Pyromancer- The chronicles of Isaac Karthall

tick tock, tick tock.

IIsaac was in his absolute least faourite place on earth. General Harforn's business office, in south ciy comand. Isaac was wearing his grey greatcoat, as he almost always did, but he wore a plain white singlet underneath. He glanced up at the wall clock.

10:30.

Am, of course. Isaac's trousers were ripped at the knees, and evidence of dozens of re-stitchings were quite obvious. His gasmask was nowhere in sight, nor his boots, which he had exchanged for a pair of slip-on black shoes. Isaac' long, dark brown hair was pulled into a ponytail by a green band, though his fringe still managed to threaten covering his eyes. Isaac's face was lean and angular, not exactly mean-looking, but certainly strong, and as many a woman would proclaim, handsome in a 'modest way'. His eyes were an odd shade of aqua, like the water of shallaws. The only marring of his appearance was a tiny scar on his cheek, which most people wrongly assumed he had gotten in combat. But considering how he had gotten it, Isaac wasn't too eager to correct anyone. The room itself was fairly spartan, a few portraits of older gentlemen the names of which Isaac didn't really care to remember decorating the walls.

Harforn's desk was a big block of wood with bits chopped out of it to accomadate for his legs and a drawer or two. It was piled high with paper work and pens. Altough Isaac had no idea what the hell the general was doing with so many red pens. The office was small and stuffy, with no windows and a very small fire place. But the thing that made Isaac really hate the place was the old asshole sitting behind the desk. General Harforn wasn't over-weight, actually he was rather skinny, but Isaac instantly associated the old tosser with fat because he'd barely ever seen the general get off his arse.

The general wore spectacles, and his thin face was hollow cheeked, so his ears looked far larger than they really were. His hair was grey and messy for a military officer's, but considering he was sixty something or rather no one seemed to care anymore. Isaac was sitting opposite Harforn, his arms behind his head and his shoes on the desk between them, right on one of the important documants so that every time he shuffled his feet a little the paper got just a bit more scrunched up.

Isaac liked annoying Harforn, but unfortunately for the latter, Isaac was one of the best single man unts in the entire military and he knew it. Harforn's lip twitched as he glanced at the ruined document, and Isaac grinned easily. That twitch was something Isaac was fmiliar with.

“now, general, would you mind if I asked you a question?” As he said the words, Isaac deliberately shuffled his foot from side to side.

The general took in a deep breath “Isic-”

“Isaac. The A is long. I-saac.” Farforn's lip twitched again. Isaac decided to let the man talk, for a while at least.

“Karthall, you may ask me a question, if you should so wish.”

Isaac slowly put his feet on the ground and stood up. He slid one palm over the other and grabbed up the document he'd been scrunching up.

“now sir, just yeserday I got back here from a mission. A termination mission, Victor fire brand, rogue runist.” The paper in Isaac's hand caught light. Harforn briefly glanced at it, before returning his gaze to Isaac. Isaac blew the ash from his hand, and continued. “I was told he was an ice runist. By your people.and you know what that information was wrong. Your courier told me that 'fire brand' was an ironic title, because the man controlled ice. Like how mine is alchemist. They supposedly try to change things into other things, lead to gold, wood to silver. But I don't do that, do I? I convert living, into dead. That's my job. you know what? I don't like being lied to.”

Harforn was no fool, and he knew that Isaac was not bluffing with the threatening gesture. He cleared his throat, “well, we were...mis-informed. I didn't know. “