Fall 16, 514 AV
“I have ‘nother job fer ye,” Irith Baughn, the mercenary’s employer, said as Vaylen approached the merchant one of many times during the autumn season. “Some of me customers been complainin’ that a group of no-good petchin’ kids keep stealin’ dere goods down in Cheap Side of the Sunset Quarters. Mine beatin’ the livin shyke out of ‘em so they get da message? There’s three of ‘em. One a tall and lanky sandy-haired boy, ‘nother short and stock with black hair, and the last is one o’ dem muscled petches. But I doubt any o’ ‘em will give ye trouble.”
“No need to make it into a question, Baughn. Say what you want done and it shall be so,” Vaylen retorted, smirking beneath his mask. “They happen to live near my lodging. Perhaps I can stop and grab a bite to eat afterward.” With a devilish chuckle, Vaylen turned away from the smiling Baughn and made his way toward Cheap Side.
It was mid-afternoon, but that did not deter Vaylen from his state of mind. What better way to send a message than put a blade through their heart? Beating a boy to near death only brought upon vengeance; true death brought silence and no further trouble. It only took a couple chimes to reach Cheap Side, where Vaylen picked out the three boys immediately—they were in their late teen years just before adulthood, the same age when the Wraith had slaughtered his parents. He knew of the capabilities of someone that age. Though it may have been confined only to him, Vaylen took no chances.
Cheap Side would become a blood bath.
The hordes of men and women dispersed as the Wraith began quickening his pace toward the trio until he was in a jog and then a full-fledged sprint. The stockier, black-haired teen was the first to see him as he turned around at the sound of boots on cobblestone. His eyes blasted abroad as two kukris surged into either side of his neck. The chocolate brown eyes of the youth remained widened as they stared into the pits of despair that were the gray eyes of the Wraith. Shock had overwhelmed the boy, of course. No person knows the time of their death until it is upon them. And now it was, with two curved daggers purging the life from his anatomy.
After three or so ticks of the kukris being sheathed within the teen’s neck, the Wraith tore the curved weapons from the boy’s throat, ripping his flesh apart and spraying his blood across Vaylen’s mask. As the stocky teen crumbled to the ground, quite dead, the other two looked on in horror. The lanky, sandy-haired boy looked to run, but the muscled brute of a child stepped up to the plate to try and face the cold-hearted killer. What the two of them did not know was that the muscled boy had made the correct decision. Those who fled from the Wraith found their ends to be much slower, and that soon would show itself.
With a near demonic growl, the youth through a clumsy right fist at Vaylen, which the Wraith evaded by moving to the right and slicing a deep, crooked laceration against the boy's right thigh (from Vaylen's perspective). The young boy leaned down to clutch at the wound, gritting through his teeth in pain as Vaylen took no chances. He finished the kill quickly by putting both kukris beneath the chin of the muscled teen and slitting his throat, much like the previous victim.
Because the killings of both of these young individuals had been quick indeed, Vaylen had not noticed the crowd assembling to watch the murders. Many gasped, but the murdering acts were normal on the streets of Sunberth. The two kills had been clean, but Vaylen had something else on his mind.
Scanning the crowd behind the concealment of his terrible mask, the Wraith finally regained his focus. With the fire in his eyes, like it always seemed to be when he stole the life from others, Vaylen saw the sandy-haired boy fleeing through the throng in a dead sprint. The Wraith grinned devilishly beneath the mask, and with his kukris—both lathered in blood—at his sides, he began stalking the footfalls of the lanky youth.
A requirement to finish the job was not on his mind at this point. It was only the bloodlust—the bloodlust of a murderer.
.
“I have ‘nother job fer ye,” Irith Baughn, the mercenary’s employer, said as Vaylen approached the merchant one of many times during the autumn season. “Some of me customers been complainin’ that a group of no-good petchin’ kids keep stealin’ dere goods down in Cheap Side of the Sunset Quarters. Mine beatin’ the livin shyke out of ‘em so they get da message? There’s three of ‘em. One a tall and lanky sandy-haired boy, ‘nother short and stock with black hair, and the last is one o’ dem muscled petches. But I doubt any o’ ‘em will give ye trouble.”
“No need to make it into a question, Baughn. Say what you want done and it shall be so,” Vaylen retorted, smirking beneath his mask. “They happen to live near my lodging. Perhaps I can stop and grab a bite to eat afterward.” With a devilish chuckle, Vaylen turned away from the smiling Baughn and made his way toward Cheap Side.
It was mid-afternoon, but that did not deter Vaylen from his state of mind. What better way to send a message than put a blade through their heart? Beating a boy to near death only brought upon vengeance; true death brought silence and no further trouble. It only took a couple chimes to reach Cheap Side, where Vaylen picked out the three boys immediately—they were in their late teen years just before adulthood, the same age when the Wraith had slaughtered his parents. He knew of the capabilities of someone that age. Though it may have been confined only to him, Vaylen took no chances.
Cheap Side would become a blood bath.
The hordes of men and women dispersed as the Wraith began quickening his pace toward the trio until he was in a jog and then a full-fledged sprint. The stockier, black-haired teen was the first to see him as he turned around at the sound of boots on cobblestone. His eyes blasted abroad as two kukris surged into either side of his neck. The chocolate brown eyes of the youth remained widened as they stared into the pits of despair that were the gray eyes of the Wraith. Shock had overwhelmed the boy, of course. No person knows the time of their death until it is upon them. And now it was, with two curved daggers purging the life from his anatomy.
After three or so ticks of the kukris being sheathed within the teen’s neck, the Wraith tore the curved weapons from the boy’s throat, ripping his flesh apart and spraying his blood across Vaylen’s mask. As the stocky teen crumbled to the ground, quite dead, the other two looked on in horror. The lanky, sandy-haired boy looked to run, but the muscled brute of a child stepped up to the plate to try and face the cold-hearted killer. What the two of them did not know was that the muscled boy had made the correct decision. Those who fled from the Wraith found their ends to be much slower, and that soon would show itself.
With a near demonic growl, the youth through a clumsy right fist at Vaylen, which the Wraith evaded by moving to the right and slicing a deep, crooked laceration against the boy's right thigh (from Vaylen's perspective). The young boy leaned down to clutch at the wound, gritting through his teeth in pain as Vaylen took no chances. He finished the kill quickly by putting both kukris beneath the chin of the muscled teen and slitting his throat, much like the previous victim.
Because the killings of both of these young individuals had been quick indeed, Vaylen had not noticed the crowd assembling to watch the murders. Many gasped, but the murdering acts were normal on the streets of Sunberth. The two kills had been clean, but Vaylen had something else on his mind.
Scanning the crowd behind the concealment of his terrible mask, the Wraith finally regained his focus. With the fire in his eyes, like it always seemed to be when he stole the life from others, Vaylen saw the sandy-haired boy fleeing through the throng in a dead sprint. The Wraith grinned devilishly beneath the mask, and with his kukris—both lathered in blood—at his sides, he began stalking the footfalls of the lanky youth.
A requirement to finish the job was not on his mind at this point. It was only the bloodlust—the bloodlust of a murderer.
.
