Going Pro: Step 1

[Wynken]

This takes place roughly a week following the adventures here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?20231-Via-Dolorosa&highlight=).

The office had seen only a week of disuse and already a small pile had gathered beneath the narrow mail slot which adorned its front door. Wynken had picked the lock, and he stepped over the deliveries on his way to the cluttered desk which occupied the center of the room.

‘Change the locks’, he added to his growing mental list.

Reaching the desk, and having closed the door, Wynken struck a match and held it to the wick of a small oil lantern. It hissed and sputtered until the flame had consumed the impurities of neglect and finally produced a dim yet consistent light. The space would have been considered a tiny warehouse or a sizable office. It currently served a dual role, each of which it failed in equal measure. Mounds of paperwork threatened to topple from every working surface, and the cramped racks of stored goods made Wynken uneasy even at a distance. The place was as he remembered it, and he was certain that no one had been there since he and Caspar Althalos retreated those nights ago. The shards of broken glass from the fallen bottle of Coronian whiskey still littered the floor, the scent of which mingled pleasantly with that of the sweet must of parchment. Even the shipping record he had presented to Caspar remain unfurled upon the surface of the table.

Spying the document, Wynken recalled the events which had first brought him to Radasanth’s southern river district and, ultimately, to stand before Caspar’s desk. He had lifted the shipping records from some meddlesome thugs in Underwood’s Peaceful Promenade. They contained details of a high profile smuggling operation, which Wynken had used in order to blackmail Caspar into a partnership. At the time, Wynken was certain that Caspar would rescind the moment the opportunity presented itself. However, the merchant never returned after the night of the delivery. His body had been found and he was publicly declared dead only that very morning. It was Caspar’s death which ended their deal, practically before it had even begun. As such, there was no formal paperwork establishing their agreement. Yet.

The chair squeaked as he sat, and the lantern popped violently as the last of the trapped air was expelled from its wick. Grinning, Wynken ran his fingers over the various leather bound volumes which no doubt contained records of historical business activity. He opened each one in turn, but pushed them aside displeased. He needed to act quickly, yet with purpose.

“Where are your accounting records”, Wynken asked rhetorically of the otherwise empty room. The last thing he wanted was to go through all this trouble only to inherit a sizable debt. He scanned the shelves and other tables until trying the single drawer which was fashioned into Caspar’s desk. Its small lock resisted, but Wynken had already produced his set of picks in anticipation of the mild inconvenience. Ten seconds and a single twist saw the simple 4-pin lock defeated, and the drawer’s meager latch clicked gently into the open position. The contents were not at all as those of the remainder of the room, neat and organized. Wynken had no trouble finding Caspar’s financial records.

Skimming the balance sheets confirmed Wynken’s suspicions. Caspar had operated a legitimate, albeit small, shipping trade. It wasn’t profitable, but it managed to pay for itself. The real revenue came from the illegal smuggling operation, the ledgers of which had been cryptically written into the books under various suspect headings. Wynken hadn’t the time or knowledge to perform a full audit, but the finances looked to be in good standing, including a manageable loan which appeared to have been issued by a local Thayne temple. The final column listed the cash on hand to be seven hundred gold pieces.

‘Find the safe’, took its place on Wynken’s list, but he had more important business. Doing his best to maintain some semblance of order, he began the daunting task of gleaning as much information as would be possible from the disheveled mess that consumed the office. Just one more step in the rebuilding process.

[Wynken]

The sun had not yet risen. Still the sky was streaked with the red-orange hues of dawn which coalesced with the deep colors of the Niema as they danced upon its flowing surface. Few fishermen would line its banks so late in the season. Only the most veteran and the most desperate would trouble themselves under normal conditions. However, many of the river fish would have stirred due to the light rain which had persisted throughout the evening, and so the city’s sleepy and downtrodden river district had awoken once more.

Wynken hadn’t slept, had barely turned from the desk whereupon he toiled to connect the fragments of available information. His longest respite from the parchments which still overwhelmed the room was in finding and breaking the small safe, which Caspar had hidden beneath the flooring under his desk. As the financial records had indicated, it contained 700 gold pieces worth of coinage, a promissory note issued by The Grand Temple of Draconus, in addition to deeds for the office and a moderate warehouse across the river.

Though much of the room remained unkempt; stacks of records, reports, and correspondences began to take shape around the space where he sat. As the sounds of morning spilled into the building from the many taverns and tackle shops down the lane, Wynken looked up to assess his progress. Peering around the still disheveled room, he rubbed his face and took a swig from the unmarked bottle he had scavenged from the office’s warehoused goods. Its glass was dark and the contents harsh enough to strip the tarnish from weathered silver. However, Wynken looked at it with gratitude as the potent drink had kept him warm through the night despite the chill which had been carried upon the rain.

With one final lift, the last drops poured from the bottle and scratched the back of Wynken’s esophagus as if he had just swallowed glass. Gently, he set the bottle aside and lit a cigarette, allowing the smooth herbal smoke to soothe his throat before returning to his work. He had taken the time to commit a task list to paper, which he skimmed again in order to refocus his thoughts. ‘It’s coming together’, he thought in scrutiny of the plans which had materialized.

He had worked diligently through the mess of paperwork to identify Caspar’s shady dealings and, more importantly, the unsavory individuals who facilitated them. Wynken had gleaned enough experience from his street-bound adolescence to understand the importance of a solid network, and he had pieced together a handful of leads. One man in particular, a scribe who was practically on the monthly payroll, had piqued Wynken’s interest. Surely the city of Radasanth would regulate the shipping trade. Smuggling goods up river into the capital of Corone would require licensing, certification, and reports; all of which would require the signature of a dock warden or some similar official…all of which would require a forgery.

Wynken extinguished his cigarette and picked up the scrap of paper in his free hand.

“Tobias Damocles”, Wynken read the handwritten signature aloud. It had been carelessly scribbled onto a formal parchment from Radasanth’s chapter of the Knowledge Keepers, a sect of scholars who charged themselves with the maintenance and perpetuation of written works. It was the same name and organization that Wynken had seen in Caspar’s ledger. With a smile, Wynken slipped the note into the pouch upon his belt and then emptied the vault of its contents before resetting its lock. With great care, he opened the office door a crack and looked out into the street. Finally confident that no one looked on, he slipped out and head north into the city proper.

[Wynken]

It was still early morning when Wynken had arrived to stand casually in the peaceful courtyard of the great temple. The clouds and wintry air of the previous evening had been dispersed, giving way to a brilliant blue sky whose flawlessness was broken only by the crisp yellow orb of the Sun. The skin on Wynken’s face tingled subtly under its warmth. One could easily mistake it for a morning of late spring rather than late autumn. Birds chirped as they bathed in an ornamental fountain depicting a reptile-like creature stoically holding back the forces of nature, and the only other noise to be heard was that of hushed voices as more and more people gathered before the backdrop of the temple to enjoy the grandeur and tranquility of the day.

Wynken absorbed his surroundings, taking in as much detail as was possible, but not because he wished to savor the beauty of that blissful moment. He was there on business, evaluating the landscape and the building’s opulent exterior architecture which flowed with white limestone buttresses, pillars, and an uncountable array of ornamental stone carvings. Several well adorned windows and balconies opened to the building’s upper floors, and the walls of the courtyard appeared to contain similar entrances. The temple, well within the city walls of Radasanth, had been built for aesthetics and not to be easily defensible.

Nevertheless, as was customary throughout the lands, the temple housed the surplus wealth of its patrons and apparently issued loans on those deposits. The sacred and holy nature of the grounds were deterrent enough to keep some would be thieves at bay. Of course, the truly security conscious were put at ease by the fact that combat-trained monks and spell wielding priests perpetually inhabited the temple.

Wynken smiled courteously to a passing cleric as he made his way up the stairs and toward the entrance. He could see, through the large oaken double doors, that the building’s interior was no less grandiose than it was without. As he stepped into the large anteroom, Wynken’s hair bristled in the transition from the outside warmth to the cold which had not yet been released from the building’s masonry. His nose was pleased, however, by the scent of hearth baked bread which seemed to fill the entire temple. It was a much welcomed change from the foulness of dead fish and river runoff which plagued Caspar’s office and the whole of Radasanth’s south side.

“Why, hello there.”

Wynken had hardly entered before being met by a slender young acolyte. The boy bounded up to him with confidence and offered a gesture of salutation, nearly tripping upon his long, customary gown. Still, though his voice was meek and his actions awkward, he was not without conviction.

“How can I, um, what brings you to the temple on this fine morning”, the lad asked with a smile as he continued to fuss with his garment. He appeared calm and his eyes never wavered though his cheeks were blush with embarrassment. Though he thought it misguided, Wynken quietly applauded his discipline.

“Who would I see if I wished to place a sum of gold on deposit here?”

The boy’s nose crinkled in thought before he finally offered, “Well the temple’s treasurer, Brother Marko. He usually would tend to such matters. However, he has recently taken ill.”

“Pray tell, what ails him? Oh, I trust that he will be alright.” Wynken feigned concern, making perhaps too concerted an effort to appear genuine.

The boy snickered slightly in dismissal. “Surely! He has only a slight fever. He is getting plenty of rest, and the priests tend him day and night.”

“Well, I could think of no better place to stage a recovery.”

To that the boy nodded agreement and smiled anew. He thought for another moment, allowing a brief silence. “Perhaps his assistant, Brother Abel, may help with your request?” Without hesitation, the lad spun and started down the westward corridor. “Come, we will see”, he said with a wave, bidding Wynken to follow.

[Wynken]

The sword on his hip, the wicked Mirror Root, hummed contentedly within Wynken’s ears. Its blade, once perfectly polished to cast a flawless image of its wielder, had been entirely consumed by an unrelenting tarnish. Such was its nature, as it now instead reflected Wynken’s twisted soul which its own power had wholly consumed. His memory and his personality had been entirely erased, and each of his actions were guided by lies – subtle recollections of a past that had never been. And so, as he followed the boy deeper into the temple, Wynken was committed. The sword’s intimations merely echoed his own desires. His longing to return to a life of murder and intrigue could not be denied, and he burned to fulfill his destiny as a feared and fearless mercenary.

Though the chill remained, the scent of bakery subsided as the two stepped past several offices before coming to rest at the entrance of a small waiting chamber. Quickly, Wynken released the hilt of his blade, which he had been toying mindlessly.

“Have a seat”, the boy beamed. “I’ll inquire of Abel. Err, Brother Abel.”

In a few short moments, the youth’s jubilant face peered out from the room’s back doorway which led further into the temple. “He says that he’ll see you now”, came the docile voice followed by another waving gesture. “I’ll take you to him, but then I must return to my duties.”

Brother Abel was a tall and solid man, nearly the opposite of the rotund and cherubic image which one recalls when they imagine a priest. Healthy locks of ruggedly brown hair lay upon his shoulders which were each ornamented with highly polished plates of golden mail. His white robe opened at the front to showcase a magnificent breastpiece bearing the standard of the Dragon God, Draconus.

Wynken sat, in a comfortably upholstered chair, before a large desk crafted of imported woods which had been sanded and oiled to a high sheen. To this point, the temple’s architecture and décor had been expectedly opulent. It was almost mechanical, unmoving, in its display of wealth and prosperity. This room, on the other hand, was luxurious.

Wynken observed the priest, who tended some paperwork near one of the many sets of locking drawers which lined the room’s eastern wall. Across the way, there hung a brilliant tapestry, the dimensions and hues of which complimented the gaudy cabinets perfectly in order to maintain an artistic balance.

“I apologize for making you wait.”

Abel’s voice carried a genteel sincerity as he closed the file and took his place on the other side of the desk.

“As you’ve likely guessed”, he continued with an exaggerated chuckle, “it isn’t often that Brother Marko requires me to suspend my typical responsibilities.”

“It’s no trouble at all”, Wynken replied with a smile.

The priest shuffled some items on the desk, in part to get his bearings within the workspace normally reserved for his co-clergyman. “Rork said you have some gold to entrust here. Have you established terms with us previously?”

“No sir. I had hoped to do so now.”

Abel pursed his lips, furrowed his brow slightly, and nervously continued to rummage through the tidy belongings of Brother Marko. “I was afraid you may. I’m not very familiar with the process.”

“Well, I have other, more complicated, matters that I’ll save for another day. Though I don’t have terms now, I fear that I’ll be conducting a great deal of business here over the coming days. Not that I wouldn’t like to do business here, mind you. Only I’d wish to do so under less regrettable circumstances.”

The priest paused to give Wynken a quizzical yet concernedly well-meaning look.

“Forgive me, but I shouldn’t speak on the matter. Even now, I am on my way to confirm the details, lest I act with imprudent haste.”

“Of course”, Abel nodded in understanding. “Now, if only I can find the proper form.” He renewed his rummaging, determinedly opening and closing desk drawers until he had finally produced a small card, which he slid across the desk to Wynken along with a quill.

“I hadn’t even taken your name”, Abel remarked with a sigh as Wynken began to fill out the requested information.

“Castille. Castille Alton”, he offered with a grin.

The form was short and Wynken soon slid it back across the desk whereupon Abel looked it over and nodded in acceptance. He stood and took a step toward the cabinets before Wynken interjected.

“I’ve another question that may save you a trip.” He waited for the priest to sit before he continued. “I’m considering the declaration of a beneficiary." Wynken forced a solemn tone upon his voice, "I may be claiming an inheritance myself and so I should likewise leave it in the care of another, should anything befall me. Would it require a separate form or would I make the notes there?” Wynken pointed to the small card which the priest now held in his hand.

Abel considered the question for a moment, searching his memory for previous experience. “As I recall”, he stated slowly, “it requires a separate written notice, but not a formal, issued certificate. Any letter signed and authorized by yourself would do.” His visage lightened as he grew in certainty. “Yes. That’s right, but you couldn't do it now. The other party must be present, and the notice should be signed by a witnessing treasurer.”

Wynken smiled in a show of appreciation, and he placed 200 gold upon the desk. “Then this will conclude my business for today.”

Satisfied, Abel walked to the filing drawers and ran his fingers over several, reading their markings. Finally, after some time and a great deal of bashful harrumphing, the priest unlocked one with a key from his ring and placed the signed card inside. The files were merely informational, housing the temple's constituents names; deposit amounts; and the location of said deposits in the vault. Wynken took care to plot the location as a point on a grid.

‘Two down and four over from the left.’

As Abel's back was turned, Wynken also seized the opportunity to silently slide a note, which bore Marko's signature, from the treasure's desk, and he quickly concealed it within the folds of his cloak.



Walking back into the temple's grand foyer, Wynken nodded to Rork, who was greeting another patron as he passed. “Have a blessed day”, the lad called, and Wynken grinned from ear to ear.

"It's shaping out to be", the assassin cooed to himself before spinning to address the boy. "I haven't the time now, but were I to extend my well wishes to Brother Marko, would I find him in the infirmary?"

The boy snickered once again. "He has a permanent room above his office, but he isn't accepting visitors."

"Be sure to tell him to get well".

And with that, Wynken stepped out and into the courtyard.

[Wynken]

Shade crept lazily over the lawn as the sky's solitary, cottony cloud momentarily eclipsed the noonday sun. Looking skyward, Tobias regarded it casually from the place where he sat enjoying his lunch.

“Nothing beats a good book and a good biscuit”, he remarked aloud as he brushed a smattering of crumbs aside and turned the page.

It wasn’t often that the book bound scribe would welcome such a work day distraction, but this day he had made an exception. The weather was unseasonal and likely the last bit of warmth before the cold swept down from the mountainous north. However, more than he desired to bask in the final whispers of another summer past, Tobias needed a brief escape before his afternoon meeting. The sage forced a smile, but only wished that he could truly enjoy the grass which tickled the tops of his sandaled feet. He always loathed filling contracts for The Empire.

The Knowledge Keepers were not merely a collective of scholars, archivists, and historians. Through their years of dedication to written information, they had developed sound processes, powerful magic, and practical equipment for the mass production and translation of literary volumes. To The Empire, this made the sagely group the perfect vehicle through which to disseminate propaganda, and, every so often, a representative would come to secure another contract. Tobias often wondered if the meetings weren’t just as much a test of fealty. Tucking a ribbon into the binding to mark his page, the scribe closed his book and gathered the remainder of his modest belongings. The sun had not yet risen to its full apex, and Tobias desired to have still more time to prepare at his desk.

It was a short walk to the building which housed the Knowledge Keepers - a small but elegant single domed cathedral. Being the newest addition, Jarod, a portly young apprentice, occupied the greeter’s desk of the public establishment. Frustration showed on his face as he worked to transcribe a particularly difficult document, which the Keepers reserved for the strict purpose of torturing new apprentices.

“Still working at that are you”, Tobias chided playfully as he entered the hall.

Jarod had been so immersed in the intricacies of the tiny – likely entirely fabricated – symbols that he hadn’t noticed the presence of the older sage. He startled at the sound, causing his implement to jerk and tear a jagged run in the dry parchment.

“Ooo, blast”, the boy moaned instinctively. The old sage had begun to chuckle and meant to continue his good-natured teasing, but, having recovered from his initial shock, Jarod recognized Tobias and gave him an unexpectedly somber glance.

The apprentice delicately leaned over his desk. “There’s a man in your office”, he said in a whisper as though the mere mention of it may conjure some great calamity.

Tobias straightened immediately and ceased his snickering. “I wasn’t expecting him until later this afternoon.”

He spoke for his own benefit as much as for Jarod’s, but he dared not display his disappointment. He would be a gracious host, no matter the circumstance. Their relationship was one-sided, and The Empire held all of the power.

“Be a good lad and ready a tray of assorted beverages and cakes. I’ll summon you shortly.” The boy nodded and eagerly disappeared into a small hospitality room.

[Wynken]

As he walked to his office, Tobias nervously fumbled with his robe as he gathered his wits in mental preparation. He had done well to hide his fear from Jarod, masking it under the guise of professionalism. The apprentice didn’t know – he couldn’t know, not yet – but the Knowledge Keepers played a dangerous game. The political pressure and might of The Empire forced them to betray the cause to which they subscribe in heart and soul. In a moment of weakness Tobias resigned the group to shamefully profit from their role in tyranny.

However, the Viceroys of The Empire weren’t the only ones to recognize the potential of the scholarly group. Tobias soon found a way to justify his inability to fight for, what he believed to be, justice, and so his Knowledge Keepers became double agents – serving both sides of the brewing civil conflict. It came with a cost, of course, and the entire mess weighed extremely heavy on the mild-mannered student of literature.

With one last steadying breath, Tobias stepped into his office. “How can I be of service to the Emp –“, he blurted, cutting himself off at the sight of the strange, rugged looking individual who stood behind his desk.

With his business at the temple completed, Wynken had shed the facade of pleasant normalcy and resumed his natural appearance and demeanor. His eyes had narrowed and lips straightened into their typically cold grimace, and his cloak hung open to expose his sleek leather vest and the menacing sword which rest at his side. His hands were calmly folded in front of himself, and his arms casually lay atop the hilts of his weapons.

When he had begun the day, Wynken had thought Tobias to be a greedy aristocrat, seeking low-risk adventure and supplemental wealth through abetting criminals the likes of Caspar Althalos. Having rummaged through the man’s tidy and modestly adorned office, Wynken now thought otherwise. Aside from a handful of ancient tomes, there were no fineries within the room. A stack of papers rest on an old wooden writing desk, and Wynken had begun to wonder if he lacked the bargaining pieces necessary to maintain the working relationship that had perhaps come and gone.

“Who ah, what do you want”, Tobias stammered as he failingly tried to compose himself and take control of the situation. He wasn’t accustomed to entertaining dark characters, and certainly not when he expected a refined and distinguished (yet intimidating just the same) agent of The Empire in their stead. One thought lingered within his mind as it considered the meaning of the man’s presence.

‘They know.’

Though he cared none at all for his fellow man, a portion of Wynken’s livelihood was owed to an ability to judge the emotions and intentions of others. A shift of the eyes, a tremble of the voice, and a murmur of soft boots tending their wearer’s weight in the direction of the door. Wynken could tell that the sage was perhaps too intimidated.

“I’ll not take much of your time”, Wynken offered as he reached into the folds of his cloak.

The blade of a throwing knife became visible, and Tobias' fright got the better of him. “Jarod!” He yelled, turning for the door.

At that moment, the young acolyte had slipped into the doorway bearing the previously requested refreshments. “Yes sir”, he had begun to say before the two collided in a comedic jumble of hot teas and pastries. Wynken merely shook his head as he produced a large sack of coins.

“I’ll not require any tea, Master Tobias”, Wynken said in slow and even tones as he dropped the gold loudly upon the rickety wooden desk. The sack’s tie loosened under the weight of the fall, spilling some of its contents which jingled loudly upon the tiled floor and scattered this way and that. One coin rolled in the direction of the sage and struck him gently upon the nose. Tobias floundered a moment to before placing his feet beneath him once more. Confused, and still half expecting to feel the weighty pierce of a cool metal blade, Tobias looked to Wynken and tried to think and operate rationally.

“Run along, boy”, Wynken instructed poor Jarod, who was huffing and brushing himself clean of hot liquid. “We have business to discuss.”

Jarod cast a glance at Tobias who reluctantly nodded his agreement. “Go on, but don’t stray far”, he said while eyeing the mess and the strange man.

“I’m sure you’re aware of the death of Caspar Althalos”, Wynken stated plainly after the young sage had exited. The recognition in the scholar’s eyes told him all that he needed to know, and so Wynken continued. “Being his business partner, I’ve come to commission a job.”

Both men eyed the handsome pile of gold coins. Wynken hadn’t anything else to offer, aside from threats to expose his dealings with a small-time smuggling ring. Blackmail would be a dangerous route to take, considering the nature of the work which he required.

Tobias too was not free of uncertainty, as he had never known Caspar to take a partner. He wondered how much Wynken understood of their agreement and then thought of his pressing meeting with The Empire.

‘Does it really matter’, the sage considered to himself finally viewing the situation for the blessing that it could be.

The Knowledge Keepers, and Tobias personally, would forge documents for Caspar, and, in return, the merchant would dedicate some of his effort and resources to smuggling various goods and information for the Rangers.

“Tell me quickly and tell me honestly”, the sage lowered his voice to a whisper. “If you have plans to continue Caspar’s scheduled shipping engagements, then I will continue to provide my services in return.”

Though he hadn’t yet finalized his plans for the Caspar's previous operations, Wynken smirked in agreeance and laid his documents upon the table. He needed only a few signatures. The details could be worked out at a later date.

Wynken pointed to the note from the temple treasury's office. “Copy this signature here, and just sign Caspar Althalos on this line”.

Smiling, Wynken gently rolled the completed declaration of beneficiaries. He shared a knowing look with Tobias and tried to judge whether or not the sage may harbor reservations. Sensing none, Wynken saluted and walked from the office..

[Wynken]

Looking upward, Wynken confirmed that the sun was still high in the sky. He paused to take in the splendor as the light of it glimmered upon the many white-domed cathedrals which were crowded into the blocks surrounding the city’s prestigious guild of wizardry. The magnificent hall lay directly ahead, as it loomed over the relatively diminutive building of the Knowledge Keepers. Indeed, even at a distance, the mighty spires of the guild hall could be seen over the tops of the tallest towers in the area. To Wynken, it all represented opportunity.

There was business still to tend before the market vendors packed their wares and the shop keeps locked their doors. Still, Wynken thought it more pressing to satisfy his suspicions. Although he hadn’t spoken a completed thought, Tobias had betrayed too much information, and Wynken knew enough to surmise that the sage had been expecting someone else. Someone from The Empire. Patting the rucksack which now housed the forged and verified note, he smiled to himself as he observed the Keeper’s dome from across the busy street in Radasanth’s University District.

‘What are you getting yourself in to’, the killer wondered with a grin as he imagined the possible roles which Caspar may have once filled - none without risk but all rich with the promise of power.

Robed and finely dressed figures of every age continued to pass by as if they all had someplace important to be. Wynken hated them all, but burned with envy for their posh existence.

‘Soon’, he thought as he considered how it was that Caspar had never aspired to greater heights than a filthy office on the foul banks of poverty.

As his imagination wandered, Wynken pondered that the socio-economic difference between the city’s center and its agricultural fringes may never be more apparent. Every building in the affluent and scholarly district was overwhelmingly pristine. Each individual seemed to walk lighter, and stand straighter, than the river folk who wore their burdens as a cloak. Still, he noticed that many here smiled as though it were a mask and chuckled too heartily at the dry rabble of those in their circle. For all of their wealth and wisdom, it could hardly be said that they were better off.

Caught up in his thoughts, the brief few moments which had passed felt to drag on until the sight of a man moving toward the Keeper’s building arrested Wynken’s attention. He was short and of average build, in no way physically intimidating, but he wore a confidently smug grin. A look that was no doubt inspired by the standard of The Empire which his clothing prominently displayed.

Unwilling to risk open confrontation, Wynken decided that any further investigation would have to wait. The streets were busy and the alleys well lit by the afternoon sun, but the confirmation that Caspar’s previous deeds may have involved The Empire was valuable in its own right. He could be patient.

Content, Wynken stepped into the street once more and disappeared into the rabble. He turned away at the first cross street and cut between several buildings on his way to the city market. The bustle of the Coronian capital ceded and, for several blocks, he walked alone, save for an occasional passerby. Then, as quickly as it had diminished, the hum of activity returned, growing louder and louder even before the open market could be seen ahead.

The crowd there was much more ordinary, Wynken mused, as he basked in the familiar sights and sounds. Their speech was simple and more naturally intoned, and they moved with purpose that lacked haughty self importance. He found the bazaar’s scent to be an enjoyable blend of fresh produce and musty relics, which sparked recollection and stirred his instinctual desire to steal. Having spent his adolescence as a thieving street urchin, some of his fondest childhood memories involved a crowded, inner city marketplace. Wynken methodically picked his way through the center of the crowded square as he examined the vibrantly colored carts and tabletops of the various merchants. As he walked, he listened as vendors and their customers yelled out orders which carried and echoed throughout the market, becoming lost amongst the other voices which were also no more than indistinguishable noise. A street performer pulled a flaming sword from his mouth eliciting howls from the throng of onlookers who added to the chaotic din. A rogue could ask for no better setting.

However, unlike the visits of his youth, each motivated by survival alone, this trip was born of purposeful desire. Soon, Wynken came to a corner of the market which was filled by a single booming voice. Its owner stood atop a stool, a full three feet above the heads of his audience. He spoke commandingly and with confidence about various potions and tonics, and Wynken knew that he had found what he had been searching for. He had found an apothecary.

One private conversation and one hundred gold coins later, Wynken exited the market satisfied with the herbs he had procured.

“A little insurance”, he said through a yawn. He hadn’t slept the previous night and had another sleepless evening planned. It was still late afternoon, and so Wynken slipped into the first tavern he came to, ordered a room and a bowl of stew, and retired.

[Wynken]

The softness of silk linens gently tickled Wynken’s skin as he naturally roused himself from slumber and nestled in to the bed which he had commissioned. As a child rolling playfully in fresh fallen snow, Wynken turned over to lie upon his back and drew a deep breath. The flowery scent of lavender perfume was so strong that he could taste its sweetness upon the back of his throat, and it washed over him, cleansing his senses of the filth and squalor he had known in the days recently passed. Staring upward, he admired that the room’s vaulted ceiling was expertly designed, containing a particularly prolific recess just above the sizable bed. All around the room, dramatic and exquisite hues of velvet and violet accented the stately décor. He knew that it was a fleeting fancy but, for a moment, the malevolent killer bid himself to lay in indulgence - vulnerable, and genuinely enjoying the sensation of lavishness.

‘Soon’, he echoed once more within his thoughts.

He had coin left over from Caspar’s petty cash, and, with the night’s destination being in one of the city’s wealthier districts, Wynken splurged on the fine accommodations. It was just as much to satisfy his thirst for wealth and power as it was a matter of convenience. The latter merely helped to justify such a selfish and wasteful misuse of resources. However, the inspiration invoked by even that small taste of luxury was a bargain at any price. Already the adrenaline of the night’s pending activities coursed through his veins as he donned his gear in eager preparation. He felt refreshed, and, gently crushing the potent herbs he had procured that afternoon, he focused narrowly on the impact his present deeds would have on his future success.

Outside, the streets had grown quite, and Wynken looked upward to the still cloudless sky in order to spy the position of the stars. He had waited long enough, as it was well into the night. The weather was shifting, and the morning’s atypical warmth had set with the sun, leaving the expected chill of oncoming winter. As he stepped from the tavern’s threshold, Wynken was struck by a strong wind which resulted from the mingling fronts. It whipped down the corridor-like road from north to south and chilled his ears and nose immediately. Pulling his cowl tight around his face, Wynken strode off into the vacant darkness of the city’s temple district.


†

“How is he?”, Abel anxiously inquired of the cleric who had been caring for Brother Marko. He briefly rubbed the last of the sleep from his eyes and tried to settle his accelerated breathing.

The two stood in the hall before the elder’s room, and so they spoke in whispers.

“Marko is aging, but he is healthy”, the healer was quick to reply. He smiled and firmly placed his hand upon Abel’s broad left shoulder before continuing. “He requests your presence, but I see nothing to indicate that our dear brother won’t make a full and rapid recovery”.

Abel’s face lightened in relief upon hearing the good news. It was comforting to know that there exist no immediate emergency. However, though he and Marko had shared a meal earlier that very evening, he had been summonsed to join the ailing priest in private. At any hour such a gesture is telling and troubling, but it is doubly so if it should disturb one from their sleep.

“I pray that you be right”, Abel concluded with a forced smile and a strong, thankful handshake. “Get a bit of rest. I’ll stay with him for a time”.

With a nod, the cleric disappeared around the bend in the narrow hall. A distant and muffled howl could be heard as the wind relentlessly whistled through; under; and about the various structures of the great temple’s superfluous architecture. It was an odd sound, given that the stone walls had absorbed the heat of the daytime sun and had insulated its inhabitants from the changing weather. To Abel, it sounded ominous – like the moans of a ghost foretelling imminent disaster. He breathed deep, pushing the thoughts away for Marko’s benefit as much as his own. Then he tapped respectfully upon the door before opening it a crack to hesitantly announce himself.

“Come in”, resounded the firm insistence of Brother Marko. His voice was strong (by the standards of the genteel old priest) and greatly improved from mere days previous. “Come in and take a seat, my friend”.

The two had worked together for many years in a mentor, mentee relationship. However, each was as close to family as the other had ever known.

“How do you feel”, Abel asked in order to fill what he perceived to be awkward silence.

Marko grinned, propping himself up higher upon his elbows as he lay in his bed. He winced, ever so slightly, as his old joints protested the movement, and it elicited a pained look from his friend.

“Never mind how I feel”, the wise old priest quipped with a glint in his eyes. Abel had grown accustomed to that look, and he knew to pay express attention as something profound was likely on the way. “I feel my strength returning, but that’s not why I’ve requested you here at an hour between night and morning”.

Abel blushed from the embarrassing offer of his unsophisticated small talk, but more so for his foolish and selfish desire to put his own mind at ease. “Forgive me, brother”, he offered with a genuine smile. “You look much improved. Please, tell me what has prompted this meeting.”

The old man leaned in, adjusting himself once more upon his small bed. “I believe I have received a vision”.