The Ethaefal bounded down the alley, not even bothering to whisper any more as he tried to maintain a conversational tone.
"Red lights, green gold, veins of the night like tendrils in snow; - wait where did I pick this up from? - the sky cries, the earth mourns, a tragedy like no other will be unleashed; - wait, don't go there... - streams of power, an unlimited loop within itself, a moon with a celestial path; -stop, gah. i mean... stop!- like a snake eating its tail, and so will consume. - don't go there, don't don't don't-"
As he finished the last sentence, he felt a power enveloping his body. Where, he did not know. How, he did not care. Only to understand that this euphoria was a power only gifted to the strong, and the weak must be culled to understand why the strong remain the strong.
As he neared the interest, he saw his nearest target, a human wearing a turban. The image oddly called out to him mentally, but he could not quite place a finger for his memories were hazy in the blood lust. Still, he saw the man pull an axe out of a cleaved skull and the voices churning in him were happy, and called to spare the man. Well, spare him until there was no worthy targets left, at least. With the new-found energy in his legs, the Ethaefal reached the Benshira and leaped against the wall, using his hand to push off on the wanderer's shoulder. This allowed him to again kick off against the last inch of the corridor, causing him to fly unnaturally into a smaller alley which held a scrawny lad who still had the scars of adolescence on his face.
The boy trembled, his dagger somehow seeming inappropriate, but there was no time, there was no space. Like a possessed demon, he landed with his knee in the lad's chin, pushing him downwards into the alley and finally landing with his knee against his throat. The lad yelled a blood curdling cry, before being cut short suddenly followed by a small gurgling sound as the Ethaefal plunged his sword into the boy's chest, twisting it until no more sound was emitted.
The slavers who could see the spectacle began to whiten, and as another slaver from another place approached the merchant to whisper things in his ear, the merchant visibly began to jabber. Apparently the messenger told him the gruesome remains of the first two rogues that he had given instructions to. The other slavers did not wait for the merchant to give any orders, and they turned tail and ran, the merchant himself not bothering to give the order of retreat and himself escaping into the streets.
Eri snarled in disappointment and leaped into the cross-junction again like a predatory animal, locating the direction the merchant was escaping in and beginning to vault forward until he felt the back of his tunic being held by the human and some meaning words uttered from behind that he did not care about.
"Interfering turban-wearing mortal, know your place!" He roared, the combination of the whispers in his mind and the euphoria of power causing him to lose all logical thought.
The Ethaefal was very close to the threshold for suffering the first onset of overgiving, and if Idue did not act fast it would not end well for either or both of them.