Silah - My skin was hot, bathed in the warmth of the dying. The unfinished business of life thrashed in my grip like a flailing salmon. I could taste his death. The thoughts and memories of the dying were mine for a moment and then they would be gone forever. It was always like this.
His name was Warmand Vandermont. In life he had been an inspector; a hunter of dark things. Ironic that he should spend his last months as the very thing he swore to destroy.
Who or what had made him?
The stream of his consciousness would run its course in moments. I searched the unraveling threads of his memories for a hint as to his origins. Then I saw it, like a bur on a blade. The memory of his death or more correctly, his transformation appeared before me. I wore the memory like it was my own.
A white gloved hand at my throat. Crimson stains on my vest. A polished black shoe with a silver buckle standing between my own. Before I could turn to see my attacker, the memory unraveled.
Hakaar drew me from the body. The lifeless mass crumpled to the damp floor. Hakaar’s great strength brought me to bear with a final strike. The head fell away, tearing the invisible marionette’s strings with finality.
“Catch!” Hakaar yelled, tossing the severed head to the light above. Sig, standing on the street above, nearly dropped it back into the sewer before wrestling it under control. “I don’t think he is coming back!”
“Ya, think?!” Humor escaped Sig’s lips as a thin veneer for fear that was still coursing through our veins.
“This thing you just killed was more deadly than a whole pack of Orcs. I thought we were going to err on the side of caution?” I wanted to be more chiding, but the thrill of the hunt betrayed my excitement.
Hakaar was still catching his breath and didn’t respond to my provocation.
“I’m not upset that you chased him down and killed him. Far from it. Just remember this moment the next time my ambitions put us at risk.” Before he could voice any rebuttal I embraced him in my way. “I like you like this.” The tide of his anger ebbed before it started.
We climbed from the sewer tunnel carrying the corpse of the damned. Bromm, Sig, and Floki were gathered nearby. Sig was holding the skull of the vampire. Milky clouds ascended from the severed head. The ashen skin burning in an unseen fire. The body was assuming a similar state. In minutes we were left with only a few articles as evidence the creature ever existed. Hakaar picked up the remnants of the charred clothing.
“Maybe we can discover the identity of the creature by his clothing. Someone will likely recognize these.” He stuffed the clothing into a pack.
“I may be able shed some light on that." I shared through our silent connection.
The smoking building was swarming with bucket brigades. A horse-drawn wagon occupied the courtyard near the Magic Emporium. A second story window shuddered closed as the mysterious Blackrose retreated to his sanctuary.
We had found our share of adventure on Hawthorn Street. I had forgotten that monsters are not always relegated to the distant fringes of society. Fertile ground was under our feet.