Nyx Contender of the Cockatrice

Nyx was a man of kind words and deeply held beliefs, acquired over decades, together with the grooves of his face. An eternal student of life. With nature, the universe and all beings therein as his teachers.

He was generous with his wisdom. Always gifting nuggets of it to anyone around to receive them.

But on this day, he was barely able to get a word out.

“What’s that symbol on your shield mean, Nyx?”
“Why do you have null goat as a pet?”
“Did you really kill a basilisk?”

The three boys had been drilling Nyx with questions for quite a while now. Few other guests remained at the tavern and the innkeeper seemed tired and ready to close up shop. Yet, disinhibited by cheap ale, the boys showed no signs of slowing down.

Patiently, Nyx responded: “Lads, it does not matter what one has done. What matters is what they do from here on out. And we are all one anyway.”

“Yes, yes. I sure hope so. Then I could redeem myself!” Petgrin of Wosstlemore blurted out. At only 16 years of age, he was the youngest. Ruthwald and Wallstur were both 17 already.

Ruthwald elbowed Petgrin in an attempt to shut him up. At this Petgrin slowly turned his head to look a Ruthwald, his expression dimmed by alcohol.

“Nyx won’t tell on us. Won’t you, Nyx?”

“I certainly will not.” Nyx responded.

“You see?” Petgrin said, still looking at Ruthwald, who seemed too tired to argue. Looking back towards Nyx, Petgrin started a drunken confession:

“We are travelling to the Citadel to start a new life, you see. Start anew. For we have tainted the good names of our families back home. Really didn’t mean to, but just so happened. I mean, there was this amulet that belonged to this noble wizard guy and… well, we took it. I took it. Was a big deal, we had to flee and all.”

Raising his mug Petgrin proclaimed a toast: “To new beginnings!” But then - with great dismay - he noticed that the mug was empty.

At his, Nyx rose to his feet: “Let me get one last round for you lads.”

“You shouldn’t have told him that, Petgrin!” Ruthwald hissed as Nyx was out of earshot.

Petgrin shrugged his shoulders. Behind them Nyx talked to the innkeeper, handing over a satchel of coins which seemed to contain significantly more than what was required for the ale. Yet the innkeeper appeared to be neither surprised nor particularly happy about that.

Returning to the table Nyx placed the mugs down in front of the boys, spilling some of the ale. Behind them the innkeeper quietly left. The last of the other patrons were already gone.

“Thank you Nyx, you are very kind. Very kind.” Petgrin said as he raised his mug.

Out of nowhere, something flashed through the thick air between Nyx and the boys, followed by a splash of chunky liquid hitting one of the wooden walls of the tavern. Wallstur gazed at it in wonder, not comprehending what it was or where it had come from. A moment later it became hard to focus as the world started to spin. He was dead before his head hit the table.

Petgrin did not look at the stain on the wall. Nor would he look at anything ever again. For the same blow that had slashed Wallstur’s throat had cut through his face, blinding him.

Ruthwald had been the lucky one. Sitting in the middle between the other two boys he was spared as he had just leaned back at the very moment when Nyx’s pike had struck.

He fell from his stool, landing hard on his back, and immediately began scooting backwards in a panic. But Nyx was already flinging himself over the table and - in the same motion - swung his terrible pike yet again. Ruthwald’s belly burst open, intestines spilling out over the dusty tavern floor.

Trying to repair the damage that had been done as best as he could Ruthwald attempted to frantically shove his organs back inside of himself. This was enough to catch the attention of the null goat which managed to snag onto a part of Ruthwald’s great intestine and subsequently pull it out and across the room.

Nyx turned his attention from Ruthwald’s hopeless struggle to Petgrin who was fumbling along the walls in a futile attempt to find the door.

“Stop moving.” Nyx commanded, without great hurry.

At this, Petgrin spun around, back to the wall, frozen. A moment of silence as he wondered if Nyx was even still there. Would he be spared?

For the final time that night Nyx’s pike struck. Thus ended the life Petgrin of Wosstlemore, miracle child of Systrine and Hubert of Wosstlemore, the last of his bloodline.

Epilogue: Nyx and the Assassin’s Prayer

Nyx presented himself as a man of kind words and deeply held beliefs, acquired over decades, together with the grooves of his face. An eternal student of life. With nature, the universe and all beings therein as his teachers.

He was generous with his wisdom. Always gifting nuggets of it to anyone around to receive them.

Yet some observed that at times the words seemed slightly out of place, not quite made to fit. As if Nyx had access to a barrel (a huge one, the one the dwarven brewers used for mountain ale) filled with scrolls, each containing just a few prepared sentences. And when opportunity happened to arise, he would ruffle through them, grasping for whatever fit the occasion, even if just a little bit.

At night, before laying down to sleep - kneeling next to clumps of carelessly bound hay - Nyx always halted, eyes closed. He breathed deeply until he was sure to be the center of the world. And then he spoke those few words that he never shared:

Gods of death I call you, my pike is by my side
Reveal those who disobey wherever they may hide
For I scour the plains and fields and holes
To rip them open, devour flesh, free their souls
Release comes in an instand as they hoped it would
Souls ascent to haven, as I feast on flesh and blood

Entered by: 0x8c26…1a10 and preserved on chain (see transaction)