The Lady Damia Velimir had finally ventured out of the inn room that passed for her living quarters for the past week. It had been hell to be back within the kingdom of Aveline, and to see how much had changed since she had left her home behind. The Velimir name elicited almost no response, not that she truly had the kind of funds or home that went along with such a name, any longer. Damia had instead become something of a petty thief, but she was back here on a rumor.
For the past century, the black-haired vampire had been seeking a cure for her vampirism. So far she’d found little more than charlatans and snake doctors selling lies. Most were surprised she actually wanted a cure. Who wouldn’t want to live forever?
Only now had she touched upon something that sounded genuine: phoenix – a potion of sorts that could supposedly bring back the dead, involving phoenix tears and some other ingredients she needed to inquire about, but everything she read up in the library in Boreas suggested that with vampires being undead, a resurrection was necessary.
Naturally, this was exceedingly rare – and not everyone was convinced it was even possible, but what did Damia have to lose? Her life?
‘I’ve already lost that.’
And if it worked, it would be the perfect revenge, as well.
That led her to walking the cobblestone path through the outdoor market that evening, cringing against any bit of sun that snuck between her cloak and the layers she wore. She even had a veil over her face to attempt to avoid it, and a cloth covering all the way up her neck, but still, any bit of flesh that the sun touched was agony.
An agony she could endure, to take a look at the market before it closed, and find the source of the rumor in a wooden stall decorated with plenty of falsities where it came to magical artifacts. And yet, in spite of the lies of a unicorn horn or a dragon scale that were in the apothecary’s stall, there still shimmered a golden potion that seemed more fire than liquid, and even looking at it made Damia ache.
She made a split second decision to grab it, just out from under another hand reaching for it. When she cast her gaze up to see who it was, she decided it was better to flee than attempt to barter for it – something about that fiery gaze told her she’d never win in bartering for this, so it was better to get far, far away.
The man she’d stolen from was – well, nearly stolen from – was Malachi iben Trist, who had gone out to the market mostly to look for food to eat, and stumbled upon the stall, and what he definitely recognized to be a potion that used a phoenix as one of its ingredients. Everything about that had upset him, because he imagined harm had befallen the phoenix to keep it from rising, so that any part of it could be used in a potion. He didn’t think it could be just tears.
He had approached in that fury, and started to reach for the potion to demand answers about it – when it was taken right from beneath his hand.
His shock and his rage found them focused on some small woman, who immediately darted away, tucking the potion into her cloak.
“THIEF!” The merchant suddenly called, moving to the side of his stall, “GET BACK HERE! I’ll—” but Malachi moved near him and set a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll get her,” that he would, though he wasn’t going to promise to bring the potion back. It was enough to relax the merchant, a bit. No doubt he thought that was implied, and he let Malachi go without any further shouting about the thief.
He thought he was following the thief for a while, through the maze of people in the market, all the way down into an alley – where they suddenly disappeared. ‘What?’ Malachi looked around in confusion, casting his golden gaze in every direction, but he caught no sight of the cloaked woman. Irritated, he balled his fists together and shut his eyes. He shrugged off the black vest he was wearing. Fire wrapped around his body a moment, leaving his attire smoking, but not catching flame, thankfully.
Wings tore out from his shoulder blades. It hurt, as it always did, but he was able to get through that pain much easier now as the set of golden-red feathers extended outwards, and then with a few flaps, were able to lift him up into the sky so he could get a better look around to try and find the thief. Not that it was easy – they weren’t the only cloaked figure in the city.
It was the potion itself that made it easier to identify, glowing through the cloak. The individual with it also seemed to be stumbling, not quite managing well. ‘That’s what you get.’ But he didn’t fly down immediately. The individual seemed to be heading out of the city, and so he followed, curious, and admittedly not wanting to start a scene in the city.
They didn’t go too far, seeming to collapse on the outskirts of the town, beneath several trees.
That was when he flew down.
“Hey!”
His baritone voice boomed as the woman seemed to have found her feet again. She looked up, startled, and then backed up a few steps. “Do you have any idea what that is?” It was held in one gloved hand, out in front, now.
“Of course I do!” She snapped right back, but he saw the way her eyes moved over his wings. “You’re…a shifter.”
“Phoenix shifter,” he added, stepping forward, “I want that back. If there’s any way to bring the phoenix that was used for that potion back to life, I need to make it happen.”
He could see a bit of agony in her gaze. Red, he noticed, and wondered at what she was, even as that agony hardened against his request. “I’m sorry, I need this.”
“The only possible reason—” but she had uncorked the vial, and was clearly going to drink it. In some effort to stop it, he lunged forward, wings giving him the added speed, and he tackled her to the ground.
The vial left her hands. It contents spilled into the soil, wasted, although they never saw that.
All they saw was suddenly falling between where two trees bent into what could have been a doorway – and then suddenly, they were in an entirely new world, and Malachi iben Trist was pinning Damia Velimir to the ground by her arms, though that almost immediately shifted to her throat when he saw the flash of fangs and realized what he had beneath him.
For the past century, the black-haired vampire had been seeking a cure for her vampirism. So far she’d found little more than charlatans and snake doctors selling lies. Most were surprised she actually wanted a cure. Who wouldn’t want to live forever?
Only now had she touched upon something that sounded genuine: phoenix – a potion of sorts that could supposedly bring back the dead, involving phoenix tears and some other ingredients she needed to inquire about, but everything she read up in the library in Boreas suggested that with vampires being undead, a resurrection was necessary.
Naturally, this was exceedingly rare – and not everyone was convinced it was even possible, but what did Damia have to lose? Her life?
‘I’ve already lost that.’
And if it worked, it would be the perfect revenge, as well.
That led her to walking the cobblestone path through the outdoor market that evening, cringing against any bit of sun that snuck between her cloak and the layers she wore. She even had a veil over her face to attempt to avoid it, and a cloth covering all the way up her neck, but still, any bit of flesh that the sun touched was agony.
An agony she could endure, to take a look at the market before it closed, and find the source of the rumor in a wooden stall decorated with plenty of falsities where it came to magical artifacts. And yet, in spite of the lies of a unicorn horn or a dragon scale that were in the apothecary’s stall, there still shimmered a golden potion that seemed more fire than liquid, and even looking at it made Damia ache.
She made a split second decision to grab it, just out from under another hand reaching for it. When she cast her gaze up to see who it was, she decided it was better to flee than attempt to barter for it – something about that fiery gaze told her she’d never win in bartering for this, so it was better to get far, far away.
The man she’d stolen from was – well, nearly stolen from – was Malachi iben Trist, who had gone out to the market mostly to look for food to eat, and stumbled upon the stall, and what he definitely recognized to be a potion that used a phoenix as one of its ingredients. Everything about that had upset him, because he imagined harm had befallen the phoenix to keep it from rising, so that any part of it could be used in a potion. He didn’t think it could be just tears.
He had approached in that fury, and started to reach for the potion to demand answers about it – when it was taken right from beneath his hand.
His shock and his rage found them focused on some small woman, who immediately darted away, tucking the potion into her cloak.
“THIEF!” The merchant suddenly called, moving to the side of his stall, “GET BACK HERE! I’ll—” but Malachi moved near him and set a hand on his shoulder.
“I’ll get her,” that he would, though he wasn’t going to promise to bring the potion back. It was enough to relax the merchant, a bit. No doubt he thought that was implied, and he let Malachi go without any further shouting about the thief.
He thought he was following the thief for a while, through the maze of people in the market, all the way down into an alley – where they suddenly disappeared. ‘What?’ Malachi looked around in confusion, casting his golden gaze in every direction, but he caught no sight of the cloaked woman. Irritated, he balled his fists together and shut his eyes. He shrugged off the black vest he was wearing. Fire wrapped around his body a moment, leaving his attire smoking, but not catching flame, thankfully.
Wings tore out from his shoulder blades. It hurt, as it always did, but he was able to get through that pain much easier now as the set of golden-red feathers extended outwards, and then with a few flaps, were able to lift him up into the sky so he could get a better look around to try and find the thief. Not that it was easy – they weren’t the only cloaked figure in the city.
It was the potion itself that made it easier to identify, glowing through the cloak. The individual with it also seemed to be stumbling, not quite managing well. ‘That’s what you get.’ But he didn’t fly down immediately. The individual seemed to be heading out of the city, and so he followed, curious, and admittedly not wanting to start a scene in the city.
They didn’t go too far, seeming to collapse on the outskirts of the town, beneath several trees.
That was when he flew down.
“Hey!”
His baritone voice boomed as the woman seemed to have found her feet again. She looked up, startled, and then backed up a few steps. “Do you have any idea what that is?” It was held in one gloved hand, out in front, now.
“Of course I do!” She snapped right back, but he saw the way her eyes moved over his wings. “You’re…a shifter.”
“Phoenix shifter,” he added, stepping forward, “I want that back. If there’s any way to bring the phoenix that was used for that potion back to life, I need to make it happen.”
He could see a bit of agony in her gaze. Red, he noticed, and wondered at what she was, even as that agony hardened against his request. “I’m sorry, I need this.”
“The only possible reason—” but she had uncorked the vial, and was clearly going to drink it. In some effort to stop it, he lunged forward, wings giving him the added speed, and he tackled her to the ground.
The vial left her hands. It contents spilled into the soil, wasted, although they never saw that.
All they saw was suddenly falling between where two trees bent into what could have been a doorway – and then suddenly, they were in an entirely new world, and Malachi iben Trist was pinning Damia Velimir to the ground by her arms, though that almost immediately shifted to her throat when he saw the flash of fangs and realized what he had beneath him.
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