#### **Morgan Thrainsson**


Of all humans, Morgan found himself hating that of the guarding type. While some might assume that it was because they were often the bane of his existence when entering a city or merely holding up the good law of whichever province or major gathering of walking bloodsacks (which wasn’t a false assumption), the sniffer hated what these bumbling idiots always radiated: the nasty stench of a week without wash and the swirling, knotted bramble of emotion. Even so, the slight disgusted crinkle of his nose would once again be hidden by his mask, something he always appreciated about his facial apparel. 

**”What’s going on here? Nobody moves! You—!**

The guard’s words were harsh, accusing - typical. Morgan’s fist already tightened around his weapon, its planted tip a second from leaving the earth and placing a crater into the left side of the speaking guard… A sudden burst soul-like energy radiated from all the present guards, causing a sharp pang to appear in the left side of Morgan’s head: fear, surprise, anger sweltered from their bodies. While the pain would be ignored with a small roll of the shoulders, Morgan focused himself to observe the energies of his temporary allies.  

A name was mentioned, one that Morgan could only assume was the penin. *’I’on…’’* With great difficulty, the vampire quelled the urge to take violent action against those who represented the law. Granted, I’on had only received a mercy due to the fact that the three had formed a unspoken (if albeit shaky) alliance. However, these pieces of scum should not. I’on’s retorting explanation caught Morgan’s attention and again, his normally blank expression was disturbed by irritated twitch of his nose. *Not a fan of subtly, are we?’*

Not only had the penin brought attention to two that meant to stay hidden and without identification, he had also trapped them inside of the city’s limits, as well as binding them to a place of living. *’It seems one has only lived within the limits of society - excellent.’* The sniffer observed sarcastically, irritation smoldering into anger. Morgan gave a side glance to the red hooded mercenary - annoyance was twitching within his energy, *’But is he angered enough to the point of violence?’* Red eyes locked back to the guards, particularly the one who had addressed their small group. His authoritative stance, his puffed out chest, his glaring eyes - all of it too familiar and all too unwelcome. Memories of the Seclyrian Army began to sneak into his mind’s eye, threatening the sniffer mercilessly. The thought of the logical, calculating sniffer began to merge with that of the beast within:

*
‘Is this a trap?’
‘Come along, sniffer!’
‘I am surely one to be assumed cautious with my identity, am I not?’
‘Move it, bloodhound! Time to do your job!’
‘Is he attempting to set a trap?’
‘Where are the magic uses, dog? Tell us!’
‘He is with the law, he can’t be trusted.’
‘You’ve put us behind schedule, sniffer! You know what that mean, yes?’
’This is too simple - he’s with them.’
‘You’re sorry, you say?! Sorry doesn’t get those soldiers back, dog!’
‘Fight them.’
‘Who’s your master, sniffer?!’
‘Fight them.’
‘Who is it?!’
‘KILL.’*

Years under the harsh treatment of his handlers, Morgan’s mental scars were not so easily forgotten. In his mind’s eye, the butt of a spear or some other blunt instrument hit him, again and again. The vampire began to see red, a guttural growl beginning to rip from the depth of his throat as he took a swift step forward, his knobbed weapon ripping from the stone ground with an audible crack of stone.

If no one reacted quickly enough, Morgan’s left hand would reach for the head of the lead guard’s halberd, viciously yanking it in his general direction. The idea was pull the guard completely off balance, attempting to pull him towards the enraged vampire. If successful, Morgan would complete his first wish - his stave would whip in a horizontal arc, smashing its hide into the guard’s leather armored skull. Morgan’s supernatural strength should have been enough to give his opponent severe blunt trauma, but miracles could happen after all.

However, Morgan would not be finished. Assuming his attack would be successful, regardless of its outcome, the sniffer would perform a spinning crouch, using the disarmed halberd’s haft to sweep the guard to the right off his feet, hopefully catching Morgan’s second target by surprise, due the sniffer’s natural, impossible speed. The idea was to knock the guard to the ground and then move on to the crossbow wielding woman. Using the momentum of his low blowing spin, Morgan’s own crafted weapon would perform a massive uppercut. With any luck, the vampire would be able to catch the woman by the chin with his studded staff before she could loose a crossbow bolt. This, of course, would leave the remaining guard to take action, but Morgan was not concerned with that fact at this point. Only one thought was important:

*'KILL!'*