He fled that evening, not even daring to look back over his shoulder. In just one day his life had changed so dramatically; with such finality regarding his future as a Shadow Thief. He could never return to Athkatla, that was for certain. No, he'd have to go elsewhere, make a life for himself someplace; where his face wouldn't be recognised, where his past was unknown.
He paused when he reached the cover of the forest and looked back at the tall walls of the city. His mind was still having trouble understanding the display of mercy he'd been shown by Mae'var's newest recruits. He'd been stupid, spending one day too many at the Seas' Bounty, simply because he just didn't know where to go. He'd received his second, and likely final chance when the man had only asked for his dagger, rather than ending his life. No sooner had he left the tavern with his companions, than Embarl had packed up what little possessions he had into a bag and ran for the gates. He'd not stopped running until now.
What was he to do? He had enough money to see him through a few days, a week at the most. He had enough knowledge of survival to get by living rough until he reached another town or village. But when it came to further earning his way he was limited in his options; rarely did anyone want a professional pickpocket, and he wasn't burly or strong enough to find easy work as someone's guard. He was no cook, had little in the way of knowledge of smithing or crafting, and had only managed to work as the Guild's Torturer's Assistant for a day before passing out.
No, Embarl was limited with ways to make money; and a life of law-breaking, while not a member of a fearsome organisation of ruthless criminals, meant he'd be better of not planning to settle in any one place for long. This meant that Faerun was, quite literally, open to him as long as he kept an eye out for his ex-guild mates. The thought would have been appealing, were it not shadowed by the fact he was very much alone.
Alone, with no clue as to where he should now go.
He sighed, and adjusted his bag. If he set off to the east he'd reach Crimmor or Purskul. From there he could easily head south to Trademeet, and perhaps head to Calimport. The road was quiet at this hour of the night, but he didn't fear bandits or brigands, well aware that his stealth would provide him with more protection than his worn leather armour, and confident that although he'd given up his dagger to keep his life, his trusted shortsword still hung by his side.
----------
Aefer Murdo sat alone in the dingy inn, the last patron to leave. He ignored the steely glare of the innkeeper, who obviously wished him to retire to his room sooner rather than later so he could close up properly, and get an early night. The former Athkatla Guardsman was in no mood to comply with another man's wishes. Having lost his job only a day before, he'd been forcibly ejected from the city by his former comrades, overseen by his former superior.
He tried to work out where it had all started going wrong. In his youth he was seen as a charming and witty young man, who instantly made friends in the guard when he joined. The eldest son of a minor Amnian noble family, Aefer should have had the world in his lap by now. But instead, on the eve of his thirtieth birthday, he was alone, getting drunk in what jokingly came to pass as a tavern, that only managed to survive due to the passing caravans.
With no way of re-entering Athkatla due to Trax's manipulation of the gateguards, he'd set off to Crimmor, hoping to find somewhere to stay until he managed to pen a letter to his family, explaining what had befallen him. But now he'd reached his destination, his despair levels had taken a tremendous dive, and he'd found himself having a minor breakdown in the street. The eight ales he'd drank since then were only just beginning to help lighten his mood.
Trax... the man behind all of his agony. He ruefully admitted to himself that had he not seduced one of the magistrate's daughters then refused to court her, he probably would never have been assigned to Trax's command. Suffice to say, it had proven to be punishment enough for his indiscretion; serving under the single most incompetent officer in the ranks was a test that Aefer barely managed to deal with, let alone carry out for almost a year. It was only a matter of time until things got out of hand, as his superior didn't appreciate his sense of humour, and frequently found the most unpleasant tasks for him to perform whenever he tried to share a 'joke'. His wisecracks during the run-in with Jansen and his strange looking customers had turned out to be the straw that broke the camel's back; and he found himself out of a job, and out of the city.
He wasn't sure if Trax was really allowed to expel him like that, but he had, and Aefer had been too enraged to complain vocally, preferring to object while using his fists. Perhaps the level of violence he'd shown had given more reason for his ejection.
He sighed, and drained the last of the ale from his mug, then slowly staggered over to the bar. He offered the innkeeper a charming smile, ignoring the filthy look he got in return, and made his way slowly up to his room. Maybe things were going bad -- maybe he had been thrown out of his home city, and maybe he had lost his job. And his pike! He loved that pike. But if this was his life at a low ebb, then there was only one way it could go.
And that was up.
----------
The horse cantered along the grassy plains, its rider being jostled around in the saddle in a most unbecoming fashion. She wasn't fond of riding at all, and would have quite happily just used a dimension door spell, would it not have led to the other Cowled Wizards detecting her location. That simply wouldn't do.
Nara Goldsheath was officially on the run, though it was unlikely that too many of her former colleagues would pursue her. Sure, they'd be annoyed for a long time, and would never allow her to flaunt her presence in Athkatla again; but given a week or two, they'd be onto the next internal assassination target, and many would have even forgotten why she'd created so much outrage.
However, until then, there were always the few who would be intent on seeing her again. Preferably lying on a cold slab somewhere; quite, quite dead. She couldn't let this happen, because she had no real wish to stop living. To this extent, riding along in the dark with the wind whipping past, causing her hair to get into the most frightful knots, wasn't the end of the world. Once upon a time, it might have been, but right now, it was acceptable.
She didn't understand why they were so angry. Of course she understood that there were some secrets only the most senior Wizards were allowed to know; but how was she to know what they were, and therefore know to avoid reading about them while idly waiting around. Really, if they were so super secret, they shouldn't have been there in the first place, open for the world to see. It wasn't even that exciting -- something about the godlings running rampant around Faerun, and some likely spottings in the city. What it meant was anyone's guess, but Wizard Corneil had been very angry when he walked in and saw her with the parchment in her hands.
She never had worked out why he'd summoned her to his private quarters so late, and he'd been far too annoyed to tell her before she fled. He was even more unlikely to tell her now she'd also stolen his horse.
But at least she'd managed to graduate from her studies before all this happened. She'd survived the tests she'd been challenged with as part of her placement in the Planar Sphere, which was more than could be said for poor Larz; though, really, she'd never liked him much, and it had been much quieter after he'd stopped screaming. She was now officially a Cowled Wizard, though she guessed she'd have to drop the 'Cowled' part, and just be a Wizard instead. She wrinkled her nose; it sounded a bit common for her liking, and she set her mind to coming up with a new title for herself. Enchantress Nara... Nara of the Art...
She was so busy thinking that she didn't notice the fence that her horse was rapidly approaching. Luckily for the mount, it did, and it sailed over with ease, depositing its former rider on the ground with a thump. Nara rolled a couple of times, then shakily got to her feet, screaming at the beast to return to her. It was secretly pleased to have gotten rid of such a poor rider, and paid no heed, riding off into the distance without even breaking stride.
She stamped her foot, and glared around. She had no idea where she was, and less inclination to spend the rest of the night all alone in the dark. There were lights not too far away, suggesting some sort of settlement. She checked her belt for her money pouch -- thankfully it was still attached, so she stomped off towards the signs of life, hoping she'd be able to find somewhere to sleep for the night.
----------
Dawngreeter Cotirso was having a crisis of faith. It was so bad that he'd stormed out of the Temple of Lathander, screaming at the top of his voice as he instructed the High Morninglord exactly what he could do with his mace. He'd also given up his room, but had come to realise it was probably for the best. He doubted he'd be welcome to return to the flock any time soon -- in Athkatla at least.
Lathander seemed to be standing by him, however, despite his display that morning. He'd tentatively reached out on several occasions, and been granted the small signs of continued power each time. So slowly, he was rediscovering his belief in Him, if not the structured levels of the priests he'd once lived with.
All his life he'd strove to serve as well as he could; and to be overlooked due to some random stranger! It was demoralising, to say the least. He knew he shouldn't have challenged the man to a duel; he probably shouldn't even have gone to him with his issues. No, he should have allowed himself time to calm down, and just worked harder to appease the Divine Morninglord in all his actions. Now he'd have to do it while on the road, because there was no way he was going back to see Dawnmaster Kreel.
He ruminated on his options for a while as he sat in the grubby interior of the Copper Coronet. Depravity surrounded him, making him feel sick to the core. If nothing else, he was certain he couldn't stand to stay there for even another drink, let alone a night. The whole place was getting to him; and suddenly he made a startling discovery about himself. It wasn't just the filthy inn that disgusted him -- it was the city in general. He had little patience for the obvious greed of both the nobles and peasantry alike, the fact that everything depended on coin. Why he'd settled there, he would never know, but now he had a chance to leave, to start again somewhere new. He went so far as to believe that perhaps Lathander, Himself, had created this problem, to make him realise that Athkatla wasn't the place for him.
He stood, nodding grimly to himself, and glanced around. Despicable creatures, he thought to himself, striding towards the door as two men bartered with a courtesan over fees for sharing her for the night. Just past that were two men arguing over who'd spilt whose drink, both of them annoying the spectators of some pitfight. Cotirso scowled as he left the building, and then settled his pack on his back⦠His possessions were few, his gold was even less, but he had faith. He turned and walked down the road to the city gates, never once looking back at what he was leaving behind. As he passed under the arch, his heart seemed to lighten, and a smile crept across his face.
Yes, he was doing the right thing.
