Darkness had fallen, blessed darkness which matched intent of mind, body, and soul in this hour. He picked his way through the woods, looking over his shoulder at every turn and sure that he felt a fury rising behind him. Who was he? Did it really matter? From within the shroud of shadows the lithe form drew herself up and scanned the ever shifting elongated blurs at the edge of the veil. By night they were so much closer, almost magnified and calling to her. And now, now the woman blurred with the speed of ancients as she slid from one dark area to the next. It was funny that the moment she broke through, the creatures stilled and the silence was almost deafening.
This fate might not have been his to have, had he merely heeded the warning, had he chosen for himself to do the right thing and simply walk away. For her, it was a retrieval, one of hundreds she'd done in her lifetime and nothing out of the ordinary. That was, until the rogue laid eyes upon the girl. At first approach, they appeared to be dancing on the edge of a small clearing by the river and yet something seemed off. The man's clothes were plain in comparison to hers and his head bent down as if he were kissing the girl. And she? She was an elegantly garbed corpse with hair in perfect order and a long flowing white gown. She was barely more than a child if even that old, golden ringlets curling down to frame a delicate face. Skin as white as snow and just enough make up to give her that natural beauty kind of appeal. He held her there, leaning in to press a final kiss to her lips as though he were her lover, and not the man who had killed her. He leaned forward, her form cradled in his arms and supporting her head as he laid her down in the water and simply let go.
"Reshar D'lorai," the voice sounded out loudly as a step was taken in his direction. The man's head snapped up and he snarled, as though his weak-willed form would dare to intimidate the likes of her. "You were told to walk way and did not." Hands dropped from her belt, loose and relaxed as she readied herself. The sun was nearly setting and around the clearing the muddy hues of dusk settled in, the shadows of night stretching out from trees which towered high over them. At first there had been arrogance in his gaze, Rethar advancing towards her a step. Did he hope to recover his weapons and slay another fragile woman? The smile which tugged at the corner of her mouth as blades sprang to hand told him it was simply not to be. "Now is the part where you run, fool. Now is the time when the hunter becomes the hunted." It was at this moment in time that Reshar decided that the weapons would put him easily within striking distance and something about the way she moved, something about that chilling calm of her voice and intense stare made him shrink back. "I SAID FLEE." Her voice held an authority and a growl just barely tethered beneath the intonation. And so he did.
The water was cold and the girl's body had already begun to drift out of the alcove, those damp ringlets still coiled but now sticking flatly to the deceptive pale flesh. Her name was Terathia Morningblade, her father was a Magus, her mother a skilled weaver of light and shadow. The white dress billowed up around her in a macabre fashion and oddly, the woman thought she rather resembled a porcelain doll. Such innocence was not meant to be spent on the likes of him, of power-hungry souls who lived to sully the world around them with the wants of flesh, greed, and debauchery.
Something about all of it stunk and until she had laid her eyes upon the man, it had not quite all added up. The timing, the reason they were notified so long after Terathia had gone missing, the feeble excuses given, it all came crashing down as Reshar set his eyes upon her then. He was the bastard son of an influential man and though his father would not claim him, he would push enough to delay action. The resemblance was startling and not one person who ever had seen his father would not see the self-same look of arrogance in his eye. That was until it turned into fear for his own life. Dealing with his father would be another task, one which she would relish undertaking in the end.
Gently, the girl was pulled from the water , held almost tenderly in the arms of the woman who had been sent for her. Lurking within the folds of the shadows was another, a familiar presence who had also been dispatched as she had been. He slid into view at her call, looking down at the girl and lifting her up as though she were his own. Gone was the almost roguish charm and light humor that he often carried, the weight in his arms all the reminder needed as to why people like them existed. Evil abounded in this life in many forms, and they helped to keep it in balance.
Night crept in slowly and dark hair billowed about his face as he studied Terathia for a long moment. At the edges of her neck small veins were outlined in a greenish hue and perfect rosebud lips which were tinted in pink held the same hue around the edges where Reshar had smudged the lipstick. This was a nasty deed, her body reeked of perfume and the sticky sweet of poison which had ultimately stopped the function of her vital organs. "This was not a peaceable death," he said, "Reshar must have used an agent on her to preserve her with this expression as she slept." It was a simple note of method, one the woman next to him nodded to. "A slow death. I will see her home unless you-" That dark headed woman looked up at him then sharply, reaching to gather the girl's dangling arm and lifting it to lay across her still form. “Hold her within the veil until you arrive on the steps. Others will be seeking them as well, and I want to spend some quality time with him.” A brow rose for an instant before he nodded and turned, looking back at her for a long moment before pulling to the darkness which they so often shrouded themselves with. “If you need me...” He said. She responded with a simple nod, and then he was gone. Others might not have understood the words she spoke to the degree he did, nor would they recognize that look which rested on her face. Reshar was a dead man walking, and he damn well knew it.
As for Reshar's part, now anger and fear drove him. He crashed through the wooded area, limbs of bushes and trees whipped across his form as legs moved as fast as they could to propel him away to some sort of safety. He was frantic, heart thudding loudly within his own chest, even as he seethed in the anger and rage of a man who had passed the threshold of insanity. Even now, with survival instinct in full form he railed against the dark bitch in his mind and pushed on. It had been the perfect moment in his mind as he held Tarathia to himself and loved her in the way she deserved to be loved. Why couldn't they have been left alone?
A sound was heard behind him and he faltered, looking back over his shoulder to see nothing but a canopy of trees against a sky that held the blue-black hue of moonlight. His own footsteps, the sound of nocturnal creatures stirring and the rush of blood through his veins seemed loud, until they didn't. He trembled in fear and tripped over a root, going head first into a shallow watering hole. Dragging himself up, water sheered off of his body and he let out an angry huff. Nature seemed to still in those moments, the sound of something rushing past him catching his attention as he turned around startled. Fist clenched as he bellowed and raged, “YOU HAVE NO RIGHT. YOU KNOW WHO MY FATHER IS. HE WILL KILL YOU. HE WILL KILL ALL OF YOU!” And then she laughed. The next movement within the hold of shadow was closer this time, the edge of blade neatly scoring his cheek as the rush of wind stirred by her passed him by. He howled and screamed, "SHOW YOURSELF. I DARE YOU."
"Be careful what you ask for," the voice purred into his ear as he turned to reach for her neck. The blade scored itself across his knuckles this time and she managed to stay just out of reach. "Tch. Why didn't you hide? Aren't daddy's men on the hunt as well? I hear he's employed Xavian. Not exactly a bad choice when you can't be too fussy. After all, you're only his bastard and most folk will say you had it coming." She had circled around him this entire time and with each swing and lunge for her, she'd managed another nick or cut. "Does it burn yet? The poison. It's very effective, and well, makes your efforts look rather mild." He couldn't think, his face contorted into a twisted mask of rage. Poison?
The next memory of his was to awaken in the midst of what appeared to be a darkened room. He was alive. Reshar breathed a sigh of relief until he realized, he was alive. It was one of those moments that a person dreams about in slow motion, that relief melting into complete and soul wrenching horror at the fact that not only was he alive and breathing, but that he lay on an angled table with leather and chain bonds. He could see rows of candles around them, on a ledge which lined the entire room. The air seemed cold, despite the glow and heat that the light put off. His next realization was perhaps a bit more panicked than the first, he wasn't blinking. In fact, he wasn't able to move anything and he'd been stripped bare.
The woman stood just within his line of sight, a strained attempt at speech which came across as a groan bit into the air from his throat. That head turned and she looked at him from the corner of her eye. Her body turned just enough for him to catch a glimpse of a velvet and leather trimmed roll which was lain out on a long table. Instruments of various shapes and lengths were bound to the roll by ties and it appeared that she was in the midst of selecting just the right one. Pivoting upon heel, that leather clad vision came to stand just over him, looking down. There was a look in her eye that almost amounted to pleasure, almost. The point of the scalpel in her hand pierced his skin. A sound gurgled from his throat again. "Good. You can feel everything but you cannot move. Now, we're going to talk as I work because I don't particularly enjoy the silence when dealing with someone like you. Your name is Reshar D'lorai, and you are about to die."
Two days later a courier arrived at the residence of Andras Reshar, a long narrow box in hand. The household staff signed for the delivery and took the box in with the other parcels to lay on their master's desk. The place was abuzz with activity. Flowers had been delivered in large vases to line upon tables with the most elegant fabric draped over them, fine china place settings and golden cutlery gleamed in the glow of crystal infused orbs which lighted the long dining hall. The guests had even begun to arrive and drawing one of the men he hoped to court in a manner of business into his study, Andras moved to stand behind his desk. "I hope you understand what I am saying then, it's a business proposition and will serve us both well." Out of habit, the man who so closely resembled his offspring reached for the sharp letter opener and cut through the twine on the box. The deep voiced man across the desk from him chuckled and nodded, prattling on about shipments of exotic spices which he had coming in. Andras reached into the box and pulled out what appeared to bean almost leathery looking scroll. "This is most curiou--" As he spoke, he unrolled it and looked down at the face of his bastard son, literally. From across the entirety of the estate proper, the scream of anguish and horror that was heard sent people rushing towards the study. The father's face was white and the 'gift' laying there staring up at him in that morbid and eyeless fashion. A note-card was in his hand, one done up in his own stationary, in his own handwriting. It simply read, "You could have stopped this long ago. The price has not yet been paid."
Across town, a man entered the room still garbed in black robes of a very fine quality. He had just returned from a funeral. "I am told that you sent a message, I can't say I approve." The woman who regarded him did so lightly, with an expression that flashed a glimmer of warning. "Sometimes messages keep innocent children alive." It was a truth he could not argue. "They'll try to find you," he remarked as he pulled out a pouch which was heavy with coin and placed it on the table. "Let them," her eyes drifted to the coin and back to his gaze. "It's the reward for her return, from her father. He insisted." A hand raised in protest and that raven headed figure merely shook her head. "Return it. Tell him it's not done." A bob of head was all the response that was met with at first, that coin pouch being drawn within the folds of robe once again. "And when it is over?" Feet which bore no sound on the marbled floors headed towards the door, a hand reaching for the knob just before she faded from sight and opened it. "When it is over, may it grant them a measure of peace. It is one thing to breed a monster, another entirely to let it do as it wills. If he refuses the coin, send it to the orphans in her name. It is enough." The man's brows rose together in surprise at this, a rogue turning down coin? As he turned to face her, she was gone and the door lay open. Justice was coming, he knew it and Andras Reshar damn well knew it. And for her, it was enough.
