The House Of Blood and Dust, Book One: Darkness Rising

The Dark Architect

I’ve always hated the sun, I don’t like spending time within its glaze, but I spend most of the time basking in the rays. Myself and Proditor stand outside of Sallia’s daughter’s house, wearing formal suits, looking like secret agents; the skies are blue and cloudless, the brick house is in Bjhin two hundred miles down the road of Dacasan,

          “I really hate the sun.”

          “It’s only fifty degrees.” He laughs; his eyes showing someone blind but he can walk and move around like any fully able person,

          “How come we have to do this? For all we know she knows nothing of what her father does or we’re walking into an ambush.”

          “Ambush?” He sniggers and coughs. “Do you have to always think negatively?”

          “Not always but working with the black guard has made me see things as evil, messed up shit.” We’ve stood outside the door just staring at the door waiting for an answer,

          “She doesn’t seem to be in.” As soon as he says that, the door opens and she appears, a beautiful dark skinned woman opens the door, her eyes a light brown and her hair matches, she’s wearing a blue  bikini and water is dripping from her skin, Joe’s smile raises and his fingers twitch,

          “How may I help you?”

          “We’re here on behalf of your father... Sallia?”

          “Why what’s happened? Is he hurt?” her brow closes down and she smiles weakly,

          “No your father is fine... we’re here about something may we come in?” she invites us in and Joe walks in behind her, I behind him.

          “Do you mind if I get some decent clothing on... I was expecting somebody else.” She walks up the stairs; I look around examining the house, there’s decorative swords mounted above the fireplace, the fire is dead embers and the smell of chlorine runs through the house, the wallpaper is a cream colour with flowers painted brightly within the cream in the hall; the living room has more of a sophisticated look and feel; there is no television and pictures of her and her father are darted on the mantle place; paintings of landscapes from various different places around the Maderms, mostly grass lands,

          “These painting are something you’d have.” Joe says and I walk over to him to look into the bleak looking painting of an elf, covered in blood in her hands is a baby a black baby within a blue towel, wolves surround them,

          “This is artwork done by an elf artist called Tisni... she was killed by an evil man... a horrible man... by this piece is the rarest one of her works... I’ve tried to fine it but have never. ”

          “Oh why do you think Samara has this?” Joe is staring blankly into the piece of art; a spark of his eye comes back but vanishes soon after,

          “I don’t rightly know... maybe we’ll find out.” Samara comes down and into the living room, she’s wearing a grey hoodie and black denim jeans with white flowery socks,  her hair is still drying and needs the chlorine washed from it. She sits down in a lounge chair,

          “Sit.” We sit on the sofa, “What would you like to know?”

          “We are wondering whether or not you knew what your father did for a living?”

          “Yes I do... my father is a flight attendant.” She’s lying her face tells it but she does not trust us enough,

          “Do not worry we are from the Black guard a secret military organisation formed to help the people and keep the peace.” Joe blurts out well composed,