It was almost dusk. The sun has set somewhere far behind clouds, beyond the western horizon, and it was quickly getting colder. The brisk wind blew leaves, yellow, orange, crimson and brown with the oncoming autumn, tumbling down a backstreet. They got caught in piles of rubbish, and rustled loudly as another gust of wind violently shook them, yanking them from the places where they were stuck. The dark clouds, foreshadowing the coming of rain, had a blue tint of the early evening.
It was suspiciously quiet for a Friday evening, but at this time of the year, few people wandered through the street instead of hiding from the wind, cold and rain in the shelter of taverns, shops and houses. From those, loud and lively noise was escaping into the empty streets, the noise of laughter, speech, music and thudding dishes, noise of steps and moves, noise which definitely belonged to people. Smoke was rising from chimneys and tight gaps in the doors and windows, starting to light up with the shine of candles.
With a despising look, Aldanith walked around one of the taverns. He was tired of them - if he wanted wine, he could just as well get it himself without bothering with the filth that so proudly called themselves humanity. Just dirt on his shoes... They were only a waste of his time, that's something he was convinced about. Not worth his concern with their petty, shallow troubles, the fights they caused and the concerns they moaned about. He was above that... He didn't need them. He didn't need anybody but himself.
His steps were as silent as the wind, despite the hard steel that the tips of his boots were hiding, and the number of chains and reins, securing the plates of iron and hardened leather on his lean body. He walked forth with long, confident and proud steps, carrying his head high, but still wary, hiding in the shadows and passing unnoticed around the occasional person in the doorway, or rushing to escape the night.
He didn't try to run away from the dark. Darkness his home, shielding him from the curious eyes of those that may despise his actions. Darkness was his lover, welcoming him in its embrace after every fall, and let him rise again. And darkness was his weapon, a deadly tool of destruction in his hands, ready to be used by him when he'd call.
Turning into a backstreet, he passed piles of dirt, scattered on the tiles. He scowled at a child, peering out of the window, which immediately hid after his ice-cold eyes pierced it, and continued walking in a steady pace. He was grateful for the coming of the night. The day was unnecessarily bright, attracting eyes and ears which would be better off not poking their noses into his affairs, if they prize their petty lives - because he doesn't. And to him, one or five dead bodies made no difference.
The path was getting narrower and narrower, until it led him to a shabby house, leaning into the street. A dirty staircase led to a door below the street level. The sound of metal, clinking on metal, reached his keen ears as he laid his right hand on the rail that lined the stairs. As he pressed his hands onto the door, it creaked silently, and opened to a tight gap through which he squeezed into the chamber beneath.
It was as majestic as the entrance was poor and filthy. It was a lobby, covered in thick rugs and tapestries, hanging from the walls, and by the sides was exquisite furniture. His expression, gloomy even before, became even more grim as he remembered his own chambers, so similar to this. The wealth was far too visible, and his attitude about it wasn't too good. Gold was just another concern of mortal fools that he despised. He felt no hunger for it any longer. It was just more dirt. He wasn't in for the gold... He was in for the blood. For the thrill of killing. Off course, it helped him survive, but many other things would.
He wanted to see death.
As he straightened his back in the middle of the room, the black hood sled off his white hair, revealing the numerous braids and chains he had in it, falling into his face. Now, he had to wait. He wasn't alone in this job - his companion was supposed to come soon, and only then their employer would give them details about their jobs. Aldanith wasn't looking forwards to the idea of working with someone else, but the situation required it, and he kept his calm, collected face despite that.
He was in only for the kill, nothing else was his concern...