“Second round! Second round!”Ī long-feathered aaracokra leaned over the table, some of the red make-up on her pale feathers shaking loose over the wooden tableboards, a pipe in one claw curling smokey tendrils with flowery perfume. “Another take for the Tabaxi,” yelled the dealer. They clattered against the opposite end of the table and spun to a halt, two triangle markings facing upwards. Snik liked the feel of the playing bones between his long, feline fingers before casting them across the long table. The gambling den’s air was clogged with incense. “Thirik Cartax,” Link bent low, yellow eyes shining, “How would you like to make your mark on the world?” “Who are you? What are you going to do with me?” asked the faltering kenku. Link opened the scroll and Fattus saw his usually cordial smile shift. “Looks like some of the stuff Terriex has been smuggling.” “He’s carrying the ledgers.” Fattus tossed a scroll over the kenku’s head at Link. Usually Link would have them chatting amiably by now. The kenku swallowed as Fattus Cattus circled behind him, cutting off his escape.
Not much of an institution since that member of the Six cut off all the main heads and pretended to be them, right?” The kenku hesitated, then took the scrolls proffered by Link. “Must be important, for you to be sent so late past curfew.” “Let me get those,” said Link, his voice as smooth as an actor’s. The kenku startled, scrolls scattering from his arms. Link was out in the grass-laden path before Fattus Cattus had time to think about whether another library was worth the cost of firewood. “It’s a glorified pig sty! They don’t have scrolls there, just recipes for love potions and stink bombs…” You used to be so good at taking notes, why don’t you go to Helvestia’s and sort out that library? Almost as important as the Dragonborn Archives, Stamper.” The overburdened kenku snapped his beak and shook a fist at the sky. Barely anyone was about.īut then they heard muttering and the rustle of paper scrolls crumpled in a large bag.
There was barely anyone on the streets as it was, the shaman-infested kenku city of Medamu famous for taking advantage of the night to do sacred rituals to their goddess, Sidastrea. Like anyone would be able to see him if he didn’t want them to. Link held up a hand to motion him to silence and Fattus Cattus tried not to roll his eyes. “Are you sure this is where the kenku is now?” asked Fattus. Beside him, a bard with a red jacket and finely tuned lute strung behind his back crouched down and looked around the bend.
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Even without the foul berries, the sickly scent of potions wafted through open windows and made his stomach turn. He wiped clean his diamond claws, leaning against a thickly-grown gingko tree that had been grown into an alchemist’s laboratory. Those who had showed promise no longer had a place to develop their skills, wasted in small town bureaucracies and swallowed up by small time smuggling operations. Who could they turn to? Leaders were few and far between. A feeling that the ground had been swallowed up beneath them. Ever since the High Council had disbanded, there had been a sensation of breathlessness amidst the Isles. It kept him sharp.Īnd he needed to be sharper than ever. Fattus Cattus didn’t mind the strange atmosphere.
Maybe it was that azure ring in the sky that changed the hue of the night sky or the quieter streets under curfew, but the shadows seemed longer beneath the flickering streetlamps, the sudden movement of a rabbit bounding between tree-grown homes more alarming. The nights grew darker with each passing year.
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