Open Chronicles The Eye of Naspar

[Roul]

Mood Music​

The burning sand dunes stretched out in all directions, wavering in the haze of the heat. Roul hunched over his horse and squinted against the brightness of the sun reflecting off the dunes. He wore only the layers of cloth common in Amol-Kalit, and his sword belted to his waist, his chainmail stuffed in his saddlebags.

"It all looks the same," he rasped, remembering his trek to the Baal-Duru. He turned and looked back at his traveling companions.

"To you maybe, but that is why you have me, no?" chuckled their guide, a desert elf from one of the tribes who now took up residence in Ragash. "How else would you find this so-called Eye you search for, with such a great reward promised."

"The Eye of Naspar, dear Almahdi, the Eye of Naspar," said a bespectacled man who sat precariously atop his horse. "An artifact so powerful it contains all the knowledge of the realms." The man's stomach rumbled loudly.

Roul grunted and shared a look with Keres, the fourth member of their party. "Told you, Gibbard," rasped Roul, "less scrolls, more food."

Roul did not know much about the Annunaki Pantheon, nor did he care, but when this scholar promised a handsome fee to protect him on the road to finding this treasure, who was Roul to say no? He could think of worse ways to earn coin. He squinted into the distance again, sure he'd seen dust coming up over there.

"The Abtati aren't still raiding caravans this time of year, are they?"

"Eh? Not unless it's the Metahn Tribe. And the ogres never raid this far south in the summer." Almahdi looked up sharply, then glanced in the direction Roul was looking. "Ah." He started to get off his horse and pulled out a bow from its sheath. "Just in case."

"Shit," Roul cursed, fumbling with his reins and buckling on his shield. He looked over, "Keres?"

 

[Rafael]

"Yeah." Rafael said as he stood on the other side of the small Caravan from Roul and Keres. His hand gently scruffling his hound Tulio's neck. "We probably should have shaved you before coming into the desert, huh?"

Almost immediately the dog looked up at him, ears flickering as he continued to happily pant away. The heat of the sun bothering him a little more than usual. Raf had taken off the hounds armor some days ago, figuring that it probably wasn't a good idea to have him get heat stroke. Something that the Hound had seemingly appreciated.

There had been arguments about taking him in the first place, but Raf had managed to sidestep most of them by simply convincing Gibbard that the dogs sense of smell would be invaluable. Plus, he didn't have to pay the dog any extra and due to Raf's desire to get out of civilization for...reasons, his rate had been better than most of the Guards on the journey.

Though in truth, Tulio was as good a scent dog as Rafael was a doctor.

Which was to say, not in anyway good at all.

Luckily, Rafael's nose was better than the bests, and thus would serve as his dauntless Hound's replacement in that task. He just had to make sure that no one noticed.

Bork!​

Tulio intoned as Rafael scritched his neck, a frown pulling at the Mercenaries lips as he turned his head and regarded the direction the hound had turned. He noticed the sand cloud raising in the distance, just as Roul had. "That can't be good."

The Cortosi mused to himself, plucking his heavy crossbow from his things and beginning to shift the mechanism in preparation. Tulio helpfully pulling out a bolt from his pack as he did so.

 

[Keres]

Keres, generally quieter than the others in their little group, was the epitome of caution. Trust wasn't something she tossed about carelessly. It had taken her weeks and plenty of evidence to deem Roul trustworthy enough to feel comfortable in his presence. Now, with others joining their journey, her suspicion only grew, especially when the allure of such a treasure was involved—a treasure she very much desired.

She wore a black, as always, though the fabric was loose and sheer, suitable for the desert, but even then, her pale skin struggled under the relentless desert sun and her cheeks were flushed pink from the heat.

The sight of their companions preparing for potential battle stirred a sense of unease within her, and as Roul spoke her name, she clicked her tongue, nudging her horse a few paces closer to his.

"We were doing so well.." she grumbled quietly, her hand slipping cautiously to the hilt of the dagger at her hip. Keres wasn't a fighter, knowing little of combat. That was Roul's domain. Still, if she had to shove the blade into someone's eye, she wouldn't hesitate.

 

[Roul]

The growing plumes of dust and sand grew closer, marking the approach of cavalry. Roul glanced at Keres, then at the others, his eyes settling a moment on the fellow Cortosi. Likely the only other capable fighter amongst them. Keres had her own talents of course. And Roul? He...

He could smell them on the breeze. Horse lather and sweaty elves. He felt a hunger growing in his gut and glanced at Keres, a flash of panic and fear in his eyes.

No. No he couldn't do that. Not again.

Should they flee?

Tired of running. How many times had they run now? How many towns threatened to hang them? Burn them?

Grimacing, Roul hunched his shoulders and braced himself for a fight as the riders crested another small dune and finally became visible as over a dozen dots growing closer and closer. They wore Abtati desert robes and carried spears and bows and scimitars. Roul's gaze flicked to Almahdi, but the elf seemed more curious than alarmed.

The riders encircled them and one among their number urged his horse forward and began speaking in the language of the desert elves. Almahdi responded, gesturing violently. Then both he and the rider broke out in smiles. Almahdi turned to them.

"My friends, Nabtu and his riders bid us welcome. They are traveling to Rhaqoum. There is an oasis caravanserai not far from here. They will take us there."

"Lead on, Master Almahdi!" cried an excited Gibbard, "A spice trader inn! Ah. I cannot wait. I've long wished to see one. Tell me-"

Roul stopped listening to Gibbard's prattle as he realized the danger was past. Mostly. The tension in his hunched shoulders bled away. He gripped his saddle's pommel and hoisted himself back up onto his horse. The little caravan made their way on, Gibbard leading his three pack mules behind him.

After cresting several more dunes, the soft sand gave way to spires of rock and red boulders. They soon saw the inn. Amidst the red and yellow of sand and stone, the vibrant green of palm fronds and grass and the pure blue of precious water made the mind stutter, struggling to comprehend the incongruencies. Enclosing the hues of blue and green, a single stone structure stood, an open-air square with walls like a small fort. But it held more the air of a Cortosi Abbey than an Anirian fort. Roul frowned. Several tents also stood around the oasis.

"Ah it is wonderful. Look at that architecture. Is it pre-Seven, Almahdi?" Gibbard clapped his hands.

"Eh? Oh, the seven cities. I do not know, but these stones are very old. Well beyond living memory."

Which, when spoken by an elf, meant at least hundreds of years old.

Roul kept his eyes alert and tried to ignore the gnawing in his gut. "Let's get down there then," he rasped, "I need a drink."

Keres | Rafael

 

[Rafael]

Rafael lowered his crossbow as soon as the sign of threat had passed. The string gently unwound and the bolt once again given to Tulio to be replaced in his pack.

Any day where a possible fight didn't turn out to be one was a good day, by Rafael's estimation.

He had been a mercenary long enough to know that he preferred the days of just having to sit on his ass. Every fight meant a tango with death, no matter who the opponent. As the old Cortosi saying went, it was better to take a bath than to drown in a river.

Just as the others had done, Raf had quickly set away his weapons and rejoined his Saddle. The rest of the way towards the oasis spent mostly in silence. Tulio happily plodded alongside the rest of the small caravan, darting between the horses and waddling every now and again besides some of the others.

As they crested the final dune, the werebat came to a stop just besides Roul and Keres. Eyes settling on the quiet desert town bellow. "And perhaps a bath!"

He declared with a chuckle.

"Really, this heat is intolerable without a little wind from the sea, eh?" He asked his companions, smiling with the same dopey expression as his dog.

 

[Autolycus]

When Autolycus awoke in his tent, he found a scorpion had joined him on his sleeping mat. A terrible omen. He plucked it by the tail and flung it back out into the oasis. How long had that thing been in here, crawling on him while he slept? So it was that his first thoughts for the day were of just how much he hated this awful desert and the loathsome, crawling animals that called it home.​

​

He laid back down and stared at the tent's ceiling. He examined his hatred carefully, turning it over in his mind as one might inspect a smooth stone before skipping it across a lake. Then he put it away for later.​

​

Eventually he left his tent, and after washing his face in the oasis, went up to the inn. Something terrible would soon transpire and he intended to deal with it on a full stomach.​

 

[Nicomo]

"Sword... sword..." Nicomo crawled in the sand, tiredly digging with his hands to fish for his misplaced weapon. He didn't pay any mind to the time he spent searching. His knees left a uneven circular trail around the inn.​

​

Though inebriated, he was sober enough to kneel upright and assess the gray-skinned elf that he found himself at the feet of. It was not his sword.​

​

Nicomo mumbled a drunk inanity and continued to claw through the sand.​

 

[Autolycus]

Autolycus folded his hands in front of himself and watched the dog who stank of awful alcohol paw through the sand. The sun bore down on him mercilessly and he was hungry, which usually would bring him to the precise amount of agitation necessary to kick, beat, and berate this man for his public display of indignity.​

​

But who would want to do something like that on an empty stomach? And in this heat...​

​

"Get out of sight," he told Nicomo, "You're spoiling the morning."​

​

He drifted inside of the inn and was soon gone from view.​

 

[Keres]

Roul's glance towards her didn't go unnoticed, and she met his gaze with a silent understanding, her eyes softening with what she hoped was reassurance. They shared a history of narrowly escaping perilous situations, each encounter leaving its mark on their weary souls. If they had to, they would flee, and the subtle nod she gave him said as much. Luckily, though, there would be no need, at least for now..

As the tension dissolved and the threat passed, Keres let out a slow exhale and her tension eased only slightly. Her grip on her dagger loosened, though she kept it within easy reach and her dark eyes shifted between the men and the elf with no small amount of uncertainty, and on they moved.

The sight of the oasis assaulted her senses. Such beauty surely should not have flourished so in an environment as unforgiving as the endless dunes, but it was the otherwise barren surroundings it that made it all the more exquisite a sight.

A drink would be more than welcomed, but at the mention of a bath, she allowed a small smile, a rare display of warmth amidst the solemnity that often shrouded her features. "A bath does sound tempting.." she agreed quietly, the thought of washing away the grime and sweat of their journey urging her onward.

"You boys could certainly use one." she added boldly, a subtle smirk on her lips.

 

[Roul]

Roul snorted.

After so many days in the saddle, they did have a certain reek about them.

This caravanserai smelled as well, but of burning incense, bodies washed in olive oil, and the aroma of food.

“Mm,” grunted Roul as he slid off his horse and took the reins in one hand, leading the mare toward the front gate of the inn. He caught something on the breeze, a whiff of …

“Fresh baked bread,” he rasped almost to himself, appreciatively.

The little band and their desert elf escorts tied off their horses outside the front gate, then went through the large wooden doors, where two burly Sereti ogre mercenary guards stood watch. They past them without incident and spilled into the open air square inside the walls of the caravanserai.

To his left, Roul saw what looked like the entrance to a bath house. To his right, the sound of laughter from an open door.

“Ale.”

He looked at Keres and Rafael. “Drinks first, bath later.”

Gibbard appeared engrossed in a conversation with Almahdi, so he paid the client no mind for now.

As Roul moved toward the open door, he spotted a man on the ground digging, muttering to himself.

“Sword… sword….”

Their eyes met. Roul’s lips twitched behind his beard as some part of him peeled back lips and longed to snarl at the danger he sensed.

Roul put his body in between the mumbling drunk and Keres and kept on walking, entering the door to the tavern and squinting as his eyes adjusted to the gloom within.

 

[Rafael]

Rafael followed along with the other mercenaries, seeing their employer engrossed in yet another conversation whose outcome would have little effect on anyone. It had been quickly learned that their dear leader rarely said anything new twice, meaning he tended to carry every conversation around to the same place. After about the fifth time, the whole thing got rather tiresome and even Raf had learned not to be trapped in the same dialogue.

At least not for too long.

So instead he wandered behind Keres and Roul, ostensibly on a scouting mission in their newfound haven. His gaze tracked the same beggar the wolf had, but he offered neither sneer nor regard. Instead letting his eyes pull away and draw towards where he caught a scent of fresh soaps and roses.

A foot kicking out in that direction before Roul suddenly turned and regarded both him and Keres. A frown touching the werebats face as his foot instantly turned and headed towards the pub instead. A low whine echoing out for a second below him as he did so. ”What?”

Raf asked his faithful hound, whose tail and dropped and ears had sagged.

”The man makes a compelling argument!” He whispered to the dog. ”Bath later, when it's not as crowded.”

They had no way of knowing when or if the bath would ever be crowded, but Tulio was a dog and didn't know that. Thus he was quickly settled with a scratch behind the ear and one last promise. ”We'll get you some mutton.”

Rafael assured as he stood, quickly run-walking behind his fellow mercenaries to enter the the tavern. The barkeep looking up almost immediately, and frowning as he saw the strangers step inside. Rafael stared back, waiting for a rebuke of some sort, but the man said nothing. Apparently content to stew in a gloomy silence.

”I'll…find us a table.” The mercenary said, deciding on letting one of the others be the face for one.

 

[Nicomo]

Nicomo was too engrossed in his search for Autolycus' scathing rebuke to do any harm. The Elf's words fell upon deaf ears.​

​

He had paused only to watch with longing and fascination as a caravan entered the oasis and wandered towards the inn. He met the eyes of one man and caught a glance of a sword fastened at his waist. Nicomo's hand twitched as they passed.​

​

The idiot circled the inn countless more times until he arrived to a dimple in the sand where he had slept the previous night. Nicomo excitedly snatched the hilt of a half-buried sword from the earth and hoisted it above his head as if holding up a priceless treasure. The blade, an old, worthless thing, was broken just above the guard.​

​

"Ooooh..." He carefully hung it on an empty loop in his belt.​

​

Nicomo stood and deeply inhaled. A new matter of utmost importance arose. He needed a drink.​

​

The drunkard strode into the inn well after the newcomers were all settled.​

 

[Keres]

Keres smiled in mute agreement. The aroma of fresh baked bread teased her senses, a welcome change from the scent of sweat and horses that had clung to them during their journey through the desert. She shot Raf a bemused look in response to Roul's gruff demands, and slipped from her saddle, her legs aching as her feet met the sand.

At the prospect of respite from the heat, Keres let the veil slip from her head, her hair so dark it seemed to drink in the light. Here, she stood as a stark contrast to the sun-baked landscape, her presence a haunting echo of darkness amidst the relentless blaze of sunlight. She couldn't have stood out as a visitor to these lands any more if she tried.

She moved close behind Roul, and she followed his gaze to the strange man, sensing the tension he invoked in her companion. Her eyes, deep pools of darkness, held a wisdom far beyond her years, their depths betraying the secrets of a soul that had traversed the realms of both light and shadow. They seemed to pierce through the veil of reality, seeing much more than one should. Auras, each one a canvas upon which the light played with delicate intricacy. They seemed to glow with an inner radiance, casting shadows that danced and flickered with each movement, as if whispering secrets only she could hear. His was the dark and heavy aura of death that clung to him like a shroud, and she'd been about to let her curiosity get the better of her when Roul stood in front of her, and ushered her into the inn.

"I'm not so sure about this place.." she murmured. People like her weren't welcome in most places, but here, she was even less so. "We shouldn't linger long.."

Luckily, the table Raf had chosen was in the corner, and Keres could sit with her back to the wall as she drank her ale, idly petting Tulio's head which had settled in her lap. Perhaps she was imagining the tension in the atmosphere and the eyes here and there that seemed to linger too long on the travellers, but she never ever imagined the whispers of the dead. They were always there, waiting for her to listen.

 

[Roul]

Ale turned out to not be part of the stores. Well, the barkeep had something he called ale, but as Roul eyed the tankard with suspicion it certainly didn’t smell like any ales from back home. He passed it to Keres and ordered wine instead. That they did have and after trekking through the desert, it proved to be a wise choice.

Roul took a sip, relishing the taste, “Mm.”

He turned around to head back to the table Rafe found for them, but abruptly bumped into a shorter, wiry man, causing wine to slosh across the front of Roul’s shirt as well as the stranger.

“Mmn,” anger and annoyance.

The broad shouldered Cortosi glowered at the other man, noting the pointed ears, grayish skin, and ruby eyes. Decidedly not the warmest of expressions on his sallow, thin lipped face.

“Oh a DARK elf!” came Gibbard’s jubilant cry. Roul cringed inwardly. “They’re not even supposed to be native to this region, you know.” He yammered on, as if the elf were some sort of dusty historical tome he’d just found instead of a person.

“Blessed sun,“ Roul swore under his breath, shaking his hands free of the wine, “Gibbard. Shut the fuck up.”

The scholar gawped at him, then looked to Almahdi for support, but the sand elf just shrugged.

“Apologies,” rasped Roul, annoyance redirected at Gibbard, “Sit with us and I’ll buy you a drink, friend.”

 

[Iren Brightmane]

He barely remembered last night.

Plastered? Yes, that was presumably the right way to describe his state throughout the moonshine. He vaguely recalled having a drinking mate. More than one really. Even the Bloodletter Sharv partook in a drink or two, but the young vampire hunter couldn't be blamed.

Serving as a mobile blood bag for a vampire instead of killing said vampire was always most difficult to swallow (yes) to the young initiates of the Bloodletters.
Iren picked himself up from the alleyway nook and hissed when the sun burned his skin the moment he walked out of it. It wouldn't kill him outright, but it most definitely was not a pleasant sensation. Now where the hell was Sharv?

And where was-

Nicomo walked past him towards the Inn and amber eyes brightened noticeably.

"Ah, lad, I am shocked to find you alive after everything we consumed last night." As Iren quickly caught up with the strange man... who seemed to have rekindled his love for that sword of his.

 

[Autolycus]

The stars had punished Autolycus for his cruel thoughts and actions towards that stuttering reprobate outside. They had done so by sending this idiot brute to spill wine on him. Let the external match the internal, they decreed. A blood-stained soul warrants a wine-stained garment. Even so far removed from his home, the prattling nonsense of his former masters poisoned his thoughts.​

​

Autolycus considered both Roul and Gibbard with a detached stare. "Oh, by all means," he said flatly, "Let us drink deeply and forget your error."​

​

Perhaps he would recite a mantra or three after he was done here to realign his thoughts. For old times' sake. Or maybe, and more likely, he would find a suitable excuse to thrash a small number of indigents. For present times' sake.​

 

[Roul]

"Heh," a muscle twitched in Roul's jaw, hidden behind his beard. That storm-blue gaze grew grim, thunderheads on the horizon, before fading as Roul let out a snort. He slapped the elf on the shoulder and chuckled.

"Not the first time I've been an oaf," rasped the mercenary, who'd a coarse quality to his words and actions. The voice of a man more at home in a saddle beneath open sky than under a roof.

"These things happen."

He gestured behind him, "Another for my friend, barkeep."

Re-armed with a wine flagon and several simple cups, Roul took his seat at the corner table. "Come. Sit." He slapped the chair to his left, then began to pour and hand them out.

"Name's Roul. The beauty over here is Keres," he nodded with his head toward the dark haired and darker eyed woman, her pale skin at odds with the climate. A sharp contrast to Roul's own grimy, weather and sun beaten features.

"My countryman, Rafael," he nodded at the more well-groomed Cortosi, "And Tulio, of course." The dog. "You've already met Gibbard."

He took a sip of wine and leaned back in the chair, then pushed a hand through his brown hair, which the harsh sun of Amol-Kalit had been steadily bleaching with streaks of blond.

"What do they call you, friend?"

 

[Rafael]

Tulio let out a grunt as his name was mentioned, the dog yawning and shifting in Keres' lap. Refusing to greet the newcomers as he was introduced.

Rafael couldn't blame the hound, he probably wouldn't have moved either. "A pleasure."

The Cortosi said with an incline of his head, keeping the greeting short but not terse. Their people were supposedly famed for the warmth they brought to the atmosphere of a place. It was said that any Cortosi would gladly invite you to their home, what free-city determined whether or not they would stab you in it.

It was true, though most of their own disagreed on just which city did the stabbing.

Rafaeal had his own opinions, but he kept them quiet.

In this place he had a feeling it was better to be the silent fool, rather than the loud one. So he shifted into his seat, the rapier unbuckled from his belt but leaning over his thigh. A casual enough pose in a place like this, but one ready to jump if he had to be.

Although, he did wonder what the menu was like. Briefly, Raf wished that his companion hadn't sent the waited away. It would have been good to have a meal, just in case there was a fight. It was always better he ate before a fight.

 

[Nicomo]

The swordsman was settled in when Iren found him. Nicomo smiled.​

​

"I have bested that devil Al-Khul once again," His expression darkens and he hunches forward with his balled fists pressed on the tabletop. His body shivers with anticipation, or seething. A contest against the influence of Al-Khul was an honorable challenge, "But I am not satisfied. I will imbibe again today! Join me, pale brother."​

​

He was happy to drink with Iren. Even happier to let him tackle the bill.​

​

"With my gullet wetted we will continue our search for your Eye of Nashar."​

 

[Iren Brightmane]

He slid into the booth and took the corner spot, so that Iren could keep one eye on their surroundings. A healthy dose of paranoia kept vampires alive, especially when they were among their usual victims. "The Eye of Nasp- well, it doesn't matter. Let's get that drink in you, shall we?"

Nicomo was a fearsome creature and truth to be told Iren believed it was best to keep him at least marginally drunk at all times.

The kind of trouble he would get them into was beyond measure otherwise.

He flagged down one of the waiters. A pretty fellow all things considered and was already having difficulty not paying attention to the ruby rich vein hiding skin-deep. Iren was parched, really. Would it be so bad to just have a little sna-

The hair on his neck rose up on their own.

"Any drink my friend here wishes. I will have wine, the reddest you have." Then once the waiter went away Iren sighed with a smile.

"Ser Sharv, glad you didn't drink yourself to death either." Greeting his servant, valet, blood bag and jailer over his shoulder. Sharv seemed to have gotten the worst of last night's festivities. He didn't say much outside of a grumble as he plopped down in a chair opposite of them. His hat hovering deep over his face to bathe his eyes in shadows... probably too sensitive.

"I ordered wine, so you know what that means."

Sharv reflexively rolled his eyes. Immediately regretted that when the room started to spin again, but still rolled up his sleeve. His skin, burnished and tanned, showed old healed scars. Pale against the copper and all a solitary line to encourage the blood flow.

 

[Autolycus]

Autolycus drank deeply, as he said he would. He sat with the motley fools and brought the cup to his lips and did not put it down until it was empty. The ancient masters instructed their students to temperance. Temperance, he found, was best exercised when it was your money being spent. For other people...​

​

When he set the cup down, he was only dimly aware that the clumsy one had introduced everyone at the table. Names were not important these days. People passed through the oasis like sand through a sieve. The lumps which remained where rarely worth inspecting. Autolycus being the notable exception, obviously.​

​

"I am Autolycus," he said it less as an introduction and more as a declaration of fact, with all the excitement of a man administering leech therapy.​

​

He looked between the oaf, Gibbard, the greasy cortosi and his filthy hound, and the young woman. If you see enough of these groups, they all start to look the same. Autolycus smiled faintly.​

​

"You are here for the Eye," he yawned and scratched his chin, "But you will only be meat for the manticores, as the others were. You should leave. It's no use."​

​

Obviously they wouldn't. Fleas didn't care what hide they bit into. He just wanted a little spiritual deniability before they stumbled uselessly to their deaths.​

​

He nudged the cup back to Roul.​

 

[Keres]

Keres winced as she witnessed Roul's collision, feeling the tension in the air thicken with each passing moment. Gibbard's obliviously loud and potentially offensive chatter only added to her discomfort, and she couldn't help but drag a hand down her face in exasperation.

"This wasn't a good idea." she murmured to Rafael and Tulio beside her, her voice tinged with resignation. The last thing they needed was a confrontation.

Her apprehension only deepened as Roul invited the elf to join them at their table. Suppressing a sigh, Keres forced a half-smirk as she was, surely sarcastically, introduced by Roul as a 'beauty'. "Ever the charmer.." she answered dryly.

Despite her misgivings, Keres knew better than to disrupt the fragile peace that Roul was trying to establish. With a silent prayer for patience, she settled back in her chair, her dark eyes flickering with a mixture of wariness and curiosity.

A dark brow lifted at the elf's correct assumption and the warning that came with it, stirring the unease that had already settled in the pit of her stomach. She shot a glance to Roul. They truly were quite the obvious bunch of misfits, weren't they? Why the fuck else would a group so random be passing through such a place as this?

"Seems we're not the only ones.." she murmured quietly to Roul, her voice laced with a hint of apprehension as her attention shifted to the two others whom she could hear also harbored an interest in the artefact.

She cast her gaze over the strange man she'd seen outside before it settled on the man who was paler than even her. Keres couldn't shake the unsettling feeling that lingered in the air, the cold fingers of death spider-walking up her spine and creeping insidiously into her consciousness, sending a river of blood across her mind's eye. She shuddered involuntarily.

"I think we should leave." she stated quietly, but firmly, her gaze fixed on Roul with a sense of urgency.

 

[Roul]

For a moment, the table stilled. Roul paused, cup halfway to his lips. Leather creaked. Beneath the table, Roul’s other hand wrapped around the hilt of a sheathed dagger.

Into the stillness came a loud voice.

“Ah! So you seek the Eye of Naspar as well?” Exclaimed Gibbard.

Roul’s fingers curled so tightly around the cup he thought it might crack.

Slowly, chain mail rattled and clothing rustled as nearly every occupant of the room turned to look at their table. Hard faces all.

“Shit.”

Keres was right. They needed to leave.

Around them, other figures started to rise from their seats - not quite in unison.

A young, dark-haired man who Roul would have called bookish if it weren’t for the hardness in his eyes started to approach their table flanked by an elf and a dwarf. The dwarf was missing half an ear. Behind those three were another half-dozen desperate faces, their eyes the eyes of predators sensing blood. All apparently in league with the bookish boy.

Toward the door, a man rose, lowering a hood to reveal a someone in full armor and helm. But something seemed off about the way the armored man moved.

The young man held a massive book under one arm. More of a tome, really, bound in a pebbly, unfamiliar hide.

“You know where the Eye is?” Asked the young man, looking between Gibbard and Autolycus. “You’ll take us there.”

“No,” growled Roul, “They won’t.”

“Oh, I think they will.”

“Told you, Galen,” said the dwarf, speaking to the young man.

“We’ve been hired to retrieve that Eye. Come with us and we will split the reward. Refuse and…” Galen smiled coldly.

“He’ll rip it from your mind,” said the tattooed elf behind him.

Roul’s brows knit together into a thunderhead. “You don’t know who you’re dealing with, boy.”

“Don’t I?” that knowing smile remained on Galen’s lips, unwavering.

Silence hung. Roul’s hand tightened around his dagger.

A gust of air rushed into the room.

All the candles went out, plunging them into darkness.

And then all became a whirlwind of violence and chaos.

 

[Rafael]

Rafael didn't have time to offer a quip to the Elf, nor did he have a moment to share Keres’ concerns. Darkness snapped through the room as though someone had drawn a curtain down upon the moment. Plunging them into a veil of complete black and snuffing out the sight of those within.

”Shit.” Keres' would hear from her left, a low whine echoing from her lap just a heartbeat later.

There was a single moment of hesitation on the Cortosi’s part. Fingers wrapped around the hilt of his rapier within the best of a heart, the werebat leaping to his feet as he drew the blade. Even his eyes blinded by the abyss around them, Rafael was still better off than most. The other side of him offered him far better hearing and small than most, and even with the scent of the unwashed and the chaos throughout he could almost feel a thin line of escape ahead.

”Get her out!” Raf knew Keres' was no meek little mouse, but they were at an extreme disadvantage, and Tulio could see the necromancers way through the darkness. ”I'm grabbing Gibbard and following.”

Those words were clearly for the human of the pair, and as soon as he spoke Raf stepped forward in the darkness. His boots bounding off the rotted wood floors as he grabbed Gibbard shoulder, finding the man's over powerful easily picked out from among the mire. ”Time to go, Ser.”

Rafael urged, practically shoving the man towards where he remembered the nearest exit being.

 

[Nicomo]

"Your strongest spirit," Nicomo requested. Sharv joined them and Nicomo greeted the Bloodletter by lifting one of his hands an inch off the table in a casual, curt wave. The brim of Sharv's wide hat dropped in an equally curt nod in response.​

​

"Sharv knows~!​

Oh, he knows~!​

If not a drop of blood flows...​

Then the Lord Iren's hunger grows!"​

​

He snapped his jaw and bared his teeth at both of his companions, and the last word growled deep in his throat. Nicomo made an awful, arrhythmic drumming beat on the table with his hands to pass the time before their drinks arrived. When they were served, Nicomo took his cup before it could be placed on the table, startling their waiter, and knocked the spirit back in one gulp. He wiped his bottom lip with the heel of his palm and thrust the cup back at the waiter.​

​

"Keep them coming."​

​

He turned his attention to Iren and Sharv as the waiter left. They were quite discreet in carrying out their little ritual, but poor Sharv looked a bit pale. The poor blood bag was working double-time, or would it be triple-time since there had been two others aside from Sharv in Iren's retinue before?​

​

Unfortunately, Nicomo killed them in a petty dispute. And now they were acquainted and have been traveling companions for some time now! Iren was as forgiving as they came! A good friend, indeed!​

​

A warmth filled Nico's belly and he pressed his tingling lips together as the waiter brought a second cup to their table.​

​

Thock. The cup was set on the table.​

​

“Ah! So you seek the Eye of Naspar as well?” Exclaimed Gibbard.

The room fell deathly quiet except for the tense conversation being carried out, but Nicomo didn't give it any of his attention. He savored a long sip from his drink and sighed happily.​

​

Whoosh! Oh dear, there went the lights.​

​

The cacophony of a fight broke out around them and amidst it Nicomo took another calm drink.​

​

"I don't think I've ever drank in the dark like this. Bless this day. Bless this life and this new experience," He gulped the remaining liquid down to honor the occasion and slammed the empty cup on the table.​

​

"Iren. May I start killing now?"​