Night had fallen, and every door of Branbury City was locked and barred, the inhabitants huddled inside for fear of what the night brought.
Rather, the intelligent citizens were; the tavern up the street was still lit and filled with the sounds of partying and heavy drinking.
Over the din of raucous laughter and loud music, of obscenities and the clanking of glasses, one man staggered outside to make a drunken trudge home. With a head filled with good spirits of both kinds, he muttered drunkenly to himself as he walked along.
The streets were dark and fog's tendrils clutched at the lampposts so rarely lit, at the corners of houses as though seeking to gain entry. But little mattered to the man, and he walked without concern for anything.
Suddenly, he stopped and sleepily looked behind him. Dimly, his mind registered having heard something, but he pushed those thoughts away and continued his staggering. Oblivious to the horror darkness held.
Behind him, soft boots made barely a sound against the rough cobblestone of the streets. A dark cloak moved soundlessly as the wearer strode through the fog, as if he were a part of it. Pale eyes shone with cruel anticipation and blood red lips twisted into a smile more predatorial than human. The smile of a killer.
"A tad foolish to walk the streets at night... is it not?" The man was struck sober suddenly. He wheeled in terror and screamed...
