Leaving Mydels' company, we make our way back to the inn. We have some of the information we wish, but not enough to track the owner of these blasted weapons. Everyone is deep in conversation when I notice movement on the roofs around us. It is late, dark, and no one in their right minds would be skittering about on a roof at this hour, unless they mean trouble. Discreetly as possible, I draw my sword and keep it at my side as to hide it. Quietly I tell everyone that I count four shapes pursuing us and to be prepared for battle.
Our pursuers strike quickly, springing forth from the shadows and then dropping back once more. They are lightly armed with strange single edged short swords and they wear no armor of notice. They are fast, and one manages to strike between the plates of my armored side. I scream in pain as the sword digs deep, and without thinking, swing my long sword wild. I cleave into his head, crushing it under the force of the strike and dropping him in a single blow. One down, three to go. Two more fall quickly, as their lack of armor shows its flaw. The final man crumples to the ground, as the hilt of my sword knocks consciousness from him.
I shoulder our prisoner and we assess our injuries. My side bleeds with every step, and my armor is soon reddened with my own blood. The rest of my companions have suffered as well, and we would do well to attend to ourselves quickly. We regroup and are about to journey across town to our inn when Vincent Dhark walks out of a nearby alleyway and says, "My place is closer." Under most circumstances, I do not trust a person upon our fist meeting, but Vincent appears different somehow. We make our way to Vincents home.
His quarters are spartan, but maintain the feeling of a home. I get the feeling that Vincent does not spend much time here. Being a mercenary I am sure he spends most of his days in other locals, while under someones employ. I would not give his address a second mention, if not for the beautiful long sword and shield mounted over the fireplace. The sword is of fine craft, and may possess magic about it, and the shield bears the personal crest of none other than Victor Albrect, founder of The Red Legion. Apparently I was right to trust Vincent, as his story has been proven.
We manacle the prisoner to a chair and the questioning begins. He says little, but after some persuasion tells us that he is from Drachenhorn and a member of The Silent Blade thieves guild. This is no surprise, but what he says next is of high interest. He mentions that a merchant on the other side of town, who usually sells daggers to low lives, has been selling some of these high quality weapons at rock bottom prices. His name is Bren, and it is said he may be a leper. Perfect. A plague-ridden vermin selling high-end weapons to the low lives in this city, how much better could it get?
We agree to let the prisoner go for providing us with information. We did not specify when we would release him however. Vincent fetches a large vial or powder, mixes it with water from a hot kettle, and forces the prisoner to drink it. Within seconds the man is sleeping very deeply. Vincent mutters under his breath, "...hope that wasn't too much..." and everyone, Vincent included, heads out to the lepers shop. |
