Valerion
Valerion:
He sat, and waited. Waited in that dingy cave for far too long. Well, not any more. The writhing of his soul was too much to bear. He needed to feed, to taste blood again.
How long had it been? Months? Years? All this time waiting for his chance to strike. Rising from his make shift throne he glided to his chest. He took out the ancient cuirass, the sleeveless scaled plates that fitted his body perfectly. He tightened the buckles on his boots and pulled on his sharp nailed gloves. He pulled the hood up on his cloak as he fastened it with a golden broach around his neck.
He walked to the entrance of the cave. It was the darkest hour of the night. He was ready.
Staring into the black abyss from his cave in the high mountain, messing with the cuffs of his gloves, he feels the cold breeze of the night upon his chiseled features. Noticing this, he breaths deeply, holds, and exhales slowly. This is it, finally, after all this time. Stepping forward, out onto the precipice, boots almost off the edge, he jumps.
Falling through the air, cape billowing and fluttering behind him, with the moonlight glistening off his sharp features, he utters words which no man can understand and his fall becomes slower, graceful, even. Decelerating towards the ground he levels himself and lands, briskly walking on the open plaines. His boots make no noise on the soft earth. Walking swiftly, almost gliding, across the field, he reaches a farm house. Simply constructed, basic stone walls, with a wooden door and window shutters, and a thatched roof, the candles have burned out and silence envelops the area.
Walking through the door with a practiced silence, he spots the lone inhabitant instantly. Asleep on a small wooden bed lies a woman. Barely 40, with flowing chestnut hair and olive complexion. He walks softly over to the bed and bends over; lowering himself closer and closer to her neck. After breathing in her perfume and admiring her exquisite beauty, he sinks his razor-sharp teeth into her neck, sucking hard and drawing all the blood he can from her.
After a minute there is no olive skinned beauty, but an ivory shaded corpse, lying on a bed below a youthful, handsome, alabaster faced man wearing a cloak, fastened with a golden broach.
That week in the town, after the intruder had returned 'home', there was gossip of a woman drained of #life itself. Once the rumour broke out, it was only confirmed by an agèd man, who silenced the crowds with the simple words:
"He's back. Valerion is back."
