Old Endings, New Beginnings

[TheBrogueadier]

Sally,

Sorry I have to do this by letter, it’s not how I’d like to have told you face to face but sometimes life doesn’t work out the way we’d like.

You’ll be pleased to know we wrapped up the last case on time, turned out the entire host were staying in a blacked-out glass house. Talk about overconfidence. Five of us just about walked out afterwards, though Tom lost three toes to falling glass. Send him my best when you see him.

But yeah, the Red Pen’s done, though I’ll never understand how a group of vampires remained undetected for so long, even if they were only feeding on menstrual blood. Damn sick if you ask me, I'll have nothing more to do with them. Period.

I’m leaving on the next boat north, got wind of something big going down in some backwater near Icewind, someone’s got to keep the buggers down; guess it’s me and my shadow.

Take care Sally, I’ll be back sooner than you think.


Love.

Le.

[TheBrogueadier]

Safe and Sound

Sally,

Good news! Made the journey without much trouble although it did take slightly longer than I thought; that’s the thing about travelling; always getting distracted by what’s nearby.

I think you’d like this place, friendly folks for the most part, though it’s got its fair share of problems. But that’s why I’m here, right?

Been trying to deal with the smallest problems first – Goblins. What passes for a merchant entity here has managed to loose control of one of it’s mining operations, they hire people like me to put it right. The pay isn’t great, but it’s been enough for me to take rooms in an Inn called the Four Lanterns in Sundren City. You should be able to write to me here.

Anyway, can’t write to much as I need to attend the Triumvirate Temple. Don’t worry, I’ve not converted or anything so no need to worry; I’ve heard some stories about them is all.

Hope things are less busy with you, as for me it’s true what they say: No rest for the wicked.

Miss you.


Le.

[TheBrogueadier]

My life's been like this for a long time now. Before Sally, before the foot numbing rounds of the Watch, before Gilbert Street. I started this path back when I was a kid.

Maybe it was a quote I read, it’s always stuck in my head “Our cities are merely points of light in a land of darkness” Something like that anyway.

I grew up near a Helmite temple-barracks; every year the worthiest knights left the city to spread the watcher's light into the world. Every year I used to sit on the balcony and watch them ride past; great silver candles of hope, each topped with a bright feathery plume. The crowd would call and clap all the way to the city walls; we’d celebrate as these small pinpricks of light left the city to spread some hope in the darkness.

Most of them never came back.

Even then I wondered, why ride out as a beacon? Being the only light in the darkness simply draws the denizens to you.

A few years of seeing the so-called best of us ride out like that and I knew my path. Why fight with shadows?

[TheBrogueadier]

Sally,

Been a while since my last letter, events have been conspiring against me I'm afraid.

Still trying to settle in here, keeping myself busy with some general mercenary work. Doesn't always sit right but you've got to look at the bigger picture, right?

I've decided to join the Legion, I know I said I'd stay clear of the law for a while, but I've got inn bills to pay. Sorry to let you down Sal, but money's money and it'll give me a chance to learn more about the place. Maybe make some friends.

Took care of a problem in the sewers with a couple of recruits yesterday, some overgrown gecko that had gotten to big for it's boots. To late for the people who'd become part of the creatures jewellery, but they can rest easier now; I've got it's teeth on a necklace.

An eye for an eye eh Sally? That's how we used to do it.


I'll be back with you soon Sally, soon as I can.


Le.

[TheBrogueadier]

Better times

“What’ve we got?”

“Hmm? Oh, Watch received a runner this morning about a pack of dogs causing problems here; they broke in and found this. Is that my coffee?”

“If you can call it that”

Dogtown. A colloquial name for a foul little hole, a few streets of half derelict hovels and warehouses wedged between the slaughterhouses, tanners and tallow chandlers. Crime was low here, prostitutes found it impossible to ply their trade in an area that stank of death, shit and rendering fat. No-one living here had anything to steal, besides, the industries of the area ensured that anyone who came here making trouble never bothered anyone again.

The only problem was dogs; several half feral packs had been drawn to the area by the meaty scents. In truth they rarely caused any issue, they tended to be well fed on scraps, either from well meaning butchers or fought over the animal detritus that flooded the streets when the slaughterhouse yards were washed down. Occasionally though, they did cause problems, if someone was unlucky, careless or stupid, the watch would be called and the dogs responsible culled.

This wasn’t dogs though, not unless someone had put some real effort into training them.

Silently Kaleva handed a cup of coffee to Sally, the woman who’d asked for it, then took in the scene.

The warehouse was old, and time had not been kind to it, missing shingles and collapsed beams let in the afternoon’s greying light, the floor was littered with broken furniture and pigeons roosted wherever there was space, almost every surface had a fine splattering of guano.

It was what hung between the shit-splattered floor and decaying roof that most caught the attention, a hazy collection of figures turned and spun.

Perhaps memories of figures would have been a better phrase; each one of the diaphanous shapes was a human skin. Some of them had been trimmed and cut, at the far end of the warehouse a patchwork forest hung setting the foreground figures against trees with all too real limbs and a canopy of fingers.

In the foreground the shapes were set into pairs, hung from beam and wire so that they turned in a never ending waltz. Here and there details caught the eye and served as a reminder of the shapes’ origins, intricate tattoos or the thickening of scar material.

Kaleva’s brow knitted as he mentally ran through a series of questions, beside him Sal took a sip of the coffee.

“God’s piss Kal, I’ve sucked gravel that tasted nicer than this shit”

[TheBrogueadier]

The candles made the room uncomfortably hot, two dozen squat tapers burned with a muddy flame. A waxy black smoke drifted up from each one, adding the sickly smell of animal tallow to the heat.

It may have been generous to call the space a room, a gap a meter and a half high between the floor joists of the room above and the earth of the city below. In a richer house, it would have been dug away to provide a basement, but this part of town basements were merely something that flooded, so the space had remained empty and unused, gathering detritus and dust that had fallen through the floorboards above. Unused until Kaleva had taken the room above, because even the Watch needed some space away from prying eyes where unbroken lines could be drawn.

It had taken two hours to draw the circles out, the precise relations between the items that sat amongst the silver-white chalk dictated the eventual shape, four smaller objects sat in their own circles; a Baton and Short sword sat in opposition on a pair of scales; the skin of one of the murdered, reverently folded and placed on a red silk cloth; the list of the dead, mostly vague descriptions of each of the skins they’d found, but a few names stood out from the most distinctive hides. These lay arranged around the head of the main part, an interlocking pair of circles rimmed in the ornate script of the celestials. At the head of the two was a map of the city, crosses of chalk and ink marked his location and the warehouse the skins had been found in. Over the map’s north marker lay a simple silver spearhead. Kaleva knelt half naked behind the map, his arms and torso blue with symbols and Celestial script that spiraled into circle above his heart.

He started the prayer, plucking the spearhead from the map and placing its gleaming point against the flesh above his heart. The sing-song sounds of the prayer echoed in the confined space, each word of Celestial causing the air within the circle to thicken.

He closed his eyes, concentrating on the cold point against his chest, the words of the prayer crushing down on his body, threatening to squeeze the air from his lungs, with the last word of the call to the gods he pulled the spear head to. His tension on his skin gave with an almost audible pop and the silver tip bit into his chest.

The pressure lifted instantly, a breeze blew up from within the circles washing away the heavy air and bringing with it the metallic tang of ozone. A single thin line of blood began to wind along the underside of the spearhead, it gathered into a slowly growing droplet hanging from the head’s lowest point.

Kaleva’s teeth hurt, his chest was on fire and there was a numbing pressure against the base of his skull. He opened his eyes and regretted it almost instantly. The candles flickered fiercely in the breeze and the edge of his vision faded into a disturbing and closing blackness.

With a sigh, the breeze picked up momentarily, plucking the drop of blood from the spearhead and tossing it into the air. It hit the map with a crack.

He blinked the map into focus, a gnawing coldness growing in the pit of his stomach “Oh… Shit.” He managed mutter before passing out.