Emren

Emren stared down a backstreet in the southern quarter of Spectralia, trying to watch and listen carefully. Unfortunately for him, his focus was starting to wane after waiting for quite some time, crouched behind some abandoned crates. How long had it been exactly? He wasn’t sure, but his aching legs told him that it had been far too long.

Not only that, but he was tired of staring down the dirty street. Shadows, he was tired of living in this dull and unpleasant city. Emren wouldn’t leave though. No, he couldn’t leave Spectralia until he had his revenge.

Without realizing it, Emren’s hand had strayed to the small charm he wore around his neck. It was in the shape of a tower rising into the sky, to represent Novian, the architect of souls. The cheap trinket that hung on a leather cord was supposed to bring luck to its wearer, though Emren knew that was all superstitious nonsense.

When his hand came into contact with the charm, the feeling of pure anguish flooded into him. Emren didn’t recoil at it, he was far too used to the talisman to have that kind of reaction. Indeed, Emren himself had imbued the trinket with the emotion.

That was his ability as a conductor. He could pass emotions onto other people, or store them within objects. To Emren it wasn’t a very useful skill, but it could serve as a potent reminder of his deep, deep, hatred.

Realizing that his breathing had become ragged, he quickly took his hand off of the necklace and steadied himself. Even though he was accustomed to the anguish, the intensity of the emotion could still make him lose some of his composure.

As he continued to watch the alleyway, Emren caught himself reaching for the charm over and over again. Eventually, he used the offending hand to grip onto the hilt of the sword at his waist, holding onto the leather grip tightly to keep it from wandering.

It had become a habit to constantly grab the tiny tower over the past couple of weeks. Some part of Emren, deep down, told him that it wasn’t healthy to keep the thing, but he kept that part buried. Nothing was more import-

The sound of footsteps brought all of Emren’s attention back to the dark passageway before him, where another alleyway intersected the street where he was hiding. After a moment Emren could hear low voices among the footfalls. They were speaking to quietly for Emren to make out any words, but as the gang of ruffians passed by the alley only a dozen paces from where he hid, the awful feeling of a realm of influence washed over him.

His targets had finally arrived. The sensations from the shapers were extremely unpleasant, but Emren did his best to ignore them and focus on his task.

As he listened to the voices and the footsteps, Emren realized that there were far more than expected. There was no way he could confront this many and come out alive.

Grinding his teeth in irritation Emren asked himself, why are there so many? Over and over again. During his time in the city watch he had never seen, or even heard of so many shapers gathering together. There must have been ten or fifteen in the group passing by. Normally, the largest groups would only have four or five members.

Rumor on the street said that the different groups of shapers were starting to join together. Emren hadn’t believed it, but this convinced him. Rumor also said that there was a reward for anyone that could capture a shaper alive. Perhaps the shapers were coming together for protection against that threat.

After the last footfalls passed by his hiding place Emren made the snap decision to follow the shapers. He waited enough time to let them get a lead and then slipped out from behind the crates and started to follow.

This allowed him his first look at the gang. From behind he couldn’t make out too many details, but the predatory way the shapers stalked through the backstreets could be seen clearly. They kept to the darkest, most deserted alleyways as they moved, obviously trying to avoid notice

Following quickly after the gang, Emren wondered if these were the ones. If they were responsible for all the suffering he had gone through. As he thought, his hand once again reached for the small tower hanging from his neck. He certainly hoped they were.

Emren continued to follow at a distance, moving quickly from one hiding place to another. He was worried that one of the shapers would look back and see him, but if they did check, it was during one of the times he was hidden.

As all of them continued on their way through the backstreets Emren realized that the alleyways were no longer so dirty, and the general atmosphere improved. They were moving north, toward the nicer part of town.

What are they planning? Emren thought as he continued to follow the gang. Informants had told him that the shapers were planning something big, and they had even known which alleyways they would pass through. However, nothing was actually known about what the gang was going to do. Apparently, the shapers were more tight-lipped about that sort of thing, and Emren’s informants hadn’t been able to learn the details.

The group of shapers eventually arrived at their destination, hovering just inside the alley looking out onto a busy street, as if waiting for something.

Emren was far enough behind that he couldn’t see the street, and it frustrated him to no end. If only he knew what they were planning he might be able to foil them.

Suddenly knives were pulled out until every hand held at least one, and the group spilled out of the alleyway.

As Emren raced forward to see what was happening he could hear screams. The cries of alarm spurred him on to move even faster.

When he finally burst out of the alleyway a scene of utter chaos opened up to him. The shapers had stopped an ornate carriage. The driver already lay on the ground, probably dead, and the criminals were in the process of attacking a group of beleaguered guards that were badly outnumbered.

Shockingly, the carriage had the Alistair family crest emblazoned on its side. They’re trying to kill one of the Alistair arbiters. Emren thought as he tried to take in the scene.

The screams that Emren had been hearing came from a mass of people that were trying to move away from the fight, but the amount of people and the narrow confines of the street kept them from moving away quickly.

Despite it all, a wicked grin appeared on Emren’s face. This was his chance. He would finally have his revenge.

He drew his sword and moved purposefully toward the fight. It would be best for him if he could attack them before the carriage’s guards fell. They wouldn’t last long though, several of them had already fallen, and only a handful remained standing.

Emren reached the back line of the shapers, shrugging off the strange feelings from their auras as his sword flashed before him. Emren dropped three of their number before any of them noticed he was there.

One of them finally realized, and cried out a warning. Four shapers turned to face him.

Emren’s grin turned into a snarl, and he let out a roar before charging at them.

The shapers looked stunned at his bestial intensity. They obviously weren’t ready for the attack, because they hesitated for just a moment as Emren lunged forward. That hesitation allowed Emren to slash one across the chest before any of them could react.

After their companion dropped to the ground, the rest sprang into action, moving in close to attack him with their knives. They encircled around him, trying to split his attention and create openings.

Instead of staying still, Emren once again charged forward to gain space from the two that were now at his back.

The shaper he charged was ready for his attack. She dodged below his strike suddenly moving forward to stab at him with her dagger. Emren spun out of the way, swinging his sword as he moved, catching the woman in the neck and spraying blood to the ground.

As he spun, one of the men behind him had managed to close the gap between them and the shaper slashed with his dagger. Emren’s spin caught the man off guard, but he still scored a hit on Emren’s arm, biting deep into the flesh there. Emren let out a growl and whipped his sword back, disemboweling his attacker.

The fourth shaper rushed forward, trying to stab at Emren’s side while he was still distracted, but Emren saw the man out of the corner of his eye and rammed the man with his shoulder. He still took a shallow cut to the ribs, but his opponent was shaken by the blow and Emren ended the fight by thrusting his sword through the man’s chest.

After pulling his sword free, Emren wavered slightly on his feet. Blood was flowing freely from the wounds in his arm and his side, and he was starting to feel the pain from them now that he had finished off his opponents. The fight had left him slightly disoriented, and he took stock of his surroundings.

Emren turned to see that the last of the arbiter’s guards had fallen. They had taken several shapers with them, but two remained, and they had turned to find Emren standing over the bodies of their companions. Their expressions showed pure hatred and as one they left the carriage to rush at him.

Emren couldn’t help but smile. This was exactly what he wanted. He wanted the shapers to feel the same pain, the same suffering and misery that he felt because of them.

Despite his smile, Emren was in a dire situation. He had managed to take on four at a time earlier, but he was both tired and wounded now. Wishing he had a wall to set his back to, Emren set his body into a defensive posture and readied himself for the fight.

As the shapers ran toward him, their caution must have quickly overcome their fury, because they slowed their pace as they neared Emren and started to make small lunging motions to test his defenses.

Trying to keep an eye on both of them at the same time, Emren warded them off with his longer weapon. They continued on like that for several minutes, until Emren realized that he would just get worn down this way, and the next time one of the men stabbed at him, Emren swung his sword at the man’s dagger. There was a solid connection, and the knife was ripped out of the shapers hand and flew some distance away, bouncing across the ground.

Emren immediately turned to the other man who had closed the distance between them, knife in hand. The attacker had moved in too close to hit with the sword so Emren dropped the weapon, sidestepped, and grabbed the arm that held the dagger that had been aimed at his chest.

Before Emren could do anything else, something crashed into him from behind, and both he and the shaper he was holding fell to the ground. The force that had knocked him over was the man that he had disarmed a moment ago.

Instead of going for a weapon, he had simply tackled Emren taking all three of them to the ground. Emren heard curses from the other two men, and he matched them with his own. He had hit the side of his head against the ground, and blood was starting to flow down his face.

Emren tried to untangle himself from the man who had tackled him, but blood-loss had sapped much of his strength away.

Emren let out a frustrated scream, realizing that he had to do something before the man with the knife recovered and killed him. He could see that although the man was still crouched on the ground, he was orienting himself to slash through Emren’s throat.

That’s when Emren saw it. Stained crimson with blood, his sword was laying on the ground next to him, and he knew it was his only hope of survival. With as much strength as he could muster, Emren ripped his good arm out of the grip of the man who had tackled him, grabbed the hilt of the blade and stabbed the man holding the knife in the neck.

There was a gurgled scream, and suddenly Emren only had one opponent left. When the final shaper saw that his companion had died, he let go of the grip he had on Emren’s body and grabbed the hand that held the sword, shaking it, and beating it against the ground until Emren was forced to let go.

Then, with grim determination, the shaper pinned Emren under his body and wrapped his hands around Emren’s throat and started to strangle him.

Emren couldn’t do anything to resist. He was so weak from his blood-loss. Desperately reaching for the dead man’s knife, his fingers brushed against the hilt, but he couldn’t reach far enough to grab the weapon.

Air. Emren couldn’t get any air. The edges of his vision were starting to go black, and he felt weaker than ever before.

Emren stared at the shapers face, seeing the hatred in his eyes. As Emren looked into those eyes, an idea born of desperation, came into being inside of Emren’s mind. Instead of trying to pull the man’s hands off his throat, he grabbed the talisman that hung around his neck and pressed it against one of the shaper’s hands.

The man gasped in shock and recoiled as anguish flooded into him from the trinket, and the terrible pressure let up for just a moment.

Emren took the opportunity to squirm his body just far enough to grab the dagger from off the ground. He took it in his hand and plunged it into the heart of the final man.

The body slumped, and the strange sensations from the man’s realm of influence faded away.

It was over, and the only thing that Emren could do was lay there, coughing and trying to recover from the ordeal. He thought it was rather appropriate that the final shaper had felt Emren’s anguish before he died.

Perhaps he would make other’s feel the emotion before he killed them. Then they would know the pain that they had inflicted on him.

After a minute of rest Emren finally found the will to stand up.

Bodies littered the ground around him, and the street was now abandoned. The crowds had disappeared, and the arbiter must have fled during the fight because the carriage was now abandoned.

Emren picked up his sword and stumbled his way over to one of the bodies draped in a cloak, and ripped a long strip of cloth off of the garment and bound it tightly around the wound on his arm. He wiped the blood off his sword on what remained of the cloak before sheathing it.

Emren looked once again at the carnage that surrounded him, and he felt… empty. Wasn’t he supposed to feel satisfied after killing the shapers and getting his revenge? These weren’t the ones he was really after. They didn’t have glowing hands and strange powers, but they were still shapers.

During the fight he had felt some measure of satisfaction, but that was gone now.

Do I need to kill all the shapers in the city to finally have peace? The question was a disturbing one. He gripped the small tower necklace in his hand, letting the anguish fill him once again. He would do it. If it gave him peace, he would do it.

“What have you done?”

The question rang out clearly in the now silent street. Emren turned and saw a man standing in dark gray clothing, staring at him with hard eyes.

Emren didn’t answer, he simply started to walk away, but he heard the newcomer’s voice from behind.

“In the name of the high seat, I order you to tell me what happened here!”

Emren spun around this time, as quickly as his body would allow, and stared at the man who had pulled out a golden coin, displaying the official seal stamped onto its surface. The coin was proof that this man was an agent of the high seat of spectra. Even from a distance Emren could make it out.

“These men attacked one of the arbiters,” Emren said, gesturing at the abandoned carriage. “I stepped in to help.”

The agent frowned at the explanation before speaking once again.

“I need to know exactly what happened. This comes from an order given me by the high seat himself, I hope that gives you perspective on how important this is.”

It was Emren’s turn to frown. This makes no sense, he thought as he studied the agent, the high seat shouldn’t know about this at all. Why would the most powerful man in Spectra, the greatest of the arbiters, be investigating shapers?

Emren began to think about the entire situation, thoughts running through his head.

Sure, the shapers had attacked an arbiter, but even with Emren’s connections he hadn’t been able to learn what this gang had been planning.

This agent must have been investigating the shapers before the attack today, or there was no way he would be here right now. Did it have to do with the disappearances of shapers in Spectralia, or was it about the reward for their capture? Was it something else entirely?

While he was thinking, the agent started to speak again.

“Come, I can get a healer to look at your wounds after we talk. I might even be able to throw in a reward if you can give me the right information.”

Emren made the decision. He couldn’t possibly run from the man in his condition, and perhaps he could learn something from him. Emren knew so little, and anything would help. He didn’t care anything for a reward, but maybe this agent could be an ally in his quest to hunt down the shapers in Spectralia.