He had been a thief all of his young life.
Orphaned as a child, abandoned.
Living on the streets with only his wit.
He never really knew why he left his small village.
Perhaps to find a mark rich and plump,
Something that would pay well enough to retire from.
So, after packing his meager belongings,
He found himself in the city of New Haven.
He found the irony of the cities name refreshing,
New Haven. A new beginning. A new life.
He spent a few days searching out the perfect mark,
Wandering the streets, asking questions in the pubs.
Thats how he found out about the mansion.
No one who had ever went in that mansion
had ever returned, everyone had said.
He didn't believe it for a moment, however.
Probably just some old hermit lived there,
who wanted to be left alone.
From the windows he could see items
of beauty and wealth beyond his imaginings.
This would be it, his retirement was close at hand.
A couple nights later, He crept in by wan candlelit.
The light from the candles small flame
making shadowy demons dance on the walls.
From down the hallway, he though he heard a sound...
much like the whimpering of a small dog, possibly.
Quietly, he makes his way to the room to see.
Shaking his head, he wonders if he was hearing things,
as there is nothing there to make such a noise.
He wanders about, filling his packs and pouches
with the vast riches of the room.
How come no one has ever robbed this place before?
He thinks to himself with a grin, more for me.
His heart almost stops dead
when he hears a voice behind him.
"Greetings, my friend. Welcome to my manor."
He turns slowly, already trying to think of an excuse
to give to the owner, of why he is here.
Candles are lit, close by, and flare to life,
illuminating the room in better light.
A young man sits at the table,
holding a glass of wine in his hand.
A woman in a black dress lies lovingly across his lap.
"My Lord, I...." His voice trails off as his eyes adjust.
No, the woman is not lying there lovingly in his lap.
The side of her throat has been ripped apart,
and her crimson essence spills over the young lords fine clothing.
A trail of blood escapes from the lips of the Lord,
and the liquid in the wine glass...
"oh, dear god..." the thief gasps.
A bass chuckle escapes the lips of the Lord.
"God. You will find no god here, in my house.
My house that you dare intrude upon, interupting my dinner."
The young Lord stands to his feet gracelfully,
and the dead woman in the black dress drops ignobly to the floor.
"Now, allow me to introduce myself.
I am Lord Audun Bathory, at your service."
With a sarcastic grin, he bowed low in a flourish.
The thief swore he saw fangs in the Lords mouth.
"Lord Bathory, I am sorry, I did not mean..." he began.
Quicker then he thought was humanly possible,
Lord Audun had his hand around the thieves throat,
pinning him, squirming, against the wall.
"My little thief, you did not mean to rob me blind?
Oh, you patetic little slime are all the same.
How many people have you stolen from?
Do you think yourself a good thief?
Allow me to show you a master thief,
For a master I am, although I do not steal treasure,
I steal lives. Welcome to the first nght of your death."
(possibly to be conitnued... Let me know if you want me to write more into this storyline)
Gold trophy winner
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