Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 4, 2014 18:26:59 GMT
Noveas IM 1001
“How much for the venom?” Evyn asked the alchemist. She was young but in Deci this meant little and she shuffled her feet nervously as she stood in the neatly appointed shop of Ulis Tamary.
“Prices are on the board.” Tamary himself indicated the price range that stood, somewhat faded, of a carved wooden sign to one side of the counter. “Sure you have enough?” He asked kindly.
“Sure.” Evyn laughed, but her voice cracked at the end ruining the bravado she displayed but did not even faintly feel. Scratching her somewhat long nose the girl pulled the thin knife from her sleeve and slipping it behind the dark side of her forearm came closer to the alchemist. “Been told you’re the City Spirit?”
“Yes, that is what is said.” Ulis allowed as he turned to face the young woman.
“You don’t seem to be very… Deci is all?” Evyn shrugged.
“It depends on how you see Deci. To the young it is a dark place, a world of pikeroons and crimelords. You forget that people actually live here as well.”
“Die!” The knife took Ulis in the chest and the little man looked down slowly at the hole that had been made in his embroidered waist-coat.
“You haven’t been of the Kallah very long, have you my dear?” Ulis asked kindly and watched as the woman hurried from the shop only to grow five arrow shafts as she hit the street. The alchemist shook his head, pulled out the blade and tossed in the bucket he kept in the next room. It clinked loudly as it struck others of its kind. Ulis was building up quite a collection. Turning the sign in the doorway from open to closed, the City Spirit took down his tall hat and headed onto the streets of Cheapside. He had a funeral to go to.
The first flakes of the winter snow fell upon the settlement as the people of the northern city fetched out their warmer coats and blew the dust from furry hats and gloves. Winter came quickly to the north and for the next few weeks it would grow colder and yet more dark with each passing day. Snow was not popular with the cottage industry of the city, it left footprints and caused venom to become sluggish. On the rooftops, where factions vied for power and beggar fought beggar, ambushers froze where they squatted and wished for warmer places – for fires, for hot spirits and even the warm bodies that their kind shared in the dark months.
The tribal people that had partially settled looked upwards and grinned at the light shower. To them this was almost as a cloud of warmth beside the chill of nomad yurts, solid stream and shivering goat. The Bone Son walked amongst them and even those (and there were many) who did not follow his teachings bowed their heads at his passage. They knew that in a few weeks time the beastwalker would come to the city and even if they did not follow her son, then they were not prepared to be marked out by the Bone Man as those needing attention.
In the Bone Son’s wake even the hardened thugs of Deci kept to their places of concealment. There was a smell of death about him that smelt more sour than the sweet odour of Bhaal but promised much the same.
Tanfolio watched as the three witches wrapped Kassandra’s body in clean linen and silently took hold of the plank which now held it, taking it out to the small cart that waited without. It was near dark by the time the three had completed the mysteries that were needed to ensure the passing on of a sister and as the gates of the small courtyard creaked open, Tanfolio lead the way into the streets beyond. Ready in case of trouble he became concerned when a small crowd gathered about the cart.
“Back!” He commanded but after the first step the gathering crowd prevented any further retreat. “You will not defile the body.”
“Is this Kassandra?” A girl asked from the crowd.
“It might well be.” Tanfolio admitted and snarled as the crowd pushed forward. He might have intervened then had not a hand touched his elbow, causing him to move quickly on the spot only to spy a small, neatly dressed man in a long, formal coat and highly embroidered waistcoat. A tall hat surmounted his head and a pleasant smile creased the corners of his eyes as he waved the mercenaries anger away.
“They only want to see her off.” The man explained.
“Who are you?” Tanfolio demanded, only too aware of the people who had now taken the pushing of the cart from the witches. The woman did not seem to be fraught by the action.
“Ulis Tamary. Kassandra was both my friend and my employee. You will find that she had many friends in this city – she regularly healed those cut in conflict and the gang wars of Cheapside. Many would have died of the plague had it not been for her intervention. They wish to see her pass on.”
Tanfolio looked at Theil and the woman nodded. With the decision made, the hero set off for the east gate and the crowd followed. Several pushed the cart and soon others joined the procession.
Several cripples lead the way and each carried a rough banner. Held aloft on simple poles they bore various insignia. On some would be shown a snake, on others a cauldron but on most it was a simple hand held outwards. The healed walked behind them and as the route became more congested several group of Hanot appeared to push back the people who went about their business ahead of the slowly winding procession.
Within the hour the crowd was vast and terribly silent. By the time the gate was reached the cart was given back to the three witches and they alone with Tanfolio went onwards. The crowd watched from the low city walls and the gates themselves. The last thing Tanfolio saw was the face of the kindly man in the tall hat, the headgear itself now being removed in sadness.
*
“Miserable bastards.” Gustav swore as he took his minders to the Braided Fox for a needed drink. Ordering up a small cauldron of mulled cider, the Senator took over a table nearest to the large fire place in the tavern and dumped his thick cloak on a nearby hook to thaw out a little. He had thought to impose on the Governor but Jander, it seemed, was in Halgar! “What are the chances?” The Senator grumbled. As his men joined him with the hot, spicy cider and a platter of warmed rolls and pork Gustav spotted a curious figure moving through the patrons towards him.
Of good height, the man was obviously tribal by his scars and pelts. Hung about him were a collection of bones and horns from all manner of creatures both natural and fantastic.
“You are Thorenstein!” The Bone Son pointed.
“Maybe.” Gustav nodded and saw both his followers pull out the wicked knives so loved by the 13th.
“She will come and she will decide.”
“Who?”
“The mother of the Hordehost. She will cone to this place to see you. If you are here she will decide. She will decide if you are what they say you are.”
“Perhaps I won’t be here?” Gustav smirked.
“Then all of the North will know you for a coward.”
“Perhaps she will then be my prisoner?”
“Then all will know of your honour and your word. She will come to this place and she will see you and she will decide.” The Bone Son raised a hand and jangled a collection of discarded vertebrae in the Senator’s face.
“Sit down.” One of the 13th placed his hand on the thin visitor’s shoulder and pushed him into a chair opposite to Gustav. About the Fox people stared and a few, a noticeably shaggy few, hurried out in alarm. Gustav suspected they were going to fetch friends.
“Good evening.” Thorenstein smiled. “I might have a few questions for you. Tribal people..?”
*
“It is Rallick isn’t it?” A voice called in the street beyond.
“No.” The dark man snarled and turned back.
“Yes – you went to the Academy. You were in the Snaive Halls. Thought I recognised you.”
Rallick turned back. Now he remembered the man – Ergil Molkadel, a young Nobleman from a minor House that had been in fielty to House Savanyay for the last century. Good at sport he remembered, bit of a cheat though. Rallick didn’t like remembering the Academy since it had mostly involved Leofric Edwige and Ifil Rutgeth sticking his head into the privies, brisk early morning runs and very little in the way of intellectual challenge.
“How’ve you been?” Ergil asked brightly.
“Fine. Must go.” Rallick snapped back.
“How’s the family?”
“Dead. Killed. Traitors?”
“Oh yes.” The rather dense Ergil muttered. “Something happened eh? Hear we’ve got a new Emperor anyway. Funny eh?”
Rallick didn’t so much as blink. “Empress you moron. Truic – you remember her? Swotty pregnant dog? Had three sisters? Morilla who’d follow any craze and spent her time being little Miss. Popularity? Flavalia who dropped her pants for anything that had two legs and a horse? The other one?”
“Oh yes! Think papa mentioned it. Anyway – you must come to the party tonight.”
Rallick sighed. “I’m a little busy.” He explained. It started to rain then and the streets grew a little darker. Four foot away a cripple moaned as the disease in his gut took a stronger hold. He was a sad little man that held out his hand for grulls, his death painted over his features in garish colour that brightened the gloom only in the manner of fresh blood on a white robe. “One moment.” Rallick snapped at Ergil and wandered over to the suffering man. Leaning very close he whispered in his ear.
“Where’s you’re healing witch now then, eh?”
“Ma?” The sick man muttered back deliriously.
“Not ‘Ma’ you idiot. You mother pulls tricks for a bowl of cold soup. I should know I had her this morning – no soup though.”
“Ma?”
“Oh for hell’s sake.” Rallick hissed and kicked him till he stopped whimpering. Returning to Ergil he noticed the man hadn’t noticed a thing. “Now – party?”
“Over at the Savanyay house in Fallen Square. Everybody’s going to be there – you simply must come!”
Rallick thought about it. Lots of people from the Academy? In one place? “You know,” he said finally, “I might just be able to fit it in.”
“Good-oh!” Ergil nodded.
By Alan Morgan (CI4V1)