“Mmmmmm.” He groaned, looking back at the Citadel. Far off now he was annoyed at the thought of returning. Avoiding the Mnemoi, the Legionnaires, the Userers, the Joss, the citizens, and all the protections put into place around the city.

“Whatever.” Trotting on, they looked forward and sighed. Behind him annoyance and in front of him prejudice. It wasn’t long before he saw the first of these rural Wraith. Those who choose to live on the fringes of Stygia. Looking for as much freedom as they could get within the Hierarchy. Now here he comes to spoil that illusion.

The Wraith looked at him with a mix if disgust and terror. It hurt to see that directed towards him, that hurt was quickly changed to anger. What do they, or any other Wraith know of their Guild? His Reaper was one who fought for Charon before being discarded by the Hierarchy. If he had been a Userer they would probably be welcomed by these Wraith.

“Taxes.” He growled, holding out his hand.

“Where’s your Pard’nr?” The Wraith questioned, coiling their hands against their chest.

“Ain’t no Pardoner here. Hand. Or else.” He knew this Wraith knew he was a Spook. It was practically written all over his face. This Wraith also knew this was Spook territory for taxation, denying this request was breaking the law.

Sheepishly they reached out their hand. The Spook grabbed it quickly and took in Pathos forcefully.

“Do you want any converted?” He didn’t have to offer this, his Boss made sure everyone knew that. But he felt it may make them trust his Guild more. But the Wraith was already walking away.

Glumly he continued his job for days. Thanklessly. A few he had to threaten, one he had to do by force, but it was mostly a mundane task.

Finally, the last village. He checked his list of registered Wraith in this area, he went to the first Quick home that he knew a young Wraith stayed at. The Spook passed through the door to see the Wraith hovering worriedly above someone ransacking the place.

“Taxes.” The spook said lazily.

“Please, this, this is my parents' home. They aren’t here.” The teenage Wraith looked back towards him wide eyed. “They don’t have much, they can’t afford this!”

“Quick problems are Quick problems. Taxes.” He held his hand out, he was tired. The shallowing no doubt.

The ransacker reached into a small box and pulled up a small wood carving of an archer. “NO!” The young Wraith cried out, horror seeping into his tones.

The Spook knew what it was by his wail and before it ended he was already in the realm.

“Well, this is awkward.” The Spook began. The thief turned quickly and dropped the small archer. The Spooks' eyes watched it tumble to their feet.

“This aint what it looks like.” The thief shouted, trying to gather his bag. “This, this is my brother's house and he owes me.” His feet shuffled, closer and closer to the Archer.

“Stop. Moving.” The Spook said cooly, pulling his dagger from his sash. The thief froze for a moment, clearly gripping something behind his back as well.

A tense moment, the Spook could see the worry in the young Wraiths eyes, staring down at the Archer on the floor. The tension was broken with the thief pulling the knife out and stepping forward, his foot aiming at the archer as he lunged at the Spook.

With a fury unmatched the Wraith launched himself, knife first into the thief. A thud, the building shuddered, and there was silence. Broken again by the thief, he looked down at his feet dangling above the floor. One gulp half finished was his last action as a mortal.

The Spook looked down and picked up the small Archer. He paused and wrote a note; “Saw this man robbing you, sorry to leave the body.” and walked out. The young Wraith spoke but the Spook didn’t register it, instead he walked in the realm for more than an hour with him in tow. Coming across a small crypt he checked the several layers of protection around the entrance.

This space was long abandoned, the perfect place for Spook business. He unlocked the rusted gate and walked into the darkness. Finally the Wraiths' words could be heard again.

“What are you doing? Why do you have my Fetter? Please, please leave it alone.” he floated, false tears falling from his cheeks. He was too young to manipulate his corpus like that, they were echos created from the shallowing.

“Easy kid. I’m guessing your neighbor Wraith told you all about me. Don’t fret, I’m only here to do my job.” Their eyes could see the bones that lay scattered across shelves and the floor. It was easier to see here, the web that connected this Wraith, the energies that made him what he was. The small strands were hard to see for him, but he knew what he would find here.

“Here you are.” He stood over a stone shelf full of skulls and long bones.

“Thats… me?” The Wraith asked, seeing his reflection in this mass of bones.

“You’ve gotta keep your Fetters safe, child. Especially if they are made of things which rot. A cool dry place like this will keep it much longer.” The Spook lifted the skull and placed the small wooden archer in its small cavity. “Remember how to get here?”

“Yeah. I think so.” The Wraith spoke, enamored with his own skull being in front of him.

“Good, don’t tell anyone where it is.” The Spook began heading out, his job was not done yet and he had a few more days before making it back to the annoyance of the Citadel.

“Wait,” The young Wraith called after him, breaking from the dream his bones gave. “How can I repay you for this?” His voice had a shiver of fear, knowing the reputation of the Spooks.

The Spook sighed, and continued stepping forward.

“Just pay your fucking taxes.”