01 - Inauspicious Signs

It was dusk and the clouds above made the sky a murky cream colour rather than the warm pink-gold that was most common throughout the year. This only happened every once in a while, when the moon was a certain way and it was at that point between summer giving way to autumn on the coast of the southern sea. The city was alive with activity, as it always was, but at this point with a fervor determined to avoid being caught out in the heavy and cool rains that the seasonal transition brought. Tonight marked one week after the Hunter’s Moon, the tenth full moon of the traditional year. It would mark the time in which the Hunt should be in full swing, and the larders of the folk would be filling with dried, cured and otherwise preserved meat and fish. Soon, the city streets would become great rivulets of rainwater, filth and refuse that would drain the entirety of the previous summer into the unquiet sea. Then, the winds would come, and the temperature would drop significantly over the weeks to a point where midnight frost would creep through the city. Whether that frost would come leading up to the Ravening Moon, the eleventh full moon in the year, or afterwards during the following new moon remained to be seen. For the wise women and priestly folk, the timing of the frost had a deep impact on the way the winter would play out. On this evening, those newly-formed streams would run with the blood of both folk and animal. It was as if a hush spread throughout the city during the heavy rains that came at dusk. Windows were shuttered, doors barred, and there were nary any folk on the streets throughout most of the city – the southside for certain, the interior as well, but also the northside. Only the central district would remain largely untouched, its proximity to the Palace and the Citadel of Justice seemingly protecting it from the wave of dreadful silence. Tonight, people would die and it would seem like the ones who would fall were completely random. “There will be terror, tomorrow…” an older half-elven man said in distracted thought. He was leaning on a finely-crafted wooden bannister, dressed the neatly appointed woolen uniform of the Citadel. He was very highly ranked, but wore an old guardsman’s cloak over his uniform, its hood covering his thinning dark brown hair. His name was Ciaran Fanehollow, the second-in-command for the Inspectors of the Citadel. “Yes, I believe so, sir,” a middle-aged man nodded and coughed uncomfortably. This was Talren, who looked human but had old coastal elven blood in his veins. He was Fanehollow’s ‘left-hand man’ — not well liked by many in the Citadel, but indispensable for these sorts of things. “I can hear the bells tolling at the damned Church,” the senior inspector sneered, “do they know what’s happening here? Could they interfere in the task at hand?” Talren looked down from their vantage point about one third of the way up the citadel’s tower. He could see the points of light that the everburning lanterns cast despite the rains. Frowning, Talren glanced at his benefactor’s stone face, “Yes, sir, they could…” He paused and sighed, “But fortunately, they’re located in the far interior district, and many of the nests are on the southside.” Fanehollow pursed his lips, “And the northside, we cannot forget.” Talren shook his head and remained silent at first, but realized that Fanehollow wasn’t looking at him, “We cannot, no. We do not, sir.” He thought he saw a trio of men wearing dark leathers and broad tricorn hats steal past some of the lights below, he thought he saw steel in their hands. “It has to be done tonight, all of it. We need to hit them all at once.” “It will be done, sir. That I can say for certain, but whether we can get them all remains to be seen. Our reports say that there are upwards of a few thousand adherents, some are well-connected – some have noble…” “I am aware, inspector,” Fanehollow interrupted in a conciliatory tone. “I am merely anxious, I’m not on the ground anymore, it’s… disconcerting.” “Understood, sir.” “They will take advantage of the task, you know,” he muttered with bitterness, “these men won’t be able to help it. Too many opportunities.” “Yes, again, sir, they will. We know and we believe it’s worth the cost.” “And so does the Steward,” Fanehollow said as he shook the rain off his cloak and turned to go back inside the Citadel. He patted Talren on the shoulder, “If anything arises, you know to keep this secret. Only tell me if you absolutely must, our ability to deny full knowledge protects not just us, not just the city, but Her as well.” Talren patted his superior’s hand as it touched his shoulder, “Yes, sir. I understand and stand ready.” “Good man,” Fanehollow said as he stepped inside. As the door closed behind him, Talren sighed and leaned over the bannister and squinted. “We’ll see about that…” Talren thought he heard someone scream off in the distance.

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