Note: Follow-up to Anima
Seven Breaths
No signs of the attack remained. After the passing of months, all the burnt or splintered furniture had been replaced, the charred walls had been repaired and repainted. There was a brand new, heavier door at the front, and only, entrance to the modest estate. Two figures paced silently through the home of Naevius Squalidus, carefully scoping out the first and second floors. They suspected but were happy to confirm that the wife was not there, and they had no staff present. Possibly, after the violence of the attack, it had become too dangerous to stay.
Naevius wasn't in the bedroom, either. The bed did not look slept in.
Still, it paid to be thorough. Literally, in their case. The two men slipped through the rooms like shadows. Every room, empty. No hidden visitors, no witnesses.
In this little corner of the Lapidus Silvarum, they could not allow an alarm to be raised. This was home to many of the more affluent enlil in the metropolis, some of them with private security forces. The guards would respond quickly, the wealthy homeowners would demand answers. Trouble would fall on Lupanar as a whole.
If everything was kept quiet, though, no one would have reason to raise a fuss.
Finally, the pair headed back down to the first floor, where a third waited by the stairway down into the cellar. The three enlil wore matching cloaks of dark gray with hoods pulled down low to obscure their faces in shadow. As the three silently crept downward, every step pausing to listen for any noise. The open doorway at the bottom of the steps was lit from within, but the light was dim and flickering, perhaps the light of a single guttering candle. They could faintly hear breathing, and it sounded like the chemist was asleep, but the trio remained cautious as they descended, careful to watch each step for any faults in the wood that might squeak or groan and give them away.
The breathing came from the left of the doorway, but too close to verify without risking being seen. So they waited, patiently, allowing a quarter hour to pass before they shared a nod, confident that Naevius was there and remained unaware. The first of the three began tracing sigils in the air, the sharp tips of his talons moving too fast to see clearly. A dot appeared at his chest, blacker than the shadows surrounding him. As he held his hand in place, tracing the final sigil a second time, slower, the spot of blackness slowly grew.
The one bringing up the rear withdrew a slender dart from his cloak. It had a long metal needle with a body of light wood. No barbs, no blades, just a sharp tip. With utmost care, he opened a pouch with a thick, deep green paste and rubbed the needle across it. He closed the pouch, sealing it tightly. With his free hand, the assassin curled two talons inward, forming a cup, before extending his pinky and angling the tip toward the dart. A pink substance coated his palm and dripped down his extended digit, coating the weapon. Just a sharp tip, coated in hetfe-ivi and capped with the Widow's Kiss.
In between them, the last assassin checked that both were ready before he dared to part his lips. Once he began, they would all act at once. They had practiced it well. Naevius would become their thirteenth victim. "O kind watcher," he whispered out in a rush, and at the sound of his voice, the other two rushed ahead, sliding into the room facing to the left. The dart went out and then the black orb swallowed up the candle's light, casting everything in pure darkness. "Silence the vexatious!"
Waves of arcane energy quashed all sound.
No sound, no light, no life.
In the silence and the darkness, the trio could not determine the success of their ambush, but they had executed it perfectly. The name hetfe-ivi meant "seven breaths," so named because the victim's fate was determined within the next seven breaths. One who calmed themselves quickly enough could dull the effectiveness of the toxin, which was highly deadly but lost its potency rapidly. If it didn't reach the heart before that, the victim might be in pain but would live.
The Widow's Kiss ensured that wouldn't happen. The second toxin induced paranoia in the victim, getting their heart racing, rushing, carrying the first toxin at blinding speed. If the victim was even aware of the trio, the intense fear and aggression brought on by the Kiss would ensure they lashed out at the attackers, only making things worse for themselves.
In the silence and the darkness, no one would know anything had happened. No one ever discovered the tiny hole left behind by the dart. For Naevius, there needn't even be a story of an unexpected illness; the chemist was known to imbibe all manner of intoxicants. Who would be shocked to learn that he had been done in by an unknown substance?
The unnatural muffling faded first, a subtle difference between the absence of sound and the quiet of a silent room. The body in the room was no longer breathing. The darkness was dispelled and the trio blinked to clear their vision, the single candle almost blinding after that void of light.
Naevius Squalidus was sitting in a simple chair, leaned back against the wall. He had his lab coat on but it hung open, baring the chestnut feathers of his chest, with a diamond patch of gray. The dart stuck right in the center of his chest, not quite perfectly on his heart. His chest wasn't moving.
One assassin stepped forward to reclaim the dart. No evidence left behind.
When he reached out, a talon grabbed him by the wrist and Naevius opened his eyes. Before they could react, his other hand came up with a bowl of red powder, throwing it in the assassin's face before shoving him away. The enlil fell back coughing and wheezing, tears already streaming down his face. He clutched at his throat, clawed at his face! In pure agony, he tumbled backward against shelves on the opposite wall of the cellar, rattling the bottles stored there.
"You don't want to..." If he heard the warning, he didn't heed it, grabbing the first bottle he could uncork and splashing its contents on his face. At that, he broke his silence for real, shouting as the liquor spread the greasy pepper concoction and burned into the cuts he had just given himself. "I tried to tell you."
"No one could survive that," one of the other assassins said incredulously. If they had missed, it would be one thing, but the dart was lodged in his chest!
Naevius grunted as he pulled the dart free, peering at it critically. "A knife would have been better. I knew an assassin would come, but I had no idea you were already here! I can't believe you – three of you! – managed to avoid tripping any of my warning sensors!" Naevius grinned wickedly, tossing the dart onto a nearby table. "Yeah, a knife would have been better, I don't have any armor to wear. What I do have is a lab full of everything I need to mix some... unpleasant substances." He nodded toward their third, now groaning in agony as he tried to wipe the noxious chemicals off with his cloak. "As well as everything I need to keep dosed up on anti-toxins."
While one assassin stepped toward their ailing comrade, the other reached for a knife, a silent admission that Naevius might have had a point.
"Nush," he declared, pointing at the one who had cast the silence spell. "Pikun." The one who cast the darkness spell. "Which would make you... Trukali. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil." His recognition of them gave Nush pause and he didn't draw the knife, although his hand stayed on the smooth wooden handle.
Trukali had recovered enough to glare at Naevius from under his hood, eyes bloodshot, tears and snot running down his face. He was still wheezing, spitting, wiping with his cloak.
"I didn't warrant your best? I'm feeling a little insulted now," Naevius mused. "Did they send Zhuzhush after the merc?"
"There's still three of us. I'll give you credit, you surprised us, but tonight you breathe your last." Nush pulled his knife and turned to share a look with Pikun. The other enlil had a small crossbow, and if Nush could grab the chemist's attention for just a moment, Pikun could land a shot. They'd have explaining to do for botching the silent assassination, but they could think of something.
Nush paused, surprised by how pale Pikun looked in the flickering candlelight. He was shaking, fingers clenching and unclenching. Trukali was still glaring, but he was moving his mouth as if speaking, except nothing was coming out.
Only then did Nush realize there was a strange taste in the air. He looked up at Naevius, who calmly took a swig from a bottle of some kind. He was already dosed up on anti-toxins, despite admitting we surprised him. The chemist's next words were partially obscured by the pulse suddenly pounding in Nush's ears.
"Mine takes a few more than seven breaths..."
Nush dropped to one knee, and the knife slipped from his fingers.
Seven Breaths
Wordcount: 1,572
No signs of the attack remained. After the passing of months, all the burnt or splintered furniture had been replaced, the charred walls had been repaired and repainted. There was a brand new, heavier door at the front, and only, entrance to the modest estate. Two figures paced silently through the home of Naevius Squalidus, carefully scoping out the first and second floors. They suspected but were happy to confirm that the wife was not there, and they had no staff present. Possibly, after the violence of the attack, it had become too dangerous to stay.
Naevius wasn't in the bedroom, either. The bed did not look slept in.
Still, it paid to be thorough. Literally, in their case. The two men slipped through the rooms like shadows. Every room, empty. No hidden visitors, no witnesses.
In this little corner of the Lapidus Silvarum, they could not allow an alarm to be raised. This was home to many of the more affluent enlil in the metropolis, some of them with private security forces. The guards would respond quickly, the wealthy homeowners would demand answers. Trouble would fall on Lupanar as a whole.
If everything was kept quiet, though, no one would have reason to raise a fuss.
Finally, the pair headed back down to the first floor, where a third waited by the stairway down into the cellar. The three enlil wore matching cloaks of dark gray with hoods pulled down low to obscure their faces in shadow. As the three silently crept downward, every step pausing to listen for any noise. The open doorway at the bottom of the steps was lit from within, but the light was dim and flickering, perhaps the light of a single guttering candle. They could faintly hear breathing, and it sounded like the chemist was asleep, but the trio remained cautious as they descended, careful to watch each step for any faults in the wood that might squeak or groan and give them away.
The breathing came from the left of the doorway, but too close to verify without risking being seen. So they waited, patiently, allowing a quarter hour to pass before they shared a nod, confident that Naevius was there and remained unaware. The first of the three began tracing sigils in the air, the sharp tips of his talons moving too fast to see clearly. A dot appeared at his chest, blacker than the shadows surrounding him. As he held his hand in place, tracing the final sigil a second time, slower, the spot of blackness slowly grew.
The one bringing up the rear withdrew a slender dart from his cloak. It had a long metal needle with a body of light wood. No barbs, no blades, just a sharp tip. With utmost care, he opened a pouch with a thick, deep green paste and rubbed the needle across it. He closed the pouch, sealing it tightly. With his free hand, the assassin curled two talons inward, forming a cup, before extending his pinky and angling the tip toward the dart. A pink substance coated his palm and dripped down his extended digit, coating the weapon. Just a sharp tip, coated in hetfe-ivi and capped with the Widow's Kiss.
In between them, the last assassin checked that both were ready before he dared to part his lips. Once he began, they would all act at once. They had practiced it well. Naevius would become their thirteenth victim. "O kind watcher," he whispered out in a rush, and at the sound of his voice, the other two rushed ahead, sliding into the room facing to the left. The dart went out and then the black orb swallowed up the candle's light, casting everything in pure darkness. "Silence the vexatious!"
Waves of arcane energy quashed all sound.
No sound, no light, no life.
In the silence and the darkness, the trio could not determine the success of their ambush, but they had executed it perfectly. The name hetfe-ivi meant "seven breaths," so named because the victim's fate was determined within the next seven breaths. One who calmed themselves quickly enough could dull the effectiveness of the toxin, which was highly deadly but lost its potency rapidly. If it didn't reach the heart before that, the victim might be in pain but would live.
The Widow's Kiss ensured that wouldn't happen. The second toxin induced paranoia in the victim, getting their heart racing, rushing, carrying the first toxin at blinding speed. If the victim was even aware of the trio, the intense fear and aggression brought on by the Kiss would ensure they lashed out at the attackers, only making things worse for themselves.
In the silence and the darkness, no one would know anything had happened. No one ever discovered the tiny hole left behind by the dart. For Naevius, there needn't even be a story of an unexpected illness; the chemist was known to imbibe all manner of intoxicants. Who would be shocked to learn that he had been done in by an unknown substance?
The unnatural muffling faded first, a subtle difference between the absence of sound and the quiet of a silent room. The body in the room was no longer breathing. The darkness was dispelled and the trio blinked to clear their vision, the single candle almost blinding after that void of light.
Naevius Squalidus was sitting in a simple chair, leaned back against the wall. He had his lab coat on but it hung open, baring the chestnut feathers of his chest, with a diamond patch of gray. The dart stuck right in the center of his chest, not quite perfectly on his heart. His chest wasn't moving.
One assassin stepped forward to reclaim the dart. No evidence left behind.
When he reached out, a talon grabbed him by the wrist and Naevius opened his eyes. Before they could react, his other hand came up with a bowl of red powder, throwing it in the assassin's face before shoving him away. The enlil fell back coughing and wheezing, tears already streaming down his face. He clutched at his throat, clawed at his face! In pure agony, he tumbled backward against shelves on the opposite wall of the cellar, rattling the bottles stored there.
"You don't want to..." If he heard the warning, he didn't heed it, grabbing the first bottle he could uncork and splashing its contents on his face. At that, he broke his silence for real, shouting as the liquor spread the greasy pepper concoction and burned into the cuts he had just given himself. "I tried to tell you."
"No one could survive that," one of the other assassins said incredulously. If they had missed, it would be one thing, but the dart was lodged in his chest!
Naevius grunted as he pulled the dart free, peering at it critically. "A knife would have been better. I knew an assassin would come, but I had no idea you were already here! I can't believe you – three of you! – managed to avoid tripping any of my warning sensors!" Naevius grinned wickedly, tossing the dart onto a nearby table. "Yeah, a knife would have been better, I don't have any armor to wear. What I do have is a lab full of everything I need to mix some... unpleasant substances." He nodded toward their third, now groaning in agony as he tried to wipe the noxious chemicals off with his cloak. "As well as everything I need to keep dosed up on anti-toxins."
While one assassin stepped toward their ailing comrade, the other reached for a knife, a silent admission that Naevius might have had a point.
"Nush," he declared, pointing at the one who had cast the silence spell. "Pikun." The one who cast the darkness spell. "Which would make you... Trukali. Hear no evil, see no evil, speak no evil." His recognition of them gave Nush pause and he didn't draw the knife, although his hand stayed on the smooth wooden handle.
Trukali had recovered enough to glare at Naevius from under his hood, eyes bloodshot, tears and snot running down his face. He was still wheezing, spitting, wiping with his cloak.
"I didn't warrant your best? I'm feeling a little insulted now," Naevius mused. "Did they send Zhuzhush after the merc?"
"There's still three of us. I'll give you credit, you surprised us, but tonight you breathe your last." Nush pulled his knife and turned to share a look with Pikun. The other enlil had a small crossbow, and if Nush could grab the chemist's attention for just a moment, Pikun could land a shot. They'd have explaining to do for botching the silent assassination, but they could think of something.
Nush paused, surprised by how pale Pikun looked in the flickering candlelight. He was shaking, fingers clenching and unclenching. Trukali was still glaring, but he was moving his mouth as if speaking, except nothing was coming out.
Only then did Nush realize there was a strange taste in the air. He looked up at Naevius, who calmly took a swig from a bottle of some kind. He was already dosed up on anti-toxins, despite admitting we surprised him. The chemist's next words were partially obscured by the pulse suddenly pounding in Nush's ears.
"Mine takes a few more than seven breaths..."
Nush dropped to one knee, and the knife slipped from his fingers.