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sparkindarknessYeah, um, this is me totally NOT starting a new story because I have billions of unfinished one. And it would be stupid to start a new one, even if it is set in the same world setting. And this is me NOT creating new characters and this is me NOT letting the muses doing the driving.
This is just a one off random drabble. yes yes it is. For... uh... world building and stuff. Yes. See? They don't even have NAMES so it can't be a new story. Right?
Right?
A wise man once said “a traitor is a righteous man who found something new to believe in.”
A cynical man (my less-than-good self) said that it’s amazing what lies and fantasies people will tell themselves to justify whatever selfish, evil plots they’re indulging in. Besides, most of the traitors I’ve met (usually quite briefly) all believed in gold or power - or both. I’d say they’re not exactly noble sentiments, but I’ve met some of the old style Mirlenan aristocracy - noble is an accurate description as any.
It’s the same as that “end justifies the means” they toss around so merrily. Translated it means “I can do what I want to get what I want.”
Personally I prefer it when they’re honest. If they turn traitor, they could at least have the scrap of decency to tell their former peers that they’ve changed sides. If they’re going to tear everything apart for their own empowerment, they could at least have the pride not to waste time on empty justification.
Of course, the honest ones are much easier to find - that’s also very helpful for us.
Kartos the Wave Watcher of D’minera wasn’t honest. But nor was he as devious as he thought he was. He cunningly decided to use a ritual laboratory far from his home, but not quite bright enough to realise traipsing across the city in the dead of night would attract attention - especially masked, cloaked and hooded and sneaking through alleys and in the shadows. Stealth was not the magus’ strong point.
It actually took longer to wrangle the politics with D’minera - they do so hate it when one of their mages goes bad. The guy’s probably lucky, of all the Nations of the Wall, D’minera is the most merciless. They can torture you for centuries. They can capture his soul and enslave it for all eternity. They can do things to him I can’t even imagine.
All we can do is kill him.
Kartos stood before an altar. How terribly predictable, Pakashan cultists are not renowned for their originality. Statues and hangings depicted the more common demon lords. I swear, these cultists must produce this junk in bulk. You would think that the last thing a clandestine cartel would occupy itself with would be appropriate decor for their secret lairs. It does make proving their corruption easy, though - which always helps convincing reluctant foreign ambassador’s that one of their own has fallen to corruption. D’minera is as reluctant to acknowledge corruption as they are vicious in its punishment.
I leaped behind him, my right hand twisting a garrotte around his neck. Some fools would trust that to be enough to silence a mage - but I’ve seen too much, and seen too many of my fellows die to be so careless.
I drew my spelled dagger with my left hand. I always carry many weapons - you can never carry too many - but this knife is spelled to bring death with just a touch of the flat of the blade. I don’t know, I’m no wizard and I don’t put much trust in magic - but a sharp blade to the base of the skull, to the base of his spine, to his kidneys, each lung and heart in rapid succession will put down almost any enemy. Almost.
He slumped down to his knees, only my tightening grip on the garrotte held him upright. I shifted backwards, avoiding the flowing blood as much as I can while I carefully sheaved the spellblade. The flow of blood lessened as his heart slowed but I methodically repeated the wounds with a steel blade. Then an iron, then a bronze, then a silver. Paranoia was the key to survival along the Wall.
Which is why I saw the dark figure in the corner.
“Be careful who you surprise, one day I’ll put a blade in your heart.” I whispered.
“And that day we will know both you and I are unworthy to stand in the shadows.” She replied, equally quietly. “I for my carelessness and you for your lack of judgement. As it should be.”
I nodded and began working on the body, removing the head and the heart and quartering the remains. Each would be burned over a separate fire, purified and the ashes scattered over separate bodies of running water - or the sea itself. Blood, hair, flesh and nail clippings would be kept for future use as curses should Kartos manage to escape the grave.
Paranoia was a way of life along the Wall and the Shades were its undisputed masters
This is just a one off random drabble. yes yes it is. For... uh... world building and stuff. Yes. See? They don't even have NAMES so it can't be a new story. Right?
Right?
A wise man once said “a traitor is a righteous man who found something new to believe in.”
A cynical man (my less-than-good self) said that it’s amazing what lies and fantasies people will tell themselves to justify whatever selfish, evil plots they’re indulging in. Besides, most of the traitors I’ve met (usually quite briefly) all believed in gold or power - or both. I’d say they’re not exactly noble sentiments, but I’ve met some of the old style Mirlenan aristocracy - noble is an accurate description as any.
It’s the same as that “end justifies the means” they toss around so merrily. Translated it means “I can do what I want to get what I want.”
Personally I prefer it when they’re honest. If they turn traitor, they could at least have the scrap of decency to tell their former peers that they’ve changed sides. If they’re going to tear everything apart for their own empowerment, they could at least have the pride not to waste time on empty justification.
Of course, the honest ones are much easier to find - that’s also very helpful for us.
Kartos the Wave Watcher of D’minera wasn’t honest. But nor was he as devious as he thought he was. He cunningly decided to use a ritual laboratory far from his home, but not quite bright enough to realise traipsing across the city in the dead of night would attract attention - especially masked, cloaked and hooded and sneaking through alleys and in the shadows. Stealth was not the magus’ strong point.
It actually took longer to wrangle the politics with D’minera - they do so hate it when one of their mages goes bad. The guy’s probably lucky, of all the Nations of the Wall, D’minera is the most merciless. They can torture you for centuries. They can capture his soul and enslave it for all eternity. They can do things to him I can’t even imagine.
All we can do is kill him.
Kartos stood before an altar. How terribly predictable, Pakashan cultists are not renowned for their originality. Statues and hangings depicted the more common demon lords. I swear, these cultists must produce this junk in bulk. You would think that the last thing a clandestine cartel would occupy itself with would be appropriate decor for their secret lairs. It does make proving their corruption easy, though - which always helps convincing reluctant foreign ambassador’s that one of their own has fallen to corruption. D’minera is as reluctant to acknowledge corruption as they are vicious in its punishment.
I leaped behind him, my right hand twisting a garrotte around his neck. Some fools would trust that to be enough to silence a mage - but I’ve seen too much, and seen too many of my fellows die to be so careless.
I drew my spelled dagger with my left hand. I always carry many weapons - you can never carry too many - but this knife is spelled to bring death with just a touch of the flat of the blade. I don’t know, I’m no wizard and I don’t put much trust in magic - but a sharp blade to the base of the skull, to the base of his spine, to his kidneys, each lung and heart in rapid succession will put down almost any enemy. Almost.
He slumped down to his knees, only my tightening grip on the garrotte held him upright. I shifted backwards, avoiding the flowing blood as much as I can while I carefully sheaved the spellblade. The flow of blood lessened as his heart slowed but I methodically repeated the wounds with a steel blade. Then an iron, then a bronze, then a silver. Paranoia was the key to survival along the Wall.
Which is why I saw the dark figure in the corner.
“Be careful who you surprise, one day I’ll put a blade in your heart.” I whispered.
“And that day we will know both you and I are unworthy to stand in the shadows.” She replied, equally quietly. “I for my carelessness and you for your lack of judgement. As it should be.”
I nodded and began working on the body, removing the head and the heart and quartering the remains. Each would be burned over a separate fire, purified and the ashes scattered over separate bodies of running water - or the sea itself. Blood, hair, flesh and nail clippings would be kept for future use as curses should Kartos manage to escape the grave.
Paranoia was a way of life along the Wall and the Shades were its undisputed masters