(6:00 AM)
"Take him away," said Cordas, standing from his desk to face the window. "Have him prepared for the mission." Two of the crimelord's goons seized Norris by the arms, and hauled him toward the door.
"Cordas, you bastard! What have you done to me? What's this all about!"
The old man took another sip from his cup as he watched the sun rising over the Baldur's Gate cityscape. "Is it not obvious? You have been affected with a poisonous concoction designed to kill you within a day, and quite painfully I might add. It's a magical poison I acquired from the Talonites, so don't think you'll be able to have it cured at a temple.
"Naturally, I have the cure for it." Reaching into his pockets, Cordas removed two vials of a glowing green restorative. "Once again, I control your fate."
"Bloody bastard," Norris hissed. "I'll not be your slave again!"
Cordas stared at the man with disdain and flicked a hand to the side, whipping one of the vials into the wall. The glass shattered, leaving a runny smear of the green restorative on the wall. Norris struggled to be free, but the goons held him firmly in place.
"Don't speak ill to me again." His point made, Cordas tucked the remaining vial away in his tunic pocket. "If you wanted out, you should have gone running back to the forest you came from and contented yourself with eating grubs and worms. Isn't that what you simpleton rangers do?"
"I was cast out of the forests years ago. I couldn't return even if I wanted to."
"Of course. I saw to that, didn't I? Now all that remains is this useless existence you call a life." Cordas turned back toward the window and continued to watch the sunrise. "You have no choice in this matter, unless you wish to die a hollow death. Horance will explain the details of the mission to you. Ta, for now," he said with a wave as Norris was dragged out into what would be one of the most unforgiving days of his life.
The old man returned to his desk and traced a finger over the lip of his cup, then shouted after his goons, "And have someone send a call for my breakfast! Such an uncivilized world when a man cannot enjoy his morning meal on time."
(6:05 AM)
In another dark corner of the city, a crime of a different sort was being played out. A lone thief crept through a darkened east-end living room, eyes fixed on the mantelpiece across from him. Atop the fireplace shelf hung a pair of ornate, decorative military sabres forged of solid platinum. He stopped a few steps away from a small rug on the ground to stand back and admire the prize.
Licking his lips, the young lad couldn't suppress a wide grin. Once he claimed the platinum blades for his superiors, he would at long last be made a full member of the Shadow Thieves. Stepping boldly, he strode forth across the rug to snatch his treasure. But as soon as his foot touched down against the wool carpet, there was a loud 'click', and the thief's spirits suddenly plunged.
Thick, black ooze sprayed down on his body from a series of tiny nozzles lining the ceiling, prompting a mixed cry of fear and frustration from the hapless victim.
From the shadows, a voice called out, "Lights."
Instantly, the curtains of the room were pulled aside and the rising sun streamed into the room. The would-be thief craned his head up and wiped the black slime from him eyes to see several high-ranking Shadow Thieves standing on a second-floor balcony above. All wore disappointed frowns, though the largest by far came from the elf standing at the middle.
That particular elf happened to be the local Shadow Thief guildmaster, Cerdan Engeven. The young thief swallowed nervously and shuffled his feet slightly as he waited for Cerdan to pass his judgment on the thief's test.
"Terrible," said the elf, shattering the trainee thief's ambitions with a single breath. "Simply, utterly terrible. It's no wonder that professional thieves are a dying breed." Cerdan shook his head. "So pie-eyed with the shiny artifacts that you weren't looking in the right place, hm? If that had been a real trap, you might have been splashed with a jet of acid. Ever had that happen? Not a pleasant prospect, I tell you."
"B-but guild lieutenant Tomar said that thieves should never take their eyes off the prize," cried the failed thief, looking with pleading eyes toward the man standing at the elf's left side. Tomar grimaced slightly and looked away.
"Guild lieutenant Tomar never even passed the thieves' test himself. That's why you shouldn't take advice from the lieutenant in charge of 'long-winding." The elf smiled and turned an eye toward the lieutenant.
A light chuckle came from the other guild members in the room, save Tomar himself. Long-winding was a mocking term for the most useless branch of guild business; of the guildhouse's three lieutenants, Tomar was in charge of maintaining communication and contacts with other Shadow Thief cells. Something that required much talking, and few actual thief skills.
The guildmaster went on, "Go clean up, boy. And do use your head next time. If you recruits keep failing these tests, we're going to run out of tar." Cerdan watched as the young thief eagerly scurried away. "As for you," he pointed at Tomar, "meet me in my office in ten minutes. It's past time we had a chat on who's in charge of this guildhouse."
Tomar glared, but didn't meet the guildmaster's eyes. He lingered behind in the room as the rest of the thieves slinked away.
"Must be my lucky break," he muttered, taking some solace in the knowledge that things were soon going to permanently change in the guildhouse.
(6:13 AM)
Norris stood at the middle of a makeshift sparring room, trying not to wince too much at the painful burning sensation coming from the gash on his neck. In front of him were two of Cordas' henchmen who would be directing him on the mission. The first man, Horance, was a disheveled fellow who wore the trappings of a wizard.
The second man had foreign features and a tawny-skinned complexion, and was rigid like a statue of a soldier. For a moment, Norris thought the foreigner might have been sleeping while standing up. By the man's facial features, Norris guessed that he was from one of the unapproachable nations in the east. If that was the case, then Cordas wasn't kidding when he said he was sparing no expense on this mission.
"So you're Norris. Somehow I thought you'd be shorter," Horance said as he finally turned to address Norris. He scratched his chin stubble as he looked Norris up and down. "In any case, here." He tossed a bandage roll to the poisoned man. "Cover up the cut on your neck. No use in trying to bleed the poison out; it's magical."
Norris stared at the gauze wrap, but didn't put it on. "What guarantee do I have that I'll get the antidote when this is over?"
"Absolutely none. On the other hand, you've probably known Cordas well enough to realize that he always keeps his word." Horance turned to a large locker in the sparring room and began checking through the weapons within. "You're a ranger, right? Skinny fellow like you probably hasn't done much hand-to-hand bladework. You're on sniper duty for this mission, so you get a bow and nothing else. You know, I've heard that archers use the longest bows they can find because it compensates for other departments. Any truth to that?"
"You're confident enough to arm me with a weapon?" There was a bit of a challenge in Norris' voice as he spoke.
"Yes," the wizard chimed with a thin smile, "Because I told Cordas that if I am killed or arrested for any reason, that he should destroy the antidote immediately and leave you to rot in a ditch somewhere." He leaned in with a devilish grin. "So you'd better be watching out for my safety."
"And what of you?" Norris asked, jerking his head toward the easterner. "Do I have to keep you alive as well?"
The tawny-skinned man simply stared and remained silent.
"That's Shen, brought in across the continent from Kara-Tur. He doesn't speak a word of Common, so don't think he'll be helping you." Horance barked a few sharp syllables of a foreign language, and Shen sneered at Norris. "But he's nothing more than a sword-arm; he's just as expendable as you are. Hells, his katana is probably more valuable than any service he could provide."
Horance reached into the locker and removed an unstrung wooden longbow, which he tossed to Norris. "I take it you still remember how to use one of these?"
The weapon was mottled and poorly kept; several bugs had evidently been dining well on one end of the bow. "So much for 'sparing no expense'," he mumbled. Norris experimentally bent the wooden shaft and found that it was still serviceable, despite the damage. "Just tell me what I have to do."
Horance reached into his robe and held up a scroll, which he briefly scanned over as he spoke, "Two assignments: First, there's a big-name criminal who operates in the merchant district. Apparently he needs to be killed. Next, we need to meet with a few of Cordas' other henchmen near the Temple of Tyr in the nobles' district of Baldur's Gate. We'll be pulling off a little heist on the white-robes. If all goes well, you'll be through before lunch."
"Who's the criminal we need to eliminate?"
"Not 'we'. You. As for who he is… that is not your concern. All you need to know is that either he dies or you die."
Norris felt unease creeping through his stomach, but didn't say anything. Cordas' actions seemed a little extreme for a mission that would only take a few hours to pull off. The poisoned man wasn't naïve enough to believe that he'd be given the antidote so easily. Still, the former ranger had no choice at the moment, so he would have to play along for now.
"I'll need a strong bowstring and a better pair of boots," Norris said, "It's going to be a long day."
(6:24 AM)
Cerdan tapped the side of his face as he sat alone in his office, staring out the window at the open streets. Far off in the distance, he could see darkened clouds forming to the north. It probably meant that a storm was brewing further along the Sword Coast, maybe around Waterdeep.
The elf turned as his door creaked open, and one of his guild lieutenants, Tomar, brazenly strolled in and plopped himself down into the opposite chair.
"Why, yes, you can come in," said Cerdan with a touch of amusement, "Such a polite fellow, are you not?"
"Don't waste my time. I've better things to do, elf."
Cerdan leaned back in his chair and propped his feet up on the corner of his desk. "Tell me something. When did you think you could start interfering with the new recruits' training?" The elf raised a hand before Tomar could object, "Please, spare me the pleas of ignorance. You know your place in the guild."
Arms folded tightly over his chest, Tomar inclined his head a few millimetres in what might have been a grudging nod. "Of the three lieutenants, I'm the only lieutenant who doesn't have any say in training the recruits."
"That's right. So leave the rogue training to Seffron and Kretia. The last thing I need is a bunch of half-witted thieves running about town like fools."
Frowning deeply, Tomar locked eyes with the elf. "That's the problem. We need more guild members. In the past month over half of our agents have turned up dead in the streets! We're facing a war, and we don't even know who our enemy is!"
The guildmaster sighed and closed his eyes. "You don't need to remind me. I am pursuing the situation to the best of my ability. But that's why our guild members need to be highly skilled; it won't do us any good to start throwing green rogues out there to be killed."
"Then we need more assassins. If we're being killed off, it's probably the knights of Tyr. We can send more blades out, answer the faith-screamers with force and then–"
"No." Cerdan's voice had become icy, and Tomar sealed up. "I won't be party to a mass bloodletting in the city. You've never seen what a real war can be like." The elf left his chair and strolled closer to the window, looking toward a tall white spire in the city's northern district.
Pointing toward the building, the elf went on, "Do you see that tower there? It's the new Temple of Tyr. About three years ago, a crazed liche destroyed both their old church and our old guildhouse. Think about that; in a single day, in a matter of mere minutes, thousands of lives on both sides were just snuffed out." He snapped his fingers for emphasis.
Cerdan turned back to Tomar, "You weren't even in the city when that happened, so don't presume that either of side is the type to just toss away good men and women to fill the streets with blood. We aren't going to blindly attack anyone based on your whim alone."
The lieutenant gave no response, and simply stared forward as Cerdan walked around the desk toward the door.
Pausing at the exit, the elf turned slightly toward Tomar. "And in the future, please don't enter my office without knocking. Gives people the impression that you're a mannerless boor, you understand."
With that, the elf passed outside, leaving the door open. He knew that Tomar was becoming more and more daring over the past few weeks, making open moves against Cerdan in guild operations. If things kept progressing the way they were right now, guild life was certainly going to be much more interesting, to say the least.
(6:34 AM)
Norris and Horance were both crouched at the edge of a roof atop an abandoned east end shop, backs turned to the sun. Below on the city streets, civilians were beginning to emerge from their homes and circulate through the market stalls of the district. Norris squinted slightly, scanning the crowd across the street as he gripped his bow.
He glanced over the side at Shen, who was standing vigil at the entrance to the building they were perched upon. "So which one is the target? It'll be harder to shoot straight if this burning pain from my neck gets any worse."
Horance began weaving his hands in preparation for a spell. "Can't miss him. He frequents that tavern across the street from us. Apparently he's something of a dandy; look for someone with a light ponytail and a puffy dress shirt." The mage finished his spell and touched a finger to Norris' forehead.
Everything in the ranger's field of vision went white. Norris gasped and jumped to his feet, dropping the longbow. "My eyes! What have you done to me, you black demon!"
A hand grabbed him by the ear and yanked him down. Horance hissed, "Stop shouting, you'll attract attention. Your life is not forfeit just yet. Just hold still and focus while the spell takes effect."
Norris calmed his breathing slightly, and his vision gradually returned. As the world became lucid to him once more, he found that everything now bore a somewhat… sharper edge. He could spot finer details on even the most distant faces and objects.
"It's an Eagle Eye spell, just in case the years have worn out your sight." Horance explained, "It should last for several hours, long enough to finish our tasks. Now look alive, our target is due to finish his morning meal any moment… Ah, that must be him now."
Snatching up his bow, Norris peered over the side and slipped an arrow against the notch at the middle of the bow shaft. Sure enough, a cleanly shaved, ponytailed man had emerged from the tavern, laughing heartily with a young, shapely blonde hooked on his arm.
Norris drew back his bowstring and held his breath, waiting for the bystanders in front of the couple to clear. An opening revealed itself among the crowd, and the ranger let his arrow fly free. Through the air the missile soared, striking home deep into the ponytailed man's gut, sending a spray of blood into the air.
Just as the wave of red liquid washed over the man's wound, a wave of cold shame fell over Norris. Long ago, before he'd even heard the name 'Cordas', Norris would have all but fainted at the terrible thing he'd just done. Now the only outward indication he gave was a slight tic at the side of his mouth. Then again, he thought bitterly, that's the manner to be expected when one has lived so many years as a ranger without honour.
"Nicely done, indeed!" crowed Horance, turning to Norris with a smile as the peasants on the street began screaming in every direction. "Now we'll go pick up Shen on our way out and be off to the temple."
"I want your word that I'll be given the antidote after that's done." Norris backed away from the roof's edge.
"Oh yes, of course. You will survive, so long as I live long enough to speak to Cordas of your services."
A black-tipped crossbow bolt suddenly interrupted their conversation, blasting its way through Horance's throat.
Norris was stunned for a moment, staring at Horance's bug-eyed expression that bordered on grotesque and comical. As Horance lifelessly collapsed, the fallen ranger's wits returned and Norris immediately ducked down behind the edge of the rooftop. Peeking over the side, he could see that the young blonde accompanying the target was still standing in the street below, and was reloading a bolt into the crossbow that was now in her hands.
"Damn my luck!" growled the fallen ranger. Ignoring his dead companion, he dashed away for the stairs at the side of the rooftop that would take him back down to the street. He rushed down a few steps, then jumped over the railing and turned to run in the opposite direction that the crossbow-wielding woman would be approaching from.
Before he made it far, a heavy fist struck him in the side of the face, knocking him against the brick wall. Looking up, Norris found himself under the narrow gaze of the foreign man that was also working for Horance.
"Shen, we need to move! Horance is dead, and–"
The easterner interrupted him with a string of angry words in a foreign tongue, and Norris rolled his eyes in frustration. Whatever he was saying, he didn't sound very happy that Norris had come down alone with several drops of Horance's blood staining the ranger's tunic.
"Halt there, you scum!" shouted a female voice from the end of the alley. Norris immediately shoved Shen aside as the blonde woman released another bolt. The shot whistled by overhead, and the ranger pushed the confused Kara-Tur warrior away into the alleys, hoping the woman wouldn't be daring enough to follow them.
Horance was dead. That single ever-present thought surfaced in his mind as Norris ran. Still, he had Shen with him, so there was still a remote chance that Cordas could be persuaded to hand over the antidote if they carried out the mission at the Temple of Tyr.
Yes, that will work. I won't resign myself die today, Norris thought to himself, desperately believing that his plan actually made sense.
(6:45 AM)
Cordas set his teacup on the desk as he finished his meal and dabbed at the corners of his mouth with a silk napkin. Placing his utensils down, the old man slowly paced to the back of his office. While the walls of the room were bare, the floor was completely cluttered with boxes of artifacts from foreign cultures, most of which he had acquired personally through past ventures to the far corners of Faerun. He had everything from gnomish clockwork spiders to Myth Drannor puzzle boxes, all of which translated to several million gold pieces in value.
Yet these were all pieces of lost yesterdays, and therefore meaningless in his eyes. The only reason he bothered to keep them around was for practical purposes. After all, who had time to waste reminiscing about the past when the most important matters were those faced in the present?
At the rear corner stood an oval-shaped full-length mirror. Along the gold frame were a series of runic symbols, subtly concealed in intricate decorative patterns. Cordas fingered a particular sequence of runes, then placed his hand against the reflective glass. The spot on the mirror pane glowed for a moment, then slowly formed a ripple, extending outward as if a pebble had been tossed into a vertical pond.
Cordas removed his hand as an image appeared of a red-eyed man wearing rough, hide-like armour, replacing the crimelord's own reflection. The enchanted mirror pane had dissolved into a two-way portal between Baldur's Gate and his master's location. Cordas wasn't curious or foolish enough to ask where that was exactly, but he could see a shadowy cave interior behind his master, and felt a damp coldness coming in from the other side.
"My lord," said Cordas, "It pleases me greatly to inform you that three of my agents are underway and carrying out your will this very moment. The city will be at your mercy, and–"
The red-eyed man twitched slightly as an irritated look flashed across his face. "There is a new task that must be addressed. Send some of your enforcers to Lancam's Isle; we have another loose end that is to be severed…"
(6:52 AM)
"Guildmaster!" Cerdan glanced up from his desk as a panicked young thief appeared at his door, pointing a shaky finger down the hall. "Lieutenant Kretia has returned, and she needs you in the entry chamber right now!"
Concerned by the amount of fear in the boy's voice, the elf rose immediately and ran through the corridors, down a flight of steps toward the entrance of the guildhouse. When he arrived, he saw a blonde woman and several thieves gathered around a guild lieutenant Seffron, who was lying on the ground with a large, bloody arrow shaft sticking out of his stomach. Tomar was present as well, looking on with faint concern from the other side of the room.
Cerdan pointed to the boy that had summoned him. "Call for the healer. Make haste!" The elf then kneeled beside the ponytailed man, but didn't want to risk pulling out the arrow until the healer arrived. For now, he let a few of the more knowledgeable guild members tend to the man.
The elf addressed the blonde woman, "Kretia, what happened? Who shot Seffron?"
The guild lieutenant rubbed at her eyes, then reached over and applied pressure to the man's wound. "Seffron and I were coming out of the tavern just down the road when a sniper hit him from a building across the street. I managed to take down one of the killer's allies, but the archer fled into the backalleys."
"If we had more assassins out there, we wouldn't be facing this problem," muttered Tomar, head lowered as he leaned by the wall. "They've made an attempt on the life of a Shadow Thief lieutenant, no more than a stone's throw away from our own guildhouse. There can be no further denial, elf. Whether you'll admit it or not, the Shadow Thieves are now at war."
(7:00 AM)