There was something very strange about the air in Radasanth that night. It caught the attention of a curious nose like the whiff of a fire burning somewhere off in the distance, and brought to mind inimical images of either a well-tended hearth or a charred skeletal structure. With no breeze to stir it, the scent hung heavy, more pervasive with every step deeper down the dank alleyways. Despite it all, no one seemed to pay it much heed. The streets were alive with the cacophony of life. Merchants busied themselves packing up wares from vacant stalls, street performers juggled knives for cheering crowds, and the beggars sat where they always did to bray about in pointless, pitiable bickering. The most peculiar thing about the odor seemed to be how overlooked it was, as it seemed people were less bothered by it than the overcast sky above.

But one boy scorned the mundane that tediously trudged through their nightly routine. He scurried past guardsmen on their rounds, and further into the city’s heart he passed the sordid folk who kept their business to the shadows. Eyes stared out at him from every crack and hole in the wall, but he paid little heed to the silent watchers. He was fixated instead on the whirls of smoke that trailed off and forward from a pipe in his hands. Whenever the embers of the pipe would die down, he’d pull on it a few times to keep his mark clear and his head light. Ghostly wisps traced a path that darted the dim alley corners, leading him steadily onward through areas he could scarcely remember in the day.

The boy stopped as he saw a stack of crates near the rear entryway of a bar on the main street. Straining his eyes, he could just about make out the bloodstain where his head had met brick a week or so before. He checked behind his back and listened for the sound of footsteps, continuing on his journey a bit more aware and slightly worried at the prospect of meet that gang again. His pace quickened at the hovels and houses thinned out beneath the pedestrian bridge. The slums in this part of Radasanth had long been built up in the remains of an old riverbed, and just above stood less claustrophobic quarters, teeming with light and life.

The smoke from his pipe billowed straight into the air, and the boy muttered to himself in some senseless curse. He carefully stepped through the sordid mix of sodden earth and torn cobblestone before blindly feeling out one of the pillars of the bridge, and with a sigh and his pipe slipping through his teeth, started the tense upward climb he’d only ever managed to accomplish in the sunlight. This was a common way to explore the city without spending a needless hour on the street, and the prefered method of Radasanth’s less reputable citizens. Some thirty feet above, a narrow marketplace spanned the length of the bridge, connecting the law offices and apothecaries with more spacious homes, all without having to bother seeing the more seedy streets below.

By the time he’d reached the top, the boy could scarcely hear the din of crowds above the own pounding of his heart. He stood to stretch his throbbing arms and legs, taking a brief pause to breathe before setting out again with his ephemeral guide to lead the way. He ignored the glowers of the well-to-dos who guarded their pockets more tightly as he passed them by, until he found himself just outside a rather unassuming inn. Made of a patchwork of different colored gray stones, topped with a thatched roof complete with the picturesque chimney on top, he saw the fingers of smoke slip slowly beneath the gap in the door.

“Gods willing, here and no further,” the boy thought, weary from his nocturnal traversing. But he knew that no matter how tired he felt, there would be no sleep until he finally figured out what disturbance hovered in the city.