Forged of Fire, Dwell in Light

[Deacon Hawke]

The angry wind swept harshly across a dusky summer sky, the last light of the setting sun painting scallops of flame on low-hanging slate storm clouds. Deacon paused, his neck craned upward, and gave a silent moment of respectful homage to the display of another force of nature as the long tails of his overcoat flapped like pennants behind him.

He approached the stout gateposts before him and placed his hand on the square stacked granite columns that loomed more than twice his height. These marked the beginning of the iron fence that ran the length of the old estate, each grate was topped with a pike head and spaced so that nothing larger than a cat would have an easy time slipping through . His first order had already arrived; a large iron plate hung from both columns and displayed raised filigree writing. The left quoted the law of the conservation of energy, the right the first law of alchemy. His thin fingers traced the lettering almost reverently before a pained look struck his expression and he pulled his hand back as if stung.

The man G'nort had already provided much of what they'd bargained that evening. His assistant Ms. Yasuke delivered the work contracts and the deed to the lands and old hotel in the Old Market District promptly and hastily, or so Deacon had been told by his associate who was present to receive the documents. Deacon had been out, 'converting' another to the ways of mortality. He had to enjoy these simple moments before things such as the city officials and others who thought they knew better would undoubtedly become involved. Eventually his actions would come under scrutiny and he would need a more stable foothold from which to operate.

The winds whipped the trees into a frenzy as he strolled through the gate and down the cobbled path that led to the front door of the now abandoned hotel. Deacon's brow twitched with annoyance as leaves stuck to the side of his head, pinned there by a stiff gale for a moment before fluttering off. With a grunt, he flung his arm out to the windward side and the debris ceased to be a bother, halting at the threshold of his reach as if hitting a wall. Some of the dryer leaves crackled and smoked as they tumbled off the invisible barrier, past the man and down the windswept path to the other end of the grounds.

His bright green eyes cast upward, he drank in the satisfactory sight of his soon-to-be abode with relish. It was likely G'nort had not known what he was purchasing, the promise of profit was enough to put that sort of person into action without much hesitation, or research. Deacon had mentioned that evening what sort of building it was; sturdy iron and stone framework would provide strength beyond any normal establishment. But he had withheld the history and purpose to the building. In fact, it had been a fortress of sorts long ago, built to house a barracks and prison. The former owner's progenitors had purchased it from the city and sealed off the further underground levels that they didn't use as larders, then built a lavish hotel from once cold stone chambers. It stood three stories high already, which gave it a clear vantage over the neighboring buildings, most of which were shops that stood ramshackle and disrepaired, fools at the feet of their lord. The ones closest to the fence had also been emptied and purchased by G'nort for Deacon.

“It's quite beautiful.” Deacon rasped to Vachon, the tall man padding up the path. Vachon wasn't surprised that Deacon knew he was coming, despite having all the appearances of being distracted by staring at their new tenement. As Vachon neared, Deacon turned to his associate and removed his hands from the deep pockets of his coat.

“Burn it tonight, if the weather allows, from the ground up. Those too,” Deacon gestured to the boarded up shops near the fence, “and keep the flames under control. Our benefactor would be most displeased if we let our demolition efforts spill out of territory we do not own.”

Vachon nodded, his wispy white hair whipping about in the oncoming storm. “If not tonight, then as soon as possible. I've hired a few men of our own to add to those contracted by Mr. Talanador to ensure passers by actually... pass by.”

Deacon nodded and a ghost of a grin perked his lips, pleased by his lieutenant's able thinking. “Once the ashes of all the buildings are cool enough to move, wet them down and have them hauled to the bottom floor of what's left of the hotel. Doubtless I'll have returned by then.”

“If someone should come inquiring as to your activities?” Vachon's expression remained impassive, though to a long-time companion such as Deacon the concern behind the question was evident. Whether it was concern for Deacon or his own standing, the red-haired hunter still couldn't tell, but the fact that it existed at all was heartening.

“In that very unlikely event,” Deacon stressed the 'very', “tell them I am out and you do not know when I will return. It's all true enough, and when I have returned it's unlikely that any living thing will be very willing to enter the grounds for several days.”

The answer seemed to appease the wraithlike man and he withdrew, thumbing his chin as he considered the task before him. By the time he had thought of another question to ask, Deacon had already retired into the quickly descending darkness.