Alliria
This city, with its massive towers that touched the very edges of the clouds and the slums that sank into the deepest dredges of scum beneath the earth, was not so unlike a beating heart that lie at the very core of the great expanse of land they all called their home. The streets and alleyways, they ran with the lifeblood of people from all walks of life, all species and races. The great buildings that one could admire and bear witness to from afar teemed with history, stories untold both breathtaking and tragic within their quiet, reticent walls.
So many things made their home here in Alliria. Gold, greed, love, hate, lust, fear, comfort...
But if you asked the strange fellow laying on his back atop one of the many towers that extended high from the earth, rain pattering softly against his exposed chest and the haunting, fractured smile on the mask he wore, he would tell you the true currency that the City of Alliria... No, that all of Arethil ran on. It was not money, not even power that drove men to the extremes that perpetuated the never-ending cycle that kept the world in check. The true answer was something far baser in nature, an intangible that all men and women alike held, but so few were willing to truly tap into properly.
Ambition.
Everybody wants to be better, wants to be higher on the ladder. It was a desire baked in the flesh, imprinted on the bone, lingering with every breath. Sometimes, being better is a simple matter. You try a little harder, you go through peril and trial to improve yourself and increase your position in the pecking order.
What happens, though, when someone is standing in the spot that you want? When they are in your way?
Well, then you call someone like Love.
Like a knife running down his ribcage.
That's how the vibrations beneath him felt to Love, rolling over onto his stomach atop the estate of one Drako Raimer. Atop his back lie a shadow, a dark spot on an already dark night that stared down at the streets beneath with eyes unseen, the thin hairs on its spider-like legs feeling every footstep, every opening and closing door, every booming voice and child's scream.
None of them were of interest to Love or his Shadowkin tonight. Tonight, was for his moonlit rendezvous with Raimer and none other. The wealthy businessman and black-market poacher of rare animals from the Savannah had made his fair share of enemies, it seemed. That he still breathed for this long surprised Love, but such shock was to be short-lived: Drako had made an enemy willing to hire the Calignous Church to be rid of him, and the price on offer was...
Substantial.
When Mr. Raimer returned to his estate tonight, Love would meet him. Mr. Raimer would die. The world would be better for it. The Mother would be happy. With his eyes thick with smoke, Love would tear the skin from his bones and show Drako his love for Meness, and for all of Arethil.
Unless, of course, one of his Brothers and Sisters sought the same reward.
Love brought his red, bloodied hands to the stone beneath him, pushing himself to his knees as his Shadowkin climbed effortlessly to his shoulder. Yes, it was possible that another would come. It would not be the first time that paths would cross in the name of a mutual target. Love would not fight them, though. Mother Meness would weep over such a fickle spat.
He would merely be first, and as he leaned forward to begin climbing down the side of the estate with his raw, bleeding hands, there was not a hint of pain beneath his mask.
"I don't give a damn about that!" Raimer barked at the scantily clad woman pressed fearfully against the sodden wall of a damp, dark alleyway not far from his home. Fear simmered in her eyes as the large, well-dressed man glowered down at her from underneath the brim of his hat, rain dripping off of it and onto the puddles already forming on the ground at her bare, cold feet. "Next time he pays you, you do what I told you to do!"
It was so hard to find good help these days, Drako stewed. He'd been so kind as to offer this common whore a chance to give her children a place of dignity, that didn't reek of sulfur and fill with rats in the cold months. All she needed to do was deal with the people he needed dealt with on his behalf. A drop of poison and a well placed scrap of forged parchment should have been no big deal, right?
He should have hired one of those damned Anirian punks. Surely he could have spun it into some 'Bigger Picture' thing that would get them on board.
"M-Mister Raimer, I don't think I c--"
The sharp smack of flesh against flesh echoed off of the stone walls surrounding them as he struck her across the cheek, and she sank into the puddle of rain beneath her with a muted sob.
"If you try and rob me, you'll pay tenfold. You won't like how I deal with absconders, not one bit..."
With that, he left, steam nearly pouring from his ears as he exited back onto the road, his head tilting to look towards the massive estate looming just minutes away. The rain collecting on his brim falls, spilling onto his back and making him shudder.
"Damned summer showers..." Drako mumbles. "This night can't get any worse, I swear it."
This city, with its massive towers that touched the very edges of the clouds and the slums that sank into the deepest dredges of scum beneath the earth, was not so unlike a beating heart that lie at the very core of the great expanse of land they all called their home. The streets and alleyways, they ran with the lifeblood of people from all walks of life, all species and races. The great buildings that one could admire and bear witness to from afar teemed with history, stories untold both breathtaking and tragic within their quiet, reticent walls.
So many things made their home here in Alliria. Gold, greed, love, hate, lust, fear, comfort...
But if you asked the strange fellow laying on his back atop one of the many towers that extended high from the earth, rain pattering softly against his exposed chest and the haunting, fractured smile on the mask he wore, he would tell you the true currency that the City of Alliria... No, that all of Arethil ran on. It was not money, not even power that drove men to the extremes that perpetuated the never-ending cycle that kept the world in check. The true answer was something far baser in nature, an intangible that all men and women alike held, but so few were willing to truly tap into properly.
Ambition.
Everybody wants to be better, wants to be higher on the ladder. It was a desire baked in the flesh, imprinted on the bone, lingering with every breath. Sometimes, being better is a simple matter. You try a little harder, you go through peril and trial to improve yourself and increase your position in the pecking order.
What happens, though, when someone is standing in the spot that you want? When they are in your way?
Well, then you call someone like Love.
Like a knife running down his ribcage.
That's how the vibrations beneath him felt to Love, rolling over onto his stomach atop the estate of one Drako Raimer. Atop his back lie a shadow, a dark spot on an already dark night that stared down at the streets beneath with eyes unseen, the thin hairs on its spider-like legs feeling every footstep, every opening and closing door, every booming voice and child's scream.
None of them were of interest to Love or his Shadowkin tonight. Tonight, was for his moonlit rendezvous with Raimer and none other. The wealthy businessman and black-market poacher of rare animals from the Savannah had made his fair share of enemies, it seemed. That he still breathed for this long surprised Love, but such shock was to be short-lived: Drako had made an enemy willing to hire the Calignous Church to be rid of him, and the price on offer was...
Substantial.
When Mr. Raimer returned to his estate tonight, Love would meet him. Mr. Raimer would die. The world would be better for it. The Mother would be happy. With his eyes thick with smoke, Love would tear the skin from his bones and show Drako his love for Meness, and for all of Arethil.
Unless, of course, one of his Brothers and Sisters sought the same reward.
Love brought his red, bloodied hands to the stone beneath him, pushing himself to his knees as his Shadowkin climbed effortlessly to his shoulder. Yes, it was possible that another would come. It would not be the first time that paths would cross in the name of a mutual target. Love would not fight them, though. Mother Meness would weep over such a fickle spat.
He would merely be first, and as he leaned forward to begin climbing down the side of the estate with his raw, bleeding hands, there was not a hint of pain beneath his mask.
"I don't give a damn about that!" Raimer barked at the scantily clad woman pressed fearfully against the sodden wall of a damp, dark alleyway not far from his home. Fear simmered in her eyes as the large, well-dressed man glowered down at her from underneath the brim of his hat, rain dripping off of it and onto the puddles already forming on the ground at her bare, cold feet. "Next time he pays you, you do what I told you to do!"
It was so hard to find good help these days, Drako stewed. He'd been so kind as to offer this common whore a chance to give her children a place of dignity, that didn't reek of sulfur and fill with rats in the cold months. All she needed to do was deal with the people he needed dealt with on his behalf. A drop of poison and a well placed scrap of forged parchment should have been no big deal, right?
He should have hired one of those damned Anirian punks. Surely he could have spun it into some 'Bigger Picture' thing that would get them on board.
"M-Mister Raimer, I don't think I c--"
The sharp smack of flesh against flesh echoed off of the stone walls surrounding them as he struck her across the cheek, and she sank into the puddle of rain beneath her with a muted sob.
"If you try and rob me, you'll pay tenfold. You won't like how I deal with absconders, not one bit..."
With that, he left, steam nearly pouring from his ears as he exited back onto the road, his head tilting to look towards the massive estate looming just minutes away. The rain collecting on his brim falls, spilling onto his back and making him shudder.
"Damned summer showers..." Drako mumbles. "This night can't get any worse, I swear it."
