From beneath Ingaurn's depths, a figure sat, one leg folded over the other as he rested his head upon his knuckles. He smiled down at a glass of red wine as he wirled the liquid about in his hand. His black cloak hung down over his throne, Black Rose elite assassins standing about him, blades at their sides as they stared blankly forward.
"Please.." came the whine of a woman being held down to her knees by an assassin. "I'll give you all that I owe, just give a little more time, it's all I ask-"
"Ask?" Etto looked up from his glass, a smile still tugging at the corner of his lips. "You would ask me of something?"
"I- please, I just-"
"You do not ask me for anything, woman. You will beg." He hissed, his black eyes narrowing.
The woman instantly dropped her head to the stone, tears streaming from her eyes as her messed hair stuck to her cheeks. She whimpered, begging for her life, her slurred words barely able to be heard.
Etto grinned maliciously, then held out his wine, letting the red liquid spill upon the stone, the crimson flowing down the steps and creeping towards the woman's head.
"Get rid of her. I have no interest in her pathetic whimpering." Etto spoke.
The assassin grabbed a handful of the woman's hair as she screamed now, crying for forgiveness, but her cries were cut short, replaced by wordless gurgles as her throat was cut open, her blood flowing to the ground where it coalesced with the wine.
The assassin dropped the woman, her head dropping deftly to the stone. Another assassin walked to join his comrade, and they grabbed the woman by her legs and dragged her away, leaving a trail of blood.
Etto's smile faded, replaced with a perplexed expression of irritation. He lifted the empty glass above his head, staring up at its reflective surface as he spun it in his fingertips.
"A mage who does not bleed." He mumbled. He stared at the glass for a moment longer before standing suddenly, throwing the glass to the ground, his shaggy black hair falling over his face as he watched the cup shatter across stone with mad eyes. A psychotic grin tore across his lips, exposing his gnarled teeth.
"It would seem.. I will be making a trip to Rimor myself."
~~~
"As I said before," Alabaun continued his conversation as Darius followed behind him, "Inguarn was not always like that. At one point, it was just a quaint little town in which all were equal and same. The people lived, survived, and they had fulfilled lives. Even as Inguarn grew, people came to find more to life than survival, they found joy. But like a tower built too high, it all came crashing down."
"I wonder what it would've been like if the Primordial God had chosen anyone else.." Darius spoke.
"We'd all be dead." Alabaun said blankly.
"What? But you just said-"
"While I did say the Nameless is a power hungry tyrant, I also pointed out his leadership. He had a way of gathering people beneath his banner. I believe it was his tenacity, pure determination to be above everything else and to defy all that would command. That force of will is what gave us victory over the gods. Sadly, this is the cost of our success."
They took a turn down a winding hall and towards a large door at it's end. Alabaun strode up to the door, pushing it open as he stepped through. On the other side was a large room that peered out a huge glass window that looked over a rolling field. Alabaun took a seat upon a couch that had been placed before the glass pane, grabbing a cup and pouring himself a glass of wine.
"Come, sit. We have much to discuss, Darius." He said warmly.
Darius sat on the other end of the couch. He denied the alcohol that Alabaun offered, who then shrugged afterwards saying, "More for me then." Now holding two glasses of wine.
"So.. you knew I was coming?" Darius asked.
"Hm?"
"You said before that you knew I'd come to Rimor. It's been on my mind, how would you have known? It's not like you have starsight nor do you have future sight. So how?"
"As far as you know, I don't." Alabaun said, "But my daughter has.. strange dreams. We can simply leave it with that. That is her business to tell, but she told me a thirteenth mage had been born, and that they would arrive upon Rimor soon. She told me that three years ago. From your appearance, it doesn't seem like you are three years old." He chuckled. "I half expected to adopt another kid."
"Adopt?" Darius raised his brow, "What, did you think a child would cross the sea and make it to you without dying somehow?"
Alabaun shrugged, "I've learned to trust Nora's dreams, I'm just relieved you aren't a three year old, because that would've been a nightmare. Far more scary than that depressing assassin who calls himself a mage."
"You don't seem to hold a high opinion of him." Darius noted.
"Who would? Do you?" He answered. "He's a slimy rat. He thinks he's some grand, gifted prodegy to the Nameless, despite being one of the weakest mages among the twelve-well, thirteen, now." Alabaun set down his drinks. "But that isn't important now. What is important is that you understand the situation at hand."
"Situation?" Darius asked. Was he going to tell Darius that he had some grand plan to kill the Nameless?
"Yes. You are currently the number one target of the Black Rose. More specifically, Etto. He doesn't like it when his hunt gets away. It makes him quite angry in fact, trust me, I would know. The best tip I could give you for him is that he is much akin to a spoiled brat. If you press his buttons, he will lose control, and that's when you take advantage of it."
"Yeah, I noticed. It was kinda my entire game plan, actually."
"And it didn't end well, did it? That was just a shadow. My guess is that he will send another shadow soon, and he will try to take you out swiftly. He won't make a game of it, he will simply kill you quick and quiet. My presence will make him wary, so I doubt he will make a scene. You need to be looking over your shoulder at all times."
"Great, it's almost like I've been doing that my whole life. But why the focus on me? Why not you? Haven't you been his target for over a hundred some odd years now?" Darius asked.
"Five hundred. He gave up three hundred ago." Alabaun said this wild statement as though it were just a matter of fact.
"Sometimes I forget you mages are ancient." Darius shook his head.
Alabaun chuckled. "Yes, well five hundred years isn't much for me. Either way, as long as you stick near to me you should be fine. As I said, he gave up on killing me a long time ago. He simply doesn't have the skill."
"Isn't he supposed to be the most skilled mage when it comes to hand to hand combat?" Darius asked.
"No, I am. He is most skilled with blades and toothpicks." Alabaun responded with a wave of his hand. "Anyhow, onto the next point. Beyond that fact, it may be the least of your concerns. The Nameless wants you, like me, you are not under his little finger, unlike me, he didn't make you. Meaning you are a curiosity, which makes you a threat."
"A threat? To the Nameless?" Darius asked incredulously.
"He is far more paranoid than you might first think, kid. One thing to know about any tyrant, as desperately as they cling to power, they are equally afraid of losing it." He clapped his hands and stood. "So. You need training! You've gotta get big and strong for the coming war, after all."
"War?" Darius asked as he watched Alabaun step in front of him.
"Yes," the mage spoke, looking down at Darius, "with all that is happening in our world, a war is bound to come. And soon. The only variable? Who will make the first move. I would prefer it to be Inguarn, as they are quite good at defending themselves if we are to take any not from history. If they attack first, we can counter. But first, we have to prepare for that attack, as they will not hold back. I imagine they'd send no less than three high mages. Maybe even four."
Darius's heart sunk. Three? Four high mages? And he couldn't even take on the shadow of a lower ranked mage. The blood drained from his face then as the weight of the situation began to crash down on him. A war. He could really die, and not just by the edge of a blade, by brutal destruction.
"Ah yes, the look of dejected hopelessness. I know it well, my son wore it often. Too bad for you, I don't play that game and we will be sure to wipe it off of your face." Alabaun smiled, and before Darius could blink, he felt a firm hand clasp his cloak and he was sent flying over Alabaun's shoulder and crashing through the window.