By FallenVVarrior
| Deep within the sacred walls of an ancient cathedral four men struggle
to raise a large statue back onto a square stone pedestal. The figure
is that of an old man draped in robes and holding one hand to the air and
from this hand is pinned the gray and fading head severed head of a far
older creature. The head stands out from the rest of the icon for
from its mouth hangs its tongue and from its neck hangs tendrils of caked
blood. The statue begins to slip out of the men's grasp yet again
and the four of them curse profusely as it slides to the ground.
Caught within there work as they were the four did not notice the approach
of a fifth man. He slinks forward from the shadows like someone who
had made this sort of act a treacherous art and if one where to look apon
his face you would see a grin so devious that it would make your spine
tremble. The man raises his hand at equal height as that of the fallen
statue and it slowly rises out of the men's hands and clicks into place
on its high perch above them. The four men, hardened soldiers that
they are, draw their swords.
"Come out the shadows vampire, we see you!" Only then does the robed figure emerge from the darkness he used to hide his presence bringing gasps from the warriors before him. He is lord Moebius, guardian of the pillar of time and leader of their fallen mercenary army. The statue that these men could not raise with there combined strength was crafted nearly a month before he was murdered. The four soldiers that stand before him are the last surviving of his men, the rest slain only days before by the vampire Kain. "Moebius?" The men cry out in unison. "But sire, we saw you die but three days ago?" "I did die then, but here I am. Your humble leader visiting you one last time before he is thrown into the abyss." The men are convinced and their weak minds do not question the return of their leader. Moebius has rid himself of the smile he once held and now his face holds a look of genuine concern, one that he had been practicing nearly all his life and had perfected long ago. "This last task I gave you before my untimely demise, is it done?" The old man utters, nearly unable to conceal the inner laughter he feels when in the presence of the used and the damned. "It is done, lord Moebius. The vampire Vorador rots beneath that very statue you aided us in lifting." Satisfied with the results of his work the old man lets out an inaudible sigh of relief. He smiles again, this time not betraying his features by letting it go foul across his face. "Good work, my children." Moebius says while readying the staff he had just recently procured from his own tomb. "Now you will join your brothers in hell!" A wave of invisible force is loosed from the end of the staff and even as the soldiers realize their fate their faces begin to sink apon themselves with pallor. Their very skin cracks and peels away from the atrophying flesh below and the loyal soldiers crumble in a neat piles of rusted armor that freely flow puss and rot before turning into dust and scattering with the wind. The statue placed to near the slow torturous death around it reflected the mayhem in its polished eyes for a moment before blackening with the soot of age. It rocked slightly on its cracking surface but this was enough to bring the head down from its crackling hand. It fell with a wet thud on the stone below and to its skin grew a deep green that to its earlier gray seemed oddly renewed. Moebius flung his foot forward quickly kicking the head away from the place in the floor that its body rested. "Old fool, do you really think you could get by me?" Moebius screams, noticeably frustrated for once. He walks over to where the severed head rested on its neck with fresh blood dripping from its neck and a sharper glow to its yellow eyes. The old man picks up the head and holds it out in front of him. "If it wasn't for you, Vorador, none of this could be possible. I hope you can hear me now because I will need to use you again in time." The head did not so much as twitch and Moebius thrust it up onto the
spike leaving it once again hanging for all to see. With this done
he turn about quickly and faded into shadow vanishing in a whiff of mist
and a low pop of air replacing the space he just occupied. Only moments
after Moebius left another figure approached and before him the wind carried
the rich scent of blood.
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