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Mitharios Phoenixheart
Mitharios Phoenixheart Photographer - Black Market Appraiser - Assassin
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DWC Day 1: Instinct - Neglect
"I am a man of many skills and abilities,
though one stands above the rest.
There are many weapons at my disposal,
but only one I use daily.
In this world one is either a victor enjoying his spoils,
or a fool dead in the gutter.
I am no fool.
Instinct is what keeps you alive in this world.
Knowing who and what is around you at all times.
Noticing subtle changes can mean life or death,
no second guessing, no room for doubt.
This is the tool you will hone.
Without it, you will not survive."
-Mitharios Phoenixheart, Talon of C.o.R. to his new Sparrows.
@daily-writing-challenge
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Damnation by Wayne Barlowe (1999)
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THE NEXT 365 DAYS (dir. Barbara Białowąs and Tomasz Mandes, 2022)
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DWC Day 3 Sentimental/Feral
CW: Violence, Blood, Torture.
{Music}
You might call it brutality, I call it justice.
Mitharios was a man about the work, his new station in the Lady Shadowfel's organization came with opportunities aplenty, and he was hungry for it all. It was a rare thing, in his experience, for such a high and lofty person like the Boss to get their hands dirty, typically leaving the gruesome details to the underlings to deal with, but this was a whole new world.
The call came in the late night hours, the Sparrows had collected a target for questioning, and they were to gather to soften his meat before the Boss arrived. "Delightful." Mitharios responded, gathering his things and heading to the storehouse to join in the fun.
A seemingly inconsequential building on the shady side of Stormwind, appearing like all the rest, but containing its own precious cargo; Mitharios rapped on the heavy wooden door, awaiting the slot to open and admittance to be granted.
Dusty crates lined the path, creating a barrier between the entrance and the dimly lit room, and an elven man was restrained in the single chair below the low-hanging light.
"Thorn," The lead Sparrow spoke in greeting, the young world-weary woman stood before him with a deadpan look upon her face, cheeks gaunt and hair of ashen violet. "The target is still unconscious, figured you'd rather be the first face he sees."
"Well done, Amytheisa. You and the others are dismissed if that is your wish." Mitharios replied, removing his black leather gloves and moving toward the imprisoned man.
A single heavy-handed slap across the man's face was all it took to wake him from his state, gasping in shock as he looked around to find the peril he had fallen into, pulling at his binds to find escape was impossible. "Morning Sunshine," Mitharios spoke in a mocking tone, leaning down to meet the man's eye with a wide and cheeky smirk. "Comfortable? No? Good."
"W-why am I here?! Who are you?!" The man shouted, his tone filled with terror.
"Now now, you should know better than to demand things of your host. Bit rude, I think?" Mitharios asked the surrounding Sparrows who chose to stay back and witness.
"Aye, rude it is." A muscular man chimed in from the corner, a cigar smoldering in the corner of his mouth.
"Wouldn't want to be rude, it's not the Elven way." Mitharios snickered with a snort of derision. "Now then, I know you are all too curious as to why you've been taken from your safe little home and brought to such a strange and light-forsaken place. To put it simply, the woman you work for is far worse than any of us, an impressive thing but it puts you in quite the pickle."
"The Baroness is a good woma-" The man tried to stand up for his Mistress but was cut off by the slamming of Mitharios's fist into his jaw.
"So loyal, I wonder if that'll stand as our night progresses, I myself quite doubt it." Mitharios was barely even warming up, the man would either give in or face a night of brutal terror. "Nothing about your bitch of a Noblewoman is good, or we wouldn't be here. Now, we have been following her every move for weeks and suddenly she and her lot are nowhere to be found. How could that be I wonder?"
"Must be some kind of trickery." A lanky Nightelf man spoke, coming to stand next to the hulking mass of a man who chewed his cigar.
"Witchcraft." Amytheisa spoke, her tone flat as if she was bored of the situation.
"Aye, Witchcraft." Mitharios chuckled. "But you and I both know that isn't the case, don't we Mister?"
"I have no idea what you mean." The man remained steadfast, unafraid of the actions of these roughens.
"Oh, of course, a personal guard oblivious to the comings and goings of the bitch he protects. That sounds logical." Mitharios's fist slammed into the nose of the man, drawing forth blood. "Listen, I'd rather not spend my entire night here, so either you tell us what we want to know or I escalate far faster than the norm. Your choice."
"I'll tell you nothing scum!" The man shouted, blood pouring from his nose into his mouth.
"I thought as much." With this defiant response, Mitharios slipped a brass knuckle onto his right hand, slamming the spiked rings into the gut of the bound man, bringing forth a deep guttural cry of pain. Just as the man began to catch his breath another hard punch slammed into his abdomen, taking the air out of him as blood seeped through his clothing. "Consider this, the amount of pain you will experience from me is a fraction of what you'll receive from the Boss once she gets here. Answer the questions now and save yourself from inventive and excruciating agony, it's really your best choice. She's a feral Bitch."
Hours passed, leaving the man battered and bloody. Mitharios stood tall, his right hand dripping with the weakened man's blood as a knock came from the opposite side of the door. "Ah, that'll be the Boss. Poor sod, you'll miss me when I'm gone." Mitharios laughed callously as Valanthriell entered the storehouse.
{Mentioned: @ethereal-and-vaguely-threatening}
@daily-writing-challenge
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