they were bloodshot from lack of sleep or crying, most likely the former, assessed Willis; a man like this made others cry and would not dream of doing it himself.� The eyes caught the tavern keeper again and he could not look away.� They that seemed to flash from very pale gray to soft blue to deep black as the light took them.� Willis would shiver the rest of his life at what he saw inside those eyes.� A pain that was so intense it consumed mind, body and soul, leaving a mere shell behind.� Filling that shell was hate, disgust, and evil.� Underlining all that was a deadly purpose that drove this man beyond all limitations.�
����� As he was being eaten alive by those eyes he heard himself say pleasantries, welcome the man, set up a room and dinner.� He didn�t know how he managed to speak but he did, and something in Willis�s face changed the man.� Deep within those eyes a spark of something surfaced.� Mocking laughter, Willis realized with a start.� He knows what effect he is having on me and he is enjoying it! Fury welled up in Willis and then he saw something else behind that laughter.� A shrewdness and cunning that reminded him of the great cats he�d encountered up north, stalking anything they felt like eating with a deadly contained grace.� Humans often as not were their prey, and he thought this man was no exception.� Paired with that was something unidentifiable; it was either carefully controlled rage or insanity.� He didn�t want to deal with either.
When at last it seemed that Willis would lose his mind and all his precarious control the man looked away towards the kitchen.� What might have been a ghost of a smile crossed the man�s face and a slender tongue flicked out and briefly touched the air and his lips.� Very serpentine, and very disturbing.�
����� �I�ll have some of whatever is being cooked.� Two portions to start.� The man hissed lowly, strengthening the serpentine image.� Turning on his heel, the man found a corner shrouded in shadows and sat down to wait.�
����� Shaking visibly, Willis strode into the kitchen filled the biggest glass he could find half way with brandy, hesitated for a second, and then filled it to the brim.� Twice.� Once he could hold the glass with barely a shake, he looked up to see Sarahalil, his loving wife, looking concerned.� That concern in her eyes was so unbearable and so comforting that he nearly cried.� He would tell her later he decided, when he could safely cry on her shoulder.
����� �Stew and steak, double helpings.� was all he said.� She knew he would tell her later and accepted that.� That alone made her worthy of his love, though she was plumply pretty while still somehow managing to be slender; a beautiful woman on top of it all with a heart of gold.� My how he loved her!
������ �I�ll have Juliana give it to�?�� She asked.� Willis silently praised her for her choice while berating himself for not asking the patron's name.� Juliana was the one person who could and would handle anyone easily.� Her fierce loyalty to her friends and her general attitude made the meanest thug open up and smile, even if he had lines of murder or worse etched upon his face.�
����� �The dark man.� Willis said, at a loss for words the second time that evening.� He wished he had asked the man�s name.� When his wife raised an eyebrow he said, �She�ll know.�
����� Sarahalil nodded and poured another glass of brandy for him, then yelled out for Juliana to come and get some food.� Willis felt himself becoming unconscious and gave a smile to his wife for slipping whatever she did into his brandy.� The last thing he remembered before slipping into the void of dreamless drug-induced sleep was his wife�s understanding smile.
����������������������������������������������������� *�� *�� *
����� The man felt a presence approaching him and looked up to see one of the serving wenches bringing his dinner.� Serving woman he corrected himself.� He was not the same man anymore, but he still slipped on occasion.� He knew that one day that would be his undoing, and he strove to completely destroy his former self constantly.� The words of an old mentor came to him up out of the void of his memory.� You can never completely destroy the past, Master Jearl had said, but you can influence the future.� He regretted having to kill the man.� Jearl was the favorite of all his instructors, but once Gharlhande found out his Master�s habit of delighting in the torture and death of small animals and children, the Reaper had came swiftly to the former teacher.� He had tricked the man into running into a bandit camp with nothing but that sadistic knife he always had, and shouting for the little ones to come out.� Gharlhande smiled at the thought of how cleverly he had vanquished the man, twisting and manipulating him so expertly that he had not even had to get his own hands bloody.� He wished all those he had needed to kill had done it themselves as a result of their greed.�
����� Shrugging inside his cloak he looked up right as the serving woman reached his table.� Pouring all his anger, hate, purpose and a touch or three of insanity into his gaze he smiled lifelessly and stopped her in her tracks.� He didn�t like manipulating people, at least, not ones he didn�t have to kill, but in that one instant when they were overcome with fear and nervousness, they could hide nothing from his soul searching gaze.� That instant showed him what kind of person they were, and then he decided how to treat them.� One time he had been tricked by an innocent appearance and hesitated for only a moment and he bore the scars on his right knee to where his stupidity almost killed him.� Only discipline and unerring aim with Jearl�s knife had stopped it from progressing.�
����� The woman recovered quicker than most, but it was enough.� A good lass, with a few deep secrets she wouldn�t directly address, but nothing that merited a killing.� She carried herself well if not arrogantly, and seemed to be very down to earth person, one he might have considered using before he changed, but who he know regarded with a grudging respect.� A good person, like the tavern keeper was.� He regretted having such as strong effect on the man.
����� Gharlhande let as much warmth as he ever did slide into his smile and thanked her politely but curtly for being so prompt.� He wanted to be left alone with his meal, a brief respite from his quest.� Surprisingly it didn�t work, and with an annoyed gaze she plopped down across the small table from him.� She had spirit, or was being sent to mollify him.� He suspected the latter.
����� She started nagging him as he began eating, not even letting him lift the knife.� �Now you look here mister,� She said with a very direct gaze.� �I won�t have you coming into my tavern and disrupting things like that.� Poor old Willis nearly fainted when he saw you, even though he had been in the war about 25 years ago and has seen more than most people ever will.� You need to stop looking all crazy-like at everyone.� I nearly fell when you looked at me just now.� Now what I want to know is�
����� �Hello. I am Gharlhande.� Pleased to meet you Miss�?� He interrupted with a sly smile, damming the flood of her words as effectively as the flood plain of Schnep stopped overflows in the rainy season.� The outraged and incredulous visage she presented as she sputtered down to nothing made him chuckle softly to himself.
����� �I am Juliana, no Miss or Misses or anything.� Just plain ol� Juliana.� Now about coming into here and disrupting The Three Quarter Moon...�
����� �The steak is overdone, but the stew is excellent.� Give my compliments to the chef.� He interposed again, effectively shutting of her flow of words.� She looked remarkably like a fish, sitting there with her mouth working and no words coming out. He did laugh this time.
����� �Overdone?�� She said as soon as she recovered, latching onto the most easily arguably topic.� �Lemme see that.� Picking up a knife she practically lunged at the meat, only to come up short with Jearl�s blade pressed against her neck just short of slashing her throat out.
����� The room had become very silent and he knew all eyes were on him but he didn�t care.� �Never in your life,� Gharlhande intoned quietly but darkly �come at me with a knife.� Or any other weapon for that matter.� I am feeling generous so I�ll let you live for that, but next time I won�t be so merciful.�� His words carried over the entire room, and a deep silence reined.� Someone shuffled their chair away from him and he flicked his deadly and mysterious gaze to them, pinning them down as effectively as if he had thrown the knife through their feet.
����� He let Juliana go and slipped his former Master�s knife away.� Her knife was in his other hand, snatched away so quickly she hadn�t even noticed it.� He cut his steak slightly and a small amount of blood seeped out very slowly.� Resuming a conversational tone he continued.� �I want to bite into this and have blood run down my face.� Not excessive amount, but enough that you can taste its flavor with the meat.�
����� Juliana opened her mouth and was cut short again as Gharlhande switched topics.� �And how does this establishment belong to you?� I have never seen an inn or tavern where its Mistress dresses the same as the serving ladies and also never have I seen one where a man more than old enough to be your father works for you greeting guests.� Enlighten me.�
����� Knowing the only thing she could do was to comply she started talking, but was careful to keep a close eye on his hands and to say only what was needed. �Well it isn�t mine exactly.� But all the gals claim it as theirs, and Willis, the owner, and his wife Sarahalil, the cook, don�t mine it �tall.� Most of us live here and are like daughters to him since all his died in the plague about 10 years ago.� Devastated the man, or so we are told by the regulars.� I was only a wee slip of a girl then.��
����� Giggling nervously she paused, then seeing that Gharlhande didn�t think her done resumed speaking.� �He always had a thing for children, and most of us either had no parents or parents that didn�t care so he took us in.� I think playing with us and teaching a trade helped ease his mind and soul over his loss.� I personally believe that I helped him a lot.� I always been good at making people feel better.�� The pride in her voice was almost palpable and he was sickened by it.�
����� He decided to be subtle this time instead of direct, and he starting talking to her as he ate.� Starting with how Willis�s business was doing, what did the man say the war was like, and all sorts of inconsequential conversation, he gently probed her mind through conversation, intuition, and a compelling will.� More and more came out as the patrons changed and he ordered another double helping of the food.� At about three hours past midnight by the clock on the mantelpiece, he decided that though her pride and apparent martyrdom were quite prominent, they did not merit a killing or anything so direct, so he went back to manipulation.� That was one skill he still made use of from his evil days, surpressing a wince at a memory of Fire.
����� �You know,� he slid into the conversation, judging that she was open enough to consider his word even if only on a subconscious level, �by what you are saying, Willis seemed all right despite losing his daughters.� Grieving for sure, as any good man does,� he quashed a memory of his own Grandmothers death, with no grief until months later, �but in good shape nevertheless.� Mayhaps gathering around him and constantly reminding him of �what he still had� hurt more than helped?��
������ Juliana looked at him, hesitated a moment, then let out a nervous laugh. Gharlhande inwardly smiled.� There was an edge of denial and doubt to that laugh, and he knew he had struck a chord.� She would deny it but it would eat away at her until she was forced to realize it.� It would be painful for her, but she deserved it.� No evil ever deserves pity or mercy.
����� He stood, and was about to head towards his room, when she said something that caught his attention.� He stood up quickly and violently, turned his most powerful gaze and her and said �What was that about a vampile?�
����� As soon as she was looked at she hushed, and in a voice filled with fear and nervousness repeated what she had been babbling during her laughter.� He knew everyone was watching him but he didn�t care.�� The undead were evil�s purest form, cheating the Creator of souls.� Only the Almighty was supposed to be able to grant an afterlife, and anyone or anything that denied the power of the Holy One must be destroyed.
����� �T-t-there�s a vampile, ya know, half human half vampire, that is living in a castle somewhere in the cliffs north of here.� He comes to town every year, sometimes twice a year, asking crazy questions and talking crazy talk like y-y-you just were.� She looked to see if she was doomed for contradicting him, but one glance at that boring gaze said if she died it would not be of a free tongue, it would be of one not-so-free.��������� �H-h-he asks for young pretty girls who want to be slaves, who can face the truth of their fetishes, but never forces him.� It�s just, well, he talks about odd stuff no one believes and offers advice that�s sadistic and unrealistic in the town�s opinion.� Y-y-y-you just sounded like him, that�s all.� She was too afraid even to hold back comparing this man whom was completely against anything remotely bad or evil - and that had obviously killed before and would again � from the thing he hated most.� She was terrified.
����� �And your townsmen don�t do anything?� Storm his keep?� Kill him while he�s here? Nothing?� The question was as cold as a winter�s night in the highest mountains yet still managed to be hotly incredulous.
����� �W-w-well sir, he never harms anyone that we know of, and he doesn�t forcefully take anyone, at least we think so.� The day he leaves a few girls always turn up missing, but they are the ones who are odd and no one really believes they go by anything other than their choice.�
����� �Then you are foolish, as is your town.� Gharlhande�s rage was hot and heavy, and could clearly be discerned in his voice.� Some of the ruffians who had obviously seen this kind of anger before and lived to tell about it edged away.� One even went so far as to grasp his knife hilt, until the murderous visage of the dark stranger turned on him.� The cutthroat or whatever he was actually fell out of his chair and would not stand to sit back in it until Gharlhande turned away.�
����� Turning slowly, Gharlhande addressed the room, affixing all with that dark predatory gaze for a moment before he spoke.� �Vampiles and all the undead have magic.� How do you think they became what they are?� Included among that magic is spells of subtle persuasion.� You have been duped or I did not just eat four grown men�s worth of supper.�� In some far corner of his mind he remember that he still had about quarter of a steak left, but he ignored it.� The meaning was well enough interpreted.� �Be warned you fools!�
����� Turning to Juliana again he said, �Do you know the way there?� Or someone that might be able to tell me?� I think I shall pay this Vampile a visit.�
����� �Willis might� its rumored that one of his daughters went there and he went alone and got her back.� That was shortly before the plague hit.� But I do not know.� You will have to ask him.�
����� �Where is he?�� He replied menacingly.
����� �Passed out in the kitchen.� Sarahalil, the cook and his wife, slipped him a sleeping potion to calm him down.� You devastated him.�� She had regained some composure now that Gharlhande�s gaze was directed inwards, as if cursing himself for having that effect on people, and Juliana started to smile until he pinned her with his gaze. She shrunk back and fear and the smile vanished as quickly as it had come.
����� �Take me to my room and get me as soon as Willis wakes.� I leave tomorrow.�
He turned to go, but grabbed something out of his pocket and threw it at her.� Fearing a knife she flinched but didn�t move, paralyzed by the implications of what Gharlhande had said.� This man would go to the lair of a vampile?� Alone?� He must either be insanely mad or even more insanely brave.� What he threw hit the table and skidded off to land spinning on the floor.� Even after noticing it was gold instead of the usual copper or occasional silver if the patron was wealthy and feeling generous, it was a long time before she picked up the coin and tucked it away.� No one else dared to even ponder picking it up for they too feared the wrath of stranger, without ever really talking to him.�
����� Sobbing uncontrollably, Juliana ran to the kitchen and wept on Sarahalil�s shoulder.� When she could talk coherently, after several generous doses of the taverns strongest brandy, she related her tale to a wide-eyed woman who was more of a mother than her own.� For once, she didn�t even contemplate taking the pain onto herself.
���������������������������������������������������� *� *� *
����� Gharlhande cursed himself for not finding out about this vampile earlier.� It must have not have been in town recently, or else he would have picked up residual traces of its aura.� Aura reading was another skill he learned from an old Master.� One of the few he didn�t have to kill.� Seloni was a former mage, who had been reformed by the Church until she used only enhanced senses, for magic was evil.� He had learned much from her, not as much as from other the others volume-wise, but in quality and usefulness she was probably his best teacher next to life experience.�
����� Wandering around the third floor of the tavern he cursed himself again for not listening intently when his room was assigned.� He was not going to go downstairs humiliated and ask after everything, it would destroy the image he had worked hard to manifest.� Finally he was about to abandon hope and sleep in that shadowed recess under the steps when he heard a step creak.� The third one up if he remembered correctly.� Not much time to find a hiding place.� Quickly surveying the area he found a deep patch of blackness at the end of the hallway and slipped in, drawing one of the many knives he kept concealed about him.� Jearl�s knife again.� Odd that he had been drawing this one primarily.� He would analyze that later.� As soon as the figure reached the third floor all but his little spot was flooded with light form a lantern the person was carrying.� The glare obscured his vision but he didn�t hesitate.� Leaping from hiding as soon as the person got near enough so that his place would be revealed if they took another step, he rushed behind them, grabbed them around the chest pinning their arms and his knife to their neck.�
����� A surprising plumpness greeted his arm as he encircled the person.� Female he realized with a quick blush.� But he didn�t let go.� Pretty faces didn�t make him hesitate anymore.� She struggled until she realized she was held as well as if she had been tied down, then gave a heaving sigh.�
����� �Mr. Dark Stranger I would appreciate it if you let me go.� My husband Willis wouldn�t like to find us in this compromising position.��
����� Then scent hit him then, a smell of cleanliness and of the kitchen: warm and savory.� So this was the tavern keepers wife.� Never having been able to remember names he asked her hers and she told him.� He released her then but didn�t sheath his knife.� He still didn�t trust anyone who seemed to be sneaking around the inn at night, even if she did partially own it.� Since she did it was even more suspicious.� He commented on that and she laughed, a wonderfully cute giggle, it even managed to sound right coming from this woman who was obviously too old to make a sound like that.� He genuinely smiled until he controlled himself.� He must not betray emotions.� Emotions lead to death and destruction.� Another lesson learned by his best teacher, life.�
����� He felt suddenly safe and he knew to trust his instincts in matters such as this.� He sheathed his knife and smiled again, this time without betraying his emotions, but a smile nevertheless.� Now that he looked at her, he realized she was quite lovely even for her age.� If he had been his old self, or his new self just without a mission such as he had, he might have struck up meaningful conversation with her.� If she wasn�t married he amended.� Willis was a lucky man to be sure.�
����� �I was up here because I always check the halls at night for anything odd, and because I figured that in that rage you had earlier you wouldn�t be thinking clearly enough to remember what my husband said.� She hesitated a moment, unsure as if to speak her mind, and he nodded.� Genuinely unafraid of her, and not suspicious in the least, he had not a care in the world at that moment.� Except the vampile, he amended, but he would deal with that later.� Her presence was a balm to his fears and worries.�
����� �Well, not to be rude milord�?�
����� �I am Gharlhande, no titles, no honorary.�� He knew he couldn�t keep the pain out of his eyes.� Even now, seven years after he was given his task, he couldn�t help but feel pain at losing everything.� She saw, and wisely kept silent.
����� �Well then Master Gharlhande,�
����� �Just Gharlhande please.�
����� �Okay then Gharlhande,� She paused again, as if tasting the sound of it on her lips.� �It�s about Juliana.� You sacred the heck outta her.� Filled her with a fear that she has never known before.� And she never has been afraid of anything.� And well, I don�t mean to be rude, but I can�t have people scaring my help and my customers away like that.� Maybe the fiends in the main room; maybe that was good �cause maybe you�ll strike the fear of The Judgment into them, and I would be glad to see them take up better lives.� And so, well, I am afraid that after tonight I want you to leave.� And try never to come back again.�
����� �Ya don�t know how hard this is for me, cause I do believe that you are a sincerely good person at heart.� I dunno why, but that first smile told me there is, or at least was, a good human person in there, not a fear inspiring monster which is the fa�ade you present to the world.�
����� �Anywho that�s your issue not mine, and I will be damned if I start jumpin� in tellin� people how to live their lives.� But for the good of the Tavern, leave quietly.� Tomorrow, or tomorrow night at the latest.� I can�t have you bringin� suspicious lawmen down here.� I run a clean establishment, and know all the patrons since they was youngins, and they not bad for the most part.� Just did what they had to survive.� We all make mistakes, the Grand Light of Heaven knows I have, and I bet you have too, but I need ya gone so we can continue functioning a business here.� Is that so much ta ask?�
����� �Not at all madam.� I understand fully.� I was planning on leaving tomorrow anyway, and I shall.� So don�t worry yourself about it.� I will need to talk to your husband tomorrow.� I need some information.� Then abruptly he switched back into his normal appearance; a creature made to breed fear into others.� Sarahalil noticed the change, and responded accordingly.
����� �Your room is the last on the left.� Here�s the key.� Turn it in before you go.� G�evenin�.� And with that she was gone, retreating down the stairs faster than he thought a woman of her age could.�
����� With a sigh of resignation to his new way of life, Gharlhande opened the door, and after a quick search around to make sure no one lay in wait for him, he locked the door.� As an afterthought, he wedged the room�s lone chair under the handle for extra protection.� Another day in the life of the damned was the final thing he remembered thinking before he hit the bed and was instantly asleep.
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������ As soon as dawn peeked her sleepy head above the eastern horizon Gharlhande was up, dressed, and waiting impatiently for the drugs and brandy that the tavern keeper had consumed the previous night to wear off.� When Willis was coherent enough to answer questions clearly and truthfully, Gharlhande interrogated him.� The cities history, the appearance of the mysterious vampile, and what manner of women had been abducted.� He also got directions to the mountain lair, and he gave instructions and gold for supplies he would need for the trip, after making sure all his equipment and provisions were of the highest quality.� Willis assured him they would be, going so far as to say he would send his wife out to fetch them immediately.
At the end of the questioning Willis was ready for more brandy, and Gharlhande reigned in enough arrogance to pour it for him and thank him for his hospitality.� A sizable purse of gold was given to the man, and when he tried to protest Gharlhande politely but firmly refused.�
������ �Your information may well prove to be invaluable and help to rid the world of another evil.� The dark one commented as he handed the purse back to the tavern keeper.� �Besides, have no doubt that I can survive.� I shall depart shortly after sunset� please have someone come wake me.� Just knock a few times on the door to my room.� I am a light sleeper.�
����� As soon as he was reassured that Willis would he bowed.� With a smile that was cold but comfortable he returned to his room.� Stripping down he barricaded his door and started the process of putting himself to sleep.� Not hard since he had a disturbing sleep as always last night.� Another thing Seloni taught him.� Just tense then relax each muscle group from the feet up.� Within minutes he was asleep.�
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����� In a dark corner of the tavern six people crowded around a table.� They hushed quickly as the stranger came out of the kitchen.� As soon as he had safely ascended the stairs they resumed their conversation.�
����� �So where�s the other guy?�� Asked one.�
����� �He was listening outside the window.� He can be trusted� he is the one that got away with the assassination of Baron Mustova last year.� The unknown shadow who no one saw or detected?� That�s him.� Said a second.
The others murmured their approval at this, and waited for the other to come in and join them.� They did not have long to wait, for soon a dark robed person came in, spotted them then worked his way over to join them.
����� �He leaves tonight right after sundown.� The newcomer said.� �We must take him then.� He will most vulnerable right before he enters the city proper, cause he�ll most likely cut through the dark alley behind the tinsmiths across the street.�
They all murmured their agreement to this, working out the details of a grand assassination plan.�
����� The second lowlife, who seemed to be leader of the group nodded as he said, �We can�t have anyone else cutting in on our action.� I will bet my life that he is some kind of dark order assassin, maybe even one of the True Scythe.�� The True Scythe was a secret group of assassins feared even by other cutthroats.� It was said you needed over one thousand kills before they even approached you.� Each one of the murders was thinking that same thought as they worked out details, choosing and discarding options with the cold cruelty of men much versed in their craft.� All of them at the table combined didn�t have that many kills, but seeing the way that stranger flung about gold was more than enough motivation to take it whatever the odds.�
����� �Tonight then.� Said the first as they finished, rubbing his hands together in anticipation.�
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����� Gharlhande awoke as he had planned thanks to a few knocks on his door.� It seemed Willis was true to his word after all.� One could never be sure.� To trust is death.� That was a lesson he had learned the hard way.� He should thank Ruby for teaching him that - even if it had been through his own humiliation and the destruction of his life basically.� Now that was what he called a rueful thought.�
����� His provisions awaited him in the hall, along with a finely crafted broadsword and scabbard.� He hadn�t asked for that, but he supposed Willis thought that he needed to do something to refund part of the sum Gharlhande had paid him.� You�re all right old man, thought Gharlhande as he positioned the scabbard slanting from right shoulder to left hip on his back.� That way it wouldn�t interfere with his knives.� He was glad he had trained in sword use, if not intensely.� Positioning the traveling pack with his supplies and the blanket roll so it would be of limited hindrance, he started out.
����� Making his way downstairs he paused just long enough to bid a barely warm farewell to Sarahalil and Willis, and a nod to Juliana.� Maybe one day she would change and lose her martyr-like attitude.� Maybe.� If not the suggestion he has given here would eat away at her until she went mad, changed, or died.� All three were acceptable to him.
����� He stepped out the door and proceeded to walk down the side of the tinsmith�s shop, and into the alley.� If he hadn�t been trained so much to assault anything out of the ordinary he might have missed the light footstep behind him.� Without turning or slowing he unsheathed a knife and threw it at the attacker, catching him directly in the neck, or so he guessed.� He didn�t need to look to aim.� Gharlhande heard a heavy weapon fall but paid it no heed.� Scanning the shadows quickly he made out 2 shapes and 2 more knives hit their marks.� The next attacker wasn�t as stupid.� He jumped from the roof behind Gharlhande and brought something heavy crashing into Gharlhande.� It wasn�t a direct hit but it was enough to knock him to the ground and stun him for a moment.
����� Cursing that their wasn�t enough room to move and use the sword well he struggled to rise and block out the red mist of pain that was trying to consume him.� Then he saw them.� Four attackers were remaining, two on each side of him.� In his current state, foggy minded from sleep and pain, Gharlhande didn�t stand a chance.� Knowing the end was upon him, he tried to dodge the blow from the heavy cudgel and only succeeded in taking the blow in his abdomen, knocking the breath out of him as he staggered to the ground.�
����� With what he assumed was his dying breath he managed to wheeze for something or someone to help him, knowing it was futile and giving himself over to darkness�
And something responded.� A tendril of darkness detached from the shadows around him and grabbed the nearest attacker by the waist, ripping him in two.� The other three faltered and started to run away, but the shadows were too fast, and Gharlhande watched with sick fascination as the darkness responded to his will and dismembered all his attackers.� The shadows dispersed as soon as he was alone in the alley.
����� After the ground had soaked up nearly all the blood from the pieces of bodies that littered the alley, he somehow managed to gather his knives and sheath them, then stumble out of the alley and through town, numbed by the shock of the supernatural events he had seen.� After all he had seen, all he had been through, shadows responding to human will was too weird.� He had fought and seen zombies, ghouls, witches, and even an ogre, but animate, living shadows?� It was too much.� Why had they helped him?� What had he done?� Was he now no better than those he fought to destroy?� Thoughts like these haunted him as he made his way through and out of town and into the wilderness.�
����� Finding a small sheltered strand of trees, he made a fire large enough to drive the shadows well away but small enough as to not draw undue attention to himself.� He ate a dinner of provisions which were tasteless to him, washed down with even more tasteless water.� Shuddering with uncertainty and fear, he went to sleep, plagued by nightmares of dark formless things that reached out to rip him apart.
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����� The next night he reached the massive drawbridge that lead into the castle of the vampile.� He paused for a moment to catch his breath.� It had been a long hard climb, and his cloak, sword, and daggers all had a healthy encrusting of dark blood on them.� His face and hands were clean due to a small stream he had managed a hasty washing in.� The hills were littered with treacherous passes and multiple minor goblins, orcs, and even a zombie or two, nothing too serious though. Orcs are about as stupid as a being can get, and while strong can be easily manipulated into killing themselves or lunging onto an outstretched blade with a nice feint.� Goblins are more of an annoyance than anything, and while marginally more intelligent than orcs they are so afraid that if you show even a small amount of resistance and army of about a hundred will leave you alone.� And Zombies, while smarter and unfearing, only possess magic enough to instill fear in a person.� But between his training, the Fire and the shadows, Gharlhande laughed at Zombies' attempts to frighten him.� He could see how a person who was undriven and without purpose or knowledge could be harmed or killed, but he doubted any serious adventurer would find passage too difficult.�
����� Still, it did require a bit of hacking and slashing, so blood was obviously spilled over the mountains and on Gharlhande.� With a sigh that he wouldn�t be able to put up a serious appearance to the vampile, he prepared himself to unsheathe and throw his most balanced dagger.� Vampiles bore some vampiric strengths but a dagger in the heart, head, or throat would hurt enough to blind them with pain until he could get close enough to set it afire.� He lit a torch and prepared to dash in.� Gathering his breath for the mad rush in, and with a final check on his daggers he burst through the door.
����� The vampile, who seem to be cloaked in an aura of darkness, and nothing else besides an onyx pendant, stood above a naked woman who was tied down on a table and was being whipped senseless.� Gharlhande hesitated for a moment when he saw her.� Long bloody streaks covered her back and she was moaning and screaming as the vampile continued to beat her relentlessly.� The thing was grinning wickedly but that look faded as it looked up and saw Gharlhande standing with a torch in one hand and a dagger in the other.� The woman kept screaming even though the vampile had stopped.
����� A slow smile that made Gharlhande shudder spread across the vampile�s face.� When it spoke its voice was filled with shock, annoyance, and vexation, �Why do you always have to ruin the fun?�