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Cold eyes swept over the lightly populated streets of Skara Brae. The tall man who sat on his black horse at the edge of town was enveloped in a thick, dark blue robe. His hat was wide brimmed and dark blue as well but the cape that stirred in the evening breeze was dyed a deep red. Minna walked through the gathering darkness and shied away from the apparition on the horse. The rider's face was flushed with an unhealthy looking dark red color as well and the sight of him sent thrills of apprehension down her spine.

"Good...good evening, sir." she stammered, staring at him as she edged around his night black horse that stood without moving even the smallest muscle. Most horses twitched their tails or moved their ears or something, but this was like a statue carved out of glistening black rock. Minna turned to hurry off when the man leaned forwards and breathed out a sibilant string of sounds that she couldn't quite understand. She blinked and then staggered back against the nearby shop as dizziness overwhelmed her. She looked about in confusion and as her knees gave way, slid down the side of the wall until she sprawled upon the ground. She had just cleaned this dress yesterday and it was getting filthy sitting on the street. What was wrong with her? Her mother often told her that she had no sense at all and...why was everything so dim? A trembling began in all her limbs and she felt so cold and weak. It wasn't winter time so she must just be sick or something.

The dark stranger was kneeling before her, gazing into her eyes. She had trouble focusing on him and his face blurred in and out but his eyes weren't cold at all, at least behind them there was a strange, intense compassion. "Does it burn?" he inquired in a low, melodious voice. "Do you feel it coursing through your body, dissolving the supportive tissues around your organs? Or is it a painless letting go of this tumultuous life?" He raised an eyebrow and cradled her face in his hands. "Fear not, all of this is an illusion and soon you will leave this pain filled existence behind." The entire world seemed to spin and fade, and as she slipped into darkness, she felt his fingers stroke her hair gently and whisper, "Eternal peace is yours, sister."

He walked his midnight steed slowly through the shadowy streets, meeting others by happenstance or purpose. Sometimes he would breathe out a malodorous spell of disease to sap their life strength as he had with Minna, other times he'd draw a shining red rapier that glistened with a deadly poison. A single scratch from that weapon would send them spiraling into darkness with an agony that contorted their bodies and minds. To a few he would hand a flask with a small smile and congratulate them on receiving his gift. The flasks would explode with enough force to rip them into tattered pieces, sending their souls howling into the ether. To each that he slew, he whispered words to them, promising them eternal peace or release from illusion.

The murderer stalked the streets even as alarms rang out and guards rushed about the streets. Guards that encountered the blood faced man died as well and it was not until only the shopkeepers were left, trembling in their stores, did the man depart. After long, tense minutes the shopkeepers emerged and wept to see the slaughter littering the streets but they also looked to the encompassing stars in the night sky and thanked all the Powers that they were still alive.

The killer rode the night lands and brought death to all he came across with the curious exception of shopkeepers, bankers and lonely sea captains who stood resolute in the flickering light of a lantern upon their piers. Most town guards escaped as well but only because the dark rider avoided them or rode off with sparks flashing from the iron hard hooves of his steed. Occasionally a guard would corner him by accident and the man would hiss with frustration at the unwelcome insistence and kill the guard with dispatch. But they were a mere annoyance, they were not his prey. Oft times he would play with his victims in curious ways, making jokes about their names and bringing laughter to their lips, just before he slit their throats. He seemed to revel in bringing smiles or cheer to them before he snuffed out their lives. But his eyes were as cold as deep winter's breath except for the curious, driven compassion that lay behind them.

The good Brother's in Empath Abbey heard the tall wooden outer door open and close, letting the scent of the Yew forests swirl in among the cloisters. They smiled and ventured out to greet and welcome the visitor and offer him succor but he only asked them hard questions about love and empathy that they smiled at and shrugging admitted they did not know the answers to. Then he slew them. Some Brother's lay in contorted poses of agony, showing the debilitating effects of deadly venom while other lay on their backs, staring sightlessly at the stained glass windows, their skin mottled and ravaged with disease. Still others were scattered about their meditation rooms in torn pieces. When the rider departed, the forest scent in the Abbey had been replaced by a thick, nauseating scent of spilt blood.

Manicral, a warrior who had been searching for work as a merchant's guard for a week in Trinsic, encountered the rider and attacked him with all his battle honed skill when the stranger assaulted him. The rider sat upon his horse weaponless and accepted the awful wounds of Manicral's halberd, then whispered words of power that healed the wounds. With each spell, Manicral felt his own strength slipping away until he finally collapsed to the cobblestones, unable to stand or even sit any more. The rider dismounted and arranged his limbs carefully, putting a rolled up robe under his head to keep it off the cold stone of the street. Then he complimented Manicral on his martial skills and said he now granted him the ultimate reward, eternal peace. All went black for Manicral as the dagger slipped slickly through his throat and up into his brain.

In the majestic Lycaeum, the dark one met a venerable scholar. The moon high above shown down upon the marble courtyard with pale benediction and the muted sound of the central fountain wove a gentle counterpart to their conversation. The old man tugged at his grizzled beard as he regarded the ominous figure and then sighed and sat heavily upon a bench. He gestured to a bench opposite his with a age spotted hand. "Please, have a seat and converse with me. You are in no hurry to slay me as well, are you? I'll offer you no resistance and you won't have to chase me."

The man regarded him with those chill eyes that seemed to pierce to his vitals and then nodded slightly. He dismounted and murmured two words so softly that the old man was unable to catch them. But the result was evident for the horse that seemed to be made of black glass, dwindled and twisted in an eye wrenching way until it was only a dark gray statuette resting upon the flagged courtyard. The killer lifted the figure and stowed it in a pouch that hung from his belt and then sat upon the bench. After a few moments, the old man spoke in his dry, reedy voice. "I am not only a scholar, I am a sage and I sensed a great disturbance in the world tonight. Others have communicated to me in a near panic, asking me what could be happening and I had no answer. But now I think I know."

"What do you think you know, old man?" the killer asked quietly, his legs stretched out before him, black boots glimmering in the moonlight. "I know that you are a necromancer, a user of poison and that your mind is full of darkness." the sage stated unequivocally. "You are the one that has slaughtered untold innocents in the World this night and for what reason? There can be no good reason for such senseless slaughter and thus your very thinking must be shorn towards the Darkness." The old man coughed raspingly and then looked beseechingly at the killer. "Speak to me, what can I do to help?"

The dark one pulled his legs back and then leaned forwards, the cold of his eyes replaced with flickering flames of utter damnation. His lips pulled back in a painful grimace and a deep growl sounded in his chest. "What do you know, old man? You think there really is Light in the World? Oh, be assured that there certainly is not. This life is a cruel illusion full of pain and fury and what I do is utter mercy." His entire body tensed as he took a deep breath, shuddering to his very core.

"Mercy?" the old man replied with a querulous tone. "You call it mercy to kill the wanderers, the young ones, the innocents, the people who only want a chance to live their lives to the fullest? Or are you referring to the fact you leave some alive to clean up your mess? Which is it?" he finished with evident scorn.

The killer stretched out one long finger and cautioned the sage, "You know so little and your life hangs on the most fragile of threads. Take care with your words." he straightened and smiled coldly. "I can not expect you to understand completely but you claim to be a sage so perhaps you will comprehend a bit? Know you that life is pain."

The sage chuckled and replied, "Aye, pain is part of life and balances other portions of it. Pain gives us the opportunity to grow and learn as well as appreciate the softer parts of our existence." The dark clad man frowned and shook his head. "You have some of it right but I know that pain never stops. You can learn all you want but there will always be more pain. I finally accepted my life work to be the removal of pain, to give release from this illusion of life, for this must be illusion."

The old man closed his eyes and his hand trembled as he pushed back a lock of thin hair. He looked silently at the man across from him and said, "Perhaps you have visited with the denizens of darkness? Perhaps even the current Lord of vampires, Eliathan? He has espoused your very words before but know that he is a deceiver, a creature of darkness that hates who he is so much that the only way to find relief from his own pain is to encourage others to commit atrocity."

The rider laughed, "Eliathan? I have heard of him. He is softer than you might think. I will find him someday and give him eternal peace as well." Then, he shuddered and cocked his head to one side. The sage felt an awful presence surround them and forced his old joints to work as he pushed himself to his feet. "What is this? This is not ordinary darkness. This is evil incarnate." He paused and spoke wonderingly, "It is the Taint I have felt before. I was right that you have been shorn from the path of Light but I did not imagine..."

The rider removed the statue of the horse from his pouch and spoke the words to make it assume it's full size and proportion. His eyes were cold now again but instead of the curious compassion, the old sage saw something else behind his eyes, looking out. An unholy glee that wanted cities to burn, humans to slaughter one another. A thing that wanted pain and suffering and death because only through this could it feed and grow. The rider drew his rapier and pointed it at the old man with a an awkward movement, as if he was a puppet directed by another pulling his strings. "I am Lethyl, and the Child has honored me." he intoned with a hollow, halting voice. "I bring death and pain to the land in His name. Tell your sage friends swiftly about this for you only have moments to do so before you shriek out your miserable existence."

The venerable one compressed his experiences, his knowledge and wisdom, this conversation with the rider that called himself Lethyl, and utilizing deep mental disciplines, he sent it all to his acolytes and contemporaries. This required every bit of life force within him to manage and with a gentle smile, he collapsed to the flagstones. Lethyl sat upon his horse and howled at the moon above! Cheated by this old fool, cheated of pain and the Message. He trembled and then looked in the direction of the city of Moonglow. Ahhh, there were other lives, other ones to speak the word to, others to release from this pain of life. The pale face of a young boy with enormous dark eyes filled his mind and started galloping out of the Lycaeum, teeth bared in a rictus of inner agony.