26 His Ire

Azeal stood there silently for minutes untold. Unable to gather all his thoughts into coherent reactions. What stood before him was not but a child; a little girl that spoke with depth that seemed to drive a hole through his heart.

The little girl had confidence he could only imagine. And a pure innocence that seemed to infect all who heard its mysterious vibrations. All imbued and augmented by the hope that pulsed from the orb near her stomach.

Her mother had spoken and she, with absolute belief in those words, acted as though they were destined; prophesied by oracles and the mightest of seers. Written on the walls of reality.

"Excuse me, mi'lord," a sudden nasal voice called. Breaking Azeal out of his reverie. Turning a bit too quickly, he watched as the owner of the voice visibly flinched. He stared for a while to see who had interrupted him from the moment. There, a few feet away, stood a short and pudgy man with an intricate white and gold robe. Behind him stood several men that had cut their arm sleeves to show what muscle they had and a brand of a sparrow on their shoulders. They seemed to be bodyguards meant to protect.

Azeal stared at the recipients of his ire. As he continued to watch, a familiar color began to shine brightly on them all. The color of fear; its purplish red hue distinct from the other emotions the men portrayed. But of them, one had the least. The fat man, no the swine, was also filled with the golden rays of greed surrounding the fear.

"Yes?" His voice a touch more aggressive than it should have been, but how could any blame a man that had seen the gates of heaven to only have his sight torn away. The color of fear began to grow finally matching the greed. But, before it could overtake it in momentum, the man stuttered a response,

"The payment, mi'lord. The f… five g...gold coins for the untainted slave." Gesturing at the girl with a heavy hand, the man raised a journal that Azeal had not caught sight of; hidden within a secret pocket. Opening it, the collector turned it around, and a blank page stood before him.

Confused, Azeal looked at the page then to the man for a few seconds. Having already had an extreme amount of dislike for slavers in general, and this one more so than others, his anger flared.

"Who do you think I am to stand for such mock…" But he stopped as words began to write themselves. In a golden ink, words filled with artistic flare began to appear. Letters beyond the scope of a mortal, yet, they understood it fully. This was a contract, a recipe of what he bought.

The man smiled as Azeal stared in awe.

"Its one of a kind, sir. Used only by the slavers guild for high priced commodities. And she sold for a small fortune. F...Five, shiny and beautiful, gold coins. The most I've ever made on one her age." Licking his lips in apparent greed, he pulled a quill that oozed magic to Azeal's enhanced eyes.

"Here," he pointed at the very end, a line appearing, demanding his signature. "Sign here, mi'lord. The contract will be finalized, and she will be bound to you."

Grabbing the pen, Azeal signed the contract to finalize the sale. Pulling the coins from an inner pocket, he held them up carelessly towards the man. While on the other hand, the slaver was almost shivering in ecstasy to be receiving them.

"Have a wonderful day! If you ever want another slave, come to the Sparrows Nest on the other side of the inner wall. The guild also offers protection if you'd desire it. We would be pleased to serve you." Bowing as low as his fat would allow him, the man hurried away taking his guards with him.

But as they turned, one had thought himself absolved from the wrath Azeal had. A pink color, filled with dark brown outlines, drove Azeal into a blind rage. Its meaning he understood without any explanation. So, he acted without realizing. To protect what he considered his new family from the evil world. From the evil that man portrayed.

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Five gold piece! Five-thousand silver pieces! Fifty-thousand copper pieces! That was how much Lucas had in his hands as he let the coins drop from the massive man's hands into his. He shivered almost religiously at the sight of such fortune.

The man must be a middle or even high noble to so carelessly throw gold on a slave he could have bought for almost half the price. Lucas wanted to get a glimpse of him, but no matter how hard he tried, he could not. The man was merely covered in too many layers of cloaks and cloth to be recognized.

He had to make sure this man was treated with absolute respect lest they all lose more than just the coins. Bowing down lower than he has ever had a need to, he spoke with the warmest voice he could muster with his nasal tone.

"Have a wonderful day! If you ever want another slave, come to the Sparrows Nest on the other side of the inner wall. The guild also offers protection if you'd desire it. We would be pleased to serve you."

The man seemed to dismiss them by looking in their direction but not at them. Maybe someone caught his attention farther out. Lucas turned around, hoping to get to the carriage as fast as his short feet could carry him. He had to make sure the guild got the coins before they were attacked for holding such amounts without proper guards.

But, as he hurried, a surge of mana, so large it blinded Lucas, who had become a rank seven wizard many years ago, erupted behind them. A sudden blast of darkness engulfed them completely, blocking out the sun from their limited view.

Falling to his knees and hands from the pressure, Lucas rolled to his behind to see what seemed to be happening, only to find one of the guards crucified in what appeared to be tendrils of darkness that tore through each palm and foot. The man screamed in a shrill voice, filled with pain. While all others, who were caught within the doom of shadows, backed away cowardly.

Lucas stared at the tendrils- noticing their state of being; it was a sign as evident as any, that the man was, putting it mildly, royally screwed. Other than the spikes that seemed to be solid, the rest was closer to molasses than the usual viscosity shadows take. An omen, that the being that caused this was at least a rank three or lower wizard.

He watched, as the man crucified, as he was slowly moved through the air; guided by an unseen hand. The man struggled to get away, to run and escape from the wrath of the man before him. But his flailing helped naught, but instead expanded the tears in his limbs.

Slowly, he reached the man whos ire he had stoked. Lucas watched, as the mysterious man who had been waiting patiently began to rise from the ground. A pillar of earth underneath him rose so that he looked directly into his victim's eyes.

With a voice that shook with rage, he spoke,

"You will get away lightly this time. But, ever again I witness your evil thoughts and desires, then know you have only yourself to blame."

He dismissively flicked his hand. The man was sent flying into the crowd of onlookers who seemed to not have understood the significance of those words. But Lucas heard and knew what they said. The meaning behind them at least. And they spoke volumes of who the man was; hidden by the many layers of cloth.

What were thoughts and desires but Emotions? And who else can see them except those of mount Velenvar; the progeny of the long-extinct Seraphim and mortal kind.