Night's Cold Embrace

Part I: The Revolt - Chapter 1

Part I: The Revolt

The cold night air bit through the cloth mask concealing Garrett's face, painting colour on his usually ashen face. He crept silently over rooftops, hopping effortlessly from rafter to rafter. Instinctively he stayed within the confines of the shadows to avoid being spotted, but he doubted the City Watch officers, who were celebrating the receding Gloom, were sober or alert enough to be searching for any thieves in the night. They probably wouldn't even have noticed him if he walked right past them in the light of the torches.

Little did they know that in the poorest areas of town, lingering wisps of the Gloom still clung to its victims like the stifling smell of smoke trapped in one's clothing. Most of the sickness disappeared along with the Primal Stone's power, but for some reason it refused to vanish completely. Conveniently for the aristocrats, who were well fed and kept warm in their houses while the rest of the townspeople starved in the bitter cold, the lower class people were the ones who suffered from the lingering trace of the disease.

Garrett tended to keep away from the poorer districts of the city as much as possible; it was depressing and frustrating to be reminded of the inevitability of hierarchy in society. The rich would always thrive while the poor would always suffer. He had thought that restraining the Primal power and putting an end to the Gloom would at least balance the social strata slightly, but he had only succeeded in widening the gap between classes even more.

Despite being acutely aware of his immediate surroundings, Garrett was surprised to find himself already at The Crippled Burrick. He needed to talk to Basso and find a job, something arduous to distract him from the flurry of thoughts in his head.

He paused at the top of the stairs, glancing behind him with keen eyes to ensure that no one was watching. After a quick sweep of the area, he opened the creaky wooden door and quickly closed it shut behind him.

The stale air and dreary atmosphere immediately overwhelmed him when he entered the tavern. Surprisingly, clusters of people were talking amongst themselves around the bar.

Garrett tried to avoid walking past the larger groups; he wasn't particularly fond of people in general. He was relieved to find Basso alone in an empty booth. The large man was hunched over a mug of beer.

Silently, Garrett slipped into the bench opposite Basso.

"Glad you finally decided to show," he said as he raised the mug to his lips. He took a sloppy gulp before speaking again.

"Jobs have been piling up. And you know I don't trust those street rats out there who think that stealing a loaf of bread makes them somehow qualified for what I need them to do."

Garrett leaned back against the bench and crossed his arms. "What do you need done, Basso?"

"Well to start with, a man going by the name Jeremy Albright has in possession a rather pricey family heirloom. Keeps it on display somewhere in his room."

"That's an easy job, Basso. Anyone quiet and careful enough can do that." Garrett sensed that Basso was keeping something from him.

Basso took another swig of his drink, then paused before speaking again.

"I-I know, but Garrett you... are you okay? You haven't responded to my messages and I haven't seen you since... what happened with Orion." Basso slammed his mug down on the table. "That bastard. I should have known he was too good to be true. Those fucking Northcrests..."

Garrett narrowed his eyes and knit his brows together, looking at Basso questioningly.

"I was worried, Garrett. I needed answers. It was hard, but I found – what does she go by... the Queen of Beggars? Took me a while to find her. Only found out recently who she was by some fellow who claimed she knew more than me about the goings-on of the city."

"She talked to you?" Garrett said, slightly taken aback.

"She was pretty damn cryptic, but yeah, she did. The woman's reputation does precede her. Seemed to know who I am, that I know you. She told me what happened." He paused to chuckle lightly. "And I thought I knew the city inside out."

Basso tipped the dregs of alcohol from the mug into his mouth, then looked at Garrett and sighed.

"All right, you want a real job? If you're sure you can handle it, I need help obtaining a... a scripture of sorts."

"I didn't take you for the religious type, Basso," Garrett said teasingly.

"I wouldn't dare take on religion in this day and age." Basso lowered his voice. "Especially if it concerned the old gods. I'd be hanged if anyone knew I wanted this."

"So where is this illicit composition?" Garrett asked.

"My sources tell me it's kept secretly by a Thomas Northington. Don't ask me why he has it. He's an associate of the Baron who, by the way, has gone insane after the... the whatever it's called that was apparently the cause of this whole Gloom sickness disappeared. God knows why that crazy bastard wants to keep that power after all the trouble it's caused."

Basso waved his empty mug at the bartender, demanding a refill.

"What makes you so sure the Primal's power is gone?" Garrett said, leaning forward slightly. "If all traces of the Primal in Erin were removed and sealed in the stone, then why hasn't everyone been cured of the Gloom?"

Garrett noticed that Basso was glancing pointedly at his right eye, which was faintly glowing in the dark tavern.

"I'm not connected to the city; I never was. It was only Erin." Garrett spoke to reassure himself more than Basso.

"Well, did you ever think that maybe no one has the Gloom anymore? I mean, look at the type of people you think show the symptoms. They have plenty of reasons to be depressed with their lives. Besides, people have been committing suicide long before the Gloom came."

Basso nodded in thanks at the man who brought another beer. He immediately started gulping down the pint, finishing it in a few mouthfuls.

Garrett pondered Basso's words for a minute before sliding out of the booth.

"I'll have the scripture for you tomorrow," he said before making his way towards the door.

"Oh, and Garrett," Basso called out. "Be careful, hey?"

Garrett paused in his tracks and turned his head slightly towards Basso.

"When am I not?" He replied before continuing on.

At the doorway he delicately pulled the cloth over his face again, then stepped out of the tavern into the cold, welcoming night.