Shapeless Hero

34 - As Good As Dead

Clint slowly pushes his packed family treasures towards the hooded figure. Just like yesterday, the two sit at a table, far away from the counter, but still within the guild hall.

"There you go, boss.", Clint says void of emotion.

"Don't worry. I'll make sure to find a buyer worthy of such artifacts.", the hooded figure responds. "And congratulations. You finished one job for me! Who helped you, if I may ask?"

Clint starts wondering, what his former employer's face looks like. His thoughts drift off further.

Once the the hooded man realizes, he can't raise another reaction out of the lynx-kin, he pulls the sack on the table to himself. "Oh, what does it matter now, right? You're free... and I've got my investment back." He pats his new possessions.

"Great. I'll get back to my work then.", Clint's apathetic farewell comes. He gets up and heads towards the counter with downcast eyes.

"Hope the best for you!", the man shouts after him with a playful tinge, waving even. But the fog in Clint's mind diffuses those last words into soft noise, even giving them a calming quality.

Kella glares from the counter at the hooded figure leaving her establishment, hoping this visit was his last. Her eyes stay on the shutting door for a few seconds, before she takes a proper look at her returning employee.

"Clint, how are you..." She swallows the rest of her words, once she notices his gaze. A gaze, that does not belong to a determined adventurer, but a disillusioned war-veteran, his ideals crushed on the battlefield. His face is too young to carry such eyes.

The guild master's brows lower in thought, then she silently makes her decision. Whatever this man has done, has put an employee of hers out of commission. It's now official business of the guild. Her lizard tail whips around in anticipation, startling Rev out of his slumber at the desk. She knows of one person, who could be able to exert her will. "Rev, go ask Fylka on how to contact her friend."

"Yes, ma'am.", Rev barely manages to mumble, dragging his feet to the stairs.

Kella turns to Clint again. He's still absent. She starts to prepare a strong drink.

#

"Mind telling me, why I had to retrieve this stuff personally?", the hooded figure asks into the empty backstreet to no one in particular, raising the newly obtained sack of goods. The content of the sack shifts in the motion, causing some gadgets in it to click a few times. Only the light of the moons cares to reach this alley far away from Ryelope's night patrols, making illicit activities easy as it gets.

Out of the shadows emerge six people, their faces covered by dark fabric to match the rest of their light armor. One of them steps forward to speak . "You failed to mention anything about his escort."

"Escort?", the hooded figure repeats.

The six look at each other before the first speaker continues: "Guess it was coincidence. It wouldn't be like you to overlook such a detail." As he verbalizes the last few words, a second figure steps forward, presenting the hooded man the remains of an armor, which fits the team's light outfits. Dried blood soils the giant, tattered hole on its backside. "They saw through our invisibility and ripped through our reinforced gear with one swing of their unenchanted cleaver.", the second rogue adds.

"Is that so..." The hooded figure takes a closer look at the torn fabric. He sighs. "I can't even pretend it's fake, but how did that boy hire an escort?" He looks at the rogues, who shrug their shoulders in tandem. 

Click. Click.

His eyes narrow. "Are you seriously telling me, the boy was able to not only hire an escort, but also get one, who could deal with you six?"

"He was unaffected by the sleeping gas, then dodged our projectiles... and one of the shots just went through him.", a rogue adds.

"And the sudden change of outfit...", another one continues.

Click-click, click.

"I felt a shiver run down my spine, when he looked at me. I was invisible!"

Click-click, click-click-click.

"That's right, he new, we were a team of six, too!"

"Is he a former huntsman of the investigator branch? I sure hope not..."

"Alright, that's enough! I get it!", the hooded man finally shouts. As everyone goes silent and the echos fade into the night, the clicking finally registers in his ears. He casts his look over the rogues, before his eyes land on the sack in his hand. "Shit, did one of the artifacts break?" He rummages in the sack, until he pulls out a round amulet, roughly the size of his palm. In the middle of the amulet sits an obsidian marble.

Click, click-click, click-click-click.

Every time the obsidian marble somehow lights up in red, it emits a click. The clicks occur in random intervals. He flips the amulet to check the backside. Below the practically universal sign for danger, three words were engraved in separate lines each: "Dragon", "Shapeshifter", and "Vampire".

The hooded man flips the amulet again. Its obsidian marble still lights up with each click. "One of you mentioned a change of outfit, right?", he asks the rogues.

"Yeah. I hate to admit it, but I don't think anyone of us could manage to do that with such finesse."

"Of course not.", the hooded figure says. He feels the sweat travel down his back. "None of you possess the Morphing skill, after all." 

Suddenly, the clicks shoot up in frequency. He feels the pit in his stomach deepen, once the noise turns into an audible hum and the marble stays lit without interruptions. The moment, his mind catches up with the quick change, he looks at the rogues. "We'd better go."

The other rogues nod. Keeping the amulet in one hand, the hooded figure follows them in to the darkness of the alley.

As the seven hooded people turn around a corner at one end of the street, a victorian gentleman enters it from the other, dragging an extended cleaver behind him.