Vilam Iben-Rashid

A cold night - anyone would agree to at least that much. Frost nipped at the grass, the cold air sinking and bringing it’s sting to the green blades that were now highlighted with a bit of white edging. Whisking it’s way across the plain, the trees rustled surrounding rustled in what could be interpreted as discontent. Branches clacked and rattled, while leaves wavered in the cold wind. It was odd; the cold winds from the north were sudden, and rarely touched these delicate plants until at least the middle of Eleint.

It seemed the animals of the land agreed with the trees. Dogs howled, cats meowed, and horses and cattle alike resounded their discontent across the land. It was both a normal occurrence from animals, as well as an unnerving one.

Perhaps the cold winds meant nothing more than an odd climate change in the region, or perhaps it was symbolic. No one knew, or cared. All they knew was that they should stay inside if they had any common sense.

Through all the cacophony of sounds, one rose out.

A cry.

A cry for help perhaps, or a cry out of sheer rage. No one in the little city of Eveningstar would ever know. But every person capable of hearing, knew that it was real - very real.

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“Blast it all, Vilam. Someone -HAD- to have heard that!” The shrill voice of a young, educated man hissed from beneath it’s cloak.

“Definitely. That was a death cry to be heard by all….Damn it…” A robed man said in a muffled tone. His face was covered by a thin mask made from what looked like bone, but was most likely carved from something easier to shape.

“Perhaps not, with all this wind, and noise…..” Another voice suggested, resonating deeply from the massive frame that supported yet another cloaked figure standing among others.

The one figure without a hood, stood and watched silently, among the five that stood in the black, hunched over a crumpled form.

“Yeh! Ma-…maybe no one ‘eard it Vilam!” The smallest form stuttered it’s own condolences to the quiet leader of the group.

“I should hope not. Or we shall soon find ourselves in more trouble than this was worth. No thanks to Mikail.” said the deathly calm, and previously quiet figure.

“It was not my fault he tried to take my jarbles for a bit of the hack and slash! ‘E lunged at ME!” The large form bellowed, throwing his hood back. Revealing what would make some eyes widen.

Mikail was no looker, but he was not ugly in all respects. Even as a teen, his features were -too- broad, and very angular. He was often referred to as a walking statue. This, accompanied by his abnormal muscle growth made him a giant of man, and furthermore; a very useful man.

Vilam raised a hand to silence Mikail, and without hesitance Mikail did just that. Vilam’s pale emerald eyes drifted from the smallest lad, to Mikail with a deadly certainty.



“Let’s not argue about this Mikail. We have a bit more to worry about than pointing fingers, and blame” the slender Vilam motioned to the crumpled form that lay between all five of those who had stood there. “If your so inclined to argue about who made such a disastrous racket, perhaps then you would like to tell us who was the one who strangled the man to death?”

Mikail remained silent, knowing that he better not reply; for it was indeed him who had slain the man that laid broken and bloodied between the five others.

The masked form sighed, and kneeled down over the cadaver. His slender fingers slipped through the mans pockets deftly, and he sighed.

“Not even a copper for the trouble. Accursed commoner.” the masked man spat through the little slit in his intricately designed skull-mask. “How did we get the wrong man….By the nine….” He said, standing slowly with a bit of effort and a grunt.

“Bloody ‘ell, all this trouble and all for naught, eh Harold?” The small voice forced a bit of a nervous chuckle through his teeth. His eyes drifting around the group he soon realized that no one shared his uplifted spirit.

“Indeed, Gerring, indeed. But I still can’t help but feel…” Harold, the masked man said in a sickly, oozing tone. “That if -someone- had gotten the right information, we wouldn’t be in this mess.” His eyes stayed steadily on Gerring, and the small man shifted from foot-to-foot uncomfortably.

“Oi…eh, c’mon now Harold….Just a bit of a mix up. Nothing’ more!” Gerring tried to force a resolute tone, but it soon faded to a pleading one. “I didn’t bloody well know!” He shouted.

“Come now, Gerring. Your acting as if we have hard feelings towards your performance today…..” Vilam’s icy tone shook Gerring’s spine. The sarcasm was palpable in that statement, and Vilam rarely used any tone, but his normal stoic and monotonous one.

“I…I….” Gerring stuttered.

“You….you” Mocked the youngest sounding lad.

“S-s-s-s-shutup you! You just got inti’ our little group a week ago! I’ve been in it since Alturiak!” Gerring spat in retort at the younger lad, before looking around at the group with a very pleading look. “Surely you will all forget this and forgive me someday!” he croaked.

“Oh Gerring, don’t use your seniority on Jerald. He’s done more for us with his little book that he carries with him in the past week, than you have in months….” Harold said in a prodding tone.

“What!…..How about the time we--” Gerring got the first bit of his sentence out before being cut off abruptly. He felt suddenly….Very peaceful.

He was not cut off by the voice of another in the group. But by the sharp pain he felt in his neck, and a sickly pop that followed. Everything seemed very surreal in the moments that followed. He watched in a very helpless view, as he fell to the ground and lay helpless among the frosted blades of grass. He could not move, and the darkness was approaching. It threatened to consume him, and he felt his heart lunging in all directions in his chest.

It felt as if the black wanted to blanket him, keep him warm…It was inviting, and it soon overtook him with it's sanguine embrace.

Perhaps they weren’t as forgiving as he had hoped.