Chapter 45: Crawling in the Shadows (1/2)

A decrepit beggar, little more than a skin sack full of bones, was lying in a gutter near the northern gate of Wyrport. Any casual observer would likely assume that the beggar was on his last legs, both literally and physically, since his worm-eaten peg leg was just about to fall apart.

A group of four adventurers left through the gate. The beggar, who for all intents and purposes had been simply staring into the distance, leapt up onto his one remaining foot. No sooner had he accomplished this somewhat impressive feat, before he was hobbling down a nearby alley.

His path took him into the oldest and most decayed section of the city slums. He made his way into a simple and nondescript house. It was clearly abandoned, without even the usual squatters that such a building would acquire in this part of town.

The beggar knew that no one would be in the house, none of the slum dwellers would have dared.

He carefully descended a set of stairs leading down into the basement. It was nearly pitch black, but he moved with practiced ease over to a large metal door set into the wall. With a groan he pulled it open, release a dry and dusty odor from the room beyond.

The beggar walked out into the largely empty chamber. Small, white ghost lights illuminated the room allowing him to navigate his way towards a large stone coffin resting upon a raised dais.

He kneeled at the foot of the coffin, and began muttering with fanatical devotion. ”Master, I've been keeping watch as you requested. The Hero has left the city in the company of three other adventurers.”

There was a sepulchral gasp, and one clawed hand gripped the side of the coffin. The skin was grey and dry. It carried with it the dusty and chilling scent of an old grave.

A wheezing ancient voice issued from the confines of the coffin. ”Good.....good...Find....Brutus....have...him.....retrieve.....the....Hero.”

The crazed beggar grinned with manic delight. ”As you wish, Master. This humble servant will fulfill your wishes.”

”Give...me....your.....blood....I...need...to.....contact...the.....Mistress.”

”Of course, Master.” The beggar produced a knife and placed it against his arm. Several scars, some of which were still in the process of healing covered the limb. With practiced ease, the beggar cut another line into his flesh before hanging it over the coffin.

The grey, corpse-like hand grabbed his arm, dragging into down into the depths of the coffin. Horrifying sucking sounds filled the air, as the beggar's face twisted into rictus of ecstasy.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Hundreds of kilometers away, in the town of Mayde, a large man covered in muscles that had long ago run to fat, entered into his favorite tavern. He lumbered over to the bar and sat down, while glaring at the other patrons. Wisely, they decided to call it a day early and soon the tavern was deserted.

”I thought we talked about this, Anton. You really need to stop scaring off my customers.” A large, bald, and mustachioed man, who was standing behind the bar, spoke while casually wiping down a mug. His tone suggested that he didn't have any real expectation of persuading his patron.

”Eh, a pox on them! I need a drink, and I don't want an audience while I do it. Got to live up to my reputation.” The guildmaster (office manager) of the Mayde branch office of the Adventurer's Guild dismissed the concerns of his friend.

James, the tavern owner, was a former party member of Anton's, and ever since the group had broken up, Anton had been coming here to drink.

At first it had been friendly, but in recent years, Anton had increasingly become bitter and angry, jealous of others success, even while he went through the motions of running the Mayde branch. In time he had been reduced to a shadow of his former self.

James saw the process, but could do little to slow the decline of his friend. At the very least he could try to make sure that Anton drank in moderation.

He sighed, while pouring his old friend a mug of his favorite ale. ”Don't you think its a little early to start this?”

”Pah, a few drinks never hurt anyone.” Anton replied cheerily.

After an hour or so, James was running low on ale. ”Alright Anton, I need to go run and grab another cask from the cellar. Keep an eye on the bar for me.”

Anton raised his mug in response, before quaffing the rest of its contents. James sighed again, and left through the back door.

At almost the same time, a cloaked figure with its hood up entered through the front. It took a seat next to Anton, and a strangely hollow voice of an indeterminate gender issued forth.

”So this is the legendary Earthen Terror. It sad to see such powerful individual languishing in this backwater town.”