The Darian Shroud - Steemit Linked Table Of Contents
Prelude
There are no secrets in the northlands, the Darian Empire, only shrouds. One with enough capital can simply contact the clergy and obtain any type of information about any individual they prefer of course there are some instances where the price of such information would exceed the buying power of even the most powerful of men. Information of actions and deeds that evade the omniscient eyes and ears of the clergy, are ordinarily prepared by the clergy itself and in an indirect way are still known. Specifically Shrouded Deeds, these procedures are organized by the clergy and kept secret and regardless of what the market demands they are never sold to any buyer.
There are few of these Shrouded Deeds, and even fewer men who might dare use the services of the clergy in an effort to maintain secrecy; nevertheless the clergy commissions these deeds and assists those who would dare. One such deed is murder, or more precisely, assassination. Not all assassinations in the Empire of Tholen Dar are committed by the clergy, in fact many are not, it behooves the perpetrator however to have the church on their side, for after minor investigation by the spies of the clergy, those who would commit such an act would be known soon enough to the high bidder, even to the low bidder. Money is money after all, and in the eyes of the clergy, money is power.
After deciding there is no other option to pursue other than the death of a rival, someone with enough resources would employ the services of the clergy in order to evade blame. The clergy operates an interesting tactic in ministration to those who can and will pay the fee in an order to maintain a certain level of anonymity for the prospect. The identity of a man who hires the clergy for a killing is never revealed, not even to the clergy, anyone who can pay the price is extended this courtesy.
Sift leaned easily against a limestone wall, forming the perimeter of a gated house, while he awaited the message. He was a bald man, shaved, but otherwise would’ve had graying brown hair in which his eyebrows and the hair in his ears depicted. His sleight build was betraying, the clerics of the clergy were powerful indeed, even the crippled - especially the crippled. The robes he wore today disguised him as a street beggar; the rancid fetor they emanated gagged the cleric often and effectively transmitted the façade, completing the disguise. His only identifying trait was his white pupils, the cataracts the clergy instilled upon its messengers was unmistakable to those who knew what they were seeking.
The frail cleric remained where he had been instructed to, he was to meet a man of great power and take an order, an order for murder. He cleared his throat; the acids in his stomach churned and what remained of his once tone muscles tensed as he waited. He could feel his heart pounding in his neck and assumed that any man within a single bowshot would be able to hear the incessant percussion. Sift however could not, he was deaf, as was customary for a messenger of a Shrouded Deed, Sift, the chosen messenger, had been denied his hearing. This was not the only sense removed from his repertoire of five, Sift was blind as well, the cataracts were more than simple illusion; the bald man was left with nothing but his taste, smell, and tactile senses. This however, was not a curse, rather a blessing, bestowed only to those who have proven their reliability and trust to the clergy since birth, it is the fate of the most dedicated of holy men and a coveted honor among the rest of the clergymen, for these messengers have been bestowed with the secrets that shape the empire.
Messengers were important instruments to the clergy, they were very powerful priests at one time, and still are albeit lacking certain effects. Sift had been appointed a messenger many springs ago, before the gray had set into his hair, before his muscles had begun to give up on his bones. As he waited for his order, a politician no doubt, he dared to muse and consider who it might be. He had never before recognized the smell of an employer; he had heard stories though, of other messengers, killed because of their recognition. He hoped he would not find a similar fate.
He strained as if to listen, even squinted his blind eyes into the void, as if he might make out the blotchy violet and orange spots better if he tensed the atrophied muscles behind his milky white pupils. He knew he was standing somewhere on the South side of the massive city, near the substantial waters of the river Hund, he could taste the brackish air, other than that however he could not know where he was, a priest had guided him here to remain until the man he was awaiting arrived and delivered to him a message. It was getting past noon, the sun’s intense heat had waned for the last few bells and he could no longer feel the warmth on his exposed flesh, he wondered how hideous he must appear to onlookers, his unprotected skin often blistered from the tropical sun baths he endured. Presently his face and head were tanned a golden brown, pale streaks revealed the wrinkles above and beside his eyes and his lips were chapped from dehydration.
Sift remembered the winding streets on the South side, they ran parallel to the Easterly racing Hund, the river, strong with currents and carrying with it many fishes. He could see the fishing boats in his mind’s eye, fastening their riggings and lines, preparing to put out into the middle of the vast frothy waters. He once swam the breadth of the Hund, he barely made it to the other side without drowning, and he must’ve been swept down current by ten bowshots before he finally did make it, and afterwards stayed in the forested marshes on the other side for days while his legs and arms burned from the exercise.
He was brought back to the present by a familiar scent; a gull had landed nearby and was feasting on an oyster, the overpowering odor of the mollusk could not be mistaken. Sift could envision its companions complaining loudly that it was not sharing. He considered his duty as his imaginary gulls fought over the catch, he could be here for days, it was customary to not arrange any specific time, only a location in which the exchange would take place. The message.
The clergy however, would never read the message; Shrouded Deeds were for the minds of only three men, the employer, the messenger, and the executor. Executors were key to operations of the clergy, they carried out orders in which the messengers retrieved, and did so with rigorous precision. Executors, or assassins, were kept incognizant about political matters; they led uncommonly sheltered lives in temples dotting the countryside of the Tholen Dar Empire and the men they murdered were ordinary as far as they were concerned, enemies of the church, nothing more. Their orders were given in person by the messengers along with instructions on where to find their mark. The system worked without flaws, there has never been a man who escaped the blade of an executor once marked. Executors, once finished, returned to their temples and training, which they turmoil in more frequently than a horse runs. Proficiencies were acquired, from survival in harsh climates and landscapes, to tasting and identifying poisons, taught by previously employed assassins. They could remedy any poison they employed with common herbal treatments, and often adopted a poison they preferred working with and built immunity.
The message, of course, would be untraceable. Any man wealthy enough to employ the services of the clergy, especially those services considered Shrouded Deeds, learned the script of the blind, small bumps carved into a piece of wax or wood, which the messenger destroyed after reading, no man would ever see the material nor the style in which the message was carved.
Sift tensed as he smelled the cologne of a wealthy man, he could taste the man’s sweat on the air even from this distance and he knew it was at least a stones’ toss. He faced that direction blindly and waited, showing off his sightless ivory orbs. There were likely a few sentries about, all of which this man would kill at a later time, their use to him presently was protection from eyes and ears of his enemies. A humidly thick gust rolled in from the East carrying with it scents of rancid fish and vomit as the visitor took up a casual pace, Sift thought he would gag and wanted desperately for the wind to reverse its direction, messengers were sometimes killed because of an inconsistency in their attitude which might indicate they recognized the employer. It was a sacrifice the church was willing to make considering the circumstances and what could be at stake. The visitor padded softly up to Sift and dropped his tablet at the crippled man’s feet, making sure to touch the smelly man on the ankle with the tablet. The visitor stopped momentarily to regard the messenger for a few blinks. Sift knew the man was speaking to him, something that would get a reaction no doubt from a man who could hear. He could feel the hot breath on his lips, could taste the rotten exhales that stunk of tooth decay and wine in a disgusting conglomeration; Sift resisted the urge to touch the man. After he was apparently satisfied, the visitor spun on his booted heel and retreated swiftly. Sift breathed a soft sigh, he felt as though his heart would bound out into the river and pump the murky vein dry, he never liked taking orders, although he did so enjoy the knowledge they offered.
Sift searched blindly with his right foot until his toe sensed the wax tablet on the ground, he stooped, bending his old knees as he did so and sat with the tablet, feeling the carvings with his right hand, mouthing the words. It wasn’t a long message, they never were, just a name, perhaps a location, never a reason. It didn’t matter; the man had already made a generous contribution to the church anonymously. A dying man along with a note indicating the location Sift the messenger now occupied always brought the money. His tongue had been removed, of course, and there was no communicating with the mortally dedicated man as he bled to death in a temple. Once the note had been taken, no other communication with the temple proper would be made, everything was liasone through the messenger, through a Sevenite like Sift.
A thin smile curled onto his lips and for a moment he could not smell the stench his body and robes intruded as he deciphered the message swiftly and began the ritual he had trained for, he removed the flint, steel, candle, and tinder from a belt pouch and struck until he caught it fire. After his candle was burning steadily he began melting the tablet face first over the candle, being careful not to extinguish his trite flame lest he have to fumble with his tools again. When the face of the wax tablet was melted and smooth, he scratched his gruff face and pondered the meaning of the latest murder the priests would commit. This development was profound.