Just after midnight on almost every evening, the hoods brought their victims to this alley between Pearl Lane and the lower class markets. On none of these occasions, so far as anyone could tell, did the Brass Blades interfere. Despite the complaints of shouts and scuffles in the nights and all the blood mopped off of these stones, no investigations were made. And nobody was surprised.
Tonight's victim was an older Hyur woman. Her old joints hit the stone like a bundle of sticks, and her blood-soaked lips had already been diminished to incoherent blubbering before they'd even brought her here.
"I know you got more'n this," a Hyur man shook a bag at her face, and it clattered with the sound of loose gil. Not enough to buy bread with. Not enough to hurt someone over. "Your boy borrowed money to get ya medicine, didn't he? But you ain't sick, is ya?"
The woman just cough and spat and tried to squirm away. Had shadows lay over her craggy features and spared the hoods the need to see what they were inflicting on her.
The man shouted, "Where's the money!?"
And the men behind him, a Roegadyn and Lalafel, nodded. Their chuckles were thick like cold oil. They sound and tasted foul, and in disgust, invisible hands reached out and stopped them cold. That hushed snickering stopped so suddenly that the two men might've vanished, but they simply stood suddenly frozen and breathless.
Still squirming on the ground, the woman hadn't noticed, but the man who'd been shaking the money in her face turned to them and squinted into the shadows they'd been hiding in. "Eh, what's goin on there?" He waited a few seconds for his companions to answer, and then the blood touched his toes. The growing puddles of blood beneath his companions' feet reached out through the cracks on the ground toward him. When he noticed it, he flinched and pulled a knife from his belt, ducking into a defensive stance and turning about aimlessly. "By the hells?"
A rough voice, shaking and echoing like a whisper from the bottom of a well, inquired from the shadows, "You daylight as one of the Brass Blades, don't you?"
The man with the knife shook as the bodies of his companions fell at his feet as though cut free from the strings that had been holding them, "Who's asking!? Thal take you I'll-"
His head split sideways at the eyes, and the splatter of blood was mercifully silent compared to the high-pitched gurgling sounds he made before he collapsed. The Hyur woman was silent for a moment, but screamed when she saw the dark form standing in the center of the corpses. Thin, tall, pitch black and silent, it stood unmoving as though it had always stood there and had simply gone unnoticed.
The form bent down and picked up the bag of clattering gil. It muttered to the woman, "A pitiful bounty for a night of stalking, but I guess I don't require much, do I?" and she just continued to scream. Nimble fingers drew three coins from the bag. "Yes," it said in its deep voice, "I think Ul'dah will treat me just fine. These shadows feel good to me."
Throwing what was left in the bag at the screaming woman, the Duskwight turned to exist the alleyway. Stepping out of the shadows did nothing to smooth out the image, his body wiry and skin tight like a half-starved scarecrow, his thick hair and beard ratty and filthy. The Hyur woman continued to scream until the Duskwight was out of sight, and then took her money and crawled home.
When normal people moved to a new city, they found homes and decorated them with things. When Elder Megiddo Desfosse moved to Ul'dah, he found shadows and decorated them with blood. He wondered who his new neighbors would be.
Tonight's victim was an older Hyur woman. Her old joints hit the stone like a bundle of sticks, and her blood-soaked lips had already been diminished to incoherent blubbering before they'd even brought her here.
"I know you got more'n this," a Hyur man shook a bag at her face, and it clattered with the sound of loose gil. Not enough to buy bread with. Not enough to hurt someone over. "Your boy borrowed money to get ya medicine, didn't he? But you ain't sick, is ya?"
The woman just cough and spat and tried to squirm away. Had shadows lay over her craggy features and spared the hoods the need to see what they were inflicting on her.
The man shouted, "Where's the money!?"
And the men behind him, a Roegadyn and Lalafel, nodded. Their chuckles were thick like cold oil. They sound and tasted foul, and in disgust, invisible hands reached out and stopped them cold. That hushed snickering stopped so suddenly that the two men might've vanished, but they simply stood suddenly frozen and breathless.
Still squirming on the ground, the woman hadn't noticed, but the man who'd been shaking the money in her face turned to them and squinted into the shadows they'd been hiding in. "Eh, what's goin on there?" He waited a few seconds for his companions to answer, and then the blood touched his toes. The growing puddles of blood beneath his companions' feet reached out through the cracks on the ground toward him. When he noticed it, he flinched and pulled a knife from his belt, ducking into a defensive stance and turning about aimlessly. "By the hells?"
A rough voice, shaking and echoing like a whisper from the bottom of a well, inquired from the shadows, "You daylight as one of the Brass Blades, don't you?"
The man with the knife shook as the bodies of his companions fell at his feet as though cut free from the strings that had been holding them, "Who's asking!? Thal take you I'll-"
His head split sideways at the eyes, and the splatter of blood was mercifully silent compared to the high-pitched gurgling sounds he made before he collapsed. The Hyur woman was silent for a moment, but screamed when she saw the dark form standing in the center of the corpses. Thin, tall, pitch black and silent, it stood unmoving as though it had always stood there and had simply gone unnoticed.
The form bent down and picked up the bag of clattering gil. It muttered to the woman, "A pitiful bounty for a night of stalking, but I guess I don't require much, do I?" and she just continued to scream. Nimble fingers drew three coins from the bag. "Yes," it said in its deep voice, "I think Ul'dah will treat me just fine. These shadows feel good to me."
Throwing what was left in the bag at the screaming woman, the Duskwight turned to exist the alleyway. Stepping out of the shadows did nothing to smooth out the image, his body wiry and skin tight like a half-starved scarecrow, his thick hair and beard ratty and filthy. The Hyur woman continued to scream until the Duskwight was out of sight, and then took her money and crawled home.
When normal people moved to a new city, they found homes and decorated them with things. When Elder Megiddo Desfosse moved to Ul'dah, he found shadows and decorated them with blood. He wondered who his new neighbors would be.
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