Night in Sel-kai City

Night in Sel-kai city.

The Great Moon Orhan had set; red Charon gaped like a bloody hole in the sky; and of course Eidolon dominated the heavens above the Lower City, spurning her poor elder sister… taunting her.

Darkness pressed down on the shadowed alleys, while an oily mist rose from the stinking canals. The night was quiet… deceptively so.

Ormool leaned indolently on his ebony cane, a figure out of context. The handsome Dyari Elf’s ears glittered with gold hoops and jewelled studs, and his finely-cut black garments were trimmed with golden thread. But he stood at the end of an alley in the depths of canal-town, flanked by two hulking humanoids with clear genetic ties to Lugroki. They were Gork and Lunt, Ormool’s “special assistants.” Behind the trio in the canal a skiff bobbed on the scummed water. The only sound was a rhythmic slurp-slurp as the boat washed against the stone pier.

“Someone approaches, My Lord Priest.”

“Thank you, Lunt, but I heard him some time ago.” Ormool’s words were knives of condescension.

Silhouetted by misty lamplight, a giant of a man stumped down the black alleyway. As he approached it became clear that he carried a sack over his shoulder, whose contents suspiciously resembled a body.

“Ah, Krann, you have brought my new toy?” Ormool grinned, showing perfect white teeth.

Not only far larger than most men, Krann was so ugly that most believed he had Trollish blood. His homely face was expressionless as he closed to tower over this unwholesome trio. “I got it.”

“Well, let us see, shall we?” The Dark priest could hardly contain his excitement. “Gork, open the lamp.”

Krann shrugged the sack carelessly onto a handy pile of trash and yanked open the drawstring, exposing the head and bare shoulders of an unconscious Elven youth, no more than fourteen years old. The boy was a beautiful Iylar: fine blond hair and delicately pointed ears framed his angelic features. His skin was clear and golden in the lamplight.

“He’s perfect,” Ormool crooned. He caressed the boy’s cheek with long, tapered fingers. “Moralis will be pleased.” He straightened, loathe to take his eyes from the boy, and gestured to Lunt to pick up the youth.

“Wait. The gold first.” Krann extended a huge gnarled palm.

Ormool smirked, but produced a heavy leather pouch and dropped it in Krann’s paw-like hand. “One hundred, as we agreed.”

“What’cha gonna do with the kid?” Krann asked conversationally as he stuffed the coins into his breeches pocket.

Ormool’s face went mask-stiff. “Why do you care?” He asked curtly.

“Just curious.”

“An unhealthy habit, curiosity. If you must know, he won’t be harmed… physically.”

Krann stuck out his grotesque lower lip reflectively. “You Moralans really know how to have a good time.” Even through that thick accent Ormool could read sarcasm.

Lunt hefted the sack into the boat while Gork prepared to cast off. Ormal stood watching the Trollish mugger lumber off the way he had come, but after he had gotten about twenty paces away, the Priest pulled up his voluminous sleeve— revealing a heavy iron bracer covering his entire forearm. He locked his arm, aiming his fist at Krann’s retreating back. With a muffled ‘thunk’, a steel bolt shot from a track along the band and went whistling through the thick air to plunge into the base of Krann’s skull. The Half-troll fell like a tree.

“That will teach him to ask questions. Lunt, retrieve the money.” Ormool turned back and stepped gingerly into the skiff. A moment later Lunt was on board and the boat eased out into the canal, towards the Temple district.

Above them in the clear night sky hung luminous Eidolon, oblivious, scorning the very earth.