Sensing an undead prescence behind him, Mearick shut his journal quickly. "What do you desire, master?" he spat sarcastically.

The lich fixed him with a cold stare. "Nothing of you, whelp. 'I believe their sole aim in life is to make me vomit...' Do you realize we are not living creatures? We no longer have a sole aim in life." To make his point clear, the lich brushed an icy hand across Mearicks chest, causing him to shudder with cold.

"Now then, are you ready to be more... What is that word... Humble?" The lich snapped his fingers so loudly it was like a whiplash. Mearick arched his back in pain from the magical lash. Only a vampire, he's only a vampire, Mearick thought.

"I am not your servant, you brought me here to torture me for sport! Undead priest, hah! You vampires can't stand to be around any person who has a drop of religious faith in them, much less a priest!" Under his breath, he muttered, "Lord of the Light and all that is good, help me now or your servant will surely die!"

A blinding white light burst out of his body, effectively knocking the vampire unconscious and protecting Mearick from any other evil intrusions. He ran out the open door, out the courtyard gate, and into the sunrise. Freedom!

He must contact his undersecretary with his findings at the church. Only then could he keep going here, in almost utter despair of ever getting out alive.

Two other vampires watched him run from an upper window. One started to make Mearick return, but the other motioned for him to stop and said, "Let him run. It makes better sport if they think themselves free."

"Will we feast on him when we catch him?" asked the other, who was smaller.

"Nay, we still have use of him."

"What do we need a priest for? He can protect himself just fine from any of our spells! He has the magic of his god, that Lord of Light thing."

"Patience, young one. It will come in time."

"What? The man? Or his religion?" The younger vampire was really quite stupid, not having any formal training in his former life.

"Neither, halfwit, patience."

With that, the two vampires turned away from the window, drawing the curtains that blocked the light blessed by some and cursed by them, then traveled to their coffins, going to sleep the unholy sleep of the undead.

Jaessara
Day 14, Asaan Year 1407

Oh, the love of my life is so near to me! Swodhas... The very utterance of his name brings shivers down my spine; I am in love with him so! People whom I tell about this tell me that I am insane for loving him. They think he is cruel, bordering on the brink of sanity. They say it will be a short time before he snaps completely and goes berserk. I know differently.

How else could you explain the fact that he would help me, a poor theif, when he himself is nearly noble? I have yet to see him this morn, but 'tis barely after sun's rising.

His eyes are the blue of a midsummer's sky (when it's not raining, of course). How could one miss his nearly white hair? On someone so young, it seems impossible.

His looks aren't the only things that drive me such, he was born into a noble family. Money is precious to me. Otherwise, why else would I have joined the Theives' Guild when I was but five winters old? The gold, silver, copper in my hands, the very scent of metal is what I live for. Knowing Swodhas, he must have a lot of it stashed somewhere. How else could he have such expensive-looking armor or a glistening blade? He also lives in that immense mansion, just outside of the city. I will pray to any who will listen that I will see him this day!

As she was writing, Jaessara reached up to the fruit vendors stall she was leaning against. She felt around blindly, found a fruit, and pulled it out. She studied the strange fruit. It had a mottled red and purplish colored peel and tasted biter if she licked it. Jaessara frowned at it. She tossed the fruit carelessly over her shoulder, but instead of juice pouring out of it when it was dropped, seeds encased in fruit tumbled out of it.

She picked up one of the seeds and bit into it. It was sweet and juicy, nothing like the rest of the fruit. She sat by the dropped fruit, munching on the dropped seeds, and continued writing while the juice stained her fingers and the papers red.

The owner of the stall saw Jaessara eating the fruit. "I've not opened yet! Whend you get that?"

She shrugged. "Why d'you want to know?"

" 'Cause you look pretty suspicious. I'm also the owner of the only fruit stall in this market!"

"I got it yesterday and saved it for today. It's what one's got to do when one's not as well-off like you are."

The stall owner shook his head and walked back to open his stall for the day. The sun was still barely above the eastern horizon, but the little town was bustling nonetheless. Housewives were waking up their husbands and children, husbands broke their fast and took their wares to open their stores and shops.

Jaessara looked around hopefully for a glimpse, even a sign, of Swodhas. There was no pale skin, no sapphire-blue eyes, no sunlight glinting off silver-white hair. No one was even wearing a rapier, Swodhas weapon of choice. Jaessara was all alone with her daydreams, with no one coming to make them a reality.

Mearick entered the small, crude church panting from his long sprint from the vampire castle. A young priest stood at the altar, hands clasped and head bowed. He saw Mearick enter and said, "What brings you here? Is there trouble at the castle?"

"Much trouble, much trouble..." Mearick told him of what had happened over the last few days. "I think that if they are given a chance, they will suck my lifes blood out of me. I won't even be a bloody corpse when I die, I will just be a...a corpse!"

"What will you do about them?"

"I do not know. I must go back. I cannot endanger the people of this village. They will hunt me if I am gone much longer, feeding on everyone who is in their path. Fare well, gods bless!" Mearick ran out of the church the same way he came in.

"Gods bless, Mearick," the priest said softly. "Gods bless."

As Mearick neared the castle, storm clouds gathered and shrouded most of it in a steel-gray night. The two vampires who watched him leave had awakened and stood at the window.

"He comes again," the younger said. "Why did he not stay?"

"He feared a hunt on the village," the older replied. "Why humans insist on protecting others I do not know."

Mearick stumbled across the courtyard as a gentle rain began to fall. He tripped over a tree root and hit his head on a rock.

"He bleeds! We go down and feed!" The younger vampire nearly fell out of the open window in anticipaton.

"Only a small sip," the older cautioned. "Too much will make you gravely ill."

The younger vampire morphed into a bat, flew out the window, and alighted on the wet grass. As his fangs pierced the flesh around the priests jugular vein, he was thrown back by a forcefield of blinding white light. Mearick groaned and twitched, but he still did not regain consciousness.

In the castle, the older vampire snorted in derision and turned away. Standing behind him was a young man; or, rather, a young-looking man. Flaxen gold hair surrounded piercing blue eyes looking boredly at the vampire.

"My Lord Shizuno!" The vampire bowed deeply.

The lich nodded in acknowledgement. "Sakutso. Honestly, get up. Where is Kusamuro?" he asked in cultured, clipped tones.

Sakutso straightened. "In the courtyard. I tried to warn him of the priests blook, but"

"Young as he is, he should know better. Bring him up. He is quite...fragile; we don't want to leave him in the rain, hmm?"

Sakutso bowed once more and flew out of the window.

"I should never have blooded Kusamuro," Shizuno said to himself, a frown creasing his brow. "I should have known better. Vampires have no place on the battlefield." He looked out the window once more, saw that Sakutso was assisting Kusamuro, and turned away.

"You there!" He gestured for a half-vampire servant to come. "Bring the priest inside. He is improtant to me and no good dead."

The half-vampire bowed and scurried away, uncomfortably aware of the feverishly shining blue eyes boring into her back.

Jaessara nimbly climbed onto a roof and stood, surveying the tiny twon spread out below her. Over to the east were the guilds and the market, now bustling with even more people than it was that morning. To the south were the bars, inns, and taverns. Even though it was barely noon, she could faintly see drunkards walking unsteadily toward other taverns or slumped in gutters. To the north were the nobilitys houses. Far away into the distance was the dread vampire stronghold, Morimoto Castle. The name was whispered around the town, never spoken aloud in fear that it would bring the vampires that lived there crashing down around their ears. If you listened closely in the market, then you would hear rumors or gossip, mainly concerning the vampire castle.

In the west, where she was standing now, were the middleclass and poorer homes. Here people not quite wealthy enough or of a high enough status to be considered in some measure nobility lived. The orphanage as well as the jail were placed here, most likely because the wealthy would never tolerate such things near their hugely expensive--and expansive--mansions.

Jaessara shook her head in an exasperated fashion. They would not live near a good, honest orphanage, yet they would live so close to Morimoto Castle? People were becoming immensely stupid these days. Who in their right mind would want to live near vampires?

Sun glinting off metal caught her attention. Was it Swodhas? No, it was the sword dancers in the middle of the square; complex and intricate dances were their specialty. Besides, Swodhas never appeared during the day, it was only during dawn or dusk that he was seen.

She sighed and sunk further down on the roof. Although many children who lived off the street--like Jaessara herself--used the roofs as an alternate road and no one minded overmuch, it would not do to loiter. It made people suspicious, they thought you would rob them if you didn't move for a time. Jaessara made sure never to be caught.

She leapt off of the roof and made her way through the crowd in the square, cutting a purse here, picking a pocker there. No one noticed a dark-skinned, short girl that could pass for fourteen or fifteen though she was, in reality, eighteen or nineteen. Even if they did, there was nothing spectacular about her grimy, stained tunic and leggings and her long brown hair. They would either forget her as soon as they saw her or the Enforcers would drag in every street child except her. Her fingers were lighter than air; soon she had a fair amount of copper and silver. No gold pieces today, though, the people with real money were in their houses by the vampire castle worshipping their patron gods and goddesses like they always did on the seventh day of their sun-maps--weren't they called septdiem? No, just sun-maps. The rich folk wouldn't copy the priests in using a long-forgotten language just to name an everyday tool. They would use New Racon, not its Archaia roots.

Jaessara glanced again at the money she had collected. She had always wanted to learn a different speech--no, tongue, language--for some reason. It would have no use whatsoever even in the Theives' Guild. She had no gang as some did to teach it to, but in the seventh-day mass she had once attended, the priests said that it was the passion that mattered, not the usefulness or the status it gave. Of course, it mainly pertained to religion, but would it not hold true for the learning aspect of the would as well?

The priests... One, Mearick, had been at the seventh-day mass so long ago. Ten years or more ago, Jaessara's late father had been on fairly good terms with him, perhaps she could find him and ask if he'd be willing to teach a street rat the church's language. Even if he was still at the church--not improbable, but somewhat unlikely-- he might not remember her father, much less the diminuitive daughter that accompanied him on that sole occasion. However, he may have a better memory than most.

With her mind made up and an irrevocable decision made, she strode toward the southern gate of the square and toward the small, homely church. If Mearick didn't remember her, then she would persuade him to teach her all he knew of Racon's roots. She arrived at the entrance of the chapel. Whe she knowcked gingerly, the door swung open. Apparently more people had taken to worshipping alone: no one was seen, only a young, yellow-robed acolyte tending to the altar and holy icons.

"Who's there?"

Jaessara looked up eyes wide in surprise. It was only the acolyte, doing the head priest's duty in his stead, guarding the church against vicious interlopers, specifically vampires. They could enter a holy place up to a point, but could never be touched with artifacts. "Jaessara," she replied. "I seek Mearick."

The young man walked over to her. "I am sorry, he is not available. Perhaps I can help you?" he asked with an unfamiliar accent.

"I would like to learn Archaia, the-"

"The church tongue."

"Yes, the church tongue." She chewed her lip nervously. Would he accept her?

"Well. You are unusual. A beggar wanting to learn Archaia. I've never heard of an odder situatiion!"

"Will you take me as your student? If it's money you want, I have it here!" She thrust a palmful of silver under his nose, but it was waved away.

"I cannot accept money. I must conference with Mearick." The acolyte turned and started to walk away.

"I thought he was unavailable!"

"I-I... He..." He became flustered and flushed in embarrasment. "He will be back later!" Jaessara was herded out of the door and unceremoniously waved over with the Holy Triad before the door was shut. It did not appear that she would be learning Archaia this day.

Mearick stared blearily at the ceiling of his cell. The vampires must have brought him in from the rain earlier that morning before the sun had risen and after the report of his findings to Tunis. Poor lad, he thought. I've left him alone on seventh-day. Seventh-day, of all days not to have come back to help with the worshippers! He was a great help around the church, however, and Mearick trusted him with many tasks he would not have given anyone else.

Over the course of several days, Mearick had engraved a series of slashes based on the sun's position that would tell him exactly the time of day. A slanted ray of light rested on the fourth mark after the noon hour. This early in the year, the sun would set before the the sixth mark, sometimes even before the fifth. The vampires would be going out to feed soon, just as the last stream of sun was vanquished by the night.

Mearick had been glad to see that somewhere in this castle ruled over by a lich and inhabited by vampires was a single room with a single window that admitted one single, solitary sun beam. Anything that let him feel closer to the Lord of Light in this dark and cold castle was much appreciated.

There was a loud knock at the door. Mearick struggled to sit up, but a wave of dizziness forced him back down. A half--or possibly quarter--vampire stood in the doorway. "My lord wishes to see you," its distinctly vile- sounding voice said. It may have been either male or female: from Mearick's comparitively sun-washed cell he could only see a silhouette lacking the skin-and-bones frame of a full vampire.

Mearick pasted a fake, tight smile on his face. "Of course I will attend him. I beg you lead me to him."

Sensing the tinge of sarcasm in the priest's voice, the fractional vampire hissed softly in displeasure but did not risk angering the volatile human. He had nearly killed Kusamuro that morning--not exactly one of Lord Shizuno's most trusted disciples, but important to him nonetheless. If the humans in the nearby twon decided to war on the vampires and take back the castle that was rightfully thiers, the overeager young vampire could be the key to a vampiric victory.

The quarter vampire turned and walked purposefully out of the sunlit cell. Despite the fact sunlight would not kill her, it would sicken her vampire blood after a short length of time.