Post by Sire Halfblack on Aug 5, 2014 16:59:54 GMT
Aiprus IM 1006
Amongst the newer structures the Guilds had to work hard to pull out ever fresher growths of thorn and leaf. So much so that the Conveyers muttered that they had become gardeners to the city. On the larger structures too, the city walls especially, vines were growing but in the sickly smog of the city they were dark veined and sickly looking things. When the watch hurried to the gates, nervous in case of being targeted by idle robbery and casual murder, they found the westernmost gate rotting in its old hinges. This was not immediately a problem since the gates were more of a formality than any defensive measure. Indeed, certain amongst the city’s rather odd militia commented that the walls weren't there to keep invaders in. Rather, they were there to make it more difficult for an enemy to get out.
The Watch peered through the gates to see but a single figure waiting there. He, for the creature had a definite sense of masculinity about it, was hunched like a gargoyle and grinned at them with thorn-bedecked teeth. It uncurled rapidly, a long arm snaking out to push one gate aside with such savagery that the watchmen fled in panic. Uncurling further and the beast stepped inside the settlement and sniffed the air with an expression of revulsion. It retched noisily and stepped within until it was lost in the old maze of Cheapside the Western Quarter. It's eyes had fixed on the Spire that rose high above the city, the sight causing it a tugging itch, then it was one with what had bade it come forth.
The Guilds too were shocked when, tending to the regular upkeep of the Quarter Heralds and other rising statues that rising Quarter Lord to the Murder cracked and fell upon certain of their number! The statue hit the ground hard and with a force that caused the nearby buildings to shake, even those across the Quarter to tremble slightly.
The people nearest ran, word spread and within the hour many had gathered to the Spirit Mount where members of Guild, common roustabouts, stall holders and carters, thieves and sleepers bade them keep calm, knives drawn. There was a warmth about the Mount and the people fell to their faces and prayed to the city itself to save them. The Murder might be their stern father but the city was their mother and it was mother they wanted now!
The Mercenary Held had left months back. Most had gone south where the Baronies were paying well and in Deci the sort of Helds that remained were scum. Taleth knew that Helds stayed for centuries but fought for booty and the loot from beaten foes. Even better from the sacking of a city. Some few fought to increase their name, fewer still because of the city itself. The choices he had were therefore slim. Indeed, they realistically came down to two. He had rejected common bands of thugs out of hand and had whittled away those that had big mouths but no real battlefield talent. Deci was not short of bastards with knives, what they needed were killers on the field.
The first, Dartheded's Hird, had been tribal when they came to the city and strictly speaking they probably still were. But they had settled here along with others of their kind scant years passed. Those of the Hird no longer followed shaman or even chieftain. Those of the Hird had been corrupted by Deci ways and they made up between them the settled tribesmen, who after a few years of attempted peace wanted once more to feel the old blood lust once again. Or in many cases had been reared on stories of Glory but were only now in their manhood and were fired up by the eagerness of youth. Dartheded himself had agreed to fight for the city. Indeed, Dartheded and his sixty spears didn't give two goblins for whom they fought so long as there was Glory to be had and the city was prepared to give them treasure to do it.
They had been easy.
It was in a rotten drinking hole in Cheapside that Taleth now faced the second of the only real options he had. The taproom was as fetid as any in that Quarter but for the most part was taken up by a roguish looking bunch in scraps of armour and with a wide assortment of weapons. All of them were scarred and more than was missing fingers or even an eye and none of them were young. Taleth thought it likely that they had been brigands, ones more organised than most and with the wit to come into the city when Siren had gone out. He sat down opposite their leader, Hacka, whilst the others present looked on with smiles and the odd curse. Often they spoke quietly to one another, looking at Taleth and laughing at some unheard joke.
"What do you want us for?" Hacka asked. He leant back in the chair, completely at ease amongst his closest followers.
"I hear you are for hire?"
"Could be, could be. Who's asking?"
"House Majius and the city."
"Ah," The horrible man turned to his people and they laughed again. "You'll say we're to be paid then when you get us together we'll be killed, is that it? Murderous city this. Hell, you've even got a god or two of that very thing. Not that we mind," he shrugged, "but we ain't so keen on meeting such an end ourselves, eh?"
"I assure that we have potential employment for a Held good enough for the grull." Taleth stood up. "But if you don't want the work I'll be sure to let Lord Majius and the Don hear of it."
"Sit down." Hacka scowled. "Very well. Maybe you're telling the truth. Can't say we wouldn't welcome some proper work and it's not like we can go elsewhere in this stinking Empire is it? What do you want to know?"
Taking his time, the Baron Throttle returned to his seat, yawned and only then explained. "We have tasks to see to. What do you do and what is your price?"
"We are Hound. We fight and we kill. We don't fight anybody that rides to battle but we'll kill anyone else. We're a lot better out there," he indicated the general direction of the nearest gate with a greasy thumb, "than in the city. You spread terror and we make damn sure that people do what they're told. If they fight back we shoot them dead then come back at night to stick them when they think we've gone. You want Hacka's Hearties and we'll take say twelve hundred centuries a month. Bastion's paying well nowadays - give it a month or two and all these warbands'll be looking there for work."
"But you don't want to go too near the Bastion or the Empire, do you Master Hacka. Shall we say an even thousand centuries?"
The men muttered until their leader silenced them with a raised hand. He made a show of thinking about it. "Well, since it's for the city... you know where we are now. You hire us and we're yours."
Taleth rose and this time no one called after him as he left the rogues to their drinking.
Cheapside
Sunk Street sat more under than within the lanes and alleys of Cheapside. It had once been called something else but when Amora had fought with the Silversmith's a swathe of Cheapside had fallen into the catacombs. Years later and that had mattered little as the Quarter absorbed, built and scabbed over the wound but one single street had remained intact. Albeit now mostly on a lower level to most of the Quarter. It had been Sink Street ever since and for a hundred yards or so the streets and alleys above, the buildings and the ratruns made a thickly clustered cats cradle that covered the street by a good three quarters of its length.
The Skinners had moved here. Once they had butchered animals, then they had guarded people who could pay but killers would always outnumber bodyguards in the settlement and so they had banded together. They couldn't beat the city, so they had just gone along with it. They had not been much of a gang until recently. Not because of any lack of skill but simply because they had never gone in much for territory. But a new leader had explained that turf equalled safety and they had come to the gangs with a ferocity and power that had shocked those about them.
It was dark in Sunk Street. Water lay to the ankles in most parts and the walls of the fallen, yet eerily intact buildings were covered in soggy moss like some parody of a Gothiel cottage. It stank of mildew and meat and the air was thick, old and heavy.
Most of the gang were in the turf thereabouts but the street had been left clear for a meeting.
Marmalade eyed up the Oxen who stood not so far away. He and Crunch had come with Blackjack and even now their 'Jack was about to talk to the leaders of the Skinners, the Oxen and the nimble little Rooftails. He was a nasty, hard little fighter and Crunch was a golem so they stared at the Oxen with hostile disdain. The Oxen in turn, big, solid men with heavy muscles and immense hands stared back at them with dull little eyes. Somewhere in the street two Rooftails doubtless watched them both but they were too well hidden to spy easily.
Wrangling over the meeting had seen it come to pass in the streets centre, as much in the open as could be had. Eyes looked out from windows both near and above and already the rumour mill would be turning. The meet had originally been slated for Ulis Tamary's shop but coming there the gangs had found one of the windows put in. Anything that could that, anyone that did not fear the Spirit was enough of a warning to the 'Jacks and their gangs that they had come instead to here. The Skinners had oathed to the safety of those coming and of al the gangs in Cheapside the Skinners at least had a reputation for keeping such a thing. Even if they rarely gave it.
The meeting had not begun well. Blackjack, Long Tall Skinner and Overdog had all spent a good twenty minutes shouting at the others. Alternating threats with boasts it had take that long for any actual declarations to be made. The willowy form of the Rooftails leader, a woman masked in silver and swathed in black, had said nothing so far.
"I get der biggest bit, cuz I is der Don of Cheapside. I want der middle where I is anyway."
Overdog blinked. Long Tall grinned. "You want the Squares?"
"Dat der middle? 'Course it is. I want dat bit. " No one argued. "What bits you lot want den? We gonna fight but we set up der little bit 'tween each, eh?"
"What about the Wolves of Deci?" Long Tall pointed out.
"They have gone." The Rooftail whispered.
"Or the Sickly Sisters?"
No one answered that. No one was sure whose turf they would be on in any given month in any case. Overdog asked, slowly, whether they should unite to kill the outsiders that were killing priests of Bhaal, and those that had turned to The Murder likewise. Long Tall had offered that they should unite to purge the snakes that were coming up from the catacombs. Neither of which meant anything to Blackjack so he just sneered at the very idea.
It was agreed in the end that Overdog would take the border with the other Quarters and Long Tall the rest. The Rooftails would of course have the rooftops, the moonlit streets and the crow roads. Blackjack was bit put off by the sudden agreement so he grinned at the woman who sat above them. Lady Laydown seemed to lead the Rooftails. "Oy, Mrs, yer like fruit?"
She said nothing but the silver mask turned to look at him anyway.
*
The squat man was old and stank of metal and old piss. He slept in a slanting alley alongside the Guildhall and Slinking had tracked him down after his arts had suggested the name. 'Godfeth' had been a name to conjure with and the presence of the Forge in the city meant that the lean travellers had found the fellow relatively quickly. Half dwarf as he was, unhesitant in his derision for the Guild, yet clinging to it physically and from an age now gone in the city, Godfeth stirred slowly when nudged by Slinking's boot. A tempting skin of wine held at arms length had done the rest.
"Berasen Thief? Yes... Godfeth knew him. Godfeth knew him well enough that he cut me and thought Godfeth dead. Left me outside that bloody mine of his. Let most of us but only Godfeth lived. You want him?"
"I just want to know about his mine, friend."
"Ach!" The scabby dwarfling hawked into the alley. "He weren't no proper miner, he was a thief, one of the Lord's filth. But he had some skill with ritual I'll admit. He stole the mine because of the stone."
"Quarry then?"
"Heh, you think Godfeth simple? They steal the mine for the shard paid for it. But he knew it was an old place and not just some hole in the ground. Dwarf built, stone chambers and square as an honest man. He got the mine for the stone that made it! But it was cursed. Runed. He turned on us. As Godfeth said."
Slinking dangled the wine closer. "Where was the mine, Godfeth?"
"Wine!"
"Location first, then wine," Slinking smiled sweetly.
The Bethers
It had been instinct and an acceptance of his awakening power that saw Jander come to The Bethers. There had been changes here of late, the turning of the last 'Dawn had seen the place settle somewhat. It had not been touched by the 'Nacht. Indeed, it probably had been but now some of the unseen fog of perception had been blown away and the place had become something other than it had been. Rather, Jander thought wryly, it had been restored to what it should have been.
The Forge had walked the dark territories of Deci. The land was as rocky and poor as ever, flat and cracked for the most part with stony banks edging the dirty, tin-tasting streams of the land. On the horizon the smog of the city made a stain that could be seen far out into the rural lands. A dark cloud on the horizon that made the air taste as faintly metallic as the water.
The Bethers held a quarry. It had been restored by the city and was marked by the fact that the people there lived in dwellings hacked out of the stone itself so that opposite the working face the poorer rock was dotted with square cut windows and doors. Reached by wooden platforms the people were already working though the sun was not long up.
A broad crack ran along the stony ground, a crack that widened into the deep cut whose end formed the quarry wall. The parting in the rock was not deep but lurking therein was a shadow that the freshening light of the day did not touch.
By Alan Morgan (CI8V4)