Black Sun Rising: Frozen Dawn (Part One)

Black Sun Rising: Frozen Dawn

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    A cold wind sweeps through The City, rattling windows, rustling leaves, and chasing long forgotten piles of trash down the shoddily cobbled streets. Dark clouds hover overhead, obstructing the light from the moon and hiding the jagged mountain peaks that surround The City from view. Small puddles of water have frozen over, and, as would be expected in such foul conditions, there are very few people making their way through the streets; although this hardly differs from any other evening, this circumstance makes my work considerably easier.

    I am what most men would call a thief, rogue, liar, and swindler- as for myself, I prefer to be considered a...jack of all trades.

    A small group of young men passes by, their laughter echoing off of the stone buildings and their general lack of coordination suggesting that they have spent the evening drinking away their pay. I glance down at the paving stones and pull my hood over my eyes as we pass, careful not to let the men see the Mark that has been seared onto the flesh of my forehead. If those men, if anyone in The City were to notice that I bear the Mark of Justice they would not hesitate to signal for the nearest Squad and I would soon be fleeing for my life.

    To receive the Mark of Justice is a fate worse than death and for a criminal to survive more than two seasons after they are marked is near impossible; I received The Mark at the age of 20, caught in the act of looting the King’s personal coffers. Aye, I was a cunning young buck and after the branding I fled to the far East, to the land of spice and sensuality, remaining there for years until my operations were finally uncovered and I was forced to return to “civilization”. Upon my return I concealed The Mark and sought out guilds with which I could use the scar to my advantage- tactics that I learned in the Eastern Lands and that have saved my loot and life many a time. Indeed, I have seen man after man burned, skinned, or, perhaps the worst fate of all, delivered into the hands of a Squad after being too careless about displaying The Mark. To this day I have been able to elude even the Squad Leader himself simply by concealing my brand and paying heed to my actions.
 
    A smart thief is a living thief.

    You won’t find too many crooks like me in The City. Most of them have gotten caught in their own traps or picked up by the police; then you have the really dumb ones who cross the wrong people and show up in the river the next morning. Oh, there’s the few that make it long enough to build up a reputation for themselves but its only a matter of time until they get cocky, caught, and marked. There was one poor schmuck that thought he was good enough to steal from the police station in midday: his plan was to get arrested for public drunkenness and taken to the police station where he would then pick the lock, steal the goods and return to his cell, and be released in the morning with nothing but the customary scolding for first time offenders. The fool got arrested and picked his way out of the cell without a hitch, steals the money and various papers that he had been eyeballing, and returns to his cell almost scotch free. What the idiot didn’t account for was a change in common law- that particular district of The City had just gotten a new Sheriff that mandated all prisoners were to be kept for ten days and that full checks were to be performed on all prisoners and their cells every other day. I don’t think I need to explain how that hoist turned out.

    A handful survive being young and stupid and actually become skilled thieves, con men, and all around rascals. These are the men and women who make up the underground guilds of The City, as few as they may be, and usually the same men and women who are eventually caught and…exterminated by The Squad.

    Imagine your worst fear, something that would drive you to your knees in terror were it to appear before your eyes. Now imagine that that fear were stalking you, never stopping for rest, for water, for food….it will not stop, it cannot stop until you are dead and it can go on its merry way. You cannot hide, you will not be able to escape, you will not even be able to defend yourself, for that will only encourage the creatures of The Squad.

    No one knows what the creatures that make up The Squad are or where they come from- only that they can shift into any form they wish and that they cannot be harmed by any mortal weapon. They ride upon steeds of wind and water, and cannot be stopped by any physical barrier; they bear the Runes of the Forsaken and do not yield to any form of magic. Their weapons are purely elemental and are feared by even the greatest wizards and warriors of the land- even Set, considered to be the most skilled Battle Mage of our time, has been known to flee an area in terror when it becomes clear The Squad is nearby.

    Some claim that The Squad are beasts straight out of Hell.

    I cannot disagree.

    Even I, one of the most talented scoundrels in The City, am able to avoid The Squad only by way of sheer luck alone. I am not ashamed to admit that the sole reason I survived the last hunt was because the Squad Leader was distracted by the rustlings and footsteps of a small pack of wolves living in the very same ruins through which I was being stalked.

    Had it not been for the creatures I would not be alive today to help Lord Narrin with his overflowing purse.

    I slowly walk along the cobbled street, carefully loading the mini-crossbow hidden in my right sleeve with a water arrow. No need to cause a panic.

    I round a corner, making sure to keep my back pressed against the cold, wet stone and my body in the depths of the shadow cast by the balcony overhead. Before me lies the gate to Lord Narrin’s mansion, a single security patrol standing between me and entry into the grounds.

    I wait until the patrol has passed and has their back to the gate before I fire, extinguishing one of the two torches next to the gate. I quickly reload my weapon and fire again, hitting the second torch and throwing the area into darkness.

    The patrol passes by again, pausing briefly before the gate to comment on the extinguished torches, before continuing on their merry way. After all, it is not uncommon for the strong winds in The City to put out flames. Even large bonfires have been diminished by the powerful winds that blow through the wreched mass of stone and wood that I call home.

    The patrol is out of sight and ear shot.

    Without hesitation I spring forward, jumping when I reach the gate, and haul myself up and over the stone barrier, landing with a smooth roll on the other side.

    The game has begun.

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