Chapter 2: The Stolen Gifts – Pride

In times you are often faced with decisions that you make at spare of the moment and there are those whose pride gets in the way or is the greed of wanting something you would kill to get maybe an object of world domination.

Jasan slowly crept through the narrow passageway of the sewer. The tunnel was so claustrophobic; He had to crawl on his belly through the grimy stinking muck. After traveling nearly one hundred meters through the suffocating stench, he began to see rays of light up ahead. He neared the shaft which emitted the flickering torchlight. Jasan stepped out of the tunnel, into the shaft which led to the manhole above. He tore off his thin outer layer of clothing that protected him from the disease-ridden sewer and left it lying in the muck. The clothes he now wore were jet black and all but skin-tight. He sported leather boots and gloves, as well as a thin face mask that revealed only his eyes. Upon his hefty belt and vest, he kept daggers, lock picks, throwing knives, and various other unsavory pieces of metal that might aid him in his work. On his back, a medium-length double-edged sword rested in its sheath alongside a flattened empty pack. Jasan silently began climbing upward toward the manhole, careful that his steps made no sound on the steel rungs. He stopped near the top to observe what he could see through the grating. Two guards stood directly over him.

Behind them the grand mansion loomed like a mighty cathedral it stood next to. Nothing else was visible through the narrow gate. Normally he would have waited until the guards' patrol elsewhere, but Jasan was feeling particularly impatient that night. Most of his recent missions involved nothing more than the collection of information. He longed for the thrill of combat. Against his better judgment, he decided to strike. Jasan tucked his knees up to his chin as he rested his feet on the close rung. No screws or bolts were holding the cover of the manhole in place, making the task much easier. He bowed his head to allow his shoulders to make contact with the cover, then drew two daggers from his belt and exploded upwards.

Blowing the cover off the manhole, he stabbed both guards in the throat as he stood up. Blood sprayed in all directions as the guards squealed, taking their last breaths. Jasan let go of the daggers embedded in the men's throats and let their bodies fall to the ground. He jumped out of the manhole and drew his sword. He looked around to see four other guards in the vicinity, all charging him. His blood surged with both excitement and fear as he braced himself for combat. Running towards the nearest guard, sword ready; he intended to swing at the guard's neck, but instead hit his head. He struck with devastating force. The guard's helmet, along with a sizable portion of his head, was blown clean off. A cacophony of blood, bone, gray brain matter, and shards of steel erupted from the side of the guard's head.

Jasan had underestimated his speed, and the collision shattered his sword along with the guard's head. He recoiled from the impact and dropped what was left of his blade. He cursed in his head as the bones in his hands stung from the force of the blow. Another guard was upon him. The guard held his sword high above his head, ready to come down with a brutal blow. Taking advantage of the guard's exposed position and pushed the imposing arms aside. He then spun around and reappeared behind the guard. He grabbed his victim by the top of his head and by his chin. Jasan made a swift twisting motion, and a loud crack reverberated from the guard's neck. His face became limp and lifeless as he fell to the ground. The two remaining guards lunged at him, both with low-thrusting attacks. Jasan turned to face the assault, still holding the corpse of his last victim. Blood spurted into the air as the guards clumsily stabbed their dead friend. Jasan twisted the body, prying the swords from the already loose grips of the startled watchmen. He then lunged at one of them, grabbed the sides of his head, and gouged his eyes with his thumbs.

The now blind soldier let out a scream and dropped to the ground, writhing in agony. He turned to see the guard's already 30 meters away, running for help. Throwing a knife from his belt and hurled it at the fleeing guard. It whizzed through the air with incredible speed. It struck the guard's calf with precision instantly falling face-first to the ground, howling in pain. Jasan sprinted towards him, tore off his helmet, and grabbed him by the hair. He slit his throat and went on his way. Jasan stood for a few seconds to catch his breath. He was soaked in blood and sweat. It was a wonder no one else had been alerted to his presence. He hastily started moving again, desperate to escape before he was seen. He grabbed one of the guard's swords and dashed around the corner, into the shadow of the massive mansion.

Although he had never been there before, Jasan was already intimately familiar with the details of the area. Before the mission, he had spent weeks pouring over confiscated maps of the area. He committed them all to memory to ensure that his mission was executed efficiently. He at last came to a stone wall about ten feet high which guarded the room he targeted. He slid the stolen sword into his sheath. It stuck out a few inches and made for an awkward fit, but it would have to do.

After one last check to ensure he was not being followed, Jasan grabbed the ivy growing on the wall and began his ascent. As he neared the top he peered into the yard of the room. Fortunately for them, there were no guards this time, nor were there any windows facing his position. He leaped over the wall and landed on a crouch on the outside balcony. Jasan crept along the wall of the building and came to a halt about one hundred feet down. He began to climb up the wall. The gaps between the stone blocks were large enough to serve as footholds. He climbed onto the roof. The roof was made from wooden shingles and was dotted with numerous stained glass windows. They bore ornate and vivid depictions of gods, armies, scenes from ancient times, eternal bliss, and damnation. He made his way along the edge of the roof to the skylight depicting crosses of many colors. There he removed his screwdriver from his belt and began to work on silently removing the window.

Once the screws were removed, he placed them in a pouch in his vest. He then slid the immense pane of glass just enough so that he could squeeze through. Jasan landed in a crouch in the abandoned storage room. The room was lit by moonlight. It contained numerous wooden crates, barrels, and sacks. The sweet smell of wine hung in the air. He spun around and cautiously checked to make sure the room was indeed abandoned. Wasting no time, he headed for the trapdoor which lay in the corner of the room.

The floor was made of white pine, and the trapdoor blended in seamlessly with its fellow floor tiles. He spotted it by noticing the crack between it and its neighbors. He pried it open with a dagger and descended into the darkness. At last, he had reached the forbidden library. It was a vault that housed the mansion's most prized pieces of knowledge. It was home to thousands of books containing long-lost knowledge of the ancients. This was where his mission brought him. His commanders sought the genius of the ancients. Everyone had heard of the mighty contraptions and machinery they had used. The mansion of the grand cathedral was one of the few places known to house information on these devices. Once his eyes had readjusted to the darkness, Jasan raced toward the back shelf which housed the titles he was searching for. He removed his empty pack from his back and began filling it with books. His heart skipped a beat as he felt a sudden prick in the back of his neck.

"I would drop that if I were you," a voice from behind him,

"Come quietly and we will judge you kindly. You have already earned six months in prison for trespassing, and judging by your grotesque appearance, you may have earned yourself a hanging."

Jasan cursed himself for carelessly allowing the man to discover him. He dropped his pack and feigned surrender by slowly standing up and raising his hands above his head. Then in one swift motion-he drew the stolen sword, spun around, and parried the blade aimed at his neck. Surprise struck him as he recognized the man in front of him.

"Well, isn't this interesting?" Jasan mused, "My missions have never brought me into conflict with family members before."

"Do not test my patience," the man snapped.

"Mikel son of Moesia, I know you well."

The look on Mikel's face changed. "Wha... Are you? Could you be?"

Jasan reached up and removed his face mask.

"Jasan!" exclaimed Mikel, "All this time I thought you were dead!" He dropped his sword and moved forward to embrace Jasan.

Jasan did not move. He kept his sword trained on Mikel. "Don't touch me!" he growled, "I serve The Dawniece now. And I would not hesitate to kill you if you stand in my way."

Mikel was dumbfounded. "What? You cannot possibly be loyal to... to them."

"No," Jasan retorted, "I'm not. But I find it quite useful to make them think I am."

"Then stay here in Malaren. I am a paladin in the order now. I can arrange for you to be pardoned of anything you might have done."

"Your offer doesn't tempt me in the slightest."

Mikel was shocked. "Does your family mean anything to you? We thought you were dead five years ago when they captured you. Do you have any idea how much grief you have caused Father, and what about your soul? Does faith mean anything to you? Have you gone mad and bought into the wickedness they teach? Are you willing to risk damnation to serve Dawniece?"

Jasan chuckled. "Do you think I care what mythology they follow? I thought you would have been smart enough to outgrow superstition by now."

"...I see you have fallen to your earthly desires. Please, brother, I beg of you. Let go of your greed and surrender to Krista. She is most forgiving to those who are loyal to her."

"You don't know me very well. I am not interested in riches. I find them quite boring actually. You, on the other hand, are fascinated by them. Admit it, you were always more hedonistic than I. You were the one who always asked for a second helping, lusted after girls, and lavished yourself with riches every chance you got. At least you thought about it. Your guilt kept it from reaching the surface most of the time. But on the inside, you're one indulgent little pig."

A lump began to form in Mikel's throat. "Then what do you hope to gain by serving the Dawnieces?"

"I have gained the life I always wanted. They provide me with all the necessities: food, clothes, shelter. And in return, I kill for them. Nothing pleases me more than cutting through my enemies in the heat of battle. I have also learned a great deal about the ancients in my line of work. They knew much about how the world works. All their wonders came from human ingenuity, not magic or prayer. In their prime, they abandoned their superstitions in favor of what was real."

"It pains me to see that you have sunk so low," said Mikel in a soft, pleading voice, "I fear for your soul."

"You are a fool. There are no such things as damnation or bliss. No good or evil. There exists only what little we can scrounge up in our pitiful excuse for an existence. I am an animal that tears at the throats of other animals for survival. That is all that I, or anyone else, will ever be."

Mikel fell to his knees and wept. When he looked up, Jasan was gone.