Figures moved around the Ravens' Nest like ants; their hurried movements adding some faint, visage of life to the surrounding dead bodies. Vince stood to the side of the street, his back pressed against a cool stone wall. The town guard hauled out headless body after headless body, their expressions a mix of disgust and stoic professionalism. Blood streaked the cobblestones in dark, glistening pools; and the air carried the sharp tang of iron and the sickly-sweet stench of decay.
Vince's stomach churned relentlessly, a rolling unease that refused to settle. His hand rested on the hilt of his sword, a faint tremor running through his fingers as he half-listened to Gallen: who was giving his report to the watch captain a few paces away.
"That's everything, Captain," Gallen said with finality, his tone curt as ever. Vince forced himself to tune back into the conversation, catching the tail end as the watch captain grimaced: his dissatisfaction evident despite the mask of professionalism he tried to maintain. With a short, dismissive nod, the captain waved Gallen off.
Gallen turned sharply, his cloak snapping with the motion as his boots hit the stone street. His expression was unreadable as his gaze locked onto Vince. "Come, lad. We need to get cleaned up and give Lira a report right quick," he said, his voice low and steady.
Vince nodded, falling in step behind him; his pace a quick trot to keep up with Gallen's long strides. His soft footfalls contrasted with Gallen's heavier ones, their rhythmic sounds echoing in the stillness of the early morning streets. The city seemed quieter than usual; its light energy now replaced by an eerie, oppressive weight that lingered in the wake of what they had seen.
As they walked, Vince couldn't shake the feeling the Ravens' Nest had left in him. The common room, littered with bodies and dark magic, replayed in his mind in disjointed flashes; the spiral of ash, the symbols burned into the floor, the undead. He had seen dead men before, even violent deaths; but this was something else entirely. There was something deeper: something he couldn't explain.
"Sir," Vince said quietly, his voice hesitant as he stared at Gallen's broad back.
"Lad?" Gallen responded, not breaking his stride, his tone softer than Vince expected.
Vince adjusted the sword at his hip, shifting its weight so it wouldn't keep banging against his thigh as he walked. "Back at the Nest… there was something wrong. I don't just mean the dead men. I felt like something was off. It's hard to explain."
Gallen's steps slowed, his pace slowing to a plod before he came to a complete stop. He turned to face Vince, his sharp, grizzled features thoughtful as his eyes studied him.
"Hmm," Gallen muttered, scratching his chin. "Anything more specific?"
Vince shifted uneasily under the older man's gaze, trying to put his feelings into words. "It felt like… an ache in my stomach, but it wasn't just that. My head felt light too, like everything was skewed. At first, I thought it was all the blood and death, but now…" He hesitated, rubbing his temple as he struggled to articulate the strange sensation. "Now I'm not so sure. I still feel it, even though we're away from there."
Gallen grunted, his eyes narrowing in thought. He glanced up the street, scanning the shadows briefly before nodding to himself. Without a word, he turned and resumed his brisk pace, calling over his shoulder as Vince hurried to catch up.
"Seems you might be sensitive to magic," Gallen stated matter-of-factly. "Not something I'd expected, rare; but not unwelcome."
The statement hit Vince like a bucket of cold water. Sensitive to magic? He'd never considered the possibility. Magic had always seemed distant; something practiced by mages in ivory towers, not something that brushed against someone like him. The idea that he might feel its presence, that it might be affecting him now, left him reeling.
"Sensitive to magic?" Vince repeated, his voice tinged with disbelief as he quickened his pace to walk alongside Gallen. "What does that even mean?"
"It means your body reacts to it," Gallen said, his tone pragmatic, as though discussing the weather. "Most people don't feel its presence unless it has physically manifested in some way, but some can sense it. Its flow, its very presence makes the stomach churn and the head spin or worse. You're probably feeling the remnants of whatever foul spell was cast back at the Nest, but only a part of it."
Vince frowned, his brow furrowing as he processed the revelation. "Is it dangerous to me?"
"Depends," Gallen replied, shooting him a sidelong glance. "You're not fainting or puking your guts out, so you'll be fine. For now, it's just a feeling. If it gets worse so that it makes you unable to function, or you feel something calling out to you, let me or Lira know. Magic's not something to play with, lad; and if you're sensitive, an elemental will find you soon."
The streets of Maze grew busier as they approached the Pearl, the early morning market stirring to life with the sounds of vendors setting up their stalls and carts rattling over cobblestones. Vince remained quiet, his thoughts a whirlwind of questions and doubts. Sensitive to magic. The words felt foreign, alien, and yet… they fit. The ache in his stomach, the lightness in his head; it was still there, faint but persistent, like an unseen thread tugging at the edges of his awareness.
Vince felt a wave of relief wash over him as the Pearl came into view, its gleaming sign adorned with a giant, glimmering pearl that offered its warm welcome. The sun just now reaching above the rooftops casting light across the bustling establishment. As they strolled through the front entrance, the sounds of cheerful laughter and a lively tune swirled around them. Early patrons were already filling the common room, their conversations blending harmoniously with the melody.
"Go get cleaned up, lad. I'll check in with Lira," Gallen said, his tone casual but edged with purpose. "I'll see you later if nothing else comes up."
Vince gave a small nod, not trusting his voice to sound steady after the events of the morning. He headed straight for the stairs, his legs leaden with exhaustion. His mind clung to the prospect of a bath and fresh clothes. On the ascent to his room, he glanced down at the sword hilt still hanging at his side. The dried blood clinging to it made his stomach churn, a grim reminder of what he had just been through. He'd need to ask Gallen how to clean it; assuming the weapon was his now. Gallen hadn't asked for it back, and the thought of owning it felt strange.
When Vince finally reached his room, he crossed the threshold with a heavy sigh, pulling his shirt off before the door had fully closed behind him. After laying out some new clothes on the bed, he moved to the mirror; intending to give himself a quick glance, but froze as his reflection caught his eye. For a moment, he hardly recognized himself. His short brown hair was streaked with dried blood, giving it a darker, ragged appearance. Small cuts traced his arms and chest, their origins a mystery to him: souvenirs from the chaos at the Nest. He flexed his hands, noting how they trembled slightly, then looked back at his body. Months of training with Gallen had carved away the softness of youth, leaving his features more defined and his muscles lean and firm. His jawline, once boyish, now hinted at the man he was becoming.
He barely had time to process any of this when a sharp knock jolted him from his thoughts. Before he could respond, Mira breezed into the room with her usual grace.
"Well, well now," she whistled, a mischievous grin lighting her face.
Heat rushed to Vince's cheeks as he turned swiftly, grabbing for the clean clothes he had laid out. "Mira!" he sputtered, clutching them to his chest.
"I just came to let you know the bathhouse has a spot open for you," she said with a playful giggle. Her eyes danced with amusement as she leaned casually against the doorframe.
"Thanks, Mira," Vince mumbled, his voice hurried and awkward. Without meeting her gaze, he hurried past her, his clothes bundled tightly in his arms. "I'll talk to you after."
As he disappeared into the hallway, Mira's soft laughter followed him, teasing, but kind. It lingered in the air as Vince made his way to the bathhouse, his thoughts spinning between embarrassment and exhaustion. The thought of soaking in the warm water filled him with eager anticipation. He let out a small, relieved sigh. A bath was exactly what he needed.
Steam curled lazily into the air as Vince sank into the bronze tub, the hot water enveloping him like a warm embrace. The heat seeped into his aching muscles and tender skin, causing the cuts on his arms and chest to sting slightly with contact. He winced, then sighed as the discomfort gave way to soothing relief. The tension of the day began to melt away, replaced by the comforting weightlessness of the bath.
"Oh, this feels so good," Vince thought, closing his eyes and leaning his head back against the rim of the tub.
For a moment, he allowed himself to drift, letting his mind wander over the morning's events. Questions bubbled up like the surface of the steaming water. Why attack the Nest? What was the purpose of turning its occupants into zombies? The act felt reckless and senseless, like the work of someone who didn't care about the consequences. If you wanted power in Maze, the last thing you'd want was the City Lord or the Wizard Tower breathing down your neck. None of it added up.
"Better to leave the thinking to people smarter than me," Vince muttered under his breath, his voice drowned by the gentle slosh of water against the sides of the tub.
He tried to clear his thoughts and focus on the simple pleasure of the bath. His muscles relaxed further as he let the warm water cradle him. The rhythmic rippling of the water caught his attention; it shifted with his slightest movement, creating waves that rolled outward from his body, lapping softly against the tub's edge before returning to him. There was a strange comfort in it, a soothing rhythm that lulled his mind into stillness.
Then, something changed; the ripples didn't stop at the tub's edge. Instead, they seemed to push beyond it, spreading outward, flowing through the walls of the bathhouse and into the streets of Maze. Vince's awareness went with them, as though he were riding the waves. He could feel the energy of the people they touched, faint impressions of bustling movement and emotion. The ripples brushed against the canal outside, then flowed further, spreading into the surrounding city.
His breath quickened as the sensation grew stronger, faster, until the entire city seemed to pulse in rhythm with the ripples. Vince felt a dizzying connection to everything. . . 4the hum of life in the streets, the ebb and flow of water through the canals, the distant movement of ships along the river. The ripples surged onward, carrying him farther than he thought possible, following the river's course to the open sea.
Til finally, it hit something vast; something ancient: the ocean.
The moment his awareness touched the great expanse of water, something stirred. It was immense, beyond comprehension, a presence that dwarfed the entirety of Maze and the river that fed it. In his mind's eye, a vast pupil opened, filling his vision entirely. It moved with deliberate focus, centering on him as if it had been waiting for this moment.
"I have found you," came a voice, soft yet all encompassing, resonating not just in his ears but deep within his very being.
Vince's eyes flew open, his breath coming in ragged gasps. He bolted upright in the tub, water cascading off his naked body and splashing to the floor. His skin was slick with sweat despite the bath, his heart pounding furiously in his chest. He glanced around the room, half expecting to see the presence materialize before him; but the bathhouse was silent, save for the gentle hiss of steam and the faint echo of dripping water.
"What…was that?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
He remained frozen for a moment, his body pulsing with adrenaline. Whatever had just happened wasn't a dream. It was something more, something real; and it had found him.
With trembling hands, Vince dressed himself, his mind still reeling from the strange experience in the bathhouse. The memory of that vast presence, the voice that seemed to echo in the deepest corners of his soul lingered, but he forced it to the back of his mind. There were more immediate matters to deal with. He needed to report to Gallen. Adjusting his sword at his side, Vince left the bathhouse, his steps unsteady at first; but gaining purpose as he crossed the threshold into the Pearl's bustling main courtyard.
The courtyard was alive with activity, the sun casting long shadows across the cobblestones as staff and guards moved with hurried efficiency. Vince spotted Gallen near the center, deep in conversation with a group of house guards. They clasped hands and exchanged salutes before scattering in different directions as Vince approached.
"Ah, lad," Gallen greeted him, his weathered face softening into a rare smile. "I see you've cleaned up. Good."
Vince gave a small nod, noticing the unusual lightness in Gallen's demeanor. It didn't last long though; his expression quickly shifted back to its usual gruffness.
"It seems we'll be entertaining some important guests tonight," Gallen said, the weight of his words evident. "With everything that's been going on, it was only a matter of time."
"Important?" Vince asked, his curiosity piqued.
"Seems our friends who made a mess of the Raven's Nest want to draw the city's big players into their little game," Gallen replied. His tone was calm, but his eyes betrayed a simmering frustration. "And what better place to start than the Pearl? It seems we've been made part of the narrative."
Vince furrowed his brow. The idea of the Pearl being caught up in this power struggle was unsettling; but before he could ask more, Gallen waved a hand dismissively.
"You don't need to worry about that, lad. I've got another task for you tonight." Gallen reached behind him and pulled out a small leather backpack, holding it out to Vince.
Taking the pack, Vince gave him a questioning look as he slung it over one shoulder. "What's this?" he inquired.
"In here are sealed letters addressed to our allies in the city." Gallen explained. His voice dropped into a softer, more deliberate tone. "You'll be our runner tonight. Deliver these to the marked addresses, and only to the person named on each one. No one else is to open them. You understand, lad?"
"Yes, sir," Vince replied, his tone firm and resolute.
Gallen's eyes briefly drifted to Vince's sword, still streaked with dried blood. His expression darkened slightly, his usual frown returning. "See that you clean that blade properly. Use water and sand from the canal to scrub it down. I'll have some oil sent to your room so you can wipe it down when you're finished for the night. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Vince repeated, standing straighter under Gallen's watchful gaze.
"Good," Gallen said, clapping Vince on the shoulder with a heavy hand. "Now off you go. Get moving, lad."
With that, Gallen turned and stalked away, already barking orders to another group of guards. Vince glanced down at the leather pack, his curiosity gnawing at him. Opening it carefully, he found several scrolls of fine parchment, each sealed with wax and stamped with an emblem. Under each seal was a name written in elegant, precise script. He scanned the names quickly and gave a small shake of his head. He recognized them all—powerful figures scattered throughout Maze. He had a long night ahead.
Closing the pack, he slung it securely over his shoulder and strode toward the front entrance of the Pearl. The common room was crowded with patrons, the hum of conversation and clinking glasses creating a vibrant atmosphere. Vince weaved through the maze of tables and customers, moving with practiced ease toward the door.
The sunlight hit him as he stepped into the bustling street of the Redlight District. The air was thick with the scents of food, perfume, and smoke: the district was alive with merchants, performers, and revelers. Vince tightened the straps on his pack and set off at a brisk pace, weaving through the throngs of people with the practiced agility of someone who had grown up in the chaos of Maze. The sun glinted off the cobblestones as he made his way toward the first address, determined to complete his task without delay.
Not two streets down, Vince spotted two familiar figures loitering near the corner of a narrow alley. Two youths with scruffy brown hair, matching brown eyes, and patched-up appearances stood out even in the chaotic streets of Maze. Their grey linen shirts and green leather vests, secured with rough brown hemp laces; marked them unmistakably. Tors and Ren, twins from the city's notorious Thieves' Guild, had been Vince's friends since childhood. They were a year younger than him, but had always looked up to him, treating him more like an older brother than a peer.
The twins' faces lit up when they saw Vince bounding into view.
"Oi, Vince!" Tors called, his grin wide enough to split his face. "What's the word, mate?"
"The word!" Ren chimed in immediately, mirroring his brother's enthusiasm.
Vince's lips curved into a genuine smile as he jogged up to meet them. "Ah, my best mates! How's the nicking going today?" he teased, clasping hands with Tors in greeting.
"Ain't even nicked a silver penny yet!" Tors replied with a laugh, his grip firm but friendly.
"The Watch is out in force today for some reason," Ren added, clasping Vince's other arm in a shake.
"Sorry about that, lads," Vince said with a chuckle, leaning in conspiratorially. "Might have something to do with some dung-heads ripping up the Nest something awful. Turned the whole place into an undead paradise. Had to chop my way out of there this morning."
"No fooling?" Tors gasped, his eyes wide.
"For truth?" Ren echoed, just as astonished.
The twins exchanged incredulous looks before their gazes snapped back to Vince, their excitement evident.
"Aye," Vince said, his tone light but with a hint of pride. "Went with old man Gallen and some other lads to take a look. Found the place crawling with undead. Nearly soiled myself during the fight!" He laughed, running a hand through his short brown hair.
Their eyes dropped to the sword at his hip, and their jaws practically hit the cobblestones.
"Oh, wow, Vince!" they exclaimed in unison, pointing at the weapon. "They gave you steel?"
"Seems so," Vince said with a grin, his hand instinctively brushing the hilt. "Gallen's got it in his head to bring me into his crew at the Pearl. Not bad, eh?"
The twins practically buzzed with admiration. "That's proper work, that is!" Tors said, nudging his brother.
"Real big-time stuff!" Ren agreed, nodding vigorously.
"I'd love to stick around and chat," Vince said, adjusting the pack slung over his shoulder, "but I've got errands to run. I'll catch up with you both later when I'm done. Funny enough, I've got a delivery for your boss too; should be my third stop."
The twins' eyes lit up again, and they gave him enthusiastic waves as he started to move off.
"See you later, then!" they called in unison, their voices trailing after him as he jogged down the street.
A smile lingered on Vince's face as he weaved through the crowd; his thoughts drifting back to Tors and Ren. He couldn't help but chuckle at their excitement. They were scrappy, mischievous, and always full of energy: traits that had gotten the three of them into plenty of trouble over the years. He remembered the late nights sneaking through the labyrinth of back alleys: swiping trinkets and silver coins, always with the thrill of near capture. If the House of Pearl hadn't taken him in as a child, he'd probably be right there with them in the Thieves' Guild: living off the streets and their wits.