Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 4, 2014 19:16:45 GMT
Noveas IM 1002
Anath of course was a loyal member of Jander’s inner coterie and had no such qualms about finding displeasure at the hands of the Governor. The trick, naturally, was to do one’s job effectively and to keep the visible nose clean. However, the skinny trader was not happy. Cheapside was far too quiet and whilst he knew full well that there was a full-fledged gang war going on he was disturbed more he ought to have been by the lack of violence that he saw! The quarter was pregnant with potential of course, as if the shanty town was holdings it’s breath for a conflict that was supposed to be occurring. The Straw Dogs were meant to be cracking down on the other gangs and this was, naturally, wrong but the threat of their actions had brought a sharp cessation of crime. Anath suspected that harsh action against them might create one of those annoying power vacuums. Ulis had expressed no distaste at their actions, indeed, he had hinted that one of the ‘Dogs, Chamin’ Billy, had done some service for him in the past. Anath saw Rella as he turned along the main street that lead to the cities central quarter. The older woman sat on a crumbling wall that might have once been the buffer to a larger building that had long since been stripped of its stone by the Cheapsiders. She nodded as he came closer.
“Ready.”
“Hm.” Anath muttered. Sly had managed to find out that Siren had indeed been a brigand in the hills outside of Eartholme and that, at some point, she had been bought off by one of the cities councillors. Or even the former Governor. The councillor waved for Rella to lead him onwards and she proceeded to take him out of the city then on a two hour journey that took them to a thick wood to the north east of the settlement. It smelt like an alchemists in the trees. The ground was extremely rocky and the woodland was a tough thing that pushed the stones aside in their growth. Several bubbling pools were passed by until finally Anath came into a slight clearing where twelve scruffy brigands hunched about a set of smoking stones. For warmth and heat it seemed they plunged the rocks in the bubbling pools then pulled them free with a rusted iron ladle. It stank, but there was no smoke to give them away to passers by. The band had that look that Anath recognised from experienced mercenaries the Empire over. Each was dressed individually but were unscarred. Only one man showed evidence of a wound, or rather the pink, untanned flesh that showed where such a cut had been healed by spiritual power. No two had the same weapons and they watched him with the discerning eyes of people who could judge a man from a distance. One of them, a woman, stood up as he approached. Like all the band she was older than Anath but only a slight touch of grey marked her hair. She dressed in pelts and wool, a sword in a well made harness rested at her side and the sort of throwing axe favoured by certain tribes rested in her left hand. The only armour she wore was a stiff gorget of lacquered leather that rose to the level of her lower lip.
“You Anath?” She asked in a surprisingly deep voice. He agreed that this was so. “Siren.” She introduced herself.
“I was lead to believe that you might have something of interest to me?”
*
The Smiling Man paused at the end of the darkened street and sniffed the air almost delicately. For long years he had resided in Deci and the scents of the city had always fascinated him to a greater or lesser degree. The spices of the central quarter, the fresh dung of the southern and the grim pride of Cheapside rarely changed but here things were subtly different. He did not possess the sensitive nose possessed by many in the city but he was still able to notice the changes that reflected his familiarity with the settlement. Normally, the street held the aroma of bread for many of the shop fronts specialised in such baking. Everyone needed food and crime was not high here but there was spiciness perceived by the Smiling Man that had nothing to do with cakes or the richer breads enjoyed by the well-to-do folk whose homes clustered about the Governor’s Citadel. It was a heady scent, almost like sweet sweat and it lead to a simple doorway that stood as a barrier to the narrow house it fronted. To either side were the streets common bakeries but unlike they it did not boast a worn sign displaying such wars and instead held an icon such as might be seen outside one of the lesser known cults or churches. It was of a face, made of wood, iron and beaten copper. It was narrow and smiled beneficently at the observer by some skill at the hands of the craftsman the impression did not carry to the eyes. It did not bear even a passing resemblance to the cities governor, wherever he was, but nonetheless a sign lay beneath it declaring the building to be the ‘Thempel off Thy Sunstar’. The Smiling Man had asked around about the shrine and it had soon become clear that it had been here for a few months now, at least since the summer, and accepted the worship of any who came with some sort of crafted object as an offering. The only priest seemed to be a thin man thin of body and thin of hair. His name, it was said, was Albun. The Smiling Man had some knowledge of the Sunstar though and there was something about the place that did not have quite the style of the Governor. The door, when pushed, opened smoothly. Entering, the Smiling Man squinted in the dim light and became aware of several people within the single room that occupied the ground floor. They all looked to be, if not poor, then far from overly successful in their chosen profession. He saw the stained sleeves and worn aprons of apprentices and it was then that he realised that a one of them was long into their maturity. They were, he saw, apprentices for the most part. They sat in quiet contemplation and as the Smiling Man moved towards the front of the shrine another man came down the narrow stairs that lay at the far end of the room. From his lean appearance, the Smiling Man supposed that this must be Albun. The man, in turn, looked back at his visitor with a slightly unsteady gaze as if under the influence of strong spirits or something yet more ardent. The Smiling Man asked the newcomer if he was whom he supposed him to be, to which the priest nodded slowly.
“You come to worship the Sunstar?”
“Perhaps.” The Smiling Man admitted. He looked at the man and noticed about him a strangeness that he could not, for the moment, place. His eyes were slightly unfocussed and looked as if sleep had not visited them for several nights.
“Then you come… to worship.. him?”
“I said, perhaps.”
“Ah.” Albun just nodded and sat heavily on the end of one of the room’s benches. “I think…” But the words trailed off, the sentence remaining unfinished.
*
Four figures sat in the Braided Fox. Each had of course been to the city many times for it was something of a magnet to mercenaries but this was the first time that they felt like they were in hostile territory. The first had gathered them together and they had come to the tavern quietly in order to meet with the youth who now sat before them. Catskinner was nervous also. Whether he was picking up on the atmosphere from those present or whether it was the steady gaze of the tall elf, he was unsure. Still, the one who had first approached him seemed personable enough. The last two smiled at him in a reassuring manner but he had not survived Cheapside without knowing people with purpose. Especially, religious people of purpose. Not that Catskinner knew any of their names. They all had that look about them.
“I don’t want no trouble.” Catskinner announced.
“We are not here to give you any.” The leader reassured the young man. “We are here to employ you in your professional capacity.”
“It’s just that…”
“Yes?” He raised an eyebrow.
“…that you look like you want to snot somebody.” One of the quieter shook his head slowly.
“Peace child. We only want information. Tell my friend here what you know and all will be well.”
“I’ve got friends.” Catskinner tried a little bravado but his voice cracked halfway through the declaration. The elf snorted and Catskinner thought that his friends might be exactly the sort of people the elf delighted in finding in the darker places of the Empire. “And what I know costs grulls.”
“We never had any intention of not paying you, friend.” The ranger reassured the shorter local.
*
Claudious yawned as he crossed the broken cobbles of the street. It had been a busy few days but he felt a little more confident after his recent meeting. The street was quiet in that twilight period of the Deci day before the night people woke but just as the more normal citizens were barring their doors against the attentions of those very same people. There would be another service tomorrow and this time he would pick his congregation more carefully. He came to the door of his shrine and stooped to the lock, only pausing when he heard a footfall behind him. He had not completed turning when the blade caught him across the throat. Horrified, he saw the jet of his blood flow across the air more slowly than his mind told him was happening. He felt no pain, strangely, but his knees buckled and the words that came to his thoughts could not reach his mouth for the wound was deep and had severed the plum of his neck. A tall elf stood and looked down at him with surprisingly little interest. He saw a glittering sword come from his side and he heard the sound of his guts take the blow as another man stepped into view, this one shorter and whose expression was one of sullen, gruelling fury. Then his vision tipped upward to the grey sky above, framed as it was by the rooftop over his head.
“That’s him!” The Kallah nodded. Ignatious and Gozmo ran into sight from the alleyway that lead behind the shrine. They had easily tracked the man with their powers but even if that had not been possible the help given by the Kallah would have been sufficient for them to track him to this place. Already the pair had freed the minds of those within and removed the taint of evil from within. Kneeling. Gozmo did enough that their prey would not die immediately and then Ignatious took a sack from his belt. Easily they tumbled the body into its depths and left Deci before anyone saw what they had done.
*
Claudious awoke in a dank and miserable place. His throat was still scarred and his voice would form no words. The chains that held him were solid and his eyes could see nothing in the darkness. Even if his wounds had not been so dire the illness he felt would have been enough to incapacitate him. He trembled at the sickness and the pain of the vomit passing his throat was enough to make him pass out. For good.
By Alan Morgan (CI4V12)