Eban

Hmm.

The Imperator stood at the furthest stretch of the peninsula watching the sun slowly be replaced by the moon; the once smoldering collage that danced across the water's mirror had cooled to a deep blue that seemed to stretch out to the heavens. Try as he may, he couldn't appreciate the beauty laid out in front of him, this moment of peace in one of the more chaotic weeks in recent history. It's amazing that a single swing of his kryss, has lead to all this. Lies, secret deals, lost friends... He hadn't had any trouble coping with any of it, seemed almost second nature; until that afternoon at Haven. Lauranna, what should her opinion matter? She's a vampire, a leech, no different than the one he put down. He tried to walk away before they could exchange words, he had argued to much recently. However, she like the others during the week, felt need to voice her opinion; she followed him to where there were no others around, asking the most bizarre favor he'd ever heard. "She wants my head so badly, take it now; give her her prize." She wasn't far from the truth, it's almost certain that the blood of another vampire, especially this one would bring little more than a smile to the Praetorian's face. To be honest, there was a time where he'd have seen her request greeted quickly; some may remember his crusade against the undead after his time in captivity. Yet now, there was not even a flinch toward his weapon, not a single aggressive movement; nothing more than a dumbfounded stare. "'Ave ya nah seen da reaction ta meh las' strike? Even when warren'ed wif defense." He'd have said anything to be rid of her, of this moment... He has killed, never before been asked to do so. She was a friend, sense Kaylor.. How did it come to this? He knew full well the monster in which most of Sosaria sees him as after Va'lis; but ... an old friend. She figures him even worse, having no doubt he'd behead her, years worth of relations ended in the streets like a dog. Maybe.. he is that monster. In the hesitation she threw him back against the wall. "So come on!" The next few minutes flew by in a panic, trying to convince her to leave, his hand to stay. Three times he was thrown against the wall, three times he allowed it to happen. Again.. why? Now the death of a leech was warranted. Snapped out of his daze now, the last meeting with the wall enough to shake even this hardened warrior. "I'd rather you kill me then her; for us to never talk again." She seemed to be pleading now, bargaining. The color drained from his face, when was the last time he was held in check? "Wor's aren' worf wha' yer puttin' on da table.. Ah don' kill women. Ih'd kill wha's lef'o meh reputation.. ah'd lose meh job." In hopes that one reason would catch her ear, he sputtered random arguments. "Jus' please.. wal' aweh" A moment of hesitation brought on the coldest stare he'd seen, burning permanent impression in his mind. She could see now that the attempts were futile "If that's what you want." Without a moment's hesitation "Ah .. don' wan' dis." Did he really mean that? He rubbed his eyes, again focusing on the Trinsic sea. It really was quite a sight this time of night... "Boo" A familiar voice broke his tussle with unforgettable memories, it was Aph with her usual smile. No more could be done on the matter tonight, he just needed to push it aside. He'd share word's with Aph, a friend when needed, hit Galehaven for a rum or two, and then head home. He's gotten quite good at painting false smiles, half a night of them shouldn't be too difficult. He'd have to head home before too long in any case, he was promised an early night; an offer he'd not soon let pass. No matter the happenings of the day, he longs to see her face; to break down the armor that the two of them need wear in public. To love in a time of hate. The Praetorian... Its strange to think what peace she, as much a warrior as he, can bring him. Laurana, he's coming home.

**Atop the stack on the Emperors desk, as well as submitted to Guardian archives, as written on Monday March seventh.** A prisoner lost his "life" last night in a revolt. To clear up any complications, I killed Va'lis last night; however it was in attempt to defend myself from attack which I hope the following will explain. It was Sunday evening, I'm unsure of the exact time but I would estimate somewhere around nine'o clock by our moon. It was the third night of Va'lis' captivity, and outside of Alexia helping me escort to his cell, he had seen no other contact beside myself. I had held myself from questioning him, in hopes that the Emperor would have returned from his trip to voice his insights. Alas, upon the night's evening role call, I noticed something strange about the way he was behaving. He seemed, weaker.. if that makes any sense, not in a physical extent but in his shielding from Imperial questioning; he was calm, and strangely cooperative for what I knew him as, answering any question quickly, with what seemed honest answer. Despite the tension there was between the two of us, we spent near an hour that night discussing things from the case itself, to somethings as off topic as personal happenings. We were able to talk as uneasy enemies, it's strange but I can say that I learned more of Va'lis that night, then I had during the rest of whatever you wish to name our relations. However, there came a time when that changed.One of the few lines that I distinctly remember from the night, came after my asking of why he turned himself in; "I was tired of running", I see now that also mean's that he was now ready to fight. Perhaps I hit a nerve during further questioning, but I think it was perhaps thirst taking hold. He became more aggressive, started with his answering to the questions. He had changed from honest answer, to trying to piss me off. He became more active in his cell, testing the bars as he did my nerve. The next action I took, I will admit as a mistake I made. I let remarks he made about the preatorian get the raise that he wanted, in hindsight he wanted me to open cell, and knew what to say to warrant it. As soon as the door was open, he attempted to cast a spell; luckily I had activated the cell's runes to prevent such a thing. This was only a momentary delay, which I used to secure the door shut behind me; I'm not fit to keep up with a vampire on foot, especially when in full armor, my primary concern was not allowing him out of the cell. In my day, I had fought against Va'lis on nearly too many occasions to count, however I'd never seen him blood crazed. He wanted out of that cell, and I was in his way. He was on me before I could react, using my armor to leverage me against the bars. My tunic bares the dents from strikes made with nothing other than his fist, the claw marks from where he attempted to find way through the layered plates; my gorget nearly pierced through in a few places, had either piece not held up chances are the roles of fortune would have been reversed. I swung a knee, the only thing I could free and it managed to find way between his legs; as any male reading this will now, that gave him pause. With a shove, I managed to create enough distance to draw my kryss. His next lunge at me was met with one of my own, the momentum finding my blade buried to the hilt in his chest. There was no need for a healer, he was still before he hit the ground. Some may argue that therein lies another mistake, in that the use of lethal force was not necessary, however I disagree. I've known Va'lis to be both strong and stubborn, this night even more so, how else does one stay an enraged vampire? Besides, in quarter's as confined as a cell my strike was made more of reaction than planned precision, the location of the wound is merely boast to Imperial training. I took his "life", however it was in defense of my own. I do not lie when I say this. I will not feel remorse, nor regret for my actions. I gave the leech more Honor in death than he earned in life, he died by the blade as a warrior should,without so much an ounce of fear shown. Eban, Prefect Report. *Seal of the Prefect, Seal of the Imperial Legion."

How many days had lead to this? This one moment, where a lapse in Honor leads to something the law may see as unforgivable. Instead of sleep this night, the Imperator lay's atop his sheets trying to put together the pieces of the night. A mix of rage and adrenalin lead to a focus on the end result, with a blur of the moments passing before it. The talk he had with Va'lis the night before had been far from comforting, he turned himself in on the actual good faith that nothing would happen to him, with reason's being above a fear of even death itself. No wonder why this feud had lasted so long, even now... when all the condition's were in Eban's favor; the cell, the lack of witnesses, the hard smell of smoke filling the air, Va'lis seemed at peace. Had he ever instilled fear into the man that he had looked at as one of his longest enemies? Doubtful, given the action of his willing submission to captivity. It all seeme to anti-climactic if anything, they chatted as uneasy acquaintances for some time that night, sharing the joy of a smoke together. Was he planning on this? In his mind Eban would like to think that he approached this meeting with an open mind, with the belief that Va'lis facing justice would relieve the weight that the vampires actions had put on his own shoulders; though it's hard to imagine as truth. For a month, his thought's were clouded with the planning, plotting of revenge. Did he truly think that bars would stay his hand of retribution? Hardly an obstacle given he was the master of their key. They talked of battles past, the Imperator even explaining his shortcomings to Va'lis, for in truth they were obvious to them both. Eban had been spending his life looking for one that was better than him, to bring him the Honor and Glory of death, yet here he stood face to face with a man that he could not best, holding his life in his hands. It was only a matter of time before the wrong words slipped through Va'lis tongue, he just never thought it would have came with careful consideration. "Wha'ya did.. was ih worf' all dis?" after a moment to chose his words, he signed his own death warrant. "When you've seen as many things as I have in my years. Yes, I'd say it was." Even now... faced with the unknown there was no remorse for his actions against the preatorian, his fiancée. It had to end. "Ah tell ya dis cause o' yer wor's las' nigh', yer willin'ess ta embrace yer death wifouh fear, will you embrace me now, with my blade? ah cin gran'ya passin', ah warriors death." In a moment seeming foreign to Eban, he grasped forearms with the man that had cost him so much, whom he intended soon to end. "Leh us continue dis, in da aftalife." "I look forward to it" The next few minutes passed in a flurry of anticipation, granting room for the fight that Va'lis would not be known too have fallen without. It was there in an instant, the bars removed... the chance to strike held open before his very eyes. Patience. Enjoy it... "Ah neva did bes' you... take dat ta 'Adehs alon' wif wha' was lef' o meh 'Onor." And so it ended. A mighty thrust of his kryss, found home in Va'lis' chest; finding its way clean through. Eban's eyes could do nothing but focus on that of his advisories, he watched the life slowly leave his eyes. Holding no greater surprise than it did to the Imperator, it was almost as if looking into a gruesome mirror. Va'lis killed to survive, he now kills because it is what he was bread to do. Were they really so different? He watched himself fade with the life of his oldest enemy, and waited until his weight slumped against his shoulder, and fell limply to the floor. He stepped back in awe. It was really over. A noble foe has fallen this night, one who knew Eban's true hate, perhaps even his fear. Though even now in death, Va'lis still hold's chance to ruin the existence the Imperator claims to be life, with the reaction to the killing of a prisoner -even one so hated is yet unknown. It's like standing on the shore, watching the hurricane form. Will it pass, or again ruin everything in life that you once knew? For tonight, it did not matter. He had his head as gory trophy, with his apron purposely given a new dark hue from the mess on the floor, a reminder in blood of a respect needed to be paid.

**A torn piece of parchment in stuck to the entrance of Galehaven by a small black dagger. Upon closer examination, one would find that it is a hastily written note.** "Sorry about the mess in there, I will have it cleaned and what is broken repaired on the morrow. As per whomever normally tends to the messes, take the morning off and I will reimburse any loss in payment that might result from doing so. Eban. *Seal of the Prefect, Seal of the Imperial Legion*

So awakens the blood soaked champion, reaking of shade and hard whiskey, acknowledging the comfort of the hard floor. Confusion takes hold. What happened last night? There was the fight. No, not the fight fight, the argument fight. Then there was the doctor ... and the first bottle of whiskey. A trip to Aegis, the second bottle of whiskey. Sat and talked, not much excitement, the third drink (a flask of hard rum). Imported whiskey seems to taste as the curtain begins to sway; joined by another as the clock deemed evil. To drunk for the job, we said our goodbyes, off to a forgotten place, and dusty alibis. Another, maybe two for the trip; as long as it takes to get behind this mask and shroud. "The cloak of death", seems fitting; the flash of a match, and the enjoyment of a pipe. Was it just one? Sure hope the drink will outweigh the smoke. Another round, got through it fast, the striking of another pipe on the way to the pub. A shot for the lot, Him. Nothing particular about him, although he was quiet; drinking alone, in the corner of the bar. He was very average. Black hair, brown eyes, small statue with a portly build. He was the one. Why him? Secure the mask, open the vial. Another round for the pub. That's where the blood came from. I sure hope the smoke will outweigh these drinks. So ends the night of the champion. So awakens the muck covered commoner, reaking of rot and slime, acknowledging the comfort of the swampy soil beneath his weight. What happened last night? There was the drink at the ... a man in a robe? A really big man in a mask. A really big man in a robe and a mask with a weapon. The swamp makes a peculiar thud as the tossed sword lands to the side of He. Why would one need this? The big man has his own. "Up, on yer feet." Grab the sword ... get up you fool. The big man is so quick. Swing, parried, dodge ...pain. Blood, from the left arm. "Too slow" There's no where to run, nobody to call for help. Swing, parried, disarmed, leg sweep. The swamp makes a particular thud as he is tossed like a rag upon the ground. Pain, left forearm, more blood. "Use yer grip." How can one still stand? This isn't fair. Pain, right knee, suddenly sinking into the muck. "Pay attention." The swamp finds its way to the wound, instant burning. Swing, man dodged, disarmed, shield follows and connects, ears ringing as he again falls to the seeping canvas. How is the man so comfortable with this? So much blood, pain, outside right knee, "Move quicka" Failure to comply, stuck on a knee. Pain, sword arm, the swamp makes a peculiar thud as its dropped from his hand."Shoul'a used yer grip" All he asked was why. Pain, across the chest, everything spins. Peculiar thud as a fleeting soul falls into the swamp. The last words he heard. "Out 'ere, I'll leave ya to da croc's. No one noticed ya leave dat little pub, or tha' I brough' you 'ere. There won' be an investigation. Yer fate was ta give the swamp a nice meal, I hope you don' 'ave a God." So ends the life of the commoner.

"I told her I couldn't approve of something that would leave a child an orphan, and crush Eban." The words of the Empress stuck with Eban, even days after the seemingly helpful statement. Is he that fragile? Would he really fall apart, should all this? For sometime, this had been festering in the back of Eban's mind, but recent circumstances have pushed it to the forefront. He once thought that the Guardians had made him weak, not in the sense of skill, or strength, for both have only improved during his two year stay, but the will he once had. There was a time where he would draw arms because of an unfavorable glance, but all he has done lately is prevent bloodshed. The last life that he took, is all but a distant memory, when he claimed Death himself, the better part of half a year past. What was it about these people that turned a "Barbarian" into a Senator; A killer into a man of relative Honor? One thing is for certain, he lost what he thought was himself a long time ago; and found someone willing to die for his Empire, someone with the capacity to care for another more than himself. Something Human; he just didn't know that it would make things this damn hard.

His mind was in a fog, left restlessly laying atop his bed, wrestling with the ware of this recent sleepless binge. Things were so very different for him now, the sights, the sounds, to be honest he had almost forgotten what pain felt like. Now... everything was rushing back; emotions tussling with addiction, left both mind and body in a place that was once thought of as temporary, at best. Once, during the night, he even tried to convince himself that the doctors were plotting against him, and that his "substances" were not to blame for recent problems; having already made one mistake with his case, it was a simple sell. He sat up from the bed reaching for the unlit candle on the vanity, and was greeted with the sound of metal on stone. It was typical really; in the darkness, he knocked over the light. Had his herbs not been upstairs, behind the locks hidden somewhere in the shadow, the past few weeks with the monks (or "monkehs") would have counted for nothing. He took a small sip from his flask before laying back down.All and all, quitting his recreational drugs seemed like the best option, let alone the fact that it kept him from losing his mind. It had to be daylight soon, outside he could hear the song of a few stray ravens. He settled back atop his covers, slinging a forearm over his eyes. At this point, he could either get to his office early, and work on the patrol schedules, or waste half the day. It reminded him of something a very wise man told him, "The early bird may get the worm, but the second mouse gets the cheese." Well.. with a safety buzz from the few sips of whiskey, and seventy two hours catching up to him, he finally closed his eyes and drifted towards sleep. Its going to be a long couple weeks.

Eban lit his pipe on the lone flickering candle in the room, watching the glow of his reflection in the vanity. The past three nights have been difficult, to say the least; yet none of it seemed to matter. Everything has been happening so fast, from a spread of Kaylor's sudden desertion, apologizing and eventually risking his life for Vlad, too a first dance. That Beul.. fellow had really became a thorn in the Senators side, he had already endangered a former friend, and now intended to make use of Eban in the same manner. Already he has sacrificed, been forced to realize the wrong in his past with Vlad, and learned of the stupidity in selfless actions; it' starting to get out of hand. He quietly got up to check the locks on the door, there would be no visit from his most recent friend this eve. Giving a content nod to no one in particular, he returned to his place in front of the mirror. To be honest, he was rather enjoying the recent chaos, perhaps it truly is the only thing for which he is suited. He took another drag from his finely crafted pipe, smoke spilling from the bowl, only to cascade into the fog that now lingered around him. "'Ope da smell don' wake 'er" Eban thought, turning slowly in his stool to examine the other in the room. She was sound asleep. The soft glow of the candle teased her cheek, revealing only a glimpse of the beauty that her red hair framed. Time was lost in his thoughts about her smile, her rare occasional laugh...his lips curved upward as he remembered the time she broke his nose; things seem harder to forget when they throb. Eban couldn't remember a lass who he could stare at, and I mean really stare at... for ten seconds, or ten minutes, without even noticing. That small shimmer across the room dwarfed the importance of everything around him, making this and every other struggle seem worth the price. Maybe he had finally found his missing piece; for to love is one thing, to love in secret is quite another. A secret is like a magic trinket... keeping one close makes one invincible, though his actions of late show his care for her, he's been invincible sense she saved his life. Snapping back into reality, he smothered the flame of his pipe, and slowly paced across the room. He quietly lowered himself to the floor, leaning back against the wall with a view of both her and the door. Both gates were locked, his kryss was at his side, things were safe. Stealing one more glance before he closed his eyes, Eban had but a single thought before he drifted to sleep; "If Mr. Bluevadeer is goin' ta drag meh away from 'er... eh betta brin' a feckin' armeh."

Eban slowly rolled his freshly packed cigarette between his thumb and forefinger, trying to remember Friday night; it was fully packed, round, and for the most part straight. It was worthy. He set one end in his mouth, lighting the other with the candle on his desk. “Wha’ a crazeh nigh’” Eban muttered to the dim stone around him. He was right, in fact the entire idea behind it was a bit strange. Kaylor had been talking about renouncing his right to his throne, back in his home land; so that he may better serve the empire. Eban couldn’t let his friend give up a crown, without at least enjoying the comforts of it for a night. It had been settled, Friday would been the last day of kaylor’s royalty; after the party, they would make it seem that he had been poisoned, and died peacefully in his sleep. Smoke cascaded from the smoldering rolling paper as he took another drag, a smile starting to form. To make the night more interesting, eban had put a few drops of his new addiction into his famous import whiskey. The last, and only time he had used his concoction was the night with laurana, and she ended up dying her hair. Of course he didn’t use that much, only a drop or two to liven things up. Eban had convinced kaylor that his throne room was no fit for such a meeting, and ended up dragging him and ancy to a local pub a few miles ride from the palace. It was a quaint setting, weathered wooden stools, cheep chandeliers, and plenty of a crowd once the word got out that their king, and one of the local hero’s were in town. Songs were song of kaylor’s acts as king, of eban’s fearless battle with the dread mage rhianna. After the first round of moonshine made it’s way through the people, eban already noticed his brew at work. At the beginning of the night, he had promised kaylor that they would “make the men green, and the women scream.” So far, they were working on both. A few friendly bar spars were held, demonstrating their drunken strength against the local farmers; paired with dancing with half the women of the town. It was sad really, kaylor had promised himself to god, and yet on this day he had the pick of the litter. Eban patted kaylor’s shoulder as he sat beside him at the bar, muttering under his breath. “Da onleh screams yer goin’ ta beh ‘earin wif dat attiduhe, is “tease” mate.” Kaylor grinned, taking another swig from the increasingly tasty whiskey. “Big words coming from the man keeping it covered to stay true to his wench.” “A’ leas’ ah ‘ave a chance wif mine, mate. Goot luck gehhin aneh from God.” Eban grinned, before returning to the noticeably impaired dancing crowd. He shook his head, leaning back in the chair, honestly the rest of the night was a blur. He vaguely remembered a stripping contest, among some competition that required oils and a large floor space. He woke up in a loin cloth, sprawled across the bar, with a half-full bottle in his hand. Kaylor, naturally was gone. Off to “die”. Not eban, nor the people of the land had seen a smile on kaylor’s face that compared to the one of that night. They would remember this night, remember their leader in song, as one who shared with the lowly, who brought a smile to those whom he saw. He crushed the cigarette into his home made ash tray, tossing his gear randomly as he entered his bedding chambers. He really should try catching up with Kaylor, would be nice to know if he could remember anything else.

One time i walked down the street and saw a man doing this , so I walked up to him and did this . He seemed nice and all, but there was something about him that seemed a little off... he kept making odd faces . I kinda felt sorry for him because he may have lost his marbles ; yet on the other hand i didn't want to stay around because you never can be tooooo carful . When i tried to leave, he would not accept a handshake, meerly motioned for a hug . Oddly enough, it took me this long to realize that the man was blue . Thats right. I felt for a man that I saw , while doing , said ; only to leave after i a who i thought was the . What a day. You fell for it.. yes its ooc.

Eban led his horse slowly through the swamp, his eyes set, focused on everything that he passed. He was hunting the prey he'd been searching for for over a week, the Emperor of the Guardians, Thom. He was the ultimate prize, without him few would stand to defend their purple ideals. He had already wounded him; before three of his knights appereared to protect him. "Sad, really" his possesser thought "he stands to protect them, when they can't stand against him. How weak." His first stop was the infirmiry, if he had done the damage that he had intended, that is the only place they would have brought Thom. His assumptions were correct, outside the doors two guards were stationed. He had seen them before, alone they were no real hastle, but Laurana had been teaching them how to keep eachother alive. The numbers were against him, this giant of a man was forced to rely soully on speed to deal with the two. He launched from around the corner, and slashed the nearest guard before he had time to draw his weapon, everything seemed to be going acording to plan. However, the second guard had already armed himself, and by the time Eban turned there was a sword in his gut. There was no reaction, only eban felt the pain; the puppet master was left to pull the strings without a hitch. He gradded the sword by the handle, pulling the now frightened guard closer to him. Grabbing him by the throat, he began bashing him against the stone wall. It only took a few minutes of effort, but Eban soon stood over the guards. Pulling out his pre-written warnings, and a few daggers from his belt. Posting his messages on the guards, he was content with the night of work. He knew that only Thom was left in the building, but sometimes its worth prolonging the hunt to savor the fear.

Its been over a week sense the Senator has seen his dear friend. It has been too long, something doesn't seem right... The thoughts of what might have happened, the chances that his spells did not completly heal his good friend raced through his mind, drove him from the warmth of his bed, the touch of his mate. He slowly laced on his armor, his thumb still unable to move, it took him quite some time. 'Where coul' eh 'ave ran off ta?' he thought as he slid his kryss into its sheath. It was too late for questions, to much time was already at waste. The talk with Keiko can wait, the trip to the north, will have to wait. What would the Senator do without one of the few friends who has not stabbed him in the back?

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Well, ladies and gents, guess whos not your Senator now? If you guessed Eban, that is right. I no longer hold rank to start the training sessions, and tournaments I had planned. What can I say? This is not an order, just a reminder that the training planned for monday, is no more. Sorry. Eban.