“Seed of Regret" - A Weekend Freewrite

There is no doubt that this unquestionable order will come to pass, as with every order that came from Blaze, and in turn from their new and mysterious patron. Fabricia questioned her sanity at the moment when joining this mercenary band, but in the end, she understood: a young runaway was offered lots of coin to do that which she was good at?, fighting was the only useful thing that she could offer the world as of now, and as such, she accepted Fang’s recruitment with open arms, and was thereby thrown headfirst into the mercenary world, in this case, one painted with intense red, literally and metaphorically.

This people were wild, and while most of them could pass as normal soldiers when unoccupied, once active they felt no remorse, had no qualms when doing whatever they were told to do, as long as their captain though the payment fair. Captain Blaze was an inspiring man, powerful voice, devastating strength and both undeniable technique and charisma, he had became someone to look up to at first, but a while later, she could see the seed of madness in him, clearer that even the sadistic torturer of the group.

December in Dublin is remarkably high spirited, and as such, in contrasted heavily with her grim thought, which in turn were becoming more common. She saw the people walking trough the streets of this island, unprocupied with anything that didn’t have to do with the winter festivities, blissfully ignoring what their governants planned behind closed curtains. She was at least a bit thankful that this time, it was a smaller scale operation, her and two others, quick and clean assassination.

She was already picturing it in her mind, she had to remember every step of the plan that was going to happen that night. A big party in a big house, one target for each person, they would isolate themselves and their prey from the public eye, from the joyful laughs. Darkness would of course be an ally, and the shy moon a curious witness. She had already scouted the place, in both nervousness and anxiety, and discovered her perfect place.

At the backside of the second floor, in a service room beyond the loose floorboard, there was good silence, good solitude, a place to make a secret. She sighed. Snow was falling lightly, it was going to be a chilly night, but that was ok, a little numbness of the heart was necessary in this line of work. Her only hope was to keep the white pure, and that the only thing stained red were the dark clothes of her target. “The world can be a savage place dear Fabricia” said her sword fighting master Giacomo years before, and it was true.