Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 4, 2014 20:03:22 GMT
Noveas IM 1003
Mojo blinked at the smell that assailed his nostrils and turned only when he had turned the nearest corner so that she wouldn’t be aware of his notice. It was a risky manoeuvre but plainly his luck was good as he was still able to see the distinctive woman just before she turned a corner of her own and he hurried along within the small crowd so as not to lose her.
Deci was made for sneaking behind people but just as good was it for losing someone if they knew that they were being followed. Mojo though had spent enough time with the gangs to know when to stop, when to hurry and when to drop back and as he suspected his quarry continued across the city without once entering one of the larger thoroughfares that cut across the cities from the main gates. Even these larger roads were far from straight and the bent lanes that made up most of Deci let him continue in his, admittedly enjoyable, game until the woman knocked on a door, whispered through a barred opening and then was let in.
The building was on the corner of a pair of filth covered alleyways and was obscured as many such were by the hanging ribbons of dirty laundry from the hovels above and the foot or so of the city’s detritus that piled in filthy drifts nearby. Children played games of dangerous catch but Mojo crept closer anyway, knowing that the youngsters were Deci-brats and therefore far to wise to ‘notice’ anyone creeping from place to place.
It was impossible to see inside as the windows were all tightly shuttered and if the door was anything to go by then each would be securely barred as well. Wishing to get on with other things he called one of the brats over and gave him ten grulls before pointing to the building.
“Buncha bastards, mister,” the kid sniffed.”They thumped us rotten other day when we was playin’ on the roofs. Stink of ashes an’ oil.”
“What is that building?” Asked Mojo amongst other questions.
“Used ter be some wizards I think. Old git died last year. There’s summink like twelve of ‘em goes there. All stink a’same. They lives there too.” Then the brat ran off before his companions could beat him for the money he had gained.
By Alan Morgan (CI5V12)