Soul-Hunter
Agron sat in his office at the very top of the stone Palace's highest Tower. They called it the Bird's Nest. The walls were round and made of perfectly carved marble with large, glassless windows on every side. From here it was rumoured that Agron could oversee the entire Empire, from Nubia all the way to the Northlands. Of course, whether this was true or not was debatable, but few ever found out for sure. In the centre of the room was a large oak desk and chair, where he always sat when he was dealing with the affairs of state. One thing Herodir, the messenger, noticed was that it was icy cold in the Tower and regularly would strong winds like the breath of Mulcarn torrent through the windows and into the chamber. Agron didn't even flinch. The other thing that was noticeable was that the room was meticulously tidy, and the only items on his Lordship's desk was a pot of ink, a quill, and a single document. A raven was perched haughtily upon a wooden stand and looked down at Herodir with disdain, yellow eyes glaring. He had been waiting to receive Agron's attention for almost half an hour and he didn't think he could last much longer in the intense, almost searingly low temperatures.
''Ahem.'' The messenger cleared his throat meaningfully, and Agron looked up from the document, face carefully emotionless.
''What is it?'' He said, his tone as cold as his office. In his ears he could hear the beating of Herodir's heart increase further in pace.
''I have a treaty for you to observe master. It is from the Amurites, they have sent a diplomat to meet with you.'' He said, trying hard to fight the shivers and keep his voice steady. At this word 'Amurite', Agron's eyes seemed to sharpen and he gave the messenger a scrutinising stare. Herodir avoided making eye contact and stood uncertainly for what seemed like an age, until Agron nodded silently. ''I will talk with him in the morn'' At this Herodir walked up to the desk and handed him the document before turning back to the tall oaken door in haste. He grasped the door handle hurriedly and tried to open it but it wouldn't budge.
''You will stay'', said Agron darkly. Herodir turned round to face him, and saw that Agron now motioned to a small wooden chair in front of one of the windows that he could have sworn had not been there a moment ago. He sat upon it and felt the cold breeze from the window burst down his tunic, chilling his spine.
They sat in silence for several minutes. The raven, who's name was Fig, shifted uncomfortably from leg to leg, as if in impatience, before taking flight in a burst of black and grey feathers. A moment later it was perched in the rafters of the Office ceiling, from which it watched Herodir intensely. Outside, the sun was setting, and the temperature sharply dropped even further. Fits of shivering overcame Herodir's fear of his Master, yet still, when he spoke his voice was little more then a whisper, ''Please sir, it is icy cold.''
Agron looked down on him, and suddenly Herodir was filled with fear, a longing to escape from this vile imitation of a man. His eyes shone momentarily with a pupil-less, pink glare, but it faded as instantaneously as it had came and Herodir began to doubt if it had really been there, and not simply a creation of his own over-active imagination. Agron's expression was stern, sinister almost.
''Remove your clothes.''
''Wha..?'' Herodir began, but stopped himself. He stood and carefully removed his tunic. He paused hoping this would be enough. Agron continue to stare in a way that seemed almost invasive, as if he could see his thoughts. He probably could, Herodir considered as he undid his belt and let his loose-fitting trousers fall to his ankles. He stepped out of them and stood, submissively, in his loincloth.
Agron stood up from his chair and paced slowly towards him. ''I said remove your clothes.''
''Master!'' He protested desperately, knowing that some vampires grew bored in their immortal lives and had turned to alternate ways to entertain themselves then a friendly game over the Mereena Board. Agron stopped inches from his face, his eyes were pink again, but this time the colour held, remained. Agron reached down and loosened his loincloth, pulling it away and leaving his blue thighs bear. Agron's eyes flared brightly with the pink light, as he pushed Herodir to the floor with inhuman strength. He looked down on him with a smirk and called to Fig, who fluttered down from the ceiling and grasped the man's clothes in its long talons. It flew out of the window and returned several minutes later, talons empty. Agron returned to his desk and continued reading the document. It was entitled ''The Treaty of Acaia.'' Herodir's chair had vanished, he had lost his Lord's favour. He sat upon the cold marble floor which looked and felt like a slab of pure ice.
''The dogs want Acaia!'' Agron declared angrily, Herodir was unsure whether it was directed at him or not, and so remained silent. Agron looked up from the document towards the man cowering on the floor beefore him, as if searching for a response.
''Are you cold, mister Herodir?'' He said, calmly.
''M-m-master, I-I am like ice.'' He shivered in reply.
''Remarkable, you have survived a long time indeed. Many would have perished from the cold.'' His tone was matter-of-fact and without compassion.
''Th-thank you Sir.''
Agron walked over to him, apparently he had lost interest in the treaty. ''Stand up.'' He commanded the servant. Agron looked him up and down, his skin and lips were noticeably blue and his skin was covered in gooseflesh. ''The Human reaction to cold really is fascinating, you know. Look at yourself.'' Herodir looked at his arms uncertainly. Agron reached down and pulled a thin dagger from a sheath hidden in his cloak. He inspected it vainly for a moment before plunging it firmly into Herodir's flesh. The man's eyes flung open and he fell to the floor squirming. Agron's carefully calculated stab wound had been done in such a way that although it would cause serious pain, it would not kill.
''Remain still man! Do you want me to make a mistake and kill you?'' As he stretched the man out on the floor
''M-M-Master, what are you doing to me?''
''I am looking for your soul.'' He told him simply. Herodir's thoughts swam as Agron made further incisions across his chest and stomach. The pain was intense and overwhelming at times and he drifted into unconsciousness.
When he awoke again it was like a scene from a nightmare. Strewn across the floor was a naked body that seemed to have been opened up and unfolded. The entrails and organs had been scooped out and removed and only the heart remained, still beating strongly in a pool of blood. Suddenly he saw the face and fell to the floor in horror, which to his surprise was several feet further away then he had expected.
''Amazing.'' said a man dressed in the robes of a Priest, watching the actions of the delocalised soul, ''Simply amazing.''
''Will the body survive?'' asked another.
Agron took a moment before answering, he had been stunned by the outcome of the experiment. In all his previous attempts he had found no soul, and he had begun to suspect that the ancient process of Seperation was simply a myth. ''I... I cannot be sure.'' He said, uncertainly, ''We must wait and see.''
''My Lord, it is unthinkably cold in this room.'' said one of the priests, in obvious discomfort, while prodding the cowering soul with his staff.
''My apologies gentlemen, these temperatures are a necessary component of the experiment, souls outside of their bodies are only visible in these temperatures. See the Crystals of it?'' He gestured to the soul. It was true, the creature did indeed appear to be assembled from tiny crystals, like snowflakes. Frozen Aether. ''Of course, now you can surely see their potential for use? Assuming we can make the process... Efficient.'' The Priests agreed hurriedly, it was true, the spectres would indeed have their uses...