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It’s the 765th year of the Empress’ Calendar. And in a small, remote village in the Threshold, the most honorable guardians of the Realm and the fist of the Empress, the Black Helms, are dispensing justice for the most foul crime of loitering. This disruption of the peace was brough about when an ordinary street performance turned into a majestic display of dance that could put the most famous artisan troupes of the Blessed Isle to shame. Those who bore witness to this glorious show of skill fell under its thrall and a dance fever broke out in the crowd like a plague. Anyone who looked at it for too long was susceptible to joining the crowd of dancers himself. When one of the Black Helms themselves fell under the spells effect the rest of the guards were left with no choice but to intervene and put a stop to the festivities by force.
But Mnemon Jet knew little of that. All he knew is that he made a wonderful performance that brought a little joy into the lives of the people in the city and now they are tarnishing his work. Not only that they wer behaving in a manner more fit for barbarians, not those representing the Empress' Justice. He felt rage swelling within him, and the desire to make these ingrates repent.
"By the dragons, what am I thinking?"
"Those people were singing your glory and danced in your name. Their adoration was yours, and they took it. It's only natural to want to punish them."
The demon, Markolab, spoke in his mind, egging him on to act.
"No. This is insane. Clearly my mind is being affected. I can't afford to bring attention to my presence any more than I already have. I need to regroup with Kaya and Ena."
"Who says it's "you" who is to bring attention to himself?"
Jet paused in his stride. Then he took a sharp turn and headed into an alleyway that the crowd already ran out of. Finding a secluded spot he concentrated on the image of a person who does not exist. A man slightly taller, more muscular and more rough looking than him, with a prominent scar over his eye. As soon as the image was clear his shadow bubbled like it was about to boil over, then it sprung on him like a living thing and wrapped him in a tender penumbra of inky blackness. A few moments later his shadow became quiescent once more and his shape was changed to that of the man he imagined.
"How do I look?"
Even his voice was much deeper than before.
"Decidedly not like Mnemon Jet."
"Good."
