Light footsteps could be heard against the heavy stone floors as the cathedral filled up with various mages, the high elegant ceilings held up by the beautiful brickwork of brutal precision. The seats had all but been removed and in its stead was an altar of saricifice. The air was humid and damp, the burning scent of candles and incense brought to hide the stink of blood. In the center was a women, a born elven slave. Her hollow eyes looked at nothing, she did not struggle in fear because she knew the harshest pains were felt by the living. It was the late hours, and the pale yellow moon was almost at the center of the striking window, the incantations held along with the rest of the colorful glasswork inlaid inside its many walls. Lightly robed men and women stood impatiently for their honored guest to arrive.
Fenris did not even glance at the women, her empty eyes not feeling any hate for a fellow slave and neither did he lessen her by feeling empty pity for her eventual fate. Fenris along with a group of "elite" guards were only waiting for the orders of his mage-master, Danarius. Strong hands tensed around the pommel of the great sword as the more clever mages took notice of the absence of their honored guest. The mages were not obviously used to the strenuous exercises of a real battle but held their own as they hurled various elements against Denarius's guards. In the end one of the more competent mages used blood magic of the slave born. Her gasp had been light as the blood drained from her face and fingers, light fading from her eyes as she looked at the colorful glass finally knowing peace. The magister laughed in cruelty feeling her powerful blood coursing through his veins, so sure he was of his victory. His imagined victory was short, as a calloused hand was brought painfully through his chest, ripping through bone and muscle, the man's gurgling echoing along the deep hallways of the darkly lit cathedral. The mage did not look up during his death, but fell atop the slave women eyes dull and dead. One of the other mercenaries glanced at Fenris and muttered something about easy pay under his breath. Fenris felt no pleasure in taking these lives, even if it was an easy job done. His only freedom would have been in death, and returning to the cruelty of life was the hardest part of this night.