“Thump, thump, thump.” The knock pierces the lonely alley way, hiding Sammuel’s intent with its sound. It’s a strange thing a knock, its unassuming nature, and its subtle trap that it can be used for. The subtle trap being the unknown nature of the assailant is he wanting entrance to be the bearer of good news, or could it be for some other sinister plot. The shame is, just sometimes it may be the latter.
“Who’s there?” a voice yelled seeping through the cracks of the door-way eager for the thrill of knowing who has come to talk to him. Him never realizing that the person waiting to greet him wasn’t going to be a long lost friend, far from it actually. I chose not to answer
“I said who’s there” he yelled again, a little bit more frustrated than before. His face did not hide this fact; as he slammed the door open. “Who the Underdark are you…” He began saying, sneering like he was a speaking to a complete piece of filth. And would have continued with his relentless stupidly, if he’s neck hadn’t just been grabbed, effectively cutting off his air supply.
In a space of three seconds after the man’s neck was grabbed, he was thrown head first into his own room that he was in mere seconds before, in far better circumstances. The room was elegant, bathed in a line of torches that hovered around the whole room; from the silk rugs lining the floor, to the gold etched table. All the decorations were of the purpose of showing wealth and status.
“What do you want?” The man screamed, trying his utmost to get up, before a black boot crossed his progress, effectively striking his face, diminishing any chance of ascent off the floor.
“Where is he?” Was the all the cloaked figure said, his cold, brittle voice hanging in the air, as he slowly walked through the threshold of the house, allowing the torched hanged wall to bath his features in light. The figure stone black eyes were alive with cold fury, his lips and black shoulder length hair only enhancing that cold calculating hatred.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, and who’s he.” The man said scrambling on the floor, in an attempt to further the distance between the figure bathed in black that was encompassing the door-way.
“Oh please, do you actually expect me to believe that dribble.” The figure said, closing the distance with the man and bending down so the man could see every distinct strand of hair shadowing Sammuel face. “I will only ask you once more, all can still be forgiven, but if you choose to lie.” Sammuel finished letting his hands finish the threat as he grasped the, now frozen scared man neck once more, before rising and letting the man linger inches off the ground.
“O.K., O.K. Rak thul is here in Lómëdor for a meeting of some sort; all I know is that he’s going to be at the Wilwarin Inn tomorrow at nine, meeting with some sort of assassin.” The man’s whispered unable to say anything louder as his air passage was slowly constricted with the figures grip on is neck.
“Yes, that exactly what I needed to know, you have done well.” Sammuel grinned, relishing the anger he was releasing on the man’s neck.
“You, you said I would be forgiven.” The man groaned while deep throbbing feeling began emerging in his head.
“That is however, for Lord Raku to decide.” Sammuel laughed, looking directly into the man’s eyes as his feet started flailing around. But as all good things, all must come to an end, and that was also true to the pain of death of the man’s, as his feet fell limp, representing his death.
“This truly will be a glories night.” Sammuel barked out laughing before throwing the man’s body into the middle of the room. Looking around Sammuel than snatched the torches that layered the house walls onto the man’s body, using the body as kinder.
“Tomorrow one more day for my vengeance” Was all that Sammuel whispered as he marched out of the house leaving it to burn to ground. “Arda has never met a man like me”
The Inn was consumed by a maelstrom. Upon the sign on the outside of the Inn were the words, “The Sailor’s Paradigm.” People were lined up going in and out of the doors, prostitutes and sailors stood about the doorstep, and more and more seemed to move about and lining up in and outside of the bar. But the deeper into the tumult anyone went, the louder and louder it became. There was a minstrel and his band in town causing such a ruckus, and everyone celebrated. It was a joyous time for everyone – good or bad, rogue or guardsman – and everyone in the building seemed as though they would take advantage of the evening.
Erik was no exception. “Haha!” he roared, “Another!” Surrounded by new friends, the young rogue sat on the edge of his stool cheering and smiling, happily turning down every drink that came his way whether the price came from his pocket or another’s. After the hours he had spent there, earlier in the day on into the long hours of the evening, Erik was in a fog – his mind lost in a sea of liquor and wine. All of his senses were dulled and his inhibitions were cast asunder. In his state he would do virtually anything, could do virtually anything, and the best part was that despite the minstrel’s off-key singing the music was good. To his credit, however, it was not just a misconception he had made in his revelry. Everyone seemed to think so.
The bartender was busy serving everyone that crowded night, and he went back and forth from person to person, his pockets and register lined with coins and gems. Tonight it would be a shower of gold, silver and copper, and the Inn Keeper ran all around his bar with a smile on his face that would not be gone until the sun came up. Even though half of the liquor being served would end up on the sawdust covered floor, he didn’t care. It was a minor clean up, and there would be not time until the following morning. So, he poured more ale and spread them all about the bar, and Erik caught his promptly and dropped a few coins on the tables.
However, as he raised his glace into the air, toasting to his companions that evening, a tap came upon his shoulder. While he was somewhat irritated by the interruption, he turned with a curiously look upon his face. Beside him stood a robed creature, a diminutive thing, whose head was bowed. He didn’t say anything, but in the tumult Erik couldn’t rightly tell if he had or hadn’t. His face was shrouded by the edges of his cloak, but he communicated clearly his intentions and request with the motion of his hands. After excusing himself from the company of his friends he stood and followed the robed figure across the room to a stair case, and upwards into the second floor of the building. Immediately the sound diminished to some degree, and the small being turned about and raised his hood.
A Halfling.
The creature measured the surprise on Erik’s face quickly, for his lips curled into smirk. He laughed quietly, more to himself than anything, and pulled a letter from beneath his cloak and passed it to the human. “My employer sent me to offer you a job. He would like you to find a man named Sammael and bring him to the Shrine of Shadows as quickly as possible. All of your instructions are in the letter. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
Erik really wasn’t sure how to respond. He nodded softly, accepting the job request, and the Halfling brushed past him as he walked away. Instead of returning downstairs, however, the rogue returned to his room to sober up for a short time, and arm himself with his weapons of choice. Soon it would be midnight, and then he would start the hunt…