10 years since the death of Lucia, year 1041 of the holy Templorian calendar.
Icarus has been in the service of Valerius for a little under one year at this point.
Up until now, Vaelrius has had him work with other slaves for up to 18 hours a day, conditioning him to be loyal. Icarus had broken some of the commandments at first, mostly accidentally
The burning feeling the brand had given him would return at that moment, so severe that he would drop to the ground clutching his throat.
Valerius had kept him at this; Icarus could not kill himself as he was watched constantly and kept in a cage with other slaves on one of Valerius' many estates.
The work was not as bad as he expected, but it still had a ridiculous impact on his body and mind.
Icarus returned to the estate house, knocking 3 times to signal his master that the work had been done.
Valerius opened the door in a moment, staring at Icarus, he asked him, "Did you complete today's work?"
Icarus nodded, "Yes, Master."
Master Valerius was satisfied as the mark would have acted otherwise. He let Icarus into the house, and Icarus began heading toward the staircase which lead to the dank, dark basement where fellow slaves resided after work was complete.
He heard his master clear his throat and turned to him in response. Valerius eyed him carefully and then spoke again
"You have completed the last one hundred days of work without incident. This is very rare this early. I like you, perhaps I can offer you some... Alternative work?"
Icarus shuddered slightly but responded curtly, "Of course, master."
Valerius smiled slyly, "In that case, I will give you this." He limped over to a table and produced a dagger. He walked to Icarus, who stared wide-eyed at the dagger.
Valerius handed it to him without a care in the world. Icarus grasped the leather handle and stared at the sharp edge of the blade.
He wanted nothing more than to plunge the blade into Valerius' heart, but knew it would be akin to removing any chance at a life in this world.
He realizes then he still didn't want to die, even in this situation where he could kill himself and the one who had subjected him to these conditions.
Valerius clapped his hands, and Icarus flinched, "Now! Tomorrow at 12 pm, you will go into town nearby and kill Governor Troy Hardon."
Icarus's eyes widened; this was almost as much of a death sentence as killing Valerius himself would be.
Valerius squinted at him, "respond."
Icarus shook himself off quickly. "Of course, my lord. Anything you say."
Valerius smiled, "I trust you will complete this mission."
He paused as the smile on his face widened further, "even if you die."
Valerius dismissed him with a wave, and Icarus went down the flight of stairs to his cage. He slept on the cold, damp, cracked wood, drifting off into darkness.
.
.
.
Icarus awoke with a start; he had dreamed something that had awoken him in a cold sweat, but he did not remember.
There was a magical lock on the cage doors that unlocked at a certain time in the morning; they swung open, and other slaves walked out. Icarus sat for a moment; he could feel the cold steel of the dagger pressed against his skin from where it was hidden in his ragged shirt.
Icarus stood and exited the basement. On the table was a leather satchel containing several newspapers as well as a note.
The other slaves walked by, and Icarus waited for each of them to leave. They did not think it was intended for a mere slav,e so they did not even glance at the satchel.
Icarus walked to the table and picked up the bag, slinging it over his shoulder. He also picked up and read the note.
'Governor Troy lives in the large estate at the center of town. It is close by, but you will have to get past the guard at the gate. He should allow you to the door to deliver the paper, but he may keep an eye on you; it is up to you what to do from there.'
There were also some clothes beside the satchel and note, simple commoner clothes as well as a bandana to hide the slave brand on his neck.
The town was where slaves went to get supplies. He had not gone yet, so they wouldn't recognize his face, but the brand would give him away, also if was a small town, so his face would be remembered even if he was seen but not caught.
He sighed and vowed to be as careful as possible. If he ever escaped or got released from slavery, he would not want to be a wanted man.
Icarus set off at that very instant; the papers were most likely expected soon, and there was no time to waste.
.
.
.
Icarus stood in the center of town. Some alleyways lead around the estate, as well as a large building in front of it. He had surveyed the alleys looking for easier ways i,n but had not seen anything.
Icarus walked to the building across the street. He sighed in disappointment but thought to himself, "It's dangerous, but it will improve my chances."
H slid into an empty alleyway. Every day he had been a slave, he had constantly thought about the words of his tutor. After much thought, he had managed to be able to cast slightly harder illusion spells and finally was now able to produce about a candle's worth of flame.
He was overjoyed by this and attempted new compositions every day, although none had worked.
The composition of the specific 'candle Light' spell he had made was regular mana pumped out of your finger; you had to ignite this mana with an emotion like pain, or the sensation of burning.
He was not entirely sure which, but he could consistently light the flame; he supposed this was the only benefit of the slave brand, which had given plenty of opportunity to experience 'pain' and 'burning.'
He cloaked himself in a minor illusion; it was not invisibility, but merely made him harder to notice. He had practiced this so that other slaves would not talk to him.
The composition of this spell was akin to the feeling of tucking yourself into a ball and hiding, mixed with letting mana flow through your entire body.
He felt himself shift into his state of being unremarkable. He sighed and walked out of the alleyway and into the building.
It was a wooden building that smelled of must and wood dust. It was clearly old and not well-maintained. Looking around, looking around, he saw that it was an old library, the shelves still stood, though the books were mostly gone.
He went to the center of the library, where a large shelf stood. He knelt and evoked the flame from his fingertip; it seared out, and he placed it against the dusty wood until it caught fire. He stood up and prepared to leave quickly when something caught his eye.
A book leaned against the side of the shelf. He grabbed it and peered at the name.
" Magical Pathways And How To Follow Them."
Icarus stuffed the book into his shirt and exited the building quickly. There were plenty of people on the street, but they did not even glance at him.
He breathed out in relief and started counting down.
20
He walked up to the front gate and hailed the guard.
17
The guard waved back and stepped out, a confused look on his face.
15
Icarus smiled and addressed him, "Good day ser! I am here to deliver this week's newspaper."
12
The man frowned, "Right... What happened to the usual boy?"
10
Icarus stared blankly back; he, of course, had no clue. Smiling, he scratched his head. "I was just assigned here; he must have left for somewhere new."
8
The guard looked surprised. "he was young, that's a surprise. Anyway, I'll take the paper to the house. Thanks for the help."
5
'shit!' Icarus thought, realizing he was being held back, he had to think of something.
3
He shook his head rapidly, "please ser! I have to deliver it to the door myself, or I won't be paid properly!"
1
The guard had a suspicious look in his eyes. "Just tell them you did! I cannot allo-'
A scream rang out through the courtyard, the guard and Icarus turned and saw a pillar of smoke rise from the old building, people began running away, and the guard stared for a moment before looking between Icarus and the building.
The burning pillars had fallen, and the building was collapsing. The knight looked away and ran to the building without a second thought.
Icarus smiled as he cast his illusion magic again. Guards were hired by the town, not specifically for the protection of the governor of the town. This means he would be obligated to protect citizens by getting as close to the fire as possible for safety.
He walked inside and threw the bag of papers into a nearby bush. Entering the manor, he saw no servants inside.
He walked through the corridors and spotted a staircase that led up to the room. As he was about to go upstairs, he heard a door open behind him. He hid in another room as the servant passed by.
In the room, there were several shelves and a bed, as well as a dresser. He opened the drawers, and inside was neatly folded a uniform similar to the Butler's.
He smiled. From what he could tell, his illusion spells worked off of him, fitting in or being unremarkable.
If he wore the garb of a servant, they probably wouldn't give him a second glance.
.
.
.
He put on the last piece of the uniform, which fit his thin body well, and he stuffed the book he had gotten into a side pocket. He also hit the dagger in a small pouch in the upper part of the uniform.
His clothes were stuffed into a bin in the corner of the room. He lit the bin on fire and walked out of the room and up the stairs.
This place would be less flammable than the dusty, dry library, so he expected he had about a minute.
In about 10 seconds, he arrived at the largest door in the manor, which was positioned at the back end of the top floor of the mansion, the opposite end from the library.
Icarus stopped dead outside the door, his breath catching in his throat.
He had been in such a rush that he did not even think about what he was doing up until now.
His thoughts ran wild, "Am I really going to... Kill another person?"
Images flashed through his mind: the girl dead in front of him, the man in the slums stabbed through the chest, and the guard's headless body falling to the ground
He had seen plenty of death, and each time he had felt sick and a strong urge to look away.
The thought of doing that himself, however, gave him a strange numbness; he felt as if he was frozen in place.
He felt the slave brand start to sizzle and was brought back to reality.
Inside the room, he heard a voice, "Hello? Is that you, Jean? Come in?"
Icarus grimly opened the door, taking a step in.
He did not look at the man and kept his gaze on the floor.
"Oh its just you. Would you fetch me a drink? I am absolutely parched."
Icarus did move, the man didn't seem to notice for a while, "huh? Are you still here? Hop about will yo-"
Icarus locked eyes with him and released the illusion.
The man was dark-haired, somewhat fat, and had expensive-looking clothes and jewelry on.
His eyes widened, "wh- Just who the hell are you!?"
Icarus did not answer but took a step forward
The man seemed to calm a bit, " oh you must be new! Aha, I'm sorry, I'm Lord Troy. Would you like an orientation? I can ca-"
Icarus stared through him and produced his dagger; his hand shook slightly, but if he just thought of this like a game, he could do it.
" I know who you are."
Troy swallowed and opened his mouth, inhaling the air which had a smoky tint to it now, "What the hell is this.. GUARDS!"
Icarus dashed forward, thrusting the dagger into the man's neck.
He gurgled and blood streamed out, coating Icarus's arms and splashing onto his face.
Icarus snapped back to reality and let go of the blade. The man fell back and let out a dying croak.
Icarus stared down, his vision swayed. He nearly fell and vomited, but heard stomping and shouting heading up the stairs.
There was a large window behind the desk. Icarus pulled the dagger out of the dead man's neck and hurled it through the window.
A moment later, he jumped after it, soaring through the air, headed straight for the back alley behind the manor.