SILVER AND BLOOD

Like blood soaking into fresh soil, the red glow of the evening sun rapidly gave way to darker and darker shadows. The night was approaching. Even the children knew what that meant, although they did not yet understand. In the village below the last merchants closed their shops, securing the doors with as many charms as they could afford. The marketplace at night was a grotesque reflection of status and prosperity.

If you were foolish enough and alive enough to walk past the shop doors after sunset, a quick glance at the haphazard decorations could inform you how each of the small businesses was doing. Marten the potter could only afford a garlic wreath and a few pouches of wolfbane leaves - no wonder, since he only moved into the village recently. Danielle, the seamstress, supplied the High Priest with a new set of robes last month, and now her door was sporting a fine selection of holy symbols and artifacts. The massive oaken gate of the smithy was rimmed with silver foil along the edges, and the latch that kept it in place was likewise plated with silver. Silver was a rare commodity, perhaps the most rare of all, and the smith's customers were mainly miners. Mining was a highly respected job, the miners paid well, and the doorway to the smithy attested to that.

On her rocky perch above the village, Giselle shifted as she watched the dark human figures hurry towards the church. Couples, families, groups of friends. The bell rang, two lonely, hollow chimes of there and back again. The last warning. In a few moments the church doors would close and remain sealed all night. She could almost smell the burning frankincense, hear the rhythmic chanting, follow the hypnotic swinging of the thurible. Last night she was there with them, just as every night before. A daily ritual. A simple fact of life. None of the households had beds. There was no need for them. Night after night, they would all flock to the safety of the church walls.

Like sheep, she thought bitterly. Scared of anything beyond their limited scope of understanding. The righteous and the villains alike fled before the creatures of the night. In the distance a dark shadowy form drifted away from the dimly silhouetted shoreline and headed towards the open sea. On its mast, she knew, a skull and crossbones flag flapped in the soft breeze. A life of adventure, indeed, she smirked to herself. Be free! Be a pirate! Loot and pillage - and when the sun goes down, run for your life, just like the rest!

"Gis! Giiiis!" a panicked voice, strangely muted and distant, disrupted her musings.

So Jennie noticed she was missing. Jennie was the closest thing to a friend she had, and for a moment Giselle's resolution wavered. Then the church door slammed and everything was silent. Maybe she should have taken Jennie along. She dismissed the thought instantly. A long time ago, when she first felt the power within, the urge to embrace it, she confided what was then a mere germ of her plan to her friend. Jennie responded with a scared, blank look.

"But... remember what happened to your mother..."

That was just it. Nobody really knew what happened to her mother, yet they all assumed she was dead. She must have heard the story a thousand times. All the children in the village knew it by heart. Lilly did not make it to the church in time and the things got her. Killed her. And if you linger behind, the same will happen to you, so hurry up, the bell is ringing, what are you looking at, give me your hand.

But all they really knew was that Lilly did not make it to the church in time. Nobody saw her die, nobody found a corpse. The darkness embraced her, swallowed her, just as it swallowed Giselle now. The night was black as the ink the priest used to write down his boring, repetitive sermons. She waved her hand in front of her face, but only saw a light blur. The air was getting chilly, and she shivered involuntarily. She wasn't shivering with fear, she assured herself. Excitement and anticipation maybe, but not fear.

Tonight, her life would change. Tonight, she would follow her mother, and like her mother before, embrace the power. Embrace immortality. Yes. Her mother was far from dead - her mother was beyond the reach of death. Her mother was immortal. "Immortal," she whispered, letting the word linger in her mouth. It tasted of suspense, of dreams and promise, it had the intoxicating sweetness of marzipan.

It had been almost two years since the first dream. The Visitor could not come to her when she was asleep at night. He first came one afternoon, when she dozed off under an old sycamore where the fields meet the cow pastures. He was soft-spoken and kind, and something in his voice invited trust. Soon she made a habit of disappearing whenever she could, sneaking away unnoticed during the day to talk to her Visitor. She cherished those stolen moments and yearned for more. She did not even tell Jennie. They would call her possessed and there would be exorcism, banishment, perhaps even death.

But he did not resemble the pictures of demons in the priest's books. Oh no, not at all. Even now she was comforted by the memory of his handsome, regular features, his luminescent skin, the roguish twinkle in his yellow eyes. Unlike the village people, he could understand her. He knew her thoughts, her aspirations, her innermost feelings. When he was with her, their minds were like one.

Once he showed her the splendour of his world, the vast plains, magnificent buildings, primeval forests. In one of their big cities she caught a glimpse of a tall, beautiful woman in glowing robes. "Your mother," he said simply, and explained that the blood red ruby on her forehead was the mark of an Archmage, a third eye that concentrates the enormous mental powers that high ranked mages possess. And today, she would follow him to his world, meet her mother, become a mage herself.

But he was supposed to be here already. What detained him? She rubbed the side of her neck and felt a leather string brush against her hand. Her amulet. All these superstitions. She grasped the amulet and yanked at it. The string broke easily and she tossed the small silver trinket away, listening as it rustled in the bushes down the slope. She was never comfortable with it anyway, and would remove it every time she was on her own. Only tonight she forgot. But she had so much to think about, so much to plan. Easy to miss a small detail like that.

The forest behind her stirred. Could it be him? Somehow she always imagined he would come to her silently, the way he did in her dreams... She never finished the thought. A strong, clawed hand snapped her neck like a dry twig.

>Tarissa tells the party: Damn you, Vrad, do you werewolves never learn?
>Vrad tells the party: uh, you wanted her blood?

>As Giselle's disembodied spirit rises from her corpse, Malius skilfully absorbs it into his staff.

>Tarissa tells the party: Yeah, oh well, just remember it next time, okay?
>Malius tells the party: Good job getting her out here, Hasar, did you train telepathy recently?
>Hasar tells the party: LOL, these roleplayers never learn
>Hasar tells the party: yep, got it almost maxed :D
>Hasar tells the party: and got deception maxed too ;)
>Tarissa tells the party: Crap, it's almost daylight, let's get outa here
>Vrad tells the party: want me to drag the corpse along?
>Malius tells the party: Sure, we can do one of the necros a favour
>Hasar tells the party: hehe

>Vrad gets corpse of Giselle.

>Vrad tells the party: k, lets go

>Vrad the Werewolf Lord enters the forest.
>Hasar the Greater Illusionist Demon follows Vrad.
>Tarissa the Vampire Queen follows Vrad.
>Malius the Archmage of the Fifth Element follows Vrad.

Like a silver coating, the pale early morning sun slowly reclaimed the land... The night was over.