The darkness was welcome. Despite how much he loved the light, love the light barer, sometimes Kuval found it nice to be shrouded in nothing but night. After all it’s what he’d been accustomed to before, in the depths. No light had ever reached so deep and, on the off chance they’d ever surfaced, his family had always made sure they did so at night to spare their eyes and skin from the harsh rays.

As much as he loved and missed sun bathing on the stones, the nearly constant night of this city welcomed him. Still, there were things that he worried about as well. This city, he’d quickly learned, was full of the types he’d only ever heard rumor of. Vampires and lycans, to start with. Creatures that could surely smell the salt water in his veins. The night welcomed him, but the streets made him wary for sure.

Kuval gripped tighter to the spear in his hand, pressing the solid end of it into the street as he walked with only the slightly instability of his boot laden feet. He’d carefully padded his backpack so nothing within shifted audibly as he went, leaving only the slight thump and clank of boot and wood against the cobblestone.

He knew that he should move in for the night. He could go to the ocean, but it seemed almost too suspicious. He’d been careful to cleans himself of the ocean before even stepping foot into the city, but even with that he knew that signs remained. Even the white locks of his hair, flowy today from their recent wash, still somehow smelled of salt and not the flowery scrub he’d forced it through.

The sign for the inn drew closer and he moved in without hesitation. There was money in his pockets, he hoped enough for the night where he could barricade himself in safety, but not quite enough to make himself a target. It, too, made no sound in his pockets.

The smell of the tavern hit him first, causing him to salivate instantly, but he tried to focus on the task at hand. He moved through to the Inn Keeper and inquired about a room. Anything would have been fine. A small room with a single bed. A store room. Anything he could lock… but the woman was quick to tell him they were full.

A tightness formed in his stomach. Not of fear, no. More of irritation. He’d have to move to the ocean if he couldn’t find a room and that would defeat the entire purpose of so much effort. He tried in vain to work his way into anything, but she remained adamant enough to send him back onto the streets. With a sigh, he finally pushed away from the bar and returned himself to the moonlight.

Standing there, just outside, he looked up and down the sparely inhabited street. It wasn’t the time to dally. He didn’t want to draw attention to himself. Not that he had much on his person worth stealing. Still, a fight wasn’t exactly something he wanted to experience at the moment. Especially should the creatures around him pin him for what he was. There was still no telling whether or not his kind would even be accepted here.

No, it wasn’t worth risking. Kuval started down the road with his eyes on the distant ocean through the buildings. If that’s where he had to be, then that’s where he’d go. He’d sleep better anyways, he knew. He still hadn’t quite gotten the hang of beds, strange weighted things.

Oh Kurayo. He both loved and hated this place. Loved it for the eternal night, the dark brethren that resided here, how much violence teetered on an unstable pillar of alliance. But the one thing he absolutely hated, the one thing that kept him here for as short a time as he could manage within reason, was the fear of dead zones. Parvpora was rife with them, and one could never be sure when they would pop up. Despite that, Kurayo had certain things that one simply couldn’t find anywhere else. The inhabitants here were hell bent on keeping their ways and beliefs preserved, and that meant rituals as well. More than that, there were wares here that just couldn’t be found in any other location.

So, he'd gathered his coin and made his way to the little moon island. Though he knew well that there were ways to pay here that had nothing to do with traditional currency. His fingers tapped on the bar top, ordering another glass of water accompanied with a shot of rum. His other hand was still cupped against the side of his neck, softly rubbing the fresh puncture wounds. It was a small price to pay for what he’d gotten in exchange, and since he was fortunate enough to not be in the vicinity of a dead zone currently, he was able to slowly restore his blood.

That didn’t mean he wasn’t feeling the effects of a prolonged feeding, and his eyes were half lidded and dim as he drank down nearly half of his water when it was brought. Though they were underneath his clothes, the marks on his skin could barely give off a faint glow. He needed rest, but he wasn’t ready for that and there was still much to do. The eternal night that always fell over Kurayo confused the senses, leading him to believe he’d been awake for much longer and further into the wee hours than he actually had been. Thankfully he had a room here and would be able to rest in a couple of hours.

A familiar voice drifted its way through the tavern chatter and clank of utensils on plates. His eyebrows furrowed and he turned his head ever so slightly to the side to see someone he definitely hadn’t expected. Well, fortune truly did favor him tonight. He smirked and pulled his hood up over his head, though his hair still flowed out freely. Some time had passed since he’d seen Kuval, and his curiosity towards the man hadn’t dwindled. If anything, it had grown stronger.

When he was sure he had left, he counted half a minute in his head before resting down his coins and moving from his spot. The room nearly spun but he regained himself and sent a healing surge through his body with a whispered tune of words as he moved to the door. He caught the ending action of him going down a street and followed that way. He was careful to keep a safe distance though. He knew this area well enough and turned down a separate alley. He wanted to get higher ground to follow him from rooftop to rooftop, fire escapes, whatever he might need to.

The moment he gripped the first rung of a low hanging ladder from one such escape, he felt two strong hands grip his shoulders and pull him back. His eyes widened quickly and he felt his energy spike. Someone had touched him, and that alone was enough to piss him off. When he turned to face them, he saw it wasn’t just one soon to be dead person, it was three. They spoke to each other, their tongues unknown to him, but the hunger in their eyes was a language he knew well. The punctures in his neck stung upon that realization and he rolled his shoulders back, widening his stance at the very clearly understood word they kept passing around: witch. Not in his language, but he’d heard that term thrown around in nearly every tongue by now.

Yes, he knew what they wanted. It was the same reason he had so much currency left on his person, the same reason drinking from him had been enough to get what he came here for and then some: blood was a more sought after payment than anything else for the vampiric inhabitants here. Witch’s blood was that much more wanted, anyone that could wield magick with such prowess was a prime target. But they had nothing to give him and he was finished.

His hand shot out…but nothing happened. Even so, he saw them jerk back in anticipation. Normally he would have reveled in that immediate caution and regret, but not when there was no repercussion to follow it up with. No magick. His heart picked up and he felt the rare sting of fear as he pulled up one of his sleeves. The vein marks were completely dimmed down now: no glow whatsoever, and appeared to just be simple tattoo work. This wasn’t good. That meant he couldn’t heal himself either, any blood they took could drain him straight to death.

While not common for him, he was tempted to run, but they had come to the same realization as he had and were on him instantly. As powerful as he was with magick, less could be said when it came to hand to hand combat with no aid from anything magickal at all. Oh yes, he was strong and he was fast, but not sure footed on hard packed ground: his feet and legs were so accustomed to the soft shift of sand. He managed to get in a few hits and kicks, but these weren’t ordinary opponents, and while he had the physical strength to break bones and bruise ribs, dislocate jaws, it hardly did much against vampires.

The back of his head collided with the brick wall of the alley and suddenly the world turned. A fist came into his stomach and he felt bile rise, but nothing actually came out as his body tried to double. Fingers gripped into his hair, forcing his head to the side as a set of fangs pierced into the side of his neck. The usual pleasure he could take from that action did not present itself when death was on the horizon. Worst of all, if he did perish here, there was no way for his body to be left at sea…That fact bothered him more than the idea of death.

The sounds of a scuffle were enough to pull Kuval’s attention from his trek. His pace slowed a moment before he looked around and started back almost casually. With fights so prominent in the street, he didn’t expect there would be much reaction expected from him as he walked along. A flippant dismissal, maybe, but nothing more than that.

The street was quickly alive with their fight and, with it, the smell of blood came toward him. Vampires. It had to be vampires. There was blood, but it was muted. Not quite enough lost to be anything but vampires.

It wasn’t long at all, mere seconds into the fight really, when he was at a close enough pace to see the witch… How long had it been since they’d first met on the beach? Kuval really wasn’t sure. The thought of letting him die struck like a flash of lightning and was gone again just as quickly. No, he didn’t want the witch to die. There was still too much he wanted from him and it didn’t seem a fair way to go, lost to vampires in an incredibly uneven fight.

The heart inside his chest began to beat harder still, calling him to move. To move faster. His fingers tightened on spear as he turned it on end quickly threw it full forced toward the vampire with his fangs already in the witch’s neck. The point struck through and through without hesitation, jutting out the front of his chest at just the right force intended.

Shock seemed to hit first, stilling them all. The fist vampire, now clutching the adornment between his ribs, lost his hold on Dorian and began to sink downwards. His death was assured, rapidly approaching even, just as Kuval’s footfalls.

The ocean dweller was coming in at a run down, the slam of his boots all that was needed to pull their eyes in the right direction. Maybe it was from shock, but one of them seemed to lose his confidence and took off down an alley without pause.

The third vampire turned toward him, fangs bared, but at this point Kuval felt nothing but focus as he reached back and pulled the net from its place on his back. With the flick of his wrist it spread free and another sharp movement sent it flying toward the startled thug. The creature stumbled back, angrily thrashing at the net to pull it from himself and discard it haphazardly atop his fallen friend.

But in those precious moments, Kuval was upon him. He’d drawn the dagger from his hip, canteens clanging angrily at being disturbed, and in his final stride forward he thrust the tip into the heart of the startled vampire. This one’s hands found their way to his shoulders, but Kuval didn’t shift or go down. Instead his eyes turned again toward the alley and forgetting the vampire even as he gripped at him in dying agony.

He spun on his heels, managing to keep his balance from an attempted stumble, and stepped onto the first vampire with one foot. With his weight pressing him down, he pulled the spear from his ribs and stepped forward further into the mouth of the alley. His dark eyes narrowed on the shrinking form and, when he was sure of his aim, he threw the spear with startling accuracy.

The weapon struck through, slamming the last vampire through to the wall and pinning him there. He seemed to still be alive, but he was stuck for now. With that assurance, he turned his attention back to his fallen dagger and withdrew it from its temporary sheath.

The thought flashed into his mind, but he wasn’t quite sure he could even eat vampire meat. It might be something worth exploring.

Something warm sprayed on his face and for just a moment his stomach dropped in fear of a torn vein. But there was no further pain in his neck, and he weakly opened his eyes to look over at the man who had bitten into him. His lips parted, shocked to realize that the cooling blood on his skin was actually that of the vampire’s. A spear’s tip was jutting through his chest and all he could do was stare mutely. Even if he’d had the strength to speak, no words would have been managed. He hadn’t done that, so who had? People here weren’t exactly known for their graciousness towards outsiders after all.

Their eyes locked momentarily as the man fell to his knees, still gripping the cause of his slow death. Now that he was on his knees he could look passed him to see the source of that throw. His blurred vision must have been tricking him, for had he not known better he would have thought it to be the man from the sea. Either way, no matter who it was, one of the others fled down the alley in the opposite direction. The one that remained let his grip on Dorian go and he slid slowly down the wall; his hands meeting the stones of the street to find some sense of foundation.

His eyes closed and he swallowed down the sickness that was still churning in his stomach. He’d lost too much blood today and needed to go back to his room. Even without magick, there was plenty there to aid him, a certain flask that carried an instant cure for any ailment so to speak, enough even to pull a man back from the brink of death. The deities were good for something at least. He just needed to be able to get to it. One of his hands moved up weakly to cup over the steel bleeding marks in his neck, though thankfully it was a gentle trickle in comparison to the gushing it might have been had those fangs ripped out the wrong way.

Blood warmed his palm, slicked down his neck and soaked into his clothing. That’d be hell to get out and he wasn’t looking forward to it. More than that, when he opened his eyes to watch as the remaining two were finished off, there was no denying who the newcomer was. A normal person would be thankful, grateful even for such a swift rescue. Not he, to him all he saw was the possibility of a debt and irritation that his prey had been what had saved him. Irony in true form.

His voice was soft, weak, so unlike his usual tone yet somehow he managed annoyance, “Th-That’s enough…show off.” His eyes closed and he swallowed down again, wanting to wrinkle his nose in irritation but unable to have enough motivation to muster the strength. Anything he had left he wanted to use to get back to his room. Blood ran down his chin and it was now that he could feel the forming bruises and busted lip. The back of his head was tender and all he could think about was returning to his room.

“B-Bastards.” Looking down at his arm, he chanced pulling his other hand from his neck and pulled up his sleeves, smearing blood over his still dimmed marks. No, there still was no magick here. “D-Damnation…!” It was hardly a shout, but all the passion was there as he pressed a hand to the wall and brought himself up to his feet. His jaw locked and he instantly clamped his hand over his bleeding neck once more.

“Y-You,” he pointed to him with his other hand as if he somehow had any physical control over the situation, “you need a room C-Come with me.” It wasn’t a question and he started to walk back the way he’d come, wanting badly to get to his room. And while he’d never admit it, he needed Kuval to walk there with him. It was under the guise of giving him a room, but truth be told he didn’t trust he could get back safely should another blood sucker smell his still flowing blood. At least the room would start on some of the owed life debt.

Wiping the blood of his knife onto his pants, Kuval turned his attention back to the witch. He was losing blood, that was clear. Couldn’t he heal…? Wasn’t that a standard thing they could do? Honestly, he wasn’t sure. He’d have to ask later. Right now his mind was still too focused on the fight, even if it was technically over.

“One second,” he said. Quickly he jogged over to the pinned vampire and dug the side of his dagger into the side of his neck, dragging it around like a bloody smile as his other hand gripped the now stained spear and tugged it to freedom. When he was quite sure this one, too, was dead he put his moved to put his dagger away and turned back to where he’d been.

In a last lingering thought, he decided to take a testing piece. With quickly movements he carved a section of the meat away from one of the deceased vampires. As he attempted to follow behind a slow moving Dorian, he tucked the piece away in a bag hanging from his backpack.

“I could carry you, you know,” he offered, knowing full well that the odds of the witch allowing him to do such a thing were incredibly low. Instead he put his focus on assessing himself. He hadn’t gotten a single wound, which he considered to be lucky even though it wasn’t too uncommon. After all, his primary defense was always taking the offense. The best way to catch a fish was to not let it know you were coming. The same generally applied to other living beings.

Still, the blood was an irritant. It lingered on his hands, his spear, his dagger, and now it was likely soaking through the inner layer of his bag as well. It wasn’t exactly the optimum place to store meat, but it’s all he had available at the moment.

“I might have something that can help you heal,” Kuval said quietly, his voice lost to the hustle and bustle of the tavern once they were inside. He thought about the herbs he had in his pack. If the witch couldn’t heal himself with magick, perhaps he could help with more medicinal treatments. Either way, something had to be done before the man dropped. “When we get the room, if you’ll let me.”

He wasn’t sure what Kuval was going back for and at the moment he didn’t care. With his sluggish speed he wouldn’t get too far without him anyhow. The mouth of the alley wasn’t far, but his pulse was growing softer in his ears as he kept on that way. With every step he tried to heal himself, but to no avail. This was new, new and terrifying, he wasn’t used to being hurt so deeply without even the option of magick to aid him. This was exactly why he hated Parvpora! He’d like to say that nothing was worth this risk, but he knew he’d be lying.

Kuval caught up to him just before he could step back onto the main street and he looked over towards him. The man swayed in his vision, blurring, coming together again, pulling apart…forget blurry, this was doubled sight now. He had his spear and it made sense now that it was what he’d gone back for. He wanted to curse at him, not wanting to be carried like some child or woman, but all he could do was shake his head and cut his eyes. Still, at this rate he might not even have a choice.

Already he could feel the chill, the edges of his lips were fading into a deep purple, and sweat was lining his brow. As Kuval spoke he could barely make out what he was saying. By the time they were back within the safe walls of the inn, his heart wasn’t even managing one beat per second. The stairs were the worst, but he summoned all the strength he had to move up them at a surprisingly strong and steady pace. Blood spilled between the fingers he had at his neck as his heart pumped harder, losing some of his precious remaining life.

When they got to the door his heart lurched. He’d warded it, and now without magick he couldn’t undo it. More fear spread, apparent on his face, but as his fingers touched the door he felt like a fool. Of course he’d be able to get in, he was the only one that could, magick or no. A precaution he always took here, but in his dazed state he could barely keep his wits about him. He moved his fingers the right way, tracing them over the wood and nudging the door opened. His lips moved silently, not even able to muster a whisper, not that it would do any good with how little energy he had left in himself.

Magick was in this room, he could feel it, but it was limited to items. Moving to the bed, he all but dropped to his knees and pulled his backpack from under it; immediately rooting through and pulling out a thick crystal flask. Slippery fingers unscrewed it, and he brought it to his lips as he turned and fell into a sit against the bed on the floor. He drank down the liquid inside desperately and finally felt some of his strength returning.

Too much of it could hurt him, but he was so close to death that it was one of the few exceptions to that usual warning. He’d nearly finished it all when he pulled it from his lips, softly panting as his head thudded back against the mattress. Despite the healing it was working on him, his throat was dry, parched, and his hoarse tone betrayed that, “N-Never will there be a suitable time to carry me like some woman…”

As the adrenaline finally began to wear down, it took everything in Kuval not to scoop up the witch. And really the only reason he resisted was an attempt at allowing him this control. He knew that were the situations reversed, he’d want his wishes headed as well. Still, it seemed foolish and stubborn to have not allowed him to ease the passage up stairs.

More than once he found his hands moving forward as it to brace the man, but caught himself short. All he could do was follow and wait, making sure that no one looked their way twice or dared approach. Even if Dorian was to die, he’d be allowed to die with dignity. The way he moved though, with determination and drive, Kuval knew there must be something in his room even more than his own healing.

When they moved into the room, he instantly closed and locked it behind them. Feeling safer than he had moments before, he shrugged off his backpack and rested his blood crusted spear against the frame to dry there. Without thought he wiped his hands on his pants and watched as the witch searched with what Kuval could only assume was the max level of frantic that he could manage.

Then, having downed whatever he was holding, he looked on in awe as the color slowly pulled back into his face. Kuval’s lips parted, exposing sharp teeth and shock. More magick… Preset magick?? In a bottle, no less! Fascinating…!

“If that’s what you want,” he spoke back, kneeling down beside the recovering man. He almost reached out, but resisted the urge. It seemed so quick, so astoundingly quick. Like it could be a trick, a charm. He wanted to touch his flushing cheeks, but he did nothing more than look. “You’re- here.”

From his hip he lifted one of the many, many canteens from its place and uncorked the lid with crimson fingers. He held the water out enticingly, “Drink this. It’s just water; I don’t know anything about whatever you just did.”

He meant it simply, of course. He didn’t know anything about magick or potions, though some people assumed it was so from a few of his natural abilities. However there was nothing in this jar but pure, cold water. He’d have to refill it later, but that was beside the point.

“Are you alright…?”

He eyed the canteen suspiciously, not yet putting down his flask. The cold in his limbs was finally starting to fade; warmth stinging into his fingertips and toes. His lips felt like they were on fire and he pulled them in has he weighed out taking the canteen. The heat became too much and he reached out his free hand to take the offered water. He closed one eye to look inside, yes, definitely just water, and then moved it to his lips. It was so cold he had to suppress a moan from relief. The fire wouldn’t go out, yet still he pulled the canteen back down.

The back of his arm rubbed any extra water from his lips and he moved untrusting eyes back to Kuval with a begrudging, “…thank you.” It was the best he could do by ways of gratefulness, and left it at that as he set the canteen down between them. He needed that barrier there, in this place where he felt so vulnerable. After seeing what the man could do, he knew taking him down wouldn’t be easy should he still decide to do so. Without magick it was all but impossible. Honestly, he was too tired to think ahead that far.

“The deities are hardly good for anything, but,” He tipped his flask in indication, “every once in a while they’ll do something useful.” His nose wrinkled as he sighed, thinking about The Mother. Mother. She was hardly anything like a mother, in his opinion at least. Though even he couldn’t deny her gifts in the ways of healing. “This is from Angela, her and the rest of that pious group ‘bless’ us mortals with objects every so often. Though with Moliira fallen and Dalanesca a whining child, there’s hardly much left worth admiration.”

Disgust marred his face, every one of them was insufferable and he hated whenever he had to be reminded of them, much less use something they’d produced. “I’m fine now that the bitch’s tonic has taken effect.” His eyes searched his, “You don’t know what a dead zone is, do you.” It wasn’t a question, more a statement of observation.

“They’re a plague on this damned continent. Now we’ve got another deity, one that can make them. As if this place needed another one of them on Parvpora. The Light was more than enough.” Rarely would he call Naota by name. The mere thought of the man brought forth a different level of rage: just being in the man’s presence caused him physical pain with that amount of disgusting holiness.

“Anyways, it means no magick, so it’s good that you’re so well adept with that weapon of yours. It’s about time you showed some character.” His eyes closed, breathing out slowly. He was more irritable than usual which was saying something, but he so hated the feeling of having his blood regenerated so quickly; his body brought back from the clutches of death. It was necessary, but never pleasant.

Kuval wouldn’t pretend he wasn’t happy that the man accepted the water. It was clear that he needed it. The moment it left his fingers, he pushed back and stood up at a distance so it couldn’t be given back out of stubbornness. Instead he moved back over to his pack and grab the net he’d haphazardly draped across it. It would need repacked. He might as well do that now.

He sat down, back against the door, and began the process of resetting it for easy grab and toss as he’d done today. He hadn’t thought about it much in the way of use against two legged beasts, but it had definitely come in handy. He’d be sure to leave it near the top like this again. As his fingers worked diligently, he listened intently.

So it wasn’t just simple magick… It was deity magick. The magick of the gods! He’d admit willingly that he knew very little about many of them, but that only left much to be learned. He took in the words, curious and eager to ask questions, but he decided against it at the moment. It was lucky he’d even managed to get into this room and, if the witch were true to his word, he’d be here all night with the potential to ask things when the situation were calmer.

Even so, he couldn’t help the spark in his eyes at the mention of Naota. After all, it was the god he loved and longed for. He still hadn’t had a chance to see him… If he was even so blessed to be able to. The temple always seemed so far away and, truth be told, he kept getting distracted by the all the curiosities of this land.

“It’s a tool,” he said, keeping the rest beneath for now. It was clear that the witch didn’t like the deities and he wasn’t one to push that letter. He looked up from the net and smiled just a little, “I’d never really thought the term ‘weapon’, but my adept, as you said, was from use of these things more as a tool. Survival, right? We had similar back home. Not always of wood like this though. Lots of splinters with this one. I’ve had to smooth it more than once.”

With the net packed up and placed back in the bag, he pulled up these confounded legs and wrapped his arms around them as if they were unruly children. Sometimes he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them, all lanky and in the way.

“I’m sorry you were trapped in a… dead zone,” he recalled the term, adding it to his vocabulary, “I’m not a big fan of the blood suckers myself. I think they can smell the ocean in me.

“Are you feeling any better now? Make sure you drink. Drying out can kill you just as fast as a dead zone, I’d say, and you seem to have the ocean in your own veins,” he said simply. He meant it as a compliment, a comfort even, as the witch regained himself. After all, friend or no, they both clearly had a love of the waters and that in itself was a bonding thing of sorts.