Norandil
2014-06-25, 03:46 PM
It was a beautiful day. Well it would've been, without all that dust in the air, foul smell of unwashed bodies and spilled filth, without beggars crawling out of every hole, yanking feebly at your clothes, asking for food. Yes, food. Each and every one of them. It's one of the tragedies of those times. Even the drunkards forgot about their gnawing addiction, feeling only one thing: hunger. And possibly despair or helplessness, maybe anger, but for those further down that road, there's just hunger. That need is purely animalistic, leaving no place for thinking, hesitating, or doubt. There was that rumor, going round and round, ever in bigger circles, with more and more building up on it. Do they eat those embraced by never-ending sleep? Have they fallen low enough to feast on their own flesh, when the breadwinner takes more... prosaic meaning?
The city'd been struck hard. Down, to its knees and and then lower, with its face smeared with mud mixed with its own blood, streaming from countless wounds. But it was alive. It's giving shelter. Food, to some extent. As long as one did not delve into poorer districts, he would be just fine. Unless poorer districts reached out, like they did, with each day more frantically, more boldly, desperately.
And so it happened that day as well, sending electric shivers throughout the city of Rodan Saut, shivers of pleasure and unexpected joy to some, of outrage and indignaton to many, of fear and hopelessness to most. But the night is young, so let us spin this tale properly; and for that, my dear, we will need heroes...
__________________________________________________
You screened your eyes from the sun hanging low over the horizon, lower with every minute. You had a hood, which added a nice bonus of hiding your identity, should someone unwanted spot you in the crowd, but meandering among all those people required clear vision, so you needed to look up. You used to hear very good opinions about Rodan Saut, but the way it stands now, it's a long way from paradise. You daftly dodged a fat, bold man's grasping hand; he was wearing a long, reddish butcher's apron, which sent your imagination running about what he might've wanted from you.
After a few minutes you reached your destination, a small but well-known tavern, arguably the best in the city, or even in the Valley. But could you get what you needed here? You'd been assured, but there's only one way to check that.
Nearing the entrance, you saw a man trying to clean a word painted in striking orange colours on one of the walls; it read "tormentors." Places like this weren't too popular among the starving masses residing in the city; those wealthy enough could eat marvellous treats here, while for those less fortunate a fried rat had to serve for a delicacy.
It was inside, while you were talking to the bartender, laying down your cause, when you heard a shout of pain, followed by disgusting gurgling. Turning around, you saw an elderly, corpulent man with a goatee desperately trying to stop the blood spurting every other way from his slashed neck. Soon, it was everywhere; on his companions, their fancy food, his stylish robes the colour of desert's sand, on your face as well. You stood there, stunned. You could've just as well been a marble figure, seeing, but not witnessing what's going on around. And then someone staggered into you and you felt something being thrusted into your palm. You automatically lifted it to your eyes to see, to understand, and you gasped, as you saw a curved knife, with blood dripping from its tip. You turned around to see who was it that gave it to you, but all you could discern was his back and a flash of face among the mob swirling in the tavern.
"You? You! You evil girl, you will pay for this! Guards! GUARDS! K-KILL THAT MONSTER!" yelled a tall, lean man looking like a tax collector, previously sitting next to the now deceased. He jumped to his feet surprisingly quickly and after one lope found himself next to you, grabbing your arm. "You're gonna pay for that, you whor... ugh!" Your elbow perfectly found his midriff, interrupting his speech and allowing you to wrestle free from his clutches. Dropping the knife, you stormed out of the building, with your heart nearly bursting out of your chest. You did not stop, but kept running blindly, without knowing where you go.
The smell of civilisation. Of progress, enlightenment. All it was doing was turning your stomach into a tight knot. To hell with all that, if it wasn't for the supplies and information, your foot would probably never appear in this wretched place. But necessity is something you know pretty well, don't you?
The air surrounding you gave you an easier passing through the overcrowded streets, as if the beggars feared you, even though you didn't even touch your sword. But right they were, leaving you alone. Some of the men'd been making suggestive gestures in your direction, with loathsome grimaces clinging to their faces, but all of them stopped smiling after looking into your eyes.
Suddenly you'd found yourself in front of a tavern, quite a bit cleaner and less crowded than all of the previous ones you passed; there were many people inside, but you were sure you could find a place to sit. You knew they'd rip you off, but a good meal was nothing to sneeze about. Disregarding a man busily scrubbing some scrawls from the wall, you entered. You didn't really take a good look at the room when you heard some commotion.
"Follow her! Don't let her run away!" Someone shouted and a young girl pushed past you and a man that entered right after you. "She must've had cronies for that, I'm sure! I've seen some fishy faces here just a moment ago, I swear! Some foreigners, most likely!"
"Tis two 'ere lookin' foreign enough t'me. Should we ask'em, heartily, what they kna? We won' break too many bones, I promise!" A burly man to your right exclaimed, pushing through the crowd towards you, with several men jumping to their feet and following. Your first thought was to draw your weapon, but you realised it's not the best idea. The man behind you grabbed your shoulder. "Seven heavens, whoever you are, let's get out of here before we are deaders!" he shouted, pulling you outside and into a narrow alley beside the building.
It's a wonder how a place can change during just a mere few years. But Rodan Saut's progress had never been like this. In fact, Rodan Saut had never been like this before. You'd always remembered it as an honest, just place, even if a little harsh and unforgiving for those less able. But one could always earn his share with honest labour, engineer or cobbler or peasant. Now it's like looking into broken mirror.
You were right; there was a storm coming, but a storm like none other. The sigils, the signals spoke nothing of this, or you couldn't had read them properly. But none could. The elves decided to embrace what was to come, willing to expose themselves, like all those times before, to walk out of the storm unscathed. But not this time. You couldn't know for sure, but it'd most likely been the last time you could see them, then, during the parting.
With a heavy sigh, you pushed through the crowd. After all those years, you couldn't really find comfort while being confined by walls, but staying on the streets for the night would be madness. You needed a room, and ideally one without bugs. It might sound a bit surprising, but living among the nomadic elves accustomed you to some standards.
And there it was, a tavern, one of the many, yet this time different. In fact it looked rather like some kind of exclusive local for people with stuffed purses, but if there's food, there should also be lodging. It's worth giving a shot, at least.
"...cronies for that, I'm sure! I've seen some fishy faces here just a moment ago, I swear! Some foreigners, most likely!" You heard right after entering, with another voice responding, "Tis two 'ere lookin' foreign enough t'me. Should we ask'em, heartily, what they kna? We won' break too many bones, I promise!" And then a burly man started pushing through the crowd towards you, with several men jumping to their feet and following. Whatever was the problem here, you were about to become a victim and you didn't like it one bit. You also saw that a woman in front of you, being accused herself, were about to draw her sword.
"Seven heavens, whoever you are, let's get out of here before we are deaders!" you shouted, pulling her outside and into a narrow alley beside the building.
Another busy day, culminating with even busier evening. Since the locust came, your purse had been bulging, especially that the quarter destroyed by the Descent hosted several posh cafes, which clients you took under your wings pretty quickly. It's surprising how people clutch to their previous, comfortable lives even after everything'd been turned upside down. That includes you as well, probably.
Enough to say that your fortunes weren't long enough. Food prices skyrocked nearly immediately, and went higher and higher with every survivor knocking at city's gates. And before you could even blink, your "well-stocked" basements were empty, and your suppliers didn't want to respect your previous arrangements. They screwed you well, and they did that without the slightest trace of guilt or hesitation.
But there were more than enough influential people out there, in the main room and in the alcoves. There's a wind of change coming, and it would topple those unprepared... "Master D-drake, there's been a s-s-slight problem out t-there, sir. A... a m-murder, sir!" stammered an errand boy, pale as death. "You don't want to go there, sir! You really don't! They blame you for conspiracy in killing good master Javad Gol, they want your head, sir, they refuse to talk! Uh oh, I think they are coming here, sir!"
Cursing under your breath, all you could do is burst through the backdoor. When their heads cool a bit, maybe then you'd be able to talk some sense into them.
And somehow all your fates were bound on those feral crossroads, with just a few beggars to witness your meeting; this district was a bit better, as there were no chop-houses nearby, and so it was unattractive to the masses. It was quickly apparent to all of you that you're all running away from something; still shaking girl in well-made coat now frayed here and there, heavily panting cook and two slightly winded travellers. Not one of you trusting others too much, you realised you could all use each other's help.
"Aight, so I see that we're all in the gutters now, so let's not ask too many questions and find a shelter, aye?" said one of the travellers, looking around, scanning the surroundings. "There, that gate. Some workshop or a warehouse, if we are lucky, it may even be abandoned. Let's go, before they catch us with our pants down." He added, pointing out the building he's talking about.
The gate to that workshop was closed, as expected, but after mingling in the lock for a while and giving it a few sound pushes, it opened. You stepped into darkness, trying to accustom your eyes to it, when you heard a voice. "What the hell is going on here? Who are you, people?!"
Busy, busy. Busy days, busy nights. And for what? Money? What's money good for? No, focus on the task! Find a way to destroy the locust. No success until now, this will require some serious unconventional thinking, way out of the box. Upgrading currently known weapons seem to be too little, doing no good. Am I getting older? Losing my edge, dulling the keen blade of my intellect? Ha, not today, not today...
BANG! A solid push at the gate reverberated throughout the workshop. Not at the door leading to your private rooms where you were sitting, working over some papers, but from the workshop proper, you're sure about that. Maybe the mob filling the city now decided it's a food depot? Lunatics. All they can eat there were bolts, canister shots and your arrows. And maybe those prototype clay munitions, yes, you could use some beta practising with those...
But maybe not today. You took your bow and a quiver into one hand, a lantern into the other. Putting the lantern on top of a long desk you shut the light completely, waiting. Your eyes adjusted pretty quickly, seeing the gray outline of the gate well enough. Well enough to shoot... Still hearing some muffled voices, you nocked an arrow and aimed. A moment and another strong shove later the gate swinged open silently on well-oiled hinges and a group of four people entered your workshop; but they looked anything like thieves or starving desperados.
"What the hell is going on here? Who are you, people?!" You exclaimed.
The city'd been struck hard. Down, to its knees and and then lower, with its face smeared with mud mixed with its own blood, streaming from countless wounds. But it was alive. It's giving shelter. Food, to some extent. As long as one did not delve into poorer districts, he would be just fine. Unless poorer districts reached out, like they did, with each day more frantically, more boldly, desperately.
And so it happened that day as well, sending electric shivers throughout the city of Rodan Saut, shivers of pleasure and unexpected joy to some, of outrage and indignaton to many, of fear and hopelessness to most. But the night is young, so let us spin this tale properly; and for that, my dear, we will need heroes...
__________________________________________________
You screened your eyes from the sun hanging low over the horizon, lower with every minute. You had a hood, which added a nice bonus of hiding your identity, should someone unwanted spot you in the crowd, but meandering among all those people required clear vision, so you needed to look up. You used to hear very good opinions about Rodan Saut, but the way it stands now, it's a long way from paradise. You daftly dodged a fat, bold man's grasping hand; he was wearing a long, reddish butcher's apron, which sent your imagination running about what he might've wanted from you.
After a few minutes you reached your destination, a small but well-known tavern, arguably the best in the city, or even in the Valley. But could you get what you needed here? You'd been assured, but there's only one way to check that.
Nearing the entrance, you saw a man trying to clean a word painted in striking orange colours on one of the walls; it read "tormentors." Places like this weren't too popular among the starving masses residing in the city; those wealthy enough could eat marvellous treats here, while for those less fortunate a fried rat had to serve for a delicacy.
It was inside, while you were talking to the bartender, laying down your cause, when you heard a shout of pain, followed by disgusting gurgling. Turning around, you saw an elderly, corpulent man with a goatee desperately trying to stop the blood spurting every other way from his slashed neck. Soon, it was everywhere; on his companions, their fancy food, his stylish robes the colour of desert's sand, on your face as well. You stood there, stunned. You could've just as well been a marble figure, seeing, but not witnessing what's going on around. And then someone staggered into you and you felt something being thrusted into your palm. You automatically lifted it to your eyes to see, to understand, and you gasped, as you saw a curved knife, with blood dripping from its tip. You turned around to see who was it that gave it to you, but all you could discern was his back and a flash of face among the mob swirling in the tavern.
"You? You! You evil girl, you will pay for this! Guards! GUARDS! K-KILL THAT MONSTER!" yelled a tall, lean man looking like a tax collector, previously sitting next to the now deceased. He jumped to his feet surprisingly quickly and after one lope found himself next to you, grabbing your arm. "You're gonna pay for that, you whor... ugh!" Your elbow perfectly found his midriff, interrupting his speech and allowing you to wrestle free from his clutches. Dropping the knife, you stormed out of the building, with your heart nearly bursting out of your chest. You did not stop, but kept running blindly, without knowing where you go.
The smell of civilisation. Of progress, enlightenment. All it was doing was turning your stomach into a tight knot. To hell with all that, if it wasn't for the supplies and information, your foot would probably never appear in this wretched place. But necessity is something you know pretty well, don't you?
The air surrounding you gave you an easier passing through the overcrowded streets, as if the beggars feared you, even though you didn't even touch your sword. But right they were, leaving you alone. Some of the men'd been making suggestive gestures in your direction, with loathsome grimaces clinging to their faces, but all of them stopped smiling after looking into your eyes.
Suddenly you'd found yourself in front of a tavern, quite a bit cleaner and less crowded than all of the previous ones you passed; there were many people inside, but you were sure you could find a place to sit. You knew they'd rip you off, but a good meal was nothing to sneeze about. Disregarding a man busily scrubbing some scrawls from the wall, you entered. You didn't really take a good look at the room when you heard some commotion.
"Follow her! Don't let her run away!" Someone shouted and a young girl pushed past you and a man that entered right after you. "She must've had cronies for that, I'm sure! I've seen some fishy faces here just a moment ago, I swear! Some foreigners, most likely!"
"Tis two 'ere lookin' foreign enough t'me. Should we ask'em, heartily, what they kna? We won' break too many bones, I promise!" A burly man to your right exclaimed, pushing through the crowd towards you, with several men jumping to their feet and following. Your first thought was to draw your weapon, but you realised it's not the best idea. The man behind you grabbed your shoulder. "Seven heavens, whoever you are, let's get out of here before we are deaders!" he shouted, pulling you outside and into a narrow alley beside the building.
It's a wonder how a place can change during just a mere few years. But Rodan Saut's progress had never been like this. In fact, Rodan Saut had never been like this before. You'd always remembered it as an honest, just place, even if a little harsh and unforgiving for those less able. But one could always earn his share with honest labour, engineer or cobbler or peasant. Now it's like looking into broken mirror.
You were right; there was a storm coming, but a storm like none other. The sigils, the signals spoke nothing of this, or you couldn't had read them properly. But none could. The elves decided to embrace what was to come, willing to expose themselves, like all those times before, to walk out of the storm unscathed. But not this time. You couldn't know for sure, but it'd most likely been the last time you could see them, then, during the parting.
With a heavy sigh, you pushed through the crowd. After all those years, you couldn't really find comfort while being confined by walls, but staying on the streets for the night would be madness. You needed a room, and ideally one without bugs. It might sound a bit surprising, but living among the nomadic elves accustomed you to some standards.
And there it was, a tavern, one of the many, yet this time different. In fact it looked rather like some kind of exclusive local for people with stuffed purses, but if there's food, there should also be lodging. It's worth giving a shot, at least.
"...cronies for that, I'm sure! I've seen some fishy faces here just a moment ago, I swear! Some foreigners, most likely!" You heard right after entering, with another voice responding, "Tis two 'ere lookin' foreign enough t'me. Should we ask'em, heartily, what they kna? We won' break too many bones, I promise!" And then a burly man started pushing through the crowd towards you, with several men jumping to their feet and following. Whatever was the problem here, you were about to become a victim and you didn't like it one bit. You also saw that a woman in front of you, being accused herself, were about to draw her sword.
"Seven heavens, whoever you are, let's get out of here before we are deaders!" you shouted, pulling her outside and into a narrow alley beside the building.
Another busy day, culminating with even busier evening. Since the locust came, your purse had been bulging, especially that the quarter destroyed by the Descent hosted several posh cafes, which clients you took under your wings pretty quickly. It's surprising how people clutch to their previous, comfortable lives even after everything'd been turned upside down. That includes you as well, probably.
Enough to say that your fortunes weren't long enough. Food prices skyrocked nearly immediately, and went higher and higher with every survivor knocking at city's gates. And before you could even blink, your "well-stocked" basements were empty, and your suppliers didn't want to respect your previous arrangements. They screwed you well, and they did that without the slightest trace of guilt or hesitation.
But there were more than enough influential people out there, in the main room and in the alcoves. There's a wind of change coming, and it would topple those unprepared... "Master D-drake, there's been a s-s-slight problem out t-there, sir. A... a m-murder, sir!" stammered an errand boy, pale as death. "You don't want to go there, sir! You really don't! They blame you for conspiracy in killing good master Javad Gol, they want your head, sir, they refuse to talk! Uh oh, I think they are coming here, sir!"
Cursing under your breath, all you could do is burst through the backdoor. When their heads cool a bit, maybe then you'd be able to talk some sense into them.
And somehow all your fates were bound on those feral crossroads, with just a few beggars to witness your meeting; this district was a bit better, as there were no chop-houses nearby, and so it was unattractive to the masses. It was quickly apparent to all of you that you're all running away from something; still shaking girl in well-made coat now frayed here and there, heavily panting cook and two slightly winded travellers. Not one of you trusting others too much, you realised you could all use each other's help.
"Aight, so I see that we're all in the gutters now, so let's not ask too many questions and find a shelter, aye?" said one of the travellers, looking around, scanning the surroundings. "There, that gate. Some workshop or a warehouse, if we are lucky, it may even be abandoned. Let's go, before they catch us with our pants down." He added, pointing out the building he's talking about.
The gate to that workshop was closed, as expected, but after mingling in the lock for a while and giving it a few sound pushes, it opened. You stepped into darkness, trying to accustom your eyes to it, when you heard a voice. "What the hell is going on here? Who are you, people?!"
Busy, busy. Busy days, busy nights. And for what? Money? What's money good for? No, focus on the task! Find a way to destroy the locust. No success until now, this will require some serious unconventional thinking, way out of the box. Upgrading currently known weapons seem to be too little, doing no good. Am I getting older? Losing my edge, dulling the keen blade of my intellect? Ha, not today, not today...
BANG! A solid push at the gate reverberated throughout the workshop. Not at the door leading to your private rooms where you were sitting, working over some papers, but from the workshop proper, you're sure about that. Maybe the mob filling the city now decided it's a food depot? Lunatics. All they can eat there were bolts, canister shots and your arrows. And maybe those prototype clay munitions, yes, you could use some beta practising with those...
But maybe not today. You took your bow and a quiver into one hand, a lantern into the other. Putting the lantern on top of a long desk you shut the light completely, waiting. Your eyes adjusted pretty quickly, seeing the gray outline of the gate well enough. Well enough to shoot... Still hearing some muffled voices, you nocked an arrow and aimed. A moment and another strong shove later the gate swinged open silently on well-oiled hinges and a group of four people entered your workshop; but they looked anything like thieves or starving desperados.
"What the hell is going on here? Who are you, people?!" You exclaimed.