Blackwall

I

The clouds are alight with a mixture of colors and smoke. The night is filled with laughter and joy and the Faces of Blackwall are celebrating yet another victory against the Faceless. Husbands make love to their wives, soldiers drink in victory, and women parade the streets in celebration. The Faces are in joy for their prosperity and power as their city brightens the night. But in another part of the city, the shanties of the Faceless, death and misery spread. And as a woman pleads for her life, blood sprays on the border of the district.

Hours continue to consume the night and fatigue begins to wash over the eyes of the Faces. Midnight strikes the town's clock tower and the resonance of twelve rings is heard from many miles away. As the bell is stricken, a womanly figure slips through the alleys and narrow passages of Blackwall.

She, unlike the rest of the Faces, had an open eye for her surroundings. She knew the whereabouts of the foes. The "Blanks," as the Faces much fancied for a nickname. Fear was not the first thing she carried, neither resentment. She was more concerned about their well being, shockingly. And that was what lead her to tread the streets, in the hopes that she could find something. Something in the slightest.

The dreadful cry of a woman was loud enough to be heard in the midst of a hearty celebration. Of course, no one else took notice. Not a head but her own was turned. It was up to her to investigate, even if it meant nothing to anyone else.

Soon after a few minutes of silently strolling an isolated street, a monstrous contraption stands before the woman, covered in blood and gore. It makes a low rumble and then sprints away into the night towards the Black District.

The woman is startled by the quick presence of the machine. She makes haphazard efforts to hide between the slim crevice of two houses nearby. Her breathing hitches and the adrenaline rush grants her keener vision and hearing. The creature, or machine, or whatever it was had retreated to the shadows.

Questions flooded her mind within seconds. Why was that thing covered in oozy crimson blood? What business did it have here? Was the woman she heard alive? Did that machine have anything to do with the woman at all? All these questions, yet no answers. The woman regains her normal state and her breathing regulates. I ought to return to my manor, she thought.

Back at the safety of her home, she ponders at her desk. A lantern rests on the wooden table and the candlelight flickers soothingly. The lady finds a clean piece of parchment to work on. Grabbing her quill, she dips the pen into a small ink bottle and composes a letter:

"Mr. Fields,

Meet me outside of the West gate, by the chapel's fountain at dawn tomorrow. I have an issue to be discussed, privately. It is urgent. Do not bring anyone.

Regards, Zen"

Sealing the letter inside an envelope, it is delivered to the intended person by early morning.