A novel, based on the story and universe of Thief,
developed by Looking Glass Studios
Written, in correspondence, by: Steve Tremblay, Beate Gerwin, James
Sterrett, Alexandria Thomson, and Daniel Todd
"We
chose our profession in defiance of the greed of the monarchy. We will not live
for the sake of taxes to fatten the nobles' pockets. We choose to live the only
life available to those who would truly be free. We are Thieves."
-- Creed of the Downwinders, also adopted by Master Nightfall
Foreword, by an anonymous Keeper:
Hail Reader, and thank
for you choosing to read this tome. I am a Keeper. My name is not important,
for the words herein were not written by me, nor even witnessed by me. I have
simply taken it upon myself to provide a little background information on the
subjects that follow, to prevent confusion by those who are not so familiar
with this realm’s history.
In an age
long before this one, the Trickster, an entity of chaos, attempted to fully
manifest himself. He was thwarted, however, by a being who would come to be
known as the Master Builder. The Master Builder was deemed a god by those who
followed him, and the Hammerite Order came into existence. Half a year ago, the
Trickster attempted a return to our realm, to bring about an age of perpetual
night. He called this plan, "The Dark Project." In order to bring his
plan to fruition, he tricked a master thief, who was once one of our own, into
performing a simple yet dangerous task, in his stead. The thief's name was
Garrett. Garrett was given the task of retrieving the Eye, a magnificent
gemstone which the Trickster could use as a focus for his magics. Aided by his
counterpart, the being who called herself Viktoria, the Trickster betrayed
Garrett, stealing Garrett’s eye to activate the gemstone’s magical powers.
Seeking vengeance, and to save the world, Garrett used a fake version of the
Eye which the Hammerites had rigged, swapping it with the real one during the
final ritual of the Trickster’s ceremony. The backfire of the spell destroyed
the Trickster. An exceptionally eccentric member of the Hammerite Order
rewarded Garrett with a mechanical eye, and the Order pardoned all crimes.
After a brief meeting with one of us, Garrett then went into hiding, and has not
been heard from since.
That is
another tale, worth hearing in its entirety. It is history. I bring you now a
different tale, one that may or may not be true, but is certainly every bit as
worthwhile to hear.
About a
month passed after the events above had come to a close, when a stranger
arrived at the docks of The City. He came alone, which was odd, considering the
size and nature of the vessel on which he had journeyed. It is in the
commoner’s best interest to mind his or her own business, so no one asked this
mysterious nobleman any questions. Keepers, however, are not daunted by such
considerations. He was an offworlder, and his name was Daneel Todulem. Daneel
had once been a mage of great power, a fact made clear to us when he used the
last remaining scraps of his power to cause a magnificent mansion to spring
forth from the solid stone of the sharp foothills which lay before the great
mountains.
We were not
the only ones who witnessed this act. It had in fact been observed by a
Hammerite scouting party. As quickly as it was seen it was reported to
superiors. In the ensuing mix of shock and excitement, there could be heard
cries of “Nightfall!” It was as much a description of the darkness from the
tower’s sudden skyward mass as it was of the man who caused it. “It
was as if night was falling upward!”
According to Hammerite prophecy, the Master Builder would send a savior
who would come at the time of great peril, and perform great miracles. Upon
seeing this act of power, the dying Hammerite high priest twisted the ancient
texts to suit the situation and decided that this wealthy nobleman from a
faraway land must be the savior, and thus emissary to the Master Builder. It was his last display of sovereignty. Daneel,
being no fool, happily accepted this position, as well as all the power that
came with it.
As time
passed, Daneel began to acquire an understanding for the new home in which he
lived. He came to the conclusion that the most noble group inhabiting The City
was not the fanatical Hammerite Order, not the reclusive elementalist
Brotherhood of the Hand, nor the poor and dirty working class, and especially
not the fat and wealthy aristocrats, but those who dwelt in darkness: the
thieves. Though many were common scum that preyed on the weak, others proved to
be strong souls who did not wish to live by the rules set by the oppressive
world around them, but by their own thievish sense of honor.
Daneel,
inspired by his new sense of direction in life, covertly began work as an
employer and aid to these thieves. As his organization grew, he constructed a
base of operations. This base was, on the surface, a museum entitled "The
Circle of Stone and Shadow." This seemed one wealthy man’s collection of
artifacts and knowledge, but in truth was the heart of his criminal
organization. In time, Daneel was given the name of Master Nightfall by those
whom he served, later adopting it as his surname.
Master
Nightfall would become known in the underground as one of the most powerful
crime lords, occasionally referred to as "The Patron Saint of
Thieves", all the while maintaining his guise as a simple nobleman, and
emissary to the Master Builder.
The story
begins nearly two months after Garrett went into hiding, and four months before
the peak of Master Nightfall's prosperity.
Chapter 1 - The Correspondence
- Jyre: The Urchin - Day
1: 11pm
I stared up
at the tower, which was nestled halfway up the steep hillside. It was a
hauntingly eerie image in the fading light. I could have gone up the stairs, I
suppose, but then I would have had to face ridicule from the servants and
guards, if there were any. So I chose, instead, to take the back route. I had
traversed this way once before but that had been in daylight. The area I had
chosen to climb, sheltered by plant growth from any view from the tower, looked
a lot steeper in the dark. The initial stages were easy enough. The ground was
rocky with tufts of grass sprouting here and there. They gave enough purchase
for me with which to haul myself up. I was past the halfway point when I came
across the real problem. An overhang, like a miniature cliff, towered at least
twelve feet above my head. The rock-face in front of me looked like a bowl
standing on edge. The rock itself was as smooth as glass. I would have turned back,
had I not seen this place before. Skirting my way around the lip of rock that
made the bottom edge of the bowl, I eventually came to the thin crack that ran
from the bowl's base to its top. With a little effort, I managed to squeeze
into the fissure. It widened slightly just above my head and I was able to grab
on to the rough rock and pull myself up, bracing my feet against the rock to
stop myself falling. Had I been any bigger I would not have been able to do
this; there are times when being a titch has its advantages. By repeating the
process of reaching, bracing and pulling until my arms felt as though they were
about to fall off, I eventually managed to drag myself out of the bowl and onto
the overhang above. Once there I just fell on my back and stared up at the
darkening sky, panting.
The tower
itself was perched on a small shelf halfway up the tall rocky hill. The
structure could be described as having two parts: the mansion-like base and the
tall tower..
The wide
mansion-like base sprawled out across the shelf in an irregular shape
consisting of rectangular and cylindrical units with arched roofs, some
connected by short hallways. It filled the shelf easily, leaving little room to
walk, or even stand. Many of the units and halls protruded out of the
rock-face, which lent me to conclude that there was much of this house hidden
inside the hill. From what I could see by the light of the lampposts at the
front of the house, the entire structure was made from black shiny stone,
ornately decorated with all sorts of relief carvings. Stained glass windows
circled the structures, each one different from the one that came before. The
entire mansion gave a clear sense of carefully calculated randomness. Had I
approached from the stone path and stairway it would have been impossible to
see any of this, for it was blocked by the dense foliage and the fences that
channeled any visitors to the front door whilst preventing any exploration of
the property.
The tower
part itself was too distant to be clearly made out by the light of the
lampposts lining the front walk. The night sky was overcast, so not even
starlight could illuminate its features. It was tall; very tall. It was also a
good way into the manor’s structure, standing free of the vertical rock-face that
made up the rest of the hill which towered several hundred feet above the
tower’s tip. Searching for the most efficient way up, I circled around the
structure in front of me, glancing at the relief carvings as I went past. They
seemed to be forming a narrative. This particular one showed a man doing battle
with an iron golem, and upon defeating the beast, receiving a large shield. I
saw my path up as soon as I went around the bend; there was a narrow passage
between two of the structures, which formed a path straight to the base of the
tower itself.
I was level
with the tower's base now and a short dash brought me to its stone clad walls.
I walked around to its sides, careful to keep in the shadows and avoiding the
windows whilst I searched for my goal. Spotting the dark window near the top of
the tower was not easy, especially with the moon's light blocked out by the
clouds. Finding the ugly gargoyle that was perched on the wall above it was
much easier. It overhung the wall slightly and a wooden platform had been
constructed around its base to support its weight. I pulled two pieces of wood
out from under my baggy top and placed one of them, a rope arrow, on the floor.
I held the other between the palms of my hands and whispered a short chant. The
wood in my hands shook and grew until it stood as tall as my shoulder. I
couldn't hold back a smile at the sight of that bow. It had been a gift from a
young mage named Tanya, whom I had met on my travels but a year ago. I hooked
the arrow in place, raised my bow and took aim. When I released the string the
arrow rose with a whistle which was followed by a resounding thud a few seconds
later. The rope uncoiled, its end hanging level with my face. I returned the
bow to its original size, slipped it back under my top and began to climb.
I grabbed
for the windowsill with my left hand and pulled myself forward. At the same
time I released the rope I had used and then pulled myself through. It was dark
inside and I could just make out enough to know I was in the right place. The
bedroom was quite massive, and thankfully dark enough to keep me from being too
distracted by the odd shapes all around me.
I just focused on the shapes I did recognize, the bed, wardrobe, and
chest of drawers. There was, however,
no sign that the one I had come to see was there. I tucked myself beside the
wardrobe and waited.
My hands
were sweaty with nervousness, and I could feel them shaking. A glance at the
outside told me it was getting very late. Just as I was beginning to wonder if
he would ever come, the door swung open and he walked in. By the light in the
hall I could just make out the silhouette of a man in a hoodless cloak. My mind
went blank. Everything I had prepared was forgotten. He was preparing himself
for bed by the time I realized why I was here. My presence suddenly seemed
highly inappropriate. I pulled the letter from my pocket and stepped into the
light. "This... this is for you," I blurted out, then hurriedly
jumped back out the window and scrambled down the rope before he had a chance
to reply.
- Nightfall: The Return Home - Day
2: 12am
The midnight
hour approached as I slowly climbed the spiral staircase to my chambers, near
the peak of the tower. I had been unable to get anything constructive
accomplished in the halls of The Circle that day, in spite of the wealth of new
content, which made me slightly frustrated. "Never enough time in the
day," I muttered to myself under my breath. I reached the top of the stair
and passed through the grand double doors leading to my chamber. Upon entering
the room, I immediately felt a presence nearby. Out of the corner of my eye, I
spotted a figure huddled by the wardrobe.
I chose to discreetly observe what my guest was up to, without letting
it know that I was aware of its presence. *
The minutes
passed as I emptied my pockets onto my desk, and placed my formal cloak on the
hook by the door. Just as I began a few random meaningless acts which could
give one the impression of getting ready for bed, a small silhouette, which I
vaguely recognized to be that of the young thief Jyre, sprang from its hiding
place. She shoved a letter into my
hands, muttered something about it being for me, and dove out the window. She
is an interesting girl, to say the least.
For the past
month Jyre had been one of my more faithful contributors. She regularly showed up at my doorstep or
the office at The Circle with one or more new treasures she had salvaged,
usually paintings or obscure rarities, in return for things like supplies,
food, or money. She was a very
secretive and timid person, and our words exchanged were seldom more then were
absolutely necessary, but I appreciated her all the same.
Rebuttoning
my overshirt, I turned on the lamp at my desk and opened the letter to read.
Master Nightfall,
Good, you have been. Understanding. I feel... I must tell of
myself to you. Me words, please forgive, are not good. Me learning of letters
came late to me. But I will try. You take my goods. Pass them on. Fair of me it
is to reveal to you your source.
Orphan I be. Me dad I never knew. Me mum... Dead she is. Many
years dead. Street rat am I. Thief, steal, rob. Those were my deeds. For food
in me belly and clothes on me back. Understand, please. I had to survive!
Twelve I did be when I were caught. A young man he were who found me. Ranson.
That were his name. A guard he were. For the Lady. Ranson did see me starved.
Filthy. Pity was his kindness. Took me home. Fed me. By the fire I sat all
night. Such warmth I had not known before that time. Handsome, he was. Black of
hair and green of eye. Loved him would any lass, sure of it am I.
Innocent I be'd. He... took advantage of me. Drowsing by the fire
were I when he... touched me! "Quiet," says he. "Do as I say, or
kill you I wills. You think they will miss one of your kind." Please, say
you understand. I was lonely. He... The memory pains. Please.
Morning bright did wake us and to him his feet did leap.
"Come," he commanded. To the lady did we go. And to her did he make
plea for my service. I was a guard that very day. Do not judge me by this! I
serve or I die. He gave me no choice!
I train, work hard. Learns much. Letters was I taught, and
stealth. Watching. Protecting. Did I enjoy? Yes. Guard I was and guard I was
happy to stay. Food I did have and much health. And Ranson did I have to fill
me where I were lonely. Happy content. That was me.
But a mistake I did make. To patrol the house was my duty and I
did see many a time that things were no good. To my captain Els I did go. And
explain I did. But never, never, never did he listen! Angry I grew! Frustrated!
"Tell the lady," be all he ever did say. To tell her I tried but
always were she busy. Unimportant, I was. And so ignored. When to him I went to
tell of bad lights, he did shrug and say "tell the lady." Hit him I
did. Hard. We fought much. Everyone saw. She saw!
Arrested. Both of us. Captain Els was whipped. I... Put in a cage
and left to rot. Hunger. Fever. Fear of death. No other memories have I. The
rescue I do not remember. Going on the ship... It was captain Els who did
freedom give me. His life was risked for mine. Obliged was the word he used
when I asked why.
Time passed. Strength I gained. Guard I was again, for a short
time. Then return did we to my homeland. It is revenge we seek. The captain and
me. The lady she... She is evil! It is from her I steal my goods and to you
they are passed. Though thief I be, I am not a bad person. Wish only to stop
the lady do I.
This is me. This is who I be. Now you know the truth.
Your servant,
Jyre.
I paused for
a moment, considering, and then quickly penned a brief letter in reply to her.
I set it into the "out" chute by the desk. A servant would find it a
the bottom of the chute in the morning and have it delivered promptly to her by
my agents. Then, finally, I headed to bed.
- Jyre: On the Streets - Day
2: 10am
I was
honestly enjoying myself as I trailed behind that fat merchant, having already
picked three of his pockets, and found tasty trinkets in each. The marketplace
was busy enough that day for me to stalk him quite closely without him ever
noticing. Besides, he looked to be the type who never looked a peasant in the
eye unless he wanted to buy something, so even if he did see me twice, he
wouldn’t have acknowledged it. He just bounced along, the folds of flesh
beneath his layered garments jiggling with every footstep, which made it all
the more easy to grab something without him ever giving it a second thought.
I was just
reaching out for more when a small boy dressed in rags ran right into me. I had
scarcely got a word out in protest when he whispered, "Master Nightfall
sends his regards!" winked, and vanished into the crowd. I didn’t even get
a good look at the lad, though he appeared to be a boy of no more than six or
seven years. Quickly looking back up, I was relieved to see the fat man still
in view, flirting with a comely peddler woman. Judging by the expression on her
face, he was getting nowhere. My next instinct was to check my pockets. I
kicked at the dirt of the path as I discovered that the fruits of a morning's
work had been replaced by a neatly folded note. Cursing under my breath, I
pulled it out and scanned it quickly. Then my face lit up.
Jyre,
Hello again, always a pleasure to make the correspondence. Seeing
as you are one of the patrons and contributors to The Circle, in the future I
do suggest you visit me via the front door.
Now, allow me to congratulate you. I know that this seems an odd
thing to say, but it is what came to mind as what I should first do. If your
tale is true, and I have no doubt that it is, then you have survived much
suffering and hardship, and grown strong as a result. For this, I congratulate
you. Also, to a lesser degree, I’d like to welcome you to the realm of the
written word. I see you are quite new
at this, and you managed to put forth a valiant effort. I know of many poor
feeble minds who, in spite of proper schooling and a wide knowledge base in the
field of language, cannot seem to tell a story half as decent as you have done.
At any rate, that is enough chatter from me.
So you and the captain wish to reap revenge upon this cruel lady…
did I gather that correctly? I am curious to hear of your plans.
Sincerely,
- Nightfall, Master of the Circle of Stone and Shadow
P.S. If the boy steals anything, steal it back from him.
Surging with
excitement, I quickly dashed to a courier post, making a small detour to
relieve the merchant of his gold pocket watch. Arriving, I rang the bell to
summon a message carrier, and quickly pulled out a narrow stick of coal to write a letter in reply, using the back
of Nightfall's letter to write on. A
tall gaunt fellow in his early twenties arrived shortly, and stood there,
staring at me as I scratched out the letter. "You need me to carry letter,
lady?" the man said, through a mouth with as many teeth as I could count
on one hand.
"Yes,"
I said plainly. "And if you make speed there'll be a gold piece waiting
for your return." Grinning from ear to ear, a sight I really wish I hadn’t
seen, he nodded vigorously and stretched out his hand to take it. "As soon
as I'm done," I said, sensing his anxious nature. I reread the letter and
wondered if there was anything I had forgotten. Hearing the courier's impatient
shuffle of feet, I wrapped the letter in some cloth and handed it to him, along
with a silver piece. "Now go, quickly," I told him. The man nodded
once and ran off.
- Nightfall: A Letter from Jyre - Day
2: 12pm
I try to
take at least one day a week off from my usual work to just relax and waste
time. That was today. My reading was interrupted by Jossimer, my
head butler. He approached slowly, knocking on the doorframe as he entered.
"Sir," he said, with his thick nasal aristocratic accent, "a
rather disgusting man rudely dropped off this letter at the front gate. He
claimed that it was urgent. Shall it be disposed of, sir?" I looked up
from the book I was reading, Memoirs of Sir Cabirus, and gave him an
expression which usually meant, ‘this had better be good.’ Jossimer approached
in his narrow stiff walk, the light from my lamp catching in his bifocals to
make him look like some sort of mechanical creation. He held up the letter
between his thumb and forefinger, as if he did not wish to touch it for fear of
catching some disease. I reached out to him, the universal signal for ‘give it
to me’. He did so, and then stood there, absentmindedly dusting off his black
formal coat. Strange how the room was emptier when he was in it. I set my book
aside, marking my place with Lord Bafford’s favorite bookmark, and opened the
letter.
I found that
is was actually the letter I had send to Jyre last night, tightly folded, with
the addition of smudged charcoal writing on the back.
Master Nightfall,
Your praise, it lifts my heart. My thanks I do give you. Of my revenge
you would hear? Then tell will I, best I can.
The Lady, powerful in our city is she. Much monies and rule does
she have. Many man of the city are hers to command. Feared she be. Despised!
Listen in the shadows. Hear their moans. Listen in the streets. Hear their
praise. Such is her hold on us! But there is weakness. Yes. And find it will
we. Exploit it will we.
Revenge. That was my word. But deeper than that it goes, I think.
My people suffering I see now I am home. So freedom now is the need. That will
my revenge be.
A few short weeks ago we did thief from the Lady, the captain and
I. Into a house of her we snuck. Through her things did we look. The captain,
he fears she is connected with the dark ones. That is what he says. And so does
her evil rise. Proof it were we sought of this. And through every room and
garden did we search it for. My ears did echo the sounds of my blood.
Bmmbmm, bmmbmm. My heart did my excite pound and my fingers did my
fear sweat. The captain, he be brave. Calm did he keep me. And safe. Always
safe. He knew every patrol, every post. And round each one did he guide us.
Once, I fear we was seen but pursuit followed us not that night. Paintings I
did find, which now you do posses. Some gold. Some jewels. Not to alert her, most
of this did we leave. And letters, many letters. But none, the captain did me
tell, that would serve as proof. But one thing did itself appear. A map of many
places unknown where her things she did keep. Hovels, sewers, caves and such.
Searched them one by one we have but nothing did we find. To the
captain, I say. "What good proof. Listen to us they will not!"
"We find her wrongs, we find her weakness. And that we
exploit! Riches she loves, we take them. Contacts she has, we shatter them!
Rumors we spread. Foul and dark! And bit by bit she is broken and eventually
will fall! To get to her we must first shatter her foundations. And to do that
we need knowledge! Patience, Jyre. You must have patience!"
To seek revenge in this way we do. Her downfall will we bring
about. And then she the beggar will be. Hers will starvation be! The picture is
sweet to me. Peace in my heart it grants me.
But misjudge me not. I seek not her death. Such is not my way.
Your faithful servant, Jyre
p.s. A large lodge has she. In the woods. Far from the city wall.
We go there tomorrow. And seek us our proof.
"Will
that be all, sir?" Jossimer asked quietly. I swept my hand towards him,
the universal signal for 'go away', and he did so. Folding up the letter and
placing it in the inside pocket of my cloak, I went to speak to James.
James
resides deep within the downtown area, Warden Clide's area, between the
business district and the slums. The building in which he lives is on the edge
of the slums, a once prosperous part of The City, which has fallen on very hard
times. He owns a flat on the top floor of a condominium, which was originally
built by the Hammers to be sort of a monastery for acolytes. But then they
built that new place over by their new main cathedral, in the central town
square, so it was given to the man they deemed most worthy. Well it seems even
a high-ranking Hammerite isn’t always the best judge of character, and this
individual sold it to the highest bidder, who happened to be the third
wealthiest landlord in town. How James managed to actually buy the top floor is
a mystery to most, except of course for James, the man who sold it, and the guy
who paid for it – me.
It was a
short walk for someone who knew the way, but I still wasn't in much of a
hurry. I had only been living in The
City for a couple months, but already I had quite a good handle on most of the
districts. As I walked I received, as
always, an assortment of glances from the passers-by, usually in the form of a
discreet nod of greeting from members of the respectable underworld. Most commoners and noblemen, however, took
care not to give the dark, foreboding figure of Master Nightfall a second
glance, or even a first.
I arrived at
the building just as late afternoon was creeping up on me. The first thing that
came to mind is the first thing that always comes to mind when I look at the
place. What a ghastly piece of rock. The building was built by the Hammers, and
thus looked like a fortress. However, unlike the perfectly clean and polished Hammerite
fortresses, this place was a towering symbol of rot and deterioration. I always
wondered why James refused my offers of a fine estate in the uptown area. He
claimed that he needed to be close to his agents. I could have easily chosen to
argue the matter, but I humored him, and so this is where he lives. I arrived
at James’s front door shortly after making my way up a deteriorated set of
stairs, which wasn’t without several smelly bodies sleeping on it. I recognized
that the door had been locked from the outside, so I knew he was out. Following
standard procedure, I passed my hand over the deadbolts, and they magically
opened for me. A nice little gadget, courtesy of an elementalist mage, who most
likely really misses it. Stepping inside was like stepping into another world.
Gone were the cracked stucco walls of the condo, the rotting wooden floor, and
the stone ceiling. Actually, they weren’t gone. You just couldn’t see them.
James and
his wife, Corinne, do not appreciate others saying their home is messy. They
contend that they know where everything is: "Underlying Order in
Superficial Chaos". And indeed the first impression of any visitor must
necessarily be of chaos. Books, scrolls, and half-finished dissertations cover
the tables; and they cover much of the floor as well. Massive filing cabinets
overflow with papers and books are stacked two ranks deep on the wall-to-wall
bookshelves. They live a simple life overall, happy to consume peasant fare day
in and day out. But they spare few expenses in the pursuit of their mutual
passion; knowledge. Which, of course, is why I hired him to run the
Intelligence Section.
Stepping
over some new volumes on an eclectic assortment of topics, apparently received
shortly before their departure - they had not yet disposed of the packaging,
though one of the books, Principia Mathematica, had clearly been skimmed
- I found, sitting in the middle of a clear spot, a letter addressed to me.
Most would find it odd that someone would write someone a letter, and think that
the best way for that person to get it was to leave it on your coffee table,
but I long ago learned that James was no ordinary chap. He was almost always at
least two steps ahead of the game, which made him a damn good spy. I soon
discovered that James and Corinne were indulging one of their subjects of
particular fascination, military history, during a short holiday. The letter
was written in James' typically ugly, blocky, but very easy-to-read print (one
of his eccentricities: he only uses script for languages other than his native
tongue).
D:
An old friend has come visiting. We are examining battle sites,
traveling in the South for this week and the next. For the first week our
location is predictable and I can be reached via Drop Box 74f. I regret to say
that the second week will be less predictable and communications will probably
be temporarily interrupted, but I shall post my movements as they occur so you
can reach me in the event of emergency.
J - 09.06 23.3
The letter
was dated today, meaning that he left this morning, which actually was not much
of a problem. I was slightly disturbed by the fact that I had to reach James
through a drop box. I prefer a valuable document not be left unattended. A
drop-box is a location where the recipient certainly will not personally be
present any time the courier is. James claims this increases security if part
of the network is broken. The courier leaves the message in the pre-arranged
location and then leaves a mark at a pre-arranged location to indicate that the
box has mail. The courier leaves. The recipient checks the marker site every so
often, and when the mark is spotted, will erase the mark and proceed to the
drop site. After observation to ensure the site is not watched, nor the agent
being followed, the agent gets the message. It often helps to place the drop
box in places where it can be easily and unobtrusively grabbed even if in plain
view. I pulled a chair up to his desk (I first had to find a chair, and then
find a desk), and wrote him a short letter.
J:
You know of Jyre, of course. Attached to this letter are copies of
several of her letters to me. Please read them. Did you read them? No? Go read
them! Did you read them? Yes? Okay, good. Now, I’d like to get some additional
information on Jyre. This is not to say that I do not trust her, I do, oddly
enough, but I’d like to make sure there are no details that I don’t know about
that should be useful. That should be simple enough for your spies and
telepaths. The second task should be all the more enjoyable. I want information
on this Lady. All of it. I want to know the layout of her castles, all of them,
and all her bases too, especially this lodge of hers in the woods, which I hear
she spends the most time at. I want to know her past, history, heritage, how
many skeletons she has in the closet, the breed of her pet cat, what she serves
her servants for breakfast, how many times she blinked last year, and most
importantly, her NAME. You get the idea? I understand you are on vacation, so
to speak (don’t deny it, I know you enjoy doing that stuff), but that doesn’t
mean that you can’t get one of your many henchmen to pull this off for you. Oh
yes, and as always, thank you greatly in advance.
- D - 05.26 23.3
"Now,
where does he keep that…" I muttered to myself, trailing off into thought.
Then I saw it, perched on top of a stack of economic reports, his automatic
copy device. Another one of the Hammer’s wonderful inventions, this remarkable
machine will copy any book or document quickly and accurately (and I use the
terms lightly). I put Jyre’s letters into the "in" slot, and waited
while it did its work. Whether the Hammer’s craftsmanship is overrated, or
James had worked the thing halfway into its grave, I cannot say. What I did
know is that I had to coax the machine to keep working several times, through
some rather unscientific means. Judging by the tools that a Hammerite keeps on
his person at all times, I’d venture to say that this was a feature, rather
than a bug. The collection of Hammerite tools scattered about the flat
reinforced this notion. About ten minutes later I had a set of perfect copies,
and a rather sore fist. Packing my letter and the copies together, I left the
room as close to what I found it as possible, and let the door automatically
lock behind me. I went to the back of the building and waited. An old man
emerged from the shadows, a man whom I recognized as one of James’ agents. He
was an extremely thin old fellow, skinnier than Jossimer, which I found quite
shocking, and slightly grotesque. He walked up to me slowly, limping badly, as
if his left leg was nothing more than carrion. I admit, I was a little more
then slightly skeptical that this man could be any sort of courier. As soon as
he was within striking distance of my walking stick, he spoke.
"Ohh,
heelew Massteer Nitfell." He spat his words out as if he was hacking up
phlegm, because he was.
I didn’t
waste time with pleasantries or small talk. "Take this to drop box
74f," I ordered him. He reached out and plucked the envelope from my hand,
like he was picking an orange.
"Aye
ssser!" he spat, and then suddenly bolted off down the ally as if he was
no more than eighteen.
My eyebrow
raised almost involuntarily. "Hmmm…" I thought to myself. "James
employs strange ones." In intelligence, one needs a cold mind and a warm
heart, James always claimed. And he noted that with a bit of careful vetting, a
small investment of basic human decency towards society's unloved outcasts -
often as little as a regular cup of tea and a sympathetic ear - can reap a
great return in dedication and loyalty. Shrugging, I made an about-face, and
walked back to the main avenue. It was now evening, and soon it would be
nightfall. Rather than going home, I decided to deviate a bit.
Chapter 2 - Rouges
- Nightfall: A Stroll Through Town Square - Day 2: 6pm
Town square
is an odd name for an area with an irregular octagonal shape, unless you decide
that square means center. But then you’d still be wrong, seeing as the town
square was located well off the center of the city’s layout. Then again, simply
calling it TOWN square was erroneous as well, as this city was far too massive
to be considered a town. Metropolis would be more accurate. Unfortunately, or
fortunately, depending on your point of view, the term ‘metropolitan off-center
octagon’ never stuck. Having decided
that, I idly walked though the marketplaces and shop-stalls of the town square.
I quietly observed the people, taking note of the details. The city was quite
busy today. People of all sorts were walking about in a rush, doing business,
traveling, loitering, or keeping shop. I took a rare and precious moment to
just relax and lose myself in the scenery, going with the flow. Though the vast
majority of this city is rather bleak and dreary, this area was quite nice.
This is of course attributed to the fact that the Hammerites’ Cathedral
absolutely loomed over the place. Their influence was very strong here. A guard
on every corner, and a decree on every lamppost.
The Hammers
and the Pagans do have one thing in common, though they’d both kill me if I
said it, but they both seem to enjoy landscaping. They have utterly different
philosophies about if, of course. The Pagans, or rather, what’s left of them,
see it as the chaos and beauty of nature, and the Hammers see it as man’s
dominance and control over nature. Either way, the park in the center of town
was a very nice place to walk around and do business, and that is just where it
seemed I was headed.
I was
strolling over the brick path, through gardens filled with perfectly manicured
hedges, and a lawn so even it looked as if a machine had done it (which may be
true, for the Hammers develop machines for everything. No doubt we’d soon see
Hammers riding around on small mechanical beasts which roamed about eating
grass and making a whole hell of a racket.)
My thoughts were interrupted when a parchment, aloft on a breeze, hit me
square in the face. It was carried by
the wind – I had just turned my head, and smack, there it was. I don’t
like being taken by surprise, even if it’s just by a bit of debris, so I was
naturally quite annoyed. I was about to toss it in the nearby wastebasket (if a
Hammerite saw me littering I’d have an incident on my hands) when I chanced to
see my name on the top of the page. I
quickly smoothed it out, and read it. It was written in glyphs. Thankfully it
was a variant which I knew well.
Master Nightfall,
I am only a old woman that lives in the northern woods. Yesterday,
I heard that this boy Jyre needs information about that house of the Lady.
Don't ask me how I heard of this rumor, I beg you. All I knew is that he and
the Captain needed help, most urgently.
Once I was a thief, just like Jyre and the Captain. But nowadays
the Order of the Hammer has grown in its power, and the City is not secure any
more. And I myself am old now and weak... I feared the Order and so I fled into
the woods, after they had broken my wrists. I have a small hut here, unknown by
enemies, or friends.
I felt since a while already, that there is a great power around
the house of the Lady, deep in the forest. And I heard rumors about strange
things that happen there. Things that are too horrid to describe. I did not
want that this boy and his Captain would go there, unwarned. Too many people
have already been disappeared, captured and tortured by their enemies.
So, I decided that I could spy around the house, relying on my
once great skills. I approached towards the house, I saw that there are guards,
seemingly everywhere. And I saw strange, evil lights and noises in the windows
of the deeper floors. Screaming, weeping, rattling of chains. It scared me.
The house itself has a huge outer wall, shaped like a pentragram.
Every corner of the wall has a big tower on its top, with 2-3 guards inside.
Also guards with arrows. The main gate is iron, and closed. Around the wall is
a ditch, filled with foul water. I think there could be a hole, leading from
the ditch into the inside. I saw and heard some indicating water movements in
the western side of the house.
I hope that this small information could help Jyre and the
Captain, when they decide indeed to break into that house.
I myself fear that the wood is not secure any more, and will leave
now, heading towards a place where neither Hammers, nor the evil presence that
I felt beneath that house, will find me.
Lytha
"Jyre
is a girl," I said under my breath, correcting her with a slight grin.
Whoever her source was, that person wasn’t too observant. I should have James
warn his spies, I thought, hoping that it was not too late. I picked up my pace
towards one of his pickup posts near the edge of the park. Most people would
think it strange that a letter could be delivered to someone by the wind, but I
had seen many things far stranger.
Arriving, I
recognized one of James’ men immediately. It was Schinler. I sighed in disgust,
but it would take too much time to find another post with a man at it. Schinler
had a history - of shattered nerves. At a glance, he appeared to be no more
than a lord’s servant who decided to stand around looking moronic by the edge
of the park; and, in fact, that is exactly what he was. He once worked for
Bafford, in the kitchen, a stockboy I believe. And let me tell you, getting
whacked on the back of the skull by that ex-Keeper turned thief Garrett is
enough to make any man fidgety. To make matters worse, he quit his job with
Bafford and joined up with Ramirez, only to be assaulted again in the very same
way by the very same person. Schinler
is not quite convinced that Garrett is trying to kill him. That was two months ago - the poor man
should have gotten over it by now. Sighing to myself, I walked up behind him
casually and tapped his shoulder, an act which I knew I shouldn't have done,
but did it anyway. He turned his head
quickly and jumped half a foot into the air, spilling the contents of a mug of
brown liquid all over himself. "Ma-ma-mas-s-ster Nightfall!" He
explained with half excitement, half terror in his voice. He then jerked to
attention and saluted me.
"At
ease, Schinler," I said dryly "before a Hammerite notices you and
makes a scene. You’re lucky they don’t pound you for spilling your drink on
their sidewalk."
He shuffled
around nervously trying to kick dirt over the spilled brown liquid, and didn't
have much luck considering that he was standing on clean stone pavement. Realizing how stupid he looked, he quickly
arranged himself into a pose of mock at-easiness. "He-he-hellllo sir, er,
um, I mean, umm.."
"Schinler,
you need to lay off the coffee, you understand me?"
He nodded
sheepishly.
"And as
much as I find it amusing, you don’t have to be terrified of me. Just because
I’m your boss’ boss, doesn’t mean I breath fire and eat fair maidens for
breakfast. In fact, if you continue this show of spinelessness, I shall
recommend that James immediately expel you from the payroll, do you understand
me?"
He took a
deep breath and nodded.
"Good.” I handed him the letter from Lytha. “I need you to deliver this message to drop
box 74f. I want you to make a copy and
send it to me."
"Drop
box 47f?" he said in confusion, taking and pocketing it without looking at
it, just as James had trained him.
"No,
74, not 47, 74f. Got that? 74F!!" I raised my voice, growing impatient.
He nearly
had a heart attack. "Y-y-y-y-eeees SIR! 74 e-e-effff!!!"
"This
needs to be in James’s hand as soon as possible, do you understand me? The
lives of your fellows depend on it. Clear?"
"Perfectly,
s-s-sir!!"
"Good,
and while you are on your way, I want you to make a copy of this letter,” I
re-iterated. “I want the copy in my
hands as soon as you have come back from your delivery."
He nodded.
"What?
You’re not done yet? GO!" I commanded.
He nearly
tripped over his feet as he dashed off; all the while I was wishing I had found
another man to do the job.
It was
getting late, and soon the Hammerite day-watch would retire to their barracks
for the evening, and Hammerite night patrols and watches would begin. I spotted
a Hammerite soldier standing at one corner by a street-post. I paused for a
moment, as a sudden inspiration came to me. He looked as if he was carved from
solid stone as he stood there, motionless, hammer gripped tightly in his hands,
his eyes staring straight forward. Though he appeared inanimate, I knew his
ears were sharply at work, listening for any sounds that seemed out of place.
Even with the ruckus of the busy crowd which stirred about him, (keeping about
5 feet away, of course), I knew his ears were sharp enough to hear a dishonest
footfall twenty yards away. Odd how they can train them like that. The training
is good; very good, but unfortunately for them, not good enough.
"Greetings
Mathews, Private 4th class." Few people have ever seen a
Hammerite surprised before, and lived to tell about it. All the people on the
streets who happened to glance in the right direction as I snuck up behind the
guard and greeted him are counted among those lucky people. He quickly regained
his bearings, and wiped away all traces of surprise or embarrassment.
"State
thy need, citizen, or be off with you," he said, in that odd accent they
all seem to have, as he looked down his nose at me, and tightened his grip on
that solid iron hammer of his.
I lifted the
brim of my hat slightly to allow him to see my face. The poor chap went
slightly pale, as if a Hammerite could get any paler, and dropped to one knee,
quivering. "Please pardon my ignorance and ineptitude, Master Nightfall,
for did not recognize thee. I shall understand if thou wishes myself punished
for such a display of blindness."
"A
mistake may be mastered, but a lie lasteth forever on thy tongue. Rather than
try to hide thy mistake, thou hast faced it, and in doing so, may now correct
it. Next time thine ears shall be keener to my footsteps, and thine eyes keener
to my features. Thou art forgiven, my son." I said, pulling off the
Hammerite priest mimic with flying colors.
"I
thank thee, master," he said, rising to his feet, and not at all
groveling. "How may I be of service?"
"I wish
an audience with the council, the High Priest included. It is of a matter of
reasonably great importance," I told him, letting my accent slip slightly.
He nodded.
"I shall, master. Is there any other way in which I canst serve?"
"No. If
thou performs these tasks, then thou hast earned thy mettle for this day."
"I
thanketh thee greatly, Master Nightfall. Dost thou wish that I perform this act
now, or shalt I wait until my watch has come to a close?"
"Stay
at thy post, my son, and may the Master Builder watch over thee, and guide thy
hammer to righteousness." I admit, that last bit at the end was a bit of
an ad-lib, but he took it as a great blessing anyway as he regained his
steadfast stance.
Wanting
closure to the day, I decided it was about time I get back to my tower and get
some rest. Evening was now fully upon the city and a shady character like me
needed to get off the streets before the heavy Hammerite patrols began.
Undoubtedly they would attempt to arrest me, learn my true identity, and I
would have to come up with another excuse to not turn them in and have them
executed. As useful as the Hammers are when they think you’re a religious icon,
they are such a bother. So I made haste, for night was the time for people like
me to either get home, or get to the shadows and get to work. I chose the
former.
- Ghost: A Day in the Life of the Dead - Day 2: 8pm
I was
standing before the entrance to a place called the Bonehoard. I pondered the
wisdom of going down into a place like this again. Too many times it's been a
run for my life from burricks or zombies or worse. But this time, supposedly, it would be worth it. How many times
have I heard that? Some times these jobs are just way too dangerous. How many times was I going to use the word
time? I walked the fine line between
bravery and sheer stupidity too often. So now I'm here, looking for what my
fence called the Star of Alarus, and anything else not nailed down. I needed to
make some money on this too.
Suddenly I
was jogged back to reality. Something
was shuffling around behind a nearby crypt.
I quickly zipped into the hole that counts as a doorway to this place.
"Hmm…" I muttered to myself.
How convenient it was for someone to leave this rope here. It couldn't
possibly be a set-up now could it? If I get killed because this is a set-up,
I'm going to haunt the guy who wants this star thing for all eternity. I tested the rope. It seemed solid enough even though it looked like it was older
than I was. "Well, lets make this quick," I muttered to myself as I
slid down the rope. Surprisingly, I got
down safely -- so far so good. There was only one way to go. It looked well traveled. Now I was really paranoid. There's nothing
worse than finding living people in a crypt.
They can't be up to anything good.
Does that make me a hypocrite?
Yeah probably. But who cares?
I'm just here to loot a little. No one
should mind.
"Concentrate!"
I always have to talk to keep myself focused. It was hardly a quality you look
for in a thief. We're supposed to be
quiet. Crawling down the roughly cut tunnel, I end up on a wooden
platform. I found another rope. "Weird." I used my own this time.
I doubted I'd be that lucky twice. Thunk! "Okay, here we go."
I climbed down the rope. I noticed the body parts scattered around the
floor. Boy, I hoped there weren't any
zombies here. I checked my map, old as it was. The Alarus area shouldn't be too
far in.
Nothing to
loot here. Damn, I hated it when that happened! I liked my loot in large quantities, and readily available. Yes, I really liked loot plenty. Loot -- I loved that word. Why is it never easy to find loot? "Ah ha!" I saw some steps, not very visible in the corner, leading to a
downward slope. "Yes!" I said triumphantly when I saw the stone
carved with the Alarus name. Unfortunately, rubble was everywhere, blocking the
passage. It looked as if there had been an earthquake here. I almost decided this was a wasted trip;
almost. I noticed a small hole way up
by the roof in a dark corner of the room. From the looks of it, I may have been
too late. The hole looked man-made, as
if someone had recently gotten here before me. Some rocks were piled on a ledge
under the hole, like a crude set of stairs.
Maybe that was just a convenient coincidence. The rocks could have just fallen like that, and the hole was
natural. Damn, I'm amusing. That's
insane. Obviously I was too late. How could someone not have gotten in there? The path is so simple. I decided to go ahead with this anyway. Maybe they missed something? I climbed a post on one side of the
room. From there, I jumped onto the
large flat stone ledge dangling precariously from the roof. Then I slid to the edge and jumped off those
stacked rocks into the hole. It was too easy.
Something was obviously going to kill me at any moment. I laughed off
the thought.
I followed
my planned route. The only thing I
really had a problem with was making it through the fallen floor section. As a result of my attempts, I can now add
several scrapes and a brand new head wound to my list of credentials. If only the people who thought I was so
great could see me now! "Hah!
Dusty and bleeding, master thief I am!"
No-one heard my remark. At least no-one told me to shut up. Finally, I made the necessary jumps without
significant injury to myself. I peered
over the ledge into the debris filled pit.
"Okay Ghost, just whip those legs up over that ledge and try to
land on your feet, and lets hope it's not a long drop." Aided by the skills acquired through many
escapes, I slid up into the next hole. Hoping that I wasn't about to kill myself, I dropped.
I landed
with a crash. "Ow! Damn! Who put
those stairs there?" Falling down
a flight of stairs, just when you were sure that you were about to make a death
defying drop of magnificent heroism, tends to bruise your pride. What I landed on took my mind away from the
pain in my ass. "Nice! A dead
body!" It looked like he had only
been there a week at the most. "Ew, still fresh." I hoped that this was the fellow I had been
worried about. I was not the first to
get in here, but planned to be the first to get out. After quickly frisking my
new buddy I found a few coins, his map to the place (which looks surprisingly
similar to mine), and much to my delight and dismay; no star! I lit my small lamp and then scurried down
the hall. I made ready to hide the
light source at the first hint of company.
And, to my
surprise, at the end of the hallway I found a wall. No more hallway.
"Damn." I spat at the
bricks. I then realized there must be a
secret door somewhere near here. A
family as notorious as Alarus liked secret doors. Secret doors are fun.
Funny, the entire family was dead, yet they choose to bury their
valuables with them. Go figure. Angry at the greedy dead people, I felt
around the walls looking for the secret panel.
Maybe I would stumble on the button.
That would be much easier. Just
like I knew I would, I found the door.
Now I needed to open it. It was
amazing how well rich, dead people can blend two pieces of stone to look like
one. After a little pushing and poking
I discovered that I could not open the door with my hands. There had to be a button here somewhere.
There needed to be a way in, just in case 2nd-cousin Alarus died
choking on his silver spoon. I
retraced several steps down the hall.
With the light from the cracks in the ceiling back in the large room, I
could see a little better. Luckily due
to the quakes in the area over the years the stones shifted around a bit. By luck alone, I happened to glimpse a bit
of metal inside a crack between two steps.
This could either have been a trap, or a door knob. I decided it was a trap. Knowing nothing better to do, I shut my eyes
and gave the cracked step a swift kick.
To my surprise, I was still alive.
No bottomless pits or falling rocks for this taffer. Sometimes I was
amazed at how often I didn't die. The
secret door was now open. "Wow! It
gets better and better!"
It wasn't a
big area. At least the map said it
wasn't a big area. But then again,
these maps are rarely accurate. The
first area I found seemed to be the major family tomb. There were lots of uncles and cousins. No women were buried here, which I found
weird. Must be some sort of male
dominance thing in that family. No
wonder they died out. Their wives
killed them and remarried. I grabbed a
few trinkets which were sitting around waiting for me. I found a gold cup here, and a ring there.
There really wasn't much loot. Maybe
their women inherited it all after they killed off the cheap bastards. I took it as a good sign that no one had
looted the little things already,. It
meant that I was the only one who had ever got this far. Now where oh where is grand-daddy Alarus? After a tiring search of the area, I came to
the conclusion that I was in need of a break.
A small snack and some water would pick me up. Maybe it would even clear
my mind. No, not likely. I also needed to stop the bleeding caused by
my earlier acrobatics. I sat down on
the floor and leaned my back against the resting place of Entar Alarus. It didn't occur to me to be anything special
until the sarcophagus slid back like it was on an oil slick, and I fell down
another set of stairs. Yes, I fell down
another set of stairs.
"Son of a..!" I cursed loudly as I nursed a new bruise on my knee and bump on my head. Maybe that’s what was wrong with me. I had too many hits to the head.