Chapter Text
He shivered, his thin clothes doing a poor job of keeping the winter cold out. It had been a hard few months this year. The city had finally decided to restore some of the older buildings or just straight up tear them down. If it hadn’t been for the temples and the clerics, he and many others would have starved or frozen to death. Looking down at his green pale hand, gripping a rusty shiv, that had once been a kitchen knife. He wouldn’t have to wait for much longer, he wagered. Rubbing his stiff limbs, he heard the familiar BONGs of the city clock, built into the tower of the Town Hall. One, two, three, the fourth always had trouble, probably a faulty gear, but the fifth and sixth would follow undeterred, with the twelfth ringing the loudest, those that sat outside, like himself, could often feel it resonating deep in their bones. After the final bell chime, he slowly got back up to his feet, being careful to not make any sudden movements that his cold legs couldn’t support. Now, only a few candles still burned in a handful of windows and, pulling his hood low, he made his way to the corner of the alley he’d sat in. The air wasn’t as cold as last night, but the frost still bit at his flesh, he would have to be fast.
Leaning out of the alley shadows, he spotted the tavern at the other side of the city square; it would close just after midnight, sending its most well-paying patrons back home. In the last week, there had been an unexpected influx of wealthy warriors and adventurers. He suspected some kind of grand, high-class party would soon be happening somewhere in the city. But, those details didn’t matter to him, his belly ached. Sure, usually the nobles handed out the leftovers to the city's poor, but it was never enough. Still, that was no reason not to take some rich fools coin when- … The tavern’s light went out and he could see some shadows move at the entrance. His stiff muscles jumping into action, he left the shadows. Moving along the building walls, he soon came within earshot of the tavern. Soon being within earshot of the shapes, there were three, drunkenly shouting about and stumbling their way along the edge of the square. In the lowlight, he couldn’t see their clothes clearly, but they looked wealthy enough. And what was more, their purses were hanging lazily from their belts, exposed and ready for the taking. Closing up behind the rightmost one, who propped up his friend. Silently, he came ever closer to their backs. Now, he was able to hear their slurred and confused mumbling.
“- Cailean! You’s was never able to hold your booze, Karsik! We have to be in shape tomorrow, for that Sword Lady’s feast.”
“Screw ya! An’ screw tha’ Sword Ladadaay! Both o’ ya! You’s drunk as much as I did!”, the middle one exclaimed angrily.
“Shut up, Karsik! We’s didn’t neh try to flirt with the Scythe Elf. She woulda taken yer balls, if we’s didn’t drag you out.” the left one scolded the drunk in the centre.
Now being just a hair’s width behind the group, he carefully moved his knife towards the right ones purse and -
“Now, get off me! You be some friends!”, the drunk tore himself away from his friends, pushing them aside. “We be here, fer weeks, get drunk and be merry! I didn’t wanna go to this noble gatherin’ at this arse end of nowhere town. We coulda been in Absalom, drinking, fighting and whoring about!”
He’d seen many drunks in his time. Drawing back a few steps, he chose to hang back and observe for the time being. Following close behind, the three turned away from the city square, stumbling down a side street, which to his knowledge, would lead them towards the docks on the Shrike River.
“Karsik, ya ugly bastard! Ya wouldn’t neh get any Absalom whore to lay with ye, ye-”, the man stopped cold in his tracks, his compatriots following his gaze to the left, toward some small, out of the way, alley.
He strained his eyes and ears, but couldn’t make out what had them distracted. Turning back to them, he inwardly cursed, as this had been a prime opportunity to take their money and make a run for it. The longer they were about, the riskier it became to trail them. He could break off, duck behind some corner or crate and abandon them. But then, his hungry stomach made itself known again, he hadn’t eaten yet, this week. Who knew when such an opportunity would present itself again? When he turned back to the men, he noticed that they’d wandered down the other street. He couldn’t let them get away, not tonight. So, he hurried to follow them. Seeing them stop at the entrance to the aforementioned alley. It looked like a dead end. What could they want there?
“Would ya look a’ that,” the drunk one, Karsik, said. Had they found something? Someone? Taking a moment to pause and recall the hunting grounds of the city’s beggars and thieves. No, no one had claimed this alley, too close to the garrison and too exposed to the often-frequented areas near the markets and the docks.
“What’a you doing outside at this time, little missy?”, one of the other men asked leeringly.
He didn’t recognize the voice that answered, it didn’t belong to any of his friends.
“I want no trouble, leave me alone.”, someone answered, a woman by the sound of it, but he couldn’t place her exotic accent, maybe Varisian, maybe from far south?
“I don’t picture ye as someone important.”, the man paused, it seemed like he was fighting to keep his stomach contained. “Y-yer homeless scum, you are. No one would care, not here in the middle of the night.”, Karsik said, taking a few uneasy steps into the alley. “Ye in guys? Devin? Galem?”
His two friends looked at each other, then at the alley. Holding his breath, he couldn’t move a muscle, so tense was he. Forgotten was the money, forgotten was the hunger, forgotten was the cold. Right now, he was hyper aware of the street, could see any stone, smell any of the three humans’ stink. Observing how the two others shrugged and then followed the drunk into the alley. As they vanished from sight, his hand gripped tightly on to the handle of his knife. He took off into a silent sprint, desperately wanting to reach the corner of the alley.
But before he could make it there, he saw a bright flame engulf the shadows between the alley walls. Then a pained scream erupted into the night. His feet ached from the sudden exertion, but he pushed forward. Another scream. Finally, he rounded the corner. He saw one of the men, Karsik he guessed, lying on the ground rolling in the dirt, his clothes and hair singed and charred. The other two stood over a woman, who’d pressed herself to the back wall of the narrow street, her eyes glowing a fiery red under her cloak.
“Hellspawn!”, one of the men cried. “Kill her!”
One of the men lunged forward, having drawn a short sword, but the woman with the glowing eyes ducked under his slash, then the other man tripped all of a sudden, landing on his back. Undeterred by the fate of his friend, the first attacker reversed his sword, catching the woman's shoulder in his swing. Pushing through his astonishment, he finally sprang into action, making a running jump over the fallen assailant and aiming his shiv at the standing man. Giving off a surprised yelp, as the dulled point of his shiv landed in the man's neck, they both tumbled to the ground. Hearing the choked gasps for air, he knew that he’d hit his mark. The scumbag grasped at his throat, choking sounds echoing through the alley. Turning towards the woman, he saw her surprised look. She seemed to not have expected an ally, but this gave the fallen man an opening and he took it, springing up and grabbing the woman in a choke hold. In the darkness he saw her eyes flutter, struggling to get air into her lungs and desperately clawing at the man’s arm. Pulling his knife from the dying man’s throat, he jumped to his feet, ignoring his wet gurgles.
“Let her go!”, he demanded, pointing his knife menacingly at the last standing man. In response, the adventurer tightened his choke hold on the woman. Her struggle became weaker with every gasp, she was running out of time.
“And who are ye’ meant to be, another Hellspawn!? You’ been breeding and infecting the whole town?!”, the man exclaimed, giving off no sign of letting her go. Hellspawn? What did he mean with that? Cheliax was far away from here and it had been years since any Demon had been seen this far south of the Worldwound, never mind this city. His eyes shot about, desperately looking for an opening or something he could use to turn the situation in his favour. That’s when he noticed that the woman's hands had stopped struggling against her captor’s arm. Instead, one hand searched for the purse at the drunk’s belt, while the other started glowing bright-
A sudden flash of light made him stumble back, his eyes hurting from the unexpected brightness. Still, he heard the attacker giving off a howling scream. In the next moment, he felt something wrap around his ankle and pull him off his feet. He hit the ground with such force, that it forced the air out of his lungs. Then a wet gurgle and another thump, right next to him. He tried to get up, but a warm, almost hot, hand grabbed at his throat, not choking him, but making sure that he was defenceless.
“What have we here? A half-orc that can’t keep out of trouble?”, a voice purred, more amused than threatening. It took a moment to register, but he realised that it was the woman with the glowing eyes.
“Thought you needed help… Looked like trouble there.”, he forced the words out of his still hurting lungs. While speaking, he noticed the taste of blood, running from his right tusk, he must have bitten his lip when he fell.
“How considerate of you, helping a struggling maiden in need.”, she laughed. “I appreciate the assistance. These drunken fools thought they had found easy prey, to satiate their needs. But I know how to take care of myself.” He saw her eyes wander over his face, then his knife and finally his clothes.
“I must say, you’re awfully brave, fighting against trained and experienced fighters with just a little shiv.” her accented voice sang. “But let’s not be that way. I believe you are not an enemy, am I correct?” He nodded enthusiastically.
She finally let go of his throat, leaving a warm spot, where her hand had touched his skin. He took a deep breath, the tension slowly vanishing from his muscles, leaving him cold once more. Turning about, he saw the woman starting to go through the men’s pockets, throwing away purses and swords. What could she possibly want from them? Collecting himself, he ran a hand through his shoulder-length hair, then he righted himself up. Taking a look at the carnage. Two bleeding corpses, while another lay burned a bit further down the alley. Who was this woman? Burning people alive, with just a flick of her wrist, a snap of her finger. He watched as she went through yet another pocket, still searching. He took a moment to think. She was searching for something, deliberately and with purpose. This alley was close to the city square, but lay out of sight. It was a dead end with only one way to escape. No one else he knew of would take up residence here … unless they didn’t plan on staying for long. An ambush! She’d planned for these men to come here and lured them in. Looking at the corpses, she probably could handle herself indeed. Thinking better of revealing his thoughts, he quickly lunged for one of the men’s bags and started digging through it. Finding spare clothes, some spare daggers, some torn scraps depicting a map of the city, another one roughly depicting the region further south of Rostland.
Finally, his fingers found something noteworthy, a piece of paper. Different from the map, this was in good, almost pristine condition. He could feel the solid relief of a wax seal, holding the paper in shape. Praising Abadar for having him bother with learning how to read, he grabbed the paper and stuffed it into one of his pockets. One could never know what use a document like this could have. Next were their purses, some simple leather bags. He quickly tore them from their belts. Feeling the weight of coinage within them. Hmm, he’d expected more, much more. He quickly assessed the weight. Sighing in defeat, a few silver pieces at most. Damn drunks, they must have wasted all their money in the tavern. He couldn’t help himself, angrily beating his fist down on the cooling corpse whose things he’d rummaged through.
“What did you expect? Bags filled to the brim with gold coins? Just ready to be stolen?”, his head snapped towards the woman. Holding a similar letter in her hands, she must have found what she was looking for.
“Gods above, no!”, he had to stop himself from screaming in frustration, the taunting certainly didn’t help. “But is it too much to ask for a little luck? A little light at the end of a dark and cold winter?”
“Hmm, maybe you should start making your own luck, rather than grasping for scraps left behind by others. You’ll forever have nothing. Only the pieces that others leave for you.” her foreign accent mocked him, demanding his attention, questioning his abilities as if she knew how it was to live his life. He didn’t give her a response, let her think what she would, she wasn’t like him. Didn’t know him. How could she dare …? But the fire in his mind faded quickly, being only replaced by cold and numbness.
Sighing in defeat, he pocketed the few coins he’d gathered, it would have to be enough.
“Anyway, I thank you for your help. You seem a good sort, so I’d advise you to grab whatever you can before the guards come by this hole. You better hurry up.”, she said, all traces of mocking undercurrent vanished, displaying a genuine sense of honour among thieves. He shot a quick look over to the remaining dead men. Their weapons lay discarded and unbloodied. Grabbing two of the three dropped swords -shortswords-, they would serve him better than the small rusty knife, he had half a mind to also grab the third, but thought better of it. Looking back, the woman had vanished. Leaving him as cold and alone as before. Straining his ears, he could hear the far away clanking of the guards. One of the rare patrols that the city dispatched to clear out the small alleys and corners of beggars and thieves. It was time to leave, lest he had to explain this mess. As he made for the street, he noticed the accusing glare of the man that his friends had called Karsik. His skin burned and his flesh molten, yet alive. A quiet rasping cough, barely audible, the only sign of vitality left within the man. And with a swift motion, he rammed the sharp tip of the last discarded blade into the man's chest, leaving him as a testament not to underestimate street dwellers. The light vanishing from the smouldering embers that were once his eyes, he hoped that Pharasma would judge these bastards accordingly.
The grim deed done, Garrek, the half-orc rogue, vanished into the dark shadows of Restov. Returning to his corner of the city square and avoiding any patrol, he heard the sudden rise in commotion as, far behind him, the remains of the three drunk men -Karsik, Galem and Devin- were found. Burned and stabbed.
…
Unsurprisingly, the news spread quickly that three men had been murdered during the night. Come daybreak, squads of guards and soldiers patrolled the streets, looking for suspicious people. By then, he’d already found another hidey-hole close to the markets, waiting for merchants to bring out their wares. The stolen silver coins weighed heavily in his pocket and he prayed to Desna, Lady Luck, that his hunger be finally quelled, though he owed most of the coin to The Family, he was adamant about not going another day hungry. He tensed as he heard the sound of armoured boots come closer to his hiding place.
“Oi, good man. We’ve got some questions for you!”, a gruff and familiar voice asked. Swallowing down his building panic, Garrek’s eyes wandered to the origin of the voice. A man, dressed in shining plate armour, a heavy sword adorning the scabbard at his waist approached. The guards! And if he was going by the voice, it wasn’t just the city guard! He should’ve known that he would eventually be found. Slowly he stood up, revealing himself behind the crates and debris that he’d cowered behind.
“Ah Captain Garress, it’s a pleasure to see you. What can a humble servant of Restov do for you today?” He bowed exaggeratedly and offered a wide smile, as he always did, when talking to the guards or Lady Jamandi Aldori’s house guard, rare as such conversations were. He was in deep trouble.
“Cut the innocent act, boy! You street dwellers have eyes and ears everywhere.”, the guard captain glared at him. You must’ve heard of the mess that happened during the night! We want you to tell us if you know something about that!” Garress demanded, steel in his voice.
Swallowing hard, he dropped the smile, drawing closer to the captain. “Word is that, there was an attempt to murder some helpless woman in an alley somewhere around the markets. They thought her street trash, but she was able to fend them off.” he said, neglecting to mention his involvement, or the woman’s fiery powers.
“Do you know where this woman is now?”
He shook his head; he hadn’t even clearly seen what she looked like. Afterall, it had been dark, even for his eyes. The only thing he knew about her was the foreign accent and that she could probably cast magic. He still didn’t know what the drunks had meant with calling her ‘Hellspawn’ either come to think of it.
“Have you seen anything else?” the armoured man asked. Again, he answered with a shake of his head. Sighing, Garress motioned for his soldiers to move on. “See if you can find anything from the other street folk around these parts!”
The guard departed quickly, managing a swift jog despite being clad in heavy chain mail and wielding long spears. This left Garrek alone with Kesten Garess. He had to admit he liked the man. Despite being obviously of the blue-blooded kin, he was fair and kind to the poor folk. Despite often finding on opposing sides of the law, Garrek loathed lying to the man, especially in such a matter. Hells! Damn Garess for his virtues! He could tell a straight lie to any other guard, be they from the Sword Lords personal retinue or the city. But not this man, no. He could tell. Finally, Garrek’s eyes found Garess’, their steel gaze boring into the boy. Sighing, Garrek nodded.
“They called her Hellspawn.” he whispered, averting his eyes.
The captain nodded, a sympathetic look in his eyes. “What do you think they meant by that?” he asked.
He fought with himself for a moment, then said. “Don’t know. Maybe they didn’t like her?” The young rogue shrugged. “The woman had some magic powers, I think. Maybe a wizard of some kind?”
Garess drew up one eye, seeming to think about this new piece of information. Should he tell him about the ambush? The stolen paper weighed heavily in his pocket. Right now, he guessed, the guard would think it a random murder by an unusual street dweller. While sad, an investigation would bring nothing to the contrary. Tomorrow, or the day after, the murder would already be forgotten. Afterall, most of the corpses were charred beyond recognition, the mystery woman had made sure of that.
Sighing internally, Garrek chose to keep his mouth shut. Confessing to any further involvement on his part, or a more direct intent with the murders would only raise problems for himself and The Family.
“Very well then. Thanks for your aid, son.” Garress turned away from him. He let out a breath he didn’t realise he’d held. But then the captain’s gaze returned to him, throwing something to him that he fumbled about catching. “Take care boy, Restov always takes care of its own.” Holding his breath, until the guards had moved on, he looked at his hands. His gaze was met by a small round coin, glittering golden in the early morning sun. It was probably double what he’d taken from the men in the alley. Hells, it was more than he’d ever held in his hands. It was probably more than any of his kind ever saw in an entire year. A single gold coin, showing the profile of King Noleski Surtova. It felt cold against his rough skin, sucking the warmth from his blood. His thoughts drifted back to Garess. The captain had come close. Too close, for Garrek’s liking. Damn, with the murder investigation going on, and the captain now knowing that HE knew something… He had to get off the streets for a while. He should have just kept his mouth shut. Quickly pocketing the treasure, he hurried away from the market. Coming by many of the merchants, on their way to set up their shops. His hunger almost forgotten, he hastened his steps, managing to grab an unattended piece of bread on the way. Sweat poured down his temples. Reaching the outskirts of the city, he made a sharp turn, leaving the paved road and walking on a rarely travelled dirt path that drew incredibly close to the city walls at some points. He walked for a few minutes, taking care not to leave the path. When, finally, he reached his destination. An old house, outwardly fallen to disrepair, but full of life if you only knew where to look. He took a minute to catch his breath, then he approached the large wooden door, knocking on it five times.
“We are not buying.” A quiet and hoarse voice came from the other side.
“They’re selling boars at the market.” He replied, waiting a few seconds. Rolling his eyes at the old pass code, he hadn’t used this one in a while.
“Garrek, my boy. It is you!” Came a laugh, as the large wooden door opened and revealed an old Halfling woman, bidding him to enter. Taking a quick step inside, the woman closed the door behind him. Following her diminutive stature further into the house, they passed by dusty portraits of Kings and dramatic depictions of Rostland history. He often wondered why they hadn’t sold them or why no one cleaned them. But his questions were never truly answered. Descending a flight of stairs, they entered the basement, warm and well protected from the elements, the secret halls of The Family. His family, even. He was met by a wall of different smells and sounds. Seeing small Halfing children play with half-elven babies, while half-orc boys sparred with human men in an adjacent room. He used to be like that as well, eager to impress the experienced thieves and bruisers, the big brothers of The Family. And at the other end of the room, clothed in red and blue threads, surrounded by a trough of children of differing ages, sat a brightly coloured pink gnome man, reading loudly from a fairy tale book and supporting his storytelling with different magical illusions.
Turning towards the Halfling woman, Garrek sighed in relief. “Thanks Aunty. I’ll need to speak with Halungalom.", he paused, trying to find the words to express his problem. “I’ve got into some trouble with the guard … again.”
“Garrek, my boy. What did you do?”, Auntie scolded him, fighting to keep a wistful smile of her old features. “Steal a carrot from the Varisian merchants? Pickpocket a tavern’s register? Or did you ‘stumble’ into the wrong person again?”
The old halfling couldn’t hold it back any longer, as a loud and hearty laugh escaped her lungs. “Oh, my boy. I think I taught you lot better than that.”
“No, it's serious.” He shook his head in resignation awaiting yet another of her scoldings, as she so often did when he was younger. Though, surprisingly Aunty remained quiet. Looking down at the hearty woman, he found a distant, cold stare. One which seemed to deeply penetrate his normally rough hide. She rarely uses that one, he thought as the halfling woman laid him bare before her.
Finally, the old halfling spoke, however, her voice had lost a noticeable junk of her normal cheeriness. “Garrek. … Boy. The foreigners, by the market?” She asked, her voice becoming shaky, as did her hands, usually so apt at pickpocketing and dealing out punishments to naughty children, now, nervous and old. Garrek couldn’t remember a time, when Aunty had seemed her age, like she did now. Her reaction made him drop whatever jovial attitude he had left. He was left unable to answer her question. Suspicion. Accusation. Threat.
Eventually, he gathered whatever composure he had left. “Dead end alley, burned.” He completed the assessment. Of course, the family would know about the specifics already. They DID have eyes and ears everywhere, after all.
Sighing, the halfling woman turned away from him, shaking her head. “Boy… What did I teach you?”
“No trace leading to The Family. No assassination without cover.”, he answered dutifully, though the words rang hollow in the face of his old teacher.
“Who were they?”, Auntie asked further. “Do you have a contract?”
“No.” He uttered.
“No?!”, the old halfling's voice almost broke. “No. … Did you kill them because of an itch!? Did you think yourself untouchable!?”
“No.”, he whispered. “I-I defended someone.”
This gave the old woman pause, though not for long. “Oh … my boy. Go-go to father, he’ll … know what to do about … you.”
Nodding in resignation Aunty turned about averting her eyes, though her posture told Garrek all he needed to know. Picking up a discarded dagger, lying on the floor, the old halfling quickly left the room. He had never seen her in such a state. Absently minded stroking the blade, she gave Garrek one last look. Then she turned away from him again, shuffling off without another word. Finally taking note of the new arrival, the Gnome’s illusions combined into a small red dragon and flew away, the children following on its heel, laughing brightly. Welcoming the half-orc with a wide smile, Halungalom bade him to sit down on the, now vacant, floor.
“Ah, Garrek, my boy, we’ve missed you, you should stop by more often!”
Scratching the back of his head, the half-orc answered. “Sorry, I didn’t want to come by wasting all of your time.”
“Why have you come then, my boy?”, the gnome stroked his pink beard. “It is not yet time for your contribution, and I know you have found shelter.”
Garrek gulped heavily, as the gnome started dissecting him.
“You have coin with you, but not from your stash. Your clothes are dirtied. Tsk, tsk. One may think you have no decency.” Halungalom’s eyes appraised him.
“Your hands are twitching, your lip is scratched -my, my you really should be more careful- and have soot on your boots.”
“I-uh.”, Garrek began, but the gnome raised his hand, stopping his reply in his throat.
“You have new swords, but you did not buy or steal them. Your eyes are distant. You have killed. You have seen people being killed. You do not know why.”, the gnomes eyes glared at him.
“So, it was you, who murdered the three foreign adventurers?” Halungalom asked, smiling, but his eyes betrayed the blazing anger behind them.
Swallowing hard, Garrek found his throat dry, only being able to speak in a hoarse whisper, barely audible to anyone else. But Garrek knew that Halungalom could hear his words, as if he had shouted them with full lungs.
“Y-yes.” He stuttered. Finding the gnome's eyes still lingering on him, laying him bare in front of him, he swallowed again, then continued. “I-I was so … hungry. Been days, s-s-since I’ve gotten my ration.”
“That’s it!?” the gnome asked incredulously, drawing his left eyebrow up high inquisitively.
“N-no.” Garrked swallowed, remembering the burning eyes, the warm touch of a hand around his throat, the smell of burning flesh. “They attacked a woman.”
“Was it one of the siblings?”
“No.” He averted his eyes. “She was- … I don’t know what she was, but she was no street dweller. No local.”
“You know foreigners are not our concern.”, the gnome said. “They die everywhere every day, Restov is no different. Issia is no different.”
Garrek could not reply, the words didn’t form in his mind.
“Then why do you risk yourself? Indeed, risk all of us, on the life of one stranger?”
Garrek didn’t know how or when, but his eyes started fogging up. Tears dripped down his cheeks as he sat here, before Halungalom. His mind didn’t know the words to express his thoughts, his lips wouldn’t speak them, his limbs wouldn’t defend them. He was as stone.
“Now, now, my boy.” The old gnome said, his wide face taking on this paternal mask again. One which Garrek knew since … well, forever. “Does anyone know of your involvement?”
Garrek was at a loss for words, his tongue felt like lead, his vision narrowed to the size of a pinhead. Fighting his panic, he said. “The w-w-woman.” Waiting for his breath to slow, he added pleadingly. “Garress knows I know something.”, Garrek swallowed hard. “I couldn’t lie!” He almost screamed.
Scratching his pink beard the gnome was still for a few moments, then held out a hand and looked deep into his eyes. Garrek froze, his stomach growled, his fingers had lost all sense of feeling, while ice-water slowly crept through his body. His breath was caught in his lungs and he couldn’t move.
“My boy. I’ve taken you in, when no one wanted you. Given you shelter, given you family, given you a name. All I asked in return was your due, as is our way.” His piercing gaze seemed to penetrate deep into his mind, summoning those memories that he thought of very rarely these days. He felt like he should give Halungalom the money, all of it. He didn’t know how to handle money anyway. Moving his hands, as if they were on strings, he took the gold from his pocket. Laying the coin into the gnome's hand.
“The family is everything. For it we give everything”, the gnome spoke, though to Garrek he sounded far away. Moving his hands to his other pocket, the one with the silver in it, he gave Halungalom these as well. Why hadn’t he done so in the first place?, he scolded himself.
“Very good, my boy.” The gnome smiled warmly. Garrek felt cold, his thin clothes doing a poor job of sheltering him from the elements during the cold night. But, where was he? Was he home? The children's laughter awakened him from his daze.
“Now, do you know whom it is you killed?”
He shook his head, averting his gaze.
“They were adventurers, summoned to Restov by Lady Jamandi Aldori.” laying his small hand on Garreks shoulder, he continued. “Do you remember the premier rule The Family abides by. Survives by, even?”
Of course he did, the rules were the reason he and the other children were still alive, after all. But this first one? That one was not so much a rule in Restov, but unquestionable fact. His eyes went wide, fingers trembling. “Don’t mess with the Aldori.”
“Yes, boy.” Halungalom sighed. “You played with a fire, burning too brightly for you. This fire will not die down until you and all you touch are ash. If but one soul suspects us, we are all doomed. Jamandi will no longer be able to avert her eyes. Her swords will hunt us down. Where will your siblings live then, whom will they blame? Jamandi? She had no choice in the matter. But you? You did.”
He nooded. Then the world stood still, he remembered -forgot- his days as a little runt, running after Auntie in the streets above. Learning the ways of the guild, of The Family. He knew -forgot- the way to their safe houses, their passwords, their code phrases. He felt himself slump forwards, his spine unable to keep him upright. At the end, he saw fire. Among the embers, there were glowing-?
“I’m sorry, boy.” Halungalom wrapped his small arms around his neck. Garrek felt tears stream down his face. Was he crying? He returned the embrace. Everything went black, it was as if his heart stopped. He didn’t feel the two strong hands picking him up carrying him up the stairs, passing by the hallway with its paintings and its history. As they arrived at the door, Aunty threw him a sad look, shedding a tear. He’d miss her, he thought, he wasn’t sure. The door vanished from sight, the dirt path was rough and uneven, making for a bad bed. He opened his eyes to the rays of the shining afternoon sun; the air was cold and bit his exposed skin. His eyes were wet. Slowly, the fog that had claimed his mind started to evaporate, giving way to a wave of emotions. Sadness, guilt, anger. He had come for aid, for family. Halungalom was as a father to him, when his own hadn’t taken him. Giving him a life, a purpose, when stealing for his family, he had been someone. Now, he was nothing, had nothing, meant nothing. The Family no longer gave him purpose. What had the woman with the glowing eyes said? He’d forever have nothing? Now, he knew what she had meant. How could they do this to him? His hand clenched into a fist, striking the ground in a painful explosion of emotions. A yell escaped his lungs, drawn out and hurt. For once more animal like, than human. It started as a loud roar, eventually, died down into a quiet whimper.
He sacked back, his head in his hands. He was cold and hungry. He had nothing. Going back to the events that destroyed his life, the alley, the woman, the glowing eyes, the blood, the paper, the coin-
The paper!
He felt for where he had hastily stashed it. It was still there. With shaking hands, he reached into his pocket, pulling out the small piece of paper. It was a wondrous little thing, so unassuming, so small. He wondered what it meant. Inspecting the small thing, he noticed once more the broken wax-seal that marked its outside. It was a letter. Was this what the woman with the glowing eyes had searched for? The seal showed the crossed duelling swords of the Aldori. He should have paid attention to the letter, if only he had known. But it was too late for that now. He opened the letter, unfolding it into a document. His hands shook as he read the lines that had been printed on it.
“In the name of her grace, Lady Jamandi, of her name a master of the Aldori and swordlord of Rostland. You are hereby summoned to the city of Restov, on the 22nd of Abadius of the 4710th year since Absalom's founding. We have heard of your heroic exploits and offer you an opportunity to gain fame and glory in the name of her grace, Lady Jamandi. You are to partake in a feast, where the rest shall be revealed. We trust in your secrecy! By the grace of Milani, she who opposes oppression, Desnus, the Oathday before the first moon of Sarenith, 4709th year since the founding of Absalom.
Issued to the Pathfinder Society in Absalom.
This document identifies you as a rightful hero and servant to her grace, Lady Jamandi.”
Letting the letter fall to his side, his mind started racing. He killed, or at least helped killing, people that were summoned by the Sword Lords, Lady Jamandi herself even. He felt bile rise up in his throat, keeling over to release the contents of his empty stomach onto the earthen ground next to him. Heaving dry, for many seconds, moments in which his mind had gone blank.
He finally managed to calm his stomach, sweat drenching his face and his clothes, chilling him to the bone. Taking a look at the letter again, he saw no mark or designation to a specific person. The letter was free for the taking. He guessed the drunken fools never expected to lose the letters. It seemed they were Pathfinders after all. He’d half a mind to hand himself over to Captain Garress, take the punishment with dignity and have it be all over with. Then his mind returned to his fate, pushed away from the life he’d lead thus far, alone, cold and hungry. Who knew, maybe serving the Sword Lords wasn’t so bad, maybe he could make enough coin to make up for his mistake and have Harungalom accept him again. In any case, a feast sounded right, just about now.