Miscreant Inheritance

Stars lit up the twilight sky, giving wonder to children across the land as they gazed skyward with hopes and dreams in their hearts. The city of old T was quiet that night, with only the soft chirp of insects as the midnight choir. The moonlight particularly shone brightly down upon a pale statue of a woman with her hands held out before her. “Make an offering.” People would say, and they threw coins at the feet of the statue for blessings. Although the message was true, most did not understand.

Quietly a shrouded figure in a robe of white glided across the stone path, looking over the shoulder with every few steps. His breath rolled from his mouth, crystallizing into a mist as he gazed up at the statue. From within a sleeve, he withdrew a sealed scroll and very carefully looked about before he gently placed it within the palms of the stone maiden. He took one last look around and then hassled off from where he came.

The moonlight slowly evaporated from around the statue as a cloud hovered overhead to block out the moon. Once the cloud had passed, the parchment was gone.

A pompous young man sat upon his elegant hand-carved oak chair, upturning his nose in disgust as his father approached. An old weather-beaten man garbed in tattered clothes. His tired gaze met with the eyes of his son sitting before him in wealthy clothes. “I come one last time to ask you to stop what you are doing to these poor people. My son, please, the servants need food and proper bedding. Their wives are not yours to be used and their children are simply too weak to work as you have them.” The man upon the chair rested his elbow upon one armrest and simply rests his cheek upon the supporting hand, his eyes dull with uncaring.

“Father, these men are my own. Their wives are my own. If they wish to go back into the wilds and face the dark beasts, so be it. While they live upon my estate, they are nothing more than paid slaves.”

“Your estate? I worked my entire life to build this home for you and your mother! You shut your mother and I out once we signed the estate to you. You kicked us from our home, you shed not one tear when news of your mother’s death at the hands of the wilds. Beast! You house these folk in the barn with the cattle and rape their wives and daughters.”

The son smirked, slightly amused at his father’s defiance. He shrugged and waved him away. “I grow bored of this father, be gone lest I release the hounds. You were always too kind and a fool. I have grown quite prosperous off this estate. A vision you lacked and one I acquired. “He sat up and pointed to the door lazily.

The old man sneered and turned around. As the old man approached the door, a sharp whistle shot out behind him. The dogs. The sound of feet pounding against the wooden floor combined with the deep husk barking of his child’s attack dogs was a dirge both filled with sorrow and fear. He quickly reached the door as the dogs leaped for his arm. From behind the heavy oak door, a mixture of barking and laughter was heard. With a heavy sigh, the old man walked off the estate.

The old man sat within a bar, his cup was getting low as his candle was burning thin. He could only sigh and stare as the candlelight danced about his cup. He wondered where he went wrong, why has his child turned so cruel? His eyes became hazed over as he drifted into his thoughts and from the world about him. The candle snuffed out and he sat there in the shadowed corner of the bar blinking. A figure in dark robes, not unlike the twilight hung overhead.

“We agree upon your method of payment, the papers?”

The old man stared at the figure in disbelief for a moment, pondering if this is what he really wanted.

No... he did not want this... his blood chilled and his breathing began to run ragged. The figure smiled, the rest of his face hidden within the hood of his robe, holding out an outstretched open hand. No this is not what he wanted... but the people under his son needed better. He swallowed and nodded, pulling out a parchment from his purse and placing it in the man’s grasp. The assassin’s fingers gripped the paper ever so lightly like a butterfly resting upon a flower’s petals. He withdrew the parchment and scanned over the wording. “Excellent.” He arose and turned, disappearing into the darkness of the shadows after only a few feet away. The old man’s tired eyes swelled up with tears and he cried softly upon the table with only his empty cup as his company.

Riding home from Tesso, the owner of the estate approached on his horse, reins led by one of his servants. He smiled like a snake that day, overcharging the poor people of the city for his estate’s beef.

Since the dark beasts have destroyed most of the other estates which raised cattle, he was the only one to remain.

The servant opened the gate, and the owner stepped down from his horse. All of his cattle were missing, and so was his servant. He ran into his home and found his prized dogs dead, their blood splattered across the entry hall. His eyes widened and his mouth fell agape. The door behind him closed as his servant followed, “Master? What has happened?”

The estate owner was at a loss for words, his mouth remained open. Suddenly blood vomited from his maw and splattered on his floor, the servant held the hilt of a dagger at his back. He leaned over and whispered in the man’s ear with a vicious smile, “Blood debt has been paid, may your soul feed Xolti’s ravenous hunger.” As the blade withdrew, blood followed from the entry point. The man fell forward into a pool of his own blood and the assassin portrayed as the servant silently left the estate.