13th Day of Searing, 351st Year of the Age of Sundering
Tritinker Square was an old place wedged in the Northside of Gel’Grandal. Named for the three businesses that made up the three faces of the small cobbled square, Tritinker was now almost desolate. Two of the tinkerers had gone out of business a century ago and the third had since moved to the better side of town. Now only one of the buildings was still a business, a warehouse for a clay pottery merchant. With the advancement of technology, few found any reason to traverse the tiny square with its three narrow alley entrances. The small well in the center had long ago dried out or fallen to debris. A few folk still come to toss a coin in. They say that the dead can hear you in Triforge Square, and might find a way to give you their wisdom if you toss them a coin.
Masagh didn’t pay any heed to such prayers of the sun walkers, but he occasionally pocketed a coin from the bottom of the well when he and the Knights went above, like tonight. The well in Triforge Square had served a second purpose since it was made all those hundreds of years ago. At the bottom was a small pool where if one could hold their breath long enough, or one possessed no need to breath, you could swim under the lip and find a chamber leaning up and out of the water. From that chamber a tunnel, small and thin, lead for ten minute’s walk back to the Creth Compound.
Masagh, Sabrione, Cleon, and the others were descending the few stairs into the pool of inky cold water with no regard for the chill. They had no body heat to hoard like the sun landers who soak it up like sponges. Sabrione turned and made eye contact with each as she stood with her head above water. “Wait for my signal.” Then she stepped casually into the deeper water and strode along the pools bottom into the shaft of the well. Masagh could not hear anything but Clean strode forward to watch. He vanished under the water’s surface also. A moment later Cleon returned and waved them on.
Masagh made his way into the well. Standing at the end of the well, he looked up. Sabrione was clutching the handholds at the top of the well, gazing back down at them with those malevolent embers and Clean was deftly climbing up the wide of the well, not yet breaking the surface of the well water. He looked like some grisly undead spider thing, all bones and thin flesh covered in a swirling murky black cape. As the others began to climb Sabrione rolled out of the well into the square above.
One by one, the undead clambered up and into the square. They dripped onto the cobblestones silently as they drew their blades. Five ghouls in various leather and splint armor, their boney knuckled hands clenching the hilts of long claymores. Sabrione made a motion and they slinked off after her, cats amongst the mice.
The moon was hidden behind heavy cloud cover and the shadows were deep and long. A perfect night for the dead to walk. The Inquisitor captive had died by Sabrione’s hand after about an hour’s torture nearly a week prior. Before she parted from her mortal coil, the prisoner had divulged the location of a Inquisition safehouse that may or may not be housing lorestones. Such records, if real and if captured, could provide the House with an edge for the coming seasons.
The Inquisition was a thorn in the side. A self-righteous entity too powerful and too corrupt to be avoided or ignored. What’s more is the Kinvaren Coven had infiltrated deep into their ranks with their liar’s talents for manipulations and disguise. Labeling the undead an abomination of unnatural origin, they had made enemies of the Creth, whether they were aware of it or not.
Masagh much preferred them unaware.
Through the streets they skulked, occasionally having to step aside into some cover to let a vehicle sputter past. Once a dog began to bark from a balcony above them. Cleon proceeded to climb the wall nimbly and hissed at the thing. It whimpered and retreated to the far side of its balcony.
“Third door on the left, down the alley.” Sabrione whispered in a breathless rasp. The others gathered around her. “Cleon, Vasile, and I will take the door. Calliope and Masagh, the balcony above.” Masagh nodded along with the rest of the group.
He climbed as quietly as he could up onto the barrels and boxes stacked next to the cramped apartments lining the alley. Calliope’s slim form crawled up the face of the wall and over the curve of the balcony in a few practiced movements. She held a hand down to him. Masagh took it and she lifted him over the edge enough for him to get a grip on the inside lip. Masagh pulled himself up the rest of the way and rolled over. He came up with sword in hand. Calliope was crouching by the balcony door, amongst a few neglected potted plants and a dusty crate.
Masagh moved to the other side of the door and waited. Below the sound of a muffled crash told them Sabrione and the others were moving into the apartment’s first floor. Calliope nodded her cadaver head towards the door. Masagh wrapped a leather claw around the handle and pushed. It did not open. He kicked it hard, just below the latch. The door splintered open, it had been made of old wood, half rotten and neglected. The latch fell to the ground, taking with it the small bit of door it had been nailed to. The room beyond was cobwebbed and cluttered with old odds and ends, but did not bear the coating of dust of long term emptiness.
Calliope entered just as a cry rose from below. The striking of steel on steel and then heavy footfalls told him they were not alone in this place. Calliope moved swiftly to the side of the stair across the room. Masagh followed.
