Through Knives, Through Scourge

[Oneiro]

(( Open to anyone having anything to do with or against the Scara Scourge
Takes place after Memento (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=12559) ))


The nomad's eyes gleamed hazily within the sunlight, his train of thought derailed as his gaze faded into and out of focus, caught by the foamy waves that diverged from the barge's bow as the ship cleaved the restful cerulean towards the distant island. So much water; to someone who had spent his entire life in the desert, the notion of a "sea" was entirely unimaginable, and yet here he was, only thick wood separating him from the endless depths below. It had caused him deep fear during the first days of their journey, but after spending a sickening amount of time in one of the barge's small, humid cabins, he'd finally sought to conquer his fright. Every day since then, he had spent large periods of time standing upon the very front of the deck, looking out over the wooden bowsprit, allowing his thoughts to drift away while his violet eyes rested on the unchanging horizon, unseeing. He had come to enjoy the strong, briny breeze ruffling through his densely packed attire, sending ripples through the fabric of the white cloth shielding his face from outside eyes.

The sky was cloudless, and although the sun was not as harsh as it had been on the Fallien mainland, its rays were too sharp to directly look into. Despite that, Rabyr knew that the fiery orb would soon reach the pinnacle of its crescent trail across the skyline. That was always when it started. He could already feel the peculiar jewel pressing against his chest grow heavier, deceptively slowly at first, but faster and faster as he tried to disregard it, pulling his neck down by the chain it hung from, like a child clawing for attention. His heartbeats came faster as he reached into the white, bandage-like cloth covering his torso, retrieving the Eye of Astaka from its cramped abode. The feeling of heaviness faded at the very moment the milky gem left his clothing, and the golden rim encasing it glittered innocently as Rabyr looked into the pale stone. Although the crystal had clearly been polished with great care, reflecting the sunlight in painful white glares, the nomad could not see his own reflection upon the glassy surface. It was strange, as though that space had long since been occupied by someone or something that now lay dormant within. As always, his intestines itched uncomfortably, yet he could not avert his eyes. Looking at the Eye was like an addiction; somewhere, you knew that it was bad for you, but once you had given in to the lure of its weight, it was impossible to stop.

Fortunately, the eerie tinge disappeared after several minutes, as though him staring at the jewel had caused its cry for attention to subside. Although he was silently relieved that the jewel had been satisfied for today, Rabyr felt used, drained somehow, as though the lifeless gem was feeding off his worries and leaving him only the senseless residue of fear that they had caused. With a sigh, he put the pendant back where it belonged, away from sight. As far as he could tell, the remaining passengers on this ship weren't of the most trustworthy sort, and though he was not as xenophobic as the average Fallien, he had few doubts that most of them would gladly grant him a sea man's grave to get their paws upon that strangely attractive crystal - the captain and his sailors included. While he fully trusted his capabilities with the steel scimitar shining behind his back, he was not as foolish to think that he would have a chance against more than one opponent, especially when the environment was wholly foreign to him in terms of strategy. The ship would wag and waver upon the slapdash of the waves, and the wooden boarding beneath his feet would be unsteady and slippery. No, it would be best to avoid offering the Eye to too many prehensile stares.

"Ah, mon ami, there you are." There came the other reason to keep the jewel hidden safely upon his body. The snake-like voice of Saunders Levelle still sent shivers down his spine. The gruff greeting had maniacal tone to it, poisonously cunning, murderously insane. He looked over his shoulder as the wiry killer approached, his tread sloppy and casual, his thin lips curled into a smile of fake friendship. In fact, in the short time that they'd known each other, Rabyr could not remember one occasion where Saunders had not smiled. He could smile while he talked, while he thought, while he drank, and while he fought. While he killed. Apart from a vague history of shady business in Fallien's Outlander's Quarter, the violet-eyed nomad knew little about the red-haired knifefighter, yet what he did know was more than enough to be extremely cautious around the pale man. Fact remained that Saunders was the only passenger other than himself that knew of the Eye of Astaka; indeed, the murderer had been there when Rabyr had stolen it from the thief merchant Yerodin, back in Fallien. He could still remember the greedy glimpse that the killer had profferred upon viewing the Eye. The nomad involuntarily twisted his chest away from his unlikeable companion, as though instinctually trying to protect the pendant.

"We shall be reaching the Scarabrian docks rapidement, monsieur Oneiro," Saunders continued with a strange mixture of heavily accented Common and a language that was delusively sweet-sounding. If he were aware of Rabyr's defensive posture and silent dislike, he did not react to it. "I have arranged transport into the city, to several informants of mine. I would like to advise you beforehand that it would be trés stupide to make any hostile movements during the journey. You are not an enemy, but not a friend either, and many of mes accomplices are not as trusting as I. D'accord?" Rabyr nodded stiffly, and without another word of warning, Levelle walked back to his cabin.

His departure left a gloomy veil over the nomad's mind. The closer they came to Scara Brae, the less he liked this alliance he had formed with Levelle. Back in Fallien, it had appeared the most thought-through course of action to take, but in retrospect, the decision might have been rooted in despair and confusion more than anything else. He vividly remembered the day he had returned to the desert with the Eye of Astaka, ready to provide it to the shamans of his clan as per their request, only to find that his tribe had vanished from the face of the desert. No trace of a journey, nor of a fight - as though the entire encampment had been swallowed by the sands. Days of grief had passed - he did not remember how many - before he had returned to the Outlander's Quarter, into Saunders Levelle's welcoming web of intrigue and shady dealings.

Even now, he could not think of any other way of travelling out of Fallien, but now that he lay wrapped up in Saunders's cocoon of crime, he realized that he should have looked harder. On the other hand, the darker aspects of his mind told him that thieves like Levelle often possessed information that the righteous lacked, or were unwilling to share. There was a chance that he would find the answers to his clan's sudden vanishing amongst the festering crowd that the murderer apparently surrounded himself with, and with nothing left to live for but that, it was a risk he was willing to take. His gaze steadied with determination as the island's contours became ever clearer. All around him, sailors were preparing to lay anchor in Scara Brae's crowded docks, arbitrarily screaming orders and insults at each other, disturbing the rhythm of waves crashing against the hull. Subconsciously, he put his grey-skinned hand on his chest, pressing his palm against the Eye.

Even if it means I have to drag myself through the Great Scorpion's lair, I will find you, my people.

Telanthus al. The words came in a language he did not understand. They weren't even his. But his thoughts were too focused on the task at hand to pay attention to the foreign, female voice whispering the compliment.

Well spoken.

[A Nony Mouse]

The four travelers traipsed their way toward the city of Scara Brae as the sun reached the horizon. Standing on the crest of the last hill before the city, the party was silhouetted by the sun at their backs. Drizaghar Maena’triel the drow scouted just ahead of the group; he was never very social and preferred the keep to himself rather than be with the others. Travis walked next, keeping the dark elf in his vision at all times so they wouldn’t be separated. The Halfling, Nicodemus, was usually near Travis. However, from time to time a certain plant caught his eye and he would stop to examine it and jot down notes in his ledger. Vana’driel was their vanguard; anything trying to attack the travelers from behind would have to deal with the half-gigas first. Travis had come a long way in the past year and a half. After his father’s urging that he leave and go adventuring, Travis had journeyed across many of the regions of Althanas. Raiaera, Fallien, and now Scara Brae; they had all held so many interesting people.

Travis looked over to where Nicodemus was prodding a small animal with his quill before vigorously writing in his small black ledger. They had met him on the banks of Valeena Lake a few weeks ago. He was a naturalist of some kind, traveling Althanas and creating a bestiary of sorts. His crossbow skills had been a great boon to the party, so no one had any objections when he asked to tag along. Apparently he had things to do in the city as well, so the companions would all try to find an inn together.

Vana’driel surveyed the scene in silence before offering his advice, “Too dark when get there.” The half-gigas didn’t speak Common very well, but the others could understand him so there was no real problem. “Stay at tavern?” The hulking brute pointed down the hill a little way where a small pub poked out from between the rocks.

“Sure,” Travis said. “We can stay there tonight and then head into the city tomorrow morning when it’s light out again. Let’s go.” And so the party made their way down the hill and toward the tavern on the outskirts of the city.

- - - - - - - - - -

They entered the tavern and were greeted by an unusual silence. A minstrel played softly in the corner, strumming away quietly and singing to himself. At one table there was a group of women, all intently whispering to one another about the juiciest bits of gossip. At another table was a group of black-clad men; all wore the leather accoutrements of hunters and sported curved blades on their backs. They were silent, surveying the room and sipping on their drinks. The only source of any entertainment came from the young man lounging at the bar with three women fawning over him.

“Welcome to Under a Rock,” the young man greeted them. His slick black hair swept over his eyes, slightly obscuring them from view. At his waist he wore a rapier and a dagger in worn leather sheaths. Any other armor he might own seemed to be stored elsewhere. His loose silk shirt was unbuttoned halfway down his chest and the nearest woman ran her hand across his muscles while he talked to the party. “There’s never much going on here,” the rogue continued. “But they have decent ale and cheap rooms. So if you’re looking for either,” he winked at Travis, “then you’ve come to the right place.”

Travis thanked him and strolled over to where the tavernmaster stood. “I need two rooms, please,” he told the short balding man.

“Well, that’ll be 50 gold per night per room,” the man answered. “How many nights you planning on staying?”

“Just for tonight, sir,” Travis replied. “100 gold then?” The man nodded and Travis motioned to Nicodemus. “Can you spare the gold for this?” he asked. “I seem to be a bit short…”

“No problem,” the Halfling told him as he loosened his purse strings. “Here ya go.” He slid the gold across the counter and the tavernmaster handed them two room keys.

“Let’s get some sleep,” Travis stated. “It’s gonna be an early morning.”

[Oneiro]

Landing a ship in the heavily congested docks of an island city proved much more of a challenge than Rabyr would have thought. There was not much of an open sea left to speak of - exploration vessels and trade freighters hovered upon the fickle waves left and right, and despite the captain's confident shouting of orders and knowing grin as he spun the barge's wooden steer left and right, the nomad was not wholly convinced that their nameless transport would make it to the other side of the man-made bay unscathed. Dusk sent fiery gleams over the crew, sweat pearling on chiseled bodies as sailors worked hard to preserve their precious ship, trading sails for oars now that they were so close to their destination. Apart from their captain, there were few men who spoke, even amongst those not part of the seafaring troupe. At the front of the ship, standing upon the tip of the bowsprit in perfect balance, he could see Levelle stare at the city with that indelible smirk still plastered upon his features. The nomad shivered. A hawk in tight, black attire, ready to swoop down at its defenseless prey.

No, not a hawk, the grey-skinned nomad thought after maintaining his observation for a little while longer. More like a crow.

He uttered a soundless prayer of gratitude to Suravani once their ship finally bumped against the concrete shore of the city. The surge of relief spreading through his limbs was echoed in the crashing of waves against the durable stonework; the sea behind them was steadily becoming rougher. Wishing fervently for the feeling of steady ground beneath his feet, he quickly made his way to the thick plank forming a narrow bridge between the vessel and the pier, the water below shimmering dangerously as the nomad set foot upon its creaking surface. Just then, he heard someone shout from close by, and something heavy slammed into his shoulder, almost hammering him through the boarding. He was turned around like a rag doll with a single movement, and suddenly he stood face-to-face with one of the scariest persons he'd ever laid eyes on. The sailor's hair was very short, and a spiky beard covered half of a jagged scar that ran along his tanned jawline. The brown eyes locking with his own were filled with rage.

"Eh... w-wha...?" the nomad stuttered as he staggered backwards in a desperate attempt to put some distance between him and the man, almost forgetting that it was only a thin strap of wood separating him from a dive into the sea he feared. The sailor's anger did not appear to recede because of his awkward position.

"Can't ye listn, landrat?!" came a renewed assault, complete with a bombardment of saliva that did much to disturb the precarious balance that Rabyr was trying hard to keep. "I told ye this ain't a free trip! Start payn' or start swimmn'!" When an astonished Rabyr gave no reply other than a wide-eyed stare that could easily be perceived as ridiculing, the giant crewman grunted maliciously and raised up a fist the size of a watermelon, obviously intent on setting his passenger afly all the way back to Fallien. What happened next completely defied the nomad's sense of logic. In a flash of gray and black within the dusk, Levelle's slender frame had leaped into the narrow space between his nomad associate and the indignant sailor. The giant screeched as his fist slammed against the killer's pale palm, and his face contorted into an expression of agony as Levelle made a waving motion with his blocking hand.

"Des problèmes, mon ami?" The smile was cold as frostbite; the voice was even colder. Only then did Rabyr see the vicious needles sticking into his attacker's knuckles, digging deeper and twisting torturously with the slightest of the killer's movements. There was not much blood, but Rabyr knew from experience that such innoticeable wounds were often much more painful than a standard flesh wound. A child with a knife could deliver you a flesh wound. Only a trained killer with a knife could deliver you this kind of torment. The sailor grumbled again, but it sounded as if something was stuck in his throat. Without a word, the huge seafarer retreated his fist and scurried away from the walkway. Smile unchanged, Saunders turned around to face the nomad, and patted him on the shoulder in a friendly gesture that he should be moving onwards - fortunately, the needles were gone from his palm, apparently having vanished into thin air.

Finally ashore, the two of them were soon joined by a duo of other men. Both appeared rugged and battle-ready, with black robes fastened around their bodies much like white bandages lay across his own. Rabyr could not see their faces. They could have been twins, born from shadow. Silence reigned for a moment. He could feel the eyes of Levelle's two associates fixated upon him, making him feel rather uncomfortable. The pendant beneath his clothing burned against his chest, as though it were translating his anxiety into physical discomfort. After a moment, the feeling faded, and though no word was uttered still, Saunders gestured them along, walking into the bustling crowd that made its business several yards from seaside.

His companions' lack of conversation, combined with the intimidating aura that their group exuded, made it that Rabyr had ample opportunity to scan around the wonders of the gigantic marketplace. They passed many merchants on their way, though most, like the townsfolk, cast down their eyes at the concrete as Saunders's predatorial gaze passed them, only resuming to appraise their myriad goods when the sinister band had well passed them. To Rabyr, many of the wares available were wondrous - back at home, he had learned how to best survive without water. Here, most vendors appeared to live off the sea surrounding them. Seafood, pearl chains, harpoons, and even a rotund man that sold complete fishing boats etched themselves into his foreign mind as they continued towards their destination in steady pace, wherever that was.

It was not long before the groups of buyers and sellers around them began to grow thinner, until they were eventually bereft from his sight as they turned into a broad alleyway that diverged from the main road into the city centre. Rabyr's attention shifted from the Scarabrians to their houses of stone, sturdy and permanent. To be surrounded by such stone structures fascinated him, for his existence had always been nomadic. Of course, if the sea brought resources to you instead of you having to go to great lengths to find them in your surroundings took away the need for travelling. Although many houses were ill-kept, Rabyr could not help but be impressed by the sedentary culture - so impressed that he almost walked straight into Levelle's back, noticing only very late that the killer had come to a standstill. Rabyr's attention returned to his shady party as they made a sharp left turn, entering a decrepit door, into the half-lite common room of a half-empty common room.

The unnamed inn offered them rickety seats away from others' ears, a small table in the farthest corner of the room. The nomad did not see why exactly they needed to isolate themselves; the patrons present seemed very much intent on pretending that the foursome did not exist, looking the other way whenever they thought that one of the shady twins, Levelle, or even he himself was looking at them. Saunders explained in low-pitched whispers that their transport would arrive first thing in the morning, a fact with which the two black-clad associates seemed very disgruntled.

"So, we're not wrecking the place, Kn... Levelle?" a surprisingly feminine voice came from under one of the hoods, the words disappointed but with a harsh edge. Although he was confused that the alleged female would jumble up her leader's name, the violet-eyed hunter was even more taken aback by the suggestion she made. She talked about destroying this inn as though she were speaking of the weather; casual and noncaring. The killer shook his head, his emerald eyes spiking into the shade beneath the hood in silent admonition. It was common knowledge in Scara Brae that the Scara Scourge caused havoc randomly in taverns all across the island, simply to provoke the City Guard, but the ignorant nomad sitting beside him did not know that, and he preferred to keep up his amicable-but-dangerous image for as long as possible.

"So, monsieur Oneiro, have a drink with us, avant dormir?" the red-haired man slyly changed the subject. He was not given much of a chance to reject the offer, and so it was that several minutes later he sat with a miniscule glass in front of him, containing a fuming, tar-black liquid that Levelle referred to as a Desert Trip - apparently, the three found it a very fitting drink, considering his background. He hesitated for a moment, but then decided that had they wished him dead, they had had enough chances to kill him already, and so he closed his eyes and threw the tarry drink into his throat, swallowing as quickly as possible. A millisecond later, his head lashed forward in violent coughing, tears obscured his vision, and his head seemed to be spinning in circles, however still he kept it. Roaring laughter rose in the background, but the hunter was not given a chance to ask what was so hilarious about choking, for another violent fit of coughing required his undivided attention.

Zet! The warning was sharp as a knife, cutting through his alcoholic agony with sudden clarity, and as if he could understand what had been said, Rabyr turned his head to the left, locking eyes with an obviously perplexed Saunders. The killer's spindly hand had halfway crossed the distance between them, but now hung still in mid-air. Rabyr could feel the weight of the pendant that had fallen out of his clothing and now swung violently beneath his bentover neck. It was a confusing scene, particularly because the stillness dragged on just a second too long. But then, Levelle patted him on the shoulder with the extended hand, as though he were simply checking whether he was doing alright. Rabyr could not quite expel the thought that there had been a different intent behind the movement, but then again, the burning aftereffect of the Desert Trip had likely clouded his judgment.

The momentary suspicion faded as the evening progressed. For thieves, both Levelle and the hooded woman sure had lots of interesting stories to tell, by far not all of them related to violence and murder. Despite his distrust of the three, Rabyr could not help but join in on the conversation every now and then, half enjoying the evening before they chose to retire for the night. They all had separate rooms. All the while, the nomad had noticed that the innkeeper, too, preferred to talk to them as little as possible. He'd not even asked for money, which the hunter found very strange.

Then again, different culture, different rules, I guess... was the last thing he thought as he lay on the stiff mattress in his chamber. He had largely forgotten about the incident earlier that night, and was once again looking forward to acquiring the aid of Levelle's sources in discovering the nature of his pendant, and the fate of his people.

Left!

[A Nony Mouse]

Travis awoke with a start. He lay in the darkness for a moment, trying to ascertain what had woken him. Tendrils of smoke drifted lazily through the air and the traveler sat up from where he had been sleeping. Tiptoeing silently across the room, he knelt down by the door. It’s coming from the hall, he concluded.

“Van,” he whispered to the sleeping brute. The half-gigas stirred and swung his feet over the side of his bed.

“What?” he asked as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes.

Travis crept over to him and motioned to the door. “Smoke.” Vana’driel nodded that he understood and rose quietly to his feet. Travis signaled to his companion and carefully opened the door. The hallway was filled with thick black smoke pillowing from the lower floor. As Vana’driel went to the next room to wake Nicodemus and Drizaghar, Travis made his way toward the staircase.

A groan coming from the room closest to the stairs frightened the adventurer. The door was ajar, so Travis used his pole to push it farther open. He saw no immediate threat so he walked into the room. The scene before him was alarming. The bed had been torn to shreds, clothes were tossed on the floor, and papers littered the room like leaves in autumn. The furniture was all overturned and Travis looked for the source of the moaning. It sounded again and he turned to see the young man from yesterday at the bar trapped under a table.

“Are you alright?” Travis asked him as he pushed the table aside. The man’s shirt was torn in many places and his face was badly bruised.

The man groaned again before responding, “Oh, I’ll be alright.” He chuckled but it quickly turned into a pained cough. “Bastards may have broken my ribs,” he conceded. “Help me up.” Travis offered a hand and the man took it, lifting himself to his feet. “I’m Brammas,” he told his rescuer.

Travis dusted himself off and surveyed the room, “I’m Travis… what happened here?”

“Those men in here last night were from the Scourge. They take great joy in sacking taverns around the city and causing a fuss. Seems I angered one of them so they beat me and burned the place. You been downstairs?”

Vana’driel walked past the doorway with Nicodemus and Drizaghar in tow, so Travis flagged them down. The five men gathered just outside Brammas’ room and exchanged pleasantries. “So are we going down?” Nicodemus finally asked.

Travis nodded and led the party to the tavern. The place was like a tornado hit it; chairs overturned or broken, tables on their sides, and broken glass everywhere. A few tables and chairs formed the remnants of the fire that had been set. The tavern was ruined. The bodies of the girls and the tavernmaster could be seen underneath some wreckage and Brammas and Travis checked their pulses. “Dead,” Brammas said and Travis confirmed his suspicions. The Scourge had killed them all.

The rogue straightened as best he could and sighed deeply. “We’d best head into the city now and warn the guard. The Scourge may be back and we’d best not be here. No sense in sticking around for the afterparty.” Vana’driel nodded solemnly and moved to the door of the tavern.

After the others returned from gathering their supplies, the five companions set out toward the city of Scara Brae, sorrow on their hearts and anger in their eyes.

[Oneiro]

The dark carriage's wheels groaned as the two chestnut steeds in front of it pulled it forward over the roadway. The sun had long since risen; their initial plan to leave for the thieves' safe haven on the outskirts of the Scarabrian capital as early as possible had been thwarted by the sudden doubling of City Guard patrols scouting the docks for Scourge activity, as if someone had alerted them to increased criminal activity in the area. Even though the inside of the carriage had been completely blocked off from sight, Levelle had been unwilling to leave during the lawkeeper turmoil, reaffirming Rabyr's suspicion that the killer was as wanted by authorities as he was feared by the common folk.

Het let his Drow-like eyes scan over the red-haired man's physique in silence. They had been sitting opposite each other for twenty minutes, but despite the dullness of their method of travelling, they had not exchanged a single word. Although the murderer acted very casually, letting his strange butterfly knife roll through all of his fingers with impeccable finesse, the pressing silence led the nomad to suspect that he was expecting complications before their current journey was over, no matter how well-disguised the two fellow thieves that sat upon the front of the carriage, guiding the horses. Realizing that there would not be much communication between them, Rabyr had subsequently attempted to keep track of where the carriage was going, but to no avail. It was as though they were purposely taking deroutes - at one point he could have sworn that they had made a left turn four times in quick succession. Probably on purpose - it made the nomad wonder whether the windows had been blackened not only to keep unwanted eyes from the outside out, but also to keep untrusted eyes from inside in.

An urgent knock on the cart's old woodwork pulled him out of pondering, replacing his curiosity with a sudden sense of anxiety. His intestines began to crawl while he eyed Levelle, whose knife had stopped in its tracks. The killer's emerald orbs shone with tension, though the nomad could also distinguish a certain sense of expectation within the green. Before their departure, they had agreed that three long knocks would be the signal for trouble - and in the Scourge's dictionary, 'trouble' was closely connotated to involvement of the City Guard. Seconds passed, and the carriage decreased its pace slowly, before coming to an unwilling halt. Commanding voices could be heard outside. Rabyr counted three, other than the authoritarian voice of the hooded female he had heard at the tavern last night. Their other, black-clad companion did not speak, nor did Rabyr know his voice, making the nomad doubt whether the man possessed a tongue at all. He rubbed his cheek with two fingers. Three members of the City Guard, and perhaps more that kept silent.

"Stop, in the name of the law!" the voice was harsh and haughty. Rabyr immediately imagined a youngster that had only recently joined the City Guard's ranks but, through influential family or high education, had immediately attained a rank of leadership that was neither reflected in his skill nor in his attitude. "In light of the increased, violent Scourge activity over the last few days, most notably the ransacking and burning of several taverns around Scara Brae, the City Guard has been ordered to investigate any suspicious vehicles journeying through the city and the nearby countryside," the man continued formally.

"But... but kind sir," came the female's voice, sweet as a rose petal, yet about as innocent as the same flower's thorn. "We are simply escorting elderly nobility back to the DuBoue barony. There is a long journey ahead of us, and m'afraid the lady is not feeling all too well. I doubt that she will forgive an intrusion of her privacy such as this, however necessary. We painted the windows black for a reason, you know." Her voice trailed away. Rabyr was not entirely convinced of her persuasive power, but apparently, nobility in Scara Brae held far greater sway over the policing force than the few and far between noblemen of Fallien, for her story went without reply for quite some time. He could hear buzzing in the background, as though the three guardsmen were discussing softly whether checking the transport would be worth the risk of exacting a nobleman's ire over themselves.

Half a minute passed before the situation changed; the voices seemed to be coming closer, though their volume remained unimposing. The female thieve's feigned pleas in the background were suddenly overvoiced by an other voice - a veteran voice that Rabyr knew would cause problems for them.

"Woman, orders are orders, and even nobility does not stand above Scarabrian law!" And with that, the door at Levelle's side was forcefully opened.

Adrenaline gulfed through the nomad's limbs - perhaps that was why time seemed to be passing in slow-motion. It was as though he were watching a replay of the awesome maneuverability Levelle had profferred during their quarrel at the shoreline, only this time with far more grisly results. Rabyr's hand had not half reached for his scimitar or the veteran that had opened the door dropped to the floor, his eyes blank as blood spurted out of a gaping wound in the side of his throat. Before the grey-haired guard had dropped to the floor, Levelle had already left a gruesome stroke of crimson in the lawkeeper's companion. The poor fellow desperately tried and failed to keep his guts inside his torso as he fell upon the pavement face-forward, spasming. Only then did the nomad himself spring into action, yet by the time he had jumped out of the carriage, the fading pattering of footsteps suggested that the third guard was running off into the distance, obviously intent on warning the whole of the Guard about their location.

"Hood!" Levelle shouted urgently, though he did not seem inclined to pursue the youngest guardsman himself. Rabyr looked around, confused, until his violet gaze was pulled back in the direction of the fleeing man, who was readily being overtaken by what seemed to be a beam of half-liquid shadow, oozing infinitely out of the hood of the man that Rabyr had though incapable of speech. The hairs on his neck stood upright, and he shivered. He did not know what this associate of Levelle's was, but deep inside the core of his humanity, he knew that this creature was an abomination, an antithesis of what life should be lived like. He averted his eyes as the haughty corporal's form was engulfed by the blackness, and even from this distance, the nomad could hear muffled screams as the darkness consumed him, burning through muscle and sinew, melting hair and skin, splintering bone into tissue-piercing shrapnel. When the prehensile shadow finally returned to Hood's hood, there was no trace left of the man.

The nomad returned to the carriage, followed by Levelle after the latter had wiped his knives clean against the uniform of one of the slain. Rabyr closed his hands around his ears as Hood repeated the gruesome process of consumption upon the two corpses, so that in the end, not a single particle in their surroundings suggested that slaughter had taken place here. The slouching sounds of eradication seemed to reach him even through the block. Although he knew Levelle was a murderer, and that thieves did not associate with the best of sorts, the events that had just passed made him nauseous. His skin was pale beneath the slate. He felt disgusted. Could discovering the nature of the Eye, the fate of his tribe, truly be worth all this? The weight of the guardsmen's lives pressed heavily upon his conscience as the carriage continued its journey.

[A Nony Mouse]

They reached the gates at dawn and were greeted by double the typical number of guards. “Halt,” the commanding officer stated as they entered the gatehouse. “What business do you have in the city of Scara Brae?” The guards all eyed Drizaghar and Vana’driel warily, thumbing the blades of their sheathed weapons. The officer strode confidently up to Travis and Brammas, grinning slightly.

“Officer!” Brammas saluted and grinned right back. “My friends and I would like to report an incident, sir.” Unused to such respect from someone he didn’t order about, the officer was visibly confused for several seconds. However, at the sound of a problem, he refocused and waved another soldier over to hear. “We were staying at Under a Rock and the Scourge razed the building. Killed three women and the tavernmaster,” Brammas told the men. “We got out in case they came back and immediately reported here. May we enter?”

The officer had already started barking orders, forgetting the party for a moment. Brammas took the opening to stroll past the outpost and into the city. “Come on fellows,” he beckoned. “Let’s get going.” It was a testament to how worked up the city was that even Vana’driel was able to sneak past the occupied guards.

Once inside the city walls, Travis began to appreciate just how advanced the conflict between the Scourge and the Guard had become. Soldiers marched down every street, stopping carriages and checking baskets. They patrolled the bazaar stands and stalked down the side alleys. Anyone seen wandering a little too long in one area was hauled off to the nearest guard station and questioned. The city was clearly in a state of total lockdown. Almost total lockdown, Travis corrected himself as he followed Brammas into the city.

“We’ll need to split up,” the rogue told them. “Vana’driel and Drizaghar attract too much attention. So Van, you’re on your own. Driz, go with Nicodemus and find out where the latest attacks have been. Travis, you and I are going to try and figure out what’s going on here; why are the Scourge attacking the city?” It was true, violent crimes in the city had nearly doubled in the past few weeks and it was all thanks to the efforts of the Scourge. Assassinations, arson, and assault had all been on the rise in Scara Brae and the crime syndicate was behind it. It all started when Lars and I found that logging camp, Travis remembered. Somehow these events were all related.

As the party went their separate ways, Travis and Brammas headed toward the docks. They had heard reports that the City Guard recently received word of increased criminal activity there last night. Where there were guards there were bound to be Scourge. They wove their way through the crowd, careful to avoid scrutiny as they moved toward the docks of Scara Brae. While they walked, Travis couldn’t help but wonder what the plan behind all this was…

[Taskmienster]

This thread has been sitting for a full year. Since no response has been made to create activity I am going to be moving this. If you would like it to be reopened please feel free to PM myself or another staff member and they will be able to move it for you back to Scara Brae.