Mephistopheles
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- 22
- Character Biography
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Dusk seemed to fall earlier in the city. Tightly packed homes and shops blocked the sun on its evening descent, casting long shadows across narrow streets and alleyways. Sconces were lit by mid-afternoon and flickered beneath the perpetual haze of dusty roads and burning hearths. The shade did little for the heat in a place like this, but it did provide refuge for a night-bound creature. One could traverse the entire expanse of Alliria without ever seeing the sky, if one so chose.
Mephistopheles enjoyed the sky. For most vampires, their mortal life had been but a fraction of their existence. Some could scarcely remember yellow sunlight, or what it felt like to have a beating heart. Elven vampires, on the other hand, had a unique perspective of an already long-lived race. He'd had a good two centuries to enjoy the sunlight before it was taken from him forever, and could still imagine its warmth on his skin.
But memory or not, he did not miss it. The cold and the dark suited him fine. The solitude of night was what he had always preferred. Solitude that was all but impossible to find in one of Arethil's largest cities. For someone who enjoyed being alone, his work almost always involved finding or watching someone.
This time he was seeking connections. Tertiary or, if lucky, secondary relationships to the man he was truly interested in. But that person had proven difficult to pin down, so he had needed to work from the ground up. He had people for this, but this particular investigation was... sensitive in nature. It required a personal touch. It required him.
He had managed to find a landlord in Alliria that owner several properties. Some businesses, a storehouse here and there, but one in particular seemed ripe for probing. A small, frankly shabby establishment with apparently one purveyor, if his sources were to be believed. Much easier, and much safer to start here where he was less likely to be noticed.
The establishment was as described. There was nothing particularly appealing about the shop front, nor was it entirely clear what was being sold. Mephistopheles' black leather boots had been dulled by the dust of the city, and they stepped soundlessly up the few wooden steps to the shop's door. Equally black, exquisitely soft leather gloves rapped at the door.
Bryony
Mephistopheles enjoyed the sky. For most vampires, their mortal life had been but a fraction of their existence. Some could scarcely remember yellow sunlight, or what it felt like to have a beating heart. Elven vampires, on the other hand, had a unique perspective of an already long-lived race. He'd had a good two centuries to enjoy the sunlight before it was taken from him forever, and could still imagine its warmth on his skin.
But memory or not, he did not miss it. The cold and the dark suited him fine. The solitude of night was what he had always preferred. Solitude that was all but impossible to find in one of Arethil's largest cities. For someone who enjoyed being alone, his work almost always involved finding or watching someone.
This time he was seeking connections. Tertiary or, if lucky, secondary relationships to the man he was truly interested in. But that person had proven difficult to pin down, so he had needed to work from the ground up. He had people for this, but this particular investigation was... sensitive in nature. It required a personal touch. It required him.
He had managed to find a landlord in Alliria that owner several properties. Some businesses, a storehouse here and there, but one in particular seemed ripe for probing. A small, frankly shabby establishment with apparently one purveyor, if his sources were to be believed. Much easier, and much safer to start here where he was less likely to be noticed.
The establishment was as described. There was nothing particularly appealing about the shop front, nor was it entirely clear what was being sold. Mephistopheles' black leather boots had been dulled by the dust of the city, and they stepped soundlessly up the few wooden steps to the shop's door. Equally black, exquisitely soft leather gloves rapped at the door.
Bryony