%%USERNAME%%    %%ACCWORDS%% %%ONOFF%% |
 |
Just a little sneak peek into coming work "Queen of Ravens" working title. |
|
"And Anāru lifted his eyes to the lands, and the lands raised themselves to Anāru" ~Hymn to the Anāru, Temple of the Thorn "At dawn we awaken from death, only too long for its embrace come evening" ~ Naxian Codex Chapter One: Brothers of the Raven How loud can a drop of water be? thought Gar flicking an irritated glance back up the alley. Like most of the rundown buildings in the poor quarter near the river’s edge, the guttering along Gar’s chosen alley needed some serious repair. The persistent rain from an hour earlier having melted into a dense soupy mist provided him with the cover he desired. But that drip! Gar growled again working to ignore its incessant patter and wiping his face to clear the moister condensing on his skin. The constant tapping sound on the cobles and rotting rain barrels, strained his hearing and masked the sleepy murmur of the city beyond his chosen alley entrance. Not that many would be out this time of night, but there was work to do and his guild fee was begging due again. A little murder and a touch of robbery will see that put to rest. Not that he actually enjoyed killing, if he were honest with himself. The fact is, I don’t really mind it either. Honestly, it just makes robbing just that bit more convenient, he mused straining at the night sounds filtering through the haze. Grab them from behind, a quick slip of the knife from ear to ear, keep a hand over their mouth until they stop kicking. And then..? Well, plenty of time to pick through their pockets, and who needs to leave a witness to run to the night watch? Besides a man’s got to earn a living somehow. So, tonight, Gar lurked among the barrels and refuses at an alley entrance. Which one in the twisted maze of streets by the docks, he was not sure. But it stank of piss, dead things and rotting cabbage. Why do they always smell of cabbage, he thought absently his mind drifting through simple boredom. It was not a question he had an answer for, and it did not really matter, they all did, and besides, it masked his own fragrance. Pressed against a wall and hidden by the gloom, he was just another indistinct shape in the misty dark. It was the perfect hiding spot really, with a dense mist drifting in off the river Sil to soften the edges, dampen the sound and lengthen the shadows, the night could not have been more perfect for a robbery. Yet it had provided little chance to earn his living, Gar lamented adjusting his rope belt. His stomach was empty and growling, which went a long way to explain his less than usual caution as the hours stretched on with little chance to ply his trade. Close to giving up and hoping to beg a little change in the morning Gar took a sharp breath at the telltale click of boots on worn cobles. He had almost missed them in his musings, and the mist muffling the night. Sighing in relief, Gar focused as best he could as little butterflies of fear swarmed in his head and belly. Or is that just hunger? he thought his instincts balanced between flight or fight. But it did not really matter if it gave him caution. It paid to be careful regardless of the hunger, Shăr was a dangerous place after all. Hands pressed against the mist damp wall and knife at the ready, Gar crouched poised on the balls of his feet, muscles tensing and relaxing eager to get the job done and out of the damp. Straining against the milky lamp lit street, Gar could see little at first until a man a little over average height materialized from the mist. He had an unremarkable face except for the scar that ran from just under his right eye to his lower jaw. A hooded heavy grey woollen cloak worn to beat back the winter damp, covered short-cropped black hair, and ice blue eyes held an air of danger about the man as he moved with a fluid grace that only hard fighting men displayed. “Good, I need a new cloak,” Gar chuckled to himself missing the warning signs. Gripping his knife Gar counted the heartbeats as the man walked past before he lunged for his latest victim. And that is where it all suddenly went terribly wrong. Gar felt a very sharp sensation in his guts before he hit the ground with an explosion of air. Panicked thoughts swarmed in his head, as the last thing he would ever see arrived in the shape of a very long knife slammed into his throat with a crunch and wet smack. The man stepped back, looking around the street for more assailants. Upon seeing no immediate danger, he cursed. “Shăr, what a shit hole,” Kallus muttered as he shook his head catching the stench of the dingy alley. Crouching with a sigh of disgust, he cleaned the blood from his dagger on the thief’s cooling corpse. “Poor fool, you were probably expecting a drunken sailor or a merchant, not a war hardened veteran,” Kallus whispered giving the rag-clad cutpurses a crooked smile and tossing a small copper coin onto the former thief’s chest. “Ormü owns you all,” he whispered resuming his journey toward the river. |
| Sometime later, found him standing outside a tavern warm light spilling onto the foggy street through cloudy windows. Above the door hung a crude sign of a woman leaning on a keg tankard in hand. The drunken wench it read, just one of a dozen or more run-down taverns and alehouses along the wharf district with equally predictable names and equally awful ale. It was filled for what it was worth with local fishermen playing dice. Pipe smoke drifted heavy in the room much like the river mist outside and the air tasted like the inside of a moldy boot. At the bar, a short bald piggy-eyed fellow sporting an apron that at one time may have been white occupied himself cleaning a non-to clean mug with a cloth in no better condition than his apron. The man eyed Kallus as he entered the common room, looking for the entire world like a hermit crab that had lost its shell. "I only got ale, ain’t got no wine; it be two coppers, its young, and no food at this hour, drink it or not, you pay or be gone," the man barked in that predictable dockside pathos common to all wharf side taverns and bars. Kallus stared hard at the tavern keep until the man began looking rather nervous. "I would have expected a tavern to serve wine, but ale it is then," he said breaking the tension with a smile that never touched his blue eyes and radiated all the warmth of a winter river. Chuckling to himself Kallus found a seat in the back corner where he could watch the tavern door and as many of the occupants as possible. A short time later, the Tavern Keep dumped an earthen mug containing a suspicious oily liquid on his table. Kallus shook his head eyeing the Ale slowly coming to rest in the dirty mug. Bestowing the tavern owner with another icy look and he tossed two coppers on the greasy table which the man quickly scooped up and scuttled off with. Kallus sat observing the patrons for some time before the common room door opened and a slim form in a heavy hooded cloak entered the tavern. Two much larger men not doing a very good job at hiding the fact they were armed to the teeth followed the hooded stranger. Chăñ slave soldiers Kallus noted. Impressive to look at and a truly expensive purchase at the south gate market, but generally not very bright. His client had the coin it would seem. Scanning the common room, the trio picked their way through the tables of drunken and dicing patrons to him. "You are known as Kallus?” A soft melodious voice with just the smallest hint of a southern Shărrian accent asked. "My master has a job for you," the young woman sat placing her hands on the table. Kallus caught just the hint of a gold band around her delicate right wrist, ‘a female house slave and an expensive one no doubt so the client was a cast noble.’ Typical, the Shăr aristocrats would never demean themselves to come to a place like this, nor in fact risk it."What sort of job?" he asked in a level voice studying the two guards who simply ignored him. The slave gave him a half smile obviously noting his appraisal of the two Chăñ men, "My master bids you obtain certain items is all, and the compensation will be more than adequate I am told." |
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
