The Princess and the Blade

[Emora Deen]

Tenara bit her lip, uncertain how much to tell the woman. "I was... taken from my... home." Best to leave out where exactly she was taken from. "By a sorcerer. Thvoros and I escaped him, and we are partners of convenience. I told him if he helped me get home, I would help him get home, and so... we're here. Together." She was afraid to mention her father but if this woman had met him... "My father's in town and we're trying to find him. Thvoros thought spreading the story about a silver-haired slave would get his attention and he might find us."

[Soran Nightblade]

The innkeeper took a step back and sat heavily in the chair opposite the bed. She looked overwhelmed. "You're serious..." she sighed. "But this plan of yours, it's much too dangerous. This is a city where all attention is bad attention. What's your father's name? I know a lot of the innkeepers in this area. Maybe he's staying with one of them."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara hesitated. She clenched her hands in her dress, the words caught behind her teeth. If she told the woman her father's name, then she would know who she was...

"He likely isn't going by his name..." Tenara finally said. "He's a vampire. Though, I guess that isn't helpful in Arken..." Her bare, bruised foot tapped against the floor. "Vladimir Dracul. That's his name." She omitted Hajaris from his name. There was only one family with that name in the world.

[Soran Nightblade]

The woman's eyes went wide. "You're that man's daughter??" She shook her head. "It actually makes some sense, come to think of it... You're such a sweet young thing, I hadn't put it together at all. Dracul's the talk of the town lately. Keeps storming into different folks' taverns and stirring up hell. Hasn't been to my place, not yet anyway. Doesn't attract the right sort, I think."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara's eyes brightened, brimming with happy tears. "Do you think you could help us find him?" she asked, hope singing in her voice.

[Soran Nightblade]

The woman's motherly sternness renewed its vigor. "I will try, but don't you even think about getting out of this bed tonight. I don't know what happened to you, but you look like-" She cut off then, turning her ear as if listening for something. "Be right back, honey. I just heard the door, someone must be here."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara nodded, watching as the woman left. As soon as the door shut, she turned her attention to the stew, picked up her spoon, and began eating in what might have been considered an unhealthy pace. She wiped the happy tears from her eyes. For the first time in so long, she felt safe and warm and hopeful.

[Soran Nightblade]

The woman was gone for several minutes. When she came back, she was carrying a saucer of hot tea and a cookie. She set it next to Tenele's plate, but sat across from her seriously. "Now, dear, I don't want to upset you. When I went downstairs, that friend of yours was gone. His weapon, too."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara stiffened, dropping her spoon in the bowl. She felt a sick twist in her belly. Of course he took the sword and left, but if he was fading and he was walking around with the sword... he wouldn't be able to carry it anymore.

Tenara frowned. She should just let him go. Even if he turned into a ghost again, or whatever it was he became when no one could see him but her, it wasn't her fault. But, then she imagined him lost and incorporeal and his sword being stolen by some terrible person.

"I thank you for your kindness," she said, rising slowly. "But, I have to go after him. It's important. He's... not as strong as he seems." Tenara rubbed at her chest, feeling an ache there she couldn't place.

[Soran Nightblade]

The innkeep put a hand on her knee as if to stop her. "Now, honey-," she started, but then paused at the look in Tenara's eyes. She drew a deep breath. "Ah. Youth. You're not dressed. Wait a moment before you run off to do whatever stupid thing you're determined to do." She left Tenele for a minute before coming back with a small stack of clothes, and a pair of well used boots. "They were my daughter's. They should fit," she said, setting them on the quilt. "Be careful, dear."
________________

"I said, Vladimir Dracul," Havitharon said, as loudly as he could manage. "I'll tell him where his daughter is, for the right price." He was going for boisterous, but his austere personality just made his loud ranting sound like a madman. Well, that worked too.

"You've lost your damn mind, man. Dracul will cut you in half when he finds you."

"If he's so tough, where is he? I caught her, fair and square. If he wants her, he should know who to pay."

About a third of the tavern was laughing uproariously at Havitharon's wild claims, another third skeptical, and the rest were simply too drunk to care.

Havitharon took a private breath, already exhausted after making a scene at two other inns.

"How're we supposed to believe you have her?" someone called, laughing.

"You should just turn 'er over, that maniac's giving the whole town a migraine looking for his damn kid."

The outsider removed something small from his pocket... a wisp of silver hair. He held it out, and the men around him leaned in to stare at it like it was a new species of wasp. "Man, it's just hair."

"He's drunk, just leave him so he'll shut up!" someone groaned.

"Hey, don't drop your precious hair!" someone goaded as the wisp fell to the floor.

Havitharon hadn't dropped it. He swiped at the falling lock of silver, but it just slivered right through his hand. The sword he'd hung over his shoulder dropped too. He dropped to a crouch, hovering over it like it was an unprotected egg. He was running out of time. Had he done enough? Other than making an ass of himself, he wasn't sure how to attract the attention of someone who could be anywhere in the city. He clutched at the sword several times before finally regaining his grip on it. Thankfully, those around him didn't seem to have noticed. He got back to his feet with the weapon tucked under his arm. One benefit of being the new village lunatic was that people were willing to give him a wide berth as he left the bar.

Once he was back out in the street, he took a turn down the first alley he could find and set the sword against the wall. He leaned heavily into the brick, feeling out of breath though he'd done nothing that should have been strenuous. His whole body didn't feel right. He was running out of time. He closed his eyes and waited until his insides felt relatively stable, and reached for the wrapped sword.

Before he could touch the canvas, a blur of movement hit him hard and fast from above, hammering him backward. His head cracked hard against the wall, and his chest seared where the blow had landed. Havitharon scrambled sideways, sucking in air to replace what his lungs had lost. He'd moved just fast enough. Four long, angry claws the size of machetes had just struck the wall where he'd been. When their owner pulled his hand back, the claws left deep craters in the stone.

Havitharon's gaze swept up the arm that belonged to those claws, following it up to a male form in a black tunic. There wasn't much to see in the dark except the figure's pale skin and eyes that looked like hell itself. His opponent's mouth twisted up in a mad smile. "Found you."

[Emora Deen]

Tenara was trying to jog down the street. She'd been running, but even with a belly full of stew her racing pulse had driven the world muddled and dizzy again. With the running and the state her body was in she was almost too warm in the woman's borrowed clothes—a traveling dress, stockings, high boots, and a wool coat.

She didn't know where to look for him. The city was huge, and she wasn't in any shape to canvas it. Thvoros could be anywhere, and he could also be translucent and untouchable again. What if she was already too late and someone had stolen his sword? The book he needed to help him get home?

As she ran, she felt a sharp pain in her finger, the last place she'd cut with the sword. She lifted it into the lamp light with a hiss, and found the cut wide open. She watched as another irridecent scar peeled apart slowly, red rivers running out.

Oh no... No no no no...

Was it because she was too far away from the sword? She knew it dampened her magic, or at least was a fantastic limiter on it, but she didn't know this would happen if she parted ways with him. She had to find him before the one in her chest split open too.

Tenara picked up her pace, heading back into the part of town that was busy with drunks and whores and other things a city like Arken might want. Another cut began to peal back open, and they seemed to be working their way in reverse. The newest opening first, and she had quite a few. She'd done a lot of testing with the blade...

"Thvoros!" she called, pushing into the crowd. "Thvoros! Come back!"

"Aye," someone said. "I could be Thvoros for you, if he doesn't come back."

Tenara ignored him, weaving her way through the crowed until there was an opening for her to jog again. "Thvoros!!"

[Soran Nightblade]

"You..." Havitharon said, positioning himself into a fighter's stance as he sized up his attacker. His plan couldn't have worked that quickly, right? He was kind of counting on being incorporeal again by the time the vampire tracked him down, but this was a different problem.

His opponent launched in with another set of demonic claws. Havitharon expected them this time, and managed to dodge to the side as the attack went right where he'd predicted. He didn't, however, predict the other man having some kind of goddamn teleportation skill. His opponent appeared immediately behind him, practically catching him where he dodged. He took him by the throat and swung him into the opposite wall like he was a 7 foot tall stuffed animal.

"Just.....wait..." Havitharon gagged against the powerful grip around his throat. His vision spun dangerously, and he couldn't see the next set of claws before they drove straight through his collarbone. He kicked with his legs, unable to scream past the choking grip. This person wasn't just strong. In the shape Havitharon was currently in, this person could murder him a dozen creative ways right in this alley without causing a sound.

In an impossible stroke of luck, his body picked that moment to phase through his enemy's grip. He crashed to the ground under him, pale gray blood oozing from his shoulder and from someplace behind his ear. If there was one thing he had experience with, it was fighting injured. He gathered his weight and scrambled to the left, managing to put some distance between him and the man.

"Interesting," the man acknowledged, prowling toward him.

"Thvoros!!"

Havitharon froze, glancing behind him. It was a mistake to take his mind off his opponent. Another attack struck him in the same injured shoulder. The blow had been designed to hurt, not to kill. This person wanted something from him. "Vlad... Dracul?" he panted.

"Thvoros, come back!"

He looked back a second time, and a fresh blow phased through him without connecting.

"It's an amusing trick, but I wish you wouldn't get distracted when I'm trying to kill you. It's lonely," the man sneered.

Havitharon couldn't decide where to put his attention. "Tenara?" he called, his voice mangled from being choked earlier.

[Emora Deen]

Tenara heaved air into her lungs, twisting panicked circles in the street. She felt like she was closer. She had to be, right? The cuts had stopped tearing open, the already open ones were not quite ceiling shut but also not growing worse. The blood had slowed to an ooze. She was dizzy again. The world all colors and blurred faces and she thought, fearfully, that even if Thvoros was right next to her, she might not find him.

"Thvoros! Please! Please don't go any further. Come back."

She thought she heard her name. It was garbled and distant, but... Maybe?

"Hey," someone shouted. "Aren't you the Silver Siren?"

She wasn't certain where the voice was coming from, but she wanted no part of it. So she fled the crowd towards buildings and dark corners. She scanned the street. It shouldn't be this hard to find him. He was seven foot tall, for Thar's sake. Tenara looked at her hands as she walked, passing by a window with gold light spilling out and finding that the cuts were closing. So... she was close.

The earth shook a little beneath her feet, and she thought she heard the sound of stone cracking up ahead. She tore her gaze from her hands and found her path blocked by a vaguely familiar face. He had a red rim around his neck, the imprint of Thvoros's grip on his skin. "Where's your keeper?" he asked, still twirling a lock of silver between his fingers. She thought there should be anger in his eyes, but there was only lazy, drunken desire. "Not fair, you know. Offering what you did and then just giving me this in turn. Paid too much for hair."

The moment he dropped the strands of hair she bolted off to the side, and he chased her, catching her by the hair and waist. She screamed, stretching out her cut hand to focus on calling her magic to her. It didn't come. He dragged her towards the nearest alley and no one stopped to help her. It was as if they didn’t see or hear or care. She fucking hated this city.

Tenara kicked her legs out, clawed at his hands, screamed like a mad woman because she was too weak to pry his grip off.

He whirled her into the alley, falling down and crushing her face-first into the gritty stone. Then, he went still, and a second later she felt the weight lift off her back and heard the sound of his boots running away.

She made a pained, worried sound, dragging her eyes towards what had scared him away. A rush of relief poured through her too quickly. "Thvoros..." The name was a tremble on her lips. Her vision blurred in and out. She thought she saw someone else with him...

Tenara curled in on herself a second, gathering the strength to push up with her hands. She groaned at the weary ache in her bones, lifting her gaze to Thvoros’s injured form and then the hellish pair of eyes burning in the dark near him. She stiffened.

“D-dad?” It… it couldn’t be? “Daddy?”

[Soran Nightblade]

"Tenara!" Havitharon jerked to his feet, forgetting his opponent entirely. Something close to panic settled in his bones the second he caught sight of her. Something was extremely wrong. How? He'd left her in a safe place with a warm bed and hot food. "Stay there, I'm coming," he shouted to her. His legs pushed him forward, faster than they'd been a moment ago when he was fighting.

He'd gone three steps when the man she'd just called her father materialized directly in his path, cutting him off. If the man's eyes had been hellish before, they were an inferno now. He snarled at Havitharon and threw a clawed hand into his stomach, stopping him dead in his tracks. The outsider hung from Vlad's claws, toes hanging just above the ground.

Havitharon's gold eyes looked past Vlad's shoulder at Tenara. He tried to say something to her, but ended up retching up blood instead. "Help... her," he barely formed the words between bloody gasps. The vampire seemed too lost in rage to see what was happening.

[Emora Deen]

“No!” Tenara struggled to her feet. “Stop! Stop.”

Her knees buckled twice before she made it to her father’s side, grasping at his shoulder and forearm, trying to tug his attention from Thvoros. It was as good as a leaf fighting the wind. “Please. Please let him go. He isn’t going to hurt me.”

Her treacherous legs gave out, her hands knotting in her father’s clothes as she began to sink. She spared a glance at Thvoros, fear seizing her at the sight of all the blood pouring out of him.

No… not after all they’d done. He couldn’t die like this. They couldn't die like this.

“Look at me! Please. Please let him go. He’s not the one who took me!”