Nights Errant (Chapter 1)

[Epic Meepo]

(The prologue's a bit too wordy; I'll clean it up later.)

[ic=Prologue]Darkness.  Not total, certain darkness, but the vague near-darkness found beneath a nighttime cloudscape of scattered and slightly-luminous haze.  It was the darkness of the Mardok Arcology, the great city-plane that always felt as though it hovered at the edge of time.  The darkness might have been the shadow of a bygone era; or perhaps it was the specter of Death, poised to usher in the end of an Age.  Maybe it was both.

Despite the vague atmosphere of doom that always seemed to cling to that precious span between dusk and dawn, the night was an energetic time, vibrant and alive.  The bleak, unforgiving glare and the sun-sickness that tainted the wounded daytime sky was hours past.  Even the most timid now emerged from their shelters to partake the benefits realized in this, the waking world.  The darkness was their shield again the harsh reality of the sick and dying Sun, the soothing elixir that deadened all memory of the wicked monsters that hunted in the light.

But human eyes â,¬' and not-so-human eyes â,¬' still remembered the days of the harmless Sun, even if their owners did not.  Deprived of that once-benign star, those who gazed upon the former world of light strove to create a thousand shining beacons of their own design.  Everywhere, storefronts were alive with lamps of various sorts.  Many shed a plain white glow, a soft remainder that the Sun was now just a mockery of healthy light.  Other lamps, usually twisted into bizarre sigils and signs, shined with light of many and varied colors.  Collectively, they mimicked the multi-colored glow of dusk and of dawn, those precious times of twilight not yet bright enough to kill a man.

These scattered storefront lights winked in and out, intermittently obscured by wisps of smoke and random passers-by.  Many pedestrians traversed the marketplace, as the case frequently was in the middle of the night.  The hustle and bustle of peddlers and shoppers was the perfect accompaniment to the random lights, a dull cacophony of assorted voices and sounds that suited the helter-skelter smattering of white and colored signs.

Above it all towered walls lined with balconies and catwalks, the roofless superstructure in whose courtyard the entirety of the market was nestled, if not completely enclosed.  Though the walls were much too steep to complete the image, the place was nonetheless reminiscent of a great stadium, the marketplace occupying the field of honor.  Replace the doors of the suites that lined the catwalks with spectators, and that veritable hamlet of shanty buildings might have been an army of gladiators fighting for glory, plumes of smoke their battle-spells and colored awnings their implements of war.  One of the several dark and looming towers that hinted at the presence of other, similar courtyards beyond the walls around the market might have been a jaded emperor of old, cheering on the bloody spectacle, if bloody spectacle it truly were.

But such violent imagery failed to accurately describe the benign urban scene.  Though perhaps a bit dingy, and in places a bit dim, this landscape â,¬' and scores more like it across the demiplanar city â,¬' were sign and symbol of a thriving metropolis.  Mardok Arcology was alive with a thousand nighttime passers-by, and at least as many storiesâ,¬Â¦[/ic]
[ic=Chapter 1]Charles Lancaster â,¬' better known to others as Mister Lancaster â,¬' surveyed the teeming scene that was Droverâ,¬,,¢s Market from a platform three stories above the ground.  His was a catwalk not quite low enough to blend into the shanty shops of ground level, but not yet high enough up the wall to distance itself from the plebian masses.  As far as Lancaster was concerned, such a perch suited him nicely.  He liked walking fine lines between extremes.

Glancing at a clock-face built into a faux tower that extended only part of the way up the far wall, Lancaster noted that the appointed time was nearly on hand.  He spent a few more minutes observing the crowds below â,¬' Lancaster liked punctuality, but avoided the overanxious implications of an early arrival â,¬' then started on his way, content that he well-exercised his attention to detail.  In the past half hour, his astute eyes had picked out a half dozen pickpockets and at least one snuff dealer, only three of them clumsy amateurs of the sort that stuck out in a crowd.  In an earlier life, Lancaster might have sent the Watch in the direction of one or the other of those miscreants.

As it was, Lancaster instead made his way along the catwalk towards his intended destination.  So low to the ground, the suites along the wall-ward side of the wide walkway were shops, not the residences that started making appearances on higher levels, and the platform had its fair share of traffic.  Lancaster noted a few pretty faces, many more ugly ones, and a nondescript pickpocket â,¬' whom he dissuaded with a glare upon the manâ,¬,,¢s coming a bit too close â,¬' amongst his fellow market-goers.

The eatery known as the Sign of the White Steer was at the far end of Drover Market, half the length of the neighborhood from Lancasterâ,¬,,¢s initial position.  Fortunately, the entire market was designed for foot traffic, as there was little room for any other sort of transit amidst its paths and walkways.  In Droverâ,¬,,¢s Market, as in the other neighborhoods of Mardok Arcology, â,¬Å"pedestrianâ,¬Â was anything but a derisive adjective.  It was a simple descriptor for everyoneâ,¬,,¢s way of life.

Lancaster found the Sign of the Wight Steer where he always found it, at the north end of the marketâ,¬,,¢s western wall.  Around a corner, the glass face of the dining establishment looked out to the north and east, staring down the opposing wall â,¬' now a mere stoneâ,¬,,¢s throw away â,¬' in the artificial gap that marked the north end of Droverâ,¬,,¢s Market.  The same gap also marked the south end of a garden large and wild enough to be called a wood.

Lancaster briefly looked out across the garden, noting the other neighborhoods separated from Droverâ,¬,,¢s Market by that swath of lightless black.  In the day, that swath of black would instead be green.  This much Lancaster knew from an occasional twilight foray, and he took it for granted that some sort of enchantment in the soil kept the trees alive and green despite the harsh sunlight that they absorbed every day.  He was too world-weary to wax philosophical about such otherwise amazing revelations.

The Sign of the White Steer â,¬' a placard befitting its name hanging above its glass door â,¬' was not named entirely at random.  As itâ,¬,,¢s the imagery of name vaguely suggested, the establishment was noted for its grilled patties of white cheese and ground beef, the later of the sort harvested from actual livestock, not the hydroponic fare so often substituted for real meat.  Accordingly, the Sign of the White Steer was normally quite crowded.

Tonight, the White Steer was instead eerily still.  Through the windows that revealed its interior, Lancaster saw no patrons, and noted that only a handful of the lanterns that normally lit the place were up and alight.  Given the magnitude of the influence wielded by his midnight appointmentâ,¬,,¢s employer, he was not entirely surprised.

A lone serving lady, an older woman whom Lancaster seemed to remember from his last visit to the White Steer and whom might have been named Dorris, was sitting behind a counter, reading something by the light of a nearby lamp.  As Lancaster entered, the woman who might have been Dorris uttered a well-rehearsed speech that almost passed for a greeting, only half paying attention to the newcomer as she did so.  Ã¢,¬Å"Sorry, sir, but our kitchenâ,¬,,¢s closed for the night.  Weâ,¬,,¢ll be back to our normal operations on the morrow.  Our apologies for the inconvenience.â,¬Â

â,¬Å"Not at all,â,¬Â Lancaster replied.  Ã¢,¬Å"To be honest, Iâ,¬,,¢m just here on business.  Iâ,¬,,¢ve got a midnight appointment Iâ,¬,,¢m supposed to meet here.â,¬Â

â,¬Å"Ah, well why didnâ,¬,,¢t you say so?â,¬Â  Dorris â,¬' Lancaster had decided to think of her such, whether the name was the correct one or not â,¬' was suddenly giving him her full attention, reading material forgotten and discarded.  Ã¢,¬Å"None of the cooks are here this evening, but I do think I have some whiteberry pie, if youâ,¬,,¢re hungry.â,¬Â

Lancaster noted that he was slightly hungry.  Ã¢,¬Å"A slice of pie would be great, thank you.â,¬Â  Somehow, he suspected that it would be overpriced.  The Sign of the White Steer had recently invested in an icebox, and magical fixtures of that sort were never cheap.  No doubt, the Steer would profit greatly from their increased capacity for meat storage, more than offsetting the cost of the icebox, but the price of whiteberry pie had probably gotten caught in the economic crossfire.

Lancaster seated himself at a table along the back wall.  He knew his appointmentâ,¬,,¢s fondness for pack tactics, and didnâ,¬,,¢t want any lackeys lurking behind him, out of his field of vision, while he was discussing business with their boss.  He was also afforded a view of the White Steerâ,¬,,¢s interesting architecture.  The Steer was one of the suites where interior walls met the crystal-metal ribbing that served as the skeleton of Mardok Arcology.  Curved shapes that might have been half-exposed bone lent their character to the eateryâ,¬,,¢s décor.

Dorris returned with Lancasterâ,¬,,¢s slice of pie, which Lancaster found to be only slightly overpriced.  He had just stowed his coin-purse after paying for the honor when he heard the White Steerâ,¬,,¢s door open.  Dorris turned to shoo away the latest visitor, but then held her tongue.  Even before she retreated to the counter, Lancaster knew who he would see once she was no longer obstructing his view of the door.

In walked Heinrich Holstag, two cronies in tow.  Lancasterâ,¬,,¢s astute eye watched the tall man as Holstag prowled across the room.  The appointmentâ,¬,,¢s strides were powerful, his every movement graceful in a way that contradicted the blocky, feral countenance of his face.  Holstagâ,¬,,¢s dark hair was kept relatively short and swept back, leaving it to a pair of wily muttonchops to frame his squarish face.  He was clothed in rich by subdued garments, all dark but for a triangle of white fabric beneath the front of his collar.  The cut of the outfit emphasized his frame, which looked decidedly top-heavy on account of his broad shoulders and narrow hips.

Lancaster could tell immediately from Holstagâ,¬,,¢s gait and mien gait that Heinrich Holstag was not a man to be trifled with lightly.  Immediately after appraising Holstag, Lancaster subjected each of the leaderâ,¬,,¢s cronies to an equally thorough visual inspection, but found the pair of dark-clad goons to be of little interest.  They were meant to look dangerous, as indicated by the short swords on their hips, but their bark was much worse than their bite.

The assessment had taken but a split second, and Lancaster used the remaining heartbeat or two that Holstag spent crossing the room to casually take a bite of pie.  It was good pie, though it had a bit too much whipped cream for the volume of berries it contained.  He frowned, partly at the pie and partly at Holstagâ,¬,,¢s cronies as they took up positions at a pair of tables flanking his own.  Across the room, Dorris locked the White Steerâ,¬,,¢s door, drew shades across its windows, and departed into the kitchen.

â,¬Å"Mister Lancaster, I presume,â,¬Â remarked Holstag as he took a seat across from the investigator.  His voice was as deep and gruff as his appearance would have implied.

â,¬Å"And you must be Mister Holstag,â,¬Â Lancaster replied, matter-of-factly.  Ã¢,¬Å"It is nice to make your acquaintance.â,¬Â  This was accompanied by a polite nod.  He waited a heartbeat or two to be polite and then took an unceremonious second bite of whiteberry pie.

If Holstag was offended that Lancaster was taking the opportunity of their meeting to enjoy a midnight snack, his wry observation did little to indicate as much.  Ã¢,¬Å"Given your reputation, Iâ,¬,,¢d have expected you to be a carnivore.â,¬Â

Lancaster shrugged.  Ã¢,¬Å"I didnâ,¬,,¢t have many options, what with someone arranging to have the kitchen closed down for the night.  Why, if I were a regular, I might have considered such an imposition to be a bit rude.â,¬Â  Lancasterâ,¬,,¢s third bite of pie was taken not as part of a snack, but as a deliberate challenge.

Holstag calmly grabbed the plate that held Lancasterâ,¬,,¢s pie and passed it off to the crony at the table closest to him.  Ã¢,¬Å"Iâ,¬,,¢m not here to impress anyone with my influence.  Iâ,¬,,¢m here to discuss business.  Shall we get down to it?â,¬Â

Lancaster took a look at the absconded plate of half-eaten pie and shrugged.  Ã¢,¬Å"Thatâ,¬,,¢s what Iâ,¬,,¢m here for.â,¬Â

â,¬Å"Iâ,¬,,¢m sure you are well aware of my affiliations.â,¬Â

â,¬Å"Indeed.  Your reputation precedes you.  Youâ,¬,,¢re wearing a silver crescent moon around your neck, after all.â,¬Â

Holstag reflexively glanced down to see if the amulet he normally wore inside his shirt was somehow showing; it wasnâ,¬,,¢t.  He smirked as he returned his gaze to Lancasterâ,¬,,¢s face, revealing large, polished teeth and sturdy canines.  Ã¢,¬Å"Indeed I do, and Iâ,¬,,¢m here tonight to officially represent the Children.â,¬Â

In his left hand, Lancaster still held the fork he had been using to eat his pie, but he refrained from tightening his grip on the silver utensil, for his left hand was still in plain sight.  Instead, under the table, the fingers of his right hand lightly touched the rune on the palm of his glove, reassuring him that the sigil was still there.  Ã¢,¬Å"I wasnâ,¬,,¢t aware that the Children had taken an interest in humble little me.â,¬Â

â,¬Å"You make it sound so sinister,â,¬Â Holstag remarked in a bemused tone, as though the attention of the Children of the Night was something other than sinister.  Ã¢,¬Å"In truth, you caught our attention for all the right reasons.  You have a reputation for honoring your contracts, and free agents who donâ,¬,,¢t sell folks out to the highest bidder are hard to come by these days.â,¬Â

â,¬Å"Iâ,¬,,¢m an honest man at heart.â,¬Â  Lancaster paused.  Ã¢,¬Å"Of course, being an honest man is hardly the best way to get a lucrative contract with a high profile clientâ,¬Â¦Ã¢,¬Â  His words were something of a question.

Holstag chuckled.  Ã¢,¬Å"Well, you neednâ,¬,,¢t worry about your scruples getting in the way of the business the Children have for you.  Youâ,¬,,¢ll find that itâ,¬,,¢s all quite innocent, as free agent contracts go.â,¬Â

â,¬Å"Letâ,¬,,¢s cut to the chase, then.  What use do the Children have for a free agent?â,¬Â

â,¬Å"Thatâ,¬,,¢s not for me to say.  Iâ,¬,,¢m just here to extend you an invitation.  Itâ,¬,,¢s Victor who would like to talk to you.â,¬Â

Lancaster hoped that he hid his mild surprise.  What could Victor Kreska possibly want with him, of all people?  Crime bosses rarely needed to hire outside help.  To Holstag: â,¬Å"It would seem, then, that this meeting is a bit premature.  A courier could easily have sent a mere invitation.â,¬Â

â,¬Å"Yes, but Victor is careful about the people with which he associates.  He doesnâ,¬,,¢t want to extend any sort of invitation without first having me meet his potential guest.â,¬Â

â,¬Å"And how goes the sizing up?â,¬Â

â,¬Å"Iâ,¬,,¢ve decided that I like you, Mr. Lancaster.  On the behalf of Mr. Kreska, I extend you a formal invitation to visit the New Moon Lodge.  Mr. Kreska would be most pleased to meet you in the hour following sundown, or at your earliest convenience.â,¬Â  The last phrase of Holstagâ,¬,,¢s statement reeked in couched insincerity.  Lancaster was expected to arrive within an hour of sundown, no later.

â,¬Å"And if I have other plans tomorrow night?â,¬Â

Holstag retrieved a piece of purple, folded felt from a vest pocket and placed it on the table, sliding it towards Lancaster.  Ã¢,¬Å"A sign of Victorâ,¬,,¢s gratitude for your consideration of his invite.  Itâ,¬,,¢s but a small token compared to what Mr. Kreska is willing to offer in exchange for your services, but I think youâ,¬,,¢ll find it agreeable.â,¬Â

Setting down his fork, Lancaster unfolded the felt wallet to reveal five white pearls, each glued to the end of a small, bone needle.  In the standard fashion, the needles pieced the felt, thus holding the attached pearls in place.  Ã¢,¬Å"Most agreeable,â,¬Â Lancaster answered.  Ã¢,¬Å"Mr. Kreska is a generous man.â,¬Â  He was not lying; Victor Kreska surely knew that this gratuity was, by itself, worth more than a fair number of the contracts Lancaster had worked in the past year.  Loath to refuse a gift from Victor Kreska, Lancaster collected the wallet and stowed it in one of his pockets.

â,¬Å"I take it then that we can expect you at the Lodge tomorrow evening.â,¬Â  Holstagâ,¬,,¢s words were part statement, part question, part threat.

â,¬Å"Iâ,¬,,¢ll have to check my schedule,â,¬Â Lancaster replied, â,¬Å"but it seems likely that I will be able to attend.â,¬Â  He had just accepted five white pearls from the coffers of Victor Kreska.  Though he didnâ,¬,,¢t say as much, he knew for certain that he would be in attendance.  Providedâ,¬Â¦

â,¬Å"Excellent,â,¬Â was Holstagâ,¬,,¢s reply.  Ã¢,¬Å"Until then.â,¬Â  Holstag made no move to stand, but the nod that accompanied his words seemed to imply that he expected Lancaster to leave.

Lancaster took the dismissal in stride.  With a curt nod, he stood, prompting the goons at the tables flanking his own to do likewise.  The pair might have been showing him to the door, but as Lancaster started to move, they lagged a pace or two behind him.  In front of him, the shades were still drawn and the door was barred to all comers.

Lancaster silently cursed himself for not palming the fork that still sat on the table behind him.  That silver utensil might have been useful at the moment.  But he didnâ,¬,,¢t dwell on his oversight.  On the glove he wore on his right hand, he still had the rune, and it still read â,¬Å"morningstarâ,¬Â in whatever arcane language his glove used for its magic.

Lancaster was half way across the room when he noted Holstagâ,¬,,¢s cronies closing in behind him, judging their distance by their reflections in the glass windows at the front of the suite.  Seeing them make their move, Lancaster snapped into action.  Ã¢,¬Å"Manos!â,¬Â he intoned for the benefit of his magic glove, and the rune that read â,¬Å"morningstarâ,¬Â was instantly replaced with the item that it named.  Twirling to his right, the direction of the closest goon, Lancaster angled his weapon down, dodging the short sword that he knew was there as he did so.

His guess was correct.  The goons had drawn their blades and were moving to stab him in the back even as he turned to face them.  They would not be so lucky.  With a crack, the morningstar shattered the kneecap of the closest goon, who immediately doubled over in pain, his short sword forgotten.  Not in a forgiving mood, Lancaster might have smashed the attackerâ,¬,,¢s skull as the goon went down, but he still had a second opponent to worry about.

That second goon rushed forth and stabbed at Lancasterâ,¬,,¢s exposed side, but the investigator had been expecting the move.  Continuing his initial whirl, Lancaster wheeled around the fallen goon, placing that foe between himself and his new attacker.  The second goonâ,¬,,¢s sword arm was still outstretched, stabbing the air where Lancaster had been, when Lancester swiped his arm through the air above the living obstacle.  The arc of his movement ended with his morningstar smashing the back of the second goonâ,¬,,¢s skull.  His second foe went down.

Lancaster didnâ,¬,,¢t let down his guard, for he knew he had a third foe.  Taking two quick strides to put a wall against his back, Lancaster surveyed the room, looking for Holstag.  The veteran warrior was still seated at Lancasterâ,¬,,¢s table.  His eyes were watching Lancaster, but his mute expression said no more than he did.

Muttering â,¬Å"manosâ,¬Â to stow his weapon in sigil form, Lancaster glared at Holstag and walked to the White Steerâ,¬,,¢s door.  Unlocking it and taking a step across the threshold, he addressed Holstag.  Ã¢,¬Å"Thereâ,¬,,¢s only one reason that someone holding a meeting in a public place makes sure to keep the public away.â,¬Â  Then, â,¬Å"I hope I passed your little test.â,¬Â

Had Lancaster stayed in the doorway long enough to listen for a response, he would have heard Holstag answer in the affirmative.[/ic]

[Xathan]

One thing:

I want more! MORE damnit!

Seriously, that was awesome. Great stuff, really, really evocative writing style. Fun to read, set the mood perfectly. Love it.

[Poseptune]

Why do I read this stuff? This is terrible. I hate it. I mean the wanting of more, not the prologue itself. The prologue is good, very good actually.  

Is it based on a current or future campaign setting, or just something you felt like writing? What happened to the Sun? Please post more soon. :(

[Epic Meepo]

"Nights Errant" is based on a current campaign setting, actually; you may already have seen other random bits and pieces of it elsewhere on the CBG.  Of course, it's all very roughly done and it isn't in one place, but hints of it are out there...

Thanks for the encouragement, by the way.  It looks like I've got at least two people interested in seeing more, so I'll have to find some time to type up a draft of the first chapter in the near future.

[Epic Meepo]

Added Chapter 1.

[Poseptune]

It would've been interesting to see what would have happened if Holstag had brought something that could cast an Anti-magic field. Can't wait for chapter 2 (well I suppose I can, because I have to.)

[Xathan]

Coulda sworn I posted after I read this last time, but I guess not. Anyway, awesome stuff Meeps, I can't wait for chapter 2. :)