In Cold Blood [Valomir the Recluse]

[yorel0950]

Night was always best, always. Night was when he couldn't be seen, couldn't be heard. Where the fire of the sun was smothered by the nameless void and only the dotting of stars, so glittering and perfect, lit his way. He'd watched for days... normally this wasn't nearly long enough and he should have kept an eye for over a week to learn the schedule, but it'd been some time since his last feeding. He didn't need assurance if he knew that those who saw him wouldn't survive come sunrise. The Recluse, that's what he was called. Valomir the Recluse. He supposed he earned that name, sitting on the outskirts of society, planning takedowns and targets in the name of Sithis and his fellow assassins. And here he was, crouched on the outskirts of a manor crawling with guards in his black and burgundy leathers, bound snugly to his body and hiding his pale visage. His bloodshot eyes tracked the movements of the usual guard. Though Valomir never took the time to learn his name, he knew that the guard was about to patrol the garden when he usually stayed close to the door.. perfect. Creeping noiselessly through the shadows, his padded feet took him closer and closer. The barest sound of steel on leather was followed by muffled gurgling when the blade tore through the guard's throat. Since he had his time, he made sure to slide the knife around and through the guard's spinal cord as well. The guard didn't have enough time to think before his soul fluttered into the void. He fell bonelessly to the ground, the grass under him feeding well tonight on the nutrients of his essence. The sight made him hungry, but he couldn't afford to feed... not yet. He had bigger matters to attend to.

Making his way through the guards' patrol now that this key man was no longer an issue proved to be child's play. The door wasn't even locked since the guards were so thick in the area. Slipping into the door, the manor had lavish furnishing. Chairs and couches of velvet and dark oak, steel lanterns hanging from the walls, and paintings of vast landscapes and battlefield scenes decorated the development. Had Valomir lived a different life, he may have considered himself to have come upon the find of a lifetime. But he was no thief. The Recluse did not deal in gold. He let his business be in souls, and he liked it that way. A vague unease crept into his awareness. He did his best to scout the inside of the manor, but he did not know the extend of the security within. It set him off balance, but he'd manage as he always did. He crept to the stairs, up and around, without seeing a single person. It was too quiet. There should be servants at least caring for the house... voices, stationary, rightward. He followed the sounds until he came to a balcony overlooking the ballroom. His target, Fentemi Reis, stood on a stage with an air of command.
"... We shall all need to be extravagant! Performing to the greatest of our abilities... The governor is a powerful man and, if I so much as hear of a misstep this coming night, you will know my fury."
The command of a man born into his 'power' was silly to Valomir. All souls went to Sithis in eventuality, and he had no problem sending Fentemi a bit ahead of schedule. The crowd dispersed... time to move. He tried to find Fentemi's rooms, slipping into it and crouching into a dark corner in the already dark room... and then he waited.

It was a long time before the door opened. Though it was dark, he was a creature of the night. Nothing hid from his sight. Unfortunately, the person who entered the room was not Fentemi... it was a maid, likely here to replace his bed linens. But she turned to him and his corner, a candle in the hand of hers not holding sheets; she was here to change his linens. He would have found that amusing is different circumstances. Instead, one of his balanced throwing knifes strapped to his waist found their way into the maid's eye socket.... Walking over the her body, he lowered his facemask and grimaced as he thought about how it was a pity... such a pity that the blade didn't make its way all the way through the skull. He liked that knife--- the door cracked open again. He was out in the open, exposed, his face in view, a body under his feet, and the blood... the blood... whoever came through the door, he didn't care. He grabbed their shirt in one hand, placed his hand over their mouth with the other, and shut the door with his foot. His vampiric strength and thirst gave him speed and strength too fast for a proper reaction. He dived in, sinking his teeth into their neck and drinking. Drinking. Though the liquid running down his thirst was not the most palatable, it was more perfect than the finest of wines to him. Through his bliss, he did not even notice them tipping backwards onto the floor. He did not notice when the person fell unconscious. He did not notice when they died to his thirst. After a long few minutes, he got a hold of himself, blood dribbling down his chin. It was Fentemi Reis under him, pale and cold. It wasn't the most ideal, but the job was done. Climbing from the man's window, he jumped off the roofing into the gardens below. The blood made him feel so powerful, so invigorated. He did not hurt when he hit the ground. And he did not tire running from the estate. A contract was finished, and he was sated. Looking to the void above, he let loose a coarse, unholy laugh of devilish delight. Tonight was a night for death, and he basked in its glory.