The city was howling with sirens and crime tonight. I could almost smell the sweat and blood drifting in on the still dank air of my alley. I stretched and groaned. It was time to hunt. Through the warren of slums and back alleys, I crossed the city. Nearby, a mugging occurred; the strong preying on the weak. I wasn�t in the mood for such an advantage, I wanted special prey tonight. I wanted to gamble my life. That old thrill ran up my spine as I found something unusual.
The dark flowing cloth draped the man�s shoulders like a cat rubbing the ankles of its owner. It seemed to ripple with wind, although the cold night air was very still. His face was hidden in a dark hood, but the illumination from the pipe he smoked, left an imprint of a sharp nose and high cheekbones. Had he noticed me sizing up, I wondered? His stance seems commanding and almost relaxed in nature. I could feel my fangs lengthening in preparation for the battle to come. I called up my claws as well. The anticipation to feed on this man was almost overwhelming. Everything seemed to fade from my view besides this stranger.
I dashed, claws extended, a blur to normal sight. For some reason, rough bricks were all I met. Confused, I leaped away. There was the dark stranger with a long sword brandished. Once again his stance was arrogantly relaxed, the tip pointing below my knees. That sword drew my caution as green and blue lightening crackled along its edge. I knew then, that I might be killed. Wet, sticky, blood oozed between my fingers, dripping all the way down my arm; my own blood. When had he cut me? Of it�s own accord my hand touched my lips and I tasted of my freezing wound. When had he cut me? Fear paralyzed me like a doe in the headlights.
�My name is Hadriel,� He announced quietly, �I am waiting for a friend. You should be on your way.� His hood had fallen back and I noticed the scar. The scar seemed to glow with pale green flame to my inner sight. It ran down from the corner of his right eye and down almost to his jaw line. What in the hell could this man be, with such an unholy scar and amazing speed? If I didn�t leave now I was going to be slaughtered. My legs seemed rooted.
The sword screams as it tears through the chest of the frozen vampire. Jagged spikes and hooks in the blade make it seem heavy and unwieldy. A heavy leather combat boot kicked the impaled creature in the back, leaving a gapping mess of its chest cavity as Xiphos is withdrawn from its victim. Foul black blood spatters the ground in front of Hadriel, who lets out a deep sigh and mutters �late and messy . . . not like you at all, Azerax.�
�Xiphos was thirsty,� Azerax growls from the shadows, �and the Priest is hunting me again.�