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[Nh'bdy]

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*The Follow is an exert from a Journal found months from now, documenting the events of a night near mid October.*

The list I formed last night was completed with little difficult. I found the leather and metal for the bags in Delucia, the cobbler there had plenty of scraps for the pouches, the metal came from the tinker out back. The teeth, I wish I knew his name..he appeared lonely that cool evening...

*the writing trails off, as if the author paused from his work. As if months ago, a mind wandered back to rekindle the night*

Seth stood, perched on the conservatory, watching his query. He'd been tracking this shadow of a man for days now. He was lean, pale, and skidish.

"Hrm..no ties to those, but your blood is similar enough.."

The voice was cool and calculated, as the words hung in the air, longer then the owner. With the whipping of a cloak, the figure was gone, only the dull thud and the sound of passing foot steps were audible above the lazy gurgle of the nearby shore.

No reaction from the pale man.

tap, tap, tap

Nh'bdy's foot steps we're audible now, moving quickly he cut into the courtyard of the bower, his footsteps now louder, he pushed his body to the apex of speed, running at the small space between the buildings he held his breath and turned. Exhaling, landing running, he'd cleared it, pale turned at sound.

*SMACK*

Their bodies made combat, he man recoiled, Nh'bdy however had already cast his cloak into the air, drawing his rapier with a crossed right arm, he pushed forward towards the off-balance man, his free hand swinging with precious to the pale lads cheek. The gauntlet had hurt, he knew it had hurt, the pain was audible..then the man yelled.

Sending the pale man to his back, Nh'bdy attempted to speak.

"You the-"

All too late, the blood spattered man was off, the chase was on.

They ran, hard and fast, how strange how a short distance could seem like miles. Salvation was ahead. They passed under the arch of the sewers, this was when Nh'bdy made his move, pushing his body to move fast, his free hand connected with man's tunic, sending him down the stairs, the audible calls of pain break the night. There is no response.

Easily leaping over the heap, it was time, Nh'bdy set his gaze on the disheveled sprawled figure. Approaching, he stabbed down at the man's arm, just about the arm-pit. He shrieked in agony. A few lights flickered.

Casting his rapier aside, he descending on him suddenly, mounting him, it was time to take what he had come for. His left glove spread over the pale face, his right retrieving the sick instrument. Forcing the man's pale lips apart, his jaw down, Nh'bdy clamped the steal to the ivory colored fang.

A few tugs would take too land, the blood was pooling, and lights were about to shoot to life.

A hard pull, more screaming, before the blood could pool to obscure it, another, then the gurgle began. Standing, bloodied, the figure seems calm again. Rapier retrieved, foot steps begin to rush towards the scene.

Walking away casually, the figure spins, a furling noise is heard..then a shatter, then fire everywhere, screaming and burning, shouts and questions. The masked figure approached the Cypress bridge, casually tossing himself over, the final sound is a ship hatch opening and closing. The deed is done.

The last portion of the journal follows a graphic description of a violent act within the boundaries of West Brit, it appears to be written with passion, hard and charmingly.

These words cannot accurately describe the graphic nature, nor the speed, nor the semblance of that nights act...and only the ever present grin of my mask can describe how I felt...
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"What do you call a fish with four legs? A stool pidgeon! Bwuagh bwuagh bwuagh bwguagh!"
~Malorn