The eighth installment of A Grey Beginning brings us along a journey down a dark road; one that will likely only get darker and more bloody, given what is known of the vile wererat, Szeethe! Herein we get to watch as the villanious Szeethe initially comes face-to-face with Falem, father of one of the major characters of Skein of Shadows; at least in a manner of speaking, that is...
Read on, if you dare!...
Carunin, mediocre tailor and businessman of little consequence, walked down the bustling lane. For perhaps a hundred yards the fat man strolled in no great hurry, until he reached a narrower side-street. He turned, abandoning the crowd for the relatively deserted lane, and made his way to a small, rather dilapidated store-front. He fished in his pocket and drew out a single, large bronze key on a chain. He slid it into a heavy lock and turned with a smooth, deep, ka-chunk. The door parted and he stepped inside. The sun had begun its retreat and dusk was quickly settling upon Crown. The flicker of a lit candle shone from the meager windows.
Szeethe had followed this man from the ill-favored Half Crown, one of the many local taverns the dark creature had considered for fresh acquisitions. Like so many, though, the groggery had proven a haunt of the locals only and so had seemed to be a dry run. Yet a conversation between this fat dumpling of a man and a halfling piqued the were-rat's interest.
The halfling was evidently involved with the games held in the tower adjacent to the Broken Valor. The gladiatorial games yielded at least one corpse every week, sometimes more. It was a fertile source for his dark needs, but he had failed to make any connections that would allow his were-rat brethren access to the bodies for draining.
If he could garner a relationship with this halfling, he might gain access to that rich pool. He would have to be careful in how he approached the halfling, who's name was Falem if he had heard correctly. A nice chat with this merchant might tell him all he needed to know. Of course, word could not get out that they had spoken, so this man would be added to his collection when he was no longer valuable.
Yet as Szeethe the were-rat, his current guise, he was unlikely to make any progress given the scorn most citizens of Crown felt for his race. The creature paced down the lane until he found an alley some distance beyond the tailor's business. He turned down it, walking several paces into the darkness, and then paused and listened for any visitors.
Satisfied he was alone, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The grey-brown furn on his face and arms straightened and then absorbed into his skin, which had become waxen. His claw-like fingers shortened and became thicker, the nails rounding and becoming smooth. Sharp, needle-like teeth broadened and became flat while his short hair elongated and became a curly brown. In but a moment, the were-rat Szeethe was no more, replaced by the gentle form of a halfling, someone who this tailor evidently felt comfortable around.
Szeethe stepped back into the narrow lane and made his way back to the modest tailor's shop. He looked in one of the two small windows to the building, the glass almost opaque from grime. The candle sat on a heavy table, flickering pitifully. The man was sitting on a stool, making notations in a ledger. Behind him was a large table piled with bolts of various kinds of heavy and rather plain fabric. All in all, it was exactly the kind of place the creature of darkness expected.
Szeethe stepped to the door and rapped his knuckles against the oiled wood. He could hear the fat man standing, his beleaguered stool groaning with relief. With heavy foot falls the man made his way towards the door. Evil thoughts went through Szeethe's mind as he pictured the take from this man's veins, a wicked smile spreading on his rather placid features. When the bolt slid back and the door started to open, he composed himself, taking on a somewhat concerned demeanor.
The fat tailor peeked through the door and then looked down at the halfling. His face, at first a guarded mask. Upon seeing a member of his own race, though, his expression softened somewhat. "Who are you and what do you want?" He asked suspiciously.
Szeethe smiled pleasantly, selecting a common name for the diminutive race, he spoke. "My name is Borom. I hoped you could help me find my brother-in-law."
"Eh? Your brother-in-law?" asked the tailor, taken off guard.
"Yes," said Szeethe, "His name is Falem."
"I know a Falem, but there are many of your kind so named," replied the tailor.
"Then perhaps I could come in and we could talk," replied Szeethe/Borom, "It is dark out here and, well, you know, not very safe."
The tailor thought for a moment, glanced both ways down the street, and then opened his door to the halfling. "I cannot say if I will be able to help you, but come on in if you must," he said, turning his back and walking back to his table.
Szeethe smiled coldly. "Oh, I am certain you will be able to help me," he replied as he stepped inside and closed the door behind him...
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