Progenitor of Sorrow

Talis Hayl moved lethargically through the snow covered streets of the town of Kaim, the snow crunching under his otherwise silent footsteps. The leather of his boots had already soaked through, the snow having worked past the barrier to wrap his toes in its wet frigid embrace. Green eyes haloed at the edge in brown darted from building to building from beneath the confines of his hood, the fur lined cloak he wore hiding his armor from view. It was mostly an amalgamation of various pieces of armor, he wore a mail haubergeon under a molded blacksteel cuirass and pauldrons to cover his shoulers, his left arm was covered in assorted metal plates with a metal gauntlet over his left hand, while his right was uncovered and he wore only a studded leather gauntlet on his right hand. Over his legs and feet he wore a pair of studded leather greaves and boots. At his hip hung a hand-and-a-half or bastard sword, its leather scabbard worn thin and stained from use.

As his gaze wandered, he noticed the decrepit state of many of the buildings in this section of town, most were made of simple rice paper and wood with sliding doors, offering little to no insulation and only mild protection from the weather. Oft times the wood was splintered in places and the rice paper showed signs of abuse as well, whether from man or nature was impossible to tell. On some buildings the wood was actually rotting, having been ill maintained likely since its construction. It had been some time since Talis had been to Kaim, and even longer since he had been to the Warrens, this particular section of the city.
His eyes finally found their target; the only tavern in the Warrens, “The Glass Tankard” was its name, though its sign had long since fallen off its hinge and disappeared amongst the crowded streets.

Stepping inside the desolate and filthy interior, Talis shook off the snow that had come to choose his shoulders for its resting place. Stepping up to the bar he ordered a bottle of rice liquor, a drink common to the area, and retired to a corner table. Setting down his drink, he unbuckled his sword belt and rested it against the table, within reach if necessary. He threw back his hood as he sat, revealing a long lupine face painted to resemble the semblance of a skull that concealed sharp cheekbones, a narrow chin, and thin lips beneath black and white tones. His angular features were framed by a few stray locks of brown hair that fell to just below his shoulders, though it appeared to be relatively straight and well kept despite the howling wind that roared viciously threw the Warrens.

Then he unclasped his cloak and threw it into an empty chair at the table, before sitting down himself. He eyed the steam that tickled the air as it emerged from the top of the bottle, such liquor was traditionally served warm, and a warm drink was welcome in weather such as this. After several moments pause, Talis reached out and grasped the ceramic bottle, raising it shakily to his wind chapped lips and closing his eyes in relief of the warm liquor burning its way down his throat.
He reached into the belt pouch secured at his hip and withdrew a folded piece of parchment, his eyes scanning over the words hastily scrawled upon its stained surface.

Talis Hayl, this contract signifies your agreement to aid the City Watch of the city of Kaim for a period of 6 months to a year, unless otherwise decided. You are to be treated as a member of the City Guard and will have the full privileges that a member would enjoy, such as a cot in the barracks should you need a place to sleep, access to the armory if a new weapon or armor is desired as well as access to the Guards’ bar tab, though that has a limit. You will also have the responsibilities of a City Watchman such as Patrol, Gate duty, etc. If this contract is broken you will be considered a criminal and be detained or fined accordingly.
Captain Jorus McCain.
Talis Hayn.

Talis scoffed at the pitiful excuse for a contract of employment, the Watch was desperate, that much was evident in the fact that he was almost hired the moment he entered the city, at a mere mention of looking for work to the gate guard. Downing the last half of the bottle in one motion, the mercenary leaned back in his seat, right hand poised on his chin, as if lost in thought. If fortune even gave him a passing glance, he would acquire the information he sought, and be on his way in less than a month, but fortune rarely did more than sneer at Talis these days, so he figured it would take him longer than expected. Sighing heavily, he signaled to a nearby waitress to bring him another bottle.

Slipping though Warren’s vacant streets, passing by hollow skins and empty souls, Maera Ordeiron tugged her cloak tighter about her bare shoulders. The man tailing her, his eyes pinned to her slender shape, would have been more inconspicuous if he did not smell of sandalwood and basils. Locals smelt of sweat and salt, courtesy of the swift ocean current that brought strong winds and cold temperatures. Winding through the twisted lanes, Maera admired her stalker’s silence in snow crusted ground, but soon tired of his presence.

He was an insult to her abilities, and as such was soon to be removed. Maera suspected that Ulric was pulling the strings; he always was one for mind games and poor choice of supporters. It was partially the reason why she ruled the Shadow Court and not he.

“The time for such foolery is over,” she muttered, rounding a corner into one of the Warren’s tangled alleys.

Where pupil and iris could not be distinguished a vicious glint appeared, mirroring the unsheathing of an ivory blade. Given to her as a gift many years ago, the small but practical blade almost begged to slip between a rib or along a throat. But as Maera forced panic down her stalker’s throat, the blade disappeared. Rather an example would be made, a clear message to the fool who had so brazenly challenged her authority; Ulric was a cocky idiot. Death would come, but not on silent wings.

Stepping forth from the shadows as a vengeful spirit, Maera burst from her cover with flame licking her hands. Writhing to her call, they stretched forth violet brilliance to envelope their newest victim. The man, wide-eyed in shock, only stared as fire embraced his flesh. There was but a moment when a scream threatened the chill air, but the flames greedily discovered a new access point, providing only a quiet whimper as the man collapse in a charred lump.

Dusting the ash from her already grey hands, Maera poked the corpse with a booted toe for good measure, then disappeared between poor housing. The Glass Tankard was a terrible inn that served hot piss as liquor and rocks as food, but she was meeting Kaim's unexpected visitor, personal discomfort was of no real concern. Talis Hayl was a very crucial key, one that may prove difficult to see who holds it.

Talis turned his head slightly when the screams of the dying reached his ears, it was a sound that was all too familiar to him, his ears nearly numb to the sharp wail, that, though short, echoed briefly. His blackened lips twitched, threatening to fall into a scowl. After another cup of rice liquor, the doors to the tavern creaked loudly in protest as they were opened, as if begging to fall off their hinges if only to be left alone. His green gaze locked onto the newcomer, her silhouette already beginning to work its magic, his eyes wandering even though she had yet to be revealed fully, dim as the light in the tavern was. Despite this Talis knew who she was, and after his eyes snapped back up to meet the pair of black eyes that were staring at him, the scowl finally made itself known.

Swearing quietly Talis poured himself another cup of liquor and followed Maera as she made her way toward him, never blinking, not even as she slid smoothly into the seat across from him, bending low, teasing his eyes with a quick glance down the dress that was hidden beneath her cloak. Despite her over-alluring appearance, Talis's demeanor remained the same.

"Maera." He said curtly as he gestured slightly to the cup of liquor he had just poured.

"Yes, It's been a while, and no i'm not here to play games. I'm not interested in the petty political intrigue and useless politics that you are so adept at. I'm here for information, something you have plenty of, though I doubt you're going to share, at least not freely, so it begs the question. What do you want?"

Inwardly, despite his tone, he smiled at how much of an advantage he had over Maera, if he were to play her political games anyway. Knowing who she really was and how much political and literal power she had in the city, and she knowing very little about him, at least very little that was true. It was, he surmised, why she was so interested in playing her little games.

Maera still smelled slightly of burnt flesh. Sliding through doors without much ado, the ashborn was silently relieved to be rid of the biting cold; she had better things to do with her time than slink around the Warrens in search of some mysterious contact. But, if the rumors proved to be true, than her time would be hardly wasted. Nooses were tightening and cracks in a seamless visage were threatening to show. Maera had much to do and little time to do it.

Then she saw her goal.

“Ah Talis, still as limited as ever. I would have thought you found an imagination by now.” She smiled luridly, motioning the barkeep for another small cup as she took a seat.

Knocking the snow from her boots, Maera stomped the crusted ice away before peeling off her gloves. She meant business, as always… though most never knew the difference between that and the feigned attraction. Sharp eyes stared unblinking at her own, swirling vortexes of mystery that she had never been able to truly decipher. She could only grasp at straws beyond her reach, and such unknown both excited her and tickled her cautious streak.

”I'm not interested in the petty political intrigue and useless politics that you are so adept at.”

“You cannot speak to me without playing the game, Talis. If you want information, then you had better come prepared to play along.”

Schemes rushed through her mind in an organized flood, safely protected behind a practiced smile. This old acquaintance was powerful, Meara knew, more powerful then she would ever intend to challenge. But giants could be harness in all manner of ways; he need not be collared by brute strength when more lucrative avenues existed. The challenge, the conniving ashborn knew, was finding the right one. She was playing with a very dangerous fire, one she hoped with a little luck and skill wouldn’t burn her too badly.

“Can you handle that, dearest? Information hardly comes cheaply, and I have no interest in money,” she winked. “We all know I have plenty of that.”

“So tell me what you are looking for, then we’ll see about working out a deal.”