5th of Winter, 518 A.V.
9th Bell
There had been plenty of rumors rolling of everyone’s tongues for the past four days about the incident at the Western Heights. Some sort of battle that had occurred between two of the major gangs. This time, it was the Sun’s Birth and the Night Eyes. There was a bit of amusement to be had based off the stories that he had been told. The end result of this battle was that a whole squad of Dragoons had been attacked and only the three senior ranking members had survived. It was almost amusing with how sad it was. The Sun’s Birth, known for their more militant structure and training, were consistently being bested in their fights with the Daggerhands as well as the Night Eyes. Early this last summer, five high ranking and very experienced fighters of the Dragoons, Wardens, were all killed in the same fight against the Daggerhands.
To Kynier, it sounded as though a great deal of their force were fodder. During fall, he had done his best to avoid unnecessary involvement with any of the gangs. Being the unknown subject of a man-hunt, required him to reduce his meddling. With the beginning of a new season, he was traversing the streets and alleys more to gain as much intelligence as possible. Today, he was wearing his black Mohair wool cloak despite how there was no rain. The clouds were clearing and allowing Syna to bath the city in her light. That did not prevent him from having the hood raised over his brow. The cloaks unique magic kept him at a comfortable temperature.
A dark green vest rested over the gray cotton shirt. Steel vambraces protected his forearms, but the rest of his armor he left at home. Two cold iron short swords were strapped to his belt, as well as a dagger that rested at his lower back beneath the cloak. Black cotton pants were tucked into his high dark boots, one of which kept an assassin’s dagger tucked on the inside against his ankle. Inside the vest were four hidden pockets where he kept the majority of his coins. The small pouch in his pant pocket was full of silvers, but no gold mizas. There was also an ornate blue and white feather tucked into a separate pocket. And a small locket with a lock of hair in another.
Tension was thick in the air as Kynier roamed the streets of the Western Heights. While not utterly quiet, those on the streets seemed to be in agreement to make as little noise as possible. The silence resembled that which occurred after a battle, when the last foe was slain. A dead silent that felt tangible. Hazel eyes scanned the road and the side alleys as Kynier walked down its length. The street urchins were scarce. More scarce than usual. Both them and the beggars were his primary means of information gathering. The younger urchins around the city had taken to calling him “Silverman”, due to his policy of granting out silver coins to anyone that provided useful information.
Kynier half expected to walk across the scene of the attack and find the bodies still strewn about. Yet, as he weaved through the district, there were no corpses to be seen anywhere. Odd. Sunberth tended to just abandon the bodies and their worthless possessions wherever they fell. While he had not heard how many of the attackers had succumbed, there had to have at least been a dozen, if not more, to best an entire squad of Dragoons. But he did not see any sign of that. Even as he passed by Dagwood Metal near the edge of the city and the district. And still, he did not see any street urchins or beggars to question.
Perhaps they were all being intelligent and had relocated to a place that was less violent. The Sun’s Birth had been actively working at reclaiming the district since the beginning of Fall. Even now, most of the people he saw roaming the streets were Dragoons. All of them in pairs at the very least. As the mage weaved through the slightly higher than average quality of buildings, he suspected that the Western Heights was not going to be the best place to collect information. The aftermath was still too fresh, and everyone was still on edge. With a sigh, he turned to head east and continue with his day.
That was when he heard a noise from an alley as he walked by it. His head sharply twisting to peer down it. It there were stacks of wooden crates and a half-demolished wagon. No movement caught his eye, but the silence emanating from the alley was awkwardly forced. Kynier changed his course to slowly walk down the length of the alley. Half-suspecting it was some sort of trap, or an ambush of some kind. As he entered, he drew both of his cold iron short swords, and allowed the blades to hang at his sides, underneath the cloak. Each step he made was lightly placed to avoid disturbing the silence. As he approached the stack of crates and the wagon, he felt certain that someone was there… even if they were hiding.
To Kynier, it sounded as though a great deal of their force were fodder. During fall, he had done his best to avoid unnecessary involvement with any of the gangs. Being the unknown subject of a man-hunt, required him to reduce his meddling. With the beginning of a new season, he was traversing the streets and alleys more to gain as much intelligence as possible. Today, he was wearing his black Mohair wool cloak despite how there was no rain. The clouds were clearing and allowing Syna to bath the city in her light. That did not prevent him from having the hood raised over his brow. The cloaks unique magic kept him at a comfortable temperature.
A dark green vest rested over the gray cotton shirt. Steel vambraces protected his forearms, but the rest of his armor he left at home. Two cold iron short swords were strapped to his belt, as well as a dagger that rested at his lower back beneath the cloak. Black cotton pants were tucked into his high dark boots, one of which kept an assassin’s dagger tucked on the inside against his ankle. Inside the vest were four hidden pockets where he kept the majority of his coins. The small pouch in his pant pocket was full of silvers, but no gold mizas. There was also an ornate blue and white feather tucked into a separate pocket. And a small locket with a lock of hair in another.
Tension was thick in the air as Kynier roamed the streets of the Western Heights. While not utterly quiet, those on the streets seemed to be in agreement to make as little noise as possible. The silence resembled that which occurred after a battle, when the last foe was slain. A dead silent that felt tangible. Hazel eyes scanned the road and the side alleys as Kynier walked down its length. The street urchins were scarce. More scarce than usual. Both them and the beggars were his primary means of information gathering. The younger urchins around the city had taken to calling him “Silverman”, due to his policy of granting out silver coins to anyone that provided useful information.
Kynier half expected to walk across the scene of the attack and find the bodies still strewn about. Yet, as he weaved through the district, there were no corpses to be seen anywhere. Odd. Sunberth tended to just abandon the bodies and their worthless possessions wherever they fell. While he had not heard how many of the attackers had succumbed, there had to have at least been a dozen, if not more, to best an entire squad of Dragoons. But he did not see any sign of that. Even as he passed by Dagwood Metal near the edge of the city and the district. And still, he did not see any street urchins or beggars to question.
Perhaps they were all being intelligent and had relocated to a place that was less violent. The Sun’s Birth had been actively working at reclaiming the district since the beginning of Fall. Even now, most of the people he saw roaming the streets were Dragoons. All of them in pairs at the very least. As the mage weaved through the slightly higher than average quality of buildings, he suspected that the Western Heights was not going to be the best place to collect information. The aftermath was still too fresh, and everyone was still on edge. With a sigh, he turned to head east and continue with his day.
That was when he heard a noise from an alley as he walked by it. His head sharply twisting to peer down it. It there were stacks of wooden crates and a half-demolished wagon. No movement caught his eye, but the silence emanating from the alley was awkwardly forced. Kynier changed his course to slowly walk down the length of the alley. Half-suspecting it was some sort of trap, or an ambush of some kind. As he entered, he drew both of his cold iron short swords, and allowed the blades to hang at his sides, underneath the cloak. Each step he made was lightly placed to avoid disturbing the silence. As he approached the stack of crates and the wagon, he felt certain that someone was there… even if they were hiding.
Boxcode credit goes to Gossamer!
