The Nature of Shadows

[Peridan]

Heroes and Beggars pt. 3

There was a story of how Ahghairon and his knight Calinus Heavyhand defeated the troll clans. It fell into the typical rut of a heroic knight ordered by his king to defeat the troll king. Calinus would ride into battle with a flaming blade with a crossed tip, and slice through the troll's flesh with righteous wrath. It was a basic story, simple. Unremarkable, especially among the rest of the lore surrounding Waterdeep, and not remarked upon too often by the adult population.

But for the children on the streets, there was more to the story. It was the tale not of Calinus, but the Nameless Thief.

When Calinus reached the Troll King, he was battered. Bloody. His armor dented, and his face covered in the the grime of war. And he faced the Troll King, who was said to be a massive, hulking beast. Easily twice as tall as a regular troll, the Troll King 's maw was lined with jagged and putrid yellow teeth sharp as an adamantine blade. His hands could grasp a horse in their terrifying strength and crush it to death with a single crunch of bone and sinew. And its eyes were squinted, gleeful pools of red that brightened whenever the King had the pleasure of killing anything at all. And so would Calinus have died, except for the Nameless Thief.

Virtually ignored by reputable scholars, who had never heard of such a person, the legend of the Nameless Thief lived well on the streets of the city. Drawn to the conflict by the promise of loot, the thief had gotten too close to the fighting and was stuck as the trolls overcame his position. He, being the thief he was, knew how to stay hidden. He knew better than to get involved in a fight between trolls and knights. And yet as the fighting around him grew worse the Troll King himself reached his hiding place in the wreckage of a siege engine, parts of it caught in flames as it was.

Despite his best intentions, the thief witnessed the battle between Calinus Heavyhand and the Troll King, their blows resounding through the battleground with dull, thudding impacts. But as Calinus fought the Troll King, he was struck down by a blow from the troll, and lay on the ground with his body half shattered from the impact. And as the Troll King raised his mighty fist to finish the knight, the Nameless Thief picked up a bit of flaming debris, slicing the Troll King's tendon. Roaring in pain, the Troll King flung an arm out to crush the insect-like rogue, but found nothing but air as the thief rolled away, stabbing again.

As the troll's attention was diverted, Calinus drew upon his strength and his cross-shaped blade, and just as the thief was about to be crushed, struck the troll's head from his shoulders with the blazing blade. And so, did the Nameless Thief save the future of Waterdeep and King Ahghairon's crusade.

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During the winter months, times are worse for children who hadn't saved up bits of stale food and coin during the warmer parts of the year. Huddled around small grease fires, these packs of almost feral children gather around the warmth. Warily watching one another, these survivors of the harsh alleys of Waterdeep sought comfort of their fellows as much as they feared it: there was never a guarantee that another child wouldn't kill you the next minute if there was opportunity involved.

But when the tale of the Nameless Thief was mentioned, all grew still. The feuds paused, tempers calmed. As this tale was unraveled by the storytellers, it would bring a stab of something alien and unusual to the children.

It would bring hope.

Not hope that they could ever do something as heroic as slay a troll. Or even help slay a troll, given that. But that even they, scum of the street, could do something that rocked the foundations of Toril. That they could be remembered. A hope of a hope.

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Calinus, he stood up to this fearsome beast. He stood, like the boy stood now, facing a foe much more terrible than he was used to. Outclassed, disadvantaged. He'd likely be crushed, just like Calinus would have, except for the Nameless Thief.

Daniel shivered with fear. Not him. No way.

And yet, as the merchant's hand raised, Daniel remembered all the long nights, running from guilded thieves. From getting hit by merchants like this, feeling his malnourished bones creak under their heavy hands. The bruises that turned more colors than a devil-fucked rainbow. He remembered all of the pain, the fear, the despair just from living day to day. And how people like this merchant got to eat, every gods damned day, without worrying about getting stabbed. Or worse, getting broken.

Daniel felt the rage build, slowly. Seeping through his veins like a molten river of the seven hells. At the injustice of it. The sheer, Tyr-humping injustice of having a piece of filth like this placing a hand on anyone, much less one of the street's own. One of the Nameless Thief's progeny, spawned over hundreds of years and heir to the cobbles beneath his fat boots. Someone who doesn't understand the first thing about survival, who's been privileged his entire life. Who doesn't even appreciate it.

And these goat lovers get to hit us?

Oh, fuck that.

Before he knew what was happening, Daniel flew across the street, through the crowd with agility akin to the alley cats that prowled the rooftops. And with a sickening thud, he crashed into the merchant's large leg, throwing it out from under him right as his hand was coming down to hit the other boy and the blonde girl. The merchant's momentum, combined with Daniel's bull rush, flipped the merchant in the air so that he came down face first onto the street. The crowd gasped, and the merchant lay still with blood pooling around his likely broken nose.

Daniel's heart raced as he picked himself up, and adrenaline made his ears buzz with energy. He felt his hand being grabbed, and for a brief moment fear sang in his head that the merchant had gotten up already, and was going to make him wish he had just held fucking still.

Instead, he was met with the sight of the boy, his expression melted into a hard grin. The boy's leonine face was framed by a mane of dirty blonde hair, his skin a bronze that contrasted against his incredibly white teeth.

"You are one crazy bastard, you know that?" The boy said with a strained tone. Looked like even he had been doubting himself a little, back there. His own lips quirked and matched his, and they grasped hands. "Crazier than a drow in daylight, street rat." Daniel responded, a brief laugh escaping his lips.

"You imbeciles, I had him!" An exasperated voice said. The blonde girl had stood up, and held a wickedly sharp dagger in one hand placed on her hips. "By Waukeen's swinging tits, you two are the dumbest shits I've ever met. One little nick, and he'd be more worried about losing blood than chasing me." Her golden eyes held a visible annoyance with the two street kids.

The two of them looked at each other, then back at the wicked looking dagger. Then to her. Then back to the merchant. Daniel opened his mouth to give her a piece of his mind, what little was functioning. His head freakin' hurt from that slam, still.

And in the middle of it all, the sun darkened, and the shadow of an armored man fell over the three thieves.

"Oh, fuck me."

[Peridan]

Beggars and Heroes pt. 4

"Oh, fuck me."

Not his best last words. In fact, probably not even good ones. Just yesterday, he could have probably rattled off ten better sets of last words than that, each with its own defiant meaning.

But then they'd lack the authenticity that these had.

A mountainous man stood above the three thieves clad in silver and azure armor. That alone wouldn't have scared Daniel that badly. Big men in big armor were usually slow, and stupid. After all, why would they be wearing half a blacksmith's anvil on their bodies while walking around in broad daylight while not in a war or battle? It made little sense, when leather or chain provided just enough protection to stop or turn a small blade or sword. I mean, it's not like you're expecting a bloody damn troll to come charging through--

Daniel's tongue dried, and he felt perilously close to soiling himself. The Watch didn't wear armor that polished, and a lion's head blade at his side marked him for more than a simple guardsman. The man's unhelmed visage was shadowed by the sun's glare, but he could feel the burning gaze of the righteous and true.

That's what he got for stashing stuff on top of Tyr's statue. Gods damned, thrice cursed, dagger sucking karma.

The gigantic figure leaned over at the three thieves, his face coming into view. Weathered, tired even. But the sky blue gaze of his pieced directly into his center, in places that made him feel...ashamed. Lost. The guilt stabbed him as though all at once for his petty crimes of thievery and violence. He wanted to explain that this wasn't his fault, that he was sorry. He wanted to tell this disappointed looking man with the grey streaked black hair and old eyes that he'd do whatever it took to make things right. His companions blanched visibly, and shrank down away from the man. Dan's own feet followed suit, trying to do his best not to be noticed. None of them even thought of turning and breaking for it, despite the crowd's dispersal at the man's presence. It was as though doing so would further disappoint him, and in turn themselves.

The merchant gasped, holding his broken nose and began shouting in rage in another language. Amnian, maybe. The knight turned, and replied in the same language in a soothing tone. He rested a hand on the merchant's arm, and his nose made a sickening crunch as it righted itself with a golden glow emanating from the paladin's gauntlet-laden fist. The merchant, blinking in surprise, bowed and thanked the older man repeatedly before glaring at the three before running back to his shop. The paladin turned, resting a hand on the hilt of his lion's blade.

He examined the three in turn, his lips flattened. "This, is not what we uphold the justice of this city for." His tenor resounded through Dan's bones, ringing in time with the shame cowering in his chest. "Why we fight to instill order, and peace. You three..." His lips twisted in annoyance."...You three will be sent, I think, to one of the holding cells in the Watch-house. Perhaps you'll find a measure of discipline, and repentance for your actions there over the next few weeks." Daniel wrung his hands. Yes, maybe that'd be best. Maybe he knew what he was talking about. He looked over to the other two, the boy and the girl. They both had their heads down, their own expressions of guilt visible. His earlier rage gone now, like a passing breeze, Dan quietly waited for the paladin to take them away to several weeks of imprisonment with other thieves, beggars, and undesirables. He closed his eyes tight.

"I don't think that will be necessary." An amused voice said from Dan's shoulder, and a he felt a comforting hand pull him up from the blood splattered cobbles. The feeling of guilt vanished as though it were never there at all. What the hells was wrong with him? He'd never felt bad about doing what he needed to do to survive before, why now? Daniel blinked, and looked around in confusion at who spoke.

The beggar from the docks, who told the stories that the street rats liked to hear, stood next to him. Dressed as he had before, the only difference was a long, white cloak that slowly fluttered behind him despite the lack of breeze. The knight frowned. "Beggar, this is none of your business. Begone before I have to take note of your interference with Tyr's justice."

The beggar smiled his gap-toothed grin, but there was confidence there. Strength. "Come, now. They're children, hardly fit for a holding cell with the rapists and murderers. Caught in a bit of mischief, I can hardly think that Tyr would consider them hardened criminals. Have some leniency and compassion. That too, is part of Tyr's teachings, yes?"

The beggar's wrinkled gaze rested on Dan for a moment, and the young thief gaped. His eyes were like pools of blackness, with stars beneath that shimmered beneath the surface. And just as quickly, the beggar's eyes turned on the knight. The paladin regarded the beggar quietly for a moment, his face unreadable. Daniel felt like a spectator in a game that he didn't know the rules, the players, or the stakes. But he felt a flash of tension as the knight slowly tilted his head. "As you wish, then."

Without another word, the paladin spun on his boot, and strode towards the temple with no more haste than one would expect from a simple barter in the market. The beggar turned to the three thieves, and winked. "All in how you phrase it, younglings. You'll catch a dwarf with gold, rather than sweets. I'd recommend steering clear of this quarter for a few weeks, eh?" The three could only stare at him in confusion at what had just happened. The beggar frowned. "Well, you'll get it one day I suspect. You three take care, now." He smiled at Daniel, resting a comforting hand on his shoulder before turning away. With a cackle, the beggar strode off with his white cloak billowing behind him.

The three looked at one another, then at the temple and the retreating knight. Then back at the beggar.

"I don't even want to freakin' know." The girl threw her hands up. "I just want to get outta here." She turned and started for an alley. The two boys looked at each other for a moment. "You imbeciles coming, or what?" A hesitant smile appeared on both of their faces, and they scampered after her into the space between the buildings. The bronzed boy let out a whoop of victory, the other two laughing as they made their way to the unsafe sanctuary of the streets.

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As the three scampered off, none of them noticed a man standing quietly off to the side. Dressed in merchant's clothing, with a pack of goods ready to sell, he allowed a small smile to cross his face. He watched as the brown haired boy darted after his fellows, and his smile grew broader.

"Blood of the First Lord, we've found you at last."

End of Beggars and Heroes

[Peridan]

Interlude - City's Nocturne

The cobbles of the alley were slick with filth and refuse. Poured out by a lazy innkeeper, most likely, it generated a stench that offended even the most accustomed nostrils that were used to the grime of the Waterdhavian docks. The stench drifted upwards, in between the buildings, where a maze of clotheslines webbed across the gap like the strings of some unknown spider. Garments so threadbare that you could see through them on a sunny afternoon drifted back and forth on the breeze that rushed through the narrow space, taking more of the ghastly smell as one went higher up the canyon of city living, complete with sounds of its inhabitants.

A woman was shouting at her children to calm down. Two men were eagerly discussing a point of contention in the market prices, to the extent that one might mistake their lively conversation as a fight. A group of girls were laughing at the events of their shop-work, while gossiping like a gaggle of geese. All of these sounds and smells competed in the narrow space between spaces, and like a bird in flight, became smaller and less important the more one rose up to the tops of the roof. There, the evening sky blazed with a full complement of color. Oranges, reds, purples, and yellow merged together in a vibrant symphony of light. One might think it divine, and bless the gods for such a gift.

As the day turned to evening, the shadows grew longer. The purples grew deeper and the lights of the city slowly went on to ward off the night. On this particular rooftop, two figures that were not present before the sunset spoke.

"Are you sure?" The larger shadow asked, its frame twice the size of the other. Its shoulders weren't overly broad, but an observant person could see a paunch pushing the cloak outwards.

The other shadow lifted its shoulders in a shrugging motion, slight in size. But it seemed to be constantly swaying, as though in time with the breeze. "As sure as we can be. The First Lord's cloak came as it did every year, and landed on a random citizen. What happened was unusual, though. The spirit's avatar went straight for the boy."

The larger silhouette considered this for a moment. "You think he's a direct descendant?"

"Perhaps." The softer voice responded from the small shadow. "The only times the spirit moves with such purpose is when someone important to the city is in danger."

"Or perhaps important to him, the wretched corpse he is. Regardless, he may be our way back into Waterdeep." Excitement creeps into the now recognizably male voice. "Watch him and the other rats. See if there's a way to move him towards us."

The smaller shadow bowed slightly, a hint of mocking in it. "But of course." And without another word, it melted into the night.

The larger shadow turned and gazed out upon the field of lights blossoming over the horizon. An intricate web of life in shadow.

"They will pay." He murmured. And then there was nothing there at all.

[Peridan]

Daniel's feet hit the rain-slicked pavement with a soft thud, followed close by his callused palms. A breath, a surge of movement, and he was off down the alley clutching his prize to his chest. The soft patter of his steps were only highlighted by the sounds of heavy leather-clad boots close behind the sneak thief.

A crack in between the buildings appeared on his left, which Daniel took full use of. Barely a foot across, the small street rat scooted through the opening with the dexterity of a mouse. Hearing curses behind him, Daniel shuffled his way through the claustrophobic opening, one foot after another. One pair of boots took off at the end of the alleyway, no doubt headed for the opposite side.

Daniel's mouth curled into a wide grin.

Daniel held the satchel up to his mouth, and bit down with the strength of jaws that would rather take flesh than give up even the smallest scrap of food. Rubbing his hands together, he reached up, finding miniscule cracks with his nimble fingers. Steadying himself with one foot braced against the other wall, he moved up the buildings to the thin shaft of sky above.

Reach, hold, shift, push. Reach, hold, shift, push. Daniel made his way upwards, out of the darkness to the light of day above. The poorly crafted bricks cut into his hands, making him wince in pain. His jaw ached, the leather of the satchel filling his mouth with saliva. It tasted like dirt and grit.

Up, up. Up. Higher, and higher, to freedom above. Five feet. Three feet. One foot.

Daniel's head poked up out of the abyss, the wind ruffling his matted head of hair. He squinted at the daylight, its brightness fully revealing the extent of the grime covering his pale face, and his sunken cheeks. The sky stretched wide above him, the gulls crying in the distance. Blinking once, he spat out the leather satchel onto the roof, hefting himself up and dusting himself off. The street rat grinned.

"Too easy."

Which, made the sharp pain in his stomach all the more surprising as a figure shimmered into view. Daniel's eyes widened as he bowled over, holding his midsection and gasping for air.

"Yer right, t'was." The man slurred, dressed in leather armor and bearing the mark of the Mistshore Vermin, a gang that lived among the ruined galleys and other wreckage on Waterdeep's shores. Sifting through the garbage, they preyed on any luckless would-be adventurer or other marks who wandered into their territory. They paid alleigience to the Plague Rats, who owned the territory as a whole, along with other key portions of the sprawling dockside metropolis.

This particular 'gentleman of fortune' had the tell-tale traces of Traveler's Dust all over him. Trembling hands, slurred speech, but most notably his eyes were a deep scarlet all the way through. He kept licking his lips, probably a sign that he was aching for a fix. Fucking Ship-rats, they probably sent him out on a fetch mission for his dose.

'Walkin' the Crimson Road' indeed. Daniel managed to think through the red haze of pain. Bent over as he was, he fingered the shiv on the inside of his tunic. His fingers curled around the makeshift knife, no more than a piece of glass with cloth wrapped around it as a handle. Come a little closer, you Ship-rat fuck. Let me give you another grin to go with that shit-eating one you have now. The would-be thief tensed.

"Ain't hav'n none o' that now, ye little street mouse." The man cuffed him hard enough on the back of neck to floor him onto the rooftop. Gods damn, but these addicts hit hard. What little air Daniel had managed to recover went out of him easier than a fart in the fucking wind.

"You'll be givin' tha' back t'me, y'hear? I need'ta get that back to the boys, cause they'll fix me up real good, see? Real good. Gettin' away from all this sheeit, my little dust. Pixie's me away. Green stars, winkin' in the twilight fer the Faerie Prince." The man leered at Daniel, his breath smelling faintly of cinnamon and sewage. His blood-red eyes bored into Daniel's own.

"I need t'get t'his realm. Now give it to me." His voice grew deep, husky; the light of madness in his eyes reflected in Daniel's own. And the first seeds of fear took root in his breast.

[Peridan]

Daniel licked his cracked lips, the sea salt stinging his tongue as he stared into the face of madness. The strange light in the man's gaze evoked a level of fear that was practically paralyzing. And, in normal circumstances, Daniel would be wondering briefly if he was supposed to see his short life flash before his eyes before the insane 'Duster tore out his throat with rotting teeth. He would die, alone, on the rooftop as raven picked at his corpse. Yet another hunk of rotting flesh. A shame that wasn't going to happen.

Daniel smiled at the man with a full set of teeth, and the confidence of the bold. "Go get fucked." He offered, blithely.

The insane 'Duster stared at him a moment, a sharp lance of confusion piercing through his drug-induced strength. Ironically enough as a blade cut his hamstring, a sharp pain slicing through his invincibility. The man howled in pain at the blade, and toppled onto the rooftop. A sharp kick silenced him, and he passed out.

Too bad for the ravens. The young thief thought as a silhouette blocked out the mid-day sun. A hand reached out, and Daniel grinned, reaching up to clasp it. The leonine face of Jazim glowered down at him with something akin to disappointment, his blonde hair tied back in a warrior's tail. The dagger sat in his other hand, dripping the blood of the 'Duster. "Really? You let yourself get cornered on a camel-shitting rooftop, after all that planning?"

Daniel shrugged, picking himself up using Jazim's offered grip. "What can I say? Best laid plans, and all that. I figured you would be around here, though."

Jazim eyed him and snorted. "Please. My portion of the plan had me half a mile away from here, getting ready to push off to the shipwrecks. This was supposed to be clean, in and out. What could have possibly gone so wrong that you decided to run through the gods-damned streets like a pickpocket who just stole his first apple. And how in the hell did you know I'd be up here to save you from your amateurish mistakes?"

Daniel ripped some unsullied cloth from the downed man, wiping grime from his face with it with a grimace. "First, funny thing, but no one mentioned that the Vermin had a fucking mage. The second I got what I came for, there were suddenly fireballs coming from what I thought was a blasted drunk." He nodded down at the twisted alleys. "Thus, the run through the streets." An evil glint flashed in his eyes. "And second, I knew you micro-manage so badly that there was no way you'd let this little heist go unsupervised. The second things started exploding, you'd have one of your little runts report as quick as his little legs could take him to you."

Jazim's jaw clenched, his face flushing in annoyance. "Well, it was a good thing they did, didn't they? To fix your little fuck-up in hitting the mark--" The leather satchel smacked Jazim almost comically in the face, dropping into his hand. He blinked twice, annoyance vanishing as he reached in and pulled out a gem, pink in color but scribed with enchanted runes. Blood smeared hands held the gem tightly, and Jazim suddenly grinned. "You got it. You actually stole the thing."

"You're damn right I did." Daniel said, tossing the rag on the unconscious thief. "This is it, Jazim. Enough for your passage on a merchant's vessel, enough for Emily to get her apprenticeship. And enough for me to eat well for more than a few winters. Maybe I'll even see about buying my way into a guild." Daniel laughed. "Fuck, maybe I'll buy a small one."

Jazim stared at him in disbelief, and the two young men clasped arms. "Here on out, no more street living, Dan. We're on our way, at last!"

Daniel's smile dimmed slightly. "We are, aren't we?" He looked down at the unconscious man. "Let's finish this up, and get gone."

Jazim frowned, and pulled Daniel away. "Dan, he's down. His guild, his addiction, or his own damn stupidty will get him in due time. We're not assassins." Daniel strained against Jazim's iron-clad grip. "Tymora's tits, Jazim. You know as well as I do that he could--"

"No." Jazim's voice was as hard as stone. "We don't kill, Dan. We wound, knock out, whatever it takes. But I won't be a petty murderer." Daniel's grey gaze met Jazim's golden stare. Didn't he understand? It was about survival. The man could come after them at any time, any place. It was another loose end that needed to be tied up. But then, he thought about the alleyway and Jazim shielding Emily with his body, and his own crippling cowardice.

"Fine." He threw his arm away in disgust. "Let's get going." Jazim smiled, obviously relieved and tucked the gem away. "Come on, Emily's waiting for us by the boat. At least she didn't deviate from the plan." He hopped down into the alleyway, tumbling in a roll that perfectly transferred the energy from the jump into it. Daniel spat after him good naturedly and flipped him the bird. "Suck a dagger, you street rat!" He called after him.

Daniel turned, and met the now awake stare of the 'Duster. Silent, but mad hatred glistening in his gaze. Daniel looked to a rock nearby, then to the madman slowly regaining consciousness. He slowly reached down, and picked it up. Felt its weight. The texture of the gritty sandstone against his palm. Thought about Jazim. About Emily. And about his future.

The ravens passed over that particular roof.

[Peridan]

It's said that the reason a man cannot remember what he experiences when he sleeps, is because his mind cannot stand the sight of the real world when faced with the inexplicable fascination of dreaming.

Crystal towers that stretch upwards into infinity, colors so vivid that you only recall a pale shadow of them when you awaken, creatures exotic and horribly familiar. A bee flies across your face, grinning with teeth larger than fangs as you stand in an ocean drowning, green lights flicker across your vision as you find yourself in a home you lost thirty years before. When a man dreams, he steps over the line of what can be, and what cannot. Instead of rejecting it, he accepts the impossible without a care and when the light fades he is left with a broken remnant of memory. Comforting or terrifying, only the feeling remains.

Jack Verd dreamed all the time. His world swam and shifted with the real and unreal, his delight and horror never-ending. The Mistshore Vermin jokingly called him the Dirty 'Duster, because he would show back up at the lair covered in grime and blood with a grin and an ethereal expression on his face after he scored a hit of Traveler's Dust. When asked whose blood it was encrusted in between his fingernails and in a faint red circle of grime around his neck, he would look around once or twice and lean in. His breath would smell faintly of rotting garbage and sickeningly sweet wine.

"I don't kiss an' tell, matey." He would croon with a half smile.

But despite what the Vermin said about him, Jack wasn't mad. At least, he didn't think so. He acted as rationally as any man did when faced with the reality of dreaming. He twisted the knives he sunk into his victims, tasted the blood that ran down his teeth, marveled at the towers of green he saw in the distance, all with the unshakeable knowledge that what he did was only a dream. One day he would wake, perhaps. But not today. Pain and pleasure all blurred, into the all consuming need for more Dust.

The sun thew its lances of light down on the prone figure of Jack Verde. They stabbed his flesh, cooked his insides until he could smell the aroma of deliciously moist meat. His mouth watered in hunger. And then it was dry, as dry as a desert of broken glass and sand. He'd chew on glass right now, wouldn't he? If it'd give him some moisture. Oh, yes. So very appetizing.

Something red, perhaps. Something metallic, something deliciously warm.

Time passed, and Jack Verde tried to stand once again. Why couldn't he stand? His legs were made of steel, or wood, or pillars of stone. The weight kept dragging him, and dragging him down. Who did this to him? How did he come to be here, pinned to the rooftop like a fly to the wall. Or a butterfly perhaps. He watched one flutter past, its green wings flapping with small gales in their wake. He enjoyed the breeze.

No, wait. Wait, wait. Wait, wait, wait, wait, hold it. He blinked his eyes twice as a shadow danced across his vision, a black cloak of night that sucked the light out of the fading sun. It leaned down, this shadow.

"Who did this to you, hm?" The shadow asked, its voice almost musical in quality. The boy did it to him, the shining one, he replied. The lion in the grass in the shape of a man, that's who. The demon in the form of a knight.

"Then, maybe it's a bit unfair for you to lay here." A cool river poured over his stumps of legs, its cool water washing away the green moss covering them. "Perhaps you should start looking for him. Maybe, you should bring him to me." Oh no, oh no. He couldn't do that, he had such plans for the young lion. Teeth and bone and knives and blood. Such plans.

"Perhaps." The shadow mused, its blackness reaching up to the nightsky and filling in the holes of the blanket covering the sky. "Or, perhaps you'll do this for me for all the Dust you could ever want. You'd never wake again, little man, from your dreaming. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?"

Jack Verde's smile grew wider, and wider, until it covered his entire face with yellow fangs.

Oh no, oh no. Not at all.