Wind swept through the Barrow Hills, and rolled down the trade lanes down Harpers way. Twisting and twirling all its way through the revitalized arms of the mighty Vallenwood, then down on through the silent tranquility of the prairies which sat outside the doorstep of the capital city, Stormbreak. The cool wind crept its way, winding through back alley, past merchants, beggars, and thieves. Around brick and construct, through the muck and mud, up to a window sill where the assassin sat perched, watching the city fair for itself. His eyes, those chocolate orbs, dissolved beneath heavy lids a shiver ran down his spine. Merely perhaps from the wind, or was it something else? Some other feeling that nibbled at his mind. Regardless, these were not such times to worry of petty thoughts.
Unbeknownst to many of the Guildlings, certain acquisitions were made under capricious speculation, or more so trade secrets. What precious gems of information, what king’s fortune the assassin paid, never any shall know. However, all came to order and light a near week after mithril was found in abundance on the isle of Kira’vath. Kira’vath, the pearl of the southlands seas, with its lush tropical weather, endless beaches and vast jungles, once a mere resort for Pirates and sell-swords to hide their plunder, now a thriving mining camp. With four stout and sturdy boats and Captains true to their word as well without spirit for ale, the newly opened Danglers Shipping Co. began supplying passage and wares to those flooding the tiny island.
It hadn’t taken long for Merric to follow the paper trail nor know who was behind the treachery. As he lived off his portion of fat Stormbreak had to offer the Guilded thief lord, his eyes blurred to those events happening right out side his field of view. The Tradeways Shipping Company had several boats either turns up unfit to sail because rotted boards or molded sails, or other such plagues as ship inspections hampered trade. As well their Captains were known for enjoying good ale or twelve, one couldn’t operate a vessel much less guide it to the right island when they themselves were three sheets into the wind. The final stroke or plague to steal the wind from the Broken Daggers sails was the odd sea storm that rose up from the southern seas and stuck a deep blow to the docks of Stormbreak. The weather raged, the wind howled, and the rain pelted both man and wood for nearly three weeks… When the thunder had barked its last rumble and the lightening struck down its last brilliant bolt to the dockside causing small places here and there to catch a flame, few ships remained, the four fastest belonging to Danglers Shipping…
Who would think such a small turn of the tide had so much to offer to the veteran assassin and could steal so much in one blow from the leader of the Broken Dagger. The Guild Council saw no other way to turn but towards Ghaleon’s shipping company, who from four boats expanded to twelve in nearly twen months. They tripled the supply and surplus of goods and explorers they could deliver as if over night. It was his will, and his will alone that controlled the docks. It was as if after sending his only child off, the cold venire returned to give the assassin the shine he had once lost. When the council convened, it was indeed a house divided. Sitting at either length of the table resided a side, at the right sat Merric, always at his side the always reticent slayer of men, Drae numerous other agents of the Dagger dotted the walls behind them. Upon the other end of the table sat Ghaleon, Bellowban Bowhide the Minotaur stood stoic and ever ready. With her one good eye the hedge witch Morna, lurched over the small frame of the boy come to be called “Mouse”. Continually her gaze shifted back and forth from party to party, watching the crowd with both one blue eye, and one clouded white eye. The child, Mouse, kept quit as it wasn’t his place to speak on these adult matters, as well he shouldn’t have been allowed in the first place. Fear always rested at the nap of his neck and sweat beaded on his palms sitting there. He nearly felt like springing out of his skin a number of times when a councilman would call to him for a drink of snack. Then there was the factor of another, an ever present shadow lurking within the darkness. If ghaleon ever had a guardian angel or watcher, this one held the mantel. For one that could only see the light, she was his eyes when all lights faded to darkness. Moments at a time he caught a glimpse, a window to a view of such serene beauty it caused his heart to patter past a single beat. Even he was not immune to the skills she possessed.
So it came to pass, the veteran usurped what was rightfully his from the eager hands of the neophyte. What was taken was returned, his seat at the council, all privileges which were stripped as well the brash young thief was given order to apologize, and so he did with words spitting past locked teeth of disdain.
Still as the wind brushed past the assassin’s ear, it carried a name, a whisper to a thrill long past any days he could remember, past the recent scuffs and scuttles he had with “the lady” Jesswin. Further back, to a time and place he was still unsettled about returning to. One could lock and bind memories within unbreakable chains. However, the emotion was the key which caused the chains to fall off, one by one, the key which opened all the locks to his mind and heart.
So much regret, so much sorrow built over years of doubt and miss-giving. Never could an opponent’s blade hurt him as much words cast from wanton lips. Those dazzling chocolate spheres fell from the horizon as his head bent towards the small pattern his finger traced within the wood, a sun blazing afire locked within a runic summoning circle. So ironic was this time it brought a smile to his face, amid the ever present dampening feeling of remorse that weighed upon his chest, a smile in mockery to the truth. All his life he would fight for that which he wanted, that which he loved. Only for such items to crumple within his tight grasp, never holding on tight enough, then when it crumpled, he grew bitter and cast the pieces away and roared to the heavens.. Nonetheless, such rage would boil over and recess, then swell like the tides and rush over the brim of his consciousness once more, till it left him with nothing more then exhaustion and misery.. Subtle comforts were entertained to remove him from this rumpus. So he spent the time and watched his daughter grow, watched her fumble and stutters her first steps, watched her pick her first pocket and scribe her first article. Her accomplishments did bring a glint and glitter of joy into the emptiness he created. Such good times could not last till the end of his nights. Before he could blink an eye’s lash the time had rushed past him. Shiana was now a woman, and she would not rest within a den full of thieves and cutpurses. It took a week or so for that sinking feeling to lurk back within his doorway, that feeling of emptiness, remorse and loss. That feeling he knew and despised, that feeling, that emotion that could be only linked with one memory, one face..
So the strong steel of Spinsheath, and the cold aura of the Talon were summoned to his side to help hew a new path for the thief. Tired had he grown of waiting for death or a memory to return to his door and finish what they had started long ago.. If death would seek him then he wished to meet it on such terms, out and abound, within the open air. Not sulking over what was lost and never gained from choice after choice in errs. In little then four months past, those that mistook the assassin for long lost and worn well, had been played the fool and taken for all the coin they could spare and more. Now was the time, the time old flames rekindled and roared, now was the time the man would live up to the legends, and prove to all, why many were fearful to lurk down the side streets of the Vipers Nest…. Alone….
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o.O.c: More to come, so dont think this the end of a tale.. just a few troubles stirring within the city politically.. game on..
game on..