A Visit
Melchiah sneered when he heard the warning horn; it was a low bleating that was like insectoid feet on his eardrums, the Zephonim approaching. In all reality, this method was mere formalities and more for the Human slave-warriors than actual use to the vampires, with the power of the Whisper reaching a substantial distance. Runners were preferred, anyway.
"Why are they announcing their approach?" Odilia, third in Melchiah's retinue, questioned with a quirked brow.
"To vex me." Her lord breathed out, passing his notes and logistics to Seppel as he rose from his seat to meet with his brother and entourage. At his back, most of the guard slipped at his back in a three-to-three wedge formation from his flank. The dying afternoon rolled off his thick fabric shroud. A soft irritation rubbed at his side, a mere reminder of the assassin that tried for his life a couple nights ago.
At the foremost west of his camp, the Zephonim were mounted on their charmed horses. A good twenty-five, layered in cloak and leather armour. Few wore the platemail among his brother's menagerie, holding spears bearing his developing sigil; a poised spider on a dust-grey banner bearing the imperial star.
And of course, Zephon was front with his beautifully bred horse. She was Willendorfbred, a lineage of shire horses that was stubbornly held truth by binding laws and reinforcements. Out of the whole group, Melchiah approached and greeted her first with a palm. Humorously, she neighed and greeted him in turn with familial affection. Huffing the spices clinging to his palm while he looked up to the thin-smile and mischievous squint of his sibling.
"Did you ride well, Brother?" He asks while petting the mare's nose with his thumb. "It has fared better with your thorough hold, the nights been quiet?" Zephon questioned in turn, and the youngest of Six grunted. "The nobles are well-rooted and pay their fodder well with the whip and coin. I think even the pest of bandits has found their spines in interrupting some of our patrols."
On that, Zephon made a jovial little cackle. He was as amused as Melchiah to the point of selfish murderous cutpurses recognizing the threat that they'd stop their deviance for a greater 'good' of their fellow man.
"Prayhaps, Brother. I can extend some of my finer hunters in the endeavour? They are well-accustomed to such lesser prey in my part of the wood. Former sheriffs and all." Zephon offered. Melchiah's cold yellow eyes looked up at the tall figure doubly-layered in his cloak and leather armour. A moment's thought before entertaining this one allowance of joint occasion.
"Prayhaps." Melchiah answered. It wasn't a no.
