“Hmm, still alive?”

A raspy feminine voice spoke to Ricard. Or at least he assumed she was speaking to him. After all that’s the only thing he could hear. He felt a cold force wrapping around his wrist.This reminded Ricard that he indeed had arms and perhaps other limbs as well, maybe even skin.

Piece by piece he managed to reconnect to the rest of his body and put a considerable effort into focusing on his environment. It was warm. Maybe even a bit too much so, still it was an improvement over the river repeatedly leaching into his bones with its icy tendrils. There was something on him, it seemingly covered everything except his neck and head. Though he could only feel parts of it where it touched his hands and neck.

Luckily it meant that he still had clothes on, unluckily he still wasn’t sure if he was passed out with some clothes piled on him or if he was tied down in some corpse snatcher’s rotting shed. After he remembered how his body functioned Ricard took the time to take a few subtle short sniffs to help him orient himself. It was damp, with an ever so light touch of mold. Well apart from ruling out the upper districts of the city this didn’t help much.

Resigning himself to his fate, Ricard listened. Trying to figure out how many people were around him. No footsteps, or anything else besides rain. A sickly kind, the kind that has miniscule droplets but continues to rain for ages to ensure it will still ruin your day. Another confirmation that he was still in Vertas.

“Stable...”

Ricard heard movement. Slow, scraping steps through either grass or dirt slowly growing distant. Once he couldn’t hear them anymore he took the risk and slowly opened his eyes. Firstly he took a look at whatever was spread across him, to his initial relief it was only an old rag that once might have been a blanket. However the relief soon dampened after realizing that the stains weren’t part of some decorative pattern.

Around him were four ‘walls’, if one would be generous enough to describe them as such, illuminated by a single oil lamp sitting on a wooden box, based on the heavy shadows surrounding it and the lack of light coming through the various holes in the walls, it must have been night. The walls were made of various patched together pieces of fabric, wood and other various scrap. It had some metal tubes serving as structural support. They followed the contour of the tent, coming closer until they reached the top, where they were tied around something round with metal wires.

Water seeped through the various holes, tears and structural weak points. Some spots become muddy miniature swamps around the tent’s dirt ‘floor’. The tent itself was large enough for one person to live somewhat comfortably, maybe two if they were willing to sleep in the same bed. Though the exact size was hard to judge due to the various piles of scrap placed semi randomly, though perhaps some of these served as furniture..

Two wooden boxes put on top of each other with an old ironing board tied to the back of them might have served as a chair and the half rotten coffee table as.. Well a table. What functions everything else could have served was beyond Ricard. He took a deep breath and slowly rose up from his bed, though he couldn’t help but hiss a few colorful sentences under his breath as he fought against the soreness of his body.

“Your sweet dragonfucking mother…”

With a quick look and pat down he confirmed that indeed he was still dressed, and his various valuables were still gone. After yet another deep breath and some additional wincing he managed to stand up, right into one of the muddy spots on the floor. Ricard slowly lifted his feet up and tried to shake off the mud, somehow managing to get it on his other shoe and some on his pants as well.

“Of course.. Naturally. Why wouldn’t that happen?”

Resisting the temptation to go on a rage fueled tirade to finally find an outlet for the boiling frustration within him, Ricard slowly walked towards the ‘door’ of the makeshift tent. A rather large, wet and heavy rug that took several attempts to lift up enough for Ricard to squeeze himself through. Only to be hit with an altogether familiar stench, a mixture of a finely marinated dead possum and an imploded septic tank.

“Leper’s street.. Shit.”

In front of him was a tent not so dissimilar from the one he was currently residing in. Between them was a slop consisting of mud, various bits of trash and whatever small animal was dumb and slow enough to get stuck in it. Long wooden and metal boards littered the narrow mud street, a desperate measure to navigate through it. Rows of hovels, huts and tents made of different refuse were placed around half haphazardly, creating narrow passage in between them.

A woman came out from the tent in front of Ricard. She used some sort of cane and several hoods and layers of clothes on, all of which were covered in soot and mud. Her face was unnaturally pale. She stared at Ricard for a few moments before she started to walk towards him.

Panicking and confused, Ricard decided that the best plan was to escape from the horrifying old woman through the labyrinthine pathways. Though he didn’t manage to go far as he continuously heard the woman shouting after him. He didn’t look back. He just continued to walk. He needed someplace to think, someplace safe, someplace..somewhere else. This place was filled with too many memories to allow him to think. He looked around, trying to orient himself.

In the distance he saw the silhouette of the city, the real one, spires and sky scrapes towering over them like uncaring gods. He almost forgot how awe inspiring and mighty they looked from far away. It drew the poor and wretched closer with its siren promises. Security, strength, hope.. a future. If only it was so simple. Vertas never gives, it only takes, until there is nothing left to take. Like moths to the flame the young and stupid crawl to it just to burn up. The only way to live is to be able to take more back. But sometimes the city is too greedy to wait for its prey to come to it. Sometimes it goes to hunt.

Deafening rattling and shouting started to fill the slums as people started to run towards the direction of Ricard. One of them accidentally pushed him down into the mud as they ran. A few others pushed him further in as they used him as a makeshift ramp to run. As the shouting and rattling reached its peak Ricard finally saw the cause of the commotion. The silhouette of a man wearing some sort of cape and a long narrow helmet appeared between some of the buildings, the shouting becoming more clear as a rough voice spoke up once again.

“Search every damn hut! We are going to flush out those Doves one way or another!”

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Ricard instantly recognized the figure, not the individual, that never mattered. The hounds always want one of two things, blood or gold. If they were after the latter he might be able to get some sort of deal, however it started to look more and more like they were here for the former. From the corner of his eye he saw a pale and wrinkled hand reaching towards him. He looked up, seeing the same woman he ran away from. Her face was ever more pale up close, like a corpse with freshly bleached skin. Her eyes were golden and enchanting yet haunting at the same time. Her hair was hidden behind the layers of hoods she wore.

Her face had some hints of age, the slight beginning of wrinkles though judging from her eyes and the tone of her voice she should have looked far older.

“You can finish that mud bath later sweetheart. Watchmen will be here soon.”

Ricard firmly grasped her hand, more as a way to pull himself out rather than relying on whatever meager strength the old woman had left in her. Once he was standing and managed to wipe most of the mud off he followed after the old lady who managed to already get a lead. She acted as his guide, occasionally stopping and hiding behind the ramshackle buildings as watchmen passed by.

Desperate cries for help filled the narrow passageways alongside the sound of trash huts being torn down. Ricard started to see more and more watchmen pass by, barely managing to avoid them. The old lady led him to the edge of this settlement towards an enormous brick wall with a menagerie of rusty pipes sticking out of it. From each a gentle stream of sewage and various other foulness spilled out. The old lady quickly opened a metal grate near the base of the wall and gestured for Ricard to enter.

He hesitated. Trying to examine his surroundings for a better place to hide, the old lady seemingly losing her patients barked at Ricard.

“Do you want your ribs shattered? No? Then get in there and stay quiet sonny.”

Then without another word she was off, walking back towards the ever escalating chaos within the settlement. After weighing his options, Ricard climbed through the passageway behind the grate. It was just wide enough to fit his body and long enough to fully crawl into it, though the height forced him to lay down. It was pitch black in there, there were a few stray rays of light passing through the grate, but he avoided them as much as possible.

Deeming it too dangerous, Ricard didn’t try to get a peak outside. He tried to lay as still as possible and listen. He heard footsteps. They became louder, and louder. Ricard prepared himself to rush out if the need would arise. Something scraped against the stone wall. Climbing then crawling into one of the pipes judging by the metallic thud. Then the footsteps started up again, this time walking away.

This happened three more times during the night. On the third Ricard managed to gather the courage to crawl forwards and peek through the rusty grate. It was the same woman who brought him here, but with a child standing next to her, clearly terrified. The woman directed the kid towards one of the various pipes. She leaned into it and whispered something, she walked up to 3 others and did the same, then she walked away.

The settlement seems calmer, there was still movement and shouting but a lot less than before, Ricard briefly considered just running. Trying to get away before he was inevitably found, but it didn’t feel right. His panicked mind came up with hundreds of unrealistic arguments and scenarios all justifying why he should run now and not look back, he almost believed them, but from the corner of his eye he saw something move from one of the other pipes the old lady whispered into. Another child, briefly poking their head out.

He would draw attention to them. And either way, the idea of leaving a bunch of street kids in the clutches of the watchmen didn’t sit right with him. He had the scars to prove what the result would be. So he waited. With every second seeming like an eternity and every creaking pipe like a watchmen’s boot, until the sun came up. The old lady came back along with a few other people. She walked up to each pipe with a child inside and tapped on it. Twice and then thrice.

One by one the children crawled out and embraced the people that gathered there. After a few minutes of the children crying and apologizing most of the adults thanked the old lady and walked away. After a few minutes of silence she tapped on Ricard’s grate.

“It’s alright sonny, watchmen are gone now..”

It didn’t take much more than that to get Ricard to crawl out and stand like a person again.At first he managed to resist the mind numbing horror that was the state of his outfit. It was hard to see where the dirt ended and the clothes began. He feverishly tried to clean himself before the old lady continued talking.

“Now then, how about you tell me who you are sweetheart?”

Ricard tensed at the question. He did feel a certain debt towards this woman. He might owe her his life. Another day, another debt he can never repay. And one that might send him to a watery grave.. Again.

“It’s a.. long story.”

“Pissed off someone powerful have we? No need to answer sonny, don’t worry. Ratting you out would cause more harm than good here. Well can I at least get your name?”

“Ricard.. and you are Miss ?”

“Call me Granny. Everyone does. Now Ricard do you want some tea?”

“No thanks. I need to go somewhere.”

And lay down somewhere that’s not covered by mud and shit.

“Hmm.. alright sweetheart. Try to stay safe okay? It would be a shame if you got hit by an atca after I nursed you back to health.”

And without another word Granny walked back into the labyrinthine pathways of Leper’s Street.

Ricard quietly considered his options, and decided that his biggest priority was getting home, passing out on his own bed and then swiftly eating the most freshly baked and overpriced bagel he could find. Once again taking a deep breath he looked up at the silhouette of the skyscrapers in the distance and started to walk towards them.

It wasn’t easy and took many wrong turns but eventually he managed to find his way out of Leper’s Street. Right into Lowcourt. Thankfully he managed to find one of the safer back alleys and additionally it was a work day, most locals were toiling in the factories. He was safe from the time being. For once in his life Ricard was happy that his apartment was so close to Leper’s Street. He walked through the “heavy” residential district. Or as he called it, block garden. After the great fire, some mages were secretly contracted to rebuild this part of the district. Creating rows of plaine identical granite blocks with the occasional decorative pillar. Though as he walked the alleys Ricard could only see the backs of them, where there was no detail, just a wall with metal stairs zigzagging along them in a repeating pattern.

After passing between the stone goliaths like a bug through the teeth of a dragon, Ricard finally reached the back of his own block. He walked through the back entrance which was only meant to be used for emergencies with an intricate lock system which only allowed people to go out of the building. Luckily that was broken long ago, most likely by some teenegers sneaking out to drink.

The interior was as bland and uninspired as the outside, however the stone stairs added a sense of class to the block that it certainly didn’t deserve. He carried himself up through the stone slabs until he reached his apartment, the wooden doors sticking out like a sore thumb from the stone environment. Besides his door was an extra particularity, a single plant inside a clay pot. Ricard proceeded to nonchalantly pull the plant out, littering dirt all over the floor and then pull out the spare key he stashed in the pot. He reached for the door knob, the image of his clean bed lingering in front of him, moments away.. As his door suddenly opens up, revealing a large muscular man behind it , carrying Ricard’s chair on his shoulder.