Ah, Luskan. The illustrious City of Sails, one of the largest trading ports on the Sword Coast. Its grand walls stretched the entirety of the city, housing inside the thousands of dutiful and loyal citizens, each of which would go about their day joyfully. Settled at the mouth of the river Mirar, westernly neighbor of the great dwarven city of Mirabar, Luskan was a pinnacle of civilization. Hundreds of ships adorned its hearty harbor, a veritable myriad of flags denoting various trading companies scattered throughout the Sword Coast. Its noble High Captains, leaders of different associations within the city, were truly men of awe and power. They were loved and respected throughout the city as its saviors and protectors, having roused their garrisons on many occasions to defend for all sorts of ne'er-do-wells, from goblinkin to bandits to pirates. Truly, never has civilization seen such a monument of-
Ah, who are we kidding? Luskan is a slime-infested, rat-filled cesspool of a city.
Everyone within a thousand leagues knows it too.
Once upon a time, itreally had been a great city. A coastal power to be reckoned with made more so by the Arcane Brotherhood, whose alliances with the High Captains kept the city a remarkable place on the map. Just south of the Spine of the World, it was the perfect place for trading rarities that came from the northern Ten-Towns, the quality craftsmanship that came east from Mirabar, and hardy adventurers-for-hire from Neverwinter in the south.
Of course, that was before the city was overrun by ambitious pirates. Then the pirates would bow their knee to Bregan D'aerthe, a band of outcast drow from the city of Menzoberranzan in the Underdark.
Needless to say, Luskan was really was a cesspool in this day and age. It was run by pirates who were run by drow. Gangs roamed the streets, harassing and robbing anyone not under the protection of one of the High Captains' Ship (Ship being the title of their respective factions), goblinkin and were-rats constantly warred in the warrens and sewers beneath the city, and the undead dwelled aboveground, unopposed, in the ruins of ancient Illusk on which Luskan had been founded. Thousands of people entered and exited the city on a daily basis, all paying tolls to enter and peddle their wares. The little coin they scraped together to pay their dues lined the coffers of the High Captains, or at least the pockets of the bribed guards. Tis a sad thing, really, when the guards are little better than glorified thugs that drink more than regular tavern-goers do.
Though it is a tad reasonable to say that getting drunk on a nightly basis is an acceptable thing to do when orcs, humans, gnolls, dwarves, goblins, halflings, kobolds, elves, and drow all roam the streets at any hour, armed to the teeth and ready to kill. Living there was harsh and it was easy to get lost in the city.
Which is precisely why he had come here.
I hate this place. He thought to himself as he viewed the snow covered city from a hillock a quarter of a league out. His gaze wandered across the sparsely guarded walls, the pathetic excuses of guardsmen huddled around weak fires, munching on what were most likely ill-gotten haunches of meat. They laughed and guffawed loudly enough for the sound to carry out this far, though he could not make out the words to their jesting. He watched one guard toss a barely eaten leg of lamb over the parapets. As soon as the meat hit the ground, dozens of people jumped on it. The homeless, the wretched, the lepers, the diseased, the urchins, all of them starving to death in the freezing weather outside the city where they were forced to dwell. The guard, still laughing, proceeded to vent his spleen on the people below, much to the others amusement.
Not for the first time, he wished he had his old bow. An arrow to the groin would ensure the guard wouldn't take his duties, or other people, lightly ever again. It's not like anyone would arrest him anyways. All but the higher ups of the Ships were terrified of him.
He rose up from his crouch amidst the higher branches of the old oak tree he was resting in and began his ascent downwards. His leather armour creaked as he slipped from snow-laden bough to bough. As much as he hated the city, he did need supplies. But he would be taking an alternate route in, away from the slums.
As he dropped to the ground with a snowy crunch, he cast his eyes about. He seriously doubted anyone but a drow could sneak up on him, but it never hurt to be cautious. Finding nothing, he headed off towards the front gates, but at an angle. What he sought was west of the gates, down a little beaten path and filled with all sorts of briars and shrubbery. An hour passed and he reached his destination. As he expected, there were no other people about. The wretched ones outside the walls would not venture this far from the gate. There were things living in this area that they wanted no part of.
It took some minutes of cutting through bushes, but he found and followed the path. It spiraled down a small cliff face a little ways before ending at a small plateau. The clearing itself it unremarkable, other than the miniature river of sewage that ran from the iron gated hole in the wall. The sewage followed a small path, etched into the rock from decades of flowing, off the small cliff and into the ocean. Not the most sanitary of things, considering how much the city depended on the ocean.
He approached the iron gate and compared the door to the frame it was set in. It had new hinges and a new lock and the iron was still fairly clean. It hadn't been there for more than a few tendays at best.
It was locked, of course, so he pressed his face against the icy bars. He opened his mouth partially, his razor sharp teeth set together, as if he were smiling, and used his tongue to push his breath through the minute gaps in his teeth. The resulting sound was very much like the squeaking of vermin and when a certain series of sounds were produced in a very specific order, it acted as a signal.
After many heartbeats, he began to worry. Never in all the years he had visited this accursed town did the signal fail. He sighed and turned to head for the front gate when a very faint shuffle echoed from beyond the gate. He paused and listened.
A tentative squeak, barely audible, echoed out from the darkness.
He turned back to the gate, and squeaked out the signal that meant all clear. After a few more agonizing heartbeats (and more than a little shivering in the cold), he saw a small human boy step out of the dark. The kid couldn't have been in his tenth winter and he was badly dressed for such weather. Filthy beyond belief, his small eyes darted back and forth between the outside and the stranger at the gate in front of him as he twiddled the key in his hands.
"W-what's the password?" The boy stammered, his voice as squeaky as the vermin they had been mimicking.
On the outside of the gate, he paused and rubbed his chin in thought. Forcing his memory to stretch back to his last visit, some months prior, he came upon something that sounded right. Staring at the boy, he recited the phrase in a low whisper as to not frighten the child.
"The Dead Rats know all, see all, grasp all. One day, the Dead Rats will own all as well."
The boy shook his head. "Sorry, we don't use that password anymore."
The man outside the gate frowned. "How about a haunch of meat and a bag of coins, lad? That sound like a fair trade to get in?"
The boy licked his lips. "Prove you have it first, ser."
Chuckling, the man reached back into his pack and pulled out a nice and fat leg of venison and held it up for the child to see. Clearly drooling from hunger, the boy almost didn't notice the man also hold up a bag that clinked with the sound of coin.
The boy spent a long moment looking from the meat to the man. Eventually, his hunger won and he opened the gate. The man chuckled as the boy snatched the meat from him and immediately began ripping whole gobbets off.
"Here now lad, don't make yerself sick." The man chided him gently, holding out his pouch of water. "Take some sips. I know yer starving, but you can't guard the gate if yer heaving from an overripe belly."
The boy nodded and took the pouch from him. A few swigs later, he returned it and looked down shamefully. "I apologize, ser Hunter. I'm not supposed to let anyone in anymore unless theys a Dead Rat."
The man known as Hunter raised his eyebrow at the boy. "And why is that, lad?"
"Them drow, ser…they dun kilt big boss Ross and Miss Cela, along with most of the guild." The boy sniffled. "Wots left of us…we're just trying to live now."
"I thought the Dead Rats payed a tithe to the drow so that they would be left alone?"
"We did, ser…but the drow wanted more than wot we had. Big boss Ross and Miss Cela told 'em to shove off…so the drow came out of holes we didn't even know where there and they started killing everyone."
The man frowned. "How many of you are left?"
The boys' face scrunched up and he held out both hands. "This many, ser. Well, 'tis that many names. I don't know me numbers."
Hunter spoke slowly. "Ten? Out of over three hundred members, the Dead Rats are down to ten?"
"Yes ser."
Hunter shook his head and sighed. This was going to be a long day, he just knew it.
While he had been never been a member of the sewer gang known as the Dead Rats, he had most certainly been amongst them more than a few times over the years. He had always had a relatively friendly relationship with the variously raced gang. The fact that were-rat lycanthropes were commonplace within the guild was the underlying factor in the friendship.
Afterall, as a shifter, he understood them fairly well.
He ran a hand through his shaggy hair and grimaced. No doubt his route was through drow turf now and that particular group of people he hadn't always gotten along with. Especially not since he started a bar fight with that one eyed bald drow with the funny hat.
Hunter opened the pouch in one hand and dug around in a pocket with the other. He pulled up another handful of coins and dropped them in the little bag. The boys' eyes popped open with surprise when the shifter tossed him the heavier pouch.
"Take it, lad." He said. "Keep yer lot fed and warm for the winter."
"Thank you, ser! Tymora bless you!" The boy shouted in joy before taking off into the sewers.
Hunter focused solely on his hearing, listening to the boy run off far into the distant tunnels before he turned and started down tunnel that led the other way. His eyes shifted a little bit, allowing him to see far better than a human would. That was the beauty of weaker darkvision; he could see better than a human in these conditions, but his eyes were never sensitive to light. A perk to being a bestial being.
"That was awfully kind of you, Hunter." A voice whispered from the dark.
The shifter froze, his nostrils flaring. A subtle hint of death, poison, and rothe-hide leather. Drow.
"I've known the Dead Rat gang for years, dark elf. I had good friends in there." He closed his eyes and focused on his sense of smell and sound. He would never been able to see the dark elf in such light, but if he was lucky his other senses could make up for it.
A mockingly soft laughter filled the air. "Come for revenge?"
Hunter shook his head immediately. "No. It would be beyond foolish for me to try it, especially in such a place as this."
Again with the laughter. "Not as dull as the other lackwits above ground, I see. So tell me, shifter, why do you pass through our sewers?"
"I'm just heading into town. I don't like using the front gates."
Mockingly, the voice said, "Aww, afraid someone is going to call you out for being green?"
Hunter rolled his eyes. "No. I don't like the living rats that dwell underfoot at the gate."
The voice paused in thought and the shifter could feel that the drow speaking to him had shrugged. "Fair enough, beast man. Now tell me, why should I let you through our territory?"
The shifter shrugged. "I never said you should. But I'm willing to pay you to let me through."
The voice spoke directly into his right ear now. "Oh? What makes you think I can't just kill you and take your money?"
His eyes still closed, Hunter grinned toothily in the dark. "You might kill me, drow, but you will remember what I do to you for centuries."
A long quiet moment occurred before the sound of hearty laughter filled the sewer air. If he had elven vision, he would have found the drow holding his aching ribs as he leaned against the grimy wall of the tunnel.
Many heartbeats passed before the drow settled down and spoke again. "A very interesting thought, Hunter. Fortunately for you, our leader seems to find you amusing enough for us to be ordered to not kill you on sight. So, just this once, I'll let you pass untouched. Next time, however, I will require a toll."
Hunter nodded and opened his eyes. He didn't see the drow, of course. "I'd say you were a generous soul, be we both know your hearts' as dark as the skin of yer goddess."
"Flattery will get you nowhere, shifter." The voice snorted. "Now be on your way. I have rats to watch."
Hunter nodded once more and continued on his way. He wasn't bothered again during his trek.
The shifter stood shivering in the cold in the heart of the city. It was late and he needed to rest. He mulled over his options for sleeping arrangements. He could probably find shelter in the slums, but he'd have to keep an eye open all night. There might be lodgings somewhere in the Mirabar district, but he doubted that. The place was always packed with dwarves, for good reasons. Perhaps someplace out towards the Piers?
He thought a moment before a smile sprouted on his face. "The Cutlass!"
And with that, the shifter turned about and headed down a dark street. A few fires flickered here and there, warding some of the luckier homeless from the prevalent cold. The snow crunched underfoot as he made his way down, alert as ever. Luskan wasn't exactly safe, even if most of the people were afraid of you.
He smiled at that thought. The common folk feared him all because of a slight misunderstanding involving the deaths of some giantkin a few years back. They thought he killed them all, when all he did was kill two of them. The one who had dispatched the others laid all credit to Hunter, much to the shifters chagrin. He didn't like taking other mans' boasting rights. Still, it had served a purpose. Common folk stopped bothering him, though gangs and Ship mates started targeting him. After killing a few dozen of those, they finally got the message.
Leave the shifter alone, or die.
It was all fine and dandy for a while. He had his space and they got to live. Everything was going so swell until the sahuagin raid.
It was a brief affair, really. A few hundred of the monstrous shark men from the sea had surged from the ocean with the intent of killing everyone and everything. Hunter was actually out on the docks looking to purchase some fish for his supper when they attacked. It was probably one of the only times he had ever been surprised in his life and it almost got him killed when a trio of the water dwellers shot out the ocean and onto the dock near him. He had nearly taken a bident to the chest, only managing to dodge because he tripped backwards over the cowering salesmen behind him. The ensuing brawl with the sea dwellers taught him something.
He most certainly could not over power these creatures. They were simply too strong.
So instead, he settled for moving faster than them. It didn't take long to gut them after that, though the arrival of more forced him to retreat to the streets. He had held the line there, back to back with gang members and Ship mates, until friends of his arrived. It wasn't much of a fight after that. Much less so after the shifter had disemboweled and decapitated the sahuagin war chief.
That fight had nearly cost him his life several times, but the rewards outweighed the risk this one time.
He gazed up to the sign above him which read "The Cutlass". Within the shoddy looking structure, he could hear raucous laughter and the sound of tankards clanging together. He smiled to himself.
A warm hearth and a bellyful of food sounded wonderful right now.
