Ramses grinned at Letis and the makeshift merchant’s skin blanched despite the darker-ness of night. Nights in Chronicle simply weren’t as oppressively dark as they were in the real world.
Damak and Dakkon took the longer route around the outside of town to the east-side entrance of Tian, where Finnegan said they could find him. Along the way they passed totem-like post after totem-like post, which Dakkon had initially assumed were used for some sort of city-wide detection or defense magic—but if they were skirting around the edge of the city early in the morning, then they were doing exactly what he imagined might trip some sort of magical alarm. Some were grouped in twos and threes, while others stood alone. Each stone post was topped with a carving of an animal which, to Dakkon, appeared to be chosen at random.
“What’s with all the animal…” Dakkon wasn’t sure what to call them, “totems?”
“Those are way-markers to shrines,” answered Damak. The stout warrior eyed Dakkon curiously. “You haven’t spent much time in Tian, I take it.”
Dakkon shrugged.
“The residents of Tian venerate what they call ancestor spirits,” said Damak. “As far as I can tell, they’re all animals. Each spirit has a shrine it is bound to. When you put your back to the city wall and look out to a way-marker, it will point you in the direction of the shrine for that spirit.”
“Ok,” said Dakkon. “So, they’re for the benefit of fledgling shamans?” “…Like Zelle,” Dakkon thought.
“I guess,” said Damak. “I’m not really an expert on the matter. I know that certain factions in the city keep the shrines tidy—like the exorcists.”
“There are exorcists in Chronicle?” asked Dakkon. “Does that mean there are possessions and whatnot?”
“Honestly, I’m not sure. If a shrine is allowed to fall into disrepair, the ancestor spirit may start lashing out,” said Damak. “Exorcists, among others, are sent to eliminate rogue spirits. Beyond that, who knows. I certainly wouldn’t doubt possession could be a thing in a world with magic.”
“Guess the only way to find out is to kick over a shrine,” said Dakkon in an attempt to be lighthearted.
Damak leveled his gaze on Dakkon once again, a serious look in his eyes. “I’d avoid joking about harming the shrines. The people of Tian take the matter seriously. I wouldn’t be surprised if someone were to disappear for a comment like that. Disappearances… happen here.”
“That’s a bit unnerving,” observed Dakkon. “Any reason why?”
“I suspect it has something to do with the mob presence in the city; but again, I really don’t know. I’d wager the sort of questions that lead to that answer are the same sort that cause someone to go missing in the first place.”
“Care to run that by me again?” asked Dakkon.
“I mean, I don’t think asking about how or why people go missing is a healthy habit,” said Damak.
“Fair enough,” said Dakkon. “Still, it’s interesting that such a clean and clearly prosperous city would have a criminal underground.”
“Maybe it’s so nice here because of that,” suggested Damak.
Dakkon simply couldn’t see it. From his frame of reference, criminals lived in dirty, seedy parts of town where their actions could go mostly unnoticed or unobstructed by the law. He considered how alien the idea was that a mafia-like group would be able to create such an obvious paradise for the wealthy. He turned the idea over in his mind to the sound of their feet plodding along in the damp grass until they reached the eastern entrance to the city.
C
HAPTER 21:
T
EST OF
M
ETTLE
It was still a bit too early for the sun, meaning the pair still had time before they needed to meet up with, and drag Finnegan away from, the tavern. It had been a while since Dakkon stabled his horse—Nightshade—at the temple in eastern Tian. While in the area with a little extra time, Dakkon couldn’t miss an opportunity to see how the proud horse was faring. Though Nightshade seemed to like him well enough, aside from traveling, Dakkon hadn’t spent much time with his mount. The last time they were together, Nightshade had been injured and scared half to death. He worried that, in the eyes of his horse, he might have grown estranged.
Dakkon and Damak arrived at the temple. After only a bit of fussing with the monk on duty, the helper fetched the older stable master, whom Dakkon had passed the horse along to, and they were taken to see the black horse. Though they had arrived without a treat to offer, Nightshade was still clearly pleased to see Dakkon—though the steed initially snorted at Damak. Despite Nightshade’s ill-temper toward the stubbly warrior, Damak managed to pat the black horse on its neck which it accepted without resistance.
It was cathartic to see Nightshade once again, even for a brief time. With the knowledge that his horse was doing well, Dakkon made sure to pay for another week’s stabling fees in advance. When the two adventurers set out, Dakkon was a little saddened to leave Nightshade cooped up once again, but he could be damned if he’d let a krimmer rush his horse.
It only took a few minutes of searching along the streets to find the tavern Finnegan was holed up in. The bard sat drunk, on a stool in front of a wooden bar top, arguing loudly with some other patron about who the better lutist was. Before the situation had a chance to escalate into a time-draining throw down between the two, Dakkon and Damak stepped in and dragged their companion off.
“Finnegan,” said Dakkon. “Weren’t you supposed to be—I don’t know—spreading rumors for the plan?”
Finnegan walked on his own down the road, waving away the supporting arm of Damak. “Don’t bother yourself getting worked up,” the bard said with a fading slur. “The message got out—loud and clear. I assure you.”
There wasn’t much to be done about it. If Finnegan had played around the entire night, they couldn’t fix the problem now, and by the following day enough people would have figured out the ruse to stir up a king-sized ruckus that they’d all rather avoid. They would have to proceed as they had planned. There wouldn’t be another opportunity.
As they neared the south side of Tian, the streets began to feel awfully lively for an early morning such as it was. A few extra people turned into packs of them. By the time the collection stalls were in view, they could see the truth of the situation. The south end was packed. Hundreds of players moved about in a swarming mass, surging this way and that as they attempted to cobble together hunting parties.
“Holy shit,” the words slipped from Dakkon’s mouth. He wore a dumbfounded expression plastered on his face. “Sorry to have doubted you, Finnegan. Good work.”
Damak nodded with a sort of respectful awe and patted the bard’s back. If the rapidly sobering Finnegan was pleased by his work or the praise, he played it off coolly.
“I guess we had better get to it,” said Dakkon. Despite the spectacle before them, they had hunting to get to.
The three hurried towards Letis’s stall to reclaim their cart. When they arrived, no fewer than 50 people were queued with carts ready, waiting as Letis scrambled to accommodate them. The three recovered their own cart, sent word to Ramses, then headed to their rogue’s location.
Ramses was waiting only about 60 meters from the commotion around Letis’s stall, hidden by the shroud of brush and trees. He still had the red player killer’s mark on his cheek and, reasonably, didn’t want to draw unnecessary attention to himself.
“We’ll have to go deeper into the forest,” said Ramses. “The stragglers on the edge that we’ve been hunting are all gone.”