Previously: https://www.eurobricks.com/forum/index.php?/forums/topic/185879-cdc1-tower-torre-orientale-prelude/ L'assassinio di Brabantio Moccenigo Capitolo due di La Tigre di Illaryian The sun was beginning to set over the town of Porto Caglaveri, outside of Illyrian, shadows fading over the edifices standing around the quaint piazza, one of which was the aged Tempio della Signora del Secchio e dello Scudo, a once proud temple for the revered Sana Argenta. Approaching the piazza head-on was a lone figure, the only one there on that eve. The steps of the figure echoed around the cobbled piazza with the only other noises being the gentle flow of water from the small fountain and quiet breaths from the figure’s snakelike nose. Everything seemed normal about this figure except for the dark tan piece of cloth around the mouth and the mean crossbow at the figure’s side.  “È una bella serata,” remarked the hooded figure, looking upwards. Upon looking down, the figure’s gaze fixated on the faded doors, slightly ajar. “Ma non per lui,” the figure finished, advancing on the ajar door.  On the inside of the temple, Brabantio was clearing up for the night. He’d gotten the scaffold cleaned free to be used on the morrow for whitewashing the decrypt exterior. But then, the door hinges creaked as the large, black door was opened letting in a bit of the late-evening breeze.  “Who is it?” Brabantio called down, expecting another accursed lackey to come in to tell him he was too old to be working this late in the eve.  “Ah, Signore Moccenigo. Have you not heard enough of our pleasant conversations to recognize la mia voce?”  A cold tremble went down his spine as he heard the voice. He then stood up and dropped the bucket, swearing “Accidenti!” “There’s no time to fool around,” said the figure, drawing the loaded crossbow and pulling out a spare bolt. “I need you to swear – here we are in a cattedrale, che fortuna! You must never, I swear never reveal what you know. Swear it, Moccenigo, by Sana Argenta herself swear it! Look here, the Rego dares to trust you. Bene! Are you worth it, feccia!" Brabantio spun around slowly on top of the scaffolding, looked down and spat at the hooded figure leaning in through the ajar door.  “What does it matter to anyone what I am worth?” said Brabantio his voice quivering but now louder and more defiant, “But appestare! I know those letters that I wish to be paid for are worth a fortune. And you, assassina, know it too! There are famiglie that’d pay a million piastres to know this, but your Rego must pay more.” “My Rego?” the figure said, sounding hurt, “he is your Rego too!”  The figure then shifted his stance and moved more into the ingress, saying “You see I would give you a chance, you wretch, will you take it or not?  “And you would give me a chance, you audacious villana?” Brabantio scoffed, “Am I in your power, or is it not the other way around?” Before Moccenigo could answer, a crossbow bolt sped towards his beating heart. He threw himself down upon the wooden boards, but not in time. He tumbled off the scaffolding, the bolt piercing his side before he could crumble onto the hard, cold flagstones.  “There … is another person who will possess the letter, if I die,” groaned Brabantio through his teeth, winded from the fall. Don’t be a fool, assassina!Think through it first! This is but vendetta, not prevention. It’ll be far worse .. for you if you kill me. Someone else will get the ricatto,” he paused coughing,” someone who will do you much more harm than me!” The figure laughed a high, cold laugh. “Oh, Signore Moccenigo, you are tame!  “Oh, and I ... have something of yours,” the figure said coolly while pulling out two wrapped pieces of parchment. They were the two letters that Signore Moccenigo had written inculpating the Rego, Luca di Carlo. “Someone else will have the ricatto, you say? Bene Me,” the figure said, raising the crossbow to the shoulder again. “No!” Brabantio cried, feebly getting to his knees, “someone else already read that!” “What? Who? I’m losing my patience, Moccenigo!” “Edmondo Ziccardi,” he croaked. “You’re lying,” the figure retorted shrewdly.  “You haven’t given a letter to anyone yet. Would you like for your last words to be a falsehood? If not condannato, then speak up quickly,” the figure said impatiently, the crossbow fully loaded. “Dead or alive, I will fool you yet. You think you know it all! Stolto, you don’t know the future!” Brabantio said defiantly, accepting the inevitable and asking Sana Argenta for forgiveness. “I know your future, Moccenigo,” replied the assassin coldly. The deed was done, the paw of the tiger had struck. The figure then whistled and the sounds of hooves clattering on the uneven cobbles could be heard in the piazza. The figure then left the Tempio, closing the ajar door, never to be seen in Porto Caglaveri again.  Il giorno successivo Besides mine Papà, my family was safe. I had seen to that before going with the servant to Il Tempio della Signora del Secchio e dello Scudo in my home of Porto Caglaveri. Papà had gotten the contract to reinvigorate the spirit of that ancient cathedral from the Rego himself. I’d always been suspicious of that mercante and that now led me to suspect Rego of this treacherous act. Sì, he must have set my father up! However, I had other evidence to consider. Mia nipote, Aurelia, had attended a ball the previous eve at the Ziccardi’s palazzo and seen similar documents to what mine Papà had on his desk. Edmondo Ziccardi could be in league with the dastardly Rego, he is my father’s rival after all! “Mio Signore,” the servant questioned. “Are … you alright?” I looked at the servant, my concentration now broken. His face was wrought with concern for me, he seemed genuine. “No,” I replied. We then arrived at the temple, which still had a façade worn from the ages, he had been renovating the interior after all.  “I will leave you here,” said the servant, his eyes downcast. “I will wait at this door until you are done, Mio Signore.” I then walked up the steps and pushed open the large, black door, and then saw it. Mio padre dead, slain, with crossbow bolts protruding from his wretched, bloodied corpse. One bolt stuck out from his frail side and the other, his lifeless heart. I knelt besides the physical remains of my father, now only existing in memory. Tears sprung from my eyes as I collapsed onto my knees.  “Papà, I know you cannot hear me, tuo figlio Ilazio, but I swear. I swear to Sana Argenta herself that I will make whatever bastardo maledetto did this pay. I will make them pay with their own life! Even If I have to condemn my soul to the depths of Nocturnus, I will make that miscredente pay!” Continua