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**Vincent Lane** · (07-03-2017)

December 23rd, 1876

My Love,

I hope all is well back home. I imagine the bitter cold has set in much like it has here in the small town in which I reside. I find myself longing for you more and more with each passing day. With any luck, I will bury the demon that haunts me and be on my way back into your arms soon enough. With much regret, I must inform you that this will be my last letter for quite sometime. Though this journey is just beginning, I feel confident that I shall see it through to the very end. Stay safe, my love, you're all I've got left..

Your Loving Husband,
Rydan

December 25th, 1876

“Please sir, I've done nothing wrong! It's the day of our Lord, please have mercy?!”

He cries out to me as I tighten my grip around the hilt of my blade. The cold truth is that, he hasn't done anything. That has no bearing on my objective, nor does it stand to sway my decision in any way. Mercy? I know not the definition. With the end of my sword pressed gently against his breastplate, his body quivers in fear, ready to accept whatever fate I bestow upon it.

“Oh, now. There's no need to tell lies. Everyone at some point has done something wrong.”

And with that short sentiment I shove my sword through his breastplate, through his heart, exiting the backside of his body. As the man begins to choke on his own blood, I pull the sword from within him and with a quick flick of the wrist, the trail of blood that lines my blade disappears, coating the wall beside me. By this point the man has fallen into a slumped position, bleeding profusely.

It isn't about right or wrong. As I told him before I introduced him to my blade, we've all done despicable things in our lives. It's just a hobby. Some men enjoy wood working, or repair work. I, on the other hand, enjoy the hunt. There is no greater feeling in the world than that of a predator stalking, and inevitably ending the life of it's prey.

Rydan returns his sword to its sheath. Stricken by a severe pain, Rydan falls to one knee, clutching his shoulder and wincing in pain.

Fuckin’ shoulder. Damn thing hasn't been right since the incident. Being patient has never been my forte, and I just don’t have time to wait for it to heal. I am no stranger to pain and suffering, so my shoulder is just another day at the office. From my childhood to the present, pain and suffering has followed me around like an incurable illness.

Rydan manages to get back to his feet, still clutching his shoulder.

This man, the one that you see lying before me, was probably an average guy just looking to make ends meet. Now, however, he lay before me in a puddle of blood and piss. I hate it when they piss themselves before I finish em off. It’s fuckin’ messy and smells horrendous. I don’t know that I can blame them, I guess. When a man of my reputation essentially just materializes out of thin air in front of you, well, hell, I’d probably piss myself as well.

Rydan begins rummaging through the pockets of the victim. Gold, jewelry, anything that he may potentially sell to his personal shopkeeper, Rydan takes. Rydan finishing pillaging his victim and begins tucking the valuables into his overcoat pocket.

This is how I deal with my pain and suffering. There is no medicine, no routine, no doctors, only death. The satisfyingly orgasmic feeling that I get when I thrust my sword through another man, pales in comparison to any feeling or pain relief I could get from your normal antidotes.

After a few moments of searching around the home of his victim, Rydan exits the building and disappears into the night, enroute to his next destination. Rydan walks slowly and confidently through the town, his black attire offering much needed camouflage. The town in which he is currently “self medicating”, offers a much different layout than most. No illumination of any kind line the streets, as well as an eerie silence that blankets the area. In the forefront of the town, a single wooden sign. A single, poorly painted word is all that occupy the sign.

“Triadence”

Rydan stops quickly in the middle of the street. Just ahead, a man, standing roughly 6’4 or 6’5, weighing what looks to be about 250 lbs. His long dark hair flowing down across his shoulders, his hands tucked deep into the pockets of his overcoat. Rydan’s eyes begin to focus as he smiles devilishly at the sight of this large man. Rydan begins moving once more, slowly walking towards this large man. Just as Rydan encroaches on the personal space of this large man, he quickly swings himself around. Rydan grabs the man, seemingly looking to subdue him, but pulls him in close for a tight, masculine, hug.

It’s been far too long my brother..

Indeed it has old friend, indeed it has.

The two men relinquish their hug, and take a few steps back from one another.

Are you enjoying our little town, so far? I assume you’ve already taken your medicine for the night?

An accurate assumption, Vaikael. It shall be dawn soon, we should find our way inside of your shop, I’d do best not to be seen.

Vaikael smiles at Rydan, extending his hand outward and making a “please come inside” type gesture with his arm. Vaikael follows Rydan inside of the shop. As the large wooden door closes behind the two men, the sun begins to crest the hillside, slightly illuminating the once dark, dread filled town of Triadence..

Though the sun begins to shine, and the darkness is lifted..

...the silence still remains...

To be continued..

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