B A L Ę H A Z A R
When the Ocarina blows away the shadows,
Revealed is the plague,
When the Sands of time bury others,
Revealed are the stakes.
Striketh the paper, blood,
A pledge beyond death
Nothing is true,
Everything is permitted.
I see you still remember it.
Brother Remi, assassins never forget, come even death.
Why did you, then, leave?
I did something no man should, something I knew I would regret.
One leg fell before the other, a sign that the entourage was ready to set sail. Behind the rest, walked Balthazar. He loved the serene breeze of the forest. Even if the chilling wind tried desperately to stake him, it was the howling fireballs that ran amok in the cities which he hated. When was naught but a milk drinking baby in a whore's arms, he imagined the forest around them was alive. It hid them from the demons, from the burning torches of the villagers.
Silence filled the air, if only for a fleeting moment. Each adventurer and barnstormer here walked their own path, had their own goals, their own means, their own lies. Yet, for the next few moons, he would have to consider each one his compatriot. Perhaps, even save them. No, he would just try. Any more than that would just be a waste of his time.
Rustling of leaves, he heard. A rabbit thrashed through the fallen dry leaves in an attempt to evade something. For a few seconds he studied the noise. The commotion caused by the predator was not something a fox would make, a fox was too big to go through those bushes, especially with the razor sharp thorns. A snake? No, a snake would not bother chasing after a prey, stand and deliver its motto.
Is violence the only thought in your mind?
The agitated bush moved ever so slightly, and through the gap saw Balthazar the predator. It was just another rabbit, albeit a larger one. This one's fur was darker, with spots. More importantly, this one looked succulent. Balthazar's maw grumbled, cursing Balthazar for missing breakfast. Balthazar wondered what the kid would allege when Balthazar would let him out of his mind's cage. Some where along the lines of, "You meanie," he was sure.
Realizing the world would not stop for him as he pondered what one part of his brain would say to the other, Balthazar moved on. He was slacking behind, more than he wished for. He may have the skills to know if a bear was around, it was not like he could stop the bear. The bear would still crush Balthazar's weak little spine and tear off his head, leaving behind only the blood coagulated on the leaves as proof. Perhaps, someone would remember him.
Unlikely someone would remember a son of a whore.
Who cares what my mother was? The world will know of my legacy!
The greatest legacy assassins can have is no one remembering them.
What nonsense! I wanna be as great as El Dor!
If people knew he was an assassin, he was not very great at his job.
You've gone senile. People are afraid of him.
People are more afraid of the dark.
It was a pointless battle, one fought against insurmountable odds with the help of fucking nothing. It was like the time in the forest when he and his mother were being chased, again, by torches, years after he was born out of her foolish womb. He should have ran, for she was only a whore. Yet, he tried to save her, once. She was sent to the dungeon, where she had no doubt been passed around like a dog, like the man, whose servant Balthazar was forced to become, said. Even if, in the end, he broke free from the shackles, he was still haunted by her.
Just before he could break down into tears begging Shar to circumcise that memory out of his mind, his eyes closed, reacting to a sudden increase in light. They had reached near the edge of the forest. Sometime later they would eating nice food in a nice shade. If only the gypsies had roasted lamb...