Kahvatu Varas (Pale Thief)

Till Death Do Us Part

No mortal knows the origin of this creature, nor if she is the only one of her kind or if there are more.

The pale thief, whether by choice or by some terrible fate, is bound for life to a soul mate, a humanoid companion. This bond first becomes apparent at some crisis in the companion's life, often a life-threatening injury or illness. He (or just as often she) becomes aware of a presence at the very edges of perception, a pair of watching eyes, a ghostly form moving through the ethereal mist a thousand miles away, but aware.

From the moment of bonding, the thief is never gone, only distant. The companion can always feel her presence, often her moods, and occasionally, her desires. She longs to be near, but fate keeps them separated. Like any man's true love, in times of greatest need, she is always there. The lower her companion ebbs, the nearer she draws.

Whether this is a source of strength and comfort, or of terror, is unclear. What is certain is that she shows herself, more and more, as the end approaches.

Ja'Rahd, Earl of Sandwitch

The story is told of a human noble who believed himself stalked by an evil spirit. He believed it fed off of his every calamity, so he devoted considerable wealth to the wellness of body and spirit. For many years, he pursued immortality through physical exercise, healthy diet, and positive alchemy.

At last he declared gleefully that he had starved his tormentor to death, for he had ceased to feel its presence. He maintained this belief until well into his 14th decade, when a particularly cold, damp winter brought a sniffle to the nose, a tingle to the throat, and a flush of heat to the temple. As he slowly fell victim to the consumption, he began raving about a soul thief, returned for him once again.

The servants, who had long winked and nodded about his eccentricity, heard disturbing rumor of sightings throughout the manor. A flash of ghostly white, a chill presence. One fateful morning, the chamberlain and two serving maids entered to find the lord simply gone, and in his bed sat a smiling figure, calmly licking her fingers.

Schrodinger, Mad Magister The alchemy box was lidded and locked, the poor li'l kitty inside While it remains closed, nobody knows If she is even alive The volatile mage, love madness and rage infused in the magical pot When opened at last the master aghast found that she was and was not

by DreadClericWesley

Image: "Chimera" by Nonhuman