Project: Title Pending
It somehow seemed the rack wasn't for him. He paused before returning his hat to his head and approached some wooden seats.
The place was bright and cosy. Rustic, unintentionally so. There was no faux-quaintness. These people were peasant-types, people of no wealth or culture other than a reactionary exoticisation of their cultural backwardness.
Goods that travelers or traders might bring their way from all over the Republic. Only this was miles from any known trade route. It would have been the most dire and dreary pub if it wasn't for the odd city youth who congregated there. There was nothing but suspicion for them in most parts of the city, here they were totally free. Free from the security forces and conceited looks from all of sorts of faces.
The masked youth sat in a corner laughing with some friends. Venetians, all of them. All wore white garish masks, covered in glitter and gold. Yet beneath them were people as human as any other patron in the bar. It was their humanity that frightened the cloaked man, he was told they were sub-human, not conscious, couldn't hurt, couldn't feel.
In the past, mercy had never been high on his agenda, but these were... children. Young adults. The first kill had been the hardest. There was blood and screaming and begging. The victim's cold, dead, unmasked face glared back at his assassin. The assassin stared back noticing how similar they looked, the only real difference, their age and one was very much dead.
"Sworn to kill, everyone last one of them" he reminded himself. "You need to think this over some more, you don't need to do this." a voice inside him begun to say. He sighed and tapped his side pocket. "I have a full packet of cigarettoes." Smoking was the assassin's meditation, it could help him fight his way through the guilt if his morals were sharp enough...
The place was bright and cosy. Rustic, unintentionally so. There was no faux-quaintness. These people were peasant-types, people of no wealth or culture other than a reactionary exoticisation of their cultural backwardness.
Goods that travelers or traders might bring their way from all over the Republic. Only this was miles from any known trade route. It would have been the most dire and dreary pub if it wasn't for the odd city youth who congregated there. There was nothing but suspicion for them in most parts of the city, here they were totally free. Free from the security forces and conceited looks from all of sorts of faces.
The masked youth sat in a corner laughing with some friends. Venetians, all of them. All wore white garish masks, covered in glitter and gold. Yet beneath them were people as human as any other patron in the bar. It was their humanity that frightened the cloaked man, he was told they were sub-human, not conscious, couldn't hurt, couldn't feel.
In the past, mercy had never been high on his agenda, but these were... children. Young adults. The first kill had been the hardest. There was blood and screaming and begging. The victim's cold, dead, unmasked face glared back at his assassin. The assassin stared back noticing how similar they looked, the only real difference, their age and one was very much dead.
"Sworn to kill, everyone last one of them" he reminded himself. "You need to think this over some more, you don't need to do this." a voice inside him begun to say. He sighed and tapped his side pocket. "I have a full packet of cigarettoes." Smoking was the assassin's meditation, it could help him fight his way through the guilt if his morals were sharp enough...
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- ID: 63008
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