Avoiding the sparse yellow pools of light cast from the gas lamps and the open tavern bat wing doors along Isegoth's seedy Dock street, the unusual pair moved at a steady pace staying to the shadows cast by the two and three story warehouses along the docks. A chill, early spring wind carried the salty smell of the sea as well as the stench of garbage barges and rancid whale fat. Only the potential for profit and an invitation from someone known to have no connection with Isegoth's corrupt government would bring these two outlaws of the empire within the city walls.

Ignoring the occasional beggars and prostitutes and keeping eyes and ears alert for any signs of further guard patrols, the taller of the pair, a frost elf by the name of Sarel Duthar, pulled his black hood and cloak tightly around his lean frame more to hide his distinctive features then to ward of the cold. His companion, whose short stature, broad shoulders and barrel chest marked him as a dwarf to even the casual observer, glanced up at the elf with barely disguised humor.

"Elves are so thin skinned; a little bit a wind and yer bundled like ya was back home on the tundra" remarked the dwarf known as Khaz Axzen in his deep, gravely voice. Wearing nothing but leather boots, deer skin pants and a worn leather vest exposing hugely muscled, tattooed arms, chest and bald scalp, the dwarf never seemed to be overly affected by the weather.

Before the elf could reply, a hooded figure slipped from the shadows of an abandoned warehouse ten paces in front of the odd pair. With a quickness belying his muscled bulk, the dwarf pulled his axe from the sheath on his back growling like a wild animal.

Hearing the oiled clicks of a crossbow safety being released from the windows above them and the stretching of bow strings from the tavern roof directly across the street, Sarel quickly stepped between the violence prone dwarf and the hooded stranger, letting his own hood fall back, revealing the long, snow white hair and pale, ice blue skin of a frost elf. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he felt the sights of several crossbows leveled in his direction.

"We are seeking Kimba Truehart from the druidic order of the cheetah,” spoke Sarel, voice barely above a whisper in case there were any unwanted observers. "We are answering her summons.”

"Well met Sarel Duthar; it has been a long time." responded the stranger in the lyrical, female voice of a wood elfess. She turned to the still bristling dwarf and addressed him by name "and you must be Master Khaz Axzen; greetings, let us talk inside".

After some reassuring words from Sarel, Khaz replaced his axe in its fur sheath on his back and stomped after the two elves, rubbing his bald head and grumbling about elven witches.

Kimba turned and strode to the corner of the warehouse; she moved with casual, feline ease. Her full length cloak, which appeared black in the shadows, shimmered and seemed to change color and hue, turning dark gold with cheetah like spots in the yellowish street light, before fading to black as she turned down the dark, garbage strewn alley between warehouses.

They navigated their way through debris and refuse barrels; the sounds of reveling and music from the taverns on the street were replaced by scuttling, squeaking rats and the soft pad of feral cats on the hunt. The smell of garbage and feces was strong in the narrow, high walled space.

Sarel's keen elven night vision caught fleeting glimpses of furtive movement from the roof tops flanking them as the trio came upon a dead end in the form of a red brick and crumbling mortar wall. Extending her right arm, the druidess traced elven runes on the wall with her long-nailed pointer finger making the sign of Doona Cheetahsoul, the patron goddess of the druidic order of the cheetah. The outline of an arched door appeared and silently slid open inward on a dark, empty corridor leading to a heavy wooden door at its end. Stepping through the doorway, Kimba turned and gracefully motioned for the other two to follow. Sarel quickly stepped over the threshold; Khaz hesitated glancing behind him before entering.

Once all three were inside the brick door slid shut of its own volition locking with a barely audible snick. As soon as the brick door shut, the heavy wooden door was opened from within by a large man with short cropped, military style black hair and a fresh looking scar on the left side of his face, running from his forehead, through his eye and ending at his chin. He was wearing the red leather armor of the city guard, noticeably missing the blue and white crashing wave insignia of Isegoth. His hand was resting on the hilt of a huge broadsword.

1 2 3 4