marlowemuses | Elendhaven's Sons

It was a difficult thing to search for someone that no one remembered. Florian gave it up almost at once.

As the plague widened, there was little left in Elendhaven for him, and plenty more vengeance waiting him in the world outside. Mittengelt and Sudengelt had their own crimes to pay for, and Florian intended to have every ounce of flesh that he was owed.

He left the city behind long before the roads were barricaded and the trains stopped running. It was far too late, of course. The plague had long since skipped her borders and scurried south, but it was slow to move and governments were slow to respond. Florian didn't intend to leave these things to chance.

A year passed. Measures had been put into place to slow the spread, but people were the same foolhardy, death-hungry fools they always had been, and so far the disease was as Florian had designed it. Unkillable.

On his way home one night from his adequate lodgings in Sandhurst, someone grabbed him from behind, and there was a sting of pain at his throat.

When he awoke, he was horizontal and covered in blood. There was the distant sound of whistling, and the unhurried caress of fingers digging through his pockets. "Stop that," he snapped. It came out as a wheeze as his throat rebuilt itself. Hallandrette had stitched him up and sent him back to shore, but she'd taken her cost from him, and his healing was slower than Johann's had been. He took that fact as a personal affront.

He'd quite liked this outfit before it had been so rudely bloodsoaked, and he also quite liked his pocketwatch and house key. It would be fully irritating if his mugger did away with them.