Chapter 1 - The Vampire-Elf

Chapter 1

Jareth slowly walked through the empty hall, careful to avoid making any noise that might signal his presence, and cautiously made his way toward the grand stairway. Using the shadows to his advantage, he had been able to pass by the oblivious guards and enter the mansion with ease. Despite the foreboding grandeur of the palace’s exterior, Jareth was pleasantly surprised to find the building so easy to navigate, even without a floor plan.

As he approached the magnificent stairwell that would lead him to the general’s bedroom, Jareth heard a noise coming from the basement. Although it was muffled and fairly distant, it sounded much like the tiny patter of feet. Being an elf already gave him exceptional hearing but the fact that he was also part vampire heightened his senses astoundingly. Not wanting to be found, Jareth quickly moved into the shadows behind an expensive antique vase, and crouched down low as he rested his back against the base of the stairwell.

While waiting for time to pass, he couldn’t help but notice the railing that lead up the endless staircase. With its dazzling shine, Jareth could tell that it was made of solid gold, a very expensive investment even in a time where the mineral had been in abundance. If so much wealth had been invested into an insignificant stairwell, Jareth couldn’t help but cringe at the thought of how much the shining silver vase in front of him was worth. He detested the thought of how much money these dignitaries wasted on meaningless possessions.

After what seemed like a sufficient amount of time, Jareth slowly rose to a stance and began to make his way back up the empty stairwell. He figured the noise must have been a cat or some other pet, and scoffed at himself for wasting so much valuable time. Jareth needed to finish the job before sunrise because without the darkness, his cover would be blown in an instant. Jareth’s unholy roots provided him with superior stealth in the night, and even though he did have the ability to go out in the sun unlike other vampires, it always left him with a sense of unease. Plus, it just didn’t seem logical to do his job during the day.

Jareth had never really gone looking for his job, it more so came to him. Being half vampire made employers wary of his intentions, and so he had never been able to find steady work. Because of his condition, Jareth lived a secluded life with no family or friends. In fact, his own parents had abandoned him when he was an infant, and if it weren’t for an old man who brought him to the shelter, he wouldn’t be alive today.

As Jareth crept through the mansion past countless statues and riches, he couldn’t imagine ever living such a luxurious life. Still scarred from his childhood, Jareth could vividly remember the day of his twelfth birthday when he decided to leave the shelter and fend for himself. The village streets were cold and unforgiving, and finding work was almost impossible for someone of his status. Jareth wandered from village to village finding the odd generous soul who would offer him room for a night at best. But in most cases he would end up taking shelter in the back alleys, ever watchful for vengeful thieves desperate for money, and never fully letting himself succumb to sleep.

If it hadn’t been for Belward Arborshate, Jareth would still be living on the streets and scrounging rats for food (he vowed to never feast on humanoid blood). “You’re something special boy,” Belward had said. Seeing Jareth’s condition as an asset, Belward offered him a job and for the past four years it had been his primary source of income. And now Jareth stood at the top of the stairwell, about to complete another of his routine assignments.

The hall in front of him seemed endless. Lined with countless doors, each one appeared just as stunning as the next. Eyes attune to the dark; Jareth navigated his way past the many side tables and grandesque statues. He crept along the wooden floors and noticed the numerous portraits of General Darksbane that lined the stone walls. Each one had the general posed with his riches and bearing a vain expression on his face. How conceited can one man be? Jareth thought to himself. He had the sudden urge to destroy the portraits one by one, but remembering the task at hand, he tactfully pressed on.

Jareth stopped at the enormous door at the end of the hallway. Like the railing on the stairs, it too was made of solid gold, and to add to its magnificence, intricate elven designs had been carved into the frame; a project that would have taken years to complete.

To Jareth’s luck, the door had been left slightly open. His only problem now would be opening it without the creak of rusty hinges, but with the quality of this door it didn’t appear that this would pose much threat.

Before entering the room Jareth made one last check to make sure his dagger was still in the brace around his ankle where he always concealed it. He took it out of the leather sheath and lightly ran the blade across his index finger. It wasn’t a valuable dagger by any means, but it was sharp. Sharp enough to draw blood at the slightest touch. To Jareth, the blade was irreplaceable and to lose it would be a tragedy, especially after everything he had been through with it. His job demanded that he work with precision and his dagger had always accomplished this.

Jareth carefully began to push the door. As he expected, not a single squeak came from the hinges, and for this he was grateful. When the crack was just wide enough, Jareth slipped though and crouched low against the wall. The room was enormous. To his left was an antique bookshelf large enough to house an entire library. Rows and rows of books lined the shelves; too many for one man to read in an entire lifetime. A blood red rug made of the finest elven fabric covered the majority of the floor, and a great marble wardrobe stood majestically to his right. In the centre of the room was a large canopy bed where the general was sound asleep.

Jareth once again retrieved his dagger and he carefully crept toward the bed. Stooped over the man, he watched as the satin sheets, gracefully draped over his sleeping body, moved faithfully to the pace of his rhythmic breathing. Norgeon Darksbane was co-general of the wood elve’s merciless army; an arrogant man who cared naught for his troops and whose greed prevented him from starting a family.

Jareth thought back to his time on the streets when he witnessed the horror of General Darksbane firsthand. It was late at night and Jareth had camped out in an alley just outside the village, when he saw the general walk up to a shabby house not more than eight feet away. It had all seemed entirely surreal to Jareth as he watched the brutal scene unfold. The general had forcefully stormed into the house and just ten minutes later, burst back into the street dragging a terrified woman in one hand and a sobbing boy in the other. The screams from the slaughter that followed still bellowed painfully through Jareth’s ears. As he stood patiently next to the general’s sleeping body, it took all the strength he had to maintain his composure. The fact that Darksbane was such a hated man helped to ease Jareth’s mind of the task at hand.

So as not to make any noise, Jareth steadied his anxious hands and planned his actions. He needed to carry this out in a clean and timely fashion. If the cut were unclean, the general could awaken and even the slightest noise could ruin Jareth’s cover.

Despite the belief that most of his victims deserved their fate, Jareth couldn’t help but detest this part of his work. The world had been saved of hundreds of tyrants and lowlifes since the day he had started this job, yet each time Jareth still felt his self-disgust. Just another part of the job he told himself.

With the shadows still flawlessly concealing his face, Jareth lowered the dagger to just inches above the general’s exposed neck. He examined the soft flesh and accurately picked out the most vulnerable point. Pushing all guilt aside, Jareth took one clean sweep of the blade across the general’s bare neck, as the blood instantly began to spurt through. The cut was clean. So clean in fact, that General Darksbane had not even awoken from his now eternal slumber.

With the slightest hint of guilt and not a trace of blood on his clothing, Jareth put away his dagger and dashed toward the bedroom window, successfully completing another night’s work.