It's So Beautiful Over There

[Jenica Sabiny]

The vampire followed immediately behind, wasting no time in leaving Pont behind. The man stood silent for several moments, considering the options laid before him. If he stayed, he would certainly die or at the very least suffer when the mistress of the household emerged. He looked at the maid's corpse, then to the door where he'd lived for a short while. Moments later, he began walking. He couldn't keep the healthier pace of the other two, but Jenica had taken it upon herself to pause and turn at the door to monitor his progress. If the battlemage hurried ahead, he would leave both of the others behind; the vampire would not leave her charge behind entirely, and he was not capable of moving quickly.

It worked out well for her. Her natural gait was a slow measured pace which kept her able to spring in any direction needed for how lax she stood before moving. The muscles remained calm to match her own quiet mood, and she ruffled one hand through her shaggy hair. It had dried over the hours while the humans slept but had never been combed, giving her a grizzled effect. If the pretty female had intended to cut the vampire's hair, her mission had failed gloriously.

She opened the door and stepped outside, pausing to adjust to the somewhat louder voices clamouring in her mind. The shadows were excited; the sun was dwindling further and she was here to play. With her presence they could move beyond their natural bonds, and even now the nearest quivered with anticipation of what she wanted or needed of them.

She looked at the humans and rolled her shoulders, stretching muscles which never needed to be stretched. Pont had kept pace well enough, and was silently grateful for the vampire's slow stroll.

"Where?"

She eyed the battlemage, waiting for him to direct her. She was only the arrow; he would need to be the archer.

[Nichatus]

Nichatus did not have a speedy or long stride by any normal comparisons, but he seemed to be outdistancing Jenica by a steadily increasing amount. He slowed his gait a bit as he exited the house, then stopped just short of the street. The man turned sideways to see what was taking so long. The woman was waiting on her charge. A small sigh of impatience escaped his lips. They would be waiting on the pitiful wretch the entire time. Not much was going to get done. He stepped back to where the vampire stood and watched the man amble slowly to their position.

"Where?"

The question received a look of mild shock. He had assumed that she was to track their target down and lead the way to him. "I believe the 'where' was why you are involved in this pursuit. Am I mistaken or were you given the man's jacket in order to scent him out?"

[Jenica Sabiny]

What exactly did they expect her to do? Walk every nook and cranny until she picked up the stranger's scent? For a moment, she snarled in frustration, balling her fists tightly and letting the rage flow. The shadows nearby quaked with the sudden spike in her emotions, bowing out into convex walls of darkness.

The moment passed, and she sighed and ran a hand over her face. The human qualities of her movements remained lost on her as she looked at both of the humans who'd joined her. She wasn't sure what to do with Pont; he would follow them wherever they went, clearly, but it was impossible for him to go far. And now she knew that these humans had no location on her target at all. Even more, the pretty female would not be joining them. The old man before had been very clear about this target being sneaky and hard to find. For all her idiocy, the female was the only one who'd managed to catch the target.

She told herself to nevermind and reached down to rub a palm against her waist, where the vial sat within her pocket. If finding this target was going to be such an enterprise...she needed more than just whimsy and dreams. The vial had a concoction within it that she suspected of fraud.

Her eyes moved between both men as she inhaled a deep breath, gathering the air needed to complete the thought she was about to attempt.

"Chemicals...spells. What human can find chemicals?"

Pont looked terrified once the question was voiced, but her attention remained on the mage. She didn't even consider that her charge might know the answer.

[Maxwell]

The peaceful nighttime silence was rarely a lasting thing in Marn, where business did not sleep. Sometimes, though, there would be one or two places that found themselves placed the farthest away from commotion - most often in the wealthier districts, where people liked to keep indoors. Alas, even these places rarely remained undisturbed for more than minutes. Amatheus was one of the men who disturbed such places. Tonight, as almost every night, he was taking a shortcut. The thick, creaking wheels on his crude corpse cart rolled over the cobbles, or dirt, or maybe just flat rock. In all honesty, he couldn't tell anymore. Truth be told, he didn't even care. Of course, it was not as though he was supposed to haul a baker's dozen beggar corpses through this part of the city. In fact, he'd probably get strung up and torn to pieces if any officials found out. Amatheus laughed to himself at the thought and took another swig from his wine skin. Those puffed up popinjays! The way they looked down on everything, they'd never find him - their overflowing bellies would be in the way! With a satisfied smile at his clever pun, the old gravedigger scratched his chin and let out a resounding belch. He was simply too clever for silence and stealth.

With eyes and ears veiled in his own drunken stupor, it was scarce a wonder that Amatheus missed the sickly-looking hand that discreetly slipped out under the cover, as well as the tall, cloth-wrapped form that fled the cart, stealing with it a fair share of the coffin flies. Unheard amidst the creaking wheels and buzzing insects, it found its way to the concealing shadows of the roadside, cast by massive, lavish houses that made Farnham shake his head. It was like a different world. Still, no time to waste - wrapping his cloak tighter around him, he hurried off in the opposite direction of the corpse cart. It was embarrassing, really - it was not as though he needed sleep, or even could sleep, but he had somehow found himself so lost in thought that by the time he realized what was happening, he was already being dragged by the foot towards the waiting cart. Naturally, there was no way he could cause commotion by protesting. He'd have every self-righteous sword arm in the city after him in the blink of an eye. Now, the objective was to flee this place before the break of dawn, and return to where he would not stick out like a sore thumb. If only he had had any notion of which direction he should move in. Lost, he shook his head and sighed.

Farnham stalked down the street, careful not to walk too openly or creep too conspicuously. He dared not run, for fear of arousing suspicion. Picking his way through the never-quite-sleeping city of Marn as fast as he dared, the one time baker soon found the great mansions growing lesser and farther between, and the streets more and more familiar. He knew this house and that - he'd delivered bread here, when he had still been alive, respected and working his way toward the life he'd dreamed of. It seemed like a lifetime ago, and he somehow felt no longing to have his old life back - it frightened him. Rather, it should have frightened him. It was distressing, how nothing seemed to matter any longer. Even becoming a human again seemed a faraway dream, something to indulge and please oneself with in boring times. Forcing those thoughts away, he looked around and found that he'd kept on walking even as he'd been thinking of his old life. Without realizing it, he'd taken a turn and passed Justice Hall - it was now far behind him. He'd heard stories about the building, most likely fanciful and exaggerated, but it never hurt to be careful. Oh, well. It was far too late for that now.

Taking another turn at random, he made his first encounter that night. Farther down the street, in his way precisely, a man in a coat had exited a smaller mansion. By his movements, it would appear that more people were coming - they might even be outside, concealed behind the mansion's surrounding hedge. Hood down hard over his eyes, and every last thread of cloth hugging him as tight as possible, Farn crossed the street, so as to pass the people ahead without getting close enough to be smelled. If they were drunk or simply inattentive, they might not even notice the flies. Even if they did, though, he doubted anyone from these areas would want to socialize with a foul-smelling shadow like himself.

[Nichatus]

Nichatus watched as frustration plainly gripped Jenica. He had not meant to upset her, but he believed what he said was the truth. She had been brought here to help them track down someone so that they could take him in or deal with him, not the other way around. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his coat, idly waiting for some form of response from Jenica.

"Chemicals....spells. What human can find chemicals?"

The vampire had confused him yet again. "You mean an..." he stopped, spotting a shadowy figure moving through the streets near by, then began again in a lower voice, "you mean an alchemist? What do you need with one?" He couldn't help the little edge of suspicion that tinted his words. The vampire's reasons for seeking out someone of that profession had just as much chance of being detrimental to his health as they did of helping in this quest.

[Jenica Sabiny]

She did not understand the concept of hiding away true intentions, and lying had never been a habit she'd grown accustomed to. There was no reason not to tell the mage her idea; if nothing else, he might have something to contribute. Perhaps he even knew what was inside the vial himself, and was playing dumb as he'd been instructed. There was no telling with these mortals.

She removed the vial from her pants pocket and showed it to him, so that he would see and understand the topic of conversation.

"I want to know what it is. What it does."

She snorted disbelief as she remembered the old man's words, promising to cure her of an illness the body was incapable of having. One could not come up with a case of dead. She slipped the vial back into her pocket, shaking her head with a mixture of disappointment in the human games she'd become entrenched in and this mage's own lack of knowledge.

"Al...chemist. Yes. Show me where."

Whether the mage knew the place or not did not matter, as Pont cleared his throat quietly with a pained wince to get her attention. Once her focus laid solely with him he regretted his efforts, but kept on anyway. He owed her, but she was volatile. If he could continue serving a purpose, perhaps she would keep that temper aimed away...

"I know one. I can take you."

She didn't wait for either man to agree on this course of action; she stepped away from the house and began a steady trudge, slow enough to let them catch up and eventually let the poor man lead the way. Her gaze flickered to the figure trying to circumvent their presence, and she sniffed in his general direction out of old habit, sending small tendrils of inner focus out to listen to his heartbeat.

She froze in her steps and stared. The stench was vile enough, though death did not perturb her. It was the resounding silence inside of his chest, the stillness of his veins, that tilted her head in speculation. As bloodhound with its prey cornered, she stood silent and still, staring across the way at the only other "living" dead she'd encountered.

Could he be a vampire?

It was possible. The only other she'd met was her sire, who she thought she could only sense because he was her sire. She'd never met another like herself, never learned anything about her abilities or species beyond what she could find out through trial and error. The body was sturdy; the hunger was stronger than reason or logic; and the shadows were friends.

She started on a direct path to meet the person skirting them, flaring her nostrils as she sniffed harder. She had no idea what this person was, could not sense him in any way beyond smell and sight - and her desire to satisfy curiosity overrode any cravings for secrecy. She could never say she regretted what she hadn't done.

[Maxwell]

Indeed, there were more people coming. One woman, he knew. Even from the corner of his eye, Farnham could see she was on par with the beauties he'd been after in life. It was tempting to turn and look, but it did not take a genius to realize that it would be far safer to mind one's own business and put as much distance as possible between one's self and those on the other side. Farnham quickened his step, not enough to break into a run, but faster than regular walking speed. He forced away the memories of past love affairs this woman's presence lured out from the fold of his brain, and focused on the road in front. He had to get back, had to find a cure - maybe he could try a temple, or maybe he could even attempt to reach the rumored vampire lord of Shim. Maybe he should just turn himself over to the authorities? ...Not a chance, he decided. There was no telling what those people would do to him. Only under the direst of circumstances would he ever go there. Brushing away a dozen coffin flies or so from his face, he though that he would have to find a body of water, too - the trip in the corpse cart had left him with more flies and other insects eating him than ever before, and they would need to be flushed out to help preserve him.

Despite his best attempts at focusing, Farn still managed to fall into the daydream trap, as he started planning out how to find a suitable bathing place. Senses dulled by the dream, just as the cart driver had let wine dull his, the one time baker failed to notice the woman until she was half-way across the street. He jerked his head around to look at her, and his eyes widened in surprise. She was heading for him! No point in stealth any longer, he thought, and ran, strips of dirty cloth trailing after him. There was no way she could catch him - he never tired, and his legs could work at full speed forever. He'd never be caught. He could outrun any human.

[Nichatus]

The battlemage nodded as the vial was brought out. He had been curious of its nature as well, Moryldar having decided it best not to inform him. If it had not been for his...talents...the man would not have known anything of it at all until now. He knew that the vial in Jenica's hand held no cure, and based on the way the Judges operated there was likely not one anywhere. If they saw fit to play games with this deadly a person then he assumed that they had an ace up their sleeves. The Judges were king, Jenica was the knight to crush the opposition's pawns, and he was the bishop being moved into the most advantageous position eight squares, diagonally, at a time.

It was a bit shocking for Nichatus that Pont revealed himself to be useful so soon in the adventure. The rook perhaps? The man was a bit timid about revealing his knowledge, and Nic found it a bit suspect, but he would lead them to this alchemist he knew and then the real mission could get under way. Jenica made it relatively clear that there would be no dawdling about as she set off, Nic and Pont trailing behind, but then she stopped.

He came to a stop beside her and watched as her nose worked in the direction of the shrouded figure across the way. His lips parted to tell her that they should be away, but the words were stolen by her sudden pursuit of the figure. "What are you on about now woman? We have things that need doing." He called after her.

The figure bolted. Jenica gave chase.

A hand shot out, almost instinctively, to Nichatus's side to prevent Pont from following. "If she wants to go chasing vagabonds through the street like a cat and mice then we can not stop her. I suggest we stay back a pace should she get....excited." With that he lowered his arm and took off in the direction of the vampire and her target. He was not running, but going at an almost leisurely pace. It was mostly because he did not wish to expend too much energy on any of Jenica's games that did not involve himself, but a small portion of it was for her pet's benefit. The man had proven himself of some possible use after all.

[Jenica Sabiny]

The mage's words passed by unheeded as she saw the figure start trying to run. It was quaint, in a way. She had to admire the spirit of one who would try to outrun her, even though such an attempt was useless. She wondered if they ran out of fear or because they could sense her somehow, as she could her sire. Perhaps they knew another vampire approached and wanted to avoid the confrontation. She had an easy enough option available to find out.

She did give chase, but it was more of an acceleration of her natural rate. She caught up to the man and surpassed him with some ease, moving further down the road and stopping in his path. She did not move far, and it was possible he would not have time to check his speed; she held both arms in front of herself and braced her legs to blunt any potential collision.

[Maxwell]

Farnham didn't look back at all - he was too busy grinning. Since his untimely demise, he'd found few things enjoyable, as though he were no longer capable of joy. It seemed he could still appreciate the irony of he, Farnham the womanizer, running the fastest he'd ever ran, away from an attractive female. It didn't cause that swelling sensation in his chest like it should have, though. Hence, he assumed this was what they called appreciating something on an intellectual level. Frankly speaking, it didn't measure up to emotion. There had to be some way he could laugh from his heart again ...of course, his heart wasn't even beating, which might explain its lack of influence. Oh, how he hated this infernal undeath. No, wait - he didn't hate it. He consciously evaluated it and recognized it as inferior to the condition of truly being alive - there was no passion. He raised his hands pull his hair, hair that wasn't there, in frustration, frustration... that wasn't there. Without noticing it, Farnham had fallen into deep thought again, and was not awakened until a pale blur shot past him and stopped right in his path. It was a woman. A gorgeous woman, Farnham acknowledged professionally.

Describing the line of reasoning that rocketed through his decaying head at that point would be a lengthy process. Suffice to say that it bypassed any thoughts of self-preservation or surprise, and that it identified a goal and met with a realization. He would have to trip. Although zombies are generally considered slow creatures, Farn did then and there perform an amazing act of lechery (for a zombie), as he almost unnoticeably snuck his right foot a little too far to the left and tripped, his head and arms following the perfect arc he'd planned. As a result, the end of his undead sprint was not so much a crash into the solid woman before him, but a rather cushioning stop. It was not as good as it should have been, he concluded. Now, the next step was to figure out how to survive - well, life is relative - the situation, and preferably to keep all body parts relatively intact. Truth be told, he had no idea of how to do that. This woman was faster than any human could ever be, without magic. Conlusion: she was a mage or sorceress of some kind, and that could easily mean a swift end to unlife to a poor, defenceless zombie. In fact, he would probably be blasted to dust wherever he went from here. It struck him then, that undeath might not be so bad - had he been alive right there and then, he would probably have needed new trousers.

Dislodging himself from the vampire's chest, providing a stuttering apology, he fell to his knees. He was sure he'd heard somewhere that mages were arrogant folk who demanded that lesser men fawn over them and lick their boots. "My most sincere apologies, Lord Mage", he said in lifelike, feigned tearfulness, wringing his cloth-wrapped hands. His hood still covered his face, and his voice was as clear as it had ever been - there was still hope that he might be taken for a human. "I- I did not mean to disturb your, um, arcaneness with my lowly presence. I was merely on my way home".

[Nichatus]

Nichatus followed in Jenica's wake and his astonishment at her speed was nearly palpable. He had never seen a being move that fast, even with the aid of magic. He couldn't help but ponder why she would want a cure for her "sickness" as Moryldar had called it, even if one did exist. Why would it be desirable to be an ordinary human when one could have such power? The horrible traumas of her mind might be a motivator, but he seriously doubted that any "cure" would rid her of those.

Then again...he did not know what it was like to be one of the undead. Surely there were drawbacks he did not know. But what could be so bad as to discourage one from keeping a physical prowess second to none? He shook his head to get the thoughts out. He was reading too much into this.

He and Pont slowly approached the groveling man from behind. If Nichatus had had his sword the pathetic thing would have been run through right there for no other reason than waisting his time. The man was obviously not anyone of any particular importance, dressed in rags as he was, so no one would dare rise against him, a battlemage in service to the Judges, for ridding the world of this wretch. But he did not have his sword, therefore, the man escaped a hasty conclusion to his life's story.

An impatient eye was cast from Jenica to Pont and then back to the vampire. "Now that you've chased down your toy and proven yourself better, can we get under way? Or must we sit here whilst you play, woman?"

[Jenica Sabiny]

Lord mage? She looked at the actual mage as he approached with Pont, wondering why this...male...was addressing him when she was the one in front of him. It didn't matter to her, but she found the gesture odd.

She crossed her arms lightly over her chest and stared down at the wrapped figure. The mage was wrong; this was no toy, no more than the man she'd rescued. He was an oddity. The stench was far stronger now that they stood within range, and it was lucky she was used to the scent of death and decay.

"Not play."

She shuttered her eyes and tried to sense inside of the male's chest again, expanding to find lungs and veins. But there was no pulse; the blood remained still. She looked over at the battlemage with the same lazy gaze and snorted as he spoke.

"The body's dead."

She inclined her head minutely at the kneeling figure to indicate who she was talking about, feeling no need to offer further explanation.

[Maxwell]

"You can tell!?" Farn cried in a shrill voice, leaping to his feet in surprise. Surrounded, revealed for what he truly was, as well as outnumbered and outmatched. This night was going downhill, rather quickly. The one approaching from behind saw no need for stealth, of course - Farnham turned his head to look. Two men, one proud, one anxious and emaciated. The woman was fast, but did not appear to be quite right in the head, and the closest man did not look like the commanding type. Deciding to whom he would have to answer was not hard, and the brief surprise Farn had experienced had left him now. He was as calm as ever, but that calm brought with it the realization that there was no obvious path to walk. Relaxing his muscles, he decided that it would be best to remain still and let the mages do the talking. He did not want to disturb any high and mighty wizards in their thoughts, and perhaps earn himself a quick trip to oblivion.

[Nichatus]

Nichatus turned a relatively blank expression on the exasperated....thing. "Aye, and the mind works. Well." The tendrils had began reaching outward the before Jenica had even made her comment. The creature was confused, and possibly frightened, though it was hard to tell. Its mind was arrayed in a very unfamiliar way.

He studied the creature for a second as he continued to invade the mind. He thought for a second that it might perhaps be one of the creatures like Melagone created, but he changed his mind after a moment. He had only been exposed to those creatures on a few events, but none of them had thoughts, their minds were practically blank. Guided by nothing more than a will to serve their master and magic. "Smells too bad and the body is too decomposed to be on of your kind. Any idea as to what...it...is?"

He scanned the mind for a moment longer before a fit of laughter burst from his chest. "AHAHAHA, he thinks you're a mage!" He bellowed out loudly to Jenica, his eyes almost tearing with his mirth.

[Jenica Sabiny]

The battlemage's laugh was contagious, but she resisted in the face of her own disappointment. Not a vampire. She repressed a snort of indignation at this fact. She nearly felt insulted. If this creature was no vampire, then it had no right to be another walking corpse. For a brief moment, she envisioned herself destroying it for the sheer pleasure of destruction. It served no purpose and groveled, and now that it was standing she could see that it was more the corpse than she could ever be.

She reached into her pocket and withdrew the vial, considering it a moment. Her eyes flickered to the battlemage, almost as though seeking his approval - and then back to the creature before them. Pont remained silent in the background, relieved that attentions were focused elsewhere. The vampire stepped forward, uncapping the vial in the same movement.

"Your finger."

She didn't clarify, but her tone had the unmistakable tension of a command being issued. She glared at the dead creature which stood of its own accord and waited for it to comply.