Semiane stood at the window of his hotel. The sun had set, and the sky was aglow with the rich colors of late evening. Clouds, back lit in bright golden and bloodied hues hung lightly in the sky. All that day, the merchant had not been able to sleep since the explosion rocked the city earlier that day. He had bode his disturbed hours plying for information, finding sources, and seeing if perchance he might get an opportunity to see the site of all the commotion.

	He leaned up against the wall, holding the thick curtains to him as he leaned forward and looked out. Though the sun had set its dying rays still carried a sting that irritated the skin.

	War, or the incitement of violence was not abnormal to him. One does not live for so long in so many places and not bare witness to one's fair share of pogroms, wars, riots, and hunts. He himself before in the past had instigated his own in elaborate schemes and force embargoes against rivals. Ports had been burned and blown up in riots incited over tariffs, or rather pirates had been hired declaring themselves as merchants unwilling to sell first at the privileged ports of the world. So too had he bore witness to the flowering of trade wars into open conflict and passed himself and his company off as mercenaries and swords for hire in brief periods.

	This was only the beginning of the coming conflict, Semiane knew. It could only get worse from here. One side or the other would need material, perhaps both. It mattered little who won, what mattered were the contracts. He smiled to himself and let the blinds fall back into place and the room fell back into darkness.

	He could still however see. Gray highlights of hidden objects, the writing desk, the bed, the dresser and dining table, the wine cabinet and the other amenities to give comfort to guests as prestigious or wealthy as he. Above the door to the room was a full scale bust of the long-ruling king of this realm, his dour face looking out in stoic scorn of the world. Was he naturally a cold person, Semiane wondered, or was this just the fashion?

	He so missed seeing the excitable faces of the Kings of Glascon, far to the south. There was a country that knew the fashion of life. No one frowned in their images, in their simulacra. It was a party, it was a love and lust for life no matter how bacchanalian it got. Oh what skill their artists had, to render the muscles of the face in such active ways! It really did remind him that the north was loathsome for a reason. Dour, dreadful, and gray.

	He drifted back to bed, his mind racing in many different ways. A whore slept there, her back turned to him. He lay down next to her, their naked bodies touched as he drew a hand across her sleeping body, feeling his breasts as her chest rose and fell with each breath. She was a  young one, a premium one, who hadn't lost her mind yet. It made it all the more sweater. But he wasn't in the mood for anything either, thinking too fast never got it to go up. But he could breath her air, draw strength from that, and he lay down to close his eyes and try.

	Semiane didn't know if he actually ever went to sleep. Though perhaps he passed in and out. When he opened his eyes again the sky was dark and night had fallen, and someone was knocking on the door. The whore turned in the bed and looked up and towards the window, shocked. Semiane muttered something about the gold being on the end table and rose to his feet, throwing on a robe as he headed to the door.

	“Your honor, I've managed to clear an opportunity to see the site of today's activities.” the captain from his ship said. His face looked dour and stressed as he looked up at him plantively. He clearly wasn't enjoying being here. Semiane nodded.

	[hr]

	They arrived at the block of the attempted assassination and kidnapping in rent carriages. Guards had already established a parameter, but it was hardly neccesary as most of the towns folk, or those mortal and day living had already retired away or were outright avoiding the street all together. Under the orange glow of torches and the green light of oil lamps an eerie glow suffused the space as broken glass sparkled in the shattered street.

	Stepping out, Semiane's boots were the only sounds to break the silence of that deep silence. His presence sparked the attention of the guards who rose from their idle positions and stood attentively watching him from under the helmets. The ship's captain, with a small sack of coin in hand and a piece of folded parchment approached the nearest officer and exchanging hushed words. Taking the coin, and opening the parchment the nearest guard nodded.

	“'roight y'honor,” he said in a heavy voice, “yer a tourist now.”

	Semiane bowed politely and walked ahead. As he passed the men at arms the ship's captain hurried up to his side. Walking a ways onto the scene the captain finally turned and said to him, “I mean you no disrespect, but why are we here?”

	Semiane stopped, his head held high as he turned to look about. He wore a wide smile as he answered, “I just wanted to check it out.” he said, walking over to the side. Apart from broken cobble stone and glass windows, there wasn't much amiss here.

	“What is there to see here then that we couldn't from further back? Why go through the trouble of asking my to bribe the city guard?” the captain was clearly exasperated. His voice trembled. Clearly not a man of battle, a merchant's captain like many from his city. Was there not a single military action the patricians didn't sell out to mercenaries?

	“Why is it people like to loiter in graveyards?” Semiane asked, “How is they're made to be attractive public spaces, a place for people to be.”

	“Well you're honor, for respect of the dead. And this is hardly respect for the dead right now.”

	“And why would the dead care? They're dead, they are hardly here to take offense. Else, if being where the dead have died were disrespectful then there would be all the reason to stay indoors, and then: people too die in their houses. But you didn't answer my question...”

	The captain murmured as they walked down the street. “I-I don't know.” he said.

	“I think it's because people seek out that membrane between life and death. It's why... people like myself are so terrifying. We're appealing in the end, we're neither living or dead. We are that interregnum between being alive and being dead. And so too are these places that hold such power. For eons, people have gone to the field of battle for such a purpose, to see the limits of life and existence. It's terrible joy.”

	“But... wait, you're a vampire then. Why does this matter to you?”

	“Because it reminds me of when I was human.” he said simply, crouching down in the middle of the street. Here at the epicenter of it all many of the pieces had not been entirely cleared away. Blood still caked the cobblestone streets, splashed against the walls. Semiane too thought he could still see the remnants of flesh hanging from the broken places. Ahead, a crater in the ground was a broken house whose debris had been ejected outward. A dead horse lay crumbled in the middle of the road with a broken carriage. Shreds of clothes and cloth were swept about on the breeze.

	“Smells like gunpowder.” Semiane said, “A lot of it. I wonder who had so much.” he was beginning to wonder if he had a competitor embedded here already. Or there was a persistent smuggling tradition he could take advantage of to slip clandestine material in and out.