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Crusaders, an Eerie Streets Tale. Part One. by Eddie HuntSUMMARY: The vampires of old, of legend, are dead. Their descendants are lazy, bloated and far too incompetent to live up to their famed heritage. They feed only on willing victims; prostitutes who charge well for their time and their blood. And, they rely on Huma
The vampires of old, of legend, are dead. Their descendants are lazy, bloated and far too incompetent to live up to their famed heritage. They feed only on willing victims; prostitutes who charge well for their time and their blood. And, they rely on Human watchers to keep them safe. One, however, has the power to restore them, but she is imprisoned by a radical cult of vampire hunters who are as merciless and violent as the beasts they hunt.
From the Mediterranean of the ancient world to Europe in the present day, the Crusaders have kept the vampire at bay and vowed to never stop so long as the beasts still lived. Now their service to this ancient task may be nearing an end, in failure.
Thomas took his time climbing to Tura's feet, he felt little need to rush to his rendezvous. The stone goddess to the dead was already staring down at him with inquisitive eyes set amid cracking concrete that was overgrown by decades of neglect. A gentle rain that had been threatening all day was finally finding it's way to earth through a strong wind from the east, and on occasion his footing was lost on the damp grass and loose mud. The soles of his jeans were already soaked through several inches up his leg and his light, black tee provided little warmth. He'd left his jacket in the car, as he had done his cell phone, keys, wallet and fear.
He could see Damien in the distance, he was already seated at their arranged meeting point beside Tura. Thomas' hand moved to the small of his back to check if... He stopped himself, he knew that everything he needed was on his person.
The old Crusader got to his feet as soon as his trance was broken by Thomas' approach. 'You're late' he commented, his thin, bloodless lips barely moving, 'I would have though they could find someone with a hint of punctuality, given the importance of our little encounter'.
'I've been enjoying the view' Thomas replied. Their eyes didn't meet, nevertheless they both glanced up at Tura.
'Do you know who she was?' Damien asked, then impatient for a reply, answered his own question, 'She was one of us. A born Crusader, not a recruit like us. She was captured when she was only a teenager, hence her youthful beauty despite her age', he pointed to the face that was wrinkled only by discrepancies in stone. 'She gave birth to the Watchers. She gave birth to our little incarnation of this profession'.
Thomas studied Tura's face with interest. He hadn't known who she was, only that she was. Or at least had been, opinions were mixed. 'That's why they worship her?' he asked.
'They don't worship her' Damien replied, 'Not anymore, not since we found her. But no, that isn't why they praised her. I'm sure someone will tell you why someday'. He moved a few steps from her feet, 'Tell them the meeting is still going ahead'.
'You've heard from King then?' Thomas asked, cautious not to push Damien into revealing more than he wanted to. The old man stared absently to the horizon for a few seconds, his mind churning some way of keeping up his fondness for speaking in a less than plain manner, 'The dead have made contact with the semi-dead' he finally replied.