Exquisite

 

Disclaimer: Legacy of Kain belongs people who are not me. I am making £0.00 out of this fic, it is written purely because I have a burning need to create. Although I would like to own Kain . . . then he’d be mine.

 

Rating: PG-13

 

Set: Post Blood Omen two Pre Soul Reaver *pre raising the lieutenants*

 

Authoress note: This was inspired by something small crawling through my work tired brain. I also wanted to see if I could write something . . . simple for a change.

 

 

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{Kain}

 

Willendorf was a quiet place.

 

It hadn’t always seemed quiet to me. I remember when I had first arrived here when I was young, when I came to reinforce the allegiance my family held here. I remember how tall the buildings had seemed to me, how incredibly large everything was. It had laid on my shoulders the feeling of insignificance, of being small and almost invisible. But now those feelings were gone, long gone. Now I walked through the streets and found it difficult to believe that this place was even a city. After the sprawling toxic streets of Meridian this clean lush pace seems . . . small.

 

The city was celebrating. The streets were full to bursting with young and old, the drunk and the drugged, many of which seemed perfectly at home with their state of intoxication. I smiled to myself at these mortals’ folly and sidestepped as a young girl, no older than thirteen, threw herself at me. It was difficult not to laugh as she staggered but did not fall; the child looked around for a moment before hurling herself at another ‘victim’. Shaking my head, I turned and almost walked into another woman, this one older. The woman smiled at me and held up a simple wooden bead necklace which was dropped over my head. She spoke to me in words of the gypsy for a moment before twirling away. I watched her briefly as she disappeared into the crowd.

 

Turning to continue through the city, I stopped again as something caught my eye. Turning to look, I saw a beggar. He was young, barely past the cusp of manhood. Despite how redundant it may sound, the beggars here were very different to those in Meridian. Everything here was different to Meridian. In Meridian the beggars truly were hopeless, terrified and passionless creatures. But here they were wild creatures who often considered themselves kings and who knew that there may be one day that one would be a true king of men. I surrendered coins to his grubby fragile-boned hands. It was difficult not to. There was a crisp bite to the air; the smell of wood smoke was slowly rising as large fires were lit to keep the night at bay. The man’s eyes were bright and half wild; his cheeks were red from the cheap wine he’d been drinking and smudged with dirt from the ground he slept on. Once again I turned and walked.

 

I couldn’t help but feel almost content here. After the poisonous air of Meridian, this place was almost Eden to my long-time suffering senses. The constant jostling did not anger me as it usually would have, but actually had the opposite effect. I was calm, a strange sense of contentment washed over me. I felt safe here in a way I never had when in Meridian. It was impossible to be safe in Meridian. The lust for blood had been rising slowly all evening and the fact I was surrounded by warm blood-filled bodies only fuelled my hunger.

 

In the main square, people of a different kind to my beggar sat. I was surprised, but only mildly, that Willendorf was tolerant of the gypsies. I myself, while never trusting them, had always found them amusing and rather interesting. I stopped for a moment in the shadows to watch them. They wore clothing of black and grey or red and orange, held together by loose strings and bits of metal. Their painted faces were almost abstract: great smudges of colour round the eyes, feral hair let loose and blood red smears across the mouth.

 

I smirked; these people could look like walking corpses or wild birds. They never had to accept or be accepted. It was a freedom I had always wanted and now I considered that I might be in reach of it. When I was younger and imprisoned in tight suits and education, I had always envied the gypsy children in their rags and bells. Even if they slept on straw or dirt in cold tents while I was confined in a warm dormitory, they were still happier than I was.

 

Fingering the delicate wooden beads that had been dropped around my neck, I moved on. The gypsy would not fall prey to me tonight. Slipping silently back into the flow of mortals, I marvelled at the strange smells of roasted food and the brightly coloured candles that littered the rooftops. I wondered briefly why Willendorf was celebrating; there were never festivals in the winter save one which wasn’t due for another eight weeks. So why was the entire city out in the streets? Then I remembered. The memory caused my smirk to spread to a rather ironic grin. It was the anniversary of my army’s defeat over two hundred years ago. Obviously news of my return hadn’t spread this far north yet. The people of Willendorf were celebrating a vampire-free world. I couldn’t help but laugh, just as I couldn’t help but wonder at their reaction if they knew that I was out here, celebrating my own defeat with them.

 

No longer wanting to linger in the open and loud streets, I slipped into the first tavern I came to. The expanses of dark wood along with tarnished brass spoke of an age which was slowly slipping away. The industrial age was dawning, and soon all would be cold metal. There would be no place for the comfort of wood. Well, if I had my way, the industrial age would not dawn. I enjoyed how simple the mob was to control in this age. If the world turned like Meridian, then humanity would slowly lose its ‘cattle’-like mind set and would be forced to become something more. . . political. I sighed at that thought, but it did not matter. Soon, I would rule, and when I did I would keep people under control.

 

For the look of things, I placed coins on the bar, and in return received a glass full of liquid I would never touch. Settling myself in the corner of the bar, I waited. Tonight I wore simple black, nothing eye-catching and beautiful but nothing to sneer at either. Black I have learned is always good for hiding both bloodstains and myself in crowds. With my hair pulled back, I appeared like any other young noble. No one would guess I had died years ago, that I had lead armies across Nosgoth or that I had every intention of killing tonight. But then that was the whole point of it, was it not?

 

To my relief it did not take long for my prey to approach. He stood a little way off from me and ordered some vile concoction. He then sat alone, drinking. Our eyes met more than once, but each time he broke our gaze, looking down at his drink. I tired quickly of this game - I am not famed for my patience, and make not attempts to deny this - and I moved to him. I usually prefer to allow my prey to approach me, but that was not a luxury I needed this night as there was much to be had and I did not want to spend all night with this one. I watched silently as he ordered another of whatever it was he was drinking.

 

“You realise that that stuff will kill you.” I smirked at him. His eyes lit with pleasure when he realised I was addressing him.

 

I gave my name as Marcus and in a flash of inspiration I told him I was an ambassador from the south. He spoke to me in slow careful words. I learned that he was from the west and he’d come to see Willendorf’s great library. Poor creature, he was a kind soul who didn’t seem to want to harm anything. I felt my fangs prick my lower lip.

 

Ten minuets later we were leaning against the cold stone at the back of the tavern, my teeth in his throat. The taste was liquid silk and warmed my long-deceased corpse quickly. It had been too long since I had fed from someone who was free from Meridian’s toxins, someone clean, and I enjoyed it immensely. I drew back from him moments before he would die, closing the wounds with a drop of my own blood. I quickly sank my claws into the soft material of his shirt and pulled him towards me as if I was to kiss him, before slamming him back hard against the wall. The head injury and the lack of bite marks should be enough to keep my existence quiet for the moment. His eyes blinked blindly at me once, questioningly, and I sighed. I wasn’t doing this out of hatred, far from it. In the last moments of his life, I could have loved him.

 

“Your life collided briefly with mine,” I whispered to the corpse as it fell to the ground. “You simply failed to survive the impact.”

 

With that thought sinking deep inside my mind I turned back out onto the streets. My hunger would not be so easily satisfied.

 

End Fic

 

Authoress note: Different and rather abstract. But I hope you liked it.

 

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