The Ultimate Vampire Resource and Directory

He fell through time and space, from a when to then in the blink of one of his eyes.

When he rose from the ground,the fellow who appeared to be in his late teens, with blonde almost yellow hair and the bluest of blue eyes looked upward, with a visage that seemed to say, 'Are you kidding?'

The figure had appeared amongst the gleaming white columns of the greek theatre, his grey coat and trousers incongruous, amongst his current surroundings.

His clothing changed and none in the crowds that he joined had noticed. But, they did notice him, of course. Sky Blue was striking in appearance and manner. He could be gentle and beautiful; yet at the flick of a metaphorical switch, he was the right of that which is and, would act accordingly.

As needed.

That was the task set for this agent for the next moment and, he lived for that moment and, always would. Or so he supposed.

So he walked the streets, seeking his quarry.

Sky Blue did not need to ask questions of the passers-by; he could already sense the direction he should take, to find Aristotle and, ideally prevent an assasination, as told.

Finally he stood in the middle of a small surrounded by a group of young men, who had seated themselves as near as possible to hear every word that their teacher spoke to them.

There teacher was a man of bearing, his hair and beard being tightly curled as was the fashion for many of his time.

A man who had surpassed even his teacher Plato, Aristotle was a free-thinker, who posessed empirical approach, yet still held a mind open enough at that time, to accept the possibility of one being, who may have created all else.

It was a thought; that some considered heresy and a threat to the veritable pantheon of Gods the Greeks held in reverence.

Again Sky Blue smiled, for here was a man who truly deserved to die a natural death as intended; and, albeit that death would be long and painful. Sky Blue knew that the teachers death was being spoken of, at that moment.

And as Aristotle spoke of life and his many perspective on it, Sky Blue closed his eyes and opened his awareness and listened for the conspirators, that he knew were nearby.

Milliseconds passed and he abruptly opened his eyes and began to walk determidly toward his prey, his eyes now a steely blue, as he sought to end this say, the way he was taught.

Then he turned a corner from the alley-way he had entered and, found the entrance to a small dwelling. It was dark inside, sole for a small light that illuminated a small table and three men seated around it, speaking intently among one another.

Sky Blue stood at the doorside, listening.

The assasination was being planned he heard; so knew it was his time to act, in the manner he had chosen.

He swept into the room, the draft from the action causing the light to flicker and die. Then Sky Blue swirled and twirled in the darkened room, his movements so fast as to appear invisble.

His hands were flat and lethal, as they cut into flesh and broke bone, causing blood to erupt in gouts of gore.

And them there was silence and, Sky Blue emerged from the doorway, his white robes splattered with red, feeling quite satisfied he had done as best as he could, at the moment.

He glanced upward,expectantly.

His clothing became once more the grey coat and trousers that were so incongruous, amongst his current surroundings.

He looked around himself and smiled, a contented smile.

Then Sky Blue faded from his time and place, greatful that the assasination had been foiled and that Aristotle would die a natural death, albeit that death would be long and quite painful.


* * *

Sky Blue stood before the foot of the expansive four-poster, it's drapes parted allowing full view of the man in the bed.

He was old and frail and, very frightened.

Sky could feel the man's fear of death and, would have liked to hold the man's hand, to assure him all would be well, in passing. But, he could not.

Sky Blue had fallen back to when he would be needed, but in an astral form.

Of his body, Sky knew not; yet believed fully that the problem would arrange it's own solution, to suit him, as so often happened. After all, he was An Emissary, after all.

He looked to the told man with sad rheumy-eyes, a bald pate and sunken cheeks.

From his poor breathing, complexion and delirium, Sky reasoned that Angelus the Scribe was finally dying. But, the otherthings awaited his last breath. And albeit his form was not corporeal, Sky could feel, them waiting for the old man. And Sky sighed a long sigh; abruptly determined that he would watch no longer. He would not allow them to have him.

Not today, or any other, for so he had decided.

And as his intense gaze focussed on the belaboured old man, the large dark oak wood doors opened and a slip of a thing in a white shift dress and little else, walked in: “Grandfather?” She called.

A look of fear fell on the old man's face, as he looked to the otherthings, that few of humankind could see. Yet, the old man could. And he feared what he knew.

Sky drew back, into the shadows, as the pretty blonde entered the room and drew in a breath that his astral self did not need.

The girl was pretty and too innocent for this time. Yet here she was, weeping for a dying old man, who had touched the dark and, even now saw what few would choose to.

The multi-coloured eels and fish of many hues any size, swept round the old man's emaciated skull and, their heads and tails abridged, to one another.

And as they swam in the air in a melee of colour, mixed one upon the other, Sky watched with eyes of sheer sadness.

The old man watched with fading eyes, as otherthings of the dark place, swam among themselves, in a swirl of colours and flesh.

Sky wanted to cry, as he watched the girl kneel at the side of bed, her hands clasped together, eyes closed as she sought the beneficence of The Lord.

How was she to know that her prayers were not needed, that Sky was there to attend to these otherthings of the dark realm.

She could be and would be his conduit, her words of prayer reaching out, allowing him the strength of belief needed, to cease their connection to this realm.

He sought the air around the old man's head, touching it as if it were tangible and, the writhing things slowed, their forms untangling.

And, as the last of them swam away and into the dark, Angelus the Scribe passed his last breath...

Then with hands lingering near the girls hair, fingers gliding above her golden tresses, Sky spoke just one word before he fell forward and, back into his human form.

He told her in a zephyr-like tone, one word, “Peace.”