Simple Pleasures (Flashback solo)

[Azrael Solomon]

Scythe training

Summer 13 496AV “Azrael, go outside for a moment. I gotta have the house to myself for a bit.” A burly man called to the cloak covered, teen. His long maroon cover was draped around his body as he sat quietly near the fire. The small cottage was simple but functional. It was always a different set up though, the duo’s nomadic way always meant a new house. “Are you going to do some research father?” The boys voice was airy, almost scratchy. “That is correct my trophy,” the man walked over and placed his hand onto his son’s shoulder, “It won’t be to terribly tainted after.” The teen who had his hood over his head seemed to look out the window, “I know it’s light out still, but you’ll be able to eat well tonight if I have this time alone.” A white grin appeared in the shadow of the hood, “You’re too good to me father.” “Good boy, I set up a new punching bag out back for you to practice your scythe skills. Make sure you tear it apart.” “Yes father.” The boy said as he stood up from his spot. He began to take off his hood and exposed his furred face. His skin was covered by short black fur, yellow eyes cut through the dark, stared and studied the quaint room. He was in all sense, the closest thing to what a demon might look like. Father looked at his son, or as he liked to think, his trophy with admiration. He had done a lot to get his perfect son, “Please my sweet keep yourself covered. I do not want you to be tainted by the eyes of mortals.” “Tsk,” the young man pulled the hood back over his head, “Whatever.” The figure moved through the room and out the door. He passed by something covered by a sheet, a muffled moan came from beneath it and Azrael couldn’t help himself. His hand landed on top of the round lump under the cover and shifted what was now a pronounced head of a human. He tilted it to the side and leaned in close to whisper, “You’re head, will make a fine stew mam. Don’t worry though, you should be happy, you are about to feed the future monster of Syliras, its an honor.” With that, the kid let go of the head with a jerk. A pained moan and the sounds of loud sobs began to fill the room in a muffled tone. “Now you did it, I can’t test this elixir on her while she is upset. It’s just rude, get out of here trouble maker.” Father was met with another flash of a grin, just before Azrael departed the house to the back yard. The good thing about Sunberth was how many farms there was, made for easy lives and the ability to be quite transparent and ghostly with certain activities. The sun was near the horizon as Azrael approached the back of the house. A scarecrow set up, arms spread and wrapped in a burlap type of fabric. Azrael’s scythe was stuck out the side of the post, left alone from the previous session. Azrael grabbed the shaft of the scythe and without a flinch, pulled it from the wood that splintered from use. “You awake my friend?” Azrael spoke as he wiped down the wood, “Ready to wreak havoc on another play thing?” After a few paces away from the scarecrow Azrael turned and held his weapon of choice firmly in his hands. The back of the blade stopped inches away from the crow and those yellow eyes remained focused in on his opponent. After a brief pause, Azrael attacked. The blunt end of the scythe was thrust firmly into the head of the scarecrow glancing off the tip of it, “Knock them down,” clearly excited, Azrael choked his grip up toward the blade and charged toward the scarecrow. Using the palm of his hands he dug the blade deep into post, right against the scarecrow’s neck. “Come in for the kill, dislodge,” Azrael pulled back on the blade and skillfully leaped out of arms reach and brought the shaft of the scythe to make contact with the side of the scarecrow’s chest. A loud crack could be heard, but it wasn’t the scythe. “Be ready to attack even after the initial kill. Slash these over here,” He repositioned his scythe to allow a wide circle movement of the blade. He could visualize his swift blade as it eviscerated whoever was in its path. He let the blade swing and slice the scarecrow across it’s chest. He paused with his scythe behind him. It’s blade painted red with blood that dripped slowly from it’s sharp point. “Well seems I damaged my dummy.” Smoothly he straightened out of his position and brought the blade to his nose. He sniffed it and cringed at it’s scent, “Mmmf, seems my dad got to you first. I’d have a bit of a snack, but I don’t eat tainted meat.” He turned and looked at his scarecrow, blood had begun to stain the brown fabric a deep maroon color. Some of the lashings that held the burlap in place had peeled away and revealed the naked flesh below. A loud moan of pain came from the man tied to the post as some of his intestines began to show and slide from the deep slice in his abdomen. Azrael brought his weapon up and used it to peel away the rest of the fabric. A wet splash followed as the man’s bowels spilled out and pooled on the ground below. He continued to peel away the wrap and exposed the bruises and cuts on his body, some healed and others fresh. His body bound, naked, degraded and eviscerated you could tell the man did some hard labor. Perhaps he was a farm hand, or maybe even the husband of the wife. “What a shame, such a beautiful body waisted on poison research. “The man’s eyes were open in fear and pain. Azrael admired the man with a bit of a growl. He let down his hood and got a good look at the man, whose eyes only grew wider in fear. Azrael grinned and approached the man slowly while he brandished his scythe. “I could of done great things to you,” The cold blade was brought up to the man’s chest. Azrael used the blade to scrape some of the sweat off his skin before it lowered further until it reached the rim of the deep slash, “I could of made you squirm so sweatily.” Azrael brought the tip of the blade right to the center of the wound. The sun was about to set, it was really a romantic moment if there were lovers present. Azrael began to sink the blade into the wound, slowly. His yellow eyes glued on the man’s expression as he winced and clenched in great pain. “I would of done it real slow to, get to watch the expressions on your face.” Soon the scythe was buried only about two inches or so, the shaft extended vertically. He leaned in close to the man and got right up to his face. “Now all I get to do is kill you slowly, unless I see you mouth, love you sir. Go on now, say it.” Azrael paused a moment and watched as the man continued to cringe and close his eyes tightly. Azrael growled and slapped the man’s face to get his attention, “Say it, or I let you stay out here and watch us burn the house down.” The man gritted and panted a few more times and Azrael began to slide the scythe up his chest. The blade began to slice through his chest in a slow, painfully slow way. “Ahhhfff...nghhh, wh...where’s my boy--” The man wailed as Azrael twisted the blade in the wound. “That isn’t what I wanted to hear!” Azrael’s face was twisted in sadistic anger. But it soon softened as he found the man’s real weak spot. “Your boy is locked in his bedroom, he’s been at the window the entire time. Can’t you see him over my shoulder,” The man squinted and Azrael could tell he wasn’t able to see, “Yes, he’s been calling your name all day long. Now listen closely, if you do not want your boy to suffer the slow fate of being burned alive you will say those three little words. Love...you...sir.” Each of the three words was punctuated by another inch of movement from the scythe. The man hesitated a moment before he swallowed it was obvious the blood loss had begun to effect the man. “L...love you..sir!” Azrael’s eye brow perked. “See was that hard? All you had to s--” The man spat onto Azrael’s face, which earned a deep rumble from the Zith mixed blood. “Hmmph, kinky boy,” Azrael reached under his cloak and unhooked something, “Well since you insult your sir like this, I guess I’ll have to reveal my deception to you. Let your heart sink,” Azrael pulled the object he had retrieved and held it in front of the man’s face. A severed head of a boy, the man’s boy. Azrael wore a large grin that pierced through the darkness. The light had begun to vanish as Azrael shoved the blade a bit deeper with a sickening squelch. He brought the head to his face with the same grin, “You know what they say, an apple a day.” Azrael finished the sentence by biting down on the head’s ear and viciously tearing it off the head. He began to chew it while he walked backward and allowed the heavy wooden handle fall forward. The curved blade began to push into the man’s chest cavity and pierced deeper and deeper. “Lucky for you boy, I keep promises.” He said this just as his dad called out to him. “Solomon, food is ready and quit eating that boy, you’re leaving parts of him all over the--” A wet squelch and strangled, gurggled wail of pain filled the air. Father contemplated to himself a bit, “Don’t track any mud or blood into the house, that stuff could be dangerous.”

[Azrael Solomon]

Survival cooking

Summer 13 488 Solomon walked into the cottage, scythe in hand. A trail of blood dribbled from the end of the wooden staff. He left it near the door, “You know you should really wash the blood off your blade. It might dull it,” Father cut off a bit of the women’s dress and tossed it to Azrael. Azrael snatched it out of the air and walked back to his weapon. He looked around the room and noticed a foul stench in the air. His eyes looked around the room and found the woman still bound to the chair close to death. Her dress was torn, which exposed her bosom and tummy. She had shallow lacerations at random intervals across her chest, only flesh wounds at most. “How did your research go?” Azrael began to clean his blade while he watched his father scribble in his journal. “It went better then expected. The poison I used today was the distilate from the tobacco leaf.” “I remember that stuff, it shined like a crystal. If I remember correctly though, it irritated the skin and created almost instant results of sickness.” “Great memory my son,” Father replied, then continued to pack up his supplies, “I didn’t evaporate the solution this time though. Instead I kept it as a liquid and mixed it with the sap of Nicklesnatch.” “Nicklesnatch, the evergreen tree common in forests that flourish near the sea. But that isn’t toxic, if I remember correctly it soothes...oh what a devilish idea.” Azrael grinned and finished with his blade. “That is correct son, you learn quickly. Nicklesnatch’s sap is a great for wilderness survival. It numbs the area it contacts and is even known to numb the limbs enough that light lacerations are not felt. Found by the carpenters and woodsmen, they would chop down trees and at some points find that their fingers or even limbs would go numb. The wood chips from the Nicklesnatch would collect along the skin and the sap would seep into the skin and numb it.” “I’ve heard that in some cases some woodsmen would not realize they had broken a finger until several hours after they had finished work. So you mixed the two solutions together and tested its effectiveness?” “That is right, the results where a little less then desired though. The symptoms of the distillate of Tobacco appeared later then the pure stuff. It seemed to be like a slow release and after four applications of the solution to the skin I began to noticed the symptoms similar to the pure stuff.” “Why not just mix the pure stuff directly with the sap? It would probably cut production time in half.” Azrael had moved over to the women and tested her eyes reactivity. He moved a finger in front of her eyes and watched them follow. A large grin plastered across his face, he so did enjoy beating downed horses. Father didn’t respond to Azrael’s question, which meant he found the idea to be worthy of exploration. As he scribbled in his journal busily as Azrael moved away from the woman and to the wood burning stove. Two pots were set on the warmer filled with water that steamed slightly. “So for supper I am having boiled water?” Azrael let down his hood and looked over to his father with a grin. “No son,” Father set down his journal, then cleaned up the rest of the table, “I’m going to teach you how to cook your own food.” “But I’m only eleven years old,” He joked, then began to take off his cloak and shirt. Azrael’s body didn’t show signs of adolescents. Even though at eleven years old, his muscles seemed well defined and chiseled under his ebony fuzz. He found a chair to drape his cloak over. His body had seemed to age almost twice as fast then a normal human being. He undid the chord around his waist and slid off his pants, which left him naked. He draped them over top of his cloak just as Father turned around and looked at his son with a grimace. “Why do you insist on doing this naked? At least wear something to cover your modesty.” “Whats wrong father, I thought I was your trophy? Isn’t this a perfect display of your achievements? Besides, I don’t want to to get my good cloak coated in blood.” “Fair enough,” Father said before he tossed over a knife, “Think fast.” Azrael caught the knife by the blade and played off the pain, “Sharp knife, why was it aimed for my heart?” “Because only true friends will stab you in the front, besides let that be a lesson. Sometimes it is better to sacrifice something else when your own life is in jeopardy.” Azrael peeled the knife out of his palm as blood quickly filled the slash. His palm grew wet as the blood began to drip down his long, sharp, ebony claws. “Learned and remembered.” He walked over to the women and brandished the knife in his other hand. “Anyway on to your lesson, the first part is easy. Break down your prey in manigible parts. Word of advice though, use an underhand hold on the knife and cut away from you.” Azrael chuckled and twisted the knife into position, right in front of the dazed but still aware woman. Words did not have to be said in order to see her fear, all was expressed with her eyes. Glossed over from her sobs, her face was quite pale, “Are you afraid I might cut myself?” “No no,” Father turned to look at Azrael, “If you use an underhand stroke you are able to push with your biceps and slice through thick muscle and bone a lot easier.” Father proceeded to show Azrael the muscle groups he referred to. “Have at it son, then bring the pieces of meat over here onto the table.” By this time the water had begun to show signs of bubbles, “Makes sense.” Azrael took hold of the woman’s hair and pulled it back sharply and expose her neck. Her skin had a film of sweat on it, which seemed to thicken as the blade was brought to her throat. Azrael kept a firm hold on her long hair before the sharp blade made the first slice into her skin. At first only a trickle of blood shown, but as the blade continued to oscillate back and forth the blood came in streams and spurts. Azrael found it difficult to cut through the tightly packed muscles in the neck, which only made his kill much slower. His blade hit her vertebrate and he couldn’t find the strength to go further. The blood pooled on the floor under the bound women and grew larger at a fast rate. His entire front was soaked in the crimson as he crossed in front. The scent of blood was like ambrosia to him. By now the blood had stopped its flow from gushes to a slow trickle, the once white body of the woman now almost covered in a dark red film. “Azrael, it is worth noting when you do this and have time to properly prepare for a slaughter, first slash the throat and hang your kill upside down to let the blood drain.” “Wish I knew that before I jumped in dad.” Azrael began to slice the second half of the neck in a jagged line. His eyes were glued to his work and the beautiful red of the meat of the neck stump. Sure he had enjoyed a young boy for lunch, but a growing boy needed to eat. After a short while he could pull the head almost completely off. The whites of bone could be seen as he twisted and twirled the head. Cracks could be heard as the vertebrate began to give and soon snapped. Azrael slid the knife between a vertebrate and jerked the knife until it finally popped all the way through. A severed head in hand, Azrael looked around the immediate area for a place to put the head. He found none and shrugged before he chucked the head onto the bloody pool with little care. “That isn’t like you Solomon,” Father searched through some of the near by cabinets for any spices or veggies that might be hidden within, “You usually go for the none fatal first, arms, legs then the head.” “You forget I don’t enjoy the company of woman. They lack what I enjoy,” Azrael shrugged and began to cut into the corpse’s arm. “We don’t need any more, the head will do just fine, bring it over here. But it is worth saying that if you do kill something try and find use for the entire kill.” “Yeah yeah,” Azrael retrieved the discarded head and brought it, with the knife, over to the table. Father had begun to chop some vegetables and had some spices prepared on the table. “Now what you are going to do is cut the ears off and chuck it into the pot first. The ears probably will take the longest to cook.” Azrael nodded and shifted the round head on the wooden surface. He dug the blade into the side of the head and began to shave the first ear away, rather sloppily. He did the same to the other side and collected the pieces of meat in hand. “While you are at it, take those spices over as well and chuck them in as well.” Azrael collected the ingredients and moved to the pot that boiled furiously. He dumped the bloody pieces of meat and cartilage into the water followed closely by the mix of spices. When done he moved back to the head while his dad continued to explain the next steps. “What you want to do next is cut off the nose and maybe the cheeks. Then comes the real fun, cracking the skull and retrieving the brain. That is where all the real flavor is.” Azrael nodded and didn’t speak as he focused on the task at hand. He continued to butcher tthe head, cutting off the cheeks like patties. He had to use a bit of help from Father when it came time to crack the skull. But he managed and added the usable meat to the pot of water along with some of the veggies. Father did the same with the other pot, but negated the human flesh. Father then instructed to take the pots off the direct heat allow everything to cook with the rest of the heat still in the water and pot. It wasn’t long before it came time to eat.

[Azrael Solomon]

Unarmed training

Summer 13 488 Stomachs full and sated for now the two men sat in silence. The windows were inky black, void of light on one side. The opposite end of the cottage had the bright glow of white light from the moon’s shine. “You tired yet?” Azrael looked up from his hands. “Not a bit old man,” Father smirked. “Watch your tongue boy,” Father snorted, “Or I may have to make you bite it.” “Tsk, you’d break your hands on my jaw before you even had the opportunity to do damage to me.” Father’s brow raised before he himself stood up. He took off his cloak and sat it down on the ground. Azrael watched with curiosity, quietly he sat and stared. “Only one way to find out,” Father said as he began to walk to the door. Azrael’s interest really perked as he stood up as well. “Was that an issue of a challenge?” “No, it was an invitation to a hard beating,” Azrael grinned and shed his own cloak and shirt. swiftly. “Accepted, I’m a Konti mystic, it’ll bring me great joy to see you on the ground.” Father, left before Azrael could finish his sentence. Azrael soon followed and stepped out into the humid air of the night. He could feel the layer of fur collect the moisture out of the air and slide across his skin. It was an odd sensation. Azrael scanned the open field in front of him. A shimmer of the moon light reflected off of the dew on the ground. The moon, full of spirit, shined brightly in the night’s sky, framed by the many dots of lights that surround it. Black was the wicked scaregrow, its body seemed at peace in the dark beauty of the night. As he stood on the small stoop, he couldn’t find any hint or sign of his father. He found it odd and immediately began to assume a defensive pose. “To late,” a voice came from the shadows as the blackness distended and disconnected into a form of the man. Azrael flinched as the fist was swung headed straight for his face. Out of instinct he ducked and side stepped out of the door way and into the dark. Father’s punch evaded, he grinned, “Sounded like that hurt, haha.” Father brought his knuckles away from the wood, indents left by his knuckles were in its surface. Azrael fixed his stance as his enemy had revealed its location. He didn’t let the man recover before he approached with a low uppercut aimed for the side. His fist was stilled by another stronger hand as father caught the punch. Azrael soon felt the energy of the punch forced back into his body and was thrown back slightly. “Not at all, I’ve stopped feeling pain there years ago.” Father went on the attack and soon Azrael and Father were face to face again. Fist and arm locked in each other’s grasp as they pushed their muscles to overcome its opponent. Both bodies strained, “This will have to end,” Azrael strained his words out as he focused, “I’m stronger then you.” Father chuckled, “Strength means nothing in combat.” In a flash Azrael’s feet were swiped from under him. He fell backward and began to plan his next move. As soon as his back hit the ground with a thud, he rolled to the side and missed Father’s punch into the ground. Hunched over, Azrael took the advantage to swipe the feet from under his father. Father landed on his side and Azrael assumed a low stance. His body prone along the ground, you’d of mistaken it for a shadow. His black fur, mended into the ground and reflected the moon like dew. Father began to get up and Azrael wanted nothing of it. He pounced and tackled Father and straddled his prone body. Father brought his hands up to his face immediately and blocked a punch aimed for the side of his face. “Come on Father, give up,” Azrael grinned and growled as he launched a hard blow for Father’s chest. It garnered a loud grunt form the man below and a flinch of his muscles as they flexed. Azrael brought his other fist up and was about to give another shot at his head. But Father brought his hands up and delivered a hard blow to the diaphram. Azrael bowed forward as his lungs expelled all of his air. He couldn’t draw in breath and wheezed. He rolled off Father and he was quick to be pinned. Clouded with a bit of pain Azrael still was able to block a punch aimed for his face. “Your old man has a lot of fight in him.” He threw another punch at Azrael’s head and caused him to tighten up his arms, “Did you think you’d get off easy?” Azrael’s teeth gritted as he waited for an opportunity to strike back. He found none and instead focused on the ground beneath him. He dropped his guard on one side and prevent a hard blow to the side, which grazed his cheek. His other hand was quick and grabbed a handful of dirt and debris. Before another blow was delivered, he threw the handful of debris at Father’s face. Father scowled and rubbed his eyes free of debris as Azrael wiggled out from beneath him and stood up. He breathed heavy as he watched his father stand as well. Azrael could feel the graze on his cheek begin to burn, Father did not hold back. “I bet that cheek hurts,” Azrael agreed but didn’t show it. “Sacrifices,” he grinned. “Dirty trickery, I taught you well. Know that in a fight if you play dirty, expect the opponent to do so as well.” Father approached slowly. Azrael stood ready to fight and made the first advance. Azrael charged his father and aimed a hard punch to his head. He missed as Father evaded and quickly threw a punch at Azrael’s side. Azrael blocked it with his forearm and cringed at the impact. But somehow the pain fueled his movements. His arm wrapped around Father’s neck as he evaded and caught the man in a head lock. It only lasted a moment as Father delivered a firm blow to the side of his face and forced him to let go. He stepped back and ignored the vigorous shake in his vision. His back bowed as he dodged another punch aimed for his head. His feet were quick and side stepped and threw a hard punch to the side of Father’s torso. His fist impacted the sweaty skin and the sting only fueled Azrael’s excitement. Father didn’t show any signs of fatigue and Azrael did his best to show the same energy. The endorphins were high as Father and son continued to fight until the moon almost set in the sky. Both men breathed heavily as they came near the end of their fight. Azrael’s body would show bruises if the skin were visible. His right eye seemed to be swelled a bit, which didn’t seem to phase him a bit. Both still were in a aggressive stance, it was mental now as yellow eyes met green. Both chests heaved heavily and painfully before Azrael finally spoke up, “I yield, you win this session.” “You yield already? But I was only getting started,” Azrael grinned. “Then have at thee.” Father hesitated a moment before he approached Azrael, much slower then when they began. But he paused, “perhaps a draw.” Azrael, grinned. A glaze of red stretched across his teeth as he took on a less aggressive stance and began to walk back toward the house. It was then he realized how far away from the house the two had fought. Father soon followed behind and seemed to enjoy the night. Azrael was the first to enter the house and left Father alone outside. He breathed deeply, the humid air now felt cold as winter on his skin. After a moment of appreciation of the night he entered the house and shut the door behind him. “Azreal, you fought...” Father’s eyes were greeted by the sight of Azrael's prone body near the stove. He didn't bother to cover himself and seemed to have just collapsed to the ground. Father approached slowly and moved a hand in front of Azrael's mouth, "I'm alive, just let me lay here right now, I can't feel my limbs." Father snickered at this comment, "As you wish." Father began to walk into another room, presumably a bedroom. "I will pass you one day," Father looked over his shoulder at Azrael, "And you will remember that day the clearest. It'll be the freshest memory on your mind, forever." Father's brow raised at this. He was unsure if Azrael wasn't cognizant of what he had sad, or if he just issued a death threat. He didn't reply and instead continued to bed. A wide grin was plastered across Azrael's face.

[Azrael Solomon]

Lore: Krysus and Vayt knowledge. Krysus worship and personal philosophy.

Summer 14 488AV The night past as calmly as it had crept across the mining town of Sunberth. Azrael lay fast asleep; he always seemed to favor the hard surface of the floor instead of a bed. Father had fallen asleep and had woke back up at the first crack of sun up. He shuffled out of the bed that wasn’t his and cracked his spine. He sniffed the air and crinkled his nose. The pungent smell of decay had begun to be quite offensive. He slipped on his feet covers and walked through the house and into the main area. His eyes found Azrael in the same spot, though sprawled out on his back as he snored away. Father gritted his teeth, he had taught Azrael better. There wasn’t enough sun in a day to waste it with sleep. He stepped right up to the young man and kicked him hard, “Azrael! Wake up, you’re waisting sun light.” Azrael oofed and cringed at the hard jab of the foot against his rib. It was a hard way to wake up, but he has had worst wakeup calls. Azrael soon found the strength to sit up, all the while his body and muscles protested. His bones cracked and complained, stiff from the floor and the hard spar he and his father had the night prior. Needless to say, Azrael felt pain all over. His face that had become swollen the night before was back to its normal state. His lips had a few cracks but none of them to severe to pay any mind too. Azrael stood up with a loud groan, “It would seem, gah, that our goddess Krysus has rewarded my body with her pleasurable pain.” Father didn’t pay attention to his son’s protests as he walked over to his pack all ready to head out. “Do you have your things packed as well?” Azrael looked up from his morning stretches. Each movement pulled on the already damaged muscles that had begun to rebuild and become stronger. “Pack? Since when do I have anything to pack? I always thought you were my ser--oof” Father was not in the mood for jests from his son as he tossed over a heavy sack full of the cooking wares and other sundry items. “We are leaving now, the soil is soft at this time and I need to acquire some more roots for my poisons.” Azrael grumbled and set down the bag, “We may get to your roots in a second, I need to finish in here first.” Father nodded and picked up his bags and left the small cottage, “Hurry up, you are not the only one who would like to make an offer to gods.” Azrael nodded, he respected his Father’s rituals in conjunction with his faith with Vayt. Azrael cherished both gods equally, well maybe not equally but he sure did enjoy creating nasty potions that destroy and cause harm, pain. But now as Azrael walked out the back door into the cool, humid air of early morning he approached the man he had eviscerated and sliced open his chest. The same look of fighting pain plastered on the man’s face forever more. Eyes, glassed over as the color began to drain. The blood had dried and coagulated along the exposed organs and wounds. Skin paled from blood loss, blotches of deep red at the skin’s surface where whatever blood still inside him pooled. Azrael used a knife to slice the ropes that bound his limbs to the cross. The rigid body slid off and collapsed to the ground with a wet squelch and thud. “To continue,” He thought to himself, “This man died as my play thing. His life was useful, it takes far to long to construct a dummy made of hemp and cloth.” His gloved hands grabbed the corpse by the hair and began to drag the body into the cabin. It was a struggle, but he managed as he threw the body onto the ground. He then turned his attention to the headless corpse still seated in the chair. The cleaned skull provided by her body was left in her lap, Azrael never enjoyed sending offerings off incomplete. “This fine woman provided father with a testing media for a new tobacco based poison, and provided myself with the most decadent flesh I have had in a long while.” After his moment of reflection finished he moved to a corner of the room and found the bundle of burlap. He dragged the roll of fabric out of the corner and over to where the other two corpses lay. He began to unroll the burlap fabric until the form of a small torso, still clothed, was exposed. Limbs removed and huddled against the body. Azrael brought the head of the young child over and set it down with the rest of his body. The family together again, Azrael takes the knife and slices his palm. He winces as the pain of cutting himself travels through his spine. The blood begins to pool on his palm before he rubs his fingers and talons into it. He brings the bloody palm down onto the man’s back, the woman’s chest and the kid’s head. “I’ve heard that only enemies leave flowers, you will not be left flowers. I need you to understand that you were all victims of circumstance. I could have gone to any family, we could have taken a left instead of a right and stumble on another family. But like death, I am unbiased. Thank you for your service.” During his speech he had reached for one of the white bandage cloths he had prepared and wrapped it around his palm. He moved to a corner and found a jar of lantern oil near a small torch. He picked both items up and moved to the wood burning stove. The coals of the fire was still lit as he threw kindling onto them. He blew at the coals which caused the stove’s chamber to fill with smoke. He continued to blow until finally a flame caught. Azrael lit the torch on the flame and moved away from the stove. He opened the container of lamp oil and began to sprinkle it over the corpses as well as the surrounding wood surface. “May the smoke of my ritual soar to the heavens, spread across the land, become the mist, let it be heard by my beloved Krysus wherever she may dwell.” With that he set flame to the oiled pool. The fire spread slow at first, but as the oil heated up spread rapidly. Azrael grabbed the bag and scythe before he ran out the front door. The room already had filled with black smoke, which followed him out. He began to makes his way to the forest where he had seen his father as he waited. The flames began to spread quickly and smoke billowed from the house of death. The flames looked like claws as the inferno soon grew quickly. Azrael stopped when he was in front of his father. Father had a strange look on his face, one of fear, “Whats the matter?” Azrael looked back at the house and watched the smoke reach the heavens. “That smoke. When you left through the door, that black smoke seemed to hug your body like hands as they tried to pull you back in. I do not mind who you worship, but I want no part of that.” Father turned around and began to walk through the forest, “Come on now.” Azrael, eyed his dad a bit. It could be read through his eyes his mind worked to attempt and make a witty comment. But none came to mind, the seriousness on his father’s face spooked him and didn’t want to press it further. “Fair enough father,” He adjusted the bag and began to follow his Father through the forest. The pair had begun to travel again, nomadic in their living, it was never safe to have a settlement to stay at. Families had families as well and the two wanted to separate themselves as much as they could from the murders they committed. Azrael didn’t know what his life had planned for him, it didn’t matter him. He lived one day at a time, like it was his last. He was not death, but he knew death could occur at any moment. He didn’t have time to worry about anyone but himself.

[Ink]

And in the Aftermath . . . The Rewards are Revealed. Azrael : Brawling 1 Butchering 2 Cooking 1 Evasion 1 Poison 2 Unarmed 3 Weapon (Scythe) 3 Wilderness Survival 1 Lore: Unarmed Technique (Diaphragm blow) Lore: A Knife in the Hand is Better than Knife in the Heart Lore: Fighting Dirty (Basic) Lore: Krysus (Basic) Lore: Vayt (Basic) Lore: Arson (Basic) Note: A full Zith grows very quickly, adulthood by 10. But as I understand it Azrael is only a half-zith, so he wouldn’t mature quite as fast. Additionally even a quickly growing two-year-old could not wield a scythe; it’s a very large heavily weighted weapon. Please be mindful of this in any further flashbacks! Written in the ink : If there are any concerns or problems with my grading please feel free to toss me a PM. I am more than happy to explain my reasons or reevaluate them if you feel I've been unfair.

[Azrael Solomon]

Thank you much Ink.