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*translated from German**
1645 - Cologne, Germany...
"No more arguing." The young mother, Claramond, reprimanded her child. "You go straight to sleep or else the bogey man will sneak in and snatch you up from whence you stand."
The young girl perhaps would have taken her mother far more seriously had she not been able to recognize the twinkle of amusement in her mam's eyes and the twitch at the corner of her full, lush lips, betraying her own amusement at the fanciful, colorful tales used to scare children into behaving. Her own mother had used these very same tactics against her when she was but a little lamb herself. The key difference was, she believed her mother then, and nothing bad had ever happened to her. So how could she take the threats of the bogey man seriously when used against her own child?
Her daughter, Amalie, simply nodded, playing the role of the dutiful child and once satisfied, her mother gave her a loving kiss atop her scalp and stood up. The young matriarch tucked her child snugly under her blankets and leaned over to blow the candle out with a soft breath. The room was immediately enveloped in darkness and she walked across the room to where her husband waited.
"She sleeps?" Jürgen asked of his wife, and she answered with a prim nod.
"She will." Claramond answered. "Though for how long is but a guess. I suspect she will be up the moment I shut this door."
Jürgen could only shake his head as the door closed gently behind them and the parents headed off further into their home to finish their nightly duties before they too could call an end to this day and rest as well.
Claramond's 'prediction' indeed came true as the very moment the door closed, her daughter peaked above the wool blanket she wore over her body to stave off the night's chill and watched carefully for any signs that her parents were waiting just outside. Parental trickery, perhaps.
Once satisfied that her parents would not be returning any time soon, Amalie decided that she could risk just a little more play before she 'really' went to bed as her mother wished. It was all fun and games in the end, and children even in such an age were apt to a bit of mischief. What harm could it really bring? She sat up, pushing her blanket off of her upper body and paused, allowing her eyes to grow a bit more used to the darkness so where the purity of the night grew a bit more accustomed to her vision and grays took over where blacks once were.
She glanced over to where her dolls were on her wooden chair. The very same dolls that her beloved father carved for her and her mother worked long to fashion beautiful garments for them to wear. Amalie decided her own 'babies' should be put to bed as well -- her bed, as a matter of fact, and she used her small legs to scoot the blanket the rest of the way off and she slid quietly to the side of the bed. She tried to use her toes to feel for her slippers but was unable to locate them. Frowning, she leaned a little over to look down at the hard floor but did not see them.
How very odd, she thought privately to herself. That was where she remembered taking them off -- or did she? She shook her head. She must be getting forgetful in her tender old age of eight. She then slid from her bed and she made a face of discomfort as her bare feet met the cold boards of her meager homestead.
I believe we are all familiar with that very uncomfortable feeling of our own bare feet greeting a cold floor first thing in the morning, yes?
Amalie shuffled her feet across the boards and around the corner of her bed to where her dolls were laying carefully in place against the back of her rocking chair. She approached them and shook her tiny finger in their direction.
"You heard mama."She whispered with utmost care in the hopes her mam and papa would not overhear. "It is bed time. That means you as well."
The scooped the three dolls into her arms and turned around toward the bed to place them on the down pillows that she would rest her own head onto. Fixing them just so, she drew her blanket up a little higher and covered her dolls so they too would be warm. Satisfied and smiling as only a child might, she turned to walk around the bed (so as not to disturb her dolls' sleep!), she saw something from the corner of her eye.
Her favorite slippers were over across her room, at the door of her small closet. Now how in the world did they get there? Perhaps her mother placed them there when she was struggling to get her to bed? Yes. That must be it. Amalie tip toed across the floor to her closet and leaned against the frame of the door to slip her toes into the slippers when the burlap sack was thrown over her body, enveloping her.
From within the small house, the child's cry was too easily heard. Sharp, fast -- and then it was over. Her mother dropped the ladle from the pot of soup she had been warming up for her husband's dinner. Claramond's eyes grew wide at the sound and she dashed from the kitchen and into the hall where she almost ran into her husband!
"Amalie?" Jürgen questioned and her mother shook her head.
"She's out of bed again." Claramond spoke with a hint of anger in her voice."She fell most likely in the dark!"
The two young parents hurried across the hall to the closed door that was only one of four rooms in the small home. They opened the door and Jürgen stepped inside first, holding the candle aloft so that they might see.
But there was nothing. Their daughter was simply ... gone.
"Amalie!"
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Andrei cast his eyes outward and was met with the collective stares of no less than thirteen men and women, each with the matching attire of their own clan. He did not known the name, and they had not offered it to him, nor to Nicolai, his brother in arms if not blood. Nicolai also stood at the forefront of the hut's entrance and he squinted beneath the hat he wore on his head.
"Will you allow us in?" Nicolai asked, attempting to shield himself further from the rain that fell from the heavens above. "Or would you prefer to watch us drown outside?"
"Spoiled for choices." Andrei said in a coarse whisper and he stepped back to allow the door's entrance for each of the 'guests'. "Come in and be welcome."
"My thanks." Nicolai said in kind, but each of the thirteen men and women who followed him inside said nothing.
They could all but feel the mistrust from the young Romani, even toward those of his own kind. Gypsies, yes, but these thirteen were something more. Something that in many parts of the world, cast them in shadow and doubt, and in some cases, might see them burned alive by the masses of the God Jehova.
Once inside, Andrei closed the door behind them and locked it, a simple precaution of habit, if nothing else.
"Forgive me." He said as he started to collect the wet coats and shawls from each of the visitors. "I admit you have caught me unaware. Nicolai failed to inform me that there would be so many."
"I spoke of a special coven, Andrei." Nicolai smiled at the young man he had known since childhood, and the one his own parents had helped to raise into manhood once his family had been ... taken. "That would speak of numbers to you, surely."
Andrei sighed and turned to the gathered number of men and women and looked them over. They were cold, that much was obvious. Their bodies shivered from the rain and chilled air no matter their attempts to hide it from him.
"I was just sitting down to a meal." He offered as was tradition. "I have not enough seats but as luck would have it, I am certain I have plenty for all to eat. Will you join me?"
Their stares as a group were unnerving, but Nicolai swore by their character and that should be good enough for him. Their eyes shifted ever so slightly toward one another until the one whom stood in front, an aged matriarch of a woman with her iron gray hair tied back in a long braid, took the initiative.
"We accept your hospitality, Andrei of the Clan Dalca." The elder of the coven spoke. "May we feast this night as friends for it may very well be our last."
Brazil - 2013
The time was drawing near where the task was to occur. The meeting of six men -- three teams -- over a common goal; the Sin City Wrestling Tag Team Championship. Only five of the men saw this task as one of glory. Another saw it as something else entirely. Something akin to a piece of cheese for in which to lay the trap.
Night had already fallen across the city of Brasilia and the hour grew later to where the people had all but disappeared into their homes and hotels. Cars were few but still seen passing down the city streets, leaving shadows in their wakes in the alleys between buildings.
It was in one of those very alleys that a pale figure stood nestled in the comforts of the shadows around him, no fear at all in his heart for the dangers of being out so late. Rather, he himself permeated the sensations of terror from his very aura so potently that just drawing near this alley would be enough to make the average citizen or tourist wish to turn around and head in the opposite direction without truly knowing or understanding why.
"I admit a hint of surprise." Brother Grimm stated as he stared into the goblet filled with the thick, crimson fluid. "You said you would not be attending this little get together in Brazil. Why the change of heart? Did you not trust me enough to gather your little gift on my own?"
He smiled at the contents of the goblet as the fluid seemed to ripple.
"Ridiculous. Have I disappointed you yet with my gifts? I do go to great lengths to see you satisfied."
The ripples stopped and a bubble rose to the thick surface of the liquid and popped, sending soft droplets of the life fluid against the rim.
"Of course. It is, after all, only right for all you have done for me."
The liquid started to churn slightly and Grimm leaned back against the brick wall of the abandoned warehouse he stood against.
"I have not had much time for my own spoils. I have kept myself quite busy, watching the others. Goth is as you said; an intriguing individual. I look forward to seeing just how well we might work together for a common goal. He seems somehow, different, than the average mortal. Perhaps one day you would be so good as to explain to me ... why him?"
Brother Grimm tilted his head to the side and made an expression of sarcastic goading.
"Oh, how unkind of me. To use the term 'good' in anything to do with you."
The frothing turned almost to a boiling point and Grimm rolled his eyes and shook his head.
"It makes little difference to me of the others. They are but mere insects in the path of a storm. The champions have already made themselves look like insipid fools with their immature banter and name calling. Their own false claims betray the fact they know nothing of what to expect from Goth and myself."
He looked up away from the chalice's contents and smiled in a way that would spoil fresh milk.
"Indeed. One-half of these 'champions' has already proven himself to be quite insane with his ramblings. Kevin Carter, I believe is his name proper. To hear him talk, one would think he had Goth and myself confused with this little vendetta between Goth and Kain."
Grimm shook his head.
"No, I think that only proves that he does not take our team very seriously, or at least, he does not take 'me' seriously. He is more like his partner than he might care to admit, at least in that regard. Carter has seen Goth more often than he has me. He is obviously one of those that believes that the tales of the 'boogey man' are just that; fanciful tales. Perhaps I will make use of his own words, and what he accused Goth and myself of being. Physical transgressions never were of much use, but it could easily be a way to let him know I am anything but a myth."
Grimm frowned and looked into the goblet again. A sneer crossed his lips.
"I would have thought when one reaches your age, maturity was a given. Then again, nobody can blame you. Powerful though you may be, you are yet mortal."
Almost as immediately as the words left his mouth, Grimm started to cough violently and he lurched over at the waist and spit out something bloody into the palm of his hand. He held it up under the dim lights of the alley and saw it to be a razor blade.<./I>
"I stand corrected." He grimaced, wiping his bloodied mouth on his sleeve. "You do seem to have something of a keen sense of humor at that. Perhaps you can make use of it when I bring you that gift I spoke of. The soul of the hidden one. Lucian Frost? Once I dispatch him of his partner, he should be a relatively simple one to collect upon."
Brother Grimm looked up as he heard the soft approach of footsteps at the mouth of the alley. Two shadowed figures stood there momentarily before they turned around and scurried off. Pedestrians who thought they might brave the very warnings their bodies screamed toward them. It did not last. It never did.
Grimm glanced back down and shook his head.
"No, it was nothing." He stated. "I am certain. The hunters never arrived in Brazil. I swear, they have gotten lazy during the time of my imprisonment. I can recall times when they were a reason to make even one such as myself give cause for concern. I had hoped these physical endeavors would bring to mind the thrills of the hunts of the past. So far I have been vastly disappointed. Goth would be a challenge indeed for me to overcome, but he is to stand by my side so that is not to be. Kain and Baldwin are the only two who I believe it wise to keep a close watch on. Inside of the ring, at least."
He brought the cup above his lips and savored the bitter, copper aroma of what was inside. His eyes were closed for but a few moments before they opened once again and his calmness seemed to be the most dangerous aspect of his nature on this night.
"Everything will go according to plan. You will get what you wish. Just make certain you are able to return the favor. You know what I want."
That being said, Grimm extended his arm out and turned the cup over, spilling the contents from it to the ground below. He gave it a hard shake, then tucked it snugly into the folds of his attire and pushed himself off of the wall he rested against. He glanced around the alley, then turned and walked off toward the shadows, stepping over the body of the homeless man that stared with open eyes -- and an open throat.</size></color>
