Enjoy the following dark tale told by Davis -- the mastermind behind one of the masterminds in Skein of Shadows. A Grey Beginning details a nefarious scheme that will grow to threaten the entire city of Crown. This is just a small piece to set the mood for the full work that will be featured exclusively on the Wandering Men website. Come back the 27th of August to read more!
Sun set over the tall spires and lofty towers of Crown. Those capped with copper, bronze, or gold seemed to glow and then burst into flame as the waning rays illuminated them with its incandescent fury. The city seemed filled with giant torches resisting the night's coming. Yet the shadows grew and the towers darkened as day retreated. Candles were lit and lanterns hung along important streets as the citizens and foreigners alike prepared to settle in for the night. Taverns were populated while the creatures of night began to stir.
A man stepped out of one of the better known grogeries in Deep Harbor, already too drunk to walk straight. His name was Wythlin, A sailor on the merchant ship Compass Rose, he had celebrated his last day on dry land. The hauler had taken on its cargo of wrought iron forged by the dwarves and would soon depart. Heavily laden, it would be at see for months, which called for what libations good Wythlin could take before all such pleasures were denied him. The captain of the Rose was a stodgy man who did not tolerate drink on his boat which made for an unhappy crew.
For Wythlin, a bonded servant of good Captain Morkish, the coming months were a hateful future he had tried his best to forget this night. With another eight years left on his indenture, fully six more than the average life expectancy on the Rose, he had very little to look forward to, especially on that dry cursed boat. The sailor stumbled down the street and took a left turn down what he thought would be a decent short-cut. With the way he was walking, he figured he should cut the number of steps how ever he could.
Half-way down the street, barely able to see the unlit path, Wythlin stumbled over some stone steps. He hit the ground hard, his head bouncing off the cold cobblestones. The sailor cursed to himself and tried to stand. Gratefully he felt two arms hauling him up. When they released him, he tried to turn and thank his benefactor. Before he had the chance and without feeling any pain, a cold, slender rod slipped into the base of his skull. He fell again, dead before his knees bounced hard off the steps before him. Wythlin would never fulfill his indenture.
The assassin stepped over the dead sailor and quickly got to work. He lifted the body and lay it on the steps, feet first so that the head would almost touch the street below. Positioning the neck over the edge of the steps, the dark person pierced the vein with his sharpened rod. Blood poured out as if from a hose and the creature caught it all in a ready bowl. When full, he pulled out a large goat skin and poured the grisly collection into it. He then rolled the body over and jabbed into the other side of his neck, draining the rest of the blood directly into the skins. When finished with his work, he lay Wythlin's cooling body to the side, collected his bowl and filled skins, and fled down the darkened alley. With him he carried the first in what would be a virtual flood to come...
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