Post by Uathach Blackmantle on Aug 24, 2008 20:39:24 GMT -5
That day dawned early for Wraith, with a most unnexpected message; from Marrak of all people. Wasn't the berk on the Ethereal? She couldn't help but muse to herself as she tore open the letter, and scanned its contents, even before the courier took his leave of her. It was just as well Maddie, the nursemaid, had arrived early that morning.
No sooner than Wraith finished breakfast and gave Aerin a kiss and a cuddle goodbye, she hurried off to Hilathic's kip. She didn't even get the opportunity the night before to tell him the bastard had skipped town. She was eager to pass on this news to him, so they could at last plan a course of action.
Now, a few hours later, with this new lead and the missive clenched tightly in her fist, she couldn't help but feel excited, angry... and anxious.
Keeping her mind focused on the task at hand - finding out what this representative had to say for himself - and all she believed to be true and right, Wraith strides down the cramped alleyway hard against the wall of the Armory. On either side of her the stonework was infested with razorvine... a charming place to arrange this meeting. Though she supposed choice of venue said something about the man's character.
As if she didn't know what he was like already...
Wraith clenches the letter tighter until it crumples in her hand, quickening her pace despite the rain and the chill in the air, until she reaches the ancient galleon at the far end. A fitting tribute to Entropy that this blackened husk should be found in the Doomguard's shadow.
Adding to the atmosphere of violent Inevitability, the incessant banging of hammer against anvil rang out from the armorworks to either side of her. It drilled into her brain, setting her nerves and teeth on edge, driving her to sharp words, anger, even violence. Sparks sprayed out from a nearby window in a wide glowing arc, catching in the razorvine, scattering across the narrow path ahead. Some of the hot embers caught on her dress and seared through the fabric to bite into the skin beneath.
Wraith yelped in pain, and almost ran the rest of the way to the Black Sails. Now more than ever she wanted to punish Marrak, to see him suffer for all of the horrible things he'd done.
Head high, jaw clenched, shoulders back, steeling herself for what awaited within, she pushes the door open, and strides inside. Her veiled eyes scan the gloomy confines, the curtained alcoves, the wooden beams sweeping across the low ceiling, the cluster of tables in the centre of the room.
Few patrons were in today, and those that were, were sullen workers hunkered over tankards of bub. A group of Sinkers tossed dice or threw daggers at the dartboard in a far corner. There were a handful of merceneries in the common room too, all Sinkers, seated alone at separate tables, quietly enjoying their meals. Only one caught her eye, a tiefling if appearances didn't deceive her. But she wasn't here to wigwag with the Doomguard.
Unless Marrak's representative was one of those excessively violent sods.
Ignoring the patrons, the bar maids, and the curtained alcoves to either side, Wraith strides up to the front bar. "Excuse me, cutter, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here." Wraith asks the barkeep in a low tight voice, removing her veil and unwrapping her wimple as she says this. Her blue hair spills out of the loose bun gathered at the nape of her neck. "I don't know the cutter's name, nor do I have a physical description of him, but I was informed he's expecting me here. He may've asked for me by name; Uathach."
No sooner than Wraith finished breakfast and gave Aerin a kiss and a cuddle goodbye, she hurried off to Hilathic's kip. She didn't even get the opportunity the night before to tell him the bastard had skipped town. She was eager to pass on this news to him, so they could at last plan a course of action.
Now, a few hours later, with this new lead and the missive clenched tightly in her fist, she couldn't help but feel excited, angry... and anxious.
Keeping her mind focused on the task at hand - finding out what this representative had to say for himself - and all she believed to be true and right, Wraith strides down the cramped alleyway hard against the wall of the Armory. On either side of her the stonework was infested with razorvine... a charming place to arrange this meeting. Though she supposed choice of venue said something about the man's character.
As if she didn't know what he was like already...
Wraith clenches the letter tighter until it crumples in her hand, quickening her pace despite the rain and the chill in the air, until she reaches the ancient galleon at the far end. A fitting tribute to Entropy that this blackened husk should be found in the Doomguard's shadow.
Adding to the atmosphere of violent Inevitability, the incessant banging of hammer against anvil rang out from the armorworks to either side of her. It drilled into her brain, setting her nerves and teeth on edge, driving her to sharp words, anger, even violence. Sparks sprayed out from a nearby window in a wide glowing arc, catching in the razorvine, scattering across the narrow path ahead. Some of the hot embers caught on her dress and seared through the fabric to bite into the skin beneath.
Wraith yelped in pain, and almost ran the rest of the way to the Black Sails. Now more than ever she wanted to punish Marrak, to see him suffer for all of the horrible things he'd done.
Head high, jaw clenched, shoulders back, steeling herself for what awaited within, she pushes the door open, and strides inside. Her veiled eyes scan the gloomy confines, the curtained alcoves, the wooden beams sweeping across the low ceiling, the cluster of tables in the centre of the room.
Few patrons were in today, and those that were, were sullen workers hunkered over tankards of bub. A group of Sinkers tossed dice or threw daggers at the dartboard in a far corner. There were a handful of merceneries in the common room too, all Sinkers, seated alone at separate tables, quietly enjoying their meals. Only one caught her eye, a tiefling if appearances didn't deceive her. But she wasn't here to wigwag with the Doomguard.
Unless Marrak's representative was one of those excessively violent sods.
Ignoring the patrons, the bar maids, and the curtained alcoves to either side, Wraith strides up to the front bar. "Excuse me, cutter, I'm supposed to be meeting someone here." Wraith asks the barkeep in a low tight voice, removing her veil and unwrapping her wimple as she says this. Her blue hair spills out of the loose bun gathered at the nape of her neck. "I don't know the cutter's name, nor do I have a physical description of him, but I was informed he's expecting me here. He may've asked for me by name; Uathach."
