I see important events as they happen. I have for as long as I can remember. I must admit that I used the knowledge to gain prestige, but I didn't fully understand that what I saw was important. Now I know what my gift means and it scares me. - From the journals of Adelycea, Bard of the King's Court.
Power pressed itself against the Second’s skin, gripping him. It was as tangible and cool as an autumn wind. The brisk wave rushed though him, pouring into every particle of his body from flesh to soul. It increased his awareness, slowed time to accentuate each rapid beat of his heart, quickened his reactions, heightened his senses in every aspect and filled him completely for the first time. He had only just caressed the Power before, now he kissed it, became one with it. It was heady and dizzying.
This was what his storage of emotion was meant to do. This was why he was a Hoarder.
All the doubts in his mind were decimated with one violent slash. He pulled his silver blades free from the sinews of his victim and wiped them clean of the blood. He held on to the Power for several moments more, relishing in the euphoria, before stifling it with emptiness. He didn't mind the numbing of his emotions that followed. It was merely one sacrifice to bring about greater ideals. Ideals that he knew, in good time, would prevail. He could be patient. He had been patient.
Inspecting his bloody hands, he knew it wouldn’t be the first time he’d have to cover them in the sticky, red substance to get what he wanted. He hoarded the pleasure that came as he stripped the body of any identifying objects just as Felic had taught him. Three years of pretending to revere the old man to get what he wanted had been well worth it. He had even taken to calling him Felic, the Fool and those who knew the second well laughed with him.
He was becoming well renowned on the streets in general. Of course, few knew who he really was and he would be taking care of those few very soon, including poor, old Felic. The man who had taught him about manipulation and subterfuge would be the next to bloody his hands, though not for some time. Others would die before Felic’s turn would come, though he would not offer the killing blow. He knew just who to hire to further that portion of his plan. Sometimes it was prudent to let others get their hands dirty.
He brushed his palms against a lily-white handkerchief and let it drop into the large keg that rested at his side. They were still stained with blood. He left a bit behind on purpose.
Shoving the body into the barrel, he rolled it to the back of the alley. The dead rich man wouldn’t be found for quite some time, but once the keeper of the pub discovered him, it wouldn’t be long before the Piks identified him, even without his crest