Chapter I: Nyermersys

[Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin]

"Ye ain't got no san, ye cannna drink 'ere!"

The  bitter laced sing song mocking voice was the only sound on the street save for the howling wind as a lone figure stumbled along in the dark.  The man was incensed.  How dare the tavern throw him out?  Wasn't it true that every coin he ever had he spent in there?  Least they owed him was a free drink once in awhile.  Only seemed right.

He continued along, pulling his tattered cloak tighter around him and lifting the collar a little higher in order to keep the wind off him.  Winter was coming.  Life would get infinitely harder for him.  Time for him to start "believing" in a god again.  Queprur, most likely.  The priests of the Temple of Queprur were always good for the occasional meal and shelter for the night.  A shiver then ran through the man.  But, not tonight.  There was something just a bit too creepy about staying in a temple dedicated to death that kept him from going there.  It was a last resort.

He stopped.  His hand was itchy, and that always made him angry.  He lifted his arm and stared at the empty sleeve on his right arm.  How could something that wasn't there itch?  It brought him nothing but grief, as there was never any way to relieve the irritant.

"Dunna start this shite, not t'night," he spoke angrily to the empty sleeve.  He had been a real person once, a member of Nyermersys.  Tavis Grillum, or Tavis the Stonemason.  Now it was Tavis One Arm, or Tavis the Drunk.  Or sometimes simply just Tavis, you son of a -

Off to his left, two dogs started barking, growling and snapping at each other.  A dark haired dog, brown or black was hard to distinguish at this time of night, was trying to protect a bone from a lighter haired dog.  The light haired dog lunged forward and the dark haired dog was forced to drop the bone in order to gnash its teeth and snap at the lighter dog.  Immediately the air was filled with the sound of the two dogs in full fight mode, both of them rolling, snapping and yelping.

Tavis stopped, thought about it for a brief moment, then took a run at the dogs, yelling, kicking and waving his arm and a half.  "Git outta 'ere you filthy beggars, you."  His foot caught the lighter dog in the ribs, causing it to yelp, snarl then take off on a run.  The dark haired dog put its tail between its rear legs and trotted off a few paces, though it still regarded Tavis with narrowed eyes.

For his part, Tavis' momentum carried him forward and inebriation did the rest, causing him to crash to the cobblestones.  He pulled himself up onto his knees and looked at the palm of his left hand.  Besides copious amounts of dirt, blood trickled from several scrapes.  At least there was one advantage to only having one hand, he thought dryly, you could only hurt the one that was left.

The stinging pain and the blood brought memories of "the day" to his mind.  Working on the Castle of Thevelin, part of a crew that was repairing a north wall that had needed fixing.  He was below, helping to fashion stones into the right shape while others then hauled the stones up to the top with a series of ropes and pulleys.  Unfortunately, for Tavis, a rope had frayed, then broke, and the stone came crashing down.  Three people were killed, two died later, and he lost his hand when it was crushed between the falling stone and another.

Tavis stepped over to the bone, bent over and gingerly picked it up with his left hand.  The dog barked and whined in the background, but Tavis ignored it.  He held the bone before his face.  Looked like a leg bone to a small sheep.  He sniffed at it.  Wasn't rancid, though there was almost no meat left on it.  Still, the lack of drink in his belly only reminded him that he hadn't eaten in over a day.

He carefully leaned in and took a bite, ripping the tiny piece of meat from the bone.  Definitely sheep.  He swallowed, making a face as he did.  Had a sour taste to it.  Still, it was something.

He continued his journey, not really aware of any particular destination.  The dark dog trotted along behind, keeping a steady distance of 5 peds.  

Tavis turned a corner and stopped.  His blood chilled, as his eyes narrowed with his view up ahead.  He hated this place at night.  During the day it was fine; a bustling plaza filled with people coming and going and street vendors hawking their wares, and the occasional street performer trying to woo a few sans from the public.  It was often crowded and always loud.

But at night... No, at night it was different, at least for Tavis.  At night, it was a deserted eerie place, save for the one object that unnerved him.  The Pest Pillar.

Standing there, a monolith of horror, was the Pest Pillar.  A monument to Death itself, Queen Queprur.  A granite structure covered in the corpses of rats, intermingled with skulls of all kinds staring out lifelessly, their deathly grins mocking those of the living who cared to examine it.

Tavis swallowed hard, feeling a deep chill, more than the late autumn wind that blew, course through him.  Several of the skulls, some human, some...not, seemed to be staring directly at him across the plaza.  He closed his eyes.  "Ye just drunk, ye ol' fool.  Quit yer starin' at it."

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes again.  He sighed, as some of the nightmarish quality of the pillar did, in fact, seem to wane.  He needed to pass the pillar if he wanted to get to the Harbour District.  Though one had to deal with the dampness of the Teiphra river, there were many more small places to shelter there without being chased away by the town watch.

His footfalls echoed as he hurried across the cobblestones of the plaza.  The only other sounds were the wind blowing dead leaves, and the whine of the dark dog following him.  Tavis felt better putting the pillar behind him, but the dog was getting tiresome, so he stopped and turned about.  Biting off the last piece of salvageable meat from the bone, Tavis threw the bone at the pillar.

"Leave me alone, mutt.  There be yer bone.  Damn ye, and damn that ugly pillar."  Tavis watched the dog rush over to the foot of the pillar where the bone had come to rest then greedily snatch up the leg bone.

Tavis turned away and took a step, but then halted once more.  Over the howl of the wind, and different than the sound of leaves blowing, was a skittering sound that grew louder and louder.  He could hear the dog begin to growl, then whine.  A frightened yelp from the animal had Tavis spinning around.

"What in the name of all that's good and 'oly..."

Tavis watched as the dark dog was surrounded by a sea of rats.  It was as though every rat in the world had come to this plaza this night.  There couldn't be that many rats in the entire city.  But, here they were, circled around the dark dog and closing in, their little snouts gnashing long white teeth.

The dog was snarling, growling, barking and yelping in succession as it spun in a circle, trying to keep the rodents at bay.  But, it was a futile effort as the rats were simply too many to be dealt with and they continued to close in, their squeaks and growls soon over shadowing those of the dogs.  In one last desperate attempt to save itself the dog tried to leap out over them, but the rats set upon the dog en masse.  There was a brief struggle, but within a moment, the dark dog had most of its flesh rended from its bones.

Tavis barely suppressed a shriek.  His eyes wide, he waited to see if the rats would turn on him, but for the moment they did not.  Instead, they all circled the pillar and stared up at it, many sitting up, balanced on their tails and rear legs.  

Tavis felt a warmth down his legs and realized he had urinated in his pants.  A moment later, he found himself gulping in the chill night air as he hadn't dare breath in the last few moments.  The rats were just staring at the pillar, almost honouring it; revering it.

Why?  What was drawing them to it?  Then he saw it and his mouth went dry and his belly shrivelled in fear.  Atop the pillar, the grotesque hand that sat there, that long dried, atrophied appendage put there to terrify onlookers, it was moving.  The fingers were curling out, then drawing back in.  It was beckoning.  It was calling.  

Tavis had enough.  More than enough.  With a scream of fright, he turned and began running blindly.  Turning corners, first one direction, then another, as if trying to elude followers, he lost himself in the streets and alleyways of Nyermersys.  He ran and he ran, until he saw the yellow light spilling out from a tavern just up ahead.

Tavis threw himself into the tavern, slamming the door behind him and pressed himself against it, in case something had followed him and would be trying to get inside.  " 'elp me!  'elp me!  I've just seen Queprur.  She's returned to take us all."

[Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin]

The sounds of women's laughter was followed shortly by the loud guffaw of a the large burly man who strode between the two painted women, one on each of his thick arms.  They began the descent of the stairs into the main common room of the run down tavern.  Thick billows of pipeweed smoke filled the air.  

His green eyes surveyed the room, lingering on each of the ladies for half a breath longer than it should have.  There were a few that might catch his attention later, after a few more drinks.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, he slapped the bottom of one of the women on his arm while drawing the other in for a long kiss.  She too then received a slap on her rear.  "Begone, wenches.  I've had me fill of ye.  Time for drink!"  His swivelled to face the bar and the fair face of the tavern owner's wife.

"Maddy!  Get me a drink lass, and tell ye husband you'll be runnin' away with me.  At least until I'm sober."

The woman, Maddy, glanced at her red faced husband apologetically.  "You're never sober."

The words hit the man like a completely foreign concept.  "I think you might actually be right on that, lass."

Maddy, the tavern owner's wife, suppressed a shudder and called over another woman, a serving maid, and pointed her to the table the man had made himself home at.  The serving maid nodded and approached the large bearded man.  "What would you like to drink, sir?"

Sir?  The man looked over the new girl and snorted derisively.  She had dark hair and eyes.  He had never found that attractive.  Too much Ramunapan blood in her, he thought.  "Dunno, lass.  Have any goora?"  He shook his head before the girl had a chance to. "Of course not.  You never do.  Fine, what's cheap?  And dunna be sayin' Whiskaway.  Rather drink wison piss."

The girl thought for a moment.  "Well, my master has put scumbel on sale tonight.  Instead of an erg, he's only asking a su."

The bearded man's eyes twinkled.  "Oh?  A su instead of an erg?"  She nodded and he continued.  "So, let me get this straight.  Your master, that weenie of a man married to Maddy, is sellin' a drink worth four san for three san?"  Again, she nodded and he continued.  "So, in essence, if I were to buy one drink for an erg, you would owe me a san?"

The girl struggled to make the figures work in her head.  "Yes," she finally affirmed.

The man nodded.  "Very well, and if I bought another, again you would owe me a san?"

Yes.

"Then I bought a third drink, and a third san would be mine?"

Yes.

"So, you now owe me three san?  And the drink costs three san?  So, I have earned a free drink?"

A hesitant yes.

The man smiled through yellow stained teeth.  "Very well, lass.  I'll be takin' that free drink first."

The girl stood for a moment, going over the logic of his argument, then decided that it made sense.  She made her way to the bar, where both Maddy and her husband listened to the girl's explanation.  There were some hushed words exchanged before Maddy herself stomped over to the bearded man while her red faced husband watched from behind the bar.

"You'll pay full price for the drink or you can leave."  She slapped a mug with scumbel onto the table, the contents sloshing over the sides.

The man chortled.  "Maddy, me girl.  I was only teasin'."   He pulled forth the requisite coin and placed them on the table.

When Maddy's hand closed over the coin, the man's arm shot out and he grabbed her wrist and pulled her down onto his lap, pushing himself into her.  "You're man wears longer skirts than you, Maddy," he whispered coarsely into her ear.  "Come be with a real man."

"More of a man than you, you brute!"  Her free hand shot forth, landing a slap across his face.  She pulled herself free and stormed away.  Her red faced husband looked on.

The man laughed.  If her husband was a real man, he'd fight for his woman.  The man then stared hard at the husband, challenging him, while calmly pulling forth his hunting knife and composedly began cleaning under his fingernails.  He noticed that the now pale faced husband suddenly found other items to stare at.

The bearded man then heard a commotion at the door, where a one hand man was pale faced and shaking.  

" 'elp me!  'elp me!  I've just seen Queprur.  She's returned to take us all."

The large bearded man took the mug of scumbel and swallowed it all in one long gulp.  He burped loudly.  

"And just what in a pigs arse would she want to do that?"

Gurrant Cáo-fá-cael stood and faced the stranger at the door, while stroking his full beard now wet with scumbel.

[Movash]

No-one had noticed him, as usual. He stood in a corner of the tavern and watched the adults, listened to their noisiness, and smelled their beer, their sweat and their poor digestion. Movash had become good at hiding in full view. People saw him, but did not consider him. He was like a piece of furniture, utterly unimportant, like an empty beer cask or a broken table. And that was good. It was his way to survive in cities.

It didn't work when Humbaba was with him, of course. But she was out in the night, hunting. It was hard for her, this stinking city. Rat for breakfast, rat for dinner, and rat for desert, with only the occasional taenish mixed in, snatched from a backyard for seasoning. Movash stole meat for her as often as he could, but it was risky business, and the loot never enough.

He didn't like to think of her being out and about, prowling the streets on her own. The dogcatchers could catch her trail any moment. And once they would see her beak-like mouth, or hear her sing, they'd know that she was no dog. They'd either kill her on the spot as an abomination, or sell her to the next crazy merchant, who would beat her into submission and sell her Ava knew where. And that, thought Movash, would kill him. For Humbaba was his only friend.

But he couldn't well keep her with him at all times. She was always so hungry in cities, and got restless long before dusk, her favourite hunting time. Besides, with her around, Movash could hardly expect to steal enough food for himself. A boy with a naked wolf-shaped ped-high monster by his side did tend to get noticed, no matter his knack for inconspicuousness.

Well, Nyermersys had brought them no luck. They would leave tomorrow at first light. But for now, he had to get some food. He hadn't eaten all day, and the cold had torn at his body with fingers made of nails. At times he had felt so weak that he'd found it difficult to stand.

Something was happening. A man had entered the tavern and was screaming for help. Queprur was after him, he said. All eyes seemed to turn to him. The first to respond was a fat giant, whose beard was dripping with booze. He shouted at the newcomer. “Pig's arse,” was all Movash heard. There'd be a fight, Movash could smell it, and this would be his chance. He began to move. He reached a table, placed conveniently in the shadow of a wooden pillar. The grown-ups sitting around it all seemed spellbound by the loud dialogue. On the table, Movash could see three roast taenish legs, two slabs of bread, and half a dozen petitioners. His hand reached out from behind the shoulder of one of the patrons, and went for a taenish leg. Even before his fingers closed around it, he could feel on his palm that it was still warm.

[Leilani Nakai'ewalu]

She sat in her chair, back straight with her legs crossed at the ankles. Gingerly she dipped a piece of bread into the bowl of broth on the table in front of her. It felt like a wet sponge in her mouth as she chewed, the hot broth immediately warming her from the inside out. Feeling Lucas' warm breath on her thigh, she repeated the process but held out the damp bread for her canine friend. Out of nowhere a small white weasel scurried up her leg to snatch the morsel out of her hand before the dog could get to it. He sat on her thigh, bread in his tiny claws as he nibbled furiously. "Oh Rocco, you mischievous little thing.", sh said in a soft whisper. Although she didn't know why she was trying to be so inconspicuous, it was always a futile attempt. Even if Lucas and Rocco weren't perpetually attached to her hip, Leilani herself was enough to draw a decent amount of attention. Her vivid blue hair paired with pale, almost icy blue, skin and red eyes aren't exactly the norm.

From  all exterior appearances she seems calm and serene but her mind was going full speed. Every sound and scent overwhelmed her senses, coming in an unorganized jumble. Upon concentration however, she could detect the smell of sweat, alcohol, meat and smoke wafting from the hearth. Even whole conversations she could hear. Some here quite personal while others were about money, sex or pride. There were even people talking about her. Most of the comments expressed pity but like always there were a few snide and even lurid remarks. One man even boasted to his companion of how he was going to get the blind elf alone and... She couldn't listen anymore but made a mental note to avoid the man. Most of the time it was simply the alcohol and testosterone talking but on the occasion that someone attempted to follow through with their boasting, Lucas would dissuade them with a growl or bite if necessary and the grip of the animals jaws were not to be taken lightly.

Lucas' soft whimper drew her attention back from her thoughts as she again offered the dog a bite of bread and broth before finishing her cup of milk. The same woman who initially took her order returned and asked if she would like a refill. "Yes, two please. One in a bowl.", she said while pointing towards Lucas. Upon her return both Lucas and Rocco began lapping up the milk and it was then that the door opened and slammed closed. The man who entered sounded winded and scared as he spoke of Queprur returning. There was a general sound of surprise and confusion that spread through the room but there was one man in particular who stood and addressed the newcomer and his odd outcry.

[Ridgen Sú'ufanán]

Queprur? Death? The newcomer's claims are quite interesting. Ridgen observed with silvery eyes as another man - a regular, probably - confronts the newcomer, asking why she'd ever do that. The elf thought it to be interesting to see what happens next - he sat back on his chair in a quiet-ish corner of the room, eavesdropping on the conversation. This guy might be another attention seeker, but there might be more to it than that - there was genuine fear in his voice.

[Azalahn]

Some time ago an old companion had died. He had traveled up north to pay respect to the burial site. Elliane had accompanied him. It had indeed been a journey filled with nothing but trouble. As usual there were many places that had outright refused him and his companion their hospitality once they saw her face. It had also been the same here, but at last he had found a place that at least would serve them some much needed food.

Azalahn was starving he had ordered 3 big bowls of stew, and the two first ones were consumed almost as soon as they had been served. Now with the 3'rd one he could finally relax and enjoy the food, or at least try to.

Perhaps it was only his imagination, but he thought that he could almost feel the mistrust, hostility and perhaps outright hatred from some customers glaring at him and his companion every now and then.

There was some drunk idiot making a scene, but indeed it seemed that he was getting a much friendlier treatment that Azalahn and his companion had. When the food had been served it had been with a warning or more a treat, any trouble from the dark elf or him and they would both be hanging in the gallows the very next morning.

His master had always told him to take care of every man and woman under his command, the kassite riders he had been living with in the Korwyn empire for a short while considered every member of their squad as family and indeed this sense of honor and responsibility didn't seem unfamiliar to the sarvonians at all. But somehow since she was a dark elf then the same rules didn't seem to apply.

He scanned the room for people who looked like they were welltrained warriors, people who probably would hurt themself more than the opponent in case of a fight and everything in between. Then he make a mental note of the fastest and easiest escape route if anything would happen.

His high quality armor and fine clothes together with his enormous size probably made him stand out from the crowd even more, but he hoped that it would also be a bit intimidating, at leas intimidating enough so that some drunk wouldn't force a confrontation upon him. He had absolutely no intention of responding to any provocation that might come. He just wanted to eat and be on his way back home again as soon as possible.

There were some remarks about the apparently blind elf woman. He noticed that his hand was beginning to form a first, and that his teeth were clenched together. He forced himself to relax again. A part of him wanted to teach that man a lesson, but it was not his place to do so here, but the disgust for such a lowlife didn't go away.

Suddenly the door opened and a man came in shouting something about Queprur.

[Thorgas Ironforge]

It was an easy job -- tutor a nobleman's son in the arcane ways for a few moons and earn your weight in gold. The boy didn't want to go to Ximax and would rather be privately taught. Free food and lodging they say. For the first few weeks he ate what the family ate: roasted taenish, grilled mountain goat, expensive mushrooms, all the good stuff. He was free to eat anything in the house.

And it so happens that on one particular night, while enjoying his steamed fish, the dwarf felt a craving that can only be satisfied by one thing: ale. He was alone in the house, with the master and his family out for some evening party and the servants at their quarters. With no one to speak to, he decided to search the ale cellar for anything that can satisfy this thirst. He came upon a very old looking bottle, kept in the deepest corner of a wine cabinet. Thinking that this must have been forgotten by the master, it would not hurt anyone if he consumed the contents.

By the time the master got home, the dwarf was finishing the last of the wine. The bottle lay empty at his side and a glass half full was about to be emptied. The nobleman greeted the mentor, but caught the bottle in his sight. At this the master's face reddened with rage, for the wine that the dwarf so graciously drank is a rare type; one that is nearly a century old. A few hours of stern lecturing later, the man fired the dwarf, keeping his wages in lieu of the wine. He thought of getting revenge by fire, but the idea of spending time in a jail did not sit well with him.

Now here he was, snoring in a corner of a room, his hood covering his face with only his pipe showing. Thirteen mugs of ale decorate his table. Twenty seven in truth, but the other empty mugs were taken away to make room for the others.

" 'elp me!  'elp me!  I've just seen Queprur.  She's returned to take us all."

"And just what in a pigs arse would she want to do that?"

With a snort, the dwarf woke up. He rubbed his red eyes for a moment, then stared with disdain at the the pair who have disturbed his slumber.

Pig's arse? That better not be Buri.

[Movash]

Back in the shadows, hiding from the treacherous lights, Movash did not allow himself a glance at his bounty. Putting the warm meat into his pocket and looking for the next opportunity were one movement. His stomach complained, oh yes. It wanted the food now, this instant, while it was still warm and moist. It growled as loud as Humbaba did when a meddlesome street dog bothered them – which was, admittedly, not her loudest growl. That  she reserved for the beastliest types. Wolves and humans, mostly.

But Movash had no time to lose. A chance like this might not come again all night. He did not heed the scrap between the men by the door. His eyes wandered around, surveying the tables. There was the heavy-drinking dwarf. Movash had noticed him earlier. He had thought that the dwarf was asleep, and he had hoped to snaffle food off him, or even some coin, if possible. But the ruckus seemed to have woken the dwarf. He was moving, rubbing his eyes with his stubby dwarf fingers, turning his head to find out where the noise had come from that had disturbed his nap. It would be too risky to steal from him now. Dwarves could bend swords with their bare hands. Movash did not like the thought of those hands giving him a hiding.

His glance fell on another table. A woman was sitting there. Her hair was a funny colour – purple or blue, Movash thought, though it was hard to make out in the murky light. It looked more like the colour of a flower than of a person's hair.

Something in the way the woman moved caught Movash's attention. Maybe it was the carefulness with which she placed her hands. And as she listened to the men at the door, did her head not point in an odd direction? It was as if she was listening without looking. Abraxa had moved like that.

Old Abraxa. She had been the soothsayer in the troupe of Butterfly Rovers that had been Movash's home and family - back then, before his life had exploded around him, before the Netherworld had taken his parents, his friends, his happiness, and his voice. He had liked Abraxa, but he didn't allow himself to think about her. The only thing that mattered now was that Abraxa had been blind. Like, Movash thought, the woman at that table over there.

There was bread on the table. A few quick, quiet steps, and Movash was behind the woman's chair. Only then did he notice the dog. It was hunched over a bowl of food that had been placed on the floor. Movash hesitated. The dog looked like trouble. He could only too well imagine how its teeth would slice through his skinny leg. It wouldn't be the first time. And Humbaba wasn't here to help him.

But hunger and need won. Avoiding the dog, Movash took one more step. He now stood within touching distance of the woman. One piece of bread was placed tantalizingly close, just half an arm's length away from the table edge. He only needed to reach out and take it. But if he was wrong, if she wasn't blind after all, she would surely see him. He felt like closing his own eyes, as if that would help; as though, by making himself blind, he could also make himself invisible. But he swallowed his fear and kept focused. His arm shot out long and thin, and his fingers stretched for the bread.

[Leilani Nakai'ewalu]

Leilani licked her lips, tasting the residual salt left behind from the broth. She could hear Lucas as he lapped up the milk and in the background, the general bustle of the taverns patrons. Suddenly Lucas stopped drinking and fell silent and still at her side. It was a subtle warning that someone was approaching but Leilani didn't need the warning. She could smell him and hear his stomach softly growing in hunger.

She could tell that he, or possibly she, was small and more than likely a child. Something inside of her said that it was a young boy and she knew what he wanted before it even happened and as he reached out his arm to snatch up her bread she reacted quickly. Simultaneously her left arm lowered to stay Lucas' inevitable attempt to stop the boy while her right hand went out and gripped the childs wrist in a gentle but firm grasp. The wrist felt tiny in her hand and she immediately released it. "You should have simply asked, young one.", she said with a slight smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth. She slid the bowl of broth towards the side of the table where a empty chair sat, then did same with the bread. Bringing the cup of milk to her lips she took one final sip before positioning it next to the broth. "Please, join me. I cannot finish this on my own."

Her hand gently stroked her dogs furry head, playing with his ear until he relaxed and went back to finishing off his own meal. Rocco quickly scurried up to stand on his hind legs, balancing on her thigh as he peaked his little head over the table while he licked the last drops of milk from his whiskers. In an instant he was on the table, grabbing up crumbs of bread from the surface, his little claws making faint scratching sounds on the wood.

[Warrior Kaelan]

"Leave those damnable things alone!", short, heavy, balding Kret demanded of the massive warrior, fuming up at him. "You're here to look intimidating, not start a damn war. Frown and grunt, it's what I pay you to do! Leave those stupid weapons on the cart!"

Vaguely, Kaelan considered looking at him, considered making a noise in protest - a grunt, he supposed - and then didn't. The little fool wasn't worth the effort. With one deliberate motion he sheathed both shortswords, then strapped the longsword over his left shoulder, fastened the belt, and passed the bastard sword over his right, fastening that belt. He drew the bastard sword to inspect the blade, running a finger gently down its edge.

His gaze softened at the sight. The furrows of his thick brows relaxed slightly, and for a moment he forgot about the crazy little man who ill understood battle. The weapon, though; it understood. The steel had been and always would be faithful. It was love, he decided; truest of love. The blade held a place in his heart. Tenderly, his little finger found the deepest nicks that he'd honed back into an edge, and he wanted then to sit, to oil and stone it again. Still, there was work to be taken care of first, and he deliberately dropped it back into the hook.

Here, he threw his cloak over his shoulders, fastened it loosely, and followed Kret into the darkened streets of the City of Death. Why anyone would choose to travel from Milkengrad to this forsaken place eluded the warrior, but the question was entirely irrelevant; on the other hand, it made perfect sense. There were customers as much here as anywhere, and where men bought, men sold. His own father would have figured out that much.

Somewhere in the quiet before them a voice screamed. Kaelan never tried to determine if it was male or female, forcing himself to relax after it passed. Whatever it was, the city would find a way to handle it. Kret paused as he saw a man fleeing to the very same inn he'd set his eye on, moving so quickly he appeared to the merchant almost to be falling horizontally. Something indeed had frightened the man.

It was a few minutes later that they neared the entrance, and Kret paused to look up at Kaelan, frowning. "No fights!", he tried to remind him. "I'm here on a rendezvous, and I don't need some bloodthirsty oaf fouling it up!"

He found it easier to ignore Kret's insults than it was to kill the little man - that, and the promise of pay, possibly without bloodshed appealed to the warrior. Kaelan deliberately said nothing, following Kret inside where Kret's nasal voice found what he assumed to be the place's keeper and, drawing a purse from his satchel, demanded, "A room for the night and a cot for my goon!"

His eyes took in the odd crowd; every crowd was odd in its own way. First, warriors. At least one of the people in the room looked combat-ready, and fancy at that. The armor looked not only monied, but practical rather than parade. Second was the dwarf, always a consideration where close quarters were concerned, but there was something odd about his clothes, his figure, that the warrior couldn't quite figure. An elf and a waif he noticed finally, and after only a brief consideration discounted them both, drawing his attention off them and back to the man who'd hired him.

[Garth Avery]

Mouse sat quietly at a table, his feet dangling somewhere between his chair and the floor. He was sitting close to a wall, trying - and mostly succeeding - to be inconspicuous. For once he was not planning how to approach the innkeep to let him perform his acrobatics for the gathered crowd. He had just had a fairly successful stay with a rich Nyermersian merchant, who had paid him handsomely for his antics. For once he was here just as any other traveller, with the sans in his pocket to pay for his room and for his meal. Dressed in his old patched-up tunic, he probably did not really look like he had the money to pay these things, but after extracting some sans to pay in advance, the innkeep no longer had any problem with the little guy.

He had ordered a nice little stew with some bread, and he was taking his precious time to enjoy the meal. He even allowed himself the rare luxury of a cup of Artwine, for which he took even more time. Normally he was satisfied with just some water, but he had decided to enjoy himself, just this one night.

He had almost decided to retreat upstairs, away from the crowd in the common room, when a commotion started up near the door. Some man had flown in and started yelling something, pressing himself against the door as if frightened of something on the other side. Mouse was sitting just too far away to hear the actual words, mostly due to the noise in the common room combined with his diminished hearing, but there was something about Queprur in there. A burly patron made his way over to the frightened man, apparently addressing him. Without being able to actually hear the conversation, he nonetheless remained seated and watching the proceedings, interested in the different facial expressions of the participants - he might learn something for his own show, when he made good use of the muscles in his face to express exaggarated emotions.

Before the frightened man could reply to the burly patron, the door to the tavern opened, nearly toppling him over where he still stood leaning against it. He managed to keep himself upright at the last second, but his looks at the street outside were, if possible, even more fearful than they had been a moment before. He was really afraid that something would enter through that door... However, what came through was only a short, bald man accompanied by what to Mouse looked like one of the largest men he had ever seen, with loads of blades on his person, some of which Mouse could probably fit in. True, he was an intimidating sight, but one look at the first man confirmed to Mouse that this was not the reason for his fear. Mouse leaned back in his chair. Despite the discomfort of being in the middle of so many people without actually performing, he decided to stay a little longer. The night promised to be an interesting one.

[Altario Shialt-eck-Gorrin]

Gurrant watched as the one handed man was knocked away from the door as two men came into the tavern.  The first, a smaller man, balding, was of no concern.  The second, was a very large man, larger perhaps than himself, the difference being less fat on this man.  The grip on his hunting knife tightened just a little.

Were these two chasing the one handed man?  Gurrant watched as the one handed man visibly relaxed with a more careful scrutinization of the intruders.  No, they weren't the ones chasing the man.

A smirk creased Gurrant's bearded face.  "Eh?  Which o' these two be Queprur then?"

The one handed man ignored the derision, instead grabbing a mug of something off the nearest table and gulping it down with fervour.  When he was done, he relaxed a little and looked about the room to see that more than a few heads were watching him.  He knew how it must look.

"Come on, then.  What's ye name?"

The man looked at the big bearded man.  "Tavis.  Tavis Grillum."

Gurrant nodded.  They were getting somewhere then.  "Tavis.  Tavis Grillum.  How about telling what has ye all upset?"

Tavis swallowed hard.  "The Pest Pillar.  It's come alive!"

[Azalahn]

Azalahn finished his 3'rd bowl of stew, just as the man who came in screaming about Queprur was knocked aside by 2 men coming in behind him. He was still hungry, he wanted to ask one of the barmaids to bring him some more, but with the wellcome that he had received it would most likely take quite a while before she would pass his order along, so instead he stood up and walked over to the bar and said:

Meat and vegetables a bit and fine wine a bottle as well please give. Corpsberry wine most preferable, but it not exist if, dry vine good bottle good is.

He hated this, but there was no way that Elliane would be able to order anything for them, so he had to do it himself and tell the whole world how limited his Tharian was. Now they must really think that I am a half ogre or some freak the thought.

As he was standing there in his full height of 2 peds, 2 fores and 9 nailsbreadth, the poem and beautiful maiden face engraved in his breastplate were quite visible, as well were his two longswords hanging on his side.
 
Now when he was some distance away from Elliane he could smell her Korwynite perfume on himself mixed with the smell of his own Kaýrrhem perfume, an expensive perfume even in the Korwyn empire, usually only used by the nobility and the wives of wealthy merchants.  Apparently she had sprayed some of it on his shirt. He shaked his head a bit, that perfume must have cost her 2 months wages. He looked at her and smiled, she smiled back. Sitting there in her fine green wool and linen clothes of Injerin style she could easily have been mistaken for an Injerin warrior he thought, the sad thing about it was that the Injerin style really didn't suit her. He tried to imagine her wearing a spilk dress of Aestera design.

Then he heard the man who had come into the tavern say "The Pest Pillar.  It's come alive!"

He turned towards the woman called Maddy who was obviously in charge here. "pest pillar? what saying he is? The plague struck this city has, he say?"

It was as if the air suddenly had become ice cold, a part of him wanted to get out of here as soon as possible but he knew that if the plague had come then it was allready too late, they would all die here, unless Netor would save them or Queprur didn't want them, he was fairly certain that Queprur didn't want him, he had asked her to take his soul sooooo many times but all in vain. However she might want Elliane's soul, not a good thing, the young girl deserved to at least get to know a few years of happiness.

"Beloved Estaria, please forgive me for not being able to see you again. Ameros I beg of you, take my life and balance my early death and empty life, so that both Estaria and Elliane can find happines at last, and live to enjoy it." he whispered in Styrian

He looked away from Maddy again and towards what was going on. There was that drunk taking charge of the situation. Well at least drunk people are good for something, they think they can handle every situation, but they usually can't he mumbled in styrash, more to himself than anyone

He turned towards Maddy again and bowed politely and said "I sorry am, something important going on might be, My lady what going on is to find out want if, I interupt not shall"

[Movash]

She had his wrist before he'd even touched the bread. The shock paralyzed Movash. But only for a blink: then he yanked his arm away, throwing all his little weight into his effort to free himself – and stumbled backwards. The woman had already released her grip. His arm was free.

Her voice was gentle as she said: “You should have simply asked, young one.” Movash stared at her, unbelieving. He had not been wrong. Those eyes were  blind. And yet she had known that he was there, and had caught his arm as quickly and precisely as a frog's tongue catches a fly. And now her hand effortlessly found a bowl on the table, and pushed it towards Movash. The bowl was filled with warm, fine-smelling broth.
    
He wanted to run away, but did not dare to. The woman, he thought, must have magic. How else would she see so well without her eyes?

With the same surety of movement as before, she offered him her cup of milk. “Please join me,” she said. “I cannot finish this on my own.”

She turned her head to attend to her dog, and for the first time, Movash noticed her ears. Their pointy tips stuck out from beneath her long hair. She was an elfess; the first he had seen in a long time. But she did not look like his mother. His mother's skin had been tawny, sun-loved, warm. By comparison, this elfess looked pale as death. Despite her friendly tone, Movash found her scary.

He did not sit down. And he did not take his eyes off the woman as, very slowly, very carefully, he took the cup. He drank the milk without sound, not slurping, not smacking his lips. Behind him, the conversation between the scared man at the door and the fat giant continued. “The pest pillar,” Movash heard. “It's come alive.”

There was a sudden movement from the woman's chair. Movash flinched, and almost dropped the cup. A small furry body flowed over the table, as if pulled along by its nose, picking up bread crumbs with dizzying speed. It was a mink or an ermine, Movash thought, and he felt a painful tug at his heart. He had used to love small animals like this one. Some of them made good performers, too. But that had been in a different life. Now he thought how splendid a meal a mink would make for Humbaba.

He put his empty cup down, softly, not making a sound, and took the piece of bread before the animal could get to it. He dunked the bread in the broth and bit into it. This, also, he did soundlessly. He told himself not to get distracted by the mink, and kept watching the woman as he chewed. He could not see her dog, but he knew it was there. He would have to be really quick when his moment would come to run away.

[Seh'nara Celebrindal]

Seh'nara stepped out of her room, freshly washed and starving. The night was still young, young enough that Silver, that hulking wolf he was, felt comfortable enough leaving his master and exploring the city. The elfess, on the other hand, simply wanted to have a bath and a meal. She had spent the day wandering the surrounding forests, hunting for game she could sell. The haul was good, and though she wasn't in time to sell the meats in the general market, the butcher shop had paid handsomely for the venison she had trapped. After, it was natural that she go to the nearest tavern, book a room and bathe.

The tavern's common room was bustling when Seh'nara walked in. She seated herself swiftly, and ordered a hearty ribeye steak and ale. It was a delicious piece of meat, something that made her mouth water through its mere scent. And it was then, as she put her knife to the steak, the tavern door burst open. A madman stumbled in, screaming about the arrival of the Goddess of Death, doom and despair. The elfess paid no heed to the man's exclamation at first; she was far too hungry. Instead, she began to feast. She deserved it.

It was another cry from the madman - Tavis - that finally caught her attention. "The Pest Pillar.  It's come alive!" Her eyes flicked up, her ears twitched. The Pest Pillar, the disgusting one right smack in the middle of the plaza? She had walked past it that very morning on the way to the butcher. Silver had sniffed around it a little, stared at the rats, and growled until Seh'nara forced him to heel. And where was Silver now? Not with her. Wandering the streets. Possibly near that very pillar.

Suddenly, the lass was extremely interested in what the one-handed man had seen.

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