The Chained Watcher

Backstory: The Pettiness of Immortality

Oh good grief this has 7k words

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Setting aside the project he was working on, the Watcher stretched before gazing sourly at his stash of sweets. He had been running low for a while now, and he'd only recently finished his assigned task, so he hadn't yet had the chance to get more.

No matter, a brief walk would do him good.

When he arrived in the town, the sun still beat down from above, forcing him to wrap an invisibility spell around himself lest the locals panic about his presence. As he'd learned, panic was not terribly conducive to a well-off business. Wandering through the thoroughfare, he tuned out the calls of the stall owners while debating what flavors he should get the most of.

His musing was brought to a grinding halt when he reached his destination, slowing to a stop as his eyes fell upon the dilapidated form of the sweets shop. This is... less than ideal. Making his way inside, there were no mortals present, nor were there any goods on display. How... irritating. Judging by the thin layer of dust, this couldn't have happened all too long ago, so it shouldn't be too hard to figure out the causality of things.

Exiting, he strode over to the area of the market claimed by the food stalls, perching atop one of the unlit roadside lanterns as he contemplated his next actions. Mind reading is a finicky thing, so that's not an ideal choice, no sane mortal would willingly remain in the presence of a Watcher if they knew, and he himself did not want to have to use more magic than necessary. After all, it would not do to draw the attention of the Listeners to this place.

Perhaps his best choice for information gathering would be to utilize a rather prevalent habit most mortals had. The urge to gossip. Carefully forming a vague thought, he projected it as faintly as he could manage towards the subconsciouses of the mortals eating at the tables below. Nothing any of them might find odd, just enough to bring the store to the forefront of their minds.

Sure enough, one of the mortals set down their messy sandwich, leaned forward over the table they were seated at, and said to the others at the same table, "So, you guys remember the local sugar shop? You know, the one that was down on the corner."

One of his companions grunted, "Yeah? What about 'em?"

"I heard their daughter turned down the advances of the noble who lives in the manor."

"Really? You sayin' that's why the store got targeted? Cause some noble don't take no for an answer?"

"Yeah, she's about his age, too. The noble got 'is panties in a twist and started causin' problems for the girl's family, from what I've heard. Rumor has it he's the one who hired those thugs to damage the windows and scare off the customers."

"You're kidding!"

"Wish I was. Everyone knows how the lawmen came by and took 'em away last week, but they never said exactly what the charges were."

"Man, that's rough."

Attention drifting towards the noble district, the Watcher's ire grew as he cast his senses towards the prison. Sure enough, there's the entire family that ran the shop, held in a cell like some sort of criminal. His wings twitched in irritation, and he took a moment to still himself back into calm indifference before he began plotting.

The noble would suffer, that much was certain, but firstly he needed to do something about the sweet shop's mortals. The simplest solution would be to just spirit them away as most of the others do when a mortal catches their eye, but that would render the entire reason he hadn't done that before null. Mortals do not usually take well to unexpected service to a Watcher, and even those that do tend to stifle their own creativity in an attempt to remain beneath their captor's notice.