Requiem

[Ezra Khaine]

Chicago...

The dusty taste of stale air filled the mouths of those within the church, their faces poorly illuminated by the dirty windows that lined the walls of the church, and their ears bombarded with the quiet ramblings of a short, fat, and bald man standing upon the raised dais at end of the hall. His vibrant silk robes looked wasted on his fat body, more a billowing nightgown then the trappings of a priest. Normally he would be wearing a headdress, but today he wore nothing upon his head. Such laziness should be punished, but no one would dare reprimand a catholic priest, especially one as renowned in this town as Father Eliar. There were forces that protected the man, religious and otherwise, but that would not stop everyone from sticking a sharp object in his back. Death comes to all, in way form or another. Timing is irrelevant.

The priest continued his sermon, his eyes staring straight ahead as his failing eyesight prevented him from seeing more then the first set of pews. Sweat trickled down the side of his head as his lips moved and his arms pumped. The heat inside the church was stifling. The few gathered inside it had already removed and loosened as many garments as they could and still remain socially and religiously acceptable. Yet, in the back of the long room, sat a man still warmly clothed despite the heat. He wore a black coat that hid most of his body, but the endings of pair of slacks could be seen near the ground, along with his brightly polished black leather shoes. Black leather gloves adorned his hands and a black scarf circumnavigated his neck. The man's face was handsome, yet had a worn, aged look to it. His hair, short and dark brown, was slicked back, which gave him a very formal appearance.

The man seemed quite cool. Completely unphased by the heat the host of people generated in a room with no proper air flow. The Catholics gave the man sidelong glances, wondering who he was, why he looked so cool, and why he was sitting in the furthest back pew- all alone. Many had seen him in here before, but still none of them knew who he is. Several made plans to catch the man before he left and greet him, learn his name, and talk about the weather, or whatever other topic came to mind. But when the sermon ended and those few stood up to make their way to the back, they found the man was already gone. The sound of the main door closing alerted them that the man had already left the church.

Ezra pushed his way through the heavy door and out into the gloomy evening air. His cane tapped the ground beside him as he walked. A figure detached itself from the shadow of the church building and took position beside him saying nothing. "Another dull sermon. I do believe there is no fire left in the Catholic church, Tzar," He said as he walked along. His companion said nothing in return and simply nodded it's head. The person beside him was dressed very strangely in a black trench coat that went all the way down to it's feet, hiding nearly it's entire body from view. It's hands were hidden in deep pockets. A black cloth covered the back of the person's head, while a white porcelain mask covered it's face. The mask was quite the oddity. It was straight white with no markings. No stylized mouth or nose, just eye holes for the wearer to see through. A pair of yellowed eyes could be just barely seen peering out in the dim light of the fading sun.

The ghoul was Ezra's only companion these days. Although ghouls disgusted him immensely, Tzar had been the servant of his former master, and was now Ezra's. Tzar acted as Ezra's servant, butler, and bodyguard. Tzar was created for combat, and as a result was quite formidable in a fight, no matter the opponent. Together they stalked about Chicago, acting on any orders from the Sabbat as they may receive.

Ezra, though, did wonder why he came to church every week. He was not a religious person in any way, not anymore at least, and not a wholehearted member of the Sabbat. He went more out of routine then out of necessity. Every time he went he asked himself why he was there, and every time he did not have an answer. So, just like now, he would walk away from the church wondering why he ventured in there every week, and like always he would not have an answer.

The sun continued to sink. Night was coming, and then it would be time to go to work.

[Ezra Khaine]

The scream, it pierced the night air like a knife through paper. People opened their windows and gazed out into the gloom, trying to locate the originator of the sound. They would see nothing, because they were looking in all the wrong places. Sound was a strange and wonderful thing, but the way it could bounced off one wall, then off another, could make the difference between thinking it came from behind or in front of you. In truth, the scream came from a nearby alley way, dark and secluded, with no witnesses, save for those in the alley, and there was only two still breathing.

Ezra slowly pulled the thin, straight blade from the man's chest, using the same individual's shirt as a means of cleaning the blood from the blade. The blade was then returned to it's place inside the hollow shaft of his cane, a long slender black object that was always found at his side despite having no apparent handicap. It was simply an excuse to carry a concealed weapon in public, one that no one expect. Cane swords were considered archaic and a thing of the past. People today were also too kind-hearted to ask if he was really crippled or not, in case he was and such a question could hurt his feelings. As long as he steered clear of airports, he was fine and unmolested, and when trouble arose, as it always did, he would always have a weapon at the ready.

Turning away from the body, Ezra inspected the rest of the alley way, which was littered with an additional four bodies, making a grand total of five dead men. Each was armed with a collection of knives and firearms and wore Kevlar vests under their clothes, but most of all, each had a silver ring encircling a finger; a ring that had a stylized closed fist engraved into the rounded head of the ring. Members of the Silver Fists.

Each ring was mostly constructed of non-precious metal with silver mixed in, so that in the case that they should be devoured by a werewolf, the rings would have the change of causing problems during digestion and causing internal bleeding. Pity that their guile was wasted when in came to vampires. No wooden stakes, no holy water, nothing more flammable then a few matches or a lighter. Clearly these men had not been prepared for vampires, but rather for werewolves. The silver bullets found in their guns could attest to that theory.

Without a word, Tzar began to line the bodies up against the wall, strip their weapons away, and then, using their own matches and lighters, set fire to the bodies. Ezra was sure to stay a safe distance away. While Tzar went through the ammunition clips of the deceased, pulling silver bullets out when he found them and putting them away in a bag he acquired from the deceased, Ezra was busy cleaning up his appearances, doing what he could for the droplets of blood that stained his coat. Thankfully, the dark hue of blood hid well in the darkest cloth. On discovery of a broken shard of mirror, Ezra began checking his face, fixing his hair and checking for blood droplets despite the fact that he, in fact, did not cast a reflection. Oh, the pains of the Lasombra.

"Time to go," He said, before turning about and heading for the end of the alley way, which would permit his access back to the street. Behind him, Tzar was carrying the bag of silver bullets, and behind it lay many unused bullets spilled out on the floor of the alley. The Silver Fist only put a silver bullet in for every five rounds, depending on the firearm, so that he could conserve their silver ammunition and not waste too much silver should they come in contact with non-werewolf adversaries. So clever, yet so foolish.

"We have more work to do tonight," He told Tzar, who merely nodded it's head and followed after him as they entered the street and headed down the concrete side-walk. Behind them could still be heard the crackling of burning bodies.