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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Iron Sky" data-source="post: 5211067" data-attributes="member: 60965">Session 31, Part 1  Hours later Harold was still waiting.  Hundreds of troops had entered the dungeon and dozens of bodies had been dragged out and dumped in the yard, but no sign of Tondron.  Harold had the feeling his personal belongings weren't there anyway.  They could still be back at Gleam, sold, traded, put on display somewhere.  Regardless, he needed a weapon, something more than the crude sword he had.  He stared out across the smoggy sprawl of the Black City and planned. What have you done and where is the Stone, a voice whispered in his head. The wording of your question implies you already know Suniel, or should I say, Hollowed One? he thought back. After a couple of minutes of silence he figured whatever magics Suniel had used to link with him had faded.  Guess I'm on my own then.  Fine, I'll handle this City... His stomach grumbled and he squinted at the setting sun.  I'll be back for you later Tondron, count on it. A second later he was down in the streets, wandering alleyways, dodging patrols, and searching for food.  It was getting dark when the crackle of flame and a short burst of laughter drew him down an alleyway.  He moved quietly up to the edge of the light flickering from the burn barrel.  A small huddle of disheveled men and women in rags were roasting some type of meat over the fire.  Harold's mouth watered as he stepped into the light. “Hello, do you think I could-” Harold couldn't even finish his sentence before the barrel was kicked over, food snatched away, and people running into the night. “Damn,” he said, running after them.  He caught up to one of them and stepped the street behind the man, grabbed the man's arm and pulled the man to a halt.  “Hold, wait!  I'm not a guard, I need help!” The man stopped, his expression weary under smeared dirt and soot and long strands of tangled hair.  “What's wrong with your voice?” “Wrong with my... I'm not from the Black City if that's what – damn!” He caught up to the man a minute later.  “I'm not from the Fae Wood or Charst either.” “How can that be?” the man said, suspicion and fear in his voice.  “Where else is there?” “There's better places... well one better place at least – if it still stands.  Forget it.  I'm just looking for refuge.  I'm guessing by the way you ran, you're not a friend of the authorities here.” The man shook his head.  “The authorities are friends of the Bank and the Council.  The commons are just supposed to stay out of their way.” “Sounds about right.  They're probably hunting me right now, I don't suppose there's something you could do...”Suspicion still tinged the man's features, but he nodded slowly.  “Normally I'd tell you to bugger off, but I've never heard someone talk like you...  maybe what you are saying is true.”  The man paused and chewed his lip for a moment. “I'll take you to my boss.  The Black Rat will know what to do, follow me.” Harold followed, moving quickly through the dark streets.  His boss? Some type of resistance movement maybe? Well, lets see what this Black Rat thinks of Harold Trisden.</blockquote>

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