Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 4, 2014 19:05:49 GMT
Juon IM 1002
Summer did not sit well with Deci.
The long days, and the subsequently shorter nights, meant that many businesses ran for only a few hours a day and the people seemed to have a tired look about them. The occasional hot sun drove the pasty faced citizens and dark skinned drow to their beds or at least to the shelter of the shadows within their crooked little houses.
Crime in Deci was a cultural thing but the city seemed to dwell in the reflection of other cities, such as Bildteve, who battened down for winter. The streets were quieter for longer and even the gangs in Cheapside seemed lethargic in their activities. It was simply too hot.
Only beggars seemed to show signs of industriousness. Having suffered almost a year of schism and then upheaval the newly undisputed Kallah Lord seemed to be taking his duties seriously. His rival having been killed by ‘Jagged Glance’ it seemed he had strong allies. Ones with dark magic. Some might even say he took his duties too seriously since more than one assassin had been pulled aside and politely told about the new way of doing things. Either you worked for the Don or you were of the Kallah. Other than that and you were a common murderer and that was something that was no longer going to be tolerated!
The incoming refuges from the north had dried up and with few new arrivals the city slumbered in lethargy. For once no dark cult seemed to be attempting a take over, for once there was no terrible threat stalking the streets!
It couldn’t possibly last…
Achin Ward arrived in the settlement in the early hours to find the majority of the city heading to their beds. It was an exaggeration to say the entire city folded up for the daylight hours but the streets began to possess the traffic of a town rather than a thriving city. With his two mule cart piled high with goods from Halgar he had come to break the wine drought and asking the Watch where the best places to go were, he took a room at the Braided Fox and sold on his goods to the traders that appeared about him like insects to a corpse. Wisely, he took up offers of goods in return since cash was not something he was happy to carry in Deci.
He was woken from his late slumbers by cries from passers by. Looking from his window he spied small knots of short figures in black carrying tarred buckets of water. Joining other guests in the taproom he wasked what was occurring.
“Fire,” one of the girls explained.
“Fire?” Achin frowned. “What’s to burn?”
“Seems the Poison Club has been set afire, sir.” She bobbed away and set about her duties for the early risers.
Later in the day it seemed that it was not as bad as it could have been, but one entire side of the immense building that housed the Club had the marks of scorching upon it and soot clung stubbornly to the strong slates of the roof. It did not look as if the damage had been too severe but from the marks on the wall it must have been a large blaze.
One that had rippled along the building yet thankfully had not caught.
The Watch poked about the cosmetic damage but having been assured by someone within the building that it would be taken care off they went back to the safer duties of their office.
“Let the Don sort it out,” nodded the sergeant to his men and the man with whom they talked made sure that each man got a winning shake of the hand as he left.
Jagged Glance himself had just gutted a fat man who had taken to the streets without a bodyguard. It had hardly been a subtle killing and one that had not escaped witnesses, soon shouts were bouncing about the streets calling on the Watch for the matter but Jagged cared little for the overweight, bumbling peacekeepers.
Laughing he turned the corner without even bothering to clean his knives, whistling an off-key tune as he did so.
Then the notes slowed and fell slowly to the cobbles as a sound came from the rooftops.
Jagged moved like a snake as an arrow clattered on the stones below where he had been standing. Flipping backwards he saw the two rough looking thugs jump out near to where the ambush had started, ran up the wall of the nearest building and launched himself into the air to sail over their heads and land, their backs prominent.
He could have ended it there but…
…”Behind you.” He laughed and ducked as one, a little quicker than he looked, cut the air over his head with an end-heavy shortsword that had come dangerously close to ending the dance.
Jagged let the man's eyes darken, robbing him of the light of the day as he kicked his knee to send him to the ground. The second thug tossed a knife underhand towards their target and Jagged cursed as it cut the edge of his tunic but sent one of his back that took the man in the ear and thence to the hard cobbles which broke his face open in a welter of blood that would have been painful, had the thug not already been dead.
“Can’t see? What next?” Jagged chuckled and then remembered the archer above. His second knife flickered like a silvery pike striking at a minnow as it cut through the taut bow string.
The archer cursed in response but Jagged was already with him having risen upon conjured darkness.
“Hello,” Glance whispered. “I just want you to know that you’re going to die now.”
Plucking the man’s own knife from his cracked belt, Jagged fulfilled his promise. It was a surprisingly good knife and he used it to kill the blinded attacker with more speed than he deserved.
Then it was over.
“This town,” Jagged muttered as he idly tapped the knifes pommel against his lips, “is full of amateurs.”
Someway in the distance the stink of armour could be smelt and Jagged walked away, not thinking the loss of his sweat worth further fighting for now.
“It needs a lesson does this settlement,” he said confidently. “School starts tomorrow.”
*
He walked amongst the bodies, carefully pushing one as he let the article that he found settle more agreeably upon his head. He let his mind blank a little, moving the common sounds of the streets below fall from his perception, settling into a state he more usually adopted for the rituals of his faith.
For almost an hour he stood motionless, dissecting what was left, letting the fainter voices become more clear to his mind. Then, moving closer to the nearest of the bodies he touched it lightly with careful fingers.
There were faint traces of memory there. He could feel the ravaging that had already taken place there, the thoughts and impressions seen as ragged gaps in the dimness that remained and he saw then the manner of the bodies preparations. Removed of that which gave them identity then hung until what was left lay beyond the touch of all but the most strongly deific of potential healers the barriers had gone and only the faintest touches of vitae remained. Not vitae… but the places where it had once been housed.
“Who were you?” He asked softly.
Iysle, the name came then, Iysle of the Guard.
“Watch?”
Senatorial, but only after…
“After?”
Our beloved Emperor was taken from us, many gave their lives but others of us joined other peoples, we came to White Company and there we served still the ideals of the great leader.
The demon nodded. It was clear that the body had known something important but that it had been taken and what remained was of little use. Quickly he went to each and learnt similar amounts. Pieces, remains… but most importantly he saw how he could replicate the process. How he could use what he had found to pick through the memories of those prepared in the manner he now saw. With this firmly in mind and using the knowledge of his cult, he put together the method of preparation needed to so learn what could be from the dead and previously beholden of vitae.
Aware of how long he had spent in the house and noticing that there was little time till day-break, the demon stalked to the window once again and let itself ease to the streets, clinging to the shadows as he did so. That which he had claimed for his own he hid about himself so that others would not immediately notice the power that he now held.
By Alan Morgan (CI4V7)