Vandros
The city of Vandros never
sleeps, and neither do its secrets.
My name is Alamir Greyhaven, but
the whispers on the streets call me The Rings of Saturn. A rogue by
trade, a pickpocket by reputation, and—on my better days—a gentleman by choice.
My nights are often spent dancing between shadows, lifting coins from bloated
purses, or charming nobles with loose lips and looser morals. But this last
stretch of days… they’ve been something else entirely.
It began with the grand masquerade ball
at House Namarra, where I rubbed elbows with the elite while keeping my
real focus on the vault no one was supposed to notice.
I noticed.
The room's layout suggested
secrets—hidden doors, extra guards near empty halls, and a locked vault that
didn’t appear on any blueprint. Amid the glitter and chatter, I met Lady
Virelle Cindara, a striking Namarran noblewoman with quick wit, sharp eyes,
and a neckline so sharp that it could cut glass. She was curious about me from the moment
we met—and I was just as intrigued. We danced across the ballroom floor, and I
scored a return appointment with her at midnight.
But there was one problem: I already had midnight plans. I’d previously agreed to meet an old acquaintance, a dock worker and personal informant named Kerret, high atop the city clocktower. With a little persuasion, I convinced Lady Virelle to push our appointment back 15 minutes. I’d need to hurry if I wanted to make it to both meetings.
Vandros Clocktower
I sprinted straight to the clocktower, as fast as my human legs could carry me. And there, in the darkness, stood Kerret—a grizzled employee of the Industrial Quarter. He looked a little worse for wear, but I was used to seeing him dirty or grimy, a hallmark of his blue-collar work ethic. Holding the tools of his trade and looking as if he may not even have clocked out yet, he wore a basic tunic shirt with workman's pants and an overcoat to keep him safe from the elements. Thick blonde hair and a full beard framed a face thzmat showed the passage of time, which has not aged him gracefully, but he looked more tired than he did old. He wore a hat, like that of a paperboy, and his hair spilled out from under it. As usual, a twinkle of mischief and adventure was in his eyes. His taut muscles serve as a testament to his strength. But something was different tonight.
Kerret appeared shaken. He’d seen something out at the docks—unusual shipments
coming through under cover of darkness, men he didn’t recognize, and crates
being hauled to Warehouse 43, with no paperwork and too many
guards. What’s more, Kerret said that there was something odd happening around the
city; he had found raven feathers oddly placed in three different locations around
town earlier in the day, including near the aforementioned warehouse.
That was the tip I needed. I swore
to Kerret that I would investigate it first thing in the morning, but for now,
I had to go—and quickly. Kerret threw out a rope ladder for me to rapidly descend
the tower walls, and then I was off to Crescent Fountain at Velwine Square
to rendezvous with the lovely Lady Virelle.
Crescent Fountain, Velwine Square
With the wind at my back and under
the cover of shadows, I fled swiftly to the fountain, where I had promised to
meet the masked mademoiselle. Arriving just one time, I wiped the sweat from my
brow and recharged my swagger.
After a few moments of silence and suspense, Lady Virelle arrived. A promise kept. Not a bad start. There was an elegance to her movements that made her seem like she was gliding rather than walking, each step measured with poise. Her posture was that of someone who was accustomed to both attention and authority. There seemed to be something unreadable about her gaze, but there was also a trace of mischief that danced in her eyes that night. She was wearing a dress of dark emerald green silk, which clung to her form in a manner that wasn’t overtly scandalous—but it was close. On her fingers, she wore several rings, the most prominent being a moonstone ring, which she appeared to be casually admiring as she approached. In the faint moonlight, I saw that she wore a choker of black velvet around her neck, with a necklace adorned by a small obsidian raven—conspicuous, considering what Kerret had told me just moments ago. (And that necklace was so peculiar—as if the dark stone absorbed all of the light that touched it!) To top off the ensemble, she wore an ornate masquerade mask that was perched on her face—dark green and black, to match her gown, with small golden gems around the—giving off a faint hint of a noble lineage.
I cornered her in a quiet alcove and
began to flatter her with my words. I’m not sure that she was entirely
impressed, but as the moments passed, our conversation became a dangerous dance.
I pressed her for information—names, symbols, rumors—and while she gave little,
her silence told me more than her words. I left her suddenly with a smirk and the hope
that our paths might cross again… but not before using some sleight of hand trickery to
steal her raven-emblazoned necklace as a souvenir. A quiet lift. Elegant,
clean, and no one the wiser.
I melted back into the night and
made stealthily retreated to my secret hideout for a nice, long rest. I had a big day
ahead of me.
Warehouse 43
When morning came, I made my move. Warehouse
43 was a rusted husk on the edge of the docks, hiding far more than old
nets and crates. I scanned the area and spotted the first sign of trouble: a
raven’s feather. I climbed atop some crates to get a better vantage point of
the area. Through a high window, I spied Kerret, bound with chains and beaten,
slumped against a wall, with a hooded thug watching over him like a hound at
heel. The moment demanded precision—and I delivered with one shot from my short
bow. I fletched a single arrow and let it fly from the shadows—a natural 20—and
it struck true, piercing the thug in the shoulder. Chaos followed.
The scuffle was tight. The goon
furiously slashed me with his scimitar, cutting me across the arm. While
fighting him off, I simultaneously attempted to break Kerret loose. Unfortunately, I bungled my attempt to spring the lock on Kerret’s shackles with my thieves’ tools, but improvised with a crowbar to release my
informant from his captivity. To slow the thug, I scattered ball bearings across the
floor—a classic rogue technique. His giant feet were no match for my trap; he
fell prone on his back, allowing me to pummel him with a brutal exchange of
blows. I ended it the way I prefer: a critical unarmed strike, boot to
face, and down he went.
That’s when the real treasure surfaced—not in those heavily guarded crates, but in the thug’s terrified lips. Under pressure, he spilled everything: he’d been hired by an underground crime lord called Big Jarek, a name that was only ever whispered in fear and backroom deals.
Jarek had recently been spotted
operating out of a local tavern called The Nighthawk, and though the
thug didn’t know all the details, the shadow of a group called the Maelstrom
Syndicate loomed over it all. Their calling cards were everywhere—raven
tattoos, black feathers, the shuttering of local businesses in the market
district. It all lined up.
Before we left, I cracked open one of the crates to see what was so worth protecting. Inside: a golden pendant, a vial of glowing liquid, a silver ring, a ceremonial dagger, and a goblet. I took the pendant—perhaps as a peace offering to Virelle, should our paths cross again—and the glowing vial, which pulsed with unknown magic. I left the dagger and the goblet—didn’t need them. I took the ring but couldn’t resist dropping it onto the thug’s chest as a calling card. Enjoy, pal.
The Streets of Vandros
With Kerret limping beside me, we
stepped into the early morning light. On the way back to my hidden home, we passed through the bustling
market, where I spotted a weary mother and her small child, hunger in
their eyes and fatigue in her bones. I knelt down, pressed three gold pieces
into the child’s hand, and told him to take care of his mother. He nodded,
wide-eyed. A quiet moment in the storm.
Lady Virelle was there in the market that morning, too. Watching from the
crowd. I didn’t notice at first, but I could feel her gaze—curious, maybe even
amused. Perhaps, she could tell that I wasn’t a complete scoundrel after all. If
she had questions before, I imagine she had even more now.
Back at the safe house, Kerret and I took a moment to breathe, patch our wounds, and rest. I stashed my loot—the golden pendant and the glowing vial—but this story was far from over.
Big Jarek. The Nighthawk. The
Maelstrom Syndicate. The vault at House Namarra. Every thread was wound tighter
than the last, and I had a hold of all of them.
I didn’t plan on letting go.
To be continued.
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