Editing Last Breath of Winter:Characters:Mask:History (section)

==Life 1- Ionus Paktrichter==

Father was never a terribly well-liked man. Not that he was hated or found distasteful, mind you. He just suffered the stigma of man who brought with him unpleasant facts. The people of Whitewall seemed to be of a split mind on Father. One group seemed to think that if they could stay in his presence and become a friend or resource of sorts that it would keep them protected from his choices. The other, undoubtedly the larger faction, sought to remain invisible to my father, that he might not know their names or faces. In truth, the was no difference, for it was not my father's choice to be made- it was the duty of his station. You see, my father was Judge Hahnis Paktrichter, the Judge of Contracts, and the selector of those who were to be sacrificed for the sake of the city and the good of all. 

Of course, as the son of a twelfth generation Judge, the same cloud seemed to follow me. My mother's death during childbirth only helped spread the rumors of our family (Indeed, my father's refusal to tell even me about my mother has stirred my curiosity at times.). I can remember hearing children and wives whispering as I passed- that my ancestors were actually the children of man and ghost, that food turned to ash in our mouths, that women could be rendered barren by drinking from our cups... the sort of drivel that is passed in the cold evenings when no other form of idiocy will stir the heart to sufficient warmth. In my earliest years, I must admit I carried the stories with almost a measure of pride. As I grew up, however, the cost of such an aloof distance made itself more clear.  

Not that it was all bad, mind you. My father's position, while carrying a dark shadow, also made him the source of interest to the local merchants. He was the Judge of Contracts, after all, which meant that he also handled most major business disputes that arose in the city. As such, It became a business imperative for many of the wealthy to at least muster up a friendly face. For the foreign merchants, they rarely regarded him as any different than a stoic, solemn man, which, to be fair, he was. Still, within the confines of ethics, we enjoyed the benefits of the family station. Much of the focus was on my education, focused on history, business, and etiquette. At the time I did not see the relevance of the esoterica of ceremony I was taught, but since I have thanked my father a thousand times over for this gift.

By the most wise forethought of my father, I spent much of my youth traveling. Each spring I left for other corners of Creation- the Blessed Isle, the Haslanti League, Halta, Sijan, Lookshy... It was exciting, of course, but the greatest boon was the comfort that anonymity brought to my interactions with foreigners. I suppose it was that factor above all that created my love for travel. Travel also allowed me to become comfortable with goodbyes and conclusions, cradled in the knowledge of new beginnings over the horizon.

While most of the year was open to adventure, Winter was always spent at home with Father. Each winter I studied the peculiarities of Whitewall law, the procedures that the Judge used for selections, and any other lessons my father found appropriate. Looking back on it, I suppose the Judge was rather blunt about the darker forces of the world, given the many open discussions on corruption and abuse of power we had, both as a moral hypothetical and its current state in the city and the Realm. For good or for ill, the dark underbelly  was shown to me (or as much as my father understood it), and I was trained to wage war against it.

===A Lesson===

"Time to choose, son."

Judge Hahnis Paktrichter looked, to his son with cool resolution. The grey cut stone of the city prisons seemed to suck in the fluttering illumination of the oil lamps that casted splotches of light about the room. To his right was young Ionus, a boy around fourteen in age, his gawky mid-pubescent body giving little more than a hanging frame for his dark robes. Across the room, two prisoners kneeled, their legs shackled to walls. A pair of guards stood watch silently at the door.

Ionus' brow was furrowed as he looked down at the ground. He stroked his chin thoughtfully, but with the slightly more rapid pace that gave away his nervousness. 

"Are you -sure- this is the entirety of their records?"

"Quite sure."

"Maybe something was lost or overlooked. Perhaps we should review."

"The records are complete, and there is no time for further investigation. You know this."

"Hmm..." Ionus turned in thought. His eyes followed the path of some in indeterminate trickle of water along the back wall. The soft echoes of motion from the halls punctuated the otherwise still silence of the room. 

"There must be something missing."

"There is. A decision. This has to be done, Ionus."

The boy gave a soft snort over his shoulder. "I know. I just..."

"Son, look at me."

The boy turned and met his father's gaze. Though his gaze had a practiced firmness, his crossed arms and the echo in the back of his eyes showed his fear.

"Now, look at them."

A silent plea screamed from the eyes of Ionus, but crashed against the walls of his father's. With a deep breath, he slowly turned his  gaze on the two men for the first time since they entered the room. The fear was evident. Their limbs trembled, their eyes glistened with the moisture of repressed tears and shock. Yet, they did not raise their heads to meet the face of this small boy, for they knew today he would decide which of them would meet a face worse than death. They did not see the trembling of his own jaw and the tears creeping to his eyes, and he did not dare give sound to draw their attention. Countless moments passed as the scene remained near motionless, as if a still painting made real. Finally, the boy lift his hand.

"Him"

For the first time the two looked up to find Ionus pointing at the dark bearded man on the right. No cries were given. The other man slumped over as he fell into a faint. The chosen one just stared blankly out into space. With a nod from Judge Hahnis, the guards removed the prisoners, leaving the father and son alone. Hahnis approached and placed a hand on Ionus' shoulder. "You did what must be done."

"I sent a man to his doom."

"You helped save Whitewall for another year. The cost of survival is steep, but it must be paid. Son," Hahnis turned the boy to face him. "We ''must'' perform our duty. It is not glamorous or easy, but it must be done for the good of all. It hurts now, I know, but you will come to understand. You must." 

The boy nodded to his shoes, a small teardrop shaking loose of his cheek in the motion. Hahnis kissed his son on the head. "Go now, we are done for today. I must finish some matters here."

With another nod to his feet, the boy moved to the exit. Hahnis turned to the guards,"Escort him out, please. I will be fine here."

The footsteps trailed off in the distance as Hahnis finished the final sections of the selection warrant, marking the bearded man, a criminal known as Razor Wraith, for the yearly peace pact offering to the Deathlords. At the bottom of the paper was the seal and signature of Judge Hahnis Paktrichter, but just beneath that was the faint trace of another fallen tear.