Dusk slowly descended on the shining streets of Azucar. The first street lamps spread their yellowish light over the stone tiles of Glazenmuilstraat and gleaming horse-drawn taxis stopped in front of the royal palace doors, which swung open as the Courtly Functional Citizenry pushed its way out. The royal councilor was the first to push through the murmuring crowd. His purple cape flowed as he ran to a carriage.

Spinning wheel Avenue, Amargo.' He closed the door.

The courtly coachman shivered, despite the fact that the daytime temperatures were rising again after the heavy rain, and he said with a strange accent: 'I'm sorry, M'neer, but I just drive to the dark wall, Amargo is too dark. room for a classy man, sir. The people there have great respect. I would stay awake as much as possible, sir!'

'Drop me off at the regional walls and then get out of here if that is your wish. Oh and let a Tierlantine come with me.'

The taxi driver got out of the carriage and returned a little later with Pepijn on his arm. 'To get in.' said the counselor firmly. The driver shook his head.

'T is gon cost yu yur ead , sir'

Pepijn sat cross-legged at the councilor's feet the entire ride. He was a Tierlantine, one of the jesters who were mainly used as guards. Tierlantines had skin that resembled colorful bark. The skin was impermeable to sharp objects and was also difficult to damage by blows or heavy objects. Because of this, they were often used as guards and bodyguards when a member of the Courtly Functional Citizenry did not feel safe. Due to their colorful appearance and their exceptional musical talent, they were also used as jesters. Siel especially liked the fact that they couldn't talk and their skin could be damaged by purple riot fire, which gave him the advantage.

A dirty old man held out his bony hand shakily as the counselor marched past him at a brisk pace. He effortlessly avoided the glassy gaze of a gaggle of children. The cries of babies barely reached his ears as he weaved through the puddles of sewage. However, the buroons' giggling made him shudder and he pushed Pepijn in front of him.

"They should all be burned to death," he growled as a crowd of street children grabbed his cape with their clammy, sticky hands and the crying children's faces held him for a moment before he tore away and turned into a dark alley.

"Spinning Wheel Avenue, for curious fingers," read a rickety woodworm-eaten sign that dangled upside down from a graffitied wall. The houses here seemed to be so close together that their chimneys could almost touch each other, to cushion each other when the wooden window frames bent too far forward. A thin woman poured her night bucket from the balcony onto the street before being pulled back inside by another giggling woman, a darkly dressed man with a black eye patch disappeared behind a piece of wood that served as a front door.

The councilor stopped in front of a collapsed shack that had already been ravaged by nature several times. He stepped over a bush of nettles to the door, which was held in place by only one hinge, and knocked on the rotten wood with Pippin's piccolo. On the top floor, a shutter swung open and the pale face of a dark woman glowed in the moonlight. 'What do you want?' Her voice was grating from the cigars.

"Is Hagger home?"

"Probably on the couch with a lirkat, go ahead." The hatch closed so hard that the hut shook. She had been right. On a mouse-eaten sofa, a man of the stature of a wardrobe was bare-chested, with a black cat nestled on his lap. Lira cats had very large eyes and gave off an odor that was addictive. The councilor offered Pippin to sit at his feet, pinched his nose at the suffocating stench of cat piss and sour liquor, and coughed softly. Hagger lifted his heavy head.

'Siel? Siel Eggers?'

'Still.'

The wardrobe pushed the cat aside and jumped up. "My goodness, man, you still look like a straightened mannequin, is the money still growing on your back, old fellow?" He glanced suspiciously at Pepijn for a moment.

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"Pretty much, Hagger," Siel muttered, his voice straining as he tried to hold his breath so he wouldn't smell the stench.

"A cup of rye beer, Siel?"

'No thank you, I don't have much time. I actually came to ask you a favor."

Hagger flopped back into the seat and put a cup of foam to his lips.

"Come on man, what's the problem."

A rumbling sound came from the lirkat as it slowly rose to its feet. The councilor could barely take his eyes off the staring eyes.

"We have visitors," Hagger grunted, and the likat lay her head sleepily on his leg and snuggled against him.

"I don't know if you remember Robert Veracker?" Siel replied.

"Veracker, sure, the biggest klutz in Azucar, man!"

'Well, yes, and the king thinks he needs him despite his daily stupidities, while he lowers the prestige of the entire Courtly Functional Bourgeoisie, tramples everyone under their feet and I hate him. So it seems pretty clear to me that you should get rid of him."Siel gasped and pinched his nose again.

"Hmm... how much are you giving her for?"

"1000 bytsen, 500 advance, you'll find him tomorrow at half past eleven in the throne room, stab him, Hagger."

'I have a better idea, Siel, more effective and safer. Poison him with Burone's blood.'

Siel frowned.

"Hmm... maybe not such a bad idea." He took a bag containing 500 coins from his inside pocket and thrust it into Hagger's outstretched hand.

'You have to make do with this because I still have to do the dirty work myself'.He tapped Pippin's shoulder, who then jumped up and led the way to the door.

"Careful, boy," Hagger said as he slipped money into his pocket. "They bite."

The counselor turned his back on them and thought with disgust that he would now have to venture into the darkest corners of Amargo in search of a buron.One night later, it was exactly 12 midnight. Pippin the Tierlantine was already waiting for Siel at the city gate of Azucar. "Can we?" he whispered. "Fine," Siel replied, "but let's hurry. The sooner this is done the better."

He gracefully hopped onto his horse and spurred it. Pepijn followed closely. The horses galloped smoothly through the suburbs towards Amargo. Siel was a familiar face on the streets of the darkest part of the country. He grew up there before he went to work for the king at the Courtly Functional Bourgeoisie. Although most night elves enjoyed a lavish life in Agriar, he was raised by a declining blacksmith family. As a young night elf you had two options, either you enjoyed the protection of the realms, or you were hidden among commoners in the dark Amargo. Siel was unlucky to belong to the latter group. However, it was the ideal area to test out the purple riot and learn to control it. In his teenage years, steaming purple ashes were often found in the streets, the only remains if someone had to pay for their transgression with Siel's wrath. As he grew older and left his family's barn more often, the surrounding residents learned to walk around him in an arc and always nod friendly and then keep their heads down. Even the neighbors usually left him alone after all these years.

"I've made an appointment with a buron," Siel said on the way. "Maybe there won't even be a need to kill Buron. Not that anyone in Amargo cares, but I don't want to muddy my ties with the buroons."

"I'll see what I can do," replied the Tierlantine, spurring his horse again. Pepijn wasn't worried at all. Things like this happened every day on the streets of Amargo. So it wouldn't really be noticeable.

"We're here, he'll be there soon," Pippin whispered.

A few moments later a buron crept gingerly out of the shadows. He was limping and making a typical wheezing noise. He had short horns and a kind of rat tail. He looked hungrily at Siel and Pepijn with his beady black eyes.

"You needed... HII... me... HI...I." He was clearly having trouble speaking. Buroons were known for having too many sharp teeth in their mouths, causing them to stand three rows in a row. This made speaking considerably difficult.

"I have a favor to ask you," Siel began. He used his warmest, most compelling voice. "I need blood from you"

"Why...HI.?" the buron squeaked. He was clearly surprised.

Siel took a step closer. "My friend, your blood is so deadly that it can kill even the largest Cyclops in a matter of minutes."The buron was not entirely happy. He shook his head, causing his horns to whip back and forth. Buroons were not the smartest breed in the country. Their blood took up too much space in their heads.

"What if I give you four coins?" Siel said in a seductive voice. He knew that Burons were not good with numbers and therefore had no idea if it was a lot.

"Okay... then... HI" The buron was surprised that the councilor did not attack him with an ax or with riot fire as he was used to. He reached out his hand eagerly.

Siel pulled a sharp, shining knife from his inner pocket. It was a blade made by one of the best dwarven smiths in Yths. The knife had a silver blade, especially for so-called 'monsters' such as burons. Pippin took out a glass vial made of spun fairy glass to collect the blood without burning the vial. The buron yelped in pain as Siel cut his hand. Pippin grabbed the buron's clawed hand and squeezed it so hard that the blood seeped into the vial. It could take weeks for the cut to heal because the knife was coated with special oil to avoid ruining the blood. Pepijn put a cork on the bottle and Siel wiped the knife on his cape in two strokes. The jet black blood shone in the moonlight. The buron squeaked even louder and shuddered backwards. Siel threw four coins on the paving stones, hid the vial in his pocket and left for his laboratory to prepare the poison.