A Bed For The Night

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Cirath
Sojourner
Posts: 517
Joined: Fri Jun 29, 2001 5:01 am

A Bed For The Night

Postby Cirath » Wed Feb 09, 2005 1:01 am

Camon yawned as he walked the evening streets of Waterdeep, near the north gates. It was the same beat he had walked for fifteen years now. Most of the citizens in the area knew his name, and offered a friendly word as he passed. His life in the city guard had been deeply rewarding. He served the people and kept the peace, and he could think of no better place in life. Oh, certainly, it was dangerous at times, but in all his years on the watch, he had only had to draw his sword a handful of times.

The night had been relatively quiet, so far. There had been some rather grizzly murders and a fire that nearly destroyed an entire neighborhood a few weeks before, but things had returned to normal since then. Camon stopped as he reached a major intersection and looked north. The gates were closed, and had been for an hour or more. The day’s traffic had died down, and most people were unwinding with their families or a drink after a long day. He continued on his patrol, checking alleys and side streets for any suspicious activity, despite the apparent calm.

It was several more blocks before anything caught his eye. As he passed a dim alleyway, he noticed a dark form hunched over another figure. “Hey there! What are you up to over there?” Camon shouted. The figure straightened for a moment, and glanced back, then returned to whatever it had been doing. Placing his hand on the hilt of his sword, Camon started slowly down the alley. “Look, friend, I can’t have you sleeping on the street. If you need a place to stay, there’s a hostel not far from here…” He trailed off as he got closer, and the smell of blood floated by on a breeze. At first, he thought the vagrant was injured. Some of the less reputable citizens could be rather cruel to the city’s homeless when they got a few drinks in them.

When he got within a pace of the figure, he finally saw what the mound it was busying itself with. It looked a bit like a nest or burrow of some animal, fashioned from assorted litter and street trash. If someone were to crawl inside it would simply look like a pile of garbage. Releasing his weapon, he put a hand on the figure’s shoulder, “Come on, let’s find you a nicer place to sleep…”

The figure turned suddenly, moving like lightning. For the briefest of instances, he saw the man’s face and hand, both smeared in blood that had not yet dried. The face seemed vaguely familiar, like someone that had been described to him, but he had only an instant for the thought to drift through his mind before the hand wrapped around his throat and twisted brutally. He never heard his spine snap, never felt the hard paving stones as they rushed up to meet him.

After taking a deep breath over the body, the figure turned back to his work, examining it briefly, then climbed inside and pulled the corpse in after him.
Lilira
Sojourner
Posts: 1438
Joined: Thu Aug 28, 2003 3:53 pm

Postby Lilira » Tue Feb 15, 2005 8:42 pm

I slipped back into Waterdeep under the cover of darkness, through the smuggler tunnels that ran snake-like under the poorer section of the city. I crawled up through the trapdoor and towards the Smuggler’s Run looking for a quiet inn I knew of in this part of the city.

The sign of the Dead Rogues Inn beckoned to me. I wasn’t known here. I didn’t think. It didn’t matter really; I would only be here long enough to talk to the boy from the farm in the morning. I made myself as anonymous as possible, no entertaining for me tonight, went in, grabbed a room (paying extra so I wouldn’t wake up with a dagger to my throat) and went straight to my lumpy bed.

***
Wearing a hooded cloak to cover my hair and shade my face, I wandered to the east gates to find out what had become of the child I had dropped in their laps. I found out he had relatives in the city and had been placed in their care. Attempting to remain as unobtrusive as possible, I wandered in the direction the guard had indicated looking for the house.

I knocked on the door, pulling my hood back so my face was visible and grunted as the door was opened and a small child catapulted himself at me, knocking the breath out of me for a moment. I scooped him up, inhaling the scent of clean child, ignoring the twinge that reached into my heart, and cradled him close. A brown-haired, matronly woman stood in the doorway looking at me oddly. His Aunt I supposed.

“I’m Lilira,” I told her quietly. She nodded and stepped back to let me pass, as I carried the child. I sat in a chair she indicated, and positioned him in my lap. I wracked my brain trying to remember his name, it being lost in the confusion of names held by the whole family. Kendren. That was it.

“Kendren,” I began gently. Seeing the concern and grief in his aunt’s eyes, I sent her a look of apology. “Kendren, can you tell me about the bad man?” I felt the shudders begin to shake his small frame, and saw his eyes widen in panic. He fought me, trying to get away. I held him tightly and used my voice and words in an effort to soothe him as his hands struck out. I saw stars for a moment as a small fist connected with my nose, but I gritted my teeth and continued murmuring. His struggles ceased, and I whispered quietly into his ear, “Kendren honey, Lilira needs to find the bad man. She has to keep him from being bad again. I need your help,” over and over. Finally he began whispering, describing to me the man who had butchered his whole family. Black haired, dark tanned skin, tall, scary face; with every whispered word, my heart sank further into my boots. I knew the man. His scarred face had been carved into my memory with each slash of his knife. The only thing differing from the man I knew and the description Kendren gave were his eyes. Completely black during the massacre, whites and all, until he had seen Kendren and urged the boy to flee and tell one of the ‘heroic adventurers’ of what had happened. His eyes had been the normal gray I was familiar with. I had the information I needed, and stopped the boy’s words, murmuring reassurances as to how brave he was, and thanking him for telling me. I sang a lullaby, ending it with a sigh as I felt his little body relax. His aunt had stood, torn, the whole time I had spoken with him. I met her gaze sadly, and nodded. The woman bustled forward to take the sleeping child from me, and walked with him to the back of the house. I pulled out a pouch and left it on the table, before quietly leaving the house. One more mouth was a strain on any family not prepared. I hoped the money would be of aid. Now what to do? It was obvious I had to find him, but who would aid me?

I would have to search. “Look to the North,” he had told the child, this nightmare from my past. I could sum the terror I felt up in one word.

Cirath.

But he’s supposed to be dead!

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