Happiness. Contentment. Love.

Thus were the emotions of the young messenger as he daydreamed in the morning light. He sat on an intricately carved bench in a courtyard of the powerful Duke Igimar, letting his thoughts go this way and that and basking in the lush beauty of his surroundings. The leaves of the trees were emerald green, and the patches of flowers blazed with such color that they looked like something from a dream. There was an pond in the center, full of lily pads and fed by a tiny, delicate stream. A wonderfully exotic bird, a "peacock" as the messenger heard it called, sat on the pond's edge and lapped at its clear, icy waters. The walls were high, lined with ivy, and, as far as the messenger could tell, topped with gilt. Two guards, each armed with shining swords and beautifully crafted armor, were posted on either side of a small, iron gate, the crowded streets of Milla barely distinguishable on the other side. The sky one could see only in patches between the rich canopy of the trees. Save for the guards, he was alone in this place. Tranquility, he lazily thought. That's what this place was, a place of tranquility, of peace, of beauty. No, not just of beauty, but of heaven, made incarnate and placed upon the earth.

The messenger was a young man of 20, with blond hair and clear blue eyes. He was a large man, towering over most at 6 feet, and had the robustness of youth. He had a kind face with a firm, square jaw. It was a face that can one looks upon and instinctively know that this is a man one can trust. Indeed, he was a man of honor, who was always true to his word and tried his best to do the right thing. Given the opportunity, he would go far in life. Perhaps he would even be one to change the world. If only he were given the chance. Presently, he took out a pipe and some leaf, and began to smoke. He began to daydream again, this time of his young love back at his home. How long had she been pregnant? 6 months? 7? In any case, the messenger would soon be a father. He smiled at the thought.

"The Duke is willing to grant an audience now," a voice said from behind him. He jumped forward in surprise, turning about as fast as he could. His heart skipped a beat. A bronze skinned woman, with burning, almost luminous eyes stood before him. She kept her silky black hair in a huge braid behind her, ribbons of silk woven and precious gems woven into the ebony locks. She wore a crimson robe that was laced with golden silk and inlaid with emeralds, rubies, sapphires, diamonds! She was the most beautiful, exotic woman the messenger had ever seen. Her eyes were what did it, he decided. Her eyes and her face. He could stare for hours and hours, and he would never loose his wonderment. Then he noticed the somewhat annoyed look on her face. "The Duke is willing to grant an audience now," The woman repeated, this time almost in a snarl, "Shall I take you to him?" The messenger said yes, and followed her into the mansion.

The messenger soon realized that however beautiful the courtyard was, the mansion was ten times as beautiful. The wonders within it he could barely describe, and often he found himself stopping and his tracks and staring wide-eyed at the view. Every time he did this, the woman tugged gently at his arms and he snapped back into reality. "The Millian Mansion of the Duke Igimar is grand, but we must keep moving," She said once as she did this. "Millian? As in he as more than this?" asked the messenger. "Indeed," she answered, "The Dukedom of Igimar spans many miles. This is simply his city home," she answered as they continued on, sounding annoyed again. Just how big was this place? The number of ballrooms, servants quarters, libraries... It all reminded the messenger more of a palace than a mansion. He barely even noticed it when the woman stopped, a massive wooden door before the two of them. "He is within the study. I take my leave," the woman said, and bowed. He waited before she was out of sight, then gulped in fear. Before him was the private study of the Duke, and within it, the Duke himself. Nobility. Never in his life did the Messenger think he would have this opportunity. He turned the knob, creaked open the door, and slipped into the room. "Come in, come in!" a joyful voice called out to him as soon as he was through.

The voice belonged to a small, pudgy man perhaps in his 40's, with a huge, almost ridiculous mustache that was flecked with bits of gray. He wore the ornate robes of the Precian royalty. But he was not the only one in the room.

The man's companion was a huge man, bigger than the messenger, with massive, knotted muscles that looked like bands of steel. His skin was chocolate colored, and the sheer amount of scars and tattoos that decorated it froze the messenger in silent fear. Then he noticed the eyes. The cold, dead eyes. Those eyes had seen things that would send other men into madness. He looked as if he had killed and had almost been killed more times than he cared to count. He seemed almost alien, with movements too quick and calculated to belong to any conventional warrior. The messenger could do nothing but stare in fear.

The Duke looked at the messenger, then looked at the huge man, then back at the messenger, this time with a beaming, almost sinister smile on his face. "Ah, I see you've met my friend, Mandla. He's my personal guard, among other things. A dangerous man, to be sure. But dangerous men have their uses," he said in a laugh. Then he walked behind an oaken desk and sat on a plush chair. The huge man did nothing but stare. "Now," the Duke said, his tone more serious, "I believe you have a package? A book, of very great interest to me." The messenger grinned a bit, the charisma and charm of the Duke setting him at ease. "That's just what I came to tell to the most honorable Duke Igimar," said the messenger, bowing when he said 'Igimar', "There is no book. The cargo the book was in was stolen yesterday. The great merchant and writer Abdul Al-Alhrazed sent me to convey his humblest apologies."

The Duke did nothing but stare at the messenger. Then the noticed that he was getting angry. First the eyes bore into him, then the Duke became flushed, and finally he started shaking with unbridled rage. "How dare you..." the Duke said, slowly. "How dare you strike the Duke! I am a Duke! A DUKE! HOW DARE YOU STRIKE ME, LAY A FINGER ON ME WITH YOUR LOWLY HANDS! MANDLA! DID YOU NOT SEE HIM ATTACK ME!?" The Duke gave a shriek of anger and overturned his desk. "DID YOU NOT SEE!? SURELY YOU MUST HAVE SEEN. KILL HIM. I want him to SUFFER for his insolence."

Fear, Anguish, Confusion.

These are the emotions the messenger felt when Mandla Dlamini, formerly known as "Elephant", of the elite Prima unit known as "The Pack", held him by his throat, a full foot off the ground.

Pain, Cold, Void.

This is what the messenger felt when Mandla unsheathed a small sword, or perhaps a huge knife, and sunk it deep into the messenger's chest. In a flash it was out and the messenger was on the floor, gurgling on his own blood. As he grew cold and he started to fade, he found that he could only think of his lover. He tried to whisper her name. He died mid-syllable.

Six hours later

Elephant looked down upon the grand city from the lofty height of his window, thinking of the events from earlier that day. He made himself think about every kill now, forced himself to deal with the pain of taking a life. It came so naturally and so easily to him, and through his life he had become so calloused to it, so scarred from taking life after life. It disturbed him. Not the act of taking a life, not even of thinking about it after it was done. It was the lack of guilt, the lack of empathy for those he killed. That was what he feared. He remembered the sadness in those crystal blue eyes, and the gurgled murmur that came from those dieing lips. He remembered personally tossing the corpse into one of the Mansion's furnaces, and he remembered ordering servants to clean up the mess. He remembered the Duke calling for whores after his fury dissipated, his old Charisma and Devilish charm back in place.

After sating his blood lust, the Duke had sent out agents to find out what happened to that book he so desperately wanted. They came up with information of an investigation of the matter at the Grand Library. " Mandla, find out what happened to that book. Retrieve it, or I'll have your head. Do I make myself clear?" the Duke had said, though it was a half jest. Mandla had never failed the Duke before, after all.

And so, Mandla turned away from the window, walked through the mansion, slipped through the courtyard, and joined the throngs of people of Milla. He knew that whatever that book was, it was valuable. And valuable things tend to cause excitement. This could get interesting, he decided, and he grinned a wicked smile.