[center][h1][b]Xenelith[/b][/h1][/center]
[b]Time:[/b] 4 p.m.
[b]Location:[/b] Roshimi City
[hr]
Killing your own kin was a despicable act to Xenelith. To have the blood of your own people on your hands constituted a terrible sin in his eyes. Something utterly unforgivable. Yet the day after he warned the City-Guard captains, that very afternoon, he had stood on a platform amid a large plaza. The crowd had gathered and he had given his little speech about security and betrayal. One of his Guard-Captains had failed to straighten himself and his people out. It was then thus that he had to prove his words to be true and prove he did. With a grand blade and one fell swoop, the Dark Elf’s head rolled off his shoulders. After that, he retreated into what he had turned into his sanctum. To meditate. Yes, he had done something that could not be forgiven. He did not want forgiveness. He was already doomed three years ago. He settled for peace of mind. Knowing that what he did was necessary. That the sins he committed would be his and his alone to bear. That truth kept him going now. Even in his darkest times when his companion whimpered out from the crystal hanging around his neck. Not once did he think of removing it. These were his hardships to bear.

But then the day of the ball had come and the city still stood. A testament to his own ability to instill order in the chaos. Would it last? Probably not. The ball would be suspiciously devoid of Dark Elves as well. Xenelith had sent the richest and most influential ones away. Under the guise of vacation or business elsewhere. Meanwhile more and more reinforcements had arrived. The Commander had turned the city-guard inside out. Posting them on exit points like sewers or gates. Checking everyone who was leaving yet not caring who entered. When the city would burn, the rats would flee right into his trap.
[hr]
[b]“Close them.”[/b] Xenelith commanded. He stood not in his sanctum but within a shop. Several Dark Elves of his own cohort were stationed outside with hands on their weapons. They would not abide rioters. The shop itself was that of a tailor. One of the greatest tailors in Roshmi. The place was filled with the finest silk and dyed wool. The tailor himself was working tirelessly on refining Xenelith’s ball clothes. It was an intricate black tunic. Yet not so intricate that it would stand out from the rest. Most certainly some peacocky demi-human would easily outdo himself. Let him, thought Xenelith. What was vanity in the face of complete destruction?

Before him stood a rather more refined black cat demi-human. “Excuse me?” She said. “I’m sorry I think you just said… close the Transport Centers?”

[b]“I am not in the habit of repeating my orders,”[/b] Xenelith said. Eyeing down the demi-human. In the last 48 hours, everyone had become a lot more obedient. Though apparently not absolute obedient. [b]“You have your task, now go. Make sure that by midnight tonight, there are no more vehicles to hop on at the centers. Or tomorrow I will have your fur as a rug.”[/b]

The demi-human swallowed deeply and removed herself from the shop. The tailor, an older demi-human gentleman, did not seem to care. Not until Xenelith moved. “stop fussing.” He said as he straightened the Dark Elf out again. Xenelith didn’t move anymore. Twenty minutes later he came out of the shop. There was one more vitally important difference on him: his hair was dyed entirely ashen white.