Fair Days Are .Over.

[counterklock]

((OOC: This thread is mainly Genji and Devon meeting for the first time, but anyone else can post if they want. <3 ))

Dark, angry storm clouds stretched across the sky like a malevolent blanket, choking out every last patch of blue and blocking the light and warmth of the sun. A bitter wind blew in from the ocean, sharp and cold, a reminder that winter had not been that long ago. Teirm was a maritime city, with temperatures that often never rose or dropped to truly uncomfortable levels, but it was prone to having the occasional cold snap during the cooler seasons.

He pulled his arms as close to his torso as his shackles would allow, in hopes of getting the feeling back into his fingers, with limited success. The course tunic that covered only his legs did absolutely nothing to block the breeze or preserve any warmth, and thus his slender frame shook and shivered in a desperate attempt to produce heat. It made him feel naked and exposed, with so much of his body uncovered by fabric. Such lack of clothing was reflection of his status as a slave, however, and it was not his place to complain.

Devon had not been sold in the slave auctions of Teirm before today. In the past, his owners had bought and sold him privately, within the comfort of their own homes, where he had been (mercifully) permitted to wear a full, plain tunic. When buying or selling slaves privately, one was much more likely to get the coin a slave was actually worth, as buying a slave from the slave yards could be considered a gamble at times. Who knew if the slave was incredibly ill with some contagious disease, or sporting a hidden injury? In the past years, he had had a few masters and mistresses – some kind, some cruel, and some merely disinterested in the affairs of their servants. When he was sold to another master or mistress, it had always taken place away from the terrible pits where the majority of other slaves were sold. For this, he was thankful.

His last master, a rather kindly old scholar, had been sick for some time. Lord Kelan was a minor noble, interested most in the sciences, and had been Devon’s master for three years. In those three years, he had felt the closest he had ever felt to being someone’s equal since he had been enslaved. Kelan had been a man who believed all men of every race should be treated the same as everyone else. He had been a kind man, who gave Devon a warm room to sleep in, with comfortable straw mattress and warm blankets to sleep on, and clothes that had made him often forget that he was a servant. He had never been shown such kindness before his enslavement.

Devon had spent many nights desperately trying to nurse Lord Kelan back to health, after he had collapsed in the garden one afternoon, but the elderly noble passed on early in the morning four days ago, and his heirs had swooped in like vultures to claim his estates. While the two sons and the daughter squabbled over who would take the generous library of books, or who would claim the many wonderful treasures in the house, they had looked his way with eyes full of contempt and disgust, and agreed unanimously that the ‘elf’ would have to go.

Devon was no stranger to hatred – the people of these lands seemed to hate elves with a passion, and as he resembled the Elves, with his pale complexion, dark hair, small build and pointed ears, he was also subjected to such dislike – but he, in his silent grief and momentary luxury, had not been prepared for the disgust and loathing. He knew then that his days of leisure were over, and it had been foolish to believe that maybe they’d continue on forever.

Lord Kelan’s heirs had not wanted to bother with a private selling, and instead sold him to the slave pits. That was the reason he was here, huddled in the corner of a wooden stall, neck, wrists and ankles firmly circled with a metal collar and shackles, which were chained securely to a bolt in the stone floor.

He suspected the slavers knew he wasn’t really an elf, but he had no doubt people would jump at the opportunity to own one if it was advertised enough, even if it was either to own such an exotic commodity, or use it for target practice. Devon remembered seven years ago, when a magician had brutally invaded his mind to determine if he actually was an elf, and to see if he would ever be a threat in the future. The magician had discovered his heritage, of his human father and sylvan mother, and of the absence of all magic whatsoever, and was satisfied. If he was suspected of being a spy for the elves, he would have been taken long ago to Carvala to be tortured and executed.

It was early yet in the day, but the slave yards were already bustling with an eager crowd. The first auctions would likely commence shortly. People wandered up and down the rows of stalls, mostly wealthy men looking to get a bargain on some of the better-quality slaves before the auction really began.

”...And here, gentlemen, is one of the more... unique... slaves going on the block this afternoon,” A loud, brash voice shook him from his thoughts, and the blue-eyed youth glanced up briefly to see one of the auctioneers leading a group of aristocrats down the hall. ”Not an elf, exactly, but he looks enough like one.”

”He looks no older than twelve, thirteen at most,” One of the men leaned forward, scrutinizing him. ”How old is he?”

”Slave!” The auctioneer barked, ”How old are you?”

”I am seventeen years of age, sirs,” Devon answered obediently.

”Elf types live long lives,” The auctioneer explained, and the majority of the group snorted in disdain. ”This one’s likely to have a good run.”

By then, the auctioneer had lost his patrons’ attentions. He sensed this, and tried to recapture his audience. ”Over here, gentlemen, is where you’ll find some less exotic slaves to suite your needs...”

Devon raised his head to watch the group wander off down the line of stalls, allowing his slender brows to furrow for only a moment, before re-settling himself in the corner of his stall, tucking his knees to his chest to conserve warmth.

[Elloria]

("This" is in Itasan.)

Genji stood on the balcony of his wing of the citadel and eyed the storm clouds over his city with irritation. His left hand tapped at Seisui’s hilt whilst his right fingered Hinote’s, the wakizashi uncharacteristically at his right side. Normally he didn't mind the storms of Teirm. They were an oddly comforting reminder of the climate of Itasus, which he missed from time to time. This one was dark and malevolent, like a tsunami or hurricane waiting to strike - hoping to obliterate the people of Yawata no Kami. That wasn’t what was irritating him. It was the damnable cold. Normally it didn’t bother him, even in the depths of Alagaesia’s winters. But occasionally - just enough to sour his disposition towards the continent - it would be much colder than usual. Enough that even his hot blood was chilled. Which was ridiculous because winter had already ended. He cursed quietly and wondered if the Itasan fleet would be arriving soon, even in this weather. It was entirely possible. They usually left in the winter months - six months was a long time to travel after all. He sighed. The weather would undoubtedly delay them slightly, but that was trivial at the moment. What was important was the fact that he would need to don some sort of cloak to go down to the slaveyards today. He shuddered at the thought. Those Alagaesian cloaks were so uncomfortable and heavy. It was inconceivable why they should need something like that when even their winters on the coast were mild and easy. Perhaps farther inland it would be necessary. But not out here. And what’s more, they forced him to carry Hinote at his side rather than upon his back. He was not used to that setup in the slightest, but he would rather have both blades near him than just one.

He scowled and whirled around to stalk back inside. Mami, Rikuto, and Hiroshi watched silently as Genji stormed over to where Raiden stood holding up a cloak. The four guards already wore simple cloaks in dull green or grey. Genji's, unfortunately, was slightly more colorful. Some idiot of a servant had ordered all manner of cloaks in the most garish of colors and Genji had not yet had the opportunity to rectify this sorry situation. Aside from summarily dismissing the servant after beating her severely for her grievous lack of judgment. Which was why he was going to the slave markets today. He needed a new attendant and felt that a slave would be more likely to be sensible than some free-spirited servant. So he donned the most somber of the cloaks he could find - a shocking sky-blue affair with the Lantieri crest embroidered on the back. “Is the carriage ready?” he barked at Rikuto. “I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t, Kazan-sama.” He grunted and, satisfied the cloak was properly in place, left the west wing with all haste. The four Itasans picked up their respective weapons and followed. Mami locked it securely behind them. They made their way down to the courtyard where the Count's carriage was indeed waiting for them, along with two steeds for Rikuto and Mami. The two women swung up easily as Genji addressed the carriage driver. “The Teirm slaveyards, Michael. And please be quick about it. I wish to conclude my business there quickly.” The driver nodded deferentially to Genji and as soon as the Count, Raiden and Hiroshi were settled in took off at a quick, steady clip. Mami and Rikuto paced the carriage easily on their roans. They, more than the other two guards, had easily and delightedly taken to horseback riding.

They soon arrived in the markets and Genji quickly exited the carriage. He preferred walking, but the carriage was faster. The sooner he finished his business, the happier he would be. He looked around the yards with disdain. Squalid and nearly uninhabitable, per usual. He would really have to do something about that. If they were going to sell slaves in his city, they could at least make the conditions decent. No one wanted a sick slave and how could one be sure of anything else in such filthy conditions? He sighed and led his guards over to the large group that seemed to have gathered at one of the stalls. These people surely had more experience than he in purchasing slaves. “...And here, gentlemen, is one of the more... unique... slaves going on the block this afternoon.” The auctioneer leading this particular group of aristocrats was insufferably loud and vulgar-sounding. It made Genji’s eye twitch slightly. “Not an elf, exactly, but he looks enough like one.” One of the aristocrats leaned forward to eye the slave in question. Genji stood near the back and to the side, slightly away from the group. His view wasn’t the best - he cursed his distinct lack of height in this land of giants - but he could see the huddled slave was young and quite out of his element here. “He looks no older than twelve, thirteen at most. How old is he?”

“Slave! How old are you?”

“I am seventeen years of age, sirs,” the boy replied. His voice was quiet and subservient, but not unpleasant. “Elf types live long lives,” the auctioneer claimed. Nearly the entire group snorted in disdain. Genji remained silent and unnoticed. “This one’s likely to have a good run.” But the rest of the group was restless now and had started to move on. The auctioneer followed, trying to recapture their interest with less ‘exotic’ slaves. Once the group had moved on, Genji moved forward until he stood just outside the stall. His guards stood just behind him, Rikuto’s imposing poleaxe glinting even in the half-light of the stormy skies that roofed this wretched open market. Hiroshi’s eyes darted all around, her crossbow arrowless but ready, whilst Mami’s hand lingered almost lovingly on her bullwhip. Raiden yawned slightly. Genji, on the other hand, was riveted on the boy curled up in the stall’s corner. He hadn’t missed the furrowed brows that had been directed at the departing group. It intrigued him, as did those piercing blue eyes. The boy was slender, effeminate even, and probably not much taller than Genji. Long black hair that strongly reminded him of his people, though the boy’s complexion was markedly paler than any Itasan. He wondered what made this boy an ‘elf’ type. Did he have those famous pointed ears, perhaps? Or was there something else? He had to know. “And what exactly makes you such an exotic slave?” His smooth tenor rang out clearly as he directed his query at the huddled slave. There was no kindness in his eyes, but neither was there his usual disdain. For the moment, he was indifferently curious, if such a thing is possible.

[counterklock]

Elf types. This piqued Devon’s natural curiosity. He had learned very quickly what an elf was after he had been brought to Alagaesia. He knew his physique – his dark hair, his fair complexion, and, of course, his pointed ears – greatly resembled that of the Fair Folk of these lands. He had inherited these traits from his Sylvan mother, who, he assumed, had also resembled the elves. The elves of Alagaesia had come from ‘across the sea’ a long time ago, or so he had been told. Had the Sylvans been the same as the Elves? Or had they been a different species? Were there others that looked like him, like an elf, in Alagaesia, others he had not yet learned about?

When he had been younger, Devon had fantasized of his Sylvan family coming to free him from slavery. He had imagined they would seek him out and come to him, heralding him as a long-lost prince, and that they would bring them home to the safety of their city of Novan’Dai. Older now, and wiser, Devon knew such fantasies were illogical and impossible. His mother, though of royal blood, was only a minor lady, and thus he would never have been a prince even if he had not been disowned. No Sylvan would ever come searching for him specifically. He was unimportant.
That didn’t mean the Sylvans couldn’t come searching for trade. Had the Sylvans crossed the ocean, seeking out new civilizations to establish ties and exchange goods with?

Devon was shaken from his musings by a voice, and he looked up to see a lithe, confident figure, gazing upon him. It only took a few brief seconds for him to recognize this man as the Count of Teirm, and he dropped his gaze quickly to the stone floor out of respect. His previous master had claimed to be of hard hearing, and had insisted he lift his head instead of addressing the floor, and thus Devon had not lowered his head while speaking to a master often in a long time. He felt the tips of his ears flush in embarrassment and shame, and he fought to control those emotions, to be sure not to display them.

It should not have come as a surprise that one of such high power and influence would come to the slave yards (for surely the Count of Teirm owned many slaves), and so the boy was only momentarily taken aback, before he forced the sensation away. He had seen many noblemen wander about the yards. What came as a surprise was that the Count of Teirm was here in person, flanked by guards. Normally, he knew such high-ranking lords preferred to send others in their stead.

”I am considered exotic due to my appearance, my lord,” He replied, his voice even and soft, while keeping his eyes trained on the ground near his feet, as was proper of a slave. ”I am told I resemble the Elves of Alagaesia.”

After a moment of hesitation, Devon, as if shy, lifted a shackled hand and brushed his ebony hair aside, exposing one delicate pointed ear, allowing for the Count to observe and see for himself. Both his ears felt numb, frozen from the cold and likely flushed a shade of subtle rose. He supposed his cheeks were also colored.

”... I also possess skills of the voice as well as the harp, but my abilities also include normal housework,” He added, after a moment of silence, tentatively letting his hair fall back and cover his ear once more. He shivered slightly, suddenly acutely aware of the cold, and pulled his knees even closer to his chest.

[nightstalker]

Kyril strode along the darkened streets, the bitter cold was very bracing and caused a shiver to run up his back. Thos that recognized what he was, were the lucky cowering few that were not too busy, or unobservant enough to not notice the dark aura the radiated from him. He enjoyed people fleeing into houses, doors closing, windows shutting, or mothers gathering up their children to make sure that he didn’t hurt them. ’Hide in your houses all you wish, the funny thing is your walls wouldn’t stop me from killing you if I truly wished to harm your pathetic families.’

Looking up into the darkened sky, Kyril enjoyed the black scene, storm clouds malevolently gathered upon the horizon. A feeling of doom swept over the city, a shadow followed his coming that seemed to spread across the homes like a wild fire. Kyril was feared by the general population and he knew it, very few knew of the shade named Kyril Valomich, those that did worked in underground businesses. None had survived his wrath; he was good at what he did, he and his employers knew it. If Kyril was receiving a bounty for your head, with the exception for very powerful public or political figures, your life was forfeit.

Kyril preferred to work with the Counts, dealing with wanted criminals that were too elusive or challenging for their forces to take down. Kyril remembered his dealings with the count of Teirm, Genji. It had been a couple of months since he had been here, but his next hit was in this region, a mobster by the name of Uuran. Someone had a bone to pick, a high value target paid lots of money. Kyril would enjoy this target, he ran an underground drug smuggling business, while on the surface he was a wealthy aristocrat. His next appearance would be at a party that was being held in a couple more days. Kyril had time to kill during that time, bored with himself a thought came to him as he leaned against the wall in an alley way. ’Wouldn’t it be fun training someone to do missions for me? I would get money for it, while doing missions of my own. ’ Kyril remembered the slave yards of Teirm were a pitiful place, but a place to start nonetheless.

Kyril pushed himself off a wall as a knife was put to his back, ”Come nicely sir, you’re your purse and drop it, then walk away.” Kyril sighed amused, he knew about the other individual for a while, his stench filled the alley. Kyril thought it a waste to dispose of him, hoping for some entertainment he let the man live, and his patience paid off. ”Heed my words carefully, they will be the last thing you will hear.” Kyril disappeared into a black cloud and reformed behind the man, his black magic tearing a slight rift within the real world and causing him to appear in another place. His figure materialized from a black smoke and already his sword was drawn, and pointed at the man’s back.”I wonder, will you have enough time to beg for mercy before I end your life?” He placed his hand on the man’s back and thought the words in ancient language, ’ Eka heill onr sál frá thornessa mein.’ and the man fell to his knees, the spell stated, “I heal your soul of this burden.” The man’s soul departed from his body.

Kyril walked the maze of streets and made his way to the slave yards. Once arriving there he noticed the pitiful excuse it was. The aristocracy seemed pleased enough, ’Perhaps my target shall be here.’ Searching the faces, none matched the description, Kyril found that slightly disappointing. The surprise hit him as he realized he had seen the count’s guards, scanning the crowd he noticed the single figure standing over a youth. ” And what exactly makes you such an exotic slave?” The boy looked up and said, ”I am considered exotic due to my appearance, my lord,” he looked down and continued again saying, ” I am told I resemble the Elves of Alagaesia.” after a slight hesitation he continued and said, ” ”... I also possess skills of the voice as well as the harp, but my abilities also include normal housework,”

Kyril approached slipping past Genji’s guards, ”An exotic specimen indeed, tell me boy, do you fight?” Kyril held a sinister sneer upon his lips, looking up as if he just noticed him, Kyril said, ”Hello there old friend, any killing needs be done? I have hit a time of wealth and am offering a discount, care to take advantage?”Though Genji wasn’t an old friend, he had given Kyril good business in the past. Kyril looked back down upon the boy, ”I am on an assignment at the moment, one of your aristocrats has been causing another client of mine a bit of trouble, and a wonderful bounty has been placed on his head. Come with me child and you don’t have to live the life of a slave.” Kyril addressed the slave trader saying, ”Oh sir, how much for the kid?” Kyril examined the youth noting his features; slender, short, but the young were moldable. A healthy diet, and proper training, the kid might make a good subject. Perhaps he might make an even better shade? Kyril dismissed the thought for later.

[Elloria]

Genji noted the flaring recognition in the boy's eyes with indifference. He had been something of a sensation when he'd first arrived here. People had whispered - and yelled, truth be told - about his presence and this had only continued once he began his rule. He wasn't a cruel leader, per say, but he wasn't known for his kindness either. But this time, he rather wanted that boy to look him in the eye. Those eyes intrigued him - intelligent and subservient...yet not. “I am considered exotic due to my appearance, my lord.” The boy’s voice was even and soft, not unpleasant to listen to. Soft-spoken, like his own people. “I am told I resemble the elves of Alagaesia.” His eyebrow quirked slightly until the boy pulled his hair back to reveal a delicately pointed ear. So that was where his exoticness came in. A delicate flush graced the youth's face and ears - undoubtedly a result of this accursed cold. “... I also possess skills of the voice as well as the harp, but my abilities also include normal housework,” he added hesitantly. “Well, Yawata no Kami seems to be showing me favor, then. A sensible individual is what I seek.”

He was about to continue when he suddenly felt a familiar presence approaching. He stiffened as the shade Kyril slipped past his guards to stand beside him. The four Itasans immediately had their weapons trained upon the intruder, but Genji gave an almost unnoticeable shake of his head. The creature had served him well in the past and he would not turn upon it so quickly. Moreover, he had read much on shades since their first encounter. He suspected that even his highly trained warriors would be no match against this dark being. “An exotic specimen indeed, tell me boy, do you fight?” Genji eyed Kyril coldly from the corner of his eye. What an idiotic question to ask. It was obvious the boy had no fighting skills whatsoever. He was built for evasion, not battle. There was a sinister sneer upon its lips. It looked up, as if just realizing Genji stood there. As if he would believe such a flagrantly transparent act. “Hello there old friend, any killing needs be done? I have hit a time of wealth and am offering a discount, care to take advantage?” It looked back at the boy and Genji’s fists clenched. “I am on an assignment at the moment. One of your aristocrats has been causing another client of mine a bit of trouble and a wonderful bounty has been placed on his head.” He scowled. “We are not friends, Shade. Keep yourself professional when addressing me. Others may fear you as a demon, but believe me when I say I lack such fear. I treat you as an equal because you have proved useful, not because of any mild affection directed towards you. Do not forget that.”

“Come with me child and you don’t have to live the life of a slave.” Typical. More interested in its own business than holding a proper conversation with someone. “Oh sir, how much for the kid?” Genji's brow furrowed. “I do hope you are not intending to purchase this boy,” he said quietly. “I would not be standing here speaking with him if I did not intend to purchase him myself. As for the aristocrat, I will pay you in addition to whatever you will receive from your client. I am certain if he is causing trouble for those outside my city, he will soon become an issue to me as well. I simply ask that if you wish to receive payment from me, you leave whatever heirs he possesses alive. Just like last time.” He looked back at the boy huddled in the corner. Yes, he seemed like a sound investment. The auctioneer returned at the moment in response to Kyril's summons. “Ah, sirs, I see you’re interested in our exotic elf type here. For such a valuable slave, the suggested starting price is 100 gold pieces.” Genji looked coldly at the shade. “Your move, Kyril.” If it came to a bidding war, he would happily go into it. This boy seemed like a perfectly reasonable individual and he needed someone like that.

[counterklock]

He was quite aware of how intently the Count was looking at him. For unknown reasons, Devon was compelled to look up. He slowly raised his head and looked straight into the eyes of Genji Lantieri, and was met with piercing sea-blue eyes, an analytical, scrutinizing gaze that felt as if it could cut right through him. A sudden shiver ran down his spine, a shiver that had nothing to do with how cold he was feeling. But, even though his mind screamed at him to avert his gaze, to look away before he was beaten for insolence, he found that he simply could not. It was like looking into the eyes of a wolf hidden in a bush, or a cobra waiting to strike. His heart began to race. He was unable to look away.

The Count stiffened, and for a moment he feared it was in response to his disrespect, but then he saw it was due to the sudden appearance of another man. This man, who had seemingly come from nowhere, had an air of blatant audacity and brazenness. Just the sight of this man made his blood run cold, and a twinge of true fear flickered in his gut, before Devon quashed it, and willed himself not to show any outward evidence of it. If he did, he felt that this man would leap upon it at the first opportunity.

This man was not normal, that much he could tell. He gave off a malignant aura, ominous and forboding. His voice seemed to ooze self-confidence that was somehow also menacing. It felt colder now, as if the very presence of this man had caused the world to freeze. He soon learned that this man was called a shade, and though he did not know what a shade was, Devon felt himself very reluctant to find out. He was not curious as to what this man could do. He did not dare wonder.

”I am unable to fight, sir,” He heard himself answer, his voice barely even audible.

It was then that Devon realized that he did not want to go with this man. This being had the ability to kill him with a single thought, a single word, and he knew there was nothing he could do to stop it. He was very afraid of the shade. It was a fear that bloomed in his chest, paralyzing him, and made it so he could barely think. It was a powerful emotion that he fought with, silently, trying to banish it away before it took control of him.

Not even the Shade’s offer made him feel any less fearful. If it had been a normal man that had spoken these words to him, perhaps he would have gone with him, even if his chances of becoming free were slim. The thought of accompanying the Shade, however... something in the Shade’s eyes, something sinister, made him realize he’d rather live his whole life in slavery than go with him. He did not voice this, as it was not his place, and he tried not to show it, but he knew his fear would have been noticed by now. He shivered, and prayed the cold would continue to be a sufficient excuse.

[nightstalker]

Kyril regarded Genji thoughtfully, he then replied in a sarcastic manor ”Not friends? Oh how very crude indeed Count, I was hoping that we could be best buds. Saying you lack fear of me is intriguing, I wonder if you would say that from the other side of my blade. Which would never happen, you are too valuable a person to my cause.”

Kyril gave Genji a sideways glance as he listened to him speak, the thought of earning double for the head of a very powerful drug cartel leader was intriguing to him, he said, ”I will you’re your offer into consideration, and it shall be just like last time. I ask one thing from you, it would be less messy and further allows the possibility that his heirs will be left alive if you helped me. The one time this can be done-…”, Kyril stopped for a second, his conscience was stung with thoughts buzzing around in the boys head. Kyril could feel his emotions, his fear, and the boys thoughts pointed towards him. Kyril could feel his conscience, pricked by the emotions the youth had, Kyril looked into the boy’s eyes.

Kyril said, ”I have no intention to kill you, child. Your life is as precious to me, and you would be treated to the greatest lifestyle. Of course the decision isn’t yours to make now is it, it goes the same way as my allegiance does, to the highest bidder.”, Kyril wasn’t scared of what the Count could do, being killed would be freedom from this prison of day-to-day life. All that mattered to him was the matter set before him.

Continuing to talk to Genji, Kyril said ”What I need your help with is, my target, Gogatu is hosting a dinner party that I understand you were invited to. I intercepted the letter a while ago, another mail carrier dead won’t be too much to you? Maybe after the bidding this boy can take his place, pray if that were the case he doesn’t have what I want.” Kyril wasn’t about to waste his time, there were plenty of children or adults that would be glad if he were gracious enough to teach him in his ways.

Kyril continued,”Despite the loss of a good time, it would be much easier if you were to bring me in as an invited guest. I do my thing and we are off. As for the boy,” Kyril gestured to the now-worthless, ”You can have him, he would be worthless to me anyways.” Kyril looked the boy up and down and said, ”Shame you didn’t want to be with me, I could have made you a great assassin.”

[Elloria]

Genji’s lip curled into a sneer. “I’ve no need for a friend who will stab me in the back the moment I am of no use to it. My answer would not change whether I be impaled upon your blade or no. There is no fear for your unnaturalness. It will be your undoing, one way or another.” His eyes turned from the shade then. He listened silently to Kyril's babbling, directed both at the boy he intended to buy and at him. Irritation flashed in his eyes - had it no respect, no honor whatsoever? Mail carriers were difficult enough to come by. Did it have to recklessly kill the ones he already possessed? His eyes closed, his brow wrinkled in frustration. Its usefulness only barely outweighed how much the thing irked him. “So you are the reason? I should have known. Only a creature such as you would cause such trouble just for a damn letter.”

He looked at the auctioneer. “I’ll raise the bid to 200 gold.” “Bid has risen to 200, do I hear 250?” He turned back to Kyril. “Not even going to entertain me briefly with this new found wealth of yours? You always were single-minded like that.” He made a small gesture of disinterest. “I had no intention of attending that party. Gogatu has always been a thorn in my side and rarely do I grace him with my presence.” He chewed on his lip thoughtfully. What had his interest, aside from the boy, was the fact that several nobles whom he'd been meaning to dispose of soon would all be there. In fact...it would be the last of the old resistance to him, dispatched in one fell swoop. The servants would know better than to speak and the heirs to each were dutifully loyal to him. He had ensured that from the start. Would it be wise to strike so swiftly? Strike so many? Well, he wasn't getting any younger. It was time to begin advancing his plans. “However...I will attend and bring you as a ‘guard.’ They know I never go anywhere without one. In return - and for additional payment, of course - you will kill the other head nobles there, as well as their wives. The dinner is in three days. Visit me the day after tomorrow to finalize the plans for it.”