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« on: May 03, 2011, 08:10:44 pm »
Chapter 1:
The rogue stole away in the night, leaping from building top to building top. Though nobody could see behind the veil he wore, the determination on his scarred face was evident even through the folds of the fabric. He was wanted by the Hydlaa guardsmen, and the rogue knew this. As one of the soldiers rounded a corner, he stole away behind the chimney of a large house, peering around the corner every second to watch the guard's movements. But this guard, like all the other sentinels of Hydlaa, was skilled. His eyesight had been trained to watch for thieves and felons who could not escape from Hydlaa's ramparts. However, this rogue was different. The guard had sworn he saw someone on the rooftops, but the rogue whispered something to himself. The guard turned around quickly, ears wide and listening, every gust of slight wind in the night sending signals to his eardrums. His keen Enkedukai hearing had detected the whispers. Spear raised, he looked around even more. But the rogue had already escaped, his black cloak fluttering like the guard's eyelids as the sleeping charm took effect.
The Otarchy was just ahead. The rogue's heart was pounding in his chest. It had been long since he had stepped inside the walls of Hydlaa--so much had changed. No longer did he dwell in the plains of Yliakum's top layer. He was a stalking beast of the city, every sense attuned not to the feel of the wild, but to the unfamiliar urban atmosphere. His claws bit into not dirt, but cobblestone. His fangs groped for bread, not cooked meat. The rogue's mind completely changed to fit the city.
There were guards swarming the Otarchy building, even at night-time when its inside residents were asleep. But the rogue did not pay attention to the guards; there was a window on the top floor that he could steal through. Clinging with all his strength to the sill and yet not making a sound, the rogue silently and quickly slid the window open. In the inside room, the Chancellor was waiting. Scroll held in hand, he approached the rogue. The silent figure pulled back his hood, revealing a Dermorian visage, but with strikingly black hair--unusual if not downright abnormal for his race--and a face adorned with a myriad of painful-looking tatoos. "Azeragh." The chancellor said, slowly approaching the Dermorian. Even with his trained eye, the rogue did not see the silver dagger skillfully hidden beneath the Otarch's flowing robes. It was evident the chancellor did not entirely trust the man he faced. "It's about time you got here."
"I had a bit of a hold up. You need to station less guards at night."
The Otarch smirked. "More the merrier. Besides, with more guards we would be all the more likely to catch some of the less... desirable ones who come through here."
"Your guards couldn't catch me. Why bother with the younglings when the deadly ones are what you need to worry about?" The chancellor tightened his grip on the dagger. "Well," he said, "never mind that. Do you have the package?"
"Yes." Azeragh held out a small pouch that had been concealed in the black recesses of his cloak. The chancellor's eyes gleamed with human greed, and he reached for the package. The rogue drew back. "Ah-ah! Give me what I ask for, first." The chancellor frowned. He did not want to give up his scroll. The Otarch held out the scroll in a hand wizened with age and abruptly dropped it on the ground. Azeragh did the same, and then both figures kicked the items across the floor towards each other, a gesture of mistrust. Azeragh glared.
"Are you sure this is the map I'm looking for?"
"You can only find such a map in my hands." Azeragh put his hand on the hilt of his longsword. "Watch your tongue, chancellor. I know the devious ways of the Otarchy. I ask once again: is this the map?" A glimmer of deceit flashed through the pupils of the chancellor, one that Azeragh noticed; he did not show his observance on his face, however, but he knew he had been tricked.
"Yes." The chancellor said, unaware of the uneasiness in his whining voice. "Yes it is."
"Very well." Azeragh pulled the window open again, silently as before. Crawling in, he directed his gaze to the Otarch. "I offer one last warning. If this be another trick in your endless pursuit of golden Circles, it will not quake my soul to slowly disembowel you." Pure terror flashed in the chancellor's eyes, and with a scream he slammed the window shut. The guards looked up just after Azeragh leapt to a nearby rooftop, out of sight.
"Guards! Guards!" The chancellor shouted from his window. "Search the city! A villain is among us!"
There was a woosh, a whir through the air as an almost-silent arrow glided down. It pierced the glass of the window, shattering the crystalline panes. The arrow tacked the chancellor to the wall by his temples. Glass shards, expelled by the force of the arrow's descent, tore through his face and his clothing. The blood spattered so that the chancellor's wrinkled face was barely recognizable amidst the gore.
...For it was not the map he sought for that Azeragh now held in his hands as he put away his spellbook. No, the Otarch had deceived him, given him a commoner's map of Hydlaa instead of a guide through the catacombs that the Dermorian had hoped for. It was in the Catacombs that the Balesman dwelt, with his jar of souls. And it was the inner workings of the Catacombs that Azeragh needed to know. No longer caring if he broke his cover, the Dermorian let out a frustrated cry, an angry cry that shook the denizens of Hydlaa to the bone.
The search went on, but only in the early hours of the day-time did they find the chancellor's quarters and his blood-sodden corpse. The room had been ransacked hours before. The rogue stole away once again--his destination was the Library. Maybe there he could find answers.