You're Insufferable

Ratings don't apply yet.

Written in response to canterro's challenge, which can be found here: http://www2.adult-fanfiction.org/forum/index.php?showtopic=7186&hl=.

*****

In the newly discovered lands of Feanithe, many dangers lurked for the human settlers. Even now, 300 years since founding their first city, Sybirna, they never ventured far from home alone. Though they had made a tentative alliance with the faefolk in recent times, they were still vastly outnumbered. Bands of nightkind stalked their trade routes, and the monsters of the forests often attacked the smaller villages without warning. The lords of the regions were constantly petitioning their king, Mattheas Firestorm, for reinforcements that simply did not exist.
Despite the constant threat of attack, the king was quite content with how his kingdom was faring in the hostile but fertile lands. Were it not for the other creatures already inhabiting the continent, he would have set about founding cities all across it. The Emperor of their homelands approved as well, so Mattheas saw no reason to push his resources to their limits. He was young, but not as rash as some of his nobleman believed.
Although, it must be said that the main reason he was as prudent as he behaved was due to his unofficial advisor, his magician Kaltrix, though to call him a mere magician was to demean his true abilities. He was said to be descendant of the elves, though not openly, as being any less than full-blood human was considered almost worse than being a kinslayer among normal folk. To look at him, the fact that he was ethereal was apparent; his long, almost silvery blonde hair almost shimmered, even in the dark, and his eyes were far too blue even for a Northener.
His build was more common, however; in his youth he had laboured on his father's properties, for fun rather than out of need, but the definite outlines of his muscles had never receeded, even after he thought better of associating with commoners.
The King valued his input in almost every difficult matter, as the young sorcerer thought nothing of consulting the lesser Fates to achieve a good outcome. He had also been a comfort to the King's wife when there were skirmishes close to home, taking the King's two young sons for walks around the grounds and teaching them valuable lessons in magick while the Queen whiled away the time until her husband's return.
It was during one such lesson that Mattia, the younger of the King's sons, confided a dream he had been having to Kaltrix.
“There's monsters everywhere, and they won't let us go until Papa gives them what they want,” he told the sorcerer. His brother's brow creased.
“I see,” replied Kaltrix, cautious of putting to much importance on a mere dream. “Do you remember anything else, your Majesty? It may just be your Inner Self telling you a story with a moral. Details may be important for you.”
Mattia paused, clearly thinking hard, and Kaltrix tried to remind himself that he, too, at six years old- like Mattia- had had many vivid dreams, only a handful of which were prophetic in any way, shape or form. He tried to hide his impatience. If these children were of any but royal blood, he doubted he could bring himself to give them the time of day, let alone hours upon hours of his valuable time.
He realised Mattia was drawing something, an emblem of some kind, and he made himself appear interested. The emblem seemed to be of two bones and some strange writing entwining- no, binding them, he thought. The little one had immagination, he had to give him that.
“That was on all of their helms and shields. They smelled bad, too,” Mattia offered when he'd finished, blotting at the ink where it had pooled under his inexpert penmanship. “Oh, and the thing they wanted Papa to give them- it was you, Mr Kaltrix. They wanted him to give them you.”
Kaltrix ignored the shiver that ran chilled up his spine.
“Well, perhaps you should ponder on what deeper meanings your dream could have later. It might be important, but then again, it might not. Now, back to our lesson; if the Natives are using magick against your soldiers, what would the best defence be, and why, My Lords?”
As both boys went mute and began concentrating on the question, Kaltrix turned back to the reference book he was using for their lesson. Had he been paying more attention to his students, he might have noticed the older boy, Mattherio, lean over and poke his brother on the arm.
“I had that dream too,” he mouthed, and both boys pondered on this for a moment, before turning back to their task.

*****

The Guild of assassins rarely lost or gained a member, preferring to keep their society at the exclusive minimum. Their members rarely numbered more than fifteen, and due to their nigh infinite skill, not to mention the fact that most of them were positioned in inobtrusive but high levels of society, meant that they rarely felt the need to include anyone else. Indeed, there had only ever been six assassins, over the Guild's entire 450-year existence, that had not been of nble birth.
Jarin was one such assassin; he had been a guard for a lesser noble until his twenty-first year of life, when he had been stranded for six months whilst on a routine patrol of the territory's borders. In that time, he had meditated at length to reduce his need for food. Whenever he could not force himself to stay still any longer, he had practised being weightless and silent so as to hunt more efficiently. After only a month, the laws of society held little sway for him anymore, and, to preserve his sanity, he had devised a new code to live by, one that relied on nothing and no one but himself.
He had eventually found his way back home, but never quite fit in with his comrades after his stint in isolation. His self-imposed laws had remained, slightly submerged but never forgotten.
For some years he had been a mercenary, until he was approached by the Guild. Their oldest member had 'retired' due to loss of sight and hearing, and the Guild had rewarded his loyalty with his life, and the task of choosing his replacement.
The other assassins had not been happy with Jarin at first, but now only a handful remained that did not consider him as a brother. He had been invaluable on many occasions, occasions when a weaker man might have crumbled and fled. He had the scars to prove it, too, though he did not mind. Nature had blessed him with typically human dark looks; all blue-black curls and thick eyebrows covering his equally dark eyes, and from both his time as a guard and as an assassin, his body was in top physical condition. In a crowd, he could disappear in seconds. He also had a gift for killing and inflicting pain; one that might not have surfaced had his life turned out differently, but one he was grateful for nonetheless.
The Guild paid for his food, board and any amount of expensive tastes he may have chosen to indulge in, but he used his 'allowance' sparingly, reminding himself that he, too, wanted to retire one day, as his predecessor had done. The Guild frowned on too much indulgence, citing it as the first step towards betrayal of the self and thus of the Guild.
He had chosen a small section of a joint house, which he shared with other businessmen of various kinds, and kept it neat and bare. The only extravagance he enjoyed was a private washroom and toilet, and he made a habit of bathing every second day. He would never forgive himself if he took care to disguise every aspect of himself but his smell, and as a result got caught.
Despite the veiled insults of the other assassins, he collected a small but varied assortment of scented oils for various occasions. His pondering in isolation had lead him to many conclusions about the workings of human minds, and he had taken notice whenever he himself had displayed signs of humanity.
We find him sitting on his bed, eyes closed, reflecting on the task he had been set. Working for the Guild often meant deciding to put aside personal feelings. Though they called themselves assassins, their endeavours were often broader than simply killing. That was where the line blurred. He didn't know if he could bring himself to carry out this mission, though he would not be alone. He had many qualms about working for non-humans, though it only happened from time to time. He didn't consider himself better than them, just thought that they should do their own dirty work.
He opened his eyes reluctantly. He had never refused the Guild before; he would not start now. But somewhere deep inside of him, a feeling nagged at him not to accept the task. He shrugged it off. Mind over matter, he told himself. Mind over matter...