~there's a dark side to everything~

Year 396 Se.K

Another "errand" as they called it. On Laddle Road is a rich merchants home. It's decorated with swirls in the wood, pillared balconies, and flowerbeds housing rare and exotic plants. His job is to steal the merchants' gold and bring back the man. Alive, he might add. But they never said he couldn't harm him.

    Zephrys doesn't know why his 'masters' want this crude merchant, but it probably has something to do with torture and sought-after information. But who knows.

    The almost-ancient male—that doesn't look a day over twenty-five—had already watched the house for a week, trying to get a taste of the merchant's schedule. The man, somewhere in his thirties, left the house an hour before noon and returned after twilight. His servants were in and out all day, but the only time the locked doors were open for more than twenty seconds was around an hour before supper. A small, simple door framed in dark wood was at the side of the house. A girl-servant would leave the house with a bag of clothes to be laundered. She'd leave the door open while she went to the creek to set down the bag. Before she's run back to grab the wash-board, Zephrys would run in and hide in the upstairs office where the merchant would be when he'd get home

    Currently, Zephrys shifted into a more comfortable position where he sat in the alcove of a tree and preceded to use a blade to clean his nails. A knot in a branch dug horrible into his back and the merry chirping of the birds annoying him to no end.

    The knife slipped under a nail as a bird hopped joyfully on a nearby branch. As a sharp pain shot through his finger-tip, blood welled. He ground his teeth in anger and shouted an obscenity at the bird as he threw his knife at it. But the bird flapped away before the dagger pierced its heart, just like he knew it would.

    He green flecked with blue eyes glared at where the dagger now stuck out of the ground, his master's crest on the hilt facing up.

    The wind sighed through the trees, making a symphony of chatting leaves. Those vibrant tree-petals grazed Zephrys's mandatory buzz cut black hair as he climbed down gracefully.

    He winced when he jumped down. Then immediately cursing himself for doing so. He was trained not to show weakness like that, not to wince or flinch in pain. Not to limp or hold an injured arm to yourself. But he couldn't help it.

    Yesterday the Masters had broken and dislocated his knee over and over as it healed. They had done it in the cellars of the Visitors House so those in the upper levels making illegal deals couldn't hear his screams. Although you can't do much to contain the piercing screams of his species.

    He shook his head and let the memories fly off with the wind. No need to pull on the string that would only bring up more painful recollections.

    A mouse squeaked, or rather the side door did. Soft, chestnut hair tucked underneath a kerchief, the servant girl swiped at a stray strand as she hauled the laundry bag over her shoulder. Like every day before, she left the door wide open.

    "Darrow," he cursed on the name of the forsaken mountain chain that none have ever passed through.

    He realized a moment too late his mistake.

    The girl stopped, her wide owl-like eyes looked to his strange ones. Zephrys brought his shadows to him, but it was too late. The frightened girl opened her mouth to shout a warning, but Zephrys ran on a phantom breeze and let that Killing-Power that made him the Doom-Bringer spread through him and out through his fingers. Then he gave the girl an invitation to death she could not refuse.

    Simultaneously dropping the girl's body and picking up that dagger, he ran into the house with silent footsteps.

    He appeared in the kitchen, pots and pans clattered from where they hung from the ceiling. A middle-aged woman pulled out a pie of some sort.

    Zephrys was tempted to knock out the hefty woman and enjoy whatever sort of pie it was. Sighing, he tiptoed past. He had to get this 'errand' over with.

    But good-gods, it smelled delicious.

    "Ah, hell," he muttered under his breath. He was already going to be punished for leaving behind a dead body and leaving behind traces of killing-magic.

    He strode forward in finality, his worn leather boots pounding on the wooden floor.

    "Ma'am?" She dropped the pie on the floor with a soft thunk, spun around, and gasped with fright. Her face turned pale, eyes bugging out. But Zephrys paid no head to that. Nor towards the rising scent of terror in the air.

    "Uh, yeah. You," he said pointedly. "Going to eat that pie?"

    The lady seemed to turn into a statue, hand to throat. That was enough of an answer for him.

    "No? Don't mind if I do."

    Snatching up the perfectly browned pie, he shoved a piece of gooey godly-ness into his mouth and moaned.

    He spoke 'round a mouth full of apple-cherry pie, "darrow, lady. You bake a mean pie."

    Then he reached to the heavens and grabbed an iron-handled pan. And rammed it into the back of her head.

    Clunk!

    She fell like a sack of potatoes.

    With crumbs flying out his mouth, he said, "once again, nice pie."

    Swinging the pan around in his deft hand, he went around the house knocking out the servants hard enough they wouldn't wake for several hours. And possibly lose recollection of several memories. But being in his way came with consequences that he was willing to deal out. He refused to disobey the Masters orders.

    Except he left one servant awake. A boy around nineteen, looked like he only served here to haul heavy objects whenever necessary and chop wood. The boy had shaggy golden hair, which Zephrys instantly envied, and soil eyes.

    The boy now sat across from him at the little table for two, the classic game of skill and intelligence named Netwick between them.

    "So, you do know how to play this, right? 'Cause if you don't I'm perfectly fine with knocking you out and eating this heavenly pie in peace."

    The boy nodded his tanned head vigorously.

    He pointed his fork at the kid, tasty morsels flying off the end and bouncing off the kid's cheek, "what'd you say your name was?"

    "I-I didn't. But I am called Samuel." Then hurriedly added on, "Son of Segol."

    Zephrys nodded, his pointed ears again catching the attention of the young man. "Samuel. Nice name kid. Ordinary and common, but nice. Although a lot folks by the name of Sam tend to die frequently."

    The kid's eyes went wide.

    After a couple of moves on the game board, the golden-headed boy asked, "how old are you?"

    Why was this a frequently asked question for him? The enquiry irked him to no end.

    Zephrys glared at the boy for interrupting his thoughts.

    "Couple centuries."

    The boys calloused hand stilled on the steel game piece.

    But Zephrys ignored this fact and kept to his own brooding thoughts. Several games were played—all of which Zephrys won, of course. Twilight passed during the course of this.

    And then the door swung open. And the twat of a merchant walked through.

    Zephrys waved his hand coolly and let a drop of that killing power freeze the man, his odd eyes never looking away from the game. The merchant's movements stilled, even his blood, and only left his mind to ponder over what sort of pain awaited him.

    "Finally," he said in exasperation and made the winning move on the game board. He looked up at his (lousy) opponent. "Better luck next time, Sam. You're a good kid, hope you don't die."

    He turned his back to the kid and clapped his hands and rubbed them together in anticipation, "let's get you back to the Masters."

    He strode forward and hauled the man over one shoulder, noting the man's scent of fear that overwhelmed the room.

    And then the Doom-Bringer brought the Merchant to him untimely fate.

~~

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