((Rated M for copious amounts of gratuitous gore, dismemberment, and other such things))
It seemed to be a reoccurring thing. Large, green open fields, rife with life.
And Kranath, a blight of dark upon the open vista. But he wasn't alone this time.
Into the sky a fan of blood did fly as a crystalline daikatana bisected a man in twain. Rusted, patchwork pieces of armor followed the blood, sundered to fragments under the force of the thin, glass-like blade.
Here, in the Serha Plains, bandits and highwaymen were a plague. The dark man had not been aware of this until recently.
It was a very pleasant change of pace. The air reeked of blood and death, and the assassin was reveling in it.
He'd stopped in the middle of the night before, under the light of a full moon that refused the cover of clouds and had remained so for over a week. He had stopped, uncaring of what was around him. Early this morning, his meditation had been interrupted by a group of bandits, demanding he pay toll or be enslaved.
And now, those green fields were covered in red.
In slow motion, the blade came back down, and the figure holding it twisted about to impale a would be assailant creeping behind him. Taking one hand off his deadly weapon, he seized the filthy man by the throat, his crimson eyes suddenly flooding with darkness, his face covering in lines of Eldritch power, appearing cracked and broken under a web of darkness.
The man opened his mouth to sound a silent scream, as his body began to drain of life - literally. The skin pulled tight and pallid, gaunt and emaciated as necromatic power ripped the very energy from his body.
Kranath revelled in death, even as the man's life force empowered him. The last man fell from his blade, and Kranath was alone once again.
No....not alone. Keen nose picked up a scent, but he remained motionless. There was something familiar about it...something that reminded him of the darkness that remained about him at all times.
He remained still, awaiting this newcomer, curious.