11th Trial of Cylus, 717th Arc
Etzos, Market
The danger of the moment was not Gavrel any longer. That ship had sailed and Neronin was barely able to register it, really. He had been paranoid about the necromancer for so long it was hard to shift his mind from that chase and onto the next. The next was, of course, Vuda’s vice grip over his freedom and the potential retaliation of the Al’Angyryl. Neronin hadn’t eaten in days, partially because of the necrotic spark’s intense loathing of sustenance and partially because he was too afraid to show his face too often, lest someone see him and report back. He needed some time to recover and gather his wits. His flight had been long and harrowing. His return more so. His hunt with Zipper had been the only contact with any of his old associates he had had in seasons. Vuda had left him hollow and weak. The constant battle against Gavrel had left him exhausted.
Now he had finally found a few trials of rest and was in search of food and information. Neronin stood in the dwindling market, the cold and the dark sapping the usual throng of people to a measly scattering of hunched individuals and pairs set in their tasks. He felt no real danger of discovery as he lurked between stalls and creaking wooden buildings. At least his return had come during Cylus, the blessed dark time. Sure, his feet were numb and his breath burned his lungs with the cold. But he was able to move more freely, and didn’t get caught out as a mage by guards. His kennings had steadily grown or developed, making walking down the street not so trivial a matter as it once had been.
He turned a corner and slipped into a farmer’s stall that sold fresh produce. In the dead of Cylus the stall was left vacant and Neronin had been squatting there for a few trials. Neronin waited, checking that the coast was clear before settling in. Occasional thugs and burglars sought through the darkness of Cylus to take the opportunity to relieve merchants of their goods. Opportunists and street-wise gangsters for the most part. Not to concerning for a man like Neronin. However, dead bodies talked more than he’d like. Friends came looking, bosses wanted their hirelings, debtors came collecting. It all got messy when you left a trail of corpses, no matter how apt you were at disposing. People noticed people missing.
Neronin’s mind went to one of the only people who would have noticed him missing. Tabard. The Head Curator would have noticed his second hand assistant had gone missing and Neronin wondered if he could rectify that plunder. Of course, Vuda may have repaired that particular bridge for him in order to keep Neronin close, but that somehow didn’t make the mage feel any better. He let the thoughts of the man drift through his mind as he sat against the wall, determined to get warm. Had Tabard known as Vuda did? What would become of him if he could not return to his job? Did Tabard tell Vuda? The last sent a chill down Neronin’s spine along with the dawning suspicion. His past seasons of paranoia sending his mind reeling towards every event and conversation with the curator in the past arc.
Etzos, Market
The danger of the moment was not Gavrel any longer. That ship had sailed and Neronin was barely able to register it, really. He had been paranoid about the necromancer for so long it was hard to shift his mind from that chase and onto the next. The next was, of course, Vuda’s vice grip over his freedom and the potential retaliation of the Al’Angyryl. Neronin hadn’t eaten in days, partially because of the necrotic spark’s intense loathing of sustenance and partially because he was too afraid to show his face too often, lest someone see him and report back. He needed some time to recover and gather his wits. His flight had been long and harrowing. His return more so. His hunt with Zipper had been the only contact with any of his old associates he had had in seasons. Vuda had left him hollow and weak. The constant battle against Gavrel had left him exhausted.
Now he had finally found a few trials of rest and was in search of food and information. Neronin stood in the dwindling market, the cold and the dark sapping the usual throng of people to a measly scattering of hunched individuals and pairs set in their tasks. He felt no real danger of discovery as he lurked between stalls and creaking wooden buildings. At least his return had come during Cylus, the blessed dark time. Sure, his feet were numb and his breath burned his lungs with the cold. But he was able to move more freely, and didn’t get caught out as a mage by guards. His kennings had steadily grown or developed, making walking down the street not so trivial a matter as it once had been.
He turned a corner and slipped into a farmer’s stall that sold fresh produce. In the dead of Cylus the stall was left vacant and Neronin had been squatting there for a few trials. Neronin waited, checking that the coast was clear before settling in. Occasional thugs and burglars sought through the darkness of Cylus to take the opportunity to relieve merchants of their goods. Opportunists and street-wise gangsters for the most part. Not to concerning for a man like Neronin. However, dead bodies talked more than he’d like. Friends came looking, bosses wanted their hirelings, debtors came collecting. It all got messy when you left a trail of corpses, no matter how apt you were at disposing. People noticed people missing.
Neronin’s mind went to one of the only people who would have noticed him missing. Tabard. The Head Curator would have noticed his second hand assistant had gone missing and Neronin wondered if he could rectify that plunder. Of course, Vuda may have repaired that particular bridge for him in order to keep Neronin close, but that somehow didn’t make the mage feel any better. He let the thoughts of the man drift through his mind as he sat against the wall, determined to get warm. Had Tabard known as Vuda did? What would become of him if he could not return to his job? Did Tabard tell Vuda? The last sent a chill down Neronin’s spine along with the dawning suspicion. His past seasons of paranoia sending his mind reeling towards every event and conversation with the curator in the past arc.
