Name: Ember Grey
Race: human
Genus: sapient
Class: C
Level: 37 (93,562 experience points to the next level)
Affiliation: Chione
State: alert
Brief description: 5 foot 10; olive skin; thick, black hair; knife scar above the navel; pale-blue eyes; average build; twisting ivy tattoo over the right bicep; various acne scars over cheeks and chin
Accolade points: 1,402 (in the right circles, they speak about you with respect)
Endowments: disease resistance, cold resistance
Curses: taboo level 2
Attributes:
Each number in the following list is the level achieved for that attribute.
Magicka skill schools
Energy 3, consciousness 2
Control and technique
Willpower 36, language 31, concentration 28, dual casting 18, meditation 12, intelligence 27, yoga 34, composure 31, intelligence 31, anticipation 42, conceptualisation 7, visualisation 5
Attacking attributes
Strength 29, melee 17, unarmed combat 36, blunt 17, longbow 21, short blades 43, long blades 28, dual wielding 31, dominant hand 41, weaker hand 21
Main defensive attributes
Armour 7, resistance to ice 51, mental resistance 7, toughness 12, sturdiness 7, natural healing 14, adaptability 12
Movement and positioning
Sneak 42, dexterity 28, speed 41, agility 29, balance 31, gymnastics 31, fitness 41, parkour 8, recovery 21
Mental traits
Navigation 25; lore 21; negotiation 40; tracking 42; traps 37; disguise 21; charm 42; insightfulness, cunning and perception 21; determination 21; erudition 22; inventiveness 31; empathy 2; introspection 3; assertiveness 25; instincts 21; inspirational 2
Miscellaneous
Cooking 11, alchemy 27, Kama Sutra 38, pickpocketing 32, lock-picking 32, luck 13
Health 1,850/1,850 stamina 1,850/1,850, mana 1,850/1,850
Endowments: bounty of the snowdrop
You are 25% resistant to the cold; once a week you can become 75% resistant to all forms of cold for 3 hours.
In the beginning, snow had no colour, it asked for something to share its colour so that it might be visible, but nothing replied – except one small plant. From then on, snow had a colour – pristine white – and the snowdrop plant was protected from the cold forever more by the grateful snow.
Abilities and spells:, execution, haemostasis, rejuvenation, cure poison, ice formation, ice dagger, ice cube, blizzard, spark, cats eyes, weak aura vision, weak catalyst, active identification
Tattoos bestowed: ice formation
Active quests: Getting shit done level 15, on the job, become a Nightcloak, slap that bitch Cassandra, steal Mistress’s House of Cards scroll
Affliction: curse of Samson
You have drunk a potion that has reduced your level from 27 to 7. The effects of this potion will last for a further 2 hours.
Eight Era, cycle 1721, season of Unkh, day 150
There are many legends about the formation of mountain ranges; amongst the Alpas, a popular belief used to be that the glaciers were formed as a punishment. There used to be cities so rich and wasteful that they cleaned the streets with milk and bread. One day, a beggar came to the city and begged, and the people of the city refused the man succour, so the man cursed the city so that it would freeze during the night and suffocate under snow.
The gentry of the mountains stopped believing such stories shortly after accruing their own wealth, although it is said that, even to this day, should you beg for food at a noble’s house, you shall never be turned away.
This is false, of course; completely and utterly false – they’d happily let you starve.
*
Grey was not a beggar; Grey was a thief. As a child, Grey was abandoned, or perhaps it is kinder to believe that Grey was orphaned, though it makes little difference to a small child, who is too young to remember their parents. Grey was found by a “five fingers” – a thief trained in snatching items off stalls and out of shops, but little else.
Gorser, the master thief, who is not a man to throw away something that might have a use, listened to the five fingers’ description of the grubby child’s thieving accolades and shrugged.
‘Fuck it; we’ll put the little blighter to the test. You got a name, child?’
The child didn’t, or couldn’t, remember, and Gorser – being a man of limited imagination and even more limited vocabulary – chose the name “Grey”, as “Dark” and “Black” didn’t have the right ring to them.
The test was simple: steal what was asked, and what was asked would be drawn randomly from a tombola. Grey delivered.
Then there came the second test, one in which many a would-be thief and many an experienced thief lost their life: a race around Mount Joux. There were many hazards involved: not all the paths around the mountain were well maintained; there were large sections that were untouched by human hand; and there were strong winds, snowdrifts that swallowed houses, wild fiends, avalanches and blizzards so thick you couldn’t see your nose – and then there were the guards. The rich valued their secrecy; the guards valued their lack of patience.
But Grey survived and Grey thrived, and – at the age of fifteen – Grey blossomed into womanhood. The long nights spent scampering over rooftops and away from irate guards had given Grey a lean, athletic body that caught the attention of another guild – the guild of the women of the night. It didn’t stop there, however; the guild master, one Master Ulster, was also the guild master of the assassins, and she spotted a useful tool in the still-young Grey.
So Grey was given a new name, one more befitting a lady of the night, and thus she became Ember. The training of the assassins kept her lean and added a little definition to her muscles, and her natural height made her into one of the more requested members of the ladies of the night – and one of the assassins more gifted prodigies.
And so it was that Ember, née Grey, was at Lord Castro’s – ostensibly as a birthday present to Lord Castro from his wife (it’s better not to ask) – but, in fact, she was there on assassins business – for the same man. This could prove a boon, as the man was known to be a terrible lover, but it came with its own risks. Ember bedded around forty people a year, and she killed around twenty. If that twenty were all people she’d slept with, then she’d very quickly gain a reputation. Fortunately, she’d been given a poison that was slow acting and would kill the man over the period of a week.
The outside of the building was a mixture of rough stone and deep-coloured wooden slats; the roof overran the walls like a wide-brimmed hat and snow sat deep on the roof. Ember stepped through the large doorway and shook her cloak. A well-dressed man approached her, a butler of some sort, and took Ember’s coat and other items worn for the weather.
‘Will you need to freshen up first, ma’am?’
‘I shall, thank you,’ Ember said, and she strode off to the bathrooms.
The interior of the building was an inordinate show of wealth. There were thick and richly coloured rugs, tables with ornately carved legs, large crystal vases with voluptuously blooming flowers, ornaments with exotic designs collected from around the world, large portraits and tapestries recording forgotten moments from history, and exotic stuffed animals, including a jackalope and a hedgebear. There were rich scents in every room, and jaunty music from a live band was piped through the rooms via brass pipes with gramophone-style trumpets on the end.
On completing her ablutions, Ember returned to the main hall, and the butler bowed slightly, led her through a sliding glass partition and then announced her, before returning to the entrance and awaiting further guests.
Ember nodded at those who needed to be respected, ignored those who – according to some internal tally – deserved to be ignored, and smiled at the rare few who had earned it. In her right hand, she held a fan, and her fingers moved in a manner that was totally innocuous to those untutored in the secret hand language. The replies that she surreptitiously watched for told Ember what she needed to know and Ember moved on.
Ember picked up a morsel from a passing tray and popped it into her mouth. The flavours melted against her tongue and made her mouth water as she ate it. Ember plucked three more indecorously from the next tray and a fluted glass of some rather potent, fruit-flavoured drink before she made it across the room to the far side exit.
In the next room, an Anasy was reciting a lewd and licentious tale, and the men were pressed up hard against the women; the men wore smiles that knew the women were bought and paid for, and the women wore smiles as well, for they knew their jobs well. The girls hinted to their men whenever the Anasy brought up a particularly delightful position or perversion.
Indeed, not all the woman were courtesans; some of them were rich girls looking for a kick and had joined the courtesans as a one-off – a “privilege” they paid for, if you’ll believe it.
Ember rose to the next floor, weaved in and out of the mingling couples, went out onto a landing that overlooked the main hall, and paused as a rolling cloud of cigar smoke blocked her path. Inside the room, another Anasy stood in front of a large, decorated board, moving around wooden figures and recounting, in a sonorous voice, the exploits of the Speckled Band as they fought off the Golden Army.
Ember moved up to Lord Castro’s personal floor. Two rather invasive sculptures stood guard either side of the entrance to the private floor. Ember adjusted her cleavage and added a touch more powder before a guard rounded the corner and gave Ember a hopeful smile. A second rather portly guard passed the other direction and farted loudly as he passed, sniffed and spat into a vase.
‘Charming,’ Ember said, watching until the man went out of sight before she turned to the stairwell.
The mistress of the property stepped out almost on cue, and Ember gave the woman a respectful nod.
Lady Castro’s eyes swiped over Ember impassively before she walked to the nearby window, opened it and lit a cigarette. Ember shifted uncomfortably. She didn’t mind the second part of her job tonight, but meeting the wife when you were on the way to rendezvous with the husband was always awkward. Then again, if Ember were Lord Castro’s wife, she too would pay for someone else to sleep with him. The marriage had been arranged by the ruling family as a way to strengthen the land. Lady Castro was the third daughter of one of the biggest coffee producers – and she was a descendent of a medusa, which would manifest itself in unusual ways. For instance, Lady Castro was green, had an unusually long tongue and hated the cold. Lord Castro was the second son of the Angilan clan, whose borders ran over two of the mountains in the Alpas range. He was also a centaur and was extremely powerful in bed; Ember’s strong muscles would have had a workout if she was actually going to spend the night with him.
Finally, Ember entered Lord Castro’s chamber and curtsied, before moving daintily over to him.
‘A drink, my lord?’ Ember asked, moving over to the drinks table and shifting her position to block his view from it.
‘No, no. My wife worries about my health,’ he replied, but he took the drink anyway when Ember offered it.
‘That’s why you have me, because I’m bad.’
Lord Castro smiled wickedly and looked Ember over greedily before forcing a hand into her corsets and groping ham-fistedly. He pulled one of Ember’s breasts out of her gown; Ember winced. He pinched it and pulled it hard; his hind legs stamped eagerly.
‘Indeed, bend over I think you need to be punished,’ he said tugging at his belt and eyeing Ember’s rump.
Lord Castro grew impatient as Ember undressed, and he ripped and pulled at her dress.
‘I’ll need to wear this after,’ Ember chastised, putting as much complaint into her voice as she dared.
‘Nasty, little sluts like you like to have evidence you’ve had a good shag to show off to the other girls you pass.’ Lord Castro rolled his belt up one-handed, still holding the drink in his other, and slid the belt around Ember’s neck. He yanked it hard – but without any effort, to show Ember he could do it harder if he wished – before striking a blow across Ember’s backside, leaving a livid, red mark.
Battle log:
Struck by leather belt for impact damage
Ember winced, 20 damage points from one hit! The man really was a brute.
Lord Castro forced Ember’s head down and trod on her hair before striking again, and again and again.
Battle log:
Struck by leather belt for impact damage
Struck by leather belt for impact damage
Struck by leather belt for impact damage x2 for critical hit
Ember winced and gritted her teeth; Lord Castro was a mild-tempered man in public, but his cruelty came alive in the bedroom. Ember’s head was yanked backwards, and Lord Castro snarled demeaning words into her ear. He lit a cigar and tapped ash out onto her back. Ember thought she could see Lady Castro watching on from outside the bedroom as Lord Castro exercised his frustrations.
Finally, with his chest sweating, he reached for the drink Ember had poured him and wiped at his sweaty lips with the back of his arm.
A guard strode into the room and saluted.
Lord Castro turned and looked at the man like he was a grotesque mess on the bottom of Lord Castro’s shoe. ‘Yes?’ he enquired.
‘Sir, the delegation from Whitebristle has arrived,’ replied the guard.
Lord Castro scowled. ‘I’d better go wash up; I smell of this filth.’
Ember rolled over to the other side of the bed, picked up a glass, ruffled through her discarded clothing and withdrew a bottle, from which she poured a good measure into the glass and then she used a spell to create a block of ice, which she dropped into the glass. She swirled the liquid and brought it to her lips, watching the bathroom door as she did so. There was the sound of water and vague sounds that could be Castro washing, and, after a moment, the sound of a glass smashing. Ember lowered her hand and tensed.
‘Tell me, whore, why did I get a notification that I’d been poisoned when I took a sip of this drink?’ he demanded.
Quest update: on the job
Lord Castro has noticed the attempt at poisoning; you can either attempt to talk your way out of the situation or flee, but fleeing will mean forfeiting the quest.
Out of the corner of her eye, Ember thought she noticed Lady Castro react, but Ember refused to look and instead replied as calmly as she could. ‘My lord, I-I have no explanation.’
She then activated her active-identification spell.
Spell activated: active identification
This spell will tag people and items around you with information on them; this is an active spell and will consume magicka for every second it is active.
Ember looked at the guard.
Name: John Killen
Race: human
Genus: sapient
Affiliation: none
Class: C
State: alert
Level: 38
Health 1,900, stamina 1,900, magicka 1,900
Endowments: none
Curses: none
The guard, John, stepped forwards, and further guards arrived – oddly quickly – and gathered either side of the door with weapons drawn. Lord Castro stepped forwards and picked up his sword; he drew it and brandished it, and as he did so the blade caught alight. Ember’s eyes were fixed on it.
Name: Castelo Castro
Race: centaur
Genus: sapient
The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Affiliation: Firenze
Class: C
State: hostile
Level: 36
Health 1,800, stamina 1,800, magicka 1,800
Endowments: unknown
Curses: unknown
New item: great-sword of flames
This impressive weapon is charged with fire magicka, and deals 30 fire-damage points, 10 burn-damage points every 15 seconds, 35 damage points and 15% chance of bleed damage, and it has a durability of 30.
This weapon requires a skill level of 30 or higher to use; you do not meet this requirement. The current wielder of the weapon has the necessary skill level.
Castro stated, ‘Someone paid you to slip something into my drink; it didn’t work, however, as I have spent points on the fortified attribute, making me resistant to most poisons.’
Ember let her eyes widen, and opened her mouth in mock shock and fear; however, internally, she was on edge, as the person who had paid the contract also supplied the poison, insisting it be used as it was “impossible to identify”.
Ember acted; she threw the glass at Lord Castro, who sneered and cut the glass out of the air. As his blade cut through the glass, the flames touched the liquid inside and the glass exploded in a fireball. With that, Ember was gone; she jumped through the window she’d been standing in front of.
Quest failed: on the job
Ember landed in a snowdrift, and all the blood in her extremities froze immediately – or that was what it felt like falling naked into 8 feet of snow. Ember fumbled around blindly for a moment and touched something that her numb fingers told her could be glass. She pulled it up and slipped through the window into a dim corridor.
Ember’s thieving instincts kicked in; she had been taught that it wasn’t enough to be undetected, but that the best thieves also left no evidence of their presence. Ember caught a glimpse of an ashtray, which was some ornate, self-standing thing on four bronze lion feet; Ember picked it up, placed it next to the window, threw a few fag butts into the snow, and then sprinted down the corridor.
Ember’s nose and hands were painful from hot aches, as she sprinted down corridors and ducked into rooms to avoid detection. It wasn’t long before there were shouts from inside the building and the word “assassin” was clear.
‘That’s right, I get you coming then going.’ Ember said; it was an old joke amongst the girls.
As Ember ducked into a room to avoid the detection of a lone guard, she noticed that the fire was lit. Ember tugged at her long, red hair, pulled off the wig, threw it into the fire, and then picked up a nearly empty bottle of wine and gargled with a mouthful. She used a corner of the sheet to smear her make-up, as she was planning to slip into the crowd of drunken prostitutes.
‘This one’s open; it must be free,’ a faux breathless and husky voice said.
A couple staggered into the room, and Ember dived under the bed.
'I’ve missed our little dalliances,’ the man said, attempting to be suave, but too much eagerness slipped into his voice.
‘Lord Asley, I’m flattered you remembered me,’ declared the woman.
‘Oh I do, Kimberly, you nubile beauty, and do you remember…’ the man replied, tailing off.
‘Your preferences and eccentricities? Of course I do, your lordship. How could I forget you?’
Lord Asley gave an odd sound and stumbled to the bed, with a keen and deep desire filling his eyes.
Kimberly stripped, with slow and lithe movements, nothing exaggerated, but her hips and arms moved in an almost hypnotic rhythm. When Kimberly had stripped all but her gloves, leggings and hat, she moved to the bed and stood at its side letting Lord Asley undress before clambering onto the bed.
There were noises and the bed moved, making Ember feel claustrophobic, by the sound of it the woman was on top and it gave Ember an idea. Taking a risk Ember moved to the edge of the bed and Ember’s right arm moved out of the bed and into the vision of those on the bed. The woman gave a startled sound, but covered it by telling Lord Asley to keep his tongue there.
Taking this as a good sign, Grey slipped out making eye contact and keeping the sign of the assassin held aloft. The courtesan moved her fingers to give sign of the courtesan, and Lord Asley attempted to move out from underneath Kimberly, but she rocked on her hips pressing him down.
‘Now, now, I thought you worshipped my butt? I think it deserves more attention than that,’ stated Kimberly.
Ember winked and Kimberly shrugged; Ember gave the sign of thanks before taking a few of the girl’s clothes and slipping out of the room.
*
Lord Castro marched through each room of his mansion, shouting at each guard he found and cursing them for fools. He entered a random room, scanned it for someone to insult and stopped as a voice spoke to him.
‘I’m glad to see the attempt on your life was unsuccessful,’ said the man.
Lord Castro smoothed his shirt and nodded curtly. ‘Lord Fairbrook, I was not aware you’d arrived.’
‘I find it best to travel in secrecy,’ Lord Fairbrook replied.
‘Indeed, that’s a very wise choice,’ Lord Castro declared, and he closed the door. ‘Where’s your retinue?’
Lord Fairbrook rolled his arm lazily and pointed to a shadowed corner; a woman with gaunt cheeks and hollowed eyes stepped out. She looked in need of a good meal. ‘The others are making use of your entertainment. But what about this attempt on your life, what do you plan to do?’
‘I am having all the redheads rounded up, and then I shall have them all executed.’
‘Is that not a bit lenient? I’d have them all tortured, as well as all the other girls hired for tonight.’
‘The guild is not to be taken lightly. They have guild houses all over the world, and making an enemy of one would be to make an enemy of them all. Tomorrow, I shall have an audience with Mistress Ulster and let her know my displeasure, my leniency and my anger.’
‘Meaning?’
‘My displeasure is the death of seven of her sluts, my leniency is that I shall let the others go and my anger when I confront her to show I’m not a soft touch. I shall expect her to deliver unto me this assassin!’
‘You don’t think it will be one of these redheads?’
‘I doubt it; anyway, I hope not because I want the pleasure of killing this whore myself!’
*
Gorser leaned back in his chair, took a pinch of chewing tobacco and slipped it into his mouth. He chewed and looked out over his room with satisfaction. His room, his warehouse, his thiefdom, his world – it was good to be king.
His teeth tingled as he chewed, and he pulled out a hidden drawer on his massive blackwood desk, which had carvings of something he couldn’t work out, yet never failed to get a comment from his guests, making him feel good. He looked out at the paintings of surrealist art, which he personally detested, but it was painted by some famous artist. Even the carpet had its origins in the Arab lands of some sultan or other. He wasn’t a learned man, but he doubted many more learned men had nearly half his accumulation of historically and culturally important objects. And his warehouse was located far away from the mountain city, which added…
Okay, so he’d yet to think up an advantage for the location of his warehouse, but he felt sure there was one.
Gorser was content; he hadn’t done badly for a man who left his home at the tender age of twelve with just the shirt on his back.
There was the sound of music, which was cut off moments later. He was hosting a lavish – well, modest, as he didn’t need to waste money after all – party. It was the annual cloak-and-dagger ball, where all the shady guilds (that is, those that could travel the distance and those that weren’t so secret they refused the invite) gathered and made contracts with one another, and where gossip was spread. It was a good time of year to be a thief; he’d tasted his first woman during the cloak-and-dagger ball. She’d tasted of mangos. She was a richly skinned woman who used to import her make-up from her homelands and Gorser had loved the taste of mangos ever since.
Whatever had happened to her? She’d been an acolyte of the Faceless if he remembered rightly, although he really couldn’t remember if that meant she practised preventing its return or encouraging it.
There was a knock at his door, and Gorser was pulled from his contemplations.
A man opened the door and stated, ‘There are guests for you, Mr Sambol; are you ready to receive them?’
‘Yes, thank you, Gast; could you get us some wine, however?’ Gorser requested.
‘As you wish; red as usual or white for your guests, sir?’
‘Who are the guests?’ Gorser asked.
‘Mistress Ulster and her attendants,’ Gast replied.
‘White, Gast; we must make our guests feel welcome.’
The master assassin and master whore, who was a very powerful woman and had come personally to make a deal with him? Oh yes, it was good to be Gorser.
Gast nodded and held the door open for three women dressed in thick cloaks.
‘Mistress Ulster, it’s so kind of you to patronise my domain; I know how rare it is for you to leave your own home,’ welcomed Gorser.
‘Master Sambol, I shall make this quick,’ said Mistress Ulster.
‘Quick? Ah, the wine has arrived,’ Gorser replied.
Gast placed a glass in front of each of them and popped the cork. ‘This is from the 510th year of this current era; a fine year, it is said. Apparently, a great wyrm attacked the area where the vineyards are located and breathed its great fire over the houses. The vineyard was located far enough away to only receive a light singeing to the leaves; they absorbed much of the magic of the fire. The intensity of the fire is what gives this year such a fantastic, intense flavour.’
‘It was given as a gift to my predecessor by your predecessor; what more apt a time to open it?’ Gorser said with a wide smile.
‘It’s very gracious of you; however, I am here on official business,’ Mistress Ulster explained, sipping appreciatively at her wine.
Gorser froze, and then lowered his glass carefully. ‘Not literally, I trust?’
‘That depends; that thief you sold me – Grey – did you plant her into my organisation to thwart me?’ Mistress Ulster enquired, looking Gorser directly in the eye.
Gorser felt something akin to hot aches creeping over him, his mouth moved involuntarily, and his will to be in command of the situation faded.
Resist: mesmerise
Resistance failed
You have been afflicted: mesmerised
A strong mesmerisation has been cast on you; due to your high willpower and cunning, you have resisted it, but your resistance failed. You are now compelled to speak truthfully.
‘No,’ Gorser said.
‘Do you know of her parentage? Does she have debts? Is there any reason you know of that she might turn against me?’ demanded Mistress Ulster.
‘Her mother was one of my thieves; her father was a dock worker. She had no debts when she worked for me, and I know of no loan sharks she owes money too. I can think of no reason she would work against you.’
Gorser felt his willpower return and with it his anger, yet he held off his temper tantrum as it wasn’t wise to poke an assassin. ‘Mistress Ulster, how dare you enter my house and act in such a way? It is a disgraceful action; if it weren’t for the long and productive relationship between our two organisations, I would have you thrown out!’
Mistress Ulster nodded. ‘I apologise; however, she has cost me the life of seven of my workers, two of whom were also assassins, and left me in a rather indecorous position with Lord Castro who is playing the situation far better than I would have known the man to be capable of. It was why I am concerned that Ember was acting on someone else’s behalf.’
‘If it was me, I wouldn’t play the game of politics; I much prefer a knife in the back. It’s more traditional.’
‘Indeed, I apologise once more. I shall, of course, make it up to you, Master Sambol.’
‘I’m sure you will,’ Gorser said, as Mistress Ulster was known to be lavish in her gifts. ‘How do you intend to solve this dilemma?’
‘I shall offer Lord Castro a placating gift: Ember’s still-living body, drawn and quartered, I think. Even if this is some sort of freak accident, I cannot leave it be.’
‘And you have the perfect guild for such a thing, I’m sure. However, if you would accept some advice?’
Mistress Ulster nodded.
‘Might I suggest the hunters’ guild?’
Mistress Ulster’s eyes narrowed. The hunters’ guild had started in competition to the rangers’ guild. The rangers were tasked with cleaning out the monsters infesting the main roads, and generally looking after villages and hamlets in the more rural areas. However, the rangers refused to kill on commission; they instead investigated the situation, and then either cleansed the area, moved the creatures to a new area or left the creatures alone, depending on the situation. The hunters said that they would hunt anything, regardless of rarity or ethicality. And it wasn’t long until someone took them literally and tasked them with capturing a person. Since then, they’ve strayed a little too close to the assassins’ guild’s territory.
‘It is just that I’ve heard that the Sisters are around,’ Gorser explained.
Mistress Ulster sat back, surprised. The Sisters would have been thrown out of the assassins’ guild for brutality. There was such a thing as style, after all. ‘I see; I am not keen to be the first guild master to hire the hunters,’ she replied.
‘But when people understand it was the Sisters who were hired, I think they’ll accept that.’
‘Possibly, I was hoping to keep this in-house.’
‘News like this will spread; it’s best to make an example out of her.’
‘True. Information does have a habit of getting out.’
‘Like anything that isn’t nailed down,’ Gorser said with a smile.
*
Ember woke as the carriage lurched to a stop. A woman with a noble nose; a prim face; thick, black hair; and dressed in a purple jacket with a matching skirt and a white peacock scarf was watching Ember with a look that could have been pity, wry amusement or disdain. It was hard to know with that face.
‘Cold?’ the woman asked.
Ember shrugged. ‘I don’t feel it much.’
Ember had on a grotty jacket, torn, ill-fitting trousers and large glasses; she’d died her hair jet black, and wore it in a side parting and a plaited ponytail; and she’d added a few pox scars to her skin. It was nothing too elaborate, but pox-marked women were common enough, and the glasses drew attention to the fact that her eyes that day were muck brown. It was difficult choosing a disguise when working for the women of the night meant that she routinely changed her image and any description of her would need to be double-sided. She hoped that down playing it might be the best way.
The coach had stopped at a fishing village; it was possibly one of the highest elevation fishing villages on the Sphere. In fact, it wasn’t, but Ember didn’t know that.
This fishing village was built around a large lake near the top of the Alpas. The eastern side of the lake held an immense dam, from which all the boats heading down the mountain left. The dam was constructed to alter the flow of the river down an aqueduct to help with the transportation of fish, as all the roads wound around the mountainside, adding days onto the journey. The building of the aqueduct was one of the wonders of the modern age.
This was the only exit out of the river village, and Ember had hoped to take it, knowing that it was the most obvious route off the mountain, but also knowing it meant that anyone chasing her wouldn’t have any opportunity to overtake her. Unfortunately, someone had beaten her to the dam; it was obvious they were looking for her, and yet it wasn’t anyone she recognised, which meant it wasn’t an assassin. It also meant it wasn’t a prostitute either, but Ember hadn’t expected any of the women of the night to have been sent after her anyway.
Presumably, it meant that this woman who was looking for her had been sent by Lord Castro, which also meant that the woman wouldn’t have a good description of what she looked like. The best description would be tall, lean and muscled, with a round jaw and flattish nose. The red hair had been a wig, and the golden eyes had been the effects of a potion; heck, she’d even taken a potion before going to Lord Castro’s that had made her breasts swell by a cup size or two. The aftermath of the potion had been rather uncomfortable, but it meat that any description of her would be wide of the mark. However, Ember’s instincts had been honed by the thieves’, assassins’ and courtesans’ guilds and they were screaming at her that she wouldn’t be able to slip past.
There was a chance, however slim, that Mistress Ulster had sent a raven down to hire someone from outside the guild to track her, in which case the description would be much more accurate.
The woman was wearing a pair of glasses that had an odd tint to them; Ember had seen it before, and that pair was able to use the identify spell passively. That is to say, the glasses would highlight objects and people, and the wearer would then get a description of the item or person indicated.
Such a spell was not going to be fooled by hair and make-up. They were also extremely expensive, at least 1,000 gold, if not more. Even the price of the girls Lord Castro had killed wouldn’t be 1,000 gold.
A shorter girl approached the glasses wearer; there was something about the two that jogged something in Ember’s memory, but it was only faint. The two looked similar, they could be sisters. That last word echoed in Ember’s head until her eyes widened. Surely Mistress Ulster wouldn’t send them after her?
Ember was trapped; the lake was bordered by a practically impassable valley on the east side. She could take a carriage down the mountain, but that would take a week if not more, and would mean backtracking somewhat and increasing the chances of getting caught by Lord Castro’s men. So the only other option was walking into the wild, but the mountain wasn’t somewhere one would wander off the beaten track. There were trolls on the mountain, and mountain trolls weren’t house trained. There were also the pronged deer, which were C rated. That left swimming, which would be painful in the freezing waters, but – thanks to her resistance to cold – it wouldn’t be fatal. It didn’t mean it was going to be nice though.
Ember moved to a quiet spot, checked for anyone watching, activated her ability and dove into the water. It stung her like a slap, all of her skin tightened, and it sent singles to her brain. It was so overwhelming that she couldn’t feel anything else, including any sensation of movement.
When her health dropped by 12 points, it took her a moment to realise she’d been attacked. A large, hook-toothed fish with crazy eyes and a set lower jaw twisted around and made a second pass; she didn’t dodge in time and suffered another loss to her health points.
Race: April pike
Genus: piscine
Class: D
The April pike is an aggressively territorial creature, attacking anything that passes through its territory, including but not limited to bears, piranhas, humans, boats and, on one reported occasion, a leviathan.
Affiliation: Mars
Harvestable items: scales, teeth, silver (rare)
State: angry
Level: 4
Health unknown, stamina unknown, magicka unknown
Battle log:
Struck by pike for slash damage
Struck by pike for slash damage
Ember looked around wildly for the creature or any of its kind, as they swim in schools, and she spotted it circling around once more. Ember tracked it and, when she was confident of its movements, she fired an ice dagger at it, which struck it in the eye, killing it in one shot.
Turning, she swam on, returning to the surface for a breath before dropping under the surface again to avoid detection. She activated her weak-aura-vision spell and immediately spotted a school of objects outlined in red line, meaning they were a threat, and they were getting gradually larger, so clearly were heading in her direction. Mostly likely, they were more pikes.
She really didn’t fancy her chances against so many; they weren’t tough, but they were quick and agile, and their bites hut! Or at least they did when she could feel her body.
She swam over to the dam, took a quick look over her shoulder and saw the pike were nipping at her heels. Fortunately, she was wearing sturdy boots, but the pikes were stripping away the leather protection quickly. The pikes were incensed by an intruder into their territory, and – even as Ember fired spikes at them – more arrived; Ember was forced to abandon the fight and swim with all her might.
Her life started dropping, and she received a bleed notification, which kept increasing as the pike tore at her heels, but Ember couldn’t stop or else she’d be swamped by them.
The dam was now sucking her into it, and the extra boost to her speed this offered kept her away from the pikes, but it meant she was being pulled into the great turbines that drove the saw in the lumber mill and the grindstone in the granary. Yet if she tried to slow down, that would mean the pikes would catch her.
Ember used her blizzard spell to fire streams of ice at the turbine; the cold had no effect on it, but the frozen water forced into the turbine did slow it somewhat. Ember took advantage of the decreased pull of the turbine to swim over to the overflow port.
Her struggling against the tide gave the pikes more opportunity to bite at Ember’s legs, and her life dropped dangerously into the low 30s, with bleed looking to take her down to 20 points. Also, as she fought against the current, she needed to use both hands, and so the turbines started to speed back up again.
The turbine shuddered, the sound of which travelled well in the water and startled Ember, who for a moment thought a golem was chasing her. She looked over her shoulder, and the turbine shredded a pike that had got caught in the slipstream. It never stood a chance and was blended into a fine mist. Ember swam harder, but she was short of breath and stamina.
The turbine groaned again as another pike was sucked in. Ember reached the overflow and used her hands to pull herself through as the turbine reached full speed and pulled her back. She struggled, the pikes were sucked away, and her arms shook as she fought the pull. Her grip was slipping on the slick metal, and, as she tried to pull herself through the overflow, her hand slipped and she suddenly was holding the overflow one-handed.
There was an immense rumble as the school of pikes were sucked into the turbine, which slowed as it ground them to mist, and Ember was able to pull herself through finally and swim to the surface for a breath. She spotted a nearby boat and swam over to it pulling herself up and collapsing onto the deck.
Battle log:
483 experience points earned for killing 14 April pikes; 93,079 experience points to the next level
An old man stood watching Ember, who was – quite naturally – soaked through, but also standing there in ripped boots and a pool of water mixed with blood was forming around her. The man didn’t look surprised at the sudden intrusion; he didn’t look like a man who could be surprised any more.
‘I seek board on your boat,’ Ember said panting.
‘I see,’ the man replied, looking back at the commotion at the dock, ‘Friends of yours?’
‘Please, I just need to get to the next town or hamlet.’
‘You see, this vessel is going deep-sea fishing.’
‘Could you just drop me off? I can pay.’
‘The next stop is the sea; the next time we reach land is in about two fortnights.’
Ember looked the man over, sizing him up. He was clearly old, though it was difficult to tell how old as age was prolonged with an increase in level. He was thin, but looked gnarled, like an oak staff that had aged to the point it was tougher than iron. Even Ember, who could start to show signs of a six pack in a good month, wouldn’t fancy her chances against him in a fist fight. He had a thick, white moustache that looked like it was older than her and had seen more in that time than was good for it. The man’s eyes were dimmed, but he looked unshakable.
‘I could be of use; the men must need – distractions,’ she hinted.
‘Not of that kind; you’ll work the nets or you’ll go back,’ he declared.
‘Into the ice water!’
‘You came from the sea; you return to the sea,’ the man said with a shrug.
Ember looked at the man’s hands, which were calloused and leathery. ‘Working on my back sounds more appealing.’
‘Aye, it’s hard work.’
‘Where do you put in next?’
‘Port Checkers; we expect to be there in the next twenty days.’
‘Shit, that’s a setback. Fine, I’ll work the nets. What’s the name of this vessel?’
‘The Armitage.’
‘I’m Ember.’
‘Captain Banner.’