[b:82da8ddef1]The ringing of the phone caused Evran to look up at it from across the room, momentarily distracted by the thick, leatherbound book that he held in his hands. Sighing, he placed a bookmark on the page, and, closing the book, set it on the lamp table next to him before he stood and walked over to the phone, picking it up. What he heard caused him to raise his eyebrow, the light of interest flashing through his eyes for a moment before he said, [i:82da8ddef1]"Sure, I'll be there shortly,"[/i:82da8ddef1] in his richly accented voice.

A few moments later, Evran was speeding down London's streets on his motorcycle, his split overcoat trailing a bit behind him as the wind from his ride caught it. It didn't take long for him to slow and bring his motorcycle to a halt on the side of the road, in front of a decent looking, albeit small antique store. Stepping off his bike, he paused a moment to admire the chrome finished engine, and then shrugged, heading for the glass door.

Despite the late hour, the antique dealer waited for him inside, a narrow, roughly three foot long wooden box on the counter in front of him, the polished wood gleaming in the warmly lit room. Evran smiled at the familiarity of the place, and took a few long strides to the counter, where he opened the box, and took out the spanish broadsword that lay within. This was what he had come for.

Evran eyed the weapon critically; it was well made, with a gleaming, razor sharp edge, and wrought of spanish steel from centuries before, or so the dealer would have liked for Evran to think. Little details however, were what would make or break this deal. At the price, he expected the weapon to be stolen if it was real, that didn't bother him, much. What bothered him was just how nice the weapon was.

Evran eyed it a bit more, before shaking his head, then looking at the antique dealer thoughtfully, a small, well dressed man with a nervous habit of wringing his hands. Evran had picked up on that habit from the moment they had first met. It had shortly after he had come to London to study at Oxford three years ago, Evran was wealthy, and had a certain passion for collecting rare swords, and was rather good at it, while this man was rather good at providing them. Up until today, the man had never tried to pull one over on him, and Evran had come back to the man repeatedly because of that, however, today, the man was wringing his hands more than usual, and Evran had heard from a few fellow students that the antique dealer was very deeply in debt to certain people with very nasty dispositions.

Evran was sheltered as a child, but far from stupid, the fact that he had heard those rumors shortly before a phonecall on a difficult to find spanish broadsword from this man was something that Evran had found to be rather conveniently timed. Evran was not stupid, no matter what this antique dealer thought of him. Evran suspected this sword was a fake from the moment he saw it. [i:82da8ddef1]"Tell me,"[/i:82da8ddef1] Evran said calmly, his richly accented voice soft, "Where did you say this sword came from again?"

A simple enough question to answer, if one was telling the truth, yet the antique dealer stammered for a few moments before speaking, [i:82da8ddef1]"I found it at an estate auction, it was really quite a prize!"[/i:82da8ddef1] The man began to wring his hands even more vigorously before, especially as he saw Evran's eyes narrow, because it was at that moment the man realized the story he had told Evran to begin with. He had told Evran that it had been the inheritance of a young gentleman who had been, unfortunately, quite strapped for cash, but had fortunately been the grandson of a sword collecter.

The first story had been suspicious, and Evran had been wary of the deal when coming here, but now he was offended; This man apparently thought very little of him. Evran very lightly ran his thumb along the sharp blade, and looked at the dealer, just long enough to make him very nervous. [i:82da8ddef1]"This sword,"[/i:82da8ddef1] Evran said, his richly accented voice even softer and calmer than before, [i:82da8ddef1]"is a fake, and you know it."[/i:82da8ddef1] Another moment passed as the dealer froze practically in place, even the wringing hands stopping entirely, before Evran spoke again, [i:82da8ddef1]"So you tried to steal from me... Did you know,"[/i:82da8ddef1] Evran said, gently placing the tip of the sword at the dealer's right wrist, [i:82da8ddef1]"that in some countries, theft, and even attempted theft, costs you your right hand?"[/i:82da8ddef1] Evran's voice was a whisper now, even his accent was hushed, [i:82da8ddef1]"I would suggest that to make up for wasting my time, you find someone with something worth my time."[/i:82da8ddef1]

Evran smiled as he withdrew the weapon, gently setting it down, and turned, leaving the terrified antique's dealer to wonder how things had gone so terribly wrong. Evran himself, went to the small house he had chosen when coming to london, and went back to the book he had been reading before the call from the antique dealer had pulled him away.

The unfortunate dealer however, had no such safe haven to return to, only a home where they waited for him. First they had come to collect on their debt, now, Evran, his wealthiest, and most avid customer, had it in for him. When he saw their faces, their almost ice cold gazes that always terrified him, he took an involuntary step back as they stepped into the lamplight on the street. In that moment of inspiration however, he spoke up, [i:82da8ddef1]"W....wait! I can get you business! A wealthy sword collector! please?!"[/i:82da8ddef1]

This gave them a moment's pause as one of them stepped forward, a hand reaching out.. and gently placed a hand upon his shoulder, guiding him home as the relieved antiques dealer, once in the comfort of his home, began to tell them everything he knew about Evran Gerhart. As he finished, they began to leave, one by one until only one remained, much to the relief of the antiques dealer, who now only had to discuss his business with one of them.

He never had a chance to scream.[/b:82da8ddef1]

You have Lady C's attention. This very Old Clan Tzimisce is into collecting swords, too, but prefers the more exotic Japanese blades. Katana, Wakazashi and the like. As well as poisons of all types. She's interested in seeing where you go with this thread. Don't disappoint her. :shock:

[b:fb97d256cc]The night came and went, the morning finding Evran asleep in his chair, a book over his chest, the first rays of sunlight filtering through the window to fall upon his eyes, which fluttered open as he slowly sat up, a touch groggy from his late night. Evran sighed, and staggered out of his living room. It had not been a very comfortable sleep in the recliner, and Evran was not a morning person, still clearing sleep from his eyes when he staggered into the bathroom.

Steam rose as the hot water in his shower turned on, Evran stepping into it and wincing a bit as the hot water burned his skin, before he soaped up, rinsed, then washed his hair before stepping back out of the water to shave and get dressed. First the pants, then white button up shirt. Then it was a matter of staggering out of the bathroom into his bedroom.

The first thing as he walked in that he noted, was the floor. And the fact it was coming up very swiftly to meet him, a hand swiftly coming out to catch himself as he looked back, a moment's annoyance crossing his face as he realized that he had tripped over a fallen stack of books. His room was cluttered, and he had to avoid tripping over several other stacks of books as he went for his socks and boots, then put them on quickly, before going out of his room and heading down the hallway to view his collection.

The room was decidedly overfull at the moment, swords and ancient weaponry nearly covered the walls, and there were almost a dozen very old manuscripts in several languages here. The collection room was in a state of complete disorder, more like an old warehouse than a collection, and he knew, the library room, with its shelves filled to capacity and stacks of books everywhere, would be no better, and in fact, would be considered by most to be rather worse. It was time for a considerably larger house.

With a sigh, Evran returned to his living room, and picked up the phone, dialing up the real estate agency that had procured this house for him. [i:fb97d256cc]"Hey, This is Evran Gerhart," [/i:fb97d256cc]He said, his richly accented voice, and especially his name, immediately catching the attention of the real estate agent on the other end. The agency knew well his financial means, and as a result, knew immediately what he wanted. Listening, Evran wrote down several addresses that were in the areas the real estate agents suspected he would be looking at, and then hung up, grabbing his long coat on the way out.

Moments later, he was roaring down London's streets again, though this time during hours considerably more reasonable, heading to the first address that the real estate agent had offered him. When he got there, he noted the large size of the place, the best way to describe it was extravagant. Not his sort of place. He shook his head, then, without so much as turning off his motorcycle, went on his merry way, heading into downtown London.

This house was almost perfect, he noted, at least from the outside. He immediately pulled out his cellular phone, and dialed the real estate agency up again. [i:fb97d256cc]"Hey, I need to talk to a real estate agent about a tour of the place on Tanworth Gardens," [/i:fb97d256cc]He said, and then turned off the phone, tucking it back into the pocket of his coat. and waited for the man to arrive.

Ten minutes later, he found himself admiring the interior of the home, the well maintained and polished handrails on the staircases impressed him, and he found himself enjoying the older stylings of the place. It had a rich history, that much he could feel of it. He even took note of certain rooms he liked, especially one that would be perfect for his collection.

The real estate agent was talking, but he wasn't hearing the man speak. [i:fb97d256cc]"Stop trying to sell me on this place. I'll take it,"[/i:fb97d256cc] He said, the real estate agent's jaw dropping. The man nodded, and wrote down Evran's Cell phone number, "[i:fb97d256cc]I'll contact you after setting up a convenient time for the owner."[/i:fb97d256cc]

Evran could barely contain himself through the day, and was even more excited when he got the call, telling him to be at the house, and giving him the time, a decidedly late hour. He sighed, and finished eating his small, almost tiny lunch at a local restaurant, then went to the bank to check on his accountings, interest rates, and especially to make sure he had the entire pricetag for the house in one account, going through the various red tape took a while.

By the time he left the building, the sun was down. He went home, the engine of his motorcycle again roaring, and got changed, calling the limo service that he had to use for more formal meetings, and then got changed into a suit, noting the probable wealth of the owner, and geussing they would be picky on those they sold to. He hated suits, but there was nothing to be done for it; sometimes appearances were everything. For a wealthy person to sell to you, you had to impress them. That meant looking good.

Almost an hour later, he got out of the limo, punctual and prompt, and walked up to the house, opening the door and walking in, to wait as he had been instructed.[/b:fb97d256cc]

[b:f5566b0145]ooc:[/b:f5566b0145] Absolutely breathtaking, keep on writing! :D

Lady Cyrilynn watched as the young mortal entered Toisal's London mansion, prompt and on time. That boded well for him and the sale. She watched from the shadows of the staircase as he quietly closed the doors and strode further into the foyer, glancing about himself in appraisal and.......decided appreciation. Again, the Tzimisce was momentarily pleased. Another point in this 'Evran's' favor.

She continued to watch him as he casually strolled down the hall, the sound of the large, upright grandfather clock loudly ticking away the time. To Cyrilynn, it had always represented the beat of a heart. Her Sire's heart. Her auspex told her that Mr. Gerhart was human, wholly human, as did the flow of blood in his veins. She could smell the spicy cologne he'd chosen but she much prefered the woodsy scent of her former lord and master. It was time to shed herself of this reminder of earlier, happier days that ended in despair.

It had taken none of her discipline skills to mask her presence from Mr. Gerhart, merely those of her training as an assassin, and it pleased her to have him nearly jumping out of his skin when she seemed to suddenly appear at the top of the stairs he had begun to ascend, the lights of London town sparkling like fairy dust throught the tall, paned windows at her back. Granted he didn't flinch with sheer fright or gasp but she could detect the sudden speed-up of his pulse and that was a point in HER favor. They were now two for one on the sale.

Cyrilynn waited for him to reach the first landing before extending her hand to him regally. [i:930bd0370a]"Good evening, Mr. Gerhardt, I see that you are a punctual young man. I like that."[/i:930bd0370a] Gowned in her favorite full-length bombazine skirt and pristine, white blouse, she stared up at him from her small height, her piercing eyes judging his soul. He was definitely an arrogant bantling and used to having his own way in everything. This would-be purchaser fell a touch, in her estimation. The score now stood at one for one.

Then he surprised her when he unhurriedly took her hand and bowed in as courtly a fashion as any she had seen in her younger days, before breathing a chaste kiss into the air just above her knuckles. Her estimation of him rose two notches, one for the quickness of his evaluation of her demeanor and the other for his sheer response to her prefered homage. He was ahead by two.

He startled her even more when he murmurred, [i:930bd0370a]"Good evening, Lady Strathsborough, I am at your service."[/i:930bd0370a] It wasn't so much the rich tones of his voice as much as the momentary flash of seeing her beloved standing there, imposed over the mortal's form, as the faintly Balkan accent, so reminiscent of Korsce, washed over her, triggering things she was sure Elzbet had managed to safeguard her from. Perhaps she hadn't done as thorough a job as they both thought she had, but the Salubri had certainly tried.

Well! Lady C. conceded, another point for Gerhart. He was rapidly winning this game of Monopoly, and the score was a scorching one to four, his being the upper hand!! She wondered if he was as good at playing chess, then decided he undoubtedly was. Time to see what his next move would be. [i:930bd0370a]"May I take your arm for the duration of this tour, Mr. Gerhart?"[/i:930bd0370a] Evran blinked at the formality of the question but immediately extendend the crook of his elbow to the grey-eyed woman, [i:930bd0370a]"I would be honor'd, ma'am."[/i:930bd0370a]. She may have appeared frail but her hand grasped him in a firm hold and he discovered she was rather spry for a woman of her seeming age, as she steered him upward to the second floor.

Modern lights blazed in each and every room they inspected but the insulation and windows were the originals. The occassional drafts and cold rooms with their unused hearths testified to the fact that little had been done to change the town home in decades. It's charm and history not in the least disturbed.

Her opinion of him rose and fell as they traveled the corridors, with Evran's moue's of distaste for her favorite rose patterned wall paper in one room, to the delicate caress of the dark cherry wood paneling in another. His failure to find the secret room, below stairs, earned him a very serious set back in their unacknowledged competition. Just because he was human and unaware did not mean she would give him the handicap.

In the end, the game concluded on a softly drawn out [i:930bd0370a]"AAAAhhhhhhh......"[/i:930bd0370a], as she drew open the trophy room doors and he crossed it's threshhold to be enfolded in the warmth of the chamber. It sported a single chandelier in the middle of the wide and spacious area, it's vast walls devoid of the items that once decorated it. Masculine in it's ambiance, a singular door, opposite them, led out to the well-manicured gardens, what little could be seen in the advancing evening through the mullioned oriels. A large fireplace beckoned one from the end of the long room.

Cyrilynn looked up into his face, but she might just as well not have been there at all. He took two more paces inward before halting, his eyes sweeping the empty walls with visions dancing there. [i:930bd0370a]"THIS is where they will be housed......"[/i:930bd0370a], the mortal breathed. The Tzimisce cocked her head, [i:930bd0370a]"And just what would 'THIS' be, Mr Gerhart?"[/i:930bd0370a], she inquired softly. He spared a small glance at her as if he had just realized she was there. [i:930bd0370a]"Why, my sword collection, of course."[/i:930bd0370a], he returned to his comtemplations.

Far from being insulted, the ancient assassin was intrigued. Just how good WAS his collection? [i:930bd0370a]"How......coincidental. I own a private collection, as well."[/i:930bd0370a] She watched astonishment chase itself over his countenance, as her pronouncement had him finally gifting her with his entire regard. She reached out and patted his arm, mostly to test it's limberness, but she already had assessed his physique as they'd explored the household. He didn't just collect them, she surmised, he also knew how to use them.

Cyrilynn turned and took one pace away from him, sweeping the walls in false rememberence, [i:930bd0370a]"My..husband.."[/i:930bd0370a], (the hesitation was small but the lie was not), [i:930bd0370a]"used to collect Japanese blades and other types of weapons. Out of honor, for his memory, I have carried on his efforts. It...soothes me and I find myself fascinated by each piece's story".[/i:930bd0370a] Lady Strathsborough glanced back over her shoulder and stared at him speculatively. [i:930bd0370a]"Alright, Mr. Gerhart, you may purchase the house from me......."[/i:930bd0370a]

She gloated over his rapture at having won the coveted property of Boardwalk, in their game of point and counterpoint, then yanked it just out of reach again. [i:930bd0370a]"However, I have two stipulations your must agree to, before I allow you to do so...."[/i:930bd0370a] Thunder raged across his face, only to be followed swiftly by the calmed eye of the storm, but she saw him rapidly thrust closed fists into the pockets of his trousers.

[i:930bd0370a]"And what would those stipulations be, ma'am?"[/i:930bd0370a] A desert wind suffused his voice but he did not indicate anything other than that as he waited for the "shoe" to fall. [i:930bd0370a]"First, I ask that should you ever decide to sell this house, I, my descendents or my estate, will have first preference on the bid. And second, I request a private showing of your swords, once you have settled in."[/i:930bd0370a]

Mr. Gerhart's expressions relaxed into unbridled joy, as his hands uncurled, and he bowed to her in gracious defeat. He may have won the most desired piece of property on the board, but he'd lost the game to a master. [i:930bd0370a]"I'd not have it any other way, my lady. Shall we inform the agent and our solicitors?"[/i:930bd0370a] Once, again, he proferred his arm. [i:930bd0370a]"Indeed! Would tomorrow be too soon?"[/i:930bd0370a]

[i:930bd0370a]"Actually, it's not soon enough, once I have made up my mind. I had right now more in mind. The night is yet young and I'm not ready to retire, Mr. Gerhart. Are you?"[/i:930bd0370a] She turned away from him and continued in the direction of the front door, not looking to see if he followed. Evran scanned the room one more time before closing the double doors and following her out, a pleased measure in his stride and a whistled tune on the tip of his tongue.

[b:c458305165]Evran could not have been more pleased; The house was enchanting, and he was even more pleased that he had purchased the mansion from another sword collecter. Evran was ecstatic, and knew that he would immediately be making arrangements to have his posessions moved here. She also wished to tour his collection, and he would not be so base as to test the patience of a lady, and yet, it would be perhaps, too base to make arrangements at this exact moment without asking the lady's leave.

[i:c458305165]"Lady Strathborough, in the interest of expedience, might I impose upon you to allow me to make a brief call to a moving company that I know of? They can have my posessions here and set up in perhaps less than three hours,"[/i:c458305165]He said, his richly toned voice carrying more than a hint of his apreciation for the house. He also knew that he would have to take a short leave of his host in order to supervise the moving process; one did not allow others into one's home, nor to handle a valuable collection without being there. [i:c458305165]"I only wish to make this call, that I might not be so base as to keep you waiting on a viewing of my collection,"[/i:c458305165] he added; in polite society, the willingness to make haste on any point for another was a compliment of a high order indeed. When she smiled, nodding her assent, he pulled the cellular phone from the pocket of his suit, and dialed the number without so much as a moment's pause.

[i:c458305165]"Yes, this is Evran Gerhart," [/i:c458305165]He said on the phone, than winced at the profanities used on the other end of the line; the profanities were not those of anger, but rather, of a very excited mover, for Evran was one who paid decidedly better than most who called, although he expected excellent service in return. Evran smiled as he spoke, [i:c458305165]"meet me at my home in an hour, as I have business that must be attended before I move into my new home,"[/i:c458305165] He said, smiling apologetically to his hostess, Lady Cyrilynn, (though he knew her as Lady Strathborough), then hung up the cellular phone.

[i:c458305165]"I would be most obliged if we could sign the papers, that I might, aside from offering proper payment, present a gift from my collection to you, as I believe, is proper, as I am so rude as to impose," [/i:c458305165]his statement was one that would undoubtedly surprise her, most collecters only made such gifts out of respect and gratitude, and he was no different; he was glad that she not only was willing to sell him the house, but was also willing to allow him to impose upon her patience.

It was not more than fifteen minutes before their respective solicitors arrived, with proper contracts and Evran found himself writing a check, and signing carefully read contracts, in triplicate no less; one for the seller, one for the buyer, and one for the notary, as was proper business. Once all was signed, and his check was verified, (it being a rather large check, afterall), he nodded, as they each dismissed their respective solicitors. He took only a few more moments looking over the garden, then smiled at the beauty that had been sold to him, though he could not see nearly as much as he would have liked, for all he had to go on was moonlight; this was the sort of house he would not mind spending the entirety of his life in.

After a little bit more viewing of the house, he sighed, and nodded to Cyrilynn, smiling, [i:c458305165]"I assure you, you have my sincerest gratitude for selling me this house, truth be told, when the real estate agent took me to tour it earlier, I will admit that I was enchanted with it immediately; It spoke to me of a rich history, and of the great care and love that it has recieved,"[/i:c458305165] he said smiling, then nodded, "For but a short while, I take my leave of you," he said sincerely, his rich accent toned as well with his pleasure at being the owner of the beautiful house, and finally headed out the doors, to step into the limo that had been patiently waiting for him.

The drive to his old house was almost too long for him, he could not wait to settle into his new home, and smiled when he saw the moving trucks already there, waiting for him; a point in their favor he noted, and stepped out of the limo, to nod to the burly man in charge, the one he had spoken with on the phone. He unlocked the door, and let them get to their business of moving.

He smiled as he saw them begin with his sword collection, then almost frowned when he saw a sword slip from the hands of a mover as the mover passed. His hand darted out with lightning speed, catching the weapon long before it could strike the ground, and sighed at the point against the company, then placed the weapon in the hands of the very paniced man in charge, who apologized to him profusely, knowing how Evran was about his collection, then immediately took the young man aside, and began berating him for his clumsiness.

Aside from that, his collection, bed, and dresser, were cleared out of his old home uneventfully, and the movers followed his limo to the house on Tamworth Gardens, and immediately commenced to work, while he met with Cyrilynn, who had been so patient with him.

[i:c458305165]"Again I must apologize, I fear that only so much haste can be made without harming my cherished collection," [/i:c458305165]he explained, as that had taken the longest, but now the movers swiftly set up his collection, as well as placing his bed and dresser in the master bedroom. Interestingly enough, Evran was more than correct on one point; the entire process, had taken a total of three hours, which said much for the speed and ability of the movers.

Then, he smiled as he opened the door to the room, that beautiful trophy room which now housed his beloved (and decidedly impressive) collection, each sword in a glass case as well as on its own stand, the collection was diverse and well taken care of; he had been collecting since the age of thirteen, applying a great deal of the massive allowance that he was gifted with to its expansion. In his favor, it was obvious he had a sense of taste, the cases having been arranged for while Evran was in the limo on the ride over to his house. The only sword that did not have a stand, persay, was sitting in a glass case, but it was interesting indeed, and he noted that it drew Cyrilynn's attention almost immediately.

[i:c458305165]"Ah, I see that you have impeccable taste, though as you and I can both see, this Masa Mune is broken," [/i:c458305165]he said with a touch of sadness, the weapon in the case sitting in several pieces, it was a curiousity indeed, there was no apparent hilt, or rather, the handguard and skeleton of the hilt were there, though the wrapping and finishing pieces of the hilt were long gone. [i:c458305165]"I got it in this condition from its previous owner, when I was seventeen, though there is history behind the blade," [/i:c458305165]he explained, and then elaborated, "The blade was forged by Masa Mune at the peak of his career, but two hundred years later, in the hands of a samurai named Kin Tetsa, it was shattered, during the course of a battle."

Nodding gravely, Evran began to tell of the event all he knew of it, mostly because of the intriguing history of the weapon, but also to a point, because he took pride in knowing the histories of the weapons in his collection when he did.

[i:c458305165]"The battle had raged for three days, and Kin's forces had been sorely outnumbered, yet Kin had slain one enemy after another, his ferocity matched only during the night, and only by a pale man in the ranks of the enemy forces. The two had met upon the rocks near the cliff, and by this time, Kin had already been sorely wounded, yet still his blade met the axe of the pale foreigner blow for blow, neither giving ground until the moontouched mercenary suddenly loosed his left hand from the axe, reaching around his back to drive a shortsword into Kin's chest, dropping Kin to the ground, and causing him to drop his sword. Yet still Kin, mortally wounded, did not give up, reaching for his sword, it had just entered his grasp when the axe came down upon it, shattering the weapon against the cold rocks, which were now slick with Kin's blood, yet the pale man, so focused upon Kin's sword, did not see Kin grasp the only remaining arrow from his quiver, and drive it deep into the pale man's chest, causing him to stagger back.

However, Kin saw the man unfinished, only apparently stunned from a blow that should have killed, he brought what remained of the weapon around to rip open the man's throat, and in the same motion toss him over the side of the cliff. It was there upon the rocks, that Kin Tetsa, breathed his last, never to know that his actions finally broke the enemy line."[/i:c458305165]

Evran paused a moment, after telling the story, or rather, what he knew of it, though he sighed a moment later, [i:c458305165]"Kin's family gathered up the broken pieces of the weapon, and thats the last piece of history I know about it, I do not know what happened to the hilt... I would like to have it reforged, but I, as I suspect Kin's descendants had the same problem, have been unable to find a swordsmith of worthy talent,"[/i:c458305165] he explained, then went to a glass case with a wakizashi, this sword intact, in it, the hilt crafted of carved ivory, a certain floral design to it that most resembled a rose at the very end.

[i:c458305165]"This however, is the piece I chose as a proper gift," [/i:c458305165]he said, his richly accented voice almost a hushed whisper, the artistry of the hilt alone was certainly beautiful, and he hoped that the gift, a sign of respect and gratitude on his part, would be duly accepted.[/b:c458305165]

Entwined and cradled in a secret cell, below the ancient house's foundations, Cyrilynn stirred, then stretched in languid pleasure, before curling back into the arms that gently caressed her naked form. Her contented, dreamy sigh ended abruptly, and all senses erupted into complete wakefulness, as they were rudely shattered by the kiss of chill steel against undead flesh. The illusion of that masculine touch turned to dry ashes that dusted the bleak landscape of her undead heart as she hurriedly scanned the Stygian blackness for information on the enemy the held her pinned in place.

Her hand closed around the blade, unaccountably meeting no resistance, and she pulled heavily on it, cutting herself in the process. The wound was closed automatically before more than a drop or two could be leaked; blood was not to be squandered. It was then she realized that only she was stretched full length upon a bed of mixed Korsce/English soil, the blade that Evran had presented to her the night before, lying athwart her resting form, and only she occupied the hidden room. A scream of mingled loss and rage filled the sealed chamber.

***********

An eerily spined shadow drifted through the inert gloom of the settling mansion. The only heartbeat immediately discernable to the skulking construction was that of the ancient time piece that persitently ticked away the centuries within the hallowed hallway. Eerily glowing eyes swept the emptiness before moving towards the tightly shut double doors, Their keen vision only enhanced by what little moonlight filtered down from the grand staircase's taller windows, above.

Taloned digits reached out and levered the worn handles and the doors swung silently open on well-oiled hinges as the creature padded directly over a priceless Aubeson carpet to the beckoning prize. Pausing on oddly-jointed feet, it surveyed the treasure before it with appreciation and cocked it's misshappen head to one side as it measured each piece of the broken Masa Mune.

Extruding a sharply scalpeled nail, it inscribed a circle large enough to admit one "hand" within the protective confines, while a second "arm" placed a suctioned palm against the excised piece of glass to prevent it from falling away. Again, the pause to savor victory before a third limb reached for the aperature. Evran showed bad timing to make his presence known by flicking on the overhead chandalier. His indrawn breath proved that he instantly understood he faced no ordinary intruder.

With a growl of fingernails on a slateboard, the Tzimisce whipped her bulk around and speared the hapless human with a malevolant glare, the nicitating membranes of the eyes adjusting rapidly to the blinding glare of false light. The pockmarked carapace of her malformed body glistened with something best left untouched and the grind of chitin on chitin added a saw's edge to the already overstimulated nerves of the man across the chamber.

Evran's adrenaline chose that moment to kick in and he crouched in a fighter's stance, his eye's flicking in all directions, seeking a tool with which to fight the hulking monstrosity between him and his possession. Fiend or not, that Masa Mune was his!! He began circling towards the glittering nighttime windows, restlessly seeking a tool that could even remotely be considered a sword, an axe or any kind of weapon. Surprisingly, the gargoyle visage merely followed his movements, the grotesquely wide torso moving only enough to keep him head on, allowing him his momentary freedom to move, to act......

The sound of Evran's breathing was loud in his own ears and it took him moments to become aware that he was the [b:007903449e]only[/b:007903449e] one drawing air. That frightened him more than he cared to believe. Their circling dance had put him in range of some of his trophy sabers that graced the back wall behind the fractured sword's floor show case and he took the opportunity that presented itself by lunging the remaining distance. He'd estimated that he stood a more than even chance of obtaining the nearest of the prized relics

The counter-move, when it came, was done in a blind moment when Evran glanced quickly, from the corner of his eye, to ensure he had hold of a proper weapon. But his body was already in a pre-set move back toward safety and, as a result, the back swing of the foremost arm from the would-be-thief only caught him a glancing blow. It was enough to find him curling into a protective roll that bounced him off of an impeding wall. But when he bounced to his feet, he still had his chosen obective in hand.

Evran was far from being the foppish man of means that he invariably gave the impression of. He'd never neglected his exercises nor did he often eschew his daily practice sessions. Since he rarely got sick, if ever, this meant he was a truly fit human. And it showed in his moves, although the Tzimisce was certain he'd be sporting some large bruises in the morning. If she allowed him to live, that is.

The young man didn't give her long to muse on this train of thought as he did what no sane human would ever have done. He came at her in a blur of activity and slashed at her torso, the sound of knife edge on hard shell making a harsh rasping noise, as he skipped away.

To Evran's astonishment, the hulk suddenly wheezed with strident laughter and then spoke in a hollowed-out voice, "[i:007903449e]So, little man, you wish to play cat and mouse? I'm up to it! Are [b:007903449e]you[/b:007903449e][/i:007903449e]?" And the laughter boomed out again. But there was no sign of injury, other than a slight furrow, to the armor that housed that.......thing.

Evran plunged in again, rapidly bringing up possible moves and discarding all but one. He unerringly, targeted and slipped between a leg joint as he came in unexpectedly low, slicing neatly through what appeared to be fluids and muscle, but no bone. The skeleton, it seemed, was on the outside!

A [b:007903449e]ROAR!![/b:007903449e] filled the room and permeated beyond into the rest of the mansion but, due to the move-in of the night before, there was no staff to make note of it, let alone respond to it. The creature crashed to the floor and scrabbled madly before finding the severed limb and attaching it back to the oozing appendage it had parted from. Evran watch in horror as it melded back into the creature's body and then, impossibly, it stood up.

In a blur of movement, the disbelieving human found himself confronted with a maw full of needle-sharp teeth that spewed forth a greenish goo that burned spots into his skin, wherever they landed. "[i:007903449e][b:007903449e]That[/b:007903449e], was a seriously bad mistake human. You'll pay for that![/i:007903449e], It's eyes were lit by a hellish glow of madness as the head darted, snake-like and unsually lithe for such a ponderous bulk, for his throat.

The beleaguered man had [b:007903449e]no[/b:007903449e] intentions of hanging around to find out what those barbs were capable of and he was already throwing his body out of harm's way, again. But his escape path was limited in scope and he found himself barricaded up against the Masa Mune's pedestal just as a massive knob of flesh barely grazed his hair and smashed the entire protective glass plate surrounding the fragmented relic behind him.

The "hand" retracted and clutched in it's midst was Kin Tetsa's sword, buried in the silk wrapping of it's showcloth, binding both loathsome creature and blade in a ribbon like symbol of wedlock. The sight made all rational thought flee from Evran's mind as his blood, in imitation of the vampiric skill, began to boil in white hot anger. Unthinkingly, he plunged the tip of the blade he wielded into the neck, between the torso's body armor and the chin's hinged jaw. A grating "[b:007903449e]SSCCRREEEECCHH!![/b:007903449e] rent the air and the black brute stumbled back, the sword pulling free with a sucking sound, ooze dripping into sizzling pits at the two antagonists "feet".

But Evran's success was as ephemeral as the moonlight that streamed through the windows, only to fade in the room's technological illuminations. With startling reactions and no thought to the action, Cyrilynn lunged, plunging the jagged remains of the Masa Mune into Evran's right side, the ends finding purchase in the wall of wood behind him, nailing him there.

Evran didn't have time to feel the pain of such a wounding before the slavering jaws sunk deeply into his unguarded throat. His own weapon forgotten in a creeping lassitude that sucked him swiftly into a state of anesthetized senses, he shut his eyes and waited for oblivion to overtake him. He felt each slowing beat of his heart as the blood in his veins flowed up and outward into the thirsting mouth of his demonic killer. Evran bucked once and then stilled, his eyelids at half-mast, his breath and pulse almost non-existent.

The Tzimisce fiend pulled away from her victim, not bothering to pull her fangs from the cooling flesh first, leaving behind a gaping hole of mutilated sinew and muscle. A macabre grin spread over her visage as the fourth arm wiped rubbery lips and a long, snake-like tongue lapped the gruesome remainders from the appendage. Her eye caught on the satiny wrapping still attached to the embedded hilt and she reached for her hard earned prize.

Inches from the intricately embossed hilt, now covered in blood and human remains, Cyrilynn's "paw" was halted. Try as she would, she could not find a way to re-grasp the naked handle. Frustration built to a near frenzy as burned and lost blood clamored to be replaced, her human pigeon unable to provide enough for what he'd made her expend. She was brought up short by a familiar voice and her escalating emotions died an ignominious death of their own.

*******************

Evran opened heavy lids, seeking one last glimpse of his world before having to leave it forever. It urked him that his suddenly sensitive hearing was abused with the sound of two voices bickering loudly over his wearied form. Although he couldn't get up enough strength to move even a fraction of an inch, he could see them out of the corner of his eyes and his fading perception caught most of the short conversation.

"[i:007903449e]I'm sorry, my little doll, but you can't have the sword. It's not meant for you.[/i:007903449e]", The voice issued from a bull of a man, who's hair and beard were the color of midnight, his eyes a vivid wintry blue. To the doomed mortal's astonishment his slayer actually managed to pout like a thwarted child. "[i:007903449e]And why not, Toisol? Would you deny me this treasure, this ancient relic? It's mine and I want it![/i:007903449e] It was odd to see a monster stamping it's foot in a gross parody of a childish temper tantrum. Dying certainly brought on astonishing visions.

"[i:007903449e]And I told you [b:007903449e]no[/b:007903449e], you infantile [/i:007903449e]skorpios!! [i:007903449e]Perhaps I should go now and not return you until you've matured a bit more? I am disappointed that your new master has not managed to further your growth in that area![/i:007903449e]" The effect of the scathing tones on the inhuman soul was immediate as it seemed to shrink back from it's desired object. "[i:007903449e]But [b:007903449e]why[/b:007903449e], Toisol?[/i:007903449e]" The monster re-molded to that of a woman, one who could have been Lady Cyrilynn's young niece. The voice attentive and sincere as the woman kept her focused attention on the translucent figure between her and Evran.

"[i:007903449e]Because the weapon is magic forged. And because if you touch it, you won't be able to handle it without some instruction in the magical arts. Are you willing to become your master's pupil, in truth?[/i:007903449e]" The lady took several steps back and gazed, with horror widened eyes, at what had nearly become a viper in her bosom. She shook bone-white hair in increasing denial of her shortsightedness.

"[i:007903449e]Go, my precious Venus, return to Julius. It is time, and past, for you to take up your obligation. You have been away long enough.[/i:007903449e]" The female nodded in solemn acquiescence and turned away. At the doors to the hallway, she turned haunted eyes and parted lips, as if to say something, only to close them again and turn away, before exiting.

The bearded male's face bent down and loomed into the human's view, filling his vision, reaching beyond into his soul, as if seeking something. Then the penetrating gaze dropped to the protruding weapon that jutted out from the meeting of flesh and steel between the chest's ribs. Evran's fading eyesight followed the same path, to see what the other had noticed. There, on one side of the grip was a hollowed out space, it's tiny door sprung and it's own bloody contents mixing with the crimson smears of his own.

Both men watched as a solid line of the thick, viscous fluid continue to wend it's way closer to the entry point of the blade, using the planes and facings of the sword's edge as a pathway. Seconds trickled by as it seemed to carry forward, but Evran could no longer hold on and he felt the bonds of life snap one by one, his sight greying out and blackening. The sooty edges of his vision drawing inward, to the center.

The illusion known as Toisol glanced once more into his face, then nodded. "[i:007903449e]It will be interesting to see what will become of this, young human. [b:007903449e]VERY[/b:007903449e] interesting, indeed.[/i:007903449e]" The apparition's quiet chuckle followed the closing of the dead man's senses and chased him down the pitch-black tunnel he'd began to traverse. A burning sensation struck mid-chest and and soon enveloped him in what had to be the burning fires of Hell, before he'd traveled more than a few feet!! Dropping to the ground and writhing, Evran finally found the doorway to the void and willingly flung himself over the edge of it, head first, quenching the flames as he went.