I'm not sure of the dates of these stories, but Chuck, Scott, Chris, and I posted different parts of the story over a few months time. We regretably never finished telling it, but I though it nice to resurrect it and post it here. It's a long read:

(Tickets may be purchased at the door...)

The street was empty except for a tall, lanky figure in a long trench coat. The clicking of his boots on the pavement was the only sound to be heard, a cold echo in a concrete canyon. He paused under a streetlight for a moment, looked up, then quickly stepped out of the circle of light and into the shadows. Shrinking back against the cold wall, his hand strayed to the hilt of the sword beneath his coat. His heart raced and the adrenaline began to flow through his body, but it was not fear that moved. It was the memory of countless battles, lives taken and friends lost.

Strangely enough, he did not feel the quickening of his soul that indicated the presence of another immortal. Yet something was out there, something very ancient and very evil--something he had encountered before. He pushed the flap of his coat aside and took the hilt of his sword, the blade whispering excitedly as it emerged for battle. A frown had twisted his face, for the night was as still as the inside of a coffin. And a coffin it may very well become for one of us, he thought grimly.

He stepped away from the wall in one fluid movement, expecting a sudden attack. None came, however, and his eyes swept the street for signs of his foe. He frowned again, becoming slightly annoyed. Whatever was out there, he had seen it before--of that at least he was sure. Yet he couldn't place the cold, sinister aura that gripped the streets with its icy hand. Not until the voice came from behind him.

"It's been quite some time, Mr. Figglesworth, hasn't it?"

The voice was saturated in evil, and Figglesworth knew immediately that Vampir, his ancient foe, was back. He slowly turned around to see a dark figure examining his manicured nails beneath the streetlight. His long, flowing hair was pulled back and his face was shadowed by a well-trimmed beard. He flicked one of his nails and looked up.

"I see the centuries have been good to you, highlander" he said.

"And to you as well," said the highlander dryly. "I'm surprised no one has driven a stake through your heart yet."

The vampire laughed. "Not that they haven't tried, my friend. I've just been a bit too quick for them."

With that, the highlander found himself staring at empty space as a breeze blew past him. Then a voice came from a few paces behind him.

"I've heard some of the things you've been saying, Figglesworth," he said, shaking his head disappointedly. Slowly he began to walk toward the highlander. "That you're going to kill me? Have you gone daft?"

The highlander pivoted, bringing his sword to the guard position. He opened his mouth as if to answer, but then suddenly leaped forward and swung his blade. It sliced through the air where the vampire had been, and was suddenly hit from behind. He flew a dozen feet through the air, but somersaulted into an upright position again, retaining his weapon. The vampire merely looked at him curiously.

"Not bad," he said, shrugging, "but unless you've learned some new tricks you're going to find yourself in a delicious amount of pain tonight."

With that he smacked his lips and flew through the air like lightning from the fist of Zeus. He raked his nails across Figglesworth's chest, knocking him to the ground. The highlander struggled to his feet, his coat torn and blood oozing from four deep gashes. The vampire slowly licked the blood from his nails, smiling.

"Ah," he sighed. "The blood of an immortal does have that extra kick, doesn't it?"

Figglesworth's eyes blazed and he swung his blade swiftly, again to find only air. Quickly he spun around, but there was no sign of the vampire. A drop of blood landed on his shoulder, and he looked up to find the vampire hanging upside down from a fire escape above him.

"Come, Figglesworth," he said, smiling, "I believe we need a change of venue."

With that he flew up the fire escape to the roof of the building. The highlander raced up behind him, breathing heavily when he reached the roof. He was immortal, but the four deep wounds to his chest did not help his condition any. The vampire was standing near the ledge with his back turned, gazing out over the city.

"It's wonderful, isn't it? All those souls out there, waiting to be fed upon. One does tire of solely Asian cuisine after a while. Nothing like some good old Italian take-out."

He continued to look out over the lights, and Figglesworth slowly walked up behind him. Suddenly he lunged, but the vampire backflipped over him and struck with his fist. The highlander dove to the side, barely escaping a blow that would have sent him over the side of the building. Not much sense in living forever if you're going to be a pancake.

"Yes, that's much better," said the vampire, laughing. "I was beginning to think this would be no fun at all."

The highlander threw down his sword in disgust and lifted his hands over his head. "I've had enough of your games, you corrupted minion of darkness. Now it's time to play my way."

He began chanting, and the smile on the vampire's face slowly faded. Suddenly the highlander thrust a hand forward and a great fist of energy shot forth at the speed of light, knocking the vampire backward and over the opposite ledge. Suddenly the night was quite again, punctuated only by the faint sounds from below. The highlander began muttering again, casting one of his limited healing spells on himself. He would be sore for quite a while, but none the worse for it.

Slowly he walked toward the opposite ledge. He listened carefully, and upon hearing no sound leaned over to look down. Suddenly the vampire shot upwards into the sky and over the highlander, landing directly behind him. Before Figglesworth could turn around, the vampire had grabbed him and thrown him over his shoulder. He landed hard on the roof of the building, but he muttered a quick spell and his hands were flaming when he got up.

The vampire was brushing off his clothing. "Now that's the Figglesworth that I remembered," he said. "But the dawn is drawing near and there is precious little time for more reminiscing."

A fist flashed between the highlander's flaming hands and caught him in the chest. Then the vampire brought a boot around with a vicious kick to the head that left the highlander sprawled out on the roof. In an instant the vampire was beside him. He picked up the highlander, raised him above his head, and slammed him down so hard that the building trembled.

The vampire paused for a moment, then thrust a hand forward and dug again into the highlander's chest with his nails. Gripping the flesh he picked the highlander up and held him dangling in the air. Waves of pain flooded Figglesworth's brain, and it was all he could do to remain conscious. The last thing he remembered seeing was the vampire's face, twisted into a cruel grin.

"There are times when it sucks to be immortal, aren't there, Mr. Figglesworth."

With a glance toward the faint glow on the eastern horizon, the vampire sighed. Then he effortlessly threw the highlander over the side of the building. Peering over the edge, he watched the figure plunge to the earth, landing in an open dumpster. He frowned slightly and then turned, and the next moment a black bat was winging its way away from the city to some unknown destination.

(I've been out of practice for while, so excuse my clunky prose. Glad to have you back from vacation, Figglesworth...)

End of First Author's Story

He woke up with a start of pain and a shocking realization that he was still alive. It never failed to amaze him: during the minutes it took his body to heal and start his heart beating again, he was not there. It was different than dreaming. When he slept he knew he was there, but just not in control of his being. During those moments that his heart stopped beating, however, he really wasn’t there. He didn’t exist as he understood existence. There was no “he” during those moments. But luckily those moments passed quickly and he took a deep breath.

That was his first mistake. Breathing really shouldn’t be that difficult. He looked down and saw the four gorges in his chest. They were knitting up slowly. He felt each skin cell grow and attach itself to a newly grown neighbor until the skin stretched across the wound. He felt the ribs in his chest and the bones in his leg reforming from the fall. A number of audible cracks were heard as his spine began to reorient itself with the normal curvature of his back. He felt his body healing, but his thoughts were still clouded -- it was difficult to go from non-existence to existence. It always took his mind a while to accept that it was there again.

His second thought was that he definitely shouldn’t have taken that breath. The air smelled faintly of manure mixed with rotten meat. After thinking about it for a moment, he realized that there must be some overcooked asparagus buried somewhere around him. Dumpsters collected the strangest odors over time.

He glanced up and saw that a small crowd had gathered around him. From the looks of them, two of them were bums, and one of them was a well-dressed man in a business suit. His mouth seemed to be moving, but no words were coming out. In a rush of sensation, he began to decipher what the man was saying.

“Are you okay, Sir? Don’t move. We’ve called an ambulance. That was a long drop you had -- a very long drop. Are you okay?”

It took a moment for his eyes to properly focus on the businessman. He slowly brought his hands together and started mumbling. The businessman’s words began slurring and his face went blank. The bums around him continued to stare, but their eyes no longer looked. He picked himself up and climbed out of the dumpster. He looked around for a moment and smiled when he spotted what he was looking for. He limped over to where the street met an alleyway and found a mangy dog gnawing at an old chicken bone.

Mr. Figglesworth began chanting softly and the dog slowly began rising up toward the roof. Within moments it was standing at the edge of where he had fallen off. With a slight twist of his hand, the dog jumped, and fell down the side of the building, crashing into the dumpster with a thud. He continued to chant and turned his attention to the bystanders. He whispered quietly into their subconscious minds. After a few moments, he was satisfied and walked toward the building to collect his sword.

As he returned through the front of the building, his katana now safely in its sheath, he heard an ambulance’s wailing getting louder and saw the red lights reflected off the dark walls of the building. He saw the two bums and the businessman shaking the dying form of the dog. He should have felt some sympathy for the canine, but it was difficult to feel sympathy after so many years. He knew it was important to be protected from discovery. He also knew that his suggestion spell was not very powerful. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made. It was either the dog or the three men. The advent of modern technology complicated things. In an hour, a video of any of his feats could be broadcast to millions of homes. He had learned to be careful and avoid that at all costs. If one of the men that found him had had a video camera…. He tried not to think of such things.

It took ten minutes to limp to his car. Once in his car he began thinking of his encounter with the vampire. It had been many years since he’d last fought one. Over a century since he’d come across this particular one. Mr. Figglesworth usually stayed clear of their kind, only dispatching them when they got too close to him, or became a serious public menace. But this Vampir was different. It had been over a century since he’d run into him. For one thing, he was more intelligent than most of the vampires he’d run across. He enjoyed playing games with his victims and seemed to have an almost insatiable hunger for Asian victims. The one thing he was sure about from his encounter was that this was not the last time he would see the vampire. Vampir enjoyed the hunt too much. He fed off the fear he imparted in his victims almost as much as the blood he took from them. He was going to have to be careful with this one.

Mr. Figglesworth drove to his loft. It was on the shore of the river and had a panoramic view that overlooked the city on one side and the river on the other. The river was crowded this evening. Many vessels, mostly pleasure boats, floated slowly down the river, like flickering stars across the black water. As soon as the elevator closed behind him, he stripped off his clothes and walked toward a small altar in the corner of the room. The Highlander kneeled and placed his katana before him. He felt the strong steel and could sense and smell the magic emanating from the blade. He placed the blade before him, and with a glance lit the three white and one black candle and the incense holder. In a moment he was deep in a meditative state. He was preparing himself to cast the wards that would allow him to fight the vampire on his own terms.

He drifted in his meditative state for a while, having trouble finding a place to anchor his thoughts and become one with himself. After shuffling through the blackened corridors of his mind for an hour, he finally came to the room he was looking for. The door was slightly ajar, and with a dark, blue light oozing from underneath it. He reached out and opened it. The full force of memory fell upon him.

***

It was a late autumn night in Binghamton, a small village about a week’s carriage ride from the harbor of New York. The hills surrounding the town were sporting their autumn best: the dazzling greens, oranges, and browns that competed with the brilliant blue of an afternoon sky. By night, however, the colors were lost and the multi-hued trees were painted with a dull blue light cast from the stars and moon. Mr. Figglesworth was lost in the musty smell of the woods as he road leisurely through its hills. He had lived in the town for almost twenty years now, and he could never get over the smells and sights of autumn.

Over the sound of the trotting of his horse he heard a scream coming from the village. He turned his horse mid-stride and kicked it into a run back toward the village. The villagers had put out a fire yesterday that had threatened to engulf the entire town. Only Mr. Figglesworth knew how lucky the town was to have the Highlander living within its boundaries. Had it not been for a fortuitous rainstorm, the village would have been lost. Mr. Figglesworth had grown to like the village, and while it took a considerable amount of energy to save it from its fiery doom, it was worth it. Starting over was always more taxing then expending magical energies.

He arrived at the village and found his neighbor, the butcher, holding his wife in his arms. He jumped off his horse and pushed his way through the crowd to see if he could help the butcher’s wife. What he saw sent a shiver down his spine. There were two puncture holes in the side of her neck. What truly made it horrible, however, was that the body was completely white. No blood spilled from the wounds. He knew at once that his weak healing arts would not help the poor woman. Her soul was lost; sucked out to fill the soulless void of a vampire. Mr. Figglesworth had fought such evil before. He turned and mounted his horse, checked his sword, and ran toward the border of town. Already, his mouth was moving and runes were forming in his mind. When he was out of view a traveling and tracking spell had already been cast. He would find this bloodsucker that threatened his quiet existence.

It only took three days to track the vampire down. It had holed itself up in a bear cave. He had little doubt that the bear no longer lived there. In fact, nothing would live there. Vampires have a way of sucking the life from everything around them, even unintentionally. The Highlander waited until the sun rose over the horizon, drew his blade from underneath his cloak, and entered the cave.

“I can smell you, blood sucker. Come out where I can see you.” Mr. Figglesworth said.

He felt a gust of wind forming at the back of the cave. When it reached him, a dust cloud began to coalesce, slowly forming the outlines of a man. Within moments the outlines became solid and a fleshy man stood before Mr. Figglesworth.

The man was of medium height and slight build. He wore light brown hair short and curly on top. His eyes were green, and his nose was slightly pointed. What one noticed first, however, was the paleness of his skin. A blue vein could clearly be seen on his forehead, branching down from his hairline to the top of his cheek. The man was smiling, and sharpened canines could clearly be seen poking out from his upper lip.

“I am Vampir. It seems you have gone to some trouble to track me down. I hope your effort was not wasted.” His voice was soft and the sounds whistled and oozed out of his mouth. Each word was articulated clearly and seemed part of a grander orchestral piece.

Mr. Figglesworth began to feel awe for the pale man. He began to stare at him in admiration. Slowly the admiration began turning to affection. With an enormous effort, the Highlander grabbed the blade of his sword with his right hand, effectively cutting the arteries leading to his fingers. The pain shocked his system and the vampire’s spell was broken. Mr. Figglesworth stepped back into a low fighting stance, his right hand held behind his back, red crimson running down his hand and onto his leather trousers.

“Such a waste of good blood. Had I known you’d be this cooperative, I would have brought a container to store your blood in. The ground does not truly appreciate blood like I do.” Vampir said.

“I am known as Mr. Figglesworth. I was born in the highlands of Scotland. Your mind tricks will not work on me, vampire. I am here because you have taken the soul of a person I respect. If you wouldn’t mind setting it free, I will have no further quarrel with you.”

Vampir laughed quietly. “Of course, Mr. Figglesworth. I’ll just set it free. Was it the traveling monk that I passed last night? No. I can’t imagine he would be missed too much. It must have been that butcher’s wife then. She was quite delightful. She was a little too American for my tastes, but still satisfying, in that not-so-finger-licking good way. I’m afraid that her soul does not want to leave, though. I, of course, gave her the option before I took her. She was more than willing to join me. Now, be on your way Highlander. You do not know what you face.”

The Highlander looked at Vampir. His sword tip fell to the earth and he began to turn away. He continued to turn until his sword whipped around toward the space between where he had stood and where the vampire was. In an instant he knew he was too late. The blade bit into nothing but air. He tried to pull back, but it was too late. He felt a sharp rip across his shoulder as the vampire’s fingernail severed the muscle to his left arm. Limply, the sword fell from his hand.

Vampir smiled and slowly approached the Highlander. He began humming softly to himself, licking his lips with his dry tongue. “Come here, Mr. Figglesworth. I have a nice spot reserved for your soul as well.”

Mr. Figglesworth began muttering beneath his breath. His eyes were wide and his words sounded like the ramblings of a man who knew that his end was near. The vampire’s smile broadened at the sound. In what seemed a moment of uncertainty, Mr. Figglesworth lifted his two arms and clasped his hands together. With a tremendous shout energy began forming over his arms. From outside the cave beams of light funneled through the Highlander’s body, increasing the glow of his clasped hands. The vampire covered his face with his forearm, no longer sure of the easy kill. He hissed and backed up further into the cave.

“There will be rest for lots of souls tonight, night crawler.” Mr. Figglesworth proclaimed. His shoulders tensed and a beam of pure white sunlight shot out from his hands and hit Vampir squarely in his chest. The vampire wheezed softly and then his form collapsed and dark ashes fell where he had stood. The Highlander walked over to where Vampir had been standing and slowly moved the ashes with his foot.

It was done. He imagined he felt the captured souls flying free from the ashes of the slain vampire. His magic did not let him bridge the gap of life and death and feel such things, though. The vampire had almost bested him this night. He had been ill prepared, and had the vampire known what Mr. Figglesworth’s true nature was, things might have gone much differently. A lesson learned. He would be more careful in the future. He would have to better research wards for his sword. He did not like relying on his magic for fighting. It was not a reliable instrument. It caused too much commotion among those who didn’t understand, and it drained him. He limped slowly out of the cave, his physical wounds slowly healing. His mental wounds caused by the raw energy, however, would take many months to fully heal.

***

The door closed slowly behind him in his mind. He floated easily through the dark corridors, remembering wards and spells that had not been cast in decades.

End of Second Author's Story

Four thousand, nine hundred and twelve years. Four thousand, nine hundred and twelve years. I wonder how many memories I have forgotten. Lost loves. Friends dead. Enemies slain. Too many nights like this one I suspect. I feel somewhat sorry for those two. Throughout all the years, neither one has found what they are looking for. Who am I to judge.

At least the battle was quick. A shame though that the Highlander was too slow to recognize his foe for what he was. Vampir has grown in power these last 2 centuries. Mental notes to myself: When documenting tonights transgression, include details on Vampir's new abilities. Oh, and note that the Highlander missed the security camera on the west corner of the Bank of America building. Personal note: I felt the pull again tonight. Stronger than in recent years. Looks like the highlander will probably call it a night. I should as well.

It is a lonely life, that of a watcher. The secret society begins to take its toll for most men. I guess that being immortal makes it that much easier for me. Although, not tonight. It was tough keeping my distance. Any closer and the Highlander would have felt my presence. For a instant I felt as if Vampir caught a glimpse. Even if he had, he would have thought nothing of the bumb on the roof two buildings away.