#esterius

No time of the year could have felt safer and more full of promise. It did not matter that a vast conflict was raging onward elsewhere in the world, this was a realm untouched by time, untouched by struggle. It was a sanctuary, a beautifully ignorant corner of society that remained willfully distant from the world's complications. Esterius sat in his office, safely positioned under the protection of a pair of guardians at his door. They were barely directing any attention to their post but it did not matter, the air was warm and the promise of sanctuary was practically perpetual. The sounds of a closing night market drifted along the wind, carrying additional scents of honeysuckle and baked bread, evoking a desire to sample the warm food and festive wines that were clearly on offer such a short distance away.

As with so many others on such an evening, the office window was ajar and these scents were wafting through the room. Safety, warmth and seasonal bliss were in the air and the delicate merchant couldn't have been more at ease. Paperwork was piled upon his desk, important contracts and export listings remaining the most numerous. There was also an abundance of revenue projections and a wide variety of reports, all neatly arranged into separate piles and sections. Esterius had a process for dealing with such an overload of administrative work as always and he was gradually making progress. But even when he should have been concerned with deadlines and collapsed market trends, the gentle breeze and distant hum of nocturnal insects was evoking such an incredible sense of calm.

His office in the necropolis was always so dim and cold, only a single window provided any semblance of light and even despite its vast size, the stained glass could only evoke feelings of a vast cathedral - devoid of warmth and granting only harsh judgement in its place. It was a condemning space and nowhere near the vast brightness within the man's abode. A multitude of lamps and candles, every wall adorned with drapery or an expensive painting and the floor a gently sprawling mosaic of rugs laid atop stained oak panels. Every color was rich and vibrant and full of warmth, very reminiscent of traditional Sin'dorei decor.

All of this atmosphere, every inch of the wonderful facade accumulated into a sense of sanctuary. Silvermoon City was Ester's home, it was the crowning jewel of Quel'thelas, the most secure locale that he had ever known. And it was soon to be his prison.

Loud thudding steps. A hulking silhouette. Recognition. Initially, the boy was welcomed with a tentative smile. Roy's signet ring still glimmered upon the merchant's gentle hand and he owed the man's son an unending stream of respect, despite the alarming intrusion. But then the smell. It was raw flesh, it was exposed bone marrow and decay. And it was in his sanctum, it was already corrupting the pleasantly scented air. As chunks of unnaturally dark viscera were unloaded atop pristine paperwork, the atmosphere became a sweltering din, suffocating the immobile merchant with the sheer pressure. It had been warm and inviting but now it was smothering and dense and entirely unwelcome.

Ester couldn't look at it. Whatever it was, the source of the smell, the focus of his rising nausea - it was too much to take in. Usually so articulate, the merchant peered up at the familiarly scarred features without anything to say. There were no words for what he was feeling. He could practically feel the blood draining from his face, could feel the acid in his throat. But Esterius did not move, did not dare to make any attempt at an escape from this behemoth. Even a plea for mercy froze on its way to his lips, dying swiftly. Things began to blur together. The monster's fists were slamming into the desk and then he was speaking, saying something - it might have been important. But Esterius could only hear the buzzing in his ears, could scarcely bring himself to react normally and suddenly the creature that had once been Drexxel Highwind was already departing.

Ester had been spared. But it didn't seem to matter in that moment because everything was far away and he was staring down at himself, watching his own actions as he rose slowly to his feet and fell into the corner of his office. It looked like he was trying to empty himself of everything, purging all that it was possible to purge. In the meantime there were others entering the room and murmuring in hushed tones, inspecting the carcass on the desk and recoiling from the mess of flesh. It seemed to take eons for Ester's body to settle but it was so difficult to ascertain such details when time was irrelevant.

At length, an exhausted merchant was pushing himself to his feet and shuffling toward the exit, his silken voice in an unusually raspy state as he directs his guards, mindlessly adapting to the situation and calculating his next move. But even now, he can't bring himself to look at his desk. After giving a few quiet orders, he slips away from the scene and doesn't look back, locking himself in his chambers and waiting for normality to return.

It had been a warm summer evening, it had carried the most pleasant blend of both summertime warmth and midnight chill.

 As Isaac mounted the steps and tapped his gloved knuckles audibly upon stained oaken panels, there were several extended moments in which nothing seemed to result from his action. Without the usual hired doorman standing at attention, it was quite apparent that visitors were an entirely unexpected element at this late hour. Any trained ear within Isaac’s immediate vicinity would have been able to latch onto the hasty shuffling within Ester’s home, something heavy had been knocked over and someone spoke briefly in hushed tones. A few locks slid out of place and carefully oiled hinges were put to the test as the expensive door was thrust open by eager hands.

 However, rather than the pristine appearance of the usual inhabitant, a significantly taller figure stood in the doorway. Broad shoulders and a compactly muscled form coiled indolently against the oaken frame, one powerful arm raised to hold the door open. His other hand was occupied with a cigarette, a tendril of smoke wafting from the tip as it was held loosely between two dextrous digits. Gleaming scarlet oculars peered down at the masked man standing erect at the entrance to the Aur’elon residence. A steady stream of crimson mist was seeping from the dead man’s gaze, extra particles added to the mystic airborne cocktail the moment he lays eyes upon the stringent individual standing just a short distance away. In addition, a coy smirk tugged mercilessly at the angular features of this undead creature – gradually devolving into a lop-sided grin that exposes the perfect pearly teeth lining his mouth.

 Farathis hardly had more than a few moments to give the visitor an exhaustive once-over before he cast a wily glance over his shoulder and finally conceded to allow his companion to greet their guest. Garbed in nothing but a pair of dark trousers hastily slipped on mere moments ago for the sake of his cohort’s bid for modesty, Farathis slinks into the background whilst keeping an eye on the man at the entrance – pressing the cigarette to his lips and taking a few slow drags with his streaming gaze locked onto the pairing.

 Esterius was similarly garbed but he had taken the time to pull on a shirt and slacks, even wearing a pair of unbound leather ankle boots to complete the uncharacteristically dishevelled ensemble.  Somewhat out of breath, the merchant directs his focus toward the street to determine whether or not there was more company before he settled onto the familiar shape before him.

 At length, full recognition seemed to dawn on the man and he froze momentarily whilst in the process of idly buttoning up his shirt. Polite interest was apparently the default expression he had chosen for this encounter, tugging it on out of sheer instinct. Blinking rapidly, he expertly maintained as much of his composure as possible in such a scenario, resuming the buttoning of his shirt as he addressed the visitor.