On A Knife Edge

Chapter 10: You want what?

The morning light, weak and dusty, struggled to penetrate the grime-coated window of their room in the Rusty Flagon. Lucian stirred, the night's fitful sleep leaving him feeling more drained than rested.

"The Eye? What could that mean?" Lucian whispered to himself.

He glanced around the room and noticed he was alone.

"Hmm. Kainith must have gotten up early and left the room." Lucian thought.

Lucian got up from his bed and walked out into the hallway and when he did he heard the booming laughter of Rory. He turned towards the laughter and walked into the room Rory and Rance stayed in. When he walked into the room he saw Rance still in bed and Rory now standing next to his bed and Kainith sitting in a small rickety wooden chair in the corner of the room.

"Well it's about time you woke up!" Kainith smiled. "I thought we were gonna have to just leave you in bed all day."

"Well," Lucian said, his voice hoarse from disuse, "another day, another step closer to getting ourselves killed."

Rory snorted. "Always the ray of sunshine, aren't you, Lucian? Here, you sound like you need some water." He tossed a waterskin to Lucian, who caught it gratefully.

"We need a plan," Rance said, his voice low. "Just sitting here won't get us any closer to finding that third gem."

Lucian nodded. "Agreed. But before we delve into our next move, let's see what this town offers. We need to see if anyone here has heard any rumors that might get us a clue."

"Oh and the market! We need to check the..."

A loud thudding noise coming from downstairs interrupted their conversation. It sounded like someone was banging on the Rusty Flagon door with enough force to break it down.

Rance shot out of bed daggers already in his hands. "That doesn't sound like a great knock."

"Sounds like trouble's brewing," Rory said, a predatory glint in his eye.

Kainith stood up and bounded towards the door. "Well, boys let's get going. We just were talking about needing to find some clues. That sounds like one loud clue."

The rest of the party nodded in agreement and grouped up with Kainith. The party cautiously walked to the top of the stairs looking down into the main room in The Rusty Flagon. There were no signs of the festivities from the night before. The room was very clean and there were only a couple of patrons in the tavern looking up from their breakfast towards the now pounding door. Just as the party started walking down the stairs the tavern's door flung open and a tall elven man staggered into the tavern and fell towards the bar. As the party approached the man they saw his face contorted in a mask of pain. His skin was an unhealthy shade of gray, and his eyes were hollow and sunken.

The barkeep, the same burly man with a thick beard that was here last night, was trying to calm the man down, but with little success. "Easy there, friend! Whatever ails you, there's no need to break down my door."

The man clutched his chest, gasping for breath. "C... curse... help... me..." he stammered, his voice raspy and weak.

Kainith bounded over to the bar and knelt before the man. "What happened to you?" Kainith asked, his voice steady.

The man looked at him with pleading eyes. "A... artifact... stolen... cursed... draining... life..." he choked out before falling off of the bar and collapsing onto the floor.

The few patrons in the tavern erupted in gasps and murmurs. The barkeep knelt beside the fallen man, his brow furrowed in concern. "Someone get a healer! Quickly!"