Lore Scroll: Horrors of the Past

In each vision, it was only death he saw.

So'el moved swiftly through the dimly lit streets, his grey cloak fluttering fiercely in the wind behind him like a dark silhouette against the dim light stands that lined the cobblestone path. The evening air was thick with the scent of rain-soaked earth and the distant echoes of laughter and shouts from taverns that spilled over with patrons seeking refuge from the chill. His target was close, the shimmering charm around his neck told him. It was only a few more blocks, and his sense of urgency forced him to quicken the pace.

The soles of So'el's feet barely made a sound as he deftly navigated the narrow alleyways, pushing past the last few stragglers and drunkards of the night, who stumbled about, their laughter mingling with the shadows. Each step was calculated, each movement precise, as he honed in on the energy that radiated from his goal. The streets were alive with the murmurs of the city, a symphony of whispers and rustling cloaks, but So'el remained focused, his senses heightened.

There was always someone in the darkness of the city; either engaged in something no one wanted to know about or someone no one wanted to see, lurking in the corners, their intentions hidden behind masks of anonymity. He could feel their eyes upon him, but he paid them no mind. As he turned a corner, the ambiance shifted; the air grew thick with tension, and the sounds of revelry faded into an eerie silence. The faint glow of his charm became more pronounced, casting a subtle light that danced across the damp walls, revealing graffiti and old posters that told stories of a forgotten time.

So'el's heart raced as he approached the final stretch. He could almost taste the anticipation in the air, mingling with the faint scent of smoke and stench of trash. He knew he was close. The night was far from over, but as he pressed forward, So'el prepared himself for whatever lay in wait within the depths of the urban shadows.

A vision struck him then. His last kill. He still felt sick thinking of slaying the boy. He was just a child, the look of terror still etched on his face when So'el pulled the dagger out from his heart. The young ones always gave him nightmares. He hasn't slept well in weeks. But the money was good, and he was good at what he did.

So'el pulled his hood over his head quickly, and magical enchantment hid his face well. A "gift" from his previous mark, the target had provided a nasty gash across So'el face as well as the hood to cover it up. Entering the crowded tavern, he tossed a coin quickly to the barkeep in one smooth motion, then he avoided the stares and hushed gasps of surprise. The tavern was loud, which made hiding in plain sight easier for So'el. His accomplice, Margie, should be closing on his mark.

As So'el vaulted over the railing at the top of the third floor, he saw a familiar red handkerchief tied loosely on the knob, the door slightly ajar. He knew it was the signal he was looking for. He stopped short of bursting through the door. Instead, he gently pushed the door open with one hand while drawing his dagger with the other.

Instead of seeing Margie in the usual compromising position with their Mark, he saw her laying on the floor in a pool of blood. A shocked look of surprise froze on her face as she reached for help she knew would never come. So'el stuttered for only a moment, but it was all the Mark needed. He pounced from behind the door and slashed viciously with a sword, scoring a hit across So'el shoulder. The toughened leather lessened the blow, but So'el still winced in pain. Ducking low, So'el kicked viciously backward and heard a sickening crunch, then spun and raised his dagger, grasping the man by the throat and forcing him back against a wall as the Mark's sword clattered to the ground.

So'el only caught the vision briefly, but it was enough to continue the nightmares for weeks. He had been in this position many times before. Killing this man, several times before. As he plunged the dagger his victim's stomach, the look of horror and fear on the Mark turned, ever so briefly, into a knowing and vicious smile.