Night was at it's deepest in the Ruined City, a combination of a new moon and cloud cover leaving the area dark, with sight being contained to short distances. Most people would stay out of the ruins during the day, let alone night time when hidden hazards can catch the unwarey easily. But one perferred the dark to sit amongst the ruins, a Half-Drow, pulsating with the evil arua obtained during Demonic infusion. He was Stirling.

The Infused was sitting on a stone pillar, trying to sort himself out. After the Infusement ritual, he had left the Temple, going out partly on the will of Nota'man, partly to see what he could do now. True, he was a little taller and his muscles were more prominent, but he felt as if he was still lacking power. Patience, Stirling, Patience. I will give you power soon. He was still trying to cope with the Pit Fiend talking to him in his head.

Sighing, the Thief put his head back and calld out to the night sky. "But when? When will you give me all your powers?"

Never. Not all of them. You would die, and I would return to the Abyss. Focus on strengthening yourself, then I will help you.

"Fine." he finally submitted, standing up and picking up his shortbow from where it sat. "I suppose I should find some kind of a warrior, to fight. Hmm?"

Got it in one.

"I'll bet they would be at a tavern somewhere, but there's none around for miles. Ah well, looks like more traveling for now." But Stirling wouldn't have to travel, as a sound behind him made the Infused turn.

Zenoth had been here for days now, sleeping in the Cathedral during the day, wandering outside at night. He knew this place now like he knew the back of his hand. His skin had become deathly white in the past few days as well, making him look wasted, but he was as strong as ever.

He wandered through the city when he saw a stranger talking to himself. He watched from afar for awhile, but then slowly creeped forward, hand on the hilt of his sword buckled at his waist.

He was almost to the stranger when a rock fell from a column, making a loud clunking noise. Zenoth froze when the stranger turned around, knowing he had been spotted.

His glowing red eye peered out from beneath his black hood, staring at the stranger, who stood stock still nearby, hand on the hilt of his sheathed sword. A grin slowly formed onto Stirling's face, concealed by the darkness offered from his hood.

Looks like there will be no travel required after all.

The Half-Drow was tempted to take out several arrows and pummels the strange with them, but decided against it. Instead, he pushed the shortbow into it's hold, behind the scimitar on his back. Close combat is how he would finish this, wheter by dagger or blade. But first, a little chat.

"Evening, good sir. MIght I ask why it is that you have come sneaking upon me, with blade ready?" his ash grey hands were clasped behind his back, standind calmly and relaxed.

He flinched slightly when the being spoke, but quickly recovered. "Good evening. You can never be too sure of strangers, you know. And what would one such as yourself want here, anyways? There is nothing in these ruins, trust me. I've looked around for anything of value."

He still was ready to fight, he could almost feel the fact that they would fight. It almost felt destined to happen, if that could make any sense at all. His only made weapon was his sword, but he could fight with his hands if he must.

The Demonic Infused knew that the stranger was getting uncomfortable, and he enjoyed that feeling of power. No doubt, his newly aquired Evil aura would make him squirm with fear. Moving claser, Stirling pulled back his black hood, letting the little light that there was illuminate his grey features, to toy with his black hair and pink scar.

"I am searching, not for treasure, mind. My business is my own, unless you would like to make it yours, also?" He gave a malicious grin, the tips of his sharp white teeth just appearing past grey lips.

"If you would be any value to you, my name is Stirling Strych." While he was talking, the Thief had been walking slowly closer to the newcomer, and now stopped, barely ten paces apart.

"I look not to make your business my own, unless you wish to make it my own." He smiles slightly, but it went away instantly. He relaxed slightly, but still was ready to draw at a moment's notice.

"Well, my name is Zenoth. Dunno if that's actually my name, but if I find out my real name I will be sure to tell you it."

Zenoth. Hmm. Sounds half familiar. It doesn't matter, however, as it is time for death. Stirling's tongue came out from behind his sharp teeth and traced itself over his dark lips. This was partialy out of excitement, parialy from his vernousness and, for some reason new to him, partialy from hunger.

"Well, it is nice to know your name, Zenoth. And I'm sorry that you don't know your real one." he started, taking a few steps forward. Unconciously, his right hand started to slip upward, to where his scimitar was sheathed on his back. "Unfortuently, you shall never know it. Tonight, your blood shall spill upon ancient stones."

A metalic ring cut through the eerie silence of mid-night, the reverbirating sound accompianing the flash of scimitar steel. A wicked grin drew itself upon Stirling's gray lips, showing his sharp, white teeth again.

"Well, draw your blade, Zenoth. I do enjoy inflicting pain, but I can use the experience."