Legends of Endrian: The Rebirth
Avarice
Pulling the cloak around his shoulders, Avarice turned toward the window. It was speckled with frost and fogged over, but he could faintly see his reflection. He smoothed the ceremonial silk shirt and tested his range of motion. Clothing tended to be uncomfortable and restrictive, and that was part of the reason Archiomancers were required to wear it when meeting potential employers. Nudity was an earned privilege, only afforded to trusted or esteemed Archiomancers. It wasn't until after fulfilling part of a contract or displaying loyalty to a contract holder that one could remove his clothing. Uncontracted Archiomancers always wore clothing in the presence of others. If one remained a clothed freelancer for long periods of time, it would eventually become a stigma. Some contracts didn't allow for the removal of clothing at all, mostly for controversial contracts or ones that conflicted with other loyalties.
It had been some time since Avarice had had to adorn himself as such, however. It brought back memories from centuries before, when he'd had to scrape by on menial contracts from mundanes or unknowns. Despite his powerful contract holders in recent years, he found that he had benefited less than he had hoped to. Even now, despite his generous rewards, he had little time for personal pursuits and little money for luxuries.
Now is not the time for nostalgia, little brother.
Deciding his appearance decent enough, he turned away from the window and crossed the room. The door groaned as it opened. The noise would be loud enough to alert the slaves to his passing, and if the emperor sent for him, his absence would not go unnoticed. Avarice would not have much time. Contract in hand, he flitted down the corridor and into the wintry courtyard. Conveniently enough, the streets were empty of the emperor's soldiers. It was hardly uncommon- Cipher and Sylph attacks came frequently and drew the guards from the palace. He pulled the hood over his head. He generally did not suffer the adverse affects of extreme temperatures, but the power-infusing tattoos on his scalp were recent and the cold could disrupt the healing process.
The snow crunched softly under his silk boots as he continued through the kingdom's main gates and into the white landscape beyond. As promised in the supplementary letter from the contract holder, several sets of tiny paw prints led away from the main gates. Avarice followed them, tucking his long braids into his cloak to keep the wind from whipping them into his face. The trail disappeared suddenly, as if the animal had walked right through the stone wall. Avarice recalled the letter, whispering a word of magic to reveal the entrance to him.
Two large bricks slid in and away, revealing a dark little crawlspace at his feet. The hole reached perhaps up to his knees. He stared down at it, the heat of hatred blazing to life inside of him. Crawling into the hole meant soiling his fine silk clothes with snow and dirt, presenting himself kneeling and vulnerable to his new contract holder, and loss of face. It could not be coincidence that his new employer would require such degrading terms for a meeting. Hatred nearly bursting from inside, he knelt and glared into the hole. It was a curved passage leading underground. The floor of the passage was hard-packed frozen dirt littered with rocks.
Shutting away his emotions, Avarice crawled into the passage. As he reached the curve, his face became carefully blank despite the flare of anger that remained in his chest. His braids rubbed against his chest from inside his silk shirt. He continued forward, ignoring that the passage was too short and irritated the fresh tattoos on his scalp. By the time he reached the dim light of an inhabited chamber, a few drops of blood had trickled down his temples from his tattoos. As the passage opened up into a large dome chamber, he pushed his hood down and dusted himself off.
The chamber was dim and open with a large underground springs on the far side. A small fire blazed nearby surrounded by large crates and two small bedrolls.
"You've come."
A short, stout Sylph gazed up at him with guarded eyes. Those pale blue eyes, dull and human, inspired humor in the Archiomancer. He found himself wanting to laugh. He'd killed many Sylphid in the past few decades, probably tens of thousands throughout his lifetime. This was the first time he'd gotten a contract from a Sylph, though he was hardly surprised to see that the contract was illegal considering its contents. Still... a Sylph contractor? It was curious.
"I don't think I have to remind you that, should you refuse the contract, life will become... complicated... for you," he said. "Now that you've found out my secret, this contract is in effect."
Avarice stared down at the little Sylph, wondering how such a small creature could demand such of an Archiomancer. He had the same self-righteous attitude of others of his kind.
"You are a quiet one. Your servitude could stand as an example for the others of your kind." He smiled a sheep's smile. "Now, kneel."
Hatred ruptured in his stomach. He forced himself to kneel on the dirt floor and keep his head down. The Sylph's hand rested on his braids and magic tingled across his head.
"The man you seek is a Daemon, like you. He is another of the emperor's Archiomancers, in fact. Perhaps you don't believe me. If that is the case, seek proof of it yourself if you must, before you make a decision. His name is Vlyxx."
"As you wish," Avarice forced himself to say. He pressed his fingers to his forehead.
"Return here for your promised reward once you've completed the task."
The Sylph turned back toward the fire, dismissing his Archiomancer. Avarice found himself overcome with curiosity despite himself. He straightened, lifting his hood again.
"Sylph." The man did not turn. "Why this man?"
"He is a Daemon. Is that not enough?" he asked, voice filled with undisguised hatred.
"No, it is not. If you wished to kill any and all Daemons, you would simply bring a force here, like your people tend to do. Your kind are too different from us to be disguised, and so guile is impossible. Also, you know that I would not kill another of my kind without cause."
The man was silent as he stared into the fire. "I won't share my reasons with you, Daemon. Suffice to say that the hate I have for him is as personal as your own. What he hides in his personal quarters should be evidence enough of his guilt. Now, leave me. And do not return until he is dead."
It had been some time since Avarice had had to adorn himself as such, however. It brought back memories from centuries before, when he'd had to scrape by on menial contracts from mundanes or unknowns. Despite his powerful contract holders in recent years, he found that he had benefited less than he had hoped to. Even now, despite his generous rewards, he had little time for personal pursuits and little money for luxuries.
Now is not the time for nostalgia, little brother.
Deciding his appearance decent enough, he turned away from the window and crossed the room. The door groaned as it opened. The noise would be loud enough to alert the slaves to his passing, and if the emperor sent for him, his absence would not go unnoticed. Avarice would not have much time. Contract in hand, he flitted down the corridor and into the wintry courtyard. Conveniently enough, the streets were empty of the emperor's soldiers. It was hardly uncommon- Cipher and Sylph attacks came frequently and drew the guards from the palace. He pulled the hood over his head. He generally did not suffer the adverse affects of extreme temperatures, but the power-infusing tattoos on his scalp were recent and the cold could disrupt the healing process.
The snow crunched softly under his silk boots as he continued through the kingdom's main gates and into the white landscape beyond. As promised in the supplementary letter from the contract holder, several sets of tiny paw prints led away from the main gates. Avarice followed them, tucking his long braids into his cloak to keep the wind from whipping them into his face. The trail disappeared suddenly, as if the animal had walked right through the stone wall. Avarice recalled the letter, whispering a word of magic to reveal the entrance to him.
Two large bricks slid in and away, revealing a dark little crawlspace at his feet. The hole reached perhaps up to his knees. He stared down at it, the heat of hatred blazing to life inside of him. Crawling into the hole meant soiling his fine silk clothes with snow and dirt, presenting himself kneeling and vulnerable to his new contract holder, and loss of face. It could not be coincidence that his new employer would require such degrading terms for a meeting. Hatred nearly bursting from inside, he knelt and glared into the hole. It was a curved passage leading underground. The floor of the passage was hard-packed frozen dirt littered with rocks.
Shutting away his emotions, Avarice crawled into the passage. As he reached the curve, his face became carefully blank despite the flare of anger that remained in his chest. His braids rubbed against his chest from inside his silk shirt. He continued forward, ignoring that the passage was too short and irritated the fresh tattoos on his scalp. By the time he reached the dim light of an inhabited chamber, a few drops of blood had trickled down his temples from his tattoos. As the passage opened up into a large dome chamber, he pushed his hood down and dusted himself off.
The chamber was dim and open with a large underground springs on the far side. A small fire blazed nearby surrounded by large crates and two small bedrolls.
"You've come."
A short, stout Sylph gazed up at him with guarded eyes. Those pale blue eyes, dull and human, inspired humor in the Archiomancer. He found himself wanting to laugh. He'd killed many Sylphid in the past few decades, probably tens of thousands throughout his lifetime. This was the first time he'd gotten a contract from a Sylph, though he was hardly surprised to see that the contract was illegal considering its contents. Still... a Sylph contractor? It was curious.
"I don't think I have to remind you that, should you refuse the contract, life will become... complicated... for you," he said. "Now that you've found out my secret, this contract is in effect."
Avarice stared down at the little Sylph, wondering how such a small creature could demand such of an Archiomancer. He had the same self-righteous attitude of others of his kind.
"You are a quiet one. Your servitude could stand as an example for the others of your kind." He smiled a sheep's smile. "Now, kneel."
Hatred ruptured in his stomach. He forced himself to kneel on the dirt floor and keep his head down. The Sylph's hand rested on his braids and magic tingled across his head.
"The man you seek is a Daemon, like you. He is another of the emperor's Archiomancers, in fact. Perhaps you don't believe me. If that is the case, seek proof of it yourself if you must, before you make a decision. His name is Vlyxx."
"As you wish," Avarice forced himself to say. He pressed his fingers to his forehead.
"Return here for your promised reward once you've completed the task."
The Sylph turned back toward the fire, dismissing his Archiomancer. Avarice found himself overcome with curiosity despite himself. He straightened, lifting his hood again.
"Sylph." The man did not turn. "Why this man?"
"He is a Daemon. Is that not enough?" he asked, voice filled with undisguised hatred.
"No, it is not. If you wished to kill any and all Daemons, you would simply bring a force here, like your people tend to do. Your kind are too different from us to be disguised, and so guile is impossible. Also, you know that I would not kill another of my kind without cause."
The man was silent as he stared into the fire. "I won't share my reasons with you, Daemon. Suffice to say that the hate I have for him is as personal as your own. What he hides in his personal quarters should be evidence enough of his guilt. Now, leave me. And do not return until he is dead."