.
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...before sunrise, 36th of Winter, 513 AV.
A few hours had passed, at best. The sun was nowhere to the be seen, the snow had yet to stop falling and most of the city was still sleeping. Rokan's body had not moved from where Wrenmae left it, though it was already beginning to attract a crowd. It was mostly the thugs--the nightprowlers who had approached and acknowledged its presence. That man had lived in Robern's shadow, but most of the city had still heard the name "Rokan" before. The Rotter had few generals and most of them were known by name to the populace and every single one of their enemies in the city, though their faces was something else entirely. It had taken a while before the identity of the dead Daggerhand surfaced from little more than a careless whisper in the crowd. Everyone was expecting quite the spectacle in the square come dawn, but that was still hours away.
Wrenmae had suspected it. The city has eyes everywhere in the middle of the night, and many had been on his back when he prepared Rokan's body. Many had watched the fight that lead up to the gruesome display, and many yet had watched him when he walked away. Some continued to follow him as he retreated towards whatever hole he intended to crawl in, but they'd see to it that he didn't make it that far.
The streets were quiet. They'd seen to that, too. People had been ushered back into their homes, windows had been sealed and doors shut. There weren't many in Sunberth who would turn down a warning if it spared their lives, especially not in this hour of the night. With the steady snowfall, fresh snow blanketed the streets ahead of Wrenmae and the silence pressed heavily around him. He was already far away from the square; far enough that he could no longer spy the streets opening up into it through the white curtain behind and the darkness beyond. It wouldn't be long now before the entire city knew of Rokan's death and the message he'd left behind. The citizens of Sunberth may be dribbling mutts, but enough had suffered under the Daggerhand's and Robern's oppressive tactics that some would come sniffing his way. For holding on so dearly to their resentment of any established power, they were usually very quick to come crawling after those who had it.
Only the crunching of the snow beneath Wrenmae's shoes broke the silence. It was a long street that stretched before him with plenty of narrow passageways leading off between the buildings, the shadows almost tumbling out because they couldn't compete with the pitch darkness that lurked between the walls and under the makeshift ceilings.
"... Hound," a muffled voice came from above.
Wrenmae had suspected it. The city has eyes everywhere in the middle of the night, and many had been on his back when he prepared Rokan's body. Many had watched the fight that lead up to the gruesome display, and many yet had watched him when he walked away. Some continued to follow him as he retreated towards whatever hole he intended to crawl in, but they'd see to it that he didn't make it that far.
The streets were quiet. They'd seen to that, too. People had been ushered back into their homes, windows had been sealed and doors shut. There weren't many in Sunberth who would turn down a warning if it spared their lives, especially not in this hour of the night. With the steady snowfall, fresh snow blanketed the streets ahead of Wrenmae and the silence pressed heavily around him. He was already far away from the square; far enough that he could no longer spy the streets opening up into it through the white curtain behind and the darkness beyond. It wouldn't be long now before the entire city knew of Rokan's death and the message he'd left behind. The citizens of Sunberth may be dribbling mutts, but enough had suffered under the Daggerhand's and Robern's oppressive tactics that some would come sniffing his way. For holding on so dearly to their resentment of any established power, they were usually very quick to come crawling after those who had it.
Only the crunching of the snow beneath Wrenmae's shoes broke the silence. It was a long street that stretched before him with plenty of narrow passageways leading off between the buildings, the shadows almost tumbling out because they couldn't compete with the pitch darkness that lurked between the walls and under the makeshift ceilings.
"... Hound," a muffled voice came from above.
.
