Chapter II: Moment's Respite

With time to spare before nightfall, Rieta returned to the hideaway. She laid claim to some extra coinage; even managed to pilfer some goods from stands to satisfy the growling in her stomach. Back inside, she quickly stuffed her face full of fruit and bread until the growling was satisfied. She crawled over to the cushioned side of the shelter, laying down on the makeshift bed to relax for a moment.

Hard to believe I'm leaving, Rieta mused.

Everything she ever knew was in this city, for better or worse, but after months of preparation, she was finally ready. A part of her felt excited at the thought of finally beginning. It was her very own chance at adventure, like a heroine from legend. Another part felt guilt, leaving everything and everyone she knew behind.

No, I shouldn't feel that way.

Pushing those feelings aside, Rieta, without thinking, reached for the dagger hidden in her boot. She drew the blade and gripped it tightly, afraid it would disappear from her grasp at the slightest provocation.

Once again, she could not help but marvel at the design of the strange blade. Its hilt cast from some kind of blackened bone, with a blade that seemed to shine even in the dimly lit shelter. On the blade was a strange insignia. It seemed to be lines jutting through lines in strange angles, forming a kind of hexagonal shape, with a shining silver sphere at its center, gleaming.

Staring at it brought forth memories unbidden. They were hazy as if seen through a dream, or a nightmare.

Figures in black, Arveene yelling to run, a horrid site of blood and bodies...Arveene, body cold and limp, chest pierced by this very blade, screams of anguish that echo through empty alleyways, into an unfeeling void.

Rieta, tears forming in her eyes, violently shook herself free. Her breathing suddenly ragged and a cold sweat formed on her brow. Slowly she regained control and managed to calm herself. Ghosts, nothing but ghosts and bad dreams.

Dagger still gripped tightly in her hand, she forced herself to focus instead on the path ahead. Her journey was not an easy road, and she could not falter, neither from trauma or bad dreams.

She closed her eyes for a moment as Drey's words once again echoed in her mind.

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"Yeah, no doubt about it," Drey said, eyes studying the dagger from every angle, "this here dagger can't be from round here."

Drey was a shifty sort of dwarf, more at home in a den of thieves than the smithies and battlefields she knew from stories. His hairline was receding with age, and silver whiskers now speckled his brown beard. His shop, if you could call it that, was a haphazard mess, with odd baubles and papers strewn about in one of the seedier parts in town.

It had taken her months of searching high and low to find this place. Drey was an odd one and rarely mentioned outside a few circles, specializing in information and smuggling the strange and exotic throughout the Imperium. Considering all other avenues had led to dead ends, he seemed the best shot Rieta had for finding where this dagger came from, and maybe some clue about who once owned it.

After several minutes of deliberation and thinking, Drey finally muttered vaguely, "Think it must come from...somewhere north?"

Rieta pursed her lips, she was afraid this would be all that she got from Drey. It was all she ever got from these "supposed" professionals scattered throughout the city's underworld.

We live in "the beating heart of trade and commerce this side of the continent," and this is all I get from you people?!? Rieta fumed internally. She took a moment to calm herself, then asked coldly, "Can I get a name? Place? Anything?"

Drey scratched his balding scalp nervously and avoided eye contact, "Well, I may have an educated guess, but it's not necessarily right, see? This kinda blade don't get circulated round here much so-"

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Rieta, tired of his rambling, pulled some more coins from her purse and laid them on the table. Drey snatched them without a word, but that seemed to do the trick. Rieta rolled her eyes as he quickly counted the amount.

"Ah yes, of course." Drey said finally, with a new bout of confidence, "Syndramire, only place I know where you might find a blade like this, also..." He then pointed to the symbol on the blade, "Think I've seen this here symbol before on coins from there sometimes. Might be a symbol for a noble or somethin' up there."

"Syndramire." She muttered, less for confirmation and more stunned to finally have an answer, if a confusing one. Syndramire was about as backwater a place as you could get. It was on the edge of the map, situated at the northern end of the Amber Sea. It was shrouded in mystery, and gained a particular reputation as news trickled out over generations.

"Yyyuuup, Syndramire." Drey responded. "Land of Mists and Monsters, way I hear it."

She mulled the words in her mind for a second, before strengthening her resolve. She knew there was always a possibility this would lead down dangerous paths, but she had to see it to the end. "Do you know any sailors who travel out that far?"

Drey chuckled at that, "Listen, lady. Not sure where you got this knife or why your thinkin' to ask me these questions, but take a little word of advice, don't even think about it. Nothing comes out of there except strange tales, ancient magics, and nightmares."

Her response was a cold, unnatural stare, causing the hair on the back of his neck to stand on end.

Visibly unsettled, he raised his hands as if in surrender, "Alright, lady. I get it, you want what you want. Gimme a second." He got up and went over to the right of his shop, searching through a pile of papers. Finally, he found what he was looking for and turned back around, "Well, I got one guy who goes out that far, but nobody goes straight from here to Syndramire. I expect it'll cost a pretty penny, no matter how you slice it."

Without a moment's hesitation, she reached again for her coin purse, "I'll pay whatever it takes. How much?"

Drey scratched his head again, "Best guess? About five hundred gold pieces for the whole trip, give or take."

She flinched, at best she had a fraction of the amount. Uncertain, she cleared her throat, "W-when does he leave?"

He sighed, "Well, he ain't here right now, usually makes his way up and down the coasts, selling and trading 'long the way. Usually see him make landfall here about once a year. He left about a month ago, so I say you got some time." He paused, meeting her gaze. "...'slong as you really want it."

Rieta swallowed. Her thoughts cacophonous as a battle raged within.

It's too much. There's no way I-

There isn't anything keeping me here anymore. I can find the people who killed her, get some answers and...

I'm not strong enough-

-but I have to do this!

I'm just a no name thief-

-the only one who can do something!

There's just too much…Me.

Then we have to become something more.

The last thought silenced the others as it echoed in her mind. A plan began to take form. Confidence renewed, she smiled then said before leaving, "I do, tell him to expect me the next time he comes to port."

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The plan was now well underway and finally nearing completion. It required more money than she ever knew. So Rieta got by on scraps, and did whatever it took to earn the money. It took almost the whole year, but she had earned enough for travel and equipment. Everything was falling into place. There was now only one thing left to retrieve, but it was perhaps the most crucial, as far as Rieta was concerned. As sunset fast approached, she returned the dagger to its place and made preparations to leave for the rendezvous.

Part of those preparations included a brief opportunity to freshen up. All that really meant was she had time to fix up her hair with some help from Arveene's old comb. Rieta always thought she had the most beautiful hair, golden like the sun that always came together perfectly no matter what she did with it. Rieta's hair, on the other hand, was black as midnight, and prone to rebellion at the slightest provocation. Still, she did her best to maintain it when feasible. It had grown out since she last combed it, falling past her shoulders to the small of her back. The process to tame it was difficult. She spent the majority of the time pulling through gnarled clumps with gritted teeth.

An eternity passed before she finally got it under control. She then used what little time remained for a simple braid to keep her hair out of her eyes. The rest was left to fall as it may across her shoulders and back. No time left to lose, she quickly pocketed the comb and returned to the alleys once more.