Child of Darkness
"Beneath the city, the belly of Ettermire groans with a growing population of grotesque and violent sewer-borne creatures. Late night disappearances have become alarmingly common and the residents are beginning to notice that something isn't right. With some digging, one might discover that this new problem isn't mere coincidence; something has affected the urban fauna, which means someone must be at fault."
Rumor had it that a self-proclaimed fairy princess had set up shop above Moody's Ale Cellar down by the river in Radasanth. This would normally have been of no interest to Luned, especially seeing as she rather disliked the company of Resolve's rough-and-tumble crowd of drunks and prostitutes, but this quirky fey had a valuable talent: blink-of-an-eye transportation to any region and most major cities on the face of Althanas. The scribe needed to get to Ettermire and, after haphazard travels over the past year, she was inclined to take any shortcuts available, even if they required her presence at a brothel.
Prompt for her early evening appointment, Luned climbed the steps to the second floor above the bar. She knew the plain but clean main hall well, having visited her student several times before. Ahead was a second flight of stairs to Resolve's third floor apartment, to the right was the client entrance into Rosie's renowned parlor of trinkets and tricks, and to the left, what was once a coat closet was now labeled with a freshly painted sign in perfect gold on black block lettering:
Knock once for coat check
Knock twice for Princess Agnie Lar
Pale knuckles rapped at the door once, then twice, and with impressive promptness, the door opened. Behind it was a short, voluptuous blonde –– no, her hair wasn't blonde, that was certainly an inhuman gold, almost metallic in quality –– rosy and beaming, peering up to the scribe with anticipation. Luned wasn't surprised to see that behind her, instead of the musty contents of a rarely used closet, was a sunny, posh sitting room with foreign decor in gilded, luscious pinks. She was ushered in, door closed behind them. "Did you bring what I requested?"
"Ah, yes," Luned replied as she dug through the pockets of her coat. One of the quirks of Princess Agnie's service was the fact that she had little interest in standard monetary compensation and generally had strange demands in exchange for her service. Fortunately, the scribe was in a business that was equally valuable to a quick-traveling extraordinaire, and they were able to work something out to the satisfaction of both parties. She extracted a thick little envelope and handed it over. "There."
"Ooh, excellent! This will make things so much easier," the fairy accepted with busy hands, opening the package to reveal a substantial amount of plain standardized receipts with designated fields for names, dates, times, and locations. "Shall we test one now?"
With a nod, Luned extracted a fountain pen –– a most precious souvenir from her last visit to Alerar, she swore she'd pick up several more while she was there –– and handed it to Ags. "Luned Bleddyn, then today's date, location of origin, and destination, Ettermire. We both sign the bottom. Doesn't mean much, but I find folks like things to look official."
"You are the expert, after all," Agnie cooperated with ill-concealed glee, scribbling the information down in swooping cursive. Luned could often read personality through handwriting, and the fey's certainly fit.
"Now tear off the top layer, what you wrote should've copied through, and keep it. Give the second to me." Luned accepted her copy and the pen then demonstrated by ticking the corner, of which an identical twin mark faded into existence on the companion receipt. "When I'm ready to return, I'll request my pick-up on the ticket. Don't forget to check it often."
"Ooh, how clever!" Ags all but skipped over to a prepared wall of her parlor, many-layered, ill-matched skirts flouncing with each step, and tacked it in a highly visible location. Once satisfied, she turned and waved Luned back toward the door with a jingle of belled anklets. "Alright, then, you're free to go."
"Ah, I was looking to travel today, actually," Luned hesitated.
"I know." Either impatient or overenthusiastic, Agnie guided Luned firmly by a hand on the back, opened the door, and before she could think twice, the scribe was shoved through and it was closed and latched behind her. "Have fun!"
In the blink of an eye, as promised by way of advertisement, Luned was, indeed, in Ettermire. Everything was different and, for a moment, it threw her for a loop. The air quality was warmer and drier but laced with the pollutants of an industrious city in place of Radasanth's coastal humidity, and the intercontinental time difference caused her to squint unflatteringly in the early afternoon sun. She stood on a paved street in a vaguely familiar neighborhood, one she couldn't place off the top of her head, but a looming landmark tower blinked into focus against the smoggy sky as her eyes adjusted to the overcast light. Orienting herself, she realized she was close to the city center by just a few blocks, and that meant she was near her destination.
Gravebeard Cobbler & Sons was a tidy little establishment tucked away between a flower shop and a grocer just off one of the main streets. Its cheery yellow and green sign was welcoming, and Luned stepped through the front door to the creak of hinges and jingle of a greeting bell that was suspended via an intricate mechanism that disappeared into the ceiling and led, she believed, down into the basement. Inside was clean, some readymade products on display as samples of their work, boots and slippers and sandals in all the shapes and sizes one would expect of a reputable shoemaker.
In the back of the small shopfront was a desk and workbench occupied by an elderly dwarf, hunched over his project in impenetrable concentration. Luned approached and watched for a long moment as thick, stubby fingers manipulated a needle with such deft precision she was put to shame, rough hands gently stitching a vibrant posy on the toe of a soft white leather child's shoe. Immediately the scribe had respect for whoever individual this was, even if she was there for slightly unsavory reasons.
Luned stood before him and clasped her hands demurely in front of her, avoiding the temptation to fidget anxiously with the trim on her jacket, and cleared her throat in an effort to interrupt as politely as possible. Silence. She did it again.
Gravebeard sighed, setting down his work with utmost care on the countertop and looked up at Luned over his tiny, round spectacles. "Yes, I heard you. How can I help you, miss?" His voice was gruff through his bristly salt and pepper mustache.
"I'm here to pick up an order," she replied as naturally as possible.
He waited expectantly.
The scribe shifted awkwardly under his gaze. "The name's Arsal."
The cobbler's chair groaned as he stood with the grunt of a man with muscles stiff from long hours of work. Stretching, he hobbled toward a doorway that led into a dark hallway. When Luned didn't immediately follow, he glanced impatiently over his shoulder. "Orders are kept out back."
With a nod, Luned followed him into the corridor. There were several doors, but the one they took was expertly hidden in brick, a part of the wall which appeared to be the back of a chimney but yielded an entry as the dwarf summoned in a low voice. She was disappointed she didn't catch any of the words of that little enchantment. The steps leading down began in wood but quickly turned to stone and the portal closed behind them, though the passage seemed to contain some ambient lighting that kept their path visible. Their shadows crawled along behind them, slinking phantoms, and Luned felt a draft that chilled her in a way that reminded her just how sketchy this ordeal was.
As they walked in privacy, the dwarf apparently felt more chatty. "Haven't seen you before. Your first visit?" His voice echoed off the walls as the structure around them faded into a crudely carved tunnel. Luned estimated that they had descended about two stories.
"Yes," she replied, startled by how her voice sounded as it rang back at her. It was sharper than his and she dropped off nearly into a whisper. "But I was sent by an old patron."
Showing no interest in who this connection might be, Gravebeard halted at the landing at the bottom and knocked on the heavy wood door. A small window slid open at face level with the clack of iron and one golden eye stared out at them. "I imagine she's here for the latest shipment," the dwarf explained. The eye blinked at the scribe's freckled face, slot snapped shut, and the door opened. The cobbler hobbled back up the steps while Luned found herself ushered into what didn't appear to be a basement by any stretch, but a sewer.
"They're waiting just down there," the dark elf who kept security gestured, then bolted them in. "Don't wander off. Follow the torches." He didn't say anything else as he resumed his post, imposing frame leaning against the door with his arms crossed over his chest.
It appeared that this operation was founded in a forgotten corner carved out of Ettermire's endlessly complex sewer system, something which helped make it the most modern city in the world, but such a beast of a project over the span of hundreds of years lent to errors such as losing track of the many nooks and crannies. That was a convenient issue for organizations such as this, who needed secure and inconspicuous locations for storage and dealings.
As Luned started down the tunnel she noticed that there were many other open doorways that apparently led out into the rest of the honeycomb sewer system, and perhaps, she noted, other surface entrances, though she was specifically instructed to seek admission through Gravebeard's. She couldn't help but wonder what the other options might be, as well as speculate how many others had access to this particular space.
It was obvious where she was going even in the vague, shadowy dampness of the sewer. Lanterns studded the walls of the passage just far enough apart that she could see the smooth texture of the stone floor with every lonely, echoing step, washed out gray warming into a weathered tan as Luned passed each light. Up ahead, she noticed a glow emanating from one of the tunnels and knew it to be the place. With a deep breath she smoothed a crease in the skirt of her slate gray dress, then checked that her embroidered jacket was straight and crown of braids intact. Her appearance didn't matter, she was simply giving into routine in an effort to find any last inkling of confidence stashed away in her marrow, anything to feel less like a fish out of water. As an educated young woman she was good at many things, but her advanced ability to psyche herself out was by far the most vexing of her talents.
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