Thar Shaddin

The pudgy man reeked of corruption, Stojan contemplated. A house of riches inside, and of a poverty stricken exterior, including the land, what job could a man be pulling to afford such commodities and keep safe at the same time, he says he is a shut in, obviously prepares is own food, for his apron is bloody. Though something strange is here, out of place, I can’t place my mind upon exactly what is, but ill be cautious; I’ve run into too many over-eager-killers in my journey to Marn, Shim. Criminals whom merely want to cover up their existence, to stay secret. This man definitely has something to hide, and I’m not one for subtlety.

With the swiftness of a jungle animal, Stojan’s hands ripped the apron from the waddling figure, who pissing himself in horror, most likely thinking we was being murdered, but Stojan merely raised the man from the floor with ease and commanded an answer from him, “Where is my father!” The wiggling figure went cold and stopped his benign movements, disgusting to his eye, and to the scent. That sweet bitter musk of urine gagging Sotjan’s mind, as he asked a second time, calm and clear. “My…Father…”

What a pitiful creature.

And the creature answered, mumbling between sobs and fruitless attempts at bribing Stojan. “I have a cougher, over there,” and pointed in a closet, a painting beside it unusually crooked. Stojan noted the oddity, and continued his interrogation, listening to every babbling incoherent whine of the human whose tone was a near squeal, “I I saw him not two days prior master! He is my cousin, half removed, “squiggles added, “I swear on the god that this is all meh little self nos…”

“There are seven Gods, you ignorant human…” ignoring his briery and attempts at family consolidation. “You tell me what is behind that wall. Stojan pointed behind the picture frame near the closet, and walked, fat man in hand to the wall, his little frightened face puckering in silence and futile contemplation.

Stojan hurtled the waste of a life through the makeshift wall, easily toppling, the painting ruined, it must have just been built up. The fat figure fell down many flights of stairs, and Stojan followed him, calmly walking down each one, minding the steps that no doubt set off some sort of booby trap.

By the time he reached the bottom the fat man had struggled from the ground, a white shard protruding from both his legs, and was attempting to retrieve first, a key which he tipped a small wooden table over, to get, and made for a weapon locker. The basement was anything but a dungeon, it was of a fine marble material and metal doors, many of them. Soft whimpers escaping one of the cells, a familiar stench reaching his astute nostrils, and they flared in approval.

A torture chamber.

Stojan laughed, and the sounds behind the cell stopped, all was quite, save the rattling death words of a near dead human, calling out to his god, cursing me.
I looked upon him, those broken legs, and such a frail figure. I asked one last time, glad that he answered, for I raised my foot at least, a second later and stomped his skull into the beautiful marble floor, spreading sinew across the floor, brains squishing between my feet, a funny tingling feeling running through my veins, to my heart. Fragments of his skull had been imbedded in that expensive marble, and I could not help but laugh again at the irony of such a human.

I waltzed to the cell where I previously had heard the whimper and found waiting for me, well for him, but now me, a female elf. My beautiful sight offsetting her horror at seeing past me, blood across the floor, relieve I suppose that I was not the fat man, but I grinned and bore my single blue gray eye upon her, and she realized what I was.

Unseelie Sidhe.

And she screamed.

Just then I remembered that the man did not provide me with any useful information, and regretted in killing him for a moment, before my eye fell once again upon the screaming female.