Distractions

Dirty is the man who slings mud.

Lately so it would seem, there had been much filth being thrown about. The day after my trip into the Magisterial Offices, they found a mans corpse floating in the fountain of Hesius. His blood had turned the homage's once crystal waters to red. I stared at it for quite a while, I could see the investigators trying to hush the crowds from my kiosk in the Market. All day it took five men to empty the fountain and refill it. I think it still has a pinkish hue. Officials in the Central Cylinder were seen openly arguing on the steps. The people, rich and poor, seem in a state of unrest. Anger is prevalent on the minds of the scared, the taxed, and the destitute. Perhaps they are reaching a breaking point. I heard tale from some customers that there was a riot in the Teiban Sul district. Also, I heard some looters had been smashing things up at some brownstones near the Tabidian Towers. Change will come. It has to come. For now, I am relieved to hear from Fat Sal at the grocery kiosk that the Red have been spread around the city to quell the uproar. Things are going well in that regard.


My part in this task is not finished. I received a long list, and a short list of targets. The short list is to be taken care of rapidly and in nightly succession. So at dusk I will be escorted through the Anbar to the Black Caste. After which, I will find myself on the high hunt. Watching the pink hued fountain from my Alchemy Stand in the Central Market, I meditate on the events yet to unfold. The last four accountants on my short list won't pose too much a problem. I think it best that they are to be found victims of terrible beatings, ultimately ending in their demise. Yes, it will be better to leave them in the filth of the streets where they belong. As before I will blame the Cosians. I have found it is far easier to stir the already boiling pot.


My respect for Death is a deep one. She and I have a bond that spans a lifetime. Its my belief we are, she and I, Sisters. From the time I was young, I can remember having a feeling of destiny. Sometimes I wonder if Death and I were bound by something greater than the blade of an Assassin. Perhaps I simply muse to pass the time.

Then again, perhaps not.

A New Babylon

We called upon the Mountain, but the Mountain did not move.
We called upon the Air, but the Air did not answer our plea.
We called upon the Fires, but the Fires did not ignite to cleanse;
We call upon the Sea, and Her tides turned towards the shore.
Such is our Will and Command.


It was a full moon, in a dirty sky. The cold had become a caressing touch, silken and dream-like. Seemingly alone I walked on hard cobblestones, a cloak of blue swirling, appearing zoetic on the wind. I was lost in the thought of who else, in conspiracy, had walked today on this same sidewalk. Before me lay a tower of stone, impenetrable and ancient. Its niche windows, some dark, and some light, shone like puzzle pieces to which the answer would be simple and blissful death. My clarity had been paved with coin and an alliance of two great powers.


The First had called me to Ar. On the day I arrived, still journey weary and sleep deprived, I had stood before the great desk of ebony as a soldier whose only task was to deliver herself for duty. Thrice before I had denied his request to appear, for in the end I could see only my own peril. This time he had leverage. He had shown me a recent contract up for his approval. Try that I might to ignore the name upon it, there was a reaction. The first thing that had come to my mind was, ' Who will bury me next to my brother when I die, if not him ?' , I had swallowed a very bitter pill. The first had my full attention and he knew it. It is every Killers right to refuse contracts. It is considered heinous to refuse an in house Writ of Execution. He would ask me to commit treason, of sorts. I could not deny my loyalty to him, or the Caste, its full fruition. This had changed everything, wickedly stripping away any refusal on my part. It would be done, this trade of life for death. The life of the Poet for the blood of many Scribes, and in most likelihood, my own. From the whispered description of it, the task would be a zealous act. The catalyst of a new Ar would be forged in Red and Black. So the agreement was accepted. So shall it be done.

Here on the street below, I remember that day well. All is seemingly quiet, for now. I have left the cloak of Blue at the base of the stairs along with a skein of green rope used to strangle the two men. Both were barely bloodied. Tomorrow they will find the bodies of the corrupt politicians in their respective offices, with graffiti on their walls. Tomorrow the streets shall be flooded with criers who will shout "Two Councilmen found dead in the Magisterium at the hands of Cosian dogs! Hear all about it!"



After all, Tomorrow is another day.