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Tyrael Introduction

Three quick knocks sounded at the door.  I waited, hearing shuffling steps inside.  First, the sound of the peephole flipping back, then a gasp, then a moment of decision ensued.  Should she open the door, or should she not?
I had heard it a million times before.
The inevitable fumbling with the chain, the latch snapping back – despite quivering fingers – and the simple turn of the knob.  And then I was inside.
Her clothes bordered on boredom- the simplicity of her robe, the frayed ends of her gritty hair, the sweat left from the day, possibly two, before.  She stank of shame; it showed in her smile.
“Lord Tyrael, to what do I owe this honor?”  Her eyes would not meet mine.
I held my tongue, but for a moment, between my teeth; drinking in the scene; tasting the decay hanging thick in the air.  A cloying odor penetrated my nostrils, almost to the point of inducing a gag.  Many years of training led me to tolerate filth of many levels, yet no filth stuck in my craw the way the living did when they had already decided to die.
“It is not honor, but duty, that brings me here this evening.  And I assure you that you should not feel the least bit honored.  You have been sentenced, I am here to carry out that sentence.”
I sniffed, reaching the pouch out of my front pocket and unrolling it onto the table.  I grabbed a syringe and a small vial of poison, draining the vial by drawing it out with the needle.
“Execution?”
I tapped the needle, squirting out the tiniest bit of liquid- more out of habit than anything else.  I raised my eyes from my needle to her face.
“Euthanization.”
She nodded, looking down at her feet.  “I meant no offense.”
All fight had left this woman weeks ago, only a husk remained.  I pitied her, but for all the pity, I was simply disappointed.  Killing what was already dead held no joy for me.  True beauty lay in snuffing out the last spark of someone’s life; wrapping sex, pain, loss, yearning, and fear into a final package that only I could deliver.
I came around her, brushing her hair back, exposing her neck.  I pressed the tip of the needle to her throat, injecting, quick and painless.  I took her hand, led her back to her room, and wrapped her in blankets as she lay down.
Not another word was said, she simply closed her eyes and died.
I walked outside of her apartment and nodded to the three boys outside.  Brand, a scrawny red-head, was the only one of the three with any potential.  Why, oh why, they continued sending me ragamuffins instead of killers was beyond me.  They went inside of the apartment to begin the cleaning; disposing of the body and whatnot.  I lit a cigarette.
Pulling a pad of paper out of my pocket, I looked at the next on the list.  A girl, young too.  16 years old, her parents had been killed, her name was Satorae.  Twin sister, Parduae, had run off and hadn’t been heard from.
Odd, as they usually didn’t cater to the younger crowd; there must have been something particularly disturbing about the girl.  I set off down the street, the ever-present sound of my boots clacking on the cobblestone.
Aggravating.

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