Not yet titled

Fermer, Charles as he was known to the mundanes, raced down the dark deserted city street, his black boots thudding loudly on the pavement in his desperate flight from the invisible horrors. He took a sudden sharp turn into a narrow alley, flying through the dark so quickly his hat flew off, releasing his tangled brown hair to the wind. But he could not stop to retrieve his beloved hat. He continued to speed around the corner, only then pausing to catch his breath. He was immortal in that he would not age, but that did not mean he could not killed. He chanced a peek around the corner. To his dismay he saw his pursuers, horrific black dusty shadows, creeping around his hat, engulfing it in their smoky depths. He gasped as someone behind him touched his shoulder. He whipped his head around in alarm, but calmed
down slightly when he recognized the kind face. He was not without his doubts though. The shadows were tricksy; this may not be his friend Teramie at all.

"Would you like me to get your hat for you, Fermer?" She asked with an amused knowing smile.

Fermer eyed her suspiciously. "Can you withstand their horror? I think not. Few can." he said in his slow mysterious voice.

"You forget, Fermer," said Teramie, looking into his narrowed eyes, "I am a sword wielder, a sister of the sun."

Fermer blinked in puzzlement. "I had forgotten..." he said slowly.

Teramie tucked a stray golden curl behind her pointed ear as she walked around the corner towards the hat lying on the ground. She pitied Fermer. He was incredibly handsome, but incredibly insane. She felt his eyes on her, staring intently at her as she calmly walked toward his hat and bent to pick it up.

"Let's go inside." she said as she handed him his hat. He took it, but did not replace it on his head, watching her as she went up the nearby steps and opened the door. Noticing that he had not followed, Teramie looked back. Fermer had not moved. She came back and offered him her hand. Fermer put his hat in it and led the way into the building.

They went up the stairs and entered the apartment on the second floor. An elf with long black hair and side burns was sitting at the old, worn table, leaning over a map. The table was once very elegant, as everything in the apartment, but now
only a shadow of that elegance remained. The elf did not look up when they entered. "See? I told you he was just outside." he said.

"I never doubted you, Veran." said Teramie. Veran looked up at her and raised his thick eyebrows, but did not say anything.

Fermer meanwhile, was glancing franticly about the room. Then without warning, he suddenly dropped flat to the floor. Veran rolled his eyes as Fermer crept over to the couch and flopped down in a corner. He glared with hatred at invisible things in the air before him. His arm went slowly and carefully over the side of the couch, his hand searching for something he counted on being there. Finding what he was looking for, and gripping it tight, his arm zipped out, madly slashing at the air with the knife.

Veran, looking at the map again, held up his hand. The knife flew from Fermer's grasp and sailed through the air to Veran, who caught it by the handle. "We've got to keep sharp things away from him." he said, as he set the knife down on the table, still gazing intently at the map. Teramie looked over to Fermer, but he had already fallen into a troubled sleep.