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Message: <blockquote data-quote="Ruined" data-source="post: 412500" data-attributes="member: 113">Silas – 22nd of Taner, yr. 144 AVThe row between the houses was mostly sod and vines, making it easy for Silas to slip through without a sound. The guards were at the front of the house – he could hear them continue to knock on the main door. Silas had a feeling that his friend Martin might not even answer the door. A sound ahead of him proved his suspicions correct.He slid around the corner into a small yard behind the house. Moving out from the door was Martin Shale, trying to step quietly. Although silent, both rogues saw one another.“Hello, Martin. Long time…”Martin wasted no time for parley. His hand drew a large dagger from his belt, and tried to plunge it into Silas’ breast. Silas stepped to the side, grasped Martin’s arm, and used his momentum to throw him to the ground. The dagger sank into the earth with a light thud, as Martin reached for it once more. He tried to rise and attack the elf, but Silas dropped and placed a knee roughly into Martin’s midsection.“Back here!” Silas yelled, calling out to the guards. He reached over and grabbed the dagger that Martin had failed to retrieve and placed it at Martin’s throat. “You chose the wrong friend to double-cross.”Martin said nothing, and soon the guards were taking him away, hands manacled. Silas agreed to follow up with them soon and make sure Martin was properly indebted to the city. As they walked away, he entered the house, searching for any property to recompense him for the original betrayal. Martin did not possess much, most of his coins gone in his hasty flight from Aolvnir. Silas could not find the lens either, probably hidden or sold back in their home city. For a pair of enterprising thieves, Silas and Martin seemed to be relatively poor.Silas was about to give up hope when he noticed a small bundle hidden inside an unused fireplace. He unwrapped it and found a small leather pouch that sparked a memory in his mind. Inside were several polished hooks and picks, Martin’s thieving tools. They were far more useful than the simple needles that Silas had trained with. The items made the victory a touch sweeter.***Silas found Alderman that night at the Rusted Plow, just as the half-orc said he would. The time was an hour before midnight, and the Plow had many more patrons. Silas was wary of the more menacing individuals, but his travels from Lageni and into New Venir had hardened him.“Good to see you caught Shale without problems. Good work,” Alderman said. “Oh and I’ve been told that the forged papers were quality work.” Silas tried to ignore the off-handed compliment.“You said you had other information for me.” Alderman looked at Silas, and bit his lip. He seemed to argue with himself, weighing a decision. Alderman reached into his tunic and retrieved a small black disc, a bit larger than a Calastian coin. He slid it across the table to Silas.It was polished and slightly cold to the touch. The disc weighed very little. It could have been carved from an exotic wood, or quite possibly bone. One side was painted a flat black, while the other held a white crescent moon atop a black background.“What’s this?” “You may not have seen it before, but one of these was left at the spot where your sister was killed. They are markers.” Silas’ hands trembled slightly at the mention of Illyana’s murder. He had tried to suppress thoughts of her while focusing on Martin. But now Martin was dealt with, and the emotions came flooding back. He tried to speak, but found himself unable.“A group of assassins. They are called the Cult of the Ancients. Some of their agents leave these to mark a kill.” “Why tell me this?” Silas said after composing himself. He didn’t like the quavering sound of his own voice.“You should know. You’re capable enough to have found this out on your own. We feel you should be better prepared before confronting these assassins.” “Who are we?” This is the second time he had asked Alderman about his employers.“A group called the Scaled. We have business in several cities, including your home.” Alderman leveled his eyes at Silas, watching for his reaction.It seemed to make more sense now. Silas had heard of the Scaled before, a fanciful tale of a guild of thieves that operated across Ghelspad, dodging the law and stealing from the rich. It was the stuff of legends, and not widely believed. Yet, Alderman had known who he was and possessed a great deal of information about his actions in Aolvnir. He found himself believing without many questions.“We’re not offering you to join, Silas. You’re not the type we look for. But we have no love for this Cult. You want revenge, and we can help. We can give you training and information to better your chances.” Silas waited for the inevitable catch to the offer.“All we ask in return are certain considerations when you do your work.” It was an open-ended deal. Silas didn’t like it, but all he could think of was his sister’s bloodied body, killed because she was enamored with the wrong man. It only took seconds for his decision.“I’m in.” ***23rd of Belot, Yr. 150 A.V.Many things had changed for Silas, but his quest against the Cult of the Ancients remained strong. Years had passed in which he trained with the Scaled. They helped to hone the rudimentary skills that Martin had taught him, and they taught new methods. He learned to move through the city streets, following the nearly invisible trail of a fleeing culprit. The rooftops were his domain, offering angles from which he could make deadly shots with bow and arrow.The various assassins he confronted had tested his skills at combat. So far, he had brought down seven cultists, alongside other criminals for which bounties were offered. Base thievery had never offered much to Silas, but hefty bounties for wanted men had proven suitable to his tastes. Many looked down upon a man of his career as bounty hunter, but he cared not. It was an exciting job at times, and it was a means to an end for Silas.Divinities Day approached, and the city of Quelsk was bolstering itself for a massive celebration. The clerics proclaimed it to be one hundred and fifty years since the end of the Divine War, a good reason to celebrate. Silas had a feeling it would be a celebration to remember. He looked down at the tattoo he had given himself on his chest. The name Illyana engraved in elven script. There were many things that would be remembered.</blockquote>

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