The tavern reeked of stale ale, piss and sweat, a familiar comfort in a world that offered me little else. Shadows danced on the walls, cast by the flickering light of an oil lamp that struggled against the encroaching darkness. I sat alone at a corner table, nursing a tankard of bitter brew, my back to the wall, eyes lazily scanning the room for threats. Old habits die hard.
The door creaked open, and a gust of chill wind carried in the scent of the night—a blend of rain-soaked earth and something metallic. Blood. A slim figure, cloaked and hooded, slipped inside. Their movements were smooth, deliberate, but there was a hesitancy that spoke of unease. I tensed, fingers inching toward the hilt of the dagger at my belt.
The stranger’s eyes met mine with a flash of recognition in their dark depths. The figure crossed the room with purpose, the noise of their boots lost in the cacophony of drunken revelry. When they reached my table, they didn’t ask for permission to sit, instead just pulling up a chair and lowering their hood.
“Ralvar,” the voice was cold, yet familiar.
“Sera,” I replied. “Didn’t expect to see you here. Or anywhere.”
She gave an empty smile. “Desperate times.”
I took a long sip from my tankard, buying time to gather my thoughts. Sera and I had history — a tangled web of betrayals and fleeting alliances. “What do you want?”
“Information,” she said, leaning in. “There’s a storm coming, Ralvar. The kind that washes away the filth and leaves only bones.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Cryptic as ever. Spill it.”
She glanced around, ensuring no one was listening, then lowered her voice to a whisper. “The Duke's Guards are dead. Poisoned. All of them.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and foreboding. The Duke’s Guard was the last bastion of order in this damnable city. Without them, chaos would reign. “Who?”
“Unknown. But whoever did it must be after the throne. And willing to bathe the city in blood to get it.”
I sat back, digesting the news. Old duke Harold had been sick and infirm for the last 25 years or so, and struggles for power were commonplace. But they were always political, fought with words, not like this. This wasn’t just a power struggle; it was a declaration of war against the entire city. “Why come to me?”
“Because you’re the best at finding people who don’t want to be found. And because…” She hesitated, and I sensed a rare vulnerability in her emerald eyes. “Because I trust you.”
I laughed, a harsh sound. “Trust? Between us? Spare me the sentiment, Sera. What’s the real reason?”
She sighed. “Fine. I need your help. There’s a list, names of those marked for death. I’m on it. So are you.”
The walls of the already overcrowded room seemed to close in, the surrounding noise of music and laughter fading into a distant hum. “How do you know?”
“Found it on one of the Duke’s men." She paused for a bit before continuing sombrely. "He didn’t die quickly.”
I met her gaze, seeing the fear she tried to hide. “Alright. I’m in. But this isn’t for you. It’s for me.”
“Of course,” she said, standing. “Meet me at dawn, by the old chapel ruins. And Ralvar… do be careful.”
As she slipped out into the night, I finished my drink, the bitter taste lingering on my tongue. Desperate times indeed. The city was a powder keg, and someone had just lit the fuse.
The rain fell in sheets as I made my way through the labyrinthine streets of Isstead. The city was a maze of alleys and crumbling buildings, each one a testament to the decay that had seeped into its bones. I pulled down my hat, the rain penetrating through the fabric.
Sera’s face haunted me as I walked. The years hadn’t been kind to her, though I suppose the same could be said of me. Trust was a fragile thing, shattered too many times between us to ever be whole again. But her eyes told me this was real. And it did feel as if she was being genuine, as if she actually needed me.
I reached the old chapel just as the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon. Despite the roof having rotted away decades ago, and every window having been reduced to sand, it stood like a sentinel, defiant against the ravages of time and neglect. I pushed open the heavy door and slipped inside, the air thick with the scent of damp stone and decay.
Sera was already there, leaning against a pillar, her expression inscrutable. “You’re late.”
“Had to make sure I wasn’t followed,” I said, shaking off the rain. “Any sign of our mystery killer?”
“Nothing yet,” she replied, pushing off the pillar. “But I’ve got a few leads. We’ll start with the docks. If someone’s bringing in poison, it’s coming through there.”
I nodded, steeling myself for what was to come. The path we were on was lined with danger, and there was no turning back. “Lead the way.”
As we stepped back into the rain, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were being watched. The city was a living thing, and it had eyes everywhere. But Sera was right—there was no room for sentiment. Trust was a luxury we couldn’t afford.
We had to be careful. Or we’d end up just another pair of bodies in the gutter.
Sera I
The docks were always alive with activity, especially in the early hours of the morning. Fishmongers and merchants shouted over the creak of wooden hulls and the slap of salt water waves against the pier. It was the perfect place for someone to disappear — or to make someone disappear. It was also the only place anything of value entered the city.
I kept my white, or at least it used to be white, hood low, blending with the mass of barely awoken labourers and sailors. Ralvar walked beside me, his eyes constantly moving, cataloging every face, every movement. We were looking for anything out of place, any sign that pointed to our elusive killer.
We moved through the bustling crowd, drawing little attention. Our first stop was the Fishwife’s arms, a rundown, ramshackle tavern frequented by the dockworkers and sailors. The air inside was thick with the smell of salt and sweat, and the murmur of low conversation filled the room. The tavern was almost at capacity. Whether it was filled with morning drinkers, or yesterday's drinkers, was impossible to tell.
I approached the bar, where a burly man with a scarred face was polishing a glass. He wore a combination of grey drabs, all matching his unkept moustache. The polishing was entirely cosmetic, there was no saving that glass. “Two ales,” I said, tossing a coin on the counter. “And some information.”
The bartender glanced at the coin, then at me, his expression wary. “Depends on the information.” He countered, slowly setting down the glass.
“We’re looking for a shipment,” I said, lowering my voice. “Something… unusual.”
His eyes narrowed, and he leaned in so close that I could smell his dreadful breath. “What kind of unusual?”
“Poison.”
A flicker of recognition crossed his face before he could mask it. “I wouldn’t know anything about that,” he said, turning away to fill our drinks.
I leaned over the bar. “Look, we’re not with the Guard. We’re just trying to stop something bad from happening. God only knows what happens if we don’t find this shipment.”
He placed the ales in front of us, his hand lingering on one of the mugs. “Why don't you try the warehouse on South Street. Heard some whispers about a shady deal going down there.” He released the mug. "Can't say any more than that."
I nodded, sliding another coin across the bar. “Thanks.”
We took our drinks to a corner table, where Ralvar immediately started sipping his thoughtfully. “Think he’s telling the truth?”
“Maybe,” I said. “But it’s the only lead we’ve got, what's the harm in looking?”
He sighed, tracing a pattern in the condensation on his mug. “This is a dangerous game we’re playing, Sera.”
“I know,” I replied, feeling the weight of our task settle over me. “But it’s one we can’t afford to lose. And besides: I don't think we have that much of a choice in whether we want to play or not."
We drank up almost as quickly as we sat down. Neither of us really had an appetite for a long breakfast. As we got out of the tavern, the warehouse on South Street loomed ahead, a dark silhouette against the slowly brightening sky. The rain had stopped abruptly, leaving the air crisp and heavy with the promise of more to come.
We approached cautiously, sticking to the shadows. Ralvar motioned for me to stay back as he crept toward the entrance. I watched, my heart pounding, as he slipped inside, his form melting into the darkness. Moments stretched into what felt like hours, each one filled with the silent tension of waiting.
Finally, he reappeared, his expression grim. “It’s bad,” he said. “We were too late.”
I followed him into the warehouse, preparing myself for what I might find. The smell hit me first—a sickly sweet stench of death. In the dim, natural light entering from the door behind us, I could make out the forms of several men, sprawled on the floor in grotesque positions.
Ralvar knelt beside a fat body, displayed on the ground as if he had simply fallen asleep, examining it closely. “Looks like they were poisoned,” he said, grimacing. “Same as the Duke’s Guard.”
I shivered, wrapping my arms around myself. “Whoever did this is covering their tracks. They don’t want anyone knowing where the poison came from.”
“We need to find the source. Fast. Before anyone else dies.” Ralvar said, rising to his feet.
We searched the warehouse, looking for a note, a footstep, anything that might give us a clue. It was a long shot, but we had to try. In the far corner, covered by damp and mouldy linnen blankets, I found a crate with strange markings on it — symbols I didn’t recognise.
“Ralvar,” I called, “over here, what about this?”
He joined me, studying the crate with a frown. “Smugglers’ code,” he said. “Used by the Black Hand. They’re the ones bringing in the poison.”
“Then we need to pay them a visit,” I said, a grim determination settling over me. “And we need to do it soon.”
As we left the warehouse, I couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. The shadows seemed to close in around us, whispering secrets and threats. The city was a labyrinth of danger, and we were walking its darkest paths.
But we couldn’t stop. Not now. Too many lives depended on us finding the truth, and my morbid curiosity was geting the better of me. I would face any shadow, any danger, to see this through.
The Black Hand was officially a trading company based in the Keep of Saint Alicent, the capital of the church state. In reality, however, they were a violent cartel. They had set up a base for their terror in Greyharrow only a few years earlier. They operated out of an old granite manor on the edge of the city, a relic of a bygone era that now served as a den of smugglers. As we approached, I noticed Ralvar growing increasingly weary and bothered.
“You alright?” I asked, sensing his hesitation
He nodded, forcing a faked smile. “Just old memories. Let’s get this over with.”
We slipped through the gates and made our way to a side entrance, avoiding the main doors where guards could be posted. Inside, the manor was a warren of corridors and rooms, each one filled with stolen goods and illicit trade. It felt like walking through the palace of a king, yet also like wading through sewers.
We found the leader of the Black Hand in a lavishly furnished room, reclining on a couch with a goblet of wine in hand. A slender man, clad entirely in red dressing robes. His name was Darius, a man of refined tastes and ruthless ambition. He looked up as we entered, a smirk playing on his lips.
“Ralvar,” he said, his voice smooth and mocking. “Welcome, I heard you come in!”
“We’re looking for information,” Ralvar replied, keeping his tone neutral. “About the poison that’s been killing people in the city.”
Darius raised an eyebrow. “Poison, you say? I might know something about that. But information comes at a price.”
“What do you want?” Ralvar responded with a stern voice.
He smiled, a predator’s smile. “There’s a man in the city who owes me a debt. Find him, bring him to me, and I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
“Who is he?” Ralvar asked, his voice cracking.
“His name is Jarek,” Darius said, his eyes glinting with malice. “And he’s your brother, Ralvar.”
Ralvar became visibly distressed, nearly loosing his footing at the mention of Jarek. I placed a hand on his arm, grounding him. “We’ll do it,” I said, my voice steady. “We’ll find Jarek.”
Darius’s smile widened. “Good. I look forward to our next meeting. ”
As we left the manor, the shadows seemed to close in tighter around us.
Ralvar II
The streets of Greyharrow seemed narrower and more twisted as we made our way back to the tavern. My thoughts were a tangled mess, haunted by memories of my brother. The last time I had seen him, we were separated after our ship sunk during the battle of Falrun. I had believed he was dead. Yet here we were, tasked with finding him, serving the very people that made me lose him.
Sera walked beside me in silence, her presence somehow a steady anchor in the storm of my thoughts. We slipped into the tavern through the back entrance, avoiding the rowdy crowd in the common room. In my usual corner, I slumped into a my usual chair, running a sweaty hand through my hair.
“Ralvar,” Sera said softly, sitting across from me. “We’ll find him. And we’ll make sure Darius keeps his end of the bargain.”
I nodded, though doubt gnawed at my resolve. “Jarek… he was always getting into trouble. If he’s alive and owes a debt to the Black Hand, he’s in deeper than ever.”
“We’ll deal with it,” she said, her voice firm. “But first, we need to find him. Any idea where to start?”
I thought for a moment, sifting through memories and old haunts. “There’s a place near the southern wall. An old warehouse where we used to hide out. If he’s in the city, he might be there.”
She nodded. “Then that’s where we’ll start.”
The southern wall loomed ahead, a jagged line against the grey sky. The warehouse was a relic from a time when Greyharrow was a bustling port city. Now, it was a forgotten corner, shrouded in shadows and decay.
We approached cautiously, every sense on high alert. The building was a crumbling ruin, its windows shattered and doors hanging loose. Sera followed me as I ventured inside, our footsteps echoing in the empty space.
The interior was a maze of broken crates and rotting wood. We moved silently, scanning the darkness for any sign of life. Suddenly, a noise — faint but distinct — caught my attention. A soft rustling, like someone trying to hide.
Sera and I exchanged a glance, and she nodded. We crept slowly toward the sound, our movements slow and deliberate. As we rounded a corner, I saw a large figure huddled in the shadows, his back to us.
“Jarek,” I called softly.
The figure stiffened, then turned. The face that looked back at us was gaunt and pale, eyes wide with fear. “Ralvar?” he whispered, his voice trembling. “Is it really you?”
I stepped forward, feeling mix of relief and pain. “It’s me, Jarek. I thought you were dead.”
Jarek stood, unsteady on his feet. “I should be. I’ve been running for so long… I didn’t know what else to do.”
Sera stepped closer, her gaze hard. “We need your help, Jarek. The Black Hand has information we need, but they’re demanding you in exchange.”
His eyes widened with fear. “Darius… he’ll kill me. I can’t go back there.”
I placed a hand on his shoulder. “We won’t let that happen. But we need to know what you’ve gotten yourself into. Why does Darius want you so badly?”
Jarek swallowed hard, his eyes darting around the room. “I… I stole something from him. Something valuable. He’s been hunting me ever since.”
I frowned. “What did you steal?”
He hesitated, then reached into his coat, pulling out a small, ornate ivory box. “This.”
The box looked heavy in his hand as he handed it to me. I gave it a shallow examination, and asked: “Do you know what this is?”
He shook his head. “No. Just that Darius wants it badly enough to kill for it.”
Sera took the box from me, her fingers tracing the intricate designs. “It’s enchanted,” she said softly. “I can feel it vibrating when I stroke it”
Horror struck. Magic is evil, the church is very clear on the matter. There has not been any magic or enchantments in Greyharrow since, well, ever.
“What kind of enchantment?” I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.
She shook her head. “I’m not sure. But whatever it is, it must be powerful. No wonder Darius wants it back.”
“What are we going to do?” Jarek asked with desperation in his voice.
Remembering the task at hand, my resolve hardened. “We’re going to find out what’s inside this box. And then we’re going to use it to our advantage.”
The decision was made quickly. We couldn’t stay in the warehouse — too exposed, too vulnerable. We needed a place where we could examine the box and plan our next move. Sera led us to an old safe house of hers, tucked away in the labyrinth of Greyharrow’s back streets.
The safe house was small, barely more than two metres wide. But it was secure, its thick walls and reinforced door a refuge from the world outside. We settled inside, and I placed the box on the table, its very presence a silent challenge.
“I can try to open it,” Sera said, her fingers calloused from the residue of its magic. “But it might be dangerous.”
I nodded. “Do it. We need to know what we’re dealing with.”
She took a deep breath, focusing on the box. The little box seemed strong, as if it was taking a toll on her somehow. Where she learnt to deal with the dark arts I did not know, though I suppose that might have been for the best.
Time seemed to stretch as she worked, the ivory box seemed to slowly. Finally, with a soft click, the box opened.
Inside, nestled on a bed of red velvet, was a small vial of liquid. It shimmered with an otherworldly light, the colors shifting and swirling like a storm trapped in glass.
“What is it?” Jarek whispered, his voice filled with awe and fear.
Sera picked up the vial. “I’m not sure. But it’s powerful. And dangerous.”
I felt a chill run down my spine. This was no ordinary poison. It was something far more sinister, something that could tip the balance of power in Greyharrow. This was Cannibamancy, a magic enchantment made from the flesh, blood and bones of humans. And now it was in our hands.
“We need to find out more,” I said, my voice steady despite the fear gnawing at me. “And we need to keep it safe. This cannot fall into the wrong hands.”
Sera nodded, slipping the vial back into the box. “Agreed. But first, we need to deal with Darius. We need to make him believe we’re still playing his game.”
As we planned our next move, I couldn’t shake the feeling that we were walking a razor’s edge. The path ahead was dark and fraught with danger. But there was no turning back. Not now.
Jarek I
Greyharrow's alleyways twisted and turned like a serpent, their damp, narrow confines giving way to sudden, wide-open spaces that left us vulnerable. Ralvar led the way, Sera and I following close behind. We moved with purpose, our destination clear: the heart of the Black Hand's territory.
The Black Hand's manor loomed ahead, its dark silhouette against the moonlit sky a beacon of danger. We needed to confront Darius, but this time, we held the advantage. The vial’s power was a trump card that could turn the tide in our favor.
“We go in quiet,” Ralvar whispered. “No unnecessary risks. We get Darius alone, show him the vial, and make our demands.”
Sera nodded, her eyes sharp and focused. I felt pale, but determined. I had much to prove and even more to atone for.
We slipped through the manor’s gates, the guards none the wiser. Inside, the hallways were eerily quiet, the air thick with tension. We moved like shadows, our footsteps silent on the stone floors. As we approached Darius’s chambers, Ralvar signaled for Sera and I to stay back. This was his part to play.
He slipped inside, the door closing softly behind him. I found that I could follow my brother through the keyhole. Darius lounged on a couch, a book in one hand, a glass of wine in the other. He looked up, a smirk curling his lips.
“Ralvar,” he purred. “Back so soon?”
Ralvar didn’t waste time with pleasantries. “We have the vial,” he said, pulling it from his coat and holding it up.
Darius' eyes widened, genuine surprise flickering across his face for a moment. “Impressive.”
“Here’s the deal,” Ralvar said, his voice hard. “You give us the information about the poisonings, and we’ll give you the vial.”
Darius set the book down, his gaze locked on the shimmering liquid. “You think you can bargain with me, Ralvar?”
“I think you don’t have a choice,” Ralvar shot back. “You want this vial, and we want answers.”
Darius stood, his movements slow and deliberate. “Very well,” he said, a dangerous glint in his eyes. “But know this—if you try to cross me, you’ll regret it.”
“We won’t,” Ralvar said, his grip tightening on the vial. “Now, talk.”
From our hidden vantage point, Sera and I watched as Ralvar confronted Darius. The tension in the room was palpable, every word a potential spark in the volatile atmosphere. I admired Ralvar’s composure, his ability to stand firm in the face of such danger.
“He’s handling it,” I whispered in awe.
“He always does,” Sera replied.
Suddenly, movement in the hallway caught my attention. A figure approached, moving with stealth and purpose. My heart raced. We had been discovered.
“Stay here,” Sera hissed, drawing her dagger as she moved to intercept the intruder.
As she was about to round the corner, she came face to face with a young woman, her eyes wide with surprise. She wore the insignia of the Black Hand, but there was something off about her — something that made Sera hesitate.
“Who are you?” Sera demanded, dagger at the ready.
The woman held up her hands in a gesture of peace. “My name is Elara. I’m… I’m not your enemy.”
Sera remained unconvinced. Elara glanced around nervously. “I’ve been trying to get out of the Black Hand for months. I can help you. Please, just trust me.”
Trust. The word hung in the air, a bitter reminder of how scarce it was in Greyharrow. But there was something in her eyes, a desperation that mirrored our own.
“Fine,” Sera said, lowering her dagger slightly. “But you step out of line, and I won’t hesitate.”
She nodded, relief flooding her features. “Thank you.”k
As I watched Sera spoke with the stranger, my heart pounded uncontrollably. The woman seemed genuine, but trust was a dangerous commodity. I stayed hidden, ready to intervene if things went south.
Sera led Elara back to our hiding spot. Her presence was an unexpected complication, but one we might be able to turn to our advantage.
“We need to move,” Sera said, her voice tense. “We’re not safe here.”
I nodded, following them as we made our way back to the main room. Elara moved with us, her eyes darting nervously.
Inside, Ralvar and Darius were still locked in their tense standoff. As we entered, Darius’s eyes flicked to Elara, a spark of recognition and anger flaring.
“Deserter,” he spat. “I should have known.”
Elara flinched but stood her ground. “I’m done with your games, Darius. You’ve lost.”
For a moment, that seemed to last forever, the room was frozen in time and space. Suddenly the tension broke like a dam, chaos erupting in the room. Darius lunged, his hand going for a concealed blade. Ralvar moved to intercept, the vial clutched tightly in his hand.
Sera and I sprang into action, our movements a practiced dance of survival. I blocked Darius’s path, my crude bastard sword clashing against his blade. The sound of metal on metal echoed through the chamber.
“Get the vial!” Sera shouted, engaging another guard who had appeared from the shadows.
Ralvar moved to protect the precious vial, his focus unwavering. Elara joined the fray, her movements swift and deadly. For a moment, the room was a blur of violence and desperation.
Then, with a swift, decisive strike, Ralvar disarmed Darius, sending his blade skittering across the floor. He held the vial aloft, its shimmering light a beacon in the chaos.
“Enough!” Ralvar’s voice cut through the noise, commanding attention. “This ends now.”
Darius glared, but the fight had left him. “You’ve made a powerful enemy, Ralvar.”
Ralvar stepped forward, his eyes cold. “And you’ve underestimated us. Now, give us the information, or this vial is the last thing you’ll ever see.”
Darius hesitated, then finally nodded. “Fine. I’ll tell you what you want to know.”
The room fell silent as Darius spoke, his voice laced with bitterness. “The poison was brought in by a man named Vardin. He operates out of the sewers beneath the city, using the underground passages to move undetected.”
“Why?” Ralvar demanded. “Why poison the Duke’s Guard?”
“Power,” Darius replied, his eyes glinting with malice. “Vardin is part of a larger conspiracy. They want to destabilize the city, create chaos, and seize control.”
Ralvar nodded, absorbing the information. “And the vial?”
Darius’s lips curled into a sneer. “It’s an ancient elixir, capable of enhancing one’s abilities. Whoever possesses it has the potential to wield unimaginable power.”
Sera stepped forward, her eyes blazing. “Then we need to destroy it.”
“No,” Ralvar said, his voice firm. “We keep it safe. It’s our leverage.”
She nodded reluctantly, understanding the necessity.
As we left the manor, the weight of our mission pressed heavily upon us. We had the information we needed, but the path ahead was fraught with danger. Vardin and his conspirators would obviously stop at nothing to achieve their goals.
