A noble warrior. A righteous leader. An amalgam of discipline and instinct. Soren Pistelis fought for hundreds of years as soldier of fortune; loyal only to the Contract. His way of dealing with his profession garnered a manner of fluidity and precision that escapes the deepest fathoms of most human perception. Soren’s deeds often times were ebon and cold, heartless and swift. A Dark immortal such as himself thrives on certain cruelties but is not bound by those black musings. We step into Soren’s consciousness in the midst of his final contract—riddled with questions and smoldering thoughts, Soren begins to fade from allegiance to the Contract and grows toward another faith.
I heard their steps falling across the ground. I smelled the dust fluttering in the air behind their boots. A faceless fear crept in each one’s heart and it was me. I moved from the tops of the trees and landed silently on the earthen floor.
What did he mean by revolution?
Focus, Soren. The King must be done away with tonight before he announces his intent to marry. The two guards riding on the carriage will be the most alert and least restless. The three on horseback will be my largest challenge. The 7 on foot are at a much more vulnerable psychological state and I can use their confusion and edginess to disrupt the entire convoy’s resolve. The secondary convoy may attack but the prince will not be a target so his retreat to safety will be their first priority.
When will he begin?
No. Speedy now. Catch up but keep a silent footfall. Now is the time I play with their fears. Yes. I remember now. I fire a psychic blast into the trees opposite of my position and they quickly turn, weak knees and swords at the ready. They keep moving though. I scurry ahead and lob a stone arching high into the air. It flies for an extended period before it falls in front of the lead horseman. The horse rears back momentarily startled. The men do not muster their calm as quickly. A beast knows when it is the one in danger but men can only think of their death once their fear begins to blossom.
“In the name of the king: who goes there?” cries Captain Runely, true courage gracing his words.
The guards stand and stare at the trees as if they themselves will speak up in response to the fading thunder of Runely’s request.
I sat in the darkness seeing so clearly the fear in each of their hearts. Runely’s bravery kept his men from completely losing themselves but it was only a momentary fix.
How does he plan to bring revolution?
Concentrate, Soren! You cannot let his words cloud your mind. Assault their terrors head-on now.
I run ahead of their group as they continue to hurry onward at an increased pace. I step out into the middle of the road, standing firm and cloaked in the night’s darkness. I wait for the cavalcade to come around the bend. Their strides drew them closer and soon their probing eyes found me in the shadows. They stopped in mid-step. I was only a dark figure established in their path but what did they see in me? I regarded their presence with a slow rise of my head. Runely endured steadily, hand on his sword. The rest of the number failed to compose any essence of courage among them despite only encountering a single man.
Runely spoke, “This is the king’s convoy and I advise you to step aside, citizen, or we will be forced to remove you by any means necessary.”
I smiled and conjured a pyrokinetic fire within my palm and allowed it to flow all around me, licking at my body and covering me with flames. And in a quick instant, when the flames had covered me completely, I darted into the woods with the flame extinguishing behind me. The men began to shriek of fire demons and shadow sorcery. They were beyond Runely’s control; he had lost his men in their own deluge of fear and wild imagination.
I strike fast, using a psyblast to knock one of the guards to the ground. He winces in pain as the blast drives deep into his midsection.
We watch it wasting away in movement
