01-24-2023, 03:08 AM
Meera rolled her eyes hard as the spectacle of heretics paraded upon their tiny, red carpet. There were so many more productive events that she could have been spending her energy upon tonight, but the upper crust of the Atharim had insisted that she attend tonight’s festivities. Dossiers on various VIPs had been slid onto her desk through an anonymous informant. The collective eyes had been watching many of the individuals on the guest list tonight and she was to confirm – if possible – which were Gods.
Gods. Such an affront to the Divine. These mortals were nothing more than straw men imbued with unholy energy. Not a single one of them deserved to wield the Holy Light that so rarely sprung forth from the fount of the Divine.
Aiden Finnegan, an American born rockstar, was the latest to arrive in all his vulgarity. Reports of blue flames hovering over his head had been few, but frequent enough to earn himself a place on the List. Jaxen Marveet was another, although the man was all but confirmed as a sinner. He had put on a flashy show some months past that featured a number of tricks that would have been all but impossible without the aid of the Divine’s Holy Light. Still, the Atharim needed absolute confirmation before terminating a heretic.
Meera was not to act tonight. A shame. Tonight was a night for information gathering, and so she tapped mindlessly away at her Wallet as Hercules – her handler for the night – sat patiently behind her, waiting to move the wheelchair at her command. They had a table reserved at the back of the venue, conveniently nestled amongst the shadows.
“Such tasteless clothing,” Meera clicked her tongue as she watched the men prance and posture.
Tonight was going to be a long one and not a lick of blood was to be spilt.
A pity.
Gods. Such an affront to the Divine. These mortals were nothing more than straw men imbued with unholy energy. Not a single one of them deserved to wield the Holy Light that so rarely sprung forth from the fount of the Divine.
Aiden Finnegan, an American born rockstar, was the latest to arrive in all his vulgarity. Reports of blue flames hovering over his head had been few, but frequent enough to earn himself a place on the List. Jaxen Marveet was another, although the man was all but confirmed as a sinner. He had put on a flashy show some months past that featured a number of tricks that would have been all but impossible without the aid of the Divine’s Holy Light. Still, the Atharim needed absolute confirmation before terminating a heretic.
Meera was not to act tonight. A shame. Tonight was a night for information gathering, and so she tapped mindlessly away at her Wallet as Hercules – her handler for the night – sat patiently behind her, waiting to move the wheelchair at her command. They had a table reserved at the back of the venue, conveniently nestled amongst the shadows.
“Such tasteless clothing,” Meera clicked her tongue as she watched the men prance and posture.
Tonight was going to be a long one and not a lick of blood was to be spilt.
A pity.
"She had tortured hundreds, maybe thousands, in the name of understanding and reason. Torture made sense. You truly saw what a person was made of, in more ways than one, when you began to slice into them. That was a phrase she'd used on numerous occasions. It usually made her smile."
- The Wheel of Time, The Gathering Storm, Chapter 22, Robert Jordan