Sirrah’s life revolved solely around precious objects. Mainly gemstones or jewellery, occasionally treasured personal items…but always, always things with value. It was not a hyperbolic statement; without them, he would fade. He refused to fade like the others did and had. One way or another, he would find what he needed and consume it; restoring his life- his very being- to its full lustre.
Aah, but such an appetite; life was so fleeting- so many precious things to consume to sustain such a short period of time, before he would have to find more. Sirrah had sunk lower than he had ever expected he would be able to.
It was a terrible pity that the man was wearing (and carrying in his pockets) a large amount of gold, and that Sirrah had seen him fight off muggers for it. He had been watching the scuffle, hung upside down from a gutter in the shadows, barley visible; it had been too long since he had last replenished and his form was fading fast. The man- a seasoned traveller by the look of him, had calmly sent the would-be thieves running and had made the fatal error of assuming that they were the only things after him.
“The gold, please.” Sirrah spoke up, concealed. His voice rasped in an unattractive way and he grimaced. The man chuckled throatily and turned to face the alleyway in which Sirrah lurked.
“I need it.” Sirrah said honestly. The man snorted.
“I think not. Were you present to witness the previous lowlifes who tried this?”
“Then you know how much these items mean to me?”
“You understand that if you attempt to relieve me of them, then you will be forced to fight me?”
“You will be killed.”
The man drew his sword and watched the shadows carefully. Silence descended before Sirrah spoke again.
“So…you won’t give them to me?” He asked, in an almost despondent tone.
The man shook his head firmly and focused on the eyes in the shadows; they were a luminescent green, with no pupils and reflected the dim streetlights of the main road.
“…Well…at least I asked first.” Sirrah said simply. The man was not expecting his assailant to move so quickly and to simply lunge forth, unarmed and barely with a physical form. He also did not expect the sudden flash of long, sharp teeth and nails, nor the sudden pain in his chest.
“Don’t cry out.” Sirrah implored. The man’s loud cry turned into a blood-slick gurgle, and he slumped forwards, then lay still.
Sirrah wasted no time.
The watch would soon be upon the scene and he could not afford to be present; they would have mages, they would have summoners, they would have silver. If they had silver, he was as good as dead. The gold was rapidly removed from the body and hastily cleaned of blood- he had never liked the taste. Sirrah gave a small gasp as the sight in one of his eyes dulled and blurred.
He was fading faster than he had been expecting. The gold was hastily stuffed into the shadow’s mouth and swallowed, where it hung in what was most likely the outline of Sirrah’s body. With hoarse pants, Sirrah felt the strength returning to him. Little by little, his form took shape again; a lithe body in plain clothing but one that was wonderfully solid. After so long being merely smoke and shadows, Sirrah laughed deliriously and patted himself down, making sure that everything was intact.
His eyes were, as always, the same reflective green. His hair spiked out at awkward angles, seeming much like he had been dragged through a hedge backwards (which was often not too far from the truth) and was of various colours. A barbed, whip-like tail, curving horns and a pair of flightless tattered wings marked him out (despite his mostly human-eqsue appearance) as what he was; an Incubus. He knew that with no other precious things, he would fade again soon enough and looking like the beast that he was probably wasn’t going to help him in this city. No, no; he would need more. More precious things, or he would fade again; he had let it go dangerously far this time…
A sudden crash made Sirrah yelp and haul himself up three crates before he even thought about it; if he was caught in this form, they’d kill him. Not only for this murder, but for the others. They’d cut him open and take whatever he had consumed…and then they’d send him back to Pandemonium…
“No!” Sirrah hissed, digging his nails into the crate.
He was never going back. However- he had nowhere else to hide; he would have to conceal himself in the shadows again, but without the protection of his shapeless form…Perhaps some other soul would wander by with gems and valuables…then, he could take a human form and evade suspicion…but now, all he could do was wait and watch, and hope for the blessing of lady luck.