Zack / Neph Elm / Rouge

A fortune just one cut away

Neph went to all his victims funerals, it was like the end of a chapter, and in days past it was a way to bury all the guilt with the body.Now-and-days it was just part of the procedure, like anything else tedious, but still he felt obligated to at least say thanks. This one had had brought enough coin for a new set of gear and a ride all the way to Koune.

It hadn’t been easy when Neph was a young boy on the streets of Ponarus. (His mother had been a whore) and he a male child doomed to be shipped off to a wizards tower to have gods know what have happen to him. He had seen those broken men on the walls next to the proud Punarin guard. That would not be him. he would not stand, leashed to his “betters,” waiting for the inevitable madness of battle to over take him. Even in his early years he heard the whisper of blood lust call to him. His mother had caught a wasting disease that winter and (the brothel) had forced him out; this had been the last moment of comfort.

Neph was in shock that night. It had all happened so fast; mother had died and the mistress had promptly ousted him into the cold. All he managed to grab were his clothes and his mother’s mirror, a gift from his father, so she had said. As Neph wandered blindly into the back alleys through the storm, he found what would be his new home: a small niche in between two roof tops. He felt safe there as the snow fell, he felt sleep over take him.
The next seven years tempered Neph to the realities of the world: kill or be killed. And he had become quite the killer. Where most were unwilling, Neph had found an outlet for his rage, his hate, and his pain. The look in a targets eye as the knife went in was like looking into the eyes of a familiar lover calling him back to bed.
His first kill had come when that little shit-pike took his mirror. Neph wasn’t as big as him and that would have made a difference had Neph allowed it. Neph waited until he was asleep, then savaged him with a bottle-glass knife. he had screamed but, in the back alleys of Ponarus, it made little difference. Just another voice in the chorus. The next morning they found his body curled up and cold. The guards had blamed it on a wild dog. The church had taken care of the burial. It had been a nice enough ceremony for the child better than the little thief deserved.

Now he was headed to Koune, the pressure to become a wizard was getting way to high. He had another idea: find his father and inherit his family’s business, forcibly. His only clue was the mirror; it was silver, beautiful and had the name “Elm” on it. These were the only clues he had. That and the strange letter from the king, something about a special investigation force, sounded like a solid job while he found his fortune and his father.


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