Chapter Text
Teaser for Ch1 Act 1.
Blood was a scent that Halsin was familiar with on an intimate level. More recently that of goblin, druid, tiefling and gnoll. His senses lately were all but flooded with the acrid, metallic tang. He couldn’t seem to escape it. Random memories from his time in the wretched cave prison he had been kept in still came roaring back from time to time; whenever the particular combination of rot, filth and drying pools of red so dark it nearly became black hit his nose.
In the week that he had spent trailing after the camp of the unturned, unable to fully join their circle but still welcomed to spend his time amongst them the scent had been fleeting. But still present. Each time those who had been selected for their skills needed for that day came back bloodied from their exploits he could tell how badly each had been wounded.
The lingering copper and sulfur and magic from whatever or whomever they had slain was not terribly pleasant, but everyone bathed in a timely manner the moment they could. It faded quickly enough to a muted, background hum. On all but one.
Pale of skin and pale of hair, lovely in form and face and sharp of tongue. The elf always smelled of blood. He couldn’t seem to shake the scent any more than Halsin could. But the way it clung to his scent like an old lover or perhaps an old enemy; engrained so deeply it likely would never leave was uncommon. Unusual even amongst those who claimed killing as their profession.
If he didn’t know better, knew the limitations of a particular brand of monster who had very similar traits to the quick witted and contrary companion Tav kept, Halsin would have been inclined to think him a vampire. But the small details such as walking about in broad daylight and lack of aversion to running water amongst other things dissuaded such lines of thought. And yet. The scent of blood remained. Fleeting glimpses of what might have been fangs taunted Halsin’s vision.
It was a puzzle he felt more and more inclined to solve the longer he remained on the outskirts of the unturned’s company. No one spoke of the elves' potential danger to the camp, no one made mention of any oddness.The outsiders view, looking in on the comings and goings or lack thereof of those asked to remain behind was a fascinating series of individual tales.
An undercurrent of unspoken information, like a shroud over any interactions he had throughout the waiting days only sharpened the vague feeling of unease whenever he found his eyes drifting to white hair and red eyes. He was careful not to be caught staring. Little details from his watchful observations, like sparkling stones amongst the river beds they often camped beside taunted his imagination; piling themselves into new combinations the more he saw.
The pale elf spent a rather significant portion of his daylight hours wandering from sun warmed stone to dappled section of ground, and yet his skin never darkened. Never burned. Not even a hint of sunscorch to the silken looking expanses of flesh that he bared as if he couldn’t get enough. As if he had gone without for a very long time. Halsin had found himself doing the same for several days after his rescue from the goblin camp. Simply breathing in the clean, untainted air in the warmth of the sun.