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Post by Arizae on Jun 24, 2010 1:23:52 GMT -5
Why hadn’t he simply become nocturnal years ago? He could rule the night; none would be his equal when their eyes were brought down to his level. Within this darkness he was more at ease then those stumbling home. Tripping over small obstacles, perhaps even running into walls it was during this night that they became blind and he opened his eyes to the world. His ears felt clear, the air was brisk and brought any sounds to him with speed and clarity. There was no moon in the sky tonight; he knew this simply because he kept count of days. Duren could tell when a day was cloudy or bright because the sun brought warm, but as far as he knew the moon gave no heat and he wouldn’t know if it was full or new should he not keep the days numbered. He knew the advantages a new moon brought, for now it was much darker outside, all they would have were stars…and candles if they so chose. But here in this rich garden it was the black of night; here where he sat in Lord Tabot’s personal orchard a man would not see his own hand before his face. Duren Maethor was at home, so why hadn’t he become nocturnal?
Simply because he had the blood of a human and an elf in his blood. Sleeping in the day, waking at night was…simply against both species natural tendencies. He may not see the rays of the sun, but he could feel their warmth. The sun’s greeting still brought a smile to his face, even if it was a different connection. It didn’t give him light to see by, it gave him warmth on his face and a clear sky where the sounds could float freely to his ears. So no, despite the advantages he did not become nocturnal. He may be blind, but he was a…well he was human and elf. The day would not be taken from him simply because he couldn’t see the sunrise. However, he was still thankful at this moment for the cloak of invisibility and silence the night gave him.
After further reconnaissance Duren had finally decided. Lord Tabot must be done away with. A blind assassin, foolhardy you say? Stupid? How in the world could he tell his target apart from some sleeping servant? Well that was a simple matter. Duren Maethor had been shadowing Lord Tabot for weeks. He knew the man’s smell, his walk, even the feel of his skin. Duren could tell Tabot’s breath from sleeping to exercising. The elf would not confuse his target for something else.What he was missing out on was documents that might be gathered…but they were not needed; otherwise Duren might not be doing this himself. All the information he had gathered on Lord Tabot pointed to one thing, a self-righteous idiot. The simpleton had no ties with the third party, he had no connections with the Varden, and he was no enemy of the Empire. He was simply raised by some knight that instilled in him some kind of honor. So now that he was grown and Lord of his estate he decided to fight the injustices in Dras-Leona. There would be no arguing with a visionary, he would not be bribed or swayed from his thinking. So he would simply be made an example of.
The blind man would slip into Lord Tabot’s and slit the man’s throat, let him bleed out and silence. First would come the knife, a quick deep cut, severing flesh from flesh and striking deep into the life vein on the neck. Stuff a rag into the man’s mouth and let him drown in his own blood. The gag would keep it sufficiently quiet, any guards or servants wouldn’t be a problem. After the man was dead Duren would attach shackles to the man’s feet and would let the body hang below his own balcony. Blood would run free in the streets and the Lord would be stripped bare, neck slit with the shackles of a slave holding him upside down. Frankly it wasn’t the most elegant display Duren had performed, but it was quick and easy. Lord Tabot did not deserve something more extravagant…say hanging by one’s own entrails… but the populace would get the message. Of course it would also be fun to simply kidnap the Lord…he was young after all, and in decent shape. It would be absolutely delightful to deform the man…they had their ways, hot irons and oil. Knives and nails, they could make Lord Tabot a brand new man. Then they would ship him off to markets further away where he would live the life of a slave. Ah that would be fun, but Duren needed an example. People could not see the other option. No they needed to know the slavers were still in charge, and if you messed with them…well…worse things could be done then a simple slitting of the throat. His only worry in the operation had been the shackles he was bringing with him. He had taken special care to make sure they made absolutely no noise. This was incredibly difficult for Duren to do…because they still sounded to his ears despite the likely silence they brought to everyone else.
With reverent look on his face Duren lowered his head and closed his eyes quickly muttering a few intelligible words, a quick prayer spoken before every tricky operation. Something precious to him, taught by an old friend he should forget…but the words still brought comfort. His clothing was nondescript black. Simple cloak, bound feet, no hard soles for this undertaking. He kept a shorter staff with him and lashed it to his back. Dagger had his side and a small supply of arrows and an unstrung bow next to the staff. Perhaps overly armored, but there may be guards. Some trickier assassinations simply ended with an arrow in someone’s gut, but he was going to do his best to not let that happen here. With his short prayer muttered the blind half-elf prepared to navigate his way to the main estate, the garden was placed very close to the Lord’s own quarters. The smell of apple was overwhelming, the extreme affluence spent on Tabot’s preference for the fruit was disgusting. This bit of land could be used in Dras-Leona, and the Lord preached about slavery being horrid…while he had the money to keep servants going throughout the night. Just as Duren turned to head towards the building… he heard something. The noise was soft, indescipt, but it was there and Duren’s head immediately turned in its direction, his eyes looking directly where the sound had originated from.
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