Fienis
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"If you want to exist as a vampire, you must learn to embrace this, or at least accept it." (Fienis)
Posts: 250
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Post by Fienis on Oct 19, 2006 20:15:05 GMT
A wide grin lit Fienis's face as did the sun. "Another difference, I am not a vampire as such, as I have been trying to explain to you. The sun holds no fear or danger for myself."
He started to walk off, bowing slightly beforehand. "And I go anywhere anyway. Nothing stops those unstoppable."
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Post by Cypher on Oct 22, 2006 22:19:53 GMT
It was taking far too long, Cypher reflected, for the hunters to track him. It felt like a eternity as he perched, picking up the conversation that unfolded itself upon the ground with an ardent curiosity. But in truth, it a mere pastime as he waited in perfect silence, cloaked by the mantle of darkness the night cast over the city.
The silence, the lack of anything that served as a signal of their presence set the daemon, although cool and composed to those who cared to make the effort to pick him out from the shadows, on edge. Every muscle and nerve was braced for movement at the very appearance of the mercenaries. They were expert trackers, especially for vagrants - but their inability to remain focused was one of their greatest weaknesses, and one which the halfling was keen to exploit.
For a split second, Cypher allowed his eyes to roam downward, to gaze upon the small group that had assembled from overhead. But before he could engross himself in the hidden meanings that lingered between exchanged words, a sudden flare, an unmistakable yet indescribable pulse emitted. A surge of heat flared through his veins, stinging his eyes as the rush flowed to his brain, a reflex unparalleled by any human.
Ears twitched, and eyes widened, and in a single moment, the thin form that once sat in silence, huddled into the lining of his jacket to free himself from the approaching winter chill, had vanished from its place in the scenery, replaced by a sharp song of steel through the air, cut short by a rippling series of clangs and clatters - steel against steel.
The knives had missed their mark, only able to pinpoint where their prey once stood, and that their owners had arrived. The sharp cries of knives striking the framework of the swing set shot through the air with a shrieking echo, even as they hit the ground, denting the inferior metal with their pointed tips.
Another miss, another waste of ammunition.
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