Prologue
In his shadowy sanctuary, Dezloz stood still as a statue resting a chin on his metal clad fist. His entire body was covered with a rare armor wrought from darksteel, crafted for him by the monks of the Gate Mountains in secret long ago. Darkteel was a rare alloy ancient Dwarven smiths procured in the deepest recesses of deepearth, rarer than precious adamantium. While not the most comforting of things worn, the benefits it confired him outweighed any minor discomfort. The armor was strong enough to withstand arrow, bolt, fire and ice, and electricity. Only a weak minded fool would care about creature comforts! he mused. It helped to inspire intimidation and fear in his rivals, and his advesaries too.
His majestic throne room was equal parts impressive as it was imposing, designed to make one feel insignificant and inferior yet luxurious enough to satisfy the aesthetics of visiting dignitaries. He didn't care much for statecraft, something he delegated to the ever present throng of supposed political geniuses who always waited to sup after the lion had engorged itself on the meat of its prey. He eyed them for a brief moment with a scowl of contempt. 'You fools prattle betwixt yourself like a brood of bellyaching housewives who hate their husbands' he said. His voice was a rich baritone that had an echoey effect within his facial mask.
'Master, we've discerned something of extreme import' hissed the head of his advisors, Lomag. A man he found detestable, possibly treacherous. Yet he saw some measure of utilitarian application to such a spineless weasel. Dezloz was never one to permit emotion to effect his plans.
"Please, by all means' he said sarcastically, wondering what lunacy these scholarly bookworms have contrived.
Lomag said 'our greatest diviners have spent the month pouring over the archived epistles. Our star charts and the documents recently uncovered have foretold of a prophecy that may cause you some...disconcernment my master'.
Dezloz scoffed, 'what rot' he said at length, 'do you forget yourself Lomag? I am the cause for disconcerment, you dare to presume something would pose some trouble for me? Me?! I who have intrigued for entire realms! The supreme monarch of the Black Empire!' he laughed, 'I would tear your damned head off and put it on a spike for such blasphemy, you fat piece of dung. Yet let us hear this ancient theory of yours, and it had better be good. Or I'll have you flayed, slowly, and your skin will feed the pigs'.
Lomag nodded solemly, accustomed to such acidic rants from his liege. He spoke with practiced words, trying to sound as naturally poised as he could. He was a gifted spokesman, previously an ambassador with more ambition than most statesmen. Yet he was not as weak as he made himself seem. In fact he was in secret a high priest of Demogorgon, his demon patron.
Yet what he was about to say was entirely true, accurate, and hard worked upon. He said 'These records came from the Lorian archives we sacced in Lor. They speak of a handfull of children, lassies and lads four boys and three girls to be exact who will rise to prominence. Their deeds, merits, and heroics will cause them to rise in tremendous power. They will also rise against the lord master of an immense power, which they were selected to do. If left unchecked, they will destroy him forthwith'.
After some small back and forth, Dezloz moved a chess piece across the boad in his mind, 'Assemble a team of your finest assassins' he said.
Lomag smiled, he sensed things were moving in his favor.
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1. Orath
The rogue strode through a bustling throng of revelers at the Rusty Dagger's commonroom, not paying any particular heed to the ensuing chaos that ensued all around him. A curious smell of affordable ale and the sound of an artless minstrel's lute helped drown out some of the debauchery that took place in the commonroom. To the casual observer he was as non descript as he had wanted to be, clad in charcoal grey hood and cloak, moved in a certain fashion to not draw too much unwanted attention to himself. His steely gaze drunk in all the details of his surroundings, yet nothing that worried him.
The patrons were a mixed crowd of farmers escaping their wives to have whores sit on their laps, and merchants come for a little bit of entertainment and light hearted business dealings over drinks and delicious offerings from the kitchen. Recently Orath became friends with the proprietor, Gormag after locating and rescuing a shipment of Nyrian ale and Jez'zurian cheese which had been confiscated by the greedy customs officers at the gate. He simply stole the cargo and replaced it with barrels full of sand and dirt, with the aid of his new partner Aronis.Tenspells.
At first he had hated having a partner, and the mage he had misgivings about he quickly discovered was just as brilliantly cunning as himself. Indeed, he might have made a better thief than wizard he thought. Orath taught him some sleight of hand and parlor magic tricks, illusions, and basic secrets of thievery out of sheer boredom. The mage was reciprocal and taught him some cantrips and ventriloquism, voice mimicry, and disguises. Slowly he began to persuade the gentlemanly mage toward more ambitious pursuits, a sharing of his love for higher forms of luxuries, with the promise of thieving some masterful art. His weakness, of course. *There were worse things than having a wizard as your main partner*.
Quickly he made it back to their room, where he left some food and ale at the bedside table, with a cup full of barley tea. Aronis struggled and emerged from beneath a thick layer of blankets, picking at a piece of crumbling bread and drinking the hot tea. The thief changed the wounded wizard's dressings on his recently sustained injuries. Some black orcs of the salt badlands had gouged him good with their foul shit stained arrows. If he hadn't used that potion of *cure disease* he won in a high stakes poker game, his companion would've died real nicely. He had been saving it for himself in the likliness of gaining genital worts after his embaassing romp in the lesser houses of carnality.
'I'm growing weary of owing you thanks' Aronis managed to mutter weakly. It was a good sign of recovery. Orath shrugged, sharpening one of his many throwing daggers and checking its length for imperfections, 'then save em, I'm sure this shan't be my last, or your last from saving my bacon more than once with your magicks' . He poured out some coins on the bed, 'The gaming house, lady luck spread her legs for me again. They kicked me out, but I returned again with a new disguise and worked the tables. We've more gold to get you a proper healer now'.
Aronis 'No, no healer. We'll save the gold for emergencies, and not keep it on our person. On the morrow we will ride for Lor, I wish to peruse the library there. Then we will deposit this gold in the bank therein, and it will increase as it sleeps in the vaults. You will deposit the monies under different guises, too large a sum will attract unwanted notice. And of course we don't want to miss the Summer Solstice festival, some of the finest looking women will be there in droves my friend'
Orath nodded, 'You don't say' he said, 'If I wanted a piece of ass I'd merely visit the Succulent Succubus there. The madam is sweet on me, and gives me her choicest girls. While back I took care of a brute who was roughing up some of her girls, bruising them and hurting them. I do not wish to meet a woman who will ensnare me in a life of bickering and boredom my friend. This is why I do what I do and am the exceptional professional you see before you. With my supreme skills we'll be richer than kings!'
Aronis chuckled, 'Is being rich all you live for?' he questioned, drawing a raised brow from his thieving companion. Orath laughed, depriving the world of gold is the highest form of artistry there is my young friend. It's the highest form of merry make, of lovemake, of poetry and aliveness that exists. It's survival and it's both attack and defense. Your own powers while potent and deadly my friend look laughable by comparison. '
The wizard shook his head, 'you've no notion of the extent of those powers, which have aided in your schemes considerably. Until now I've only showed you a mere glimpse as I do not wield such wantonly. Now, it seems we've finally shaken the last of those pesky hunters off of our backs once and for all. You must have really pissed the wrong people off back in Lawhaven'.
Orath nodded, 'Hardly, I simply appropriated the collection box for the month and cured the high priest's daughter of her virginity. She was exquisite, and twenty winters without knowing the loving touch of a master! He's a cleric of secrets, you'd think he'd keep this one secret! What sort of monster keeps such a beauty locked in a high tower? There she was as I was working, and her pet panther caught me unawares. This was a true woman in dire need of a lover's artful skill. That fat bloated piece of shit was to sell her virginity to the highest bidder, some decrepit old fart with too much gold in the coffers. I ended up robbing that fat fuck of every bit of his excess gold. I gave it all to that group of monks outside of town. They gave me enough wine to last us the rest of our days'
Suddenly the door burst open, kicked in from the other side. There was a hooded figure there, until a blast detonated and blew him to pieces. Orath thanked himself for resetting his safeguard trap. He didn't think he would need it, but he was glad to have sided on the overly cautious.
Two more men came rushing in, one had a sword and another an axe at the ready. The axe-wielder came at Orath 'that was my friend you butthole!' who ducked out of the way, sidestepping the predictive blow. A dagger sprung into each of the rogues hands, spring loaded from his wrist sheathes. He sunk them hilt-deep into the mans armpits and flung one into his friend's left eye, who nearly brought a sword down on the thief's neck.
Aronis begun chanting swiftly, 'Noquar salarog t'eldiz koth' he mouthed arcane syllables then outstretched a hand and his fingers were animated, tracing runes in the air. A sphere of pure water formed in his hands then grew to the size of a large boulder. Setting it against the flames, they extinguished the fire instantly.
The innkeeper and his wife were there at the door, his wife urging him to be more of a man and give the tough talk to intimidate these guests into paying for damages. Aronis spoke with both of them assuring them that they had no part in any foul business. The prorprietors were soon ashamed of their accusatory stance and were going to make amends with a kingly meal. He planted the suggestion into the wifes mind to seduce and satisfy her husband like a hellcat on fire. A little reward for the mans exertions, he thought.
Orath knew his friend had just effected enchantments upon the annoying innkeeper. A masterfully laid *charm person* and *friends* spell, also a *suggestion* at play. He was beginning to intuit the different types of spells and distinguish them apart. Yet somehow his friend was able to cast these spells and make it seem like casual conversation, a talent that was not easily learned. So some of the thugs from the gaming houses, come to rough him up, or even kill him and reclaim their precious gold. Most likely the later he thought.
Aronis strode back in, followed by two buxom maids that began cleaning the room immediately, with happy grins on their faces.
Orath assisted the wounded mage into their new digs, the thief set some simple traps at the windows and blew out the candles, save for one. He gathered his gear, and an arsenal of weaponry that he typically brought with him wherever he went: wristbows, collapsable glaive, throwing daggers, his short sword, and his signature weapon: a black chainwhip that ended with a dagger. The weapon was not only useful in contending with multiple foes, but allowed him to quickly escape, disarm, trip, climb, and steal. His throwing glaive was also something just as effective. He took it from a persistent assassin out of Hetonk sent to kill him, one hired by his previous lover Jaqueline Christiani. Ordinarily the weapon was cumbersome and unwieldy, took many years to gain simple proficiency in its use. The previous owner had it laid with some dweomer to cause it to return to the throwers hand as long as he wore a special glove. It was sharp enough to cut through stone blocks, folded nicely, and he discovered it could be used to disarm opponents, snag tiny objects, or unlock doors from afar. Now he had two of them. The stupid bastard who nearly sliced him to pieces looked horrified when he caught the weapon out of the air and threw it right back, taking the would be killers head clean from his shoulders.
Orath clambered out the window and into the night, leaving Aronis some quiet time to himself. The mage added a wizard lock spell on the door so as to not be disturbed, and just to make certain an alarm spell in case any deigned to bypass the door he would be instantly aware, invisible or astral it mattered not.
He was pouring over some maps of the region intently, studying the markings made by his elvish friends. These Inner Kingdoms seeemed to be comprised of thirteen kingdoms loosely aligned with one another, some not so much. He seemed intent on the realm of Nyr, where the ancient city Lor beckoned. The God of secrets was also the custodian of knowledge, wisdom, and light. He had a massive library many intelligentsia were compelled to visit, and he was no different. He wished to lose himself amidst books of poetry and literature of bygone times where things occurred both tragic and romantic, wondrous and terrifying.
The thief made a strange but fitting boon companion. He secretley desired a worthy fighter deadly with the sword, yet Orath was gifted in swordplay, and he fought much like a professional sword fighter and a trained assassin. His cunning and quick reflexes seemed to surpass what he had initially wanted. While we visit the Lorian library, perhaps he would be able to aquire more rarer books. Books those pesky priests wish to keep hidden in their deep vaults. *And all of the arcane secrets that they contain.*
He went back to sleep, the spells he'd studied were burning into his brain. Few knew his rare talent, that it took him only a mere hour to regain all of his spent spells. A hour of uninterupted, deep sleep. To induce this, he learned special meditation techniques from the Lords of Dis, an ancient monastic order of monk acetics. His time with them was well spent, granted he'd been hiding from a forced arranged marriage to Lady Striga. The last thing he had wanted in life was to become a writer and a dirty country lord who eventually grew fat and lived off of blood, sweat, and taxes of those he ruled.
As the mage fell into a deep fitfull slumber, he instantly begun dreaming vividly of varying scenes. In each new instance he was always seeing the same woman with silver hair, clad in a black robe and fleeing away from him from a distance, laughing teasingly. She was muttering something intangible, riding a steed hard and always through a darkening storm. Instead of raindrops, daggers came crashing down from the \sky, then arrows. She somehow dodged each of these.
As he gave up in the attempt he knew was fruitless, the woman turned and came charging at him, pausing to stand before him without hesitation, 'Ho!' she hissed, 'Tarry here, mage. I have sought you, feverishly. I beseech thou to make way to the city Lor, and therein to seek audience with the Lord Duke Commander. He will seek you out, eventually. However you must make yourself found'.
Aronis arched a brow, 'We already are in Lor, lady. Though I suppose if you were escrying me from afar it would seemeth to the one scrying I am somewhere in the midst of the planar sea. A calculated misdirection'
The white haired woman started with an incredulous look, her chagrin evident on her chiseled features 'Ah, I see. You are truly gifted to be able to hold a continual misdirection , young master. My master was correct in seeking your aid'
"Who is it you serve then?" he shot, his words were heavy and froth with thick enchantment of a compulsion spell. A spell recipe created by his late master.
She smiled, 'Lord Duke Commander Daynar of House Succundus"
Aronis nodded, 'Strange that he should seek the aid of two simple travelers in a city overflowing with sellswords and mercenaries"
The woman accepted the response in stride, 'Indeed, and are you and your friend two common two bit mercs? Do not presume me a simple minded dolt!'
He grinned, 'You seem to know much of me, and I little of you. We do not simply join up with any employer who wills our service. Our purses are overflowing with coin and our reputations proceed us, we've sufficient resources and scant need of new dangers. Additionally my business partner does not particularly enjoy working for those he does not know, nevermind one who appears intrusively in a mageling's dreams. Good day!'
He woke with a sudden start. He probed the woman's mind and discovered she was as he suspected a warrioress, unschooled in such magicks. Hence why she was floating around and couldn' see him at first in his dreamscape. Despite her shielded resolve he was able to glean much of her and what she knew of himself and his thieving companion. It seemed that agents of House Succundus had been keeping special attention investigting the pair., though have had no success in finding them. His aura of misdirection seemed to work, for this warrior lady was in Lor herself presently, mere blocks away from the Rusted Dagger. Could their low key illicit activities have inadvertently gained the unwanted scrutiny of the Lord Duke himself? He found it utterly absurd. Both had operated in such a way to bring about as little attention to their notice as possible. It took him a great deal of effort to get his accomplice to adhere to a sort of code of conduct, designed to escape the authorties care. There hadn't been any bountyhunters dogging them, minus these recent thugs from the gaming houses.
Orath crept through the window, closing it shut and closing the shutters. He was pleased with himself, seated at the desk and begun counting coins and making notations in his ledger. Then paused and turned toward Aronis 'Not a bad haul for a short nights work, the woman who succumbed to my tender minstrations was very rich. Here, take this pearl necklace and hock it at the pawn shop tomorrow morning"
Aronis lifted a hand and the necklace flew to his grasp. He whistled appreciatively, 'This alone should cover all of our living expenses. Try not to hang around those dodgy gaming houses, we don't need to draw the unwanted attention we've had thus far! Your penchant for overindulgence is going to invite ruin to our lucrative enterprise. Refrain from going off robbing rich ladies and seducing the wives of noblemen, either. I wish to visit the library on the morrow then we will need to make our egress as quickly and quietly as possible. We shall book passage south along the Snake river to Southern Cross. I hear there is work to be had there with those of our particular talents"
'Ah pipe down' Orath shot back, annoyed, 'I need a bit o' sport now and again, keeps me sane. The gaming houses are just fun, and what of it? Some thugs trying to collect in secret, every gaming house in these lands would do the same. Teach the winner a lesson not to win. This time I gave them a hard won lesson for free. Anyhoot, what's the bug up your arse? We're sitting pretty on a large lump of cash, and we're clear of Lord Raygnar's stupid antics"
Aronis waved a dismissive hand, 'Nevermind that, I had a dream. Not an ordinary one, somebody attempted to contact me. "
"Who?" Orath asked casually, fiddling with a dagger, twirling it in his hand and using it to shave a patch of stubble.
"I believe she was or is an agent of the Lord Duke, puzzling she would contact me. Only a trained and skilled master of the arcane arts can communicate thusly. Means she went through a great deal to talk with me"
"What did she want?" Orath asked, this time sharpening his dagger with a whetstone.
"Matters not, what matters is not to be having the most powerful man in the city interested in *us"*
Orath ceased fiddling his favorite throwing dagger, 'Hah, well, we haven't done anything yet to warrant his interest in us, and if he is indeed curious about us well I'm flattered, not scared. His august Lord Duke commander knows of us?! Well this interests me, even though I hate puzzles and mystery. Which is why I keep you as a companion for the most part"
Aronis nodded, 'Remain here and watch over me, I'm going to pay a little visit to the Duke, see what he knows about us if anything"
Orath "You go ahead, Ill be here"
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Chapter 2: Daynar
FORCE CAPTAIN Sable Solatra started with a sudden jolt as she stirred from her dream state. Next to her were two Lorian acolytes who helped induce this special dream, and she felt fatigued suddenly. The momentary side effect of weakness was irritating, but it hurt only her profound pride.
She knocked on her liege lord's door, stepping in and striding forth. She dishelmed and allowed her flowing silver hair to fall, greeting her commander respectfully. He turned in his chair and faced her with his lustrous cat green eyes, shoulder lengthed brown hair and handsome visage. He grinned at the sight of her, 'Report' he casually said in his usual, charismatic tone. Like no problem in the world existed for him, even though she knew the stresses of his office.
"I made contact with the one the Lorians named. I sensed they were close, but where I could not guess. The one I spoke to I sensed was bothered by my intrusion. He was indeed powerful, and I felt he discerned my mind of things I did not intend to convey. As I stated I am in over my head here, mi'lord. Only through sheer will I kept me unhinged"
Daynar nodded, 'Try again in the morning, make absolute certain you gain proper rest. We need them, if what Artinol's epistles have told him are true, the guardian will be a trickster, and the protector a mage who will be instrumental in some significant fashion. " the duke sauntered over and clasped his general on the shoulder, smiling warmly and caressing her cheek 'cousin, do not be so hard on yourself. I know your aim is to please me, your lacking in arcane skills is nothing to be upset over. Just as I have no skill with archery or javelins. Fencing on the other hand is my little pride and joy, though I am nowhere in your level of swordplay these days"
Sable smiled 'neither should you be, you've men to fight for you and many of which would gladly die for you, myself included. Be that as it may, many of your enemies will die for you just as happily. Even your enemies grudgingly respect you as you have strength they could never know. Compassion, mercy, empathy, benevolence. You are still one of the better swordsmen I've ever known, cousin. I could only match you solely to having studied your sword-fighting manuals my entire life that you gave me as a young adept. None in the land know its secret techniques"
Daynar grinned, 'Providing them to you has certainly paid off, you could easily best ten knights singlehandedly. Now I hear you have finally found an apprentice, and something more than a mere apt pupil if my information is correct" he teased. He was curious who could have stole her hearts interest, as she was one of the more beautiful women in all the city. Attributed to the fact she had a quarter of elvish blood in her lineage.
"Aye, though I could hardly call him a student. He's a skilled swordsman from other lands beyond the Sea of Planes. His name is Garosh Graycloak. I rescued him from a pack of idiots trying to hang him for killing their leader in self defense. He is a clever bastard, tactically he's a genius. I gave him a job as my lieutenant commander. The men took an instant liking to him, he reminds me much of yourself! Full of aliveness and passion, and a bit of cheeky disposition to make things more interesting. "
Daynar nodded, 'Good, very good that. We can always use some fresh blood around here. The men are too young and green, they might faint at the sight of a black orc or goblin, much less actual opponents who fight back. I need you to press them harder. Those who show promise and mettle will be given promotions and salary increases. Those who do not will be demoted and regulated to lesser posts. I cannot afford to pay some lazy bastard top coin in wages to guard the wall half asleep or worse, half drunk. Additionally I'm having some of the officers specially educated to read and write, in calligraphy and even poetry or art, maths and Nyrian history."
Sable smiled, 'That would make them into better officers, brilliant. Now if you'll excuse me the day beckons, and I've far too much to accomplish fore supper. I must meet with the spies to comb through their intelligence reports regarding the two that must be found"
Daynar "Farewell, good luck!" the duke watched as she disappeared, then ordered his door guards out of his office chambers. He pressed a button underneath his desk, which opened up a section of the wall behind him revealing an elevator. He entered and waited for it to make its final descent, the grinding mechanical gears made no sound thanks to a permanent *silence* spell he had placed upon it. One he overpaid a months wages for. When he emerged out of the elevator, he entered his secret chambers below the keep. There in front of him was his new outfit, a master crafted suit of black body armor forged out of darksteel. He donned his mask and prepared himself to go out on a simple investigation.
Since his new role as lord duke commander of all of Lor, a post gifted him by the young queen who was infatuated with him he's had to invent an alter ego to traverse the city and instill the fear of the Gods in the hearts of his enemies, and criminal scum that infested the various districts of Lor. Thus far he's made a name for himself: dark strider. Til now he's been very conservative and strategically smart in his new role as vigilante. He managed to disrupt a secret meeting of bosses between various criminal organizations in Lor, and was happy when he gained himself a bounty for his own capture. Over the course of the year he also caused great consternation betwixt these crime lords of the city, giving them great pause before performing any extensive operations in the area. None have dared to do crime in castle ward, on fear of divine retribution if anything else.
He moved fast across the rooftops along Skull Street, until he made it to the building on Skull and Sword street. Here was his friend and ally, the dwarf master Rook. A master smith he rescued from dark elves during his adventuring career. Daynar provided him the post as his house's master smith, a most dignified and respected position any demi-human would be thankful for.
Rook pounded heavily on an orange glowering piece of metal when he caught wind of black strider's silent entrance. 'Trying to give me a heart attack, eh?' he said without looking. Dark Strider scoffed, 'all those years in the underground have given you ears of a cat, my friend' he said, unmasking himself. Rook continued pounding some more then let the metal bit sit in a vat of acid. The dwarf's half marred face was evidence of the dark elves ill treatment of him, despite he was a valued slave before. Even amongst dwarven smiths Rook was heralded as a genius. So much so that even the Dwarven Emperor continually sought his services.
"Here" he handed Daynar some items, 'I made some additional toys for you lad. Here's the climbing tool you requested. It's a wrist-bow, popular among thieves and assassins. I've killed aplenty to be familiar with it. The bolts ordinarily fire one at a time, this one can unleash up to five before needing reloading. And the amunition: explosive tip acid bolts, grappler bolts. These are extra, they're filled with warp gas. If your enemies get a whiff of it they'll turn against eachother in a fit of madness. Finally here's a special one I had made especially for you, which I would be very careful with. I call it death mountain, when it detonates it will be sufficial power to cause an avalanche or a small earthquake. I colored the filtch to easily keep track of which ones are which. Here two more different types, the ice blue ones are frost bolts, and these smaller ones will electrocute any you strike it with long enough to render them unconscious"
Daynar gathered the equipment and placed them in his leather satchel. He grinned appreciatively, 'Hells bells you've been busy my friend. Thank you, err Dark Strider thanks you."
Rook scoffed, 'You needn't thank me, boss. You've earned it tenfold over. Hell my grandchildren owe you tenfold, how to repay a hundred lifedebts to a human? Fortunately you have shorter lifespans than we Dwarves!" he laughed some, pouring his friend a glass of Dwarven brandy.
Daynar took the offered drink and drained it in a single gulp, enjoying the deep burn in his chest. 'When I rescued you, I hadn't anticipated having stolen a rare treasure, a living treasure from the clutches of those hated ones. Your release from their foul clutches was sufficient repayment in and of itself, I never expected repayment for such, even one hour of your life would have settled whatever imagined debt you felt was owed. For anyone with half a wit would know that a master artist such as you being freed from vile masters was an act of mercy no man with half a conscious can refuse"
Rook smiled, 'Aye, the simple fact of the matter is you set yourself apart from all these other house lords by your generosity and your newer thoughts. Truly you are a Nyrian, able to topple entire kingdoms with a wayward word or new way of thinking that baffles the wisemen, the erudite bookworms. This post you provided me pays me my wages, more than I deserve. Suren I would have great prestige and accolades back in Ironholme, but I feel the Gods brought me here for a reason. Sure as shit none of the smiths here can forge a damned sword without it splintering after some wear and tear!"
Daynar chuckled, 'Aye!' he laughed, then placed his mask back on, 'Time for me to leave. I've some sneaks work to do this night, and your new toys will be immense service to me. Be well!' he sauntered off and leaped up the rafters and clambered to the rooftop. He was able to use the dweomer of his rare boots to help him leap and spring while always finding purchase with the ground. Meanwhile his cloak permitted him with a kind of flying ability. It kept him hovering over the ground through invisible cushions of air that acted as a bouncy. It could thrust him forth or straight up, and protected him against foil smelling air. Like clouds of stink or cloudkill spells.
As silently as he could manage he glided across the rooftops of castle ward, his training with the elves gave him a distinctive advantage in muted footfalls. Up ahead, just a block away lied the Rusted Dagger. It was one of his cities most legendary establishments. Chiefly it was heralded as a favorite hangout of sellswords, thieves, wizards, and even clerics. The fare there was exquisite and came in great portions, yet was cheap and affordable. Only clean and most beautiful prostitutes were permitted inside, and the proprietor only hired adventurer's seasoned in battle as bouncers and staff. So many mercs were pissed about this.
Indeed it was so famous that many an adventurer, green and raw would come here and wind up simply adventuring for the Inn. When shipments didn't arrive on time, when dreadful storms raged across the sea, or fellow adventurer's vanished without a trace, a new mission is posted on behalf of the Inn. Sometimes such missions were practically free gold, such as retrieving special ales not readily available, or finding enough gold for a beauty contest. Once, he himself had taken a mission to find the lost recipe of an ancient 'God of Cookery'. Daynar and his brothers found teh Gods recipe books, all of them. Gormag even named one of his dishes after the duke, 'Lord Duke Daynar's delicious beef bone stew'. Ironically it was one of his favorite dishes in this place.
He paused to drink in the sounds and sights of his beloved Lor. Below in the dark shadow frothed alley, two men were taking turns with a cheap looking prostitute.
As he began scaling down the side of the Inn, he overheard noises from the window that he crept next to. From his vantage point something in the room through the window gained his attention. Two black armored soldiers burst through the door, gleaming longswords in each hand they begun searching the room. 'Nothing' one said, 'spread out, they must have changed rooms'.
