Truth
MEMORY_02_:
World of Espos
The 39th of Cycle 4, 1908 A.F.G
J’hara zu Tsiern (Passageway of J’hara)
Another mission, like always. This time, Psyrёn’s target was a woman named Eriziea Kyhem, wife of Darien Kyhem, lord of the castle that was named so obviously after his family. Lord Darien was known to be the leader of the rebel group Prismatus, who was leading a campaign against Emperor Shalz’s reign of terror. Why would the wife of such a respectable man be targeted? Because the Blacks weren’t picky. A particularly angry supporter of Darien’s campaign felt that he was not doing enough to spur a full on revolution against the Emperor, so the client decided that he needed something that would make him. Psyrёn’s task was simple: Eliminate Eriziea, and make it look like it was done by the hand of one of the Emperor’s personal assassins.
Currently, a caravan was escorting Eriziea through the Passageway of J’hara, a rugged canyon path carved through the earth by the giant J’hara during the days of Olde. The caravan’s final destination was the city of Areylion, but Psyrёn was going to make sure it never arrives.
Psyrёn laid in wait among crevices of rock that lined the canyon, her small form easily hidden behind a rather large boulder. Eyes closed, she listened silently for the sound of approaching hooves. She had been waiting for over an hour now, and after all of that time… she finally heard something: the sound of several sets of hooves clopping slowly across the ground. Taking a deep breath, Psyrёn flicked her gaze over to her spirit companion, Walpurgis, who was currently on the wall of the canyon in the shape of a small, black zurpian (a beast that looks like a mix between a lizard and a scorpion).
“How many are there?” Psyrёn asked telepathically.
“From what I can see… There are eleven life forces. Four appear to be zeritin-like (horses with scaly tails), the rest, human.” Walpurgis replied. “Let’s have some fun with them, shall we dear?”
Psyrёn took a moment to peek out of her hiding spot just far enough to where she could see the approachers, but they couldn’t see her. From what she could see, there were eight individuals there. In the front, two men were mounted on large, midnight-colored zeritin that were obviously bred for combat. Behind those two was the carriage, which was being drawn by two smaller, white zeritin. The carriage itself was nothing fancy, standardly wooden with a dark green tarp drawn over it. The insignia of the Merchant’s Division was plastered on each side of the vehicle. Darien was a smart one. The insignia would only draw the attention of petty carriage robbers, but the sight of the mounted men plus the other guards would deter them from trying anything.
Eriziea, of course, was inside of the caravan, hidden from view. On both sides resided a single foot soldier. So far, nine of the individuals were accounted for.
“I have visuals of only nine. Where are the other two?” Psyrёn asked Walpurgis.
“One is behind the caravan, and the other is inside with our target~.” the spirit cooed.
Psyrёn nodded in reply, narrowing her eyes as she developed a plan of action in her head. Would it be better to take out the mounted men first, or the foot soldiers? Perhaps it was better to take care of the zeritin that were pulling the carriage immediately? Her window of opportunity was closing fast.
Suddenly, it clicked.
Psyrёn took a deep breath, focusing her gaze on the black zeritin to the front-right of the carriage. Parting her lips, she began to whisper words thick and jagged, but also soft and light… calling upon the forbidden phrases of J’zarka, the ancient language of magick. With each passing second, her tongue began to tingle and burn… the energy of taboo welling up inside of her. Normally, if a human tried to call upon this power, their bodies would instantly become engulfed within the eternally golden flames of Arkrateus, but since Psyrёn was partially a demigod, all she got was the burning sensation on her tongue that brought both pain and pleasure. The girl’s eyes began to glow an ambrosial yellow, her will quickly becoming reality.
The unfortunate zeritin that was the victim of those words grew mad with rage, tossing off its rider with a wild buck before whacking one of the white zeritin with its massive tail, causing it to crash into its companion and whip the carriage around violently. The wooden carrier tipped over and skidded across the dusty ground for about a foot. The tarp carrying it was torn open from the impact and one of its wheels popped off and shattered as well. The group let out startled and confused cries as the events unfolded. The footmen guarding the sides and the back quickly moved to assist in attempting to get the carriage up again, but the white zeritin were injured because of the attack. Psyrёn continued to watch the scene for a few more seconds until a man climbed his way out from inside of the felled wagon before turning to help a blonde woman escape its grasp.
Eriziea and the final guard.
It was then that Psyrёn sprung into action. Pulling a throwing knife from her small arsenal of weapons, she dashed from her hiding spot and sent it soaring through the air and into the back of one of the footmen’s necks, causing him to sputter and collapse. The others turned to their fallen comrade, now alerted to the young assassin’s presence.
It was time for a fight.
Psyrёn drew a single close-combat dagger and lunged at the cavalryman who remained mounted, tackling him off of his zeritin before plunging the blade deep within his throat. As his body hit the ground, Psyrёn tore the weapon out. His startled mount began to violently thrash around in an attempt to hit Psyrёn, but she was too quick. Rolling off to the side, she sprung forward towards the other calvaryman who had lost his zeritin earlier. He had little time to recover from the shock of being thrown off his beast, but he was quick to draw his blade as he saw her coming Managing to pull out her second dagger mid-air, Psyrёn clashed blades with the soldier, the sound of steel-against-steel reverberating off the walls of the canyon.
Instead of letting their companion fight off the assailant alone, the remaining two footmen charged at Psyrёn, staves raised. Their plan was to hit her while she was distracted. As the closest man zoned in on her, Psyrёn spoke a quick movement spell that accelerated her body backwards right as a stave attack was cutting through the air towards her body. The sudden change of force caused the calvaryman to stumble forward and right into his companion’s attack, cut down by it immediately. The footman stared in horror at the scene that just unfolded before him, before angrily turning to Psyrёn.
“You’ll pay for that, you deviant!” he screamed, charging at her again. Psyrёn only narrowed her eyes at him. Angry ones always charged blindly. Psyrёn quickly stepped off to the side as he got within thrusting range, parrying the blade of the weapon into the dirt before stepping forward and burying her dagger upwards into the bottom of his head, right above the neck. The single, remaining foot soldier stared at the girl in fear as his ally fell like she was some kind of monster… but that wasn’t far from the truth. Dropping his weapon, he immediately fell to his knees and began to beg.
“Don’t kill me! I have a family! I-I have kids! I was just doin’ this job to earn a bit of extra coin to feed ‘em...” he sniffled in fear, tears streaming from his eyes. Without his companions to back him up, his true nature was revealed. Psyrёn narrowed her eyes, dropping the soldier and her dagger, then stalked up to the cowardly man before grabbing him by his dirt-colored hair and hoisting him to look her in the eye. She stared at him for a few seconds before whispering: “Only the strong survive in this world. All you can do is hope that Feilia judges your soul mercifully in the afterlife.”
Without another word, she stabbed him right in the heart, watching those fearful eyes become lifeless as the liquid that fueled him left his body. Pulling the dagger from his body, she walked back over to the footman that she had left her other dagger in and retrieved that one as well. She took a moment to survey the scene. The two black zeretin had run off somewhere, while the white ones lay crippled on the ground, whining in pain. All that was left was…
Psyrёn flicked her gaze in the direction of the carriage. Eriziea had vanished. The only living soul left in the area was the final guard…
“I’m assuming your motive here was to kill Lady Eriziea,” he spoke with a smirk.
No response.
“Unfortunately for you, I sent her away right when you began attacking. By the time we’re done here, she will be long gone.”
Psyrёn narrowed her eyes at the man.
“As long as I am living… I will use every last bit of my life on this planet to ensure that she lives!” the man let out a determined snarl.
“… What is your name?” Psyrёn asked, her unblinking gaze seeming to bore into his very soul.
“Arenon of Lythercage!” the man responded, pointing his sword at her. “Why do you ask, fiend?”
Psyrёn’s head tilted to the side ever so slightly. “Arenon… Tonight, you learn the harsh truth about heroes. You will die here, your name will be forgotten and cast away like dust in the wind. I will be the one to cast judgement upon your soul in your final hour in this world. Cygnicus will accept you with open arms.”
“I accept your challenge, demon. I’ll beat you and ensure the Lady’s survival no matter what!”
In an instant, just as the final battle began, it ended. Psyrёn activated a movement spell again, which propelled her towards Arenon before he could blink. He let out a pained gasp as he felt the cold steel of her blades pierce his body, just underneath his heart. The shock caused him to slump against her.
“The truths of this world are grim. Unfortunate, how you have come to experience them so swiftly.” Psyrёn whispered. With one, final thrust, her blade entered his heart… leading to the end of the courageous campaign.
The young assassin pulled the blade from his body, letting it drop to the ground.
“Walpurgis, where is our target?” Psyrёn asked her companion.
“Hiding behind the rocks to your north~” Walpurgis responded, crawling up onto her master’s shoulder from behind. Nodding, Psyrёn walked over to the rocks indicated to by Walpurgis… and found Eriziea cowering there, who stared at Psyrёn in fear as she caught sight of the girl.
“P-Please, spare me! I’ll pay you! I’ll get you anything you want! Just… just please! You don’t have to do this...” she sobbed, looking at the girl with pathetic, pleading eyes. Psyrёn stood there silently for a moment, glaring at the woman. Without another word, she drew another dagger from underneath her cloak, this one having the sigil of Emperor Shalz on its hilt, and plunged it deep into the side of the Lady’s neck. As those fearful eyes soon became lifeless, Psyrёn let go of the weapon and turned her back to the woman.
“Sparing you would be putting my own life on the line. The hands of death have chosen you… and I am his messenger.” Psyrёn whispered… finally walking away from the bloodbath.
"Death is an ally, and is at the same time a plague upon humanity. Only those chosen shall grasp its true nature. The blood that flows through my veins is proof of my power. I, am Black." - Lazarus Black