It was starting to get to that time of year, the Blood Moon, when the moon shone as red as blood and all Magescians were possessed by an ancient hunger, as old as their races. Malesmech Nalet was a warrior and was very familiar with it's call but he, like his father before him, was not a fan. ”There be plenty of bloodshed to go around all year-round,” his father had said to him numerous times, ”there don't need to be any more of it at one particular time than another.” Malesmesch agreed. There was nothing he could do about it, however. He was too busy to bother - ater all, his girl was always very effected by the Blood Moon. She'd always been that way, even with her mother. Saaramos had disliked it even more than Mal did, for reasons she never told him, but her daughter... her daughter loved it. Malesmesch didn't understand, but he didn't have to.

Soon, Lae would be getting ready for her annual hunting season with her cold-hearted brutal beast of a father, and Mal had to prepare himself to come with her. Aside from his duties as her protector, he wouldn't miss it for the world: though it was clear that she was her father's daughter in many respects, down to the restless hunger for blood, it was at this time of year that she showed her other side as well. Her mother's wild, joyful smile could be seen on her face as she rode in the hunts, chasing down some poor Serenian beastie, and Mal missed that smile more than he let on. Little Lae liked the hunts, she had fun, and so even though they were a pain for her bodyguard, he let it happen. And he prepared.

Of course, alongside his preparations, there were the other, usual duties, like keeping tabs on the pulse of the security of her current home, and on the many seedier places in the surrounding city that a kidnapper might use. Mal didn't do his job halfway – he knew that a large part of being a bodyguard was stopping the threats before he had to actually use his body to guard. In fact, if he did his job right, they ceased to be a threat before she knew about them at all... tough as that was, given that she was a noble. Nobles had ways of finding things out.

That was why he was on patrol that night, checking the property himself, personally, before he retired to his rooms near hers. That was why he had seen the scrawny shadow lurking in the bushes. He stopped abruptly in his patrol, his hand on his sword. “Hey. You.” he said, shining a light on them. They were disturbingly thin and scarred, with a gleam in their brilliantly blue eyes that he did not like. “This here is private land, in case the fences didn't tip you off. What the ******** are you doing here?” He asked bluntly, moving towards the man, his stance threatening.

“Oh, me?” The man's calm demeanor and soft purr of a voice did nothing to ease the prickling hairs on Mal's back. There was something off about him, and Mal did not want him to stick around and find out what that was. “I'm just... minding my own business.”

“Not here, you ain't.” Mal said, jostling him roughly and shoving him towards the gate, “Out you go.”

“All right, all right!” the man was nearly laughing as Mal shoved him forward. He was alarmingly light, as if he didn't eat much and was easy to bum-rush out. Unnervingly so. Mal would be delighted if this was just an easy trespassing – his instincts were screaming at him that the situation was dangerous, though, and he was wary. “Just tell me one thing, though, darling.” Mal shoved him out, beyond the walls. He didn't trust the man so close. He waved at the guards as he went past. Either they hadn't been doing their job, or this man was sneaky as the shadows themselves, because they were surprised to see his 'charge'. He ignored the resulting frenzy of activity and kept moving. Finally, he found a place where – if he felt he needed to – he could murder the guy with no questions asked. He plunked him down, his hand migrating to his massive bound weapon. It could cleave the guy in two, easily. One hit, good and quick.

“Arright, an' what would that be?” he asked gruffly, assessing the man. He wouldn't do that if he didn't need to. If he murdered everybody that was a potential threat, he risked staining his girl's reputation, and that could hurt her as much as a thousand knives. He was pretty sure about this man being a threat – his instincts had never lied to him yet. But, to protect Lae, he had to be very sure, not just pretty sure.

“What was she like at the end? My Saaramos?”

“Wha?” Suddenly – Mal hadn't seen the man move – a cold pain shuddered through him as the intruder buried a knife in his belly.

“Oh darling, you heard what I asked. Her final moments... What were they like? Fast? Slow? Agonizing? You were there, weren't you?”

Mal resisted falling as he pressed his hand against the wound. “B... b*****d.” the cold spread – magic, likely. Mal had no idea who this man was, but any mention of Saara was abnormal. He was very sure now, he had to be dealt with. “Ain't none o' yer business...” Mal's movements were slowed by the magic in the blade, but he was able to grab the man in a tight, crushing grip. “But ye can ask her yerself!” Mal knew he didn't have much time, and he also knew didn't need to take the few precious seconds it would require to draw his sword, in order to kill with his bare hands. SNAP! the man's arm broke easily, fragile like a birds wing.

The man laughed. His arm dangled like a broken branch, his dagger clattered to the ground, and he laughed. He wiggled free of Mal's grip and dodged the solid punch the man threw his way. “Oh, I bet it was a painful one... serves her right... She should never have left me. The dear child got what she deserved. Poor unworthy soul...” Another punch – this one connected.

Mal had assumed that the rail-thin orderite was covered in the wrinkles of old age, and he realized he'd only been half right – amidst those wrinkles were countless scars, some large, some small, all horrifying and painful looking. Feel pain Mal wanted to scream as the man laughed again. Feel pain, you damned freak! Sweat lingered in the crease of his brow, pain turning to icy numbness as death itself loomed over him, a terrifying, unseen spectre. It's a ******** illusion... he told himself. It's just magic. He knew himself. He could live yet... he could live yet...

“I won't let it happen again, you know.” The man said, as if he wasn't bruised and broken from Mal's powerful blows, “I'll make sure of it.” Chilling magic locked Malesmechs joints – he couldn't move. He wobbled on his locked legs, eyes wide in anger and fear. “She'll join me.” His hand touched Mal's forehead lightly.

Suddenly, the chill evaporated, replaced by searing pain. His blood, Mal realized in a fit of madness or clarity, his blood wanted to escape him. “You... won't get her...” he managed, feeling his skin stretch and blister. He knew who he was talking about. The why didn't matter – this man would not get his girl.

“You won't see it darling.” Malesmech screamed as his own blood burst from him, flowing from wherever it could in a mad rush to escape the confines of his arteries and veins. Limp and, now, bloodless, he fell into a hot pool of his own blood. He was dead before it could even soak into his clothes. “Say hello to my Saara for me, darling.” the man purred, some of the blood moving upwards on lines of magic to swirl around his outstretched hand and, then, into a vial by his side.

And then, cradling his broken arm, he limped away, slipping into the shadows of the city of light.