Deep within the darkened alleyway a glistening pair of eyes looked out into the streets beyond. In the sprawling streets that crowded the city, people could easily disappear, swallowed up by the city and devoured by civilization.
Even in the darkness of night, with dark clouds loosing its cold rain upon the streets, people still walked the labyrinth of the city, intent on their individual purposes. In a city of ten million people, it is inevitable that somebody is always watching you.
The figure sat in the rain for hours, watching the streets beyond. Then its eyes slowly faded, and were gone, lost to the night. Naught was left in the alley but a small pile of ragged clothes suitable for a child, soaking in the refuse of others.
****
Lightning lanced across the sky briefly, striking the large iron pole that rested atop a structure of massive size that seemed to break free of the sprawling city streets far below. The temple dedicated Zsath, the Ghostking can be seen by all for miles within the city, and is a symbol to all for many things, be it power, wealth, or simply the inevitability of death.
Deep within the walls thousands come to pay homage in the hope that the deity may grant them a peace in death that they have not found in life. The street level of the building is open always to the masses that find their way into the temple at all times of the day and night.
It is said that the Spiritbanker is always open for business.
Within the temple proper, upon a lone balcony that looks over the masses that gather with their sacrifices of food, monies or prayers, a slender figure watches. Her pale white skin and jet black hair sets a contrast that her parents always told her was a blessing from their Highness, the Ghostking. Resting upon an expensive divan, stroking the mottled preserved fur of a tiny skeletal kitten, the young priestess waits.
Beside her the air shimmers for a moment, tiny droplets of ice form as an intense cold freezes the most air before dropping to the ground, and a shimmering apparition forms.
The ghostly form of the priest Vrisse’s voice was monotone, as if death had removed all expression from him.
“Good evening Alexis, I’m glad to see that you could meet me here. It is such a long way to your families chambers.”
“Now that you’ve completed you studies in the prayers of the Eighth Lore, I think that perhaps we should go on tonight and speak further about the necromantic effects upon new tissue formation created by mystical effects, the results are somewhat different to what you training might have…”
The ghostly form continues on with his lecture, hardly noticing his ward’s mood, or her longing to see the world…
****
There was a small popping sound, enough warning that allowed the tattered figure to run. The fecal blockage had backed up the tunnels in this area of the city for days, god knows what had started it, but it was preventing the valuable sewage from feeding into the farms far downstream.
Twitchy had found it, though he always had had a nose for these things, but as soon as Taran had laid eyes on the wall of filth he could tell that it was unstable. The rain water filtering in from the city above was going to fix his problem for him, sooner than he thought.
The filth exploded into the tunnel less than a minute after the warning, a wave of excrement washed down towards the small druid whose small legs were carrying him as fast as they could away from an extremely messy impending doom…
****
In the dirty light of his office, Hound winced. He was expecting something like this.
”What in the Hells do you mean you need 100 golden royals for ‘expenses’!”
The large robust man was a client, a well-to-do client whose daughter needed to be retrieved from the Apartments after she had fled there with a boyfriend. Or something like that anyway.
Mr Zimmerman loved his daughter very much, in the way that he could dress her up in fancy clothes and take her to business functions and balls. If it was heard that she was ‘slumming’ it, he would look very foolish indeed.
That said, for Mr Zimmerman, 100 royals was 100 royals…he could always make another daughter, or buy one.
****
Naten sighed. In the middle of the dark street with rain pouring down soaking everything in sight, crowds pushed past him to get out of the cold for the night. Not one of them stopped to look down at the shattered body of the small child that lay in awkward angles in the middle of the street. The carriage probably rode right over him without even noticing, it happened all too often in the city. Reaching into his pocket, he used a piece of charcoal to cross off another name from his list.
He knew that someone was watching him. In the city, someone was always watching you. He was hiding in the alley to his right, less that forty feet away. He was in no rush to show himself, and Naten could see his symbol of Urbanus quite clearly.
Even in the darkness of night, with dark clouds loosing its cold rain upon the streets, people still walked the labyrinth of the city, intent on their individual purposes. In a city of ten million people, it is inevitable that somebody is always watching you.
The figure sat in the rain for hours, watching the streets beyond. Then its eyes slowly faded, and were gone, lost to the night. Naught was left in the alley but a small pile of ragged clothes suitable for a child, soaking in the refuse of others.
****
Lightning lanced across the sky briefly, striking the large iron pole that rested atop a structure of massive size that seemed to break free of the sprawling city streets far below. The temple dedicated Zsath, the Ghostking can be seen by all for miles within the city, and is a symbol to all for many things, be it power, wealth, or simply the inevitability of death.
Deep within the walls thousands come to pay homage in the hope that the deity may grant them a peace in death that they have not found in life. The street level of the building is open always to the masses that find their way into the temple at all times of the day and night.
It is said that the Spiritbanker is always open for business.
Within the temple proper, upon a lone balcony that looks over the masses that gather with their sacrifices of food, monies or prayers, a slender figure watches. Her pale white skin and jet black hair sets a contrast that her parents always told her was a blessing from their Highness, the Ghostking. Resting upon an expensive divan, stroking the mottled preserved fur of a tiny skeletal kitten, the young priestess waits.
Beside her the air shimmers for a moment, tiny droplets of ice form as an intense cold freezes the most air before dropping to the ground, and a shimmering apparition forms.
The ghostly form of the priest Vrisse’s voice was monotone, as if death had removed all expression from him.
“Good evening Alexis, I’m glad to see that you could meet me here. It is such a long way to your families chambers.”
“Now that you’ve completed you studies in the prayers of the Eighth Lore, I think that perhaps we should go on tonight and speak further about the necromantic effects upon new tissue formation created by mystical effects, the results are somewhat different to what you training might have…”
The ghostly form continues on with his lecture, hardly noticing his ward’s mood, or her longing to see the world…
****
There was a small popping sound, enough warning that allowed the tattered figure to run. The fecal blockage had backed up the tunnels in this area of the city for days, god knows what had started it, but it was preventing the valuable sewage from feeding into the farms far downstream.
Twitchy had found it, though he always had had a nose for these things, but as soon as Taran had laid eyes on the wall of filth he could tell that it was unstable. The rain water filtering in from the city above was going to fix his problem for him, sooner than he thought.
The filth exploded into the tunnel less than a minute after the warning, a wave of excrement washed down towards the small druid whose small legs were carrying him as fast as they could away from an extremely messy impending doom…
****
In the dirty light of his office, Hound winced. He was expecting something like this.
”What in the Hells do you mean you need 100 golden royals for ‘expenses’!”
The large robust man was a client, a well-to-do client whose daughter needed to be retrieved from the Apartments after she had fled there with a boyfriend. Or something like that anyway.
Mr Zimmerman loved his daughter very much, in the way that he could dress her up in fancy clothes and take her to business functions and balls. If it was heard that she was ‘slumming’ it, he would look very foolish indeed.
That said, for Mr Zimmerman, 100 royals was 100 royals…he could always make another daughter, or buy one.
****
Naten sighed. In the middle of the dark street with rain pouring down soaking everything in sight, crowds pushed past him to get out of the cold for the night. Not one of them stopped to look down at the shattered body of the small child that lay in awkward angles in the middle of the street. The carriage probably rode right over him without even noticing, it happened all too often in the city. Reaching into his pocket, he used a piece of charcoal to cross off another name from his list.
He knew that someone was watching him. In the city, someone was always watching you. He was hiding in the alley to his right, less that forty feet away. He was in no rush to show himself, and Naten could see his symbol of Urbanus quite clearly.
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1):-Kerby Street Boys-A gang of local ruffians and clutists, necro-freaks and witch doctor wanna-be's, they're named for the street on which they're formed which is said to contain dozens of Crawling Heads, each harmless but crazed with undeath. New rumours have said that the gang has a sudden new ability to mark the best times for raids, and might even have a new member that can open holes in the city. Naten's convinced that they bagged one of his Orphans.
