Disclaimer: You guessed it. I don't own anything. Except my original characters and the plot (which, lets face it, is nothing to write home about) All other things are © their respective owners.

Primeval

The Prologue

The wind moaned along the deserted alleyways and out along the dark main road. It brought with it stinging rain, which drove all but the most hardy of the village's inhabitants into the relative warmth and safety of their homes.

But this wind also brings a deadlier foe. One shrouded in darkness and devilry. His name is known to none, and his appearance only to those who wont live long enough to tell of what they see.

The "Black Wind" he is hailed. For the moaning wind is the herald of his coming, and  despair and sorrow always follow in his wake.

See him now, as he crouches atop a rooftop. Clothed in a midnight cape, he is all but invisible in the night. The wind swirls his flaxen mane around his face, yet he pays no heed to his namesake's deeds, there are more important things on his mind. He is watching the street below, waiting… a movement to his left catches his eye. It was but slight, and gone in an instant; but his eyes are sharp, and adapted to the semi-light of the waning moon.

Dropping silently from his ledge, he steals swiftly through the shadows. He is tall, yet slightly built, and he moves with a cat-like grace, almost gliding across the uneven cobbles of the wide, winding street.  And he makes not one sound.

The one he seeks is just ahead, moving at an uneasy gate, continuously looking over his shoulder, perhaps sensing the presence of his unseen enemy. His name is Nerrol Carrachor; a man with divided loyalties; a dead man.

 He is noisy: cumbersome human feet slapping wetly onto the damp cobbles; panting breath heavy and echoing in the silent air. If he hopes to escape from the "Black Wind" he is sadly mistaken.

 This is too easy.

Quietly, the "Black Wind" turns down a narrow alleyway, he runs its course quickly and jumps lithely atop the wall at its end, a dead-end to some; to him: a short cut.

He allows himself a brief smile. Oh yes, too easy. He can hear the footsteps of his prey, they come closer, quickly though faltering, as if the bearer turns still to see whether he is being perused.

Look not behind you, but above you,  fool.

'Know thy enemy as thy know thy self: his strengths and weaknesses are your weaknesses and strengths. Remember always this fundamental rule.' From his waking moment, the "Black Wind" had been taught this mantra. It had been drilled into him; beaten into him from the first instant he had picked up a sword. And twas sound advice. It had meant his survival many a time, and now- in a very real sense- he lived by it.

Know thy enemy…  he knew this enemy.

This enemy was directly beneath him, and they had stopped, apparently thinking themselves free from danger. It could not be more perfect.

Like a raptor swooping in for the kill, the "Black Wind" dropped nimbly onto his victim.  He landed hard on the man's back, who fell heavily with a muffled cry. The uneven surface of the ground knocked the wind out of Nerrol, but not so out of his attacker, who hit the ground and rolled agilely to his feet- long bladed knife in hand- ere the man could draw breath.

But he did not attack; instead he stood, black cape and golden hair billowing in the wind; and he waited for Nerrol to take to his feet, a sadistic grin twisting his lips. He could have just killed him, but that would have been no fun, he was like a cat baiting a mouse. A very deadly cat.

Nerrol Carrachor scrambled to his feet, clutching his side where it had slammed into the cobbles. He looked up and, espying his aggressor, hastily jerked free his short sword. "Y-you stay away from me, you f-fiend!" squeaked the man, holding his sword out in front of him as if it were a deadly snake.

The dark figure laughed, a soft, silky sound; like a silk kerchief over a steel blade. "Oh come now, Nerrol! I, a fiend? I'm your friend. I merely wish to talk." To emphasise his words, he sheathed his knife, and spread his hands in a gesture of good-will. "Let us speak as old friends should." He took a step forward, arms still outspread

Nerrol took a step back, and raised his sword defensively. "I'm warning you…! Take one step closer and I'll…I'll"

The figure kept on walking. "You'll what, Nerrol? Wave that bent piece of shoddy forge-work at me and hope I'll walk into the blade?" He laughed again, but was cut off as- with surprising agility- the man leapt forward, sword blade arcing overhead: aiming straight for the fiend's heart.

With a cool serenity, the one known as the "Black Wind" side-stepped the man's thrust, and neatly swept his legs out from under him. With a yelp of surprise, Nerrol crashed to the floor. Like lightning, the dark figure was atop him, knife pressed to his throat, leering down at his captive.

"Tsk, tsk" said he, with a shake of his head. "And to think we could have been such good friends too. But you've ruined all that now, haven't you Nerrol?" he pressed the tip of his knife into the man's voice box, drawing a small spot of blood. Nerrol gurgled. "Now," continued the aggressor in a cheery voice. "Here's how it works: I ask the questions. You tell me the right answer, you live. You tell me the wrong one. You die. Simple. Do you understand?"

Nerrol rolled his eyes in reply, but did not speak. "Oh good!" this was said with a bright smile, but there was absolutely no humour in those dark eyes, they glinted maliciously, and then his tone matched his eyes… soft and malignant. The playing around was done. "Tell me where the Yellow Ajun are hiding. I know you know; a man with as many friends as yourself… Tell me!"

He released his death grip on the man's throat, to allow him to speak. Nerrol just lay there panting for a few seconds, staring defiantly up at his captor.

"I tire of waiting, Nerrol" the knife point pricked his throat again and the man wheezed.

"I… I do not know… I- I swear!" he gasped.

The dark figure leaned close to his face, until his mouth was level with Nerrol's ear. "….Wrong answer." It hissed.

Nerrol's scream reverberated off the walls of the dark alleyway, but quickly faded to a muted gurgle as the shadowy form slit his throat with a slow precision; as if delighting in seeing the blood run down the man's neck, and bubble out his mouth in crimson geysers . He smiled, an insane light in his eyes.

A cat who baits the mouse always gets the kill in the end…and more the pleasure for the fun before hand

He glanced down at the blood staining his knife, wrinkled his nose and wiped it fastidiously on the dead man's coat. It was not like he'd be complaining.

Then the figure known by many as the "Black Wind" stood up, listened to the wind for a moment, and then slipped away and disappeared into the shadows of the  night.

There was work still to be done.

*******

A.N: well, that's basically the prologue. Review if you wish. I know it's not very good, but y'know.  Anyway, If you want the next bit: tell me. If you want me to give up: tell me. I'm not telepathic (as much as I like to convince people that I am) SO! I wont know if you don't tell me. ;)

Thank you, I hope you enjoyed.