Red Shadows (Closed)

[Death's Nephew]

People crowded the busy marketplace of Radasanth. Small children dressed in nearly ancient looking clothes tugged at their exhausted mother’s hand, wanting the cheap treats that vendors sold at respectable but still too expensive prices. Some were kind enough to offer a trade and barter but most turned them away or even chased after some of the kids who tried to make their own five fingered discount. As heartless as Tommy could be, even this by his standards was beyond any evil he had committed.

Well...is it truly evil to kill the evil in such horrendous ways that its exciting and fun?

Most would say yes. And the young half-specter would have no problem Judging them immediately and then killing them either way. His train of thought had taken him this far in life and he was pretty damn sure he could keep enjoying it for all it was worth for quite some time.

A kid bumped into him, a small taco shaped snack grasped firmly in his dirty, little hands. He stared at Tommy for a second, a frightened yet desperate look in his sapphire eyes. Until now, he’d been content with sitting on the large, rotting bench waiting for his target to show up as per usual on this day, just watching but not interacting. Staying out of notice from anyone was his goal for today, as it had been yesterday, and just like tomorrow was going to be.

“Relax,” Tommy said with a soft, bored voice, “Get out of here.”

The kid didn’t smile, nod, or even cheer for happiness. He bolted like a molten rock the size of a bull was headed for him. And sure enough, the greasy, fat vendor came around the bench, shouting for someone to snatch the small boy. Tommy yawned and stretched, subtly tripping the man onto his face. He landed with a heavy thud and muffled cries of surprise and pain seeped from under all his chins.

In one quick motion, the young man stood up and merged into the growing crowd, trying his best to keep his snow white hair from being noticed to easily among a sea of brown and gray. He’d need a cloak soon. Or something with a hood.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his target enter the marketplace, opposite of where he stood. The large, circular setting was back dropped with high rising buildings and an even higher midday sun. He slowly leaned against a shady wall next to a man selling beads and other assorted jewelry.

“Hey, hey you.”

Tommy glanced quickly at the inquirer. It was the scruffy merchant of shiny things.

“If you’re gonna stand there, you gotta buy something!” He stated sternly.

Annoyed, Tommy Judged him. Unfortunately he was a decent man, probably just trying to earn a living; even though he acted like a dick. He’d get to live another day.

Holding up his hand, he displayed his dark ring to the seller, “Already got a shiny little thing.” He shifted his attention to the Treasurer who was as normal, surrounded by heavily armed guards and his even more normal shadowing squad. That’s what Tommy called them at least. They dressed like beggars but he recognized their eyes. The eyes that take a life without mercy.

Eyes like his own.

“Either you buy something or get away from here!” The merchant was now more than displeased with the young man’s disregard for social order.

Tommy sighed. “Got any necklaces?”

You’d have thought these two were suddenly old friends. “Why yes I do! Look, look!”

“Something dark.” He kept his eyes on the guards that were shadowing.

“Ah like this!” He held up a light tan, wooden necklace decorated with rectangular pieces of simple. polished oak and some very small jade hexagons.

“How is that dark?” He gave the man a bewildered look.

“Ok, ok! How about this then?” What he had was a deep crimson necklace made of obsidian squares and akashima redwood.

“How much?” He said as he stepped closer to the table, pretending to be a simple customer, as a shadow guard wandered over to Tommy’s little slice of the world.

“Two-hundred and fifty gold pieces. Hello good sir! Can I interest you in some fine bracelets for your wife or sister? Hmmm?” The crafty merchant inquired to the undercover guard.

“Two-hundred and fifty gold?!” Tommy exclaimed. “Hey, can you get this guy?” He said with a chuckle to the guard. The man regarded him with only the slightest acknowledgement, clearly noticing his employer to be getting ready to move on out of the marketplace, having finished his lunch at some small eatery.

“Fine fine! Two hundred but no lower!”

“How much for this?” The man said quickly, a slight bit of impatience in his voice. During the few seconds that his eyes were focused on a bracelet, Tommy examined his face and body structure. Shorter, but stocky. He had powerful looking arms that he tried to hide in baggy, torn clothes. His face was dirty, but not like the rest of the people. It looked like he grabbed some soot and tried to rub it on his cheeks and forehead. He had the cold, calculating eyes of a killer, but clearly was lacking reliable gut instincts.

“Ohhhh that,” the merchant said with slow approval. “That is costly, my friend. I can’t let it go for less than seven-hundred gold.”

“You do realize how poor we all are.” The man said. Tommy wondered how often he practiced saying that every day.

“But that is made out of Cillu. You can only get that made in Fallien!” He boasted proudly. “Clearly sir, you are a man of fine tastes.” He flashed a winning smile to seal the deal.

Tommy casually left the table, clearly no longer the bigger fish and decided to call it a day before he was noticed any more by the other guards who were most likely keeping an eye on their lagging fellow.

I’m hungry...I gotta get some food in me.

Tomorrow would be another day. He’d be tracking his target further ahead now as he had been the last week and a half. Knowing where he slept every night was his main goal for scouting and surveillance. The next step would be infiltration and eventually the strike. If he got to kill his guards on the way, Tommy would call it icing on the cake.

Mmm, cake. But later. I need some steak. Yea, cow sounds good.

[Death's Nephew]

The sun slowly crept along the horizon, bidding final goodbyes until it was ready to say hello again. Tommy watched it with little interest, sitting on a slab of rubble of what was once a nice, family owned business.

They sold children.

Oh sure, one could question its ethics, but they usually got killed for speaking against the local gangs. The rubble making wasn't Tommy's doing, he just happened to be sitting on a comfortable looking piece of the ruins. From the looks of it (and the rumors he got from people), the place was torn to the ground by an angry mob. Apparently they had gotten tired of the gang in their neighborhood and decided to kill whoever stayed and destroy the place. Looters had already claimed anything worth of value weeks ago, but every so often he saw a young child rummaging through the area, hoping to find something to sell.

These people are truly getting boned in the ass...

If they were being taxed so hard, he figured maybe they were getting something from it. Better guards, better material to build shops, better imports for the poor....something. To his surprise, or lack thereof, they just got a royal sized fuck, and none of them did a damn thing to change it.

But that's why the Red Hand existed. To help the weak, give to the poor, blah blah blah. Tommy liked the part about killing assholes. Only reason he was here. Edmund WhoOrAnother (he had the name on a paper in his pocket, he'd need to check again later) had to die a nice, quiet death. If he had his way, it would be slow.

A crow landed on a nearby piece of jutting wood and cawed at the young half-specter. Apparently someone was trespassing on someone's property. None to fond of crows, he grabbed a piece a rock from the ruins by his feet and threw it at the bird. It flew away angry and noisy, soaring to a high point just over a building to his left.

What the...

From the top of the five story building, he could make out a shady silhouetted head watching him. His eyes narrowed and the figure vanished from view quickly. He was being watched. Was his cover blown? Probably not. If it had been, he'd be surrounded by guards now...

The clatter of metal feet resounded down the street to his left, making him feel like a psychic. He made a mental note to test out his amazing new powers later and bolted for the nearest alley, which was hardly more than a few yards away. He called to the shadows, feeling them embrace his body like a warm, cozy old blanket in the cold winter night. He was effectively hidden from prying eyes and waited for the local police to try and snatch him up.

Instead, they ran to a store across from his little spot and knocked heavy fists against the aged door. Four guards and they all looked angry, as if someone had just shouted about how fat their mothers were and how dumb they were (their mothers that is). A frail looking man who was about a breeze away from being blown into dust answered the door.

"Where's the money ol' man!?" The man speaking must've been in charge. Only the back of his shiny armor was visible to Tommy.

"Well, I'm sorry there...but...I just don't haf' it..." He started to say.

"Kill him," the leader said.

A spear skewered through his chest and for a second, Tommy thought he just might wither into a neat little pile of sand on the ground. Instead, he cried out weakly in pain, gripping the spear, staring at it like this wasn't happening. As if it was some terrible nightmare and he'd wake up with just another case of pissed pajamas.

The spear guard pulled the weapon out and they pushed over the man, leaving him to bleed to death on the ground.

"Find what you can. Leave no wooden slot whole. Smash it all. We will not fail our Treasurer in this cleansing of Corone. Those who help pay for the war effort are clearly for us. Remember that men. We do this for the Empire!" He barked with clear authority.

The other men grunted in a positive response and the sounds of crashing vases and snapping wood resounded from the house. All Tommy could do was watch. He had a mission to complete. He could kill these bastards later.

It was times like this he missed being back home in the Underworld. Killing was so much simpler.

[Death's Nephew]

Every step he took felt watched. The soft, echoing thuds traveled deep into his paranoia. The shadowy figure atop the building hadn't spooked him, but made him immensely wary. He had hoped to make this a quiet job; after all, how would killing a man who spoke publicly about the Red Hand being a guild full of thugs and murders look if he was caught right over the body?

He subconsciously felt for his daggers, reassuring himself they were there. He needed to relax, calm down, maybe have a drink. But that was out of the question. What if he was being followed? The bartender could poison his drink or it would be poisoned as the barkeep's back was turned for a split second. Could Tommy even eat food he himself hadn't prepared?

Seething anger began to take place of his timid thoughts. He instilled fear into the hearts of his enemy, not the other way around! He would show this person just what it meant to really know terror.

As he rounded a corner with the moon slowly rising behind a few five story buildings that had seen better days, he slipped into the shadows and blended into them, becoming almost invisible. Even his white hair was hidden in the cold embrace of his lover. She cooed into his ear and tickled his neck affectionately as he narrowed his eyes and looked through the darkness, turning it from night to nearly day.

Living from the Underworld had given him a few perks, such as making the night his playground. During the day he was a capable brawler and swordsman, but at night...he was his Uncle's instrument of demise.

Tommy carefully watched the rooftops, waiting for even the subtle breathing of sleeping bird. Mice scurried past his feet, unaware that he was standing stone still in the shadows but he didn't care. They were creature of the night just like himself. He had respect for those who seduced the darkness to their bidding.

Gotcha bitch!

He saw the flicker of a hand as it had leapt from one building to the next. Then he saw a torso and the hidden face of a person maybe a few years older than he was. Male or female was uncertain and at this range he couldn't make out the color of the eyes. He grinned to himself as they searched over the lip of the building, wondering where the target had gone. Clearly upset, he took note of the balled up fist that rested on the edge of the roof. They had a temper...he could use that to advantage when he finally met face to face with stalker.

Tommy slipped around the back of the building, hugging the shadows, none to eager to leave them. He saw no sign nor felt no presence of someone watching his movements, but decided to play it safe all the way back to the inn he was staying at; the element of surprise was his biggest tool now.

His only question now was who the person was working for...the Red Hand or the Corone Empire? Was he sent reinforcements or had someone been tipped off? He dismissed the idea of help since an ally who would've just been watching him would not have shown such quick anger in losing the target. Worry would've been the appropriate emotional response.

He used the second story window to enter his room and plopped onto the ancient mattress. The day had been long and the dull, brown room with equally dull, brown furniture didn't really add any excitement. Tommy kicked off his boots and tossed his smooth, leather jacket onto the rickety chair near the desk that may have once been proud and waxed but now lingered about liking a crippled horse. His sword was still in the room as he'd left it, hanging on the wall. Too lazy to hang up his daggers, he just dropped them onto the floor beside the bed.

He had to be up early to continue his work. Worrying about stalkers and corrupt treasurers would have to wait until after he had gotten his beauty sleep.