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A soft breeze whistled through the air, adding soft ambiance to the cool Zenterrian night. It had already reached that magical hour when the last of the shopkeepers had completed their post-hours inventory and gone home for the night, transforming the usually bustling Market Street into a ghost town. A lone figure penetrated this darkness, shuffling slowly through the empty street. This figure happened to be Laureas Brissimon, an elf who worked as a janitor for the local baker. She had stayed late that night, making a valiant effort to hold back the tide of crumbs that had ensued when the day's loaves had ended up slightly harder than intended. Laureas had some reservations about staying as late as she had; the elf had heard the stories, had seen the rope cordoning off one of the alleyways where they'd found a body. Someone was murdering elves, and Laureas had little to no wish to become the next name in the paper. She wouldn't even be a front page headline, just a little page four article titled "Elf Found Cut Open, Killer's Count Rises" or something. She really shouldn't do that, imagine how they'd phrase the news of her death. Laureas had arranged to meet some friends of hers after work, safety in numbers not being the least of her reasons why. As she locked the bakery behind her and began walking, she wondered where they could be.

On the roof of a store not half a block from the bakery stood Anton, remaining both warm and anonymous in the comfort of his probably-stolen thaumaturge robes. A knife found its way into the man's hand, his grip tightening as he saw the young elf begin her trek down the street. It was too perfect. There were no witnesses, and she would not put up much of a struggle once the blade had pierced her breast. He could hide the body next to the butcher's shop amongst the cattle viscera, granting at least one extra day before they found it. [i]I'm so glad it's Friday,[/i] Anton thought as he watched her walk closer and closer towards him, never suspecting that her death stood above her that night. [i]It's already like, 2 AM. There's no way I would be able to wake up early enough for work tomorrow.[/i] She was almost in range now, just a few more feet and he could use an arte to appear right above her, at which point her fate would be sealed. But wait. Something was amiss. Who were these other people, walking towards her in the middle of the street. Do they know this elf? Are they friends? She didn't usually meet up with friends after work, this is cheating!

Loreas breathed a sigh of relief when she saw her friends not a block in front of her. She ran up to them eagerly, the specter of her death's headline quickly fading from her mind. Jake and Hanah had been really great to agree to walk her back to her home after work, and their presence put to rest her fears. However, as she neared them something seemed amiss. Both of her friends were staring slightly upward, toward the roof of a nearby building. Their expressions were of pure terror, and after following their line of sight Loreas understood why: a darkened figure, almost inhuman in its outline, stood atop the building. Though it was dark, Loreas could barely make out the faint outline of the creepy mask and coat most commonly associated with thaumaturges. A chill crept up her spine and she walked slowly towards her two friends, all her fears flooding back into her head. Was this it? Was she going to die? Would all three of them be found disemboweled? From his high perch, the figure thought to himself: [i]Did I remember to check the mail today? I know there was something I forgot, but I'm not sure if it was the mail.[/i]

If all three of the pedestrians had been elves, Anton might have risked it. Hell, adding three bodies to the count? That would make the tally 1.5 times what it had been before. But even in this darkness he could see that at least one of them was human, and he would not risk hurting an innocent in this crusade of his. That little elf was lucky this night, though judging by her expression she probably wasn't feeling it. One quick shadow storm later, and Anton had disappeared into the night.
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It had been the mail he'd forgotten. Upon returning to his home (now dressed in far more normal clothing), Anton discovered that there had been a letter left in his mailbox. Guh, it was far too late to deal with letters, words, and, God forbid, sentences. It would definitely still be there in the morning, and so Anton fell onto his bed and instantly conked right out.

The letter was totally still there in the morning. Didn't even make a slight attempt at escaping the house before Anton had woken up and felt ready to deal with the small, written communication. He saw before opening it that the letter had come from Sord, and was therefore most likely from his parents. Anton supposed it had been quite a while since he'd made an effort to communicate with them, and years since he'd last seen them. The letter wasn't much, just an update on how the shop was doing (Stacil had apparently really gotten the hang of profiting from vendor trash, and his parents were considering soon giving him full run of the store) and other bits and pieces from their lives. The letter concluded with a request that he visit sometime, as they both missed him terribly. Anton sighed after reading the letter, and supposed it was no longer any use putting it off. He'd accumulated a vast wealth of vacation days, and taking a few weeks off to go visit his parents wouldn't be an issue. Besides, while the elves in this part of Zenterr had grown wary with the growing body count, down in Sord they could be caught unawares.

This was how, a few weeks later Anton found himself in the South of Sord, fully dressed in his thaumaturge getup and looking for possible prey to stalk. Having not visited Sord in years, Anton hadn't been completely sure what to expect from the underdeveloped nation. What had definitely thrown him through a loop, though, was a local temple going up in flames only a couple days into his visit. The brightly burning temple lit up the dark night, and Anton sighed from inside his mask. He'd liked that temple, it had taken his family in for a night on the last leg of their journey from Boreas. Who would dare burn down an edifice that served to help out those who needed it? Anton would not put such a horrid thing past an elf. The wind to his back, he rushed through the shadows of the night, making his way to the building as quickly as he could, on the off chance that the arsonist was still in the area.