The Eye of the Storm
Posted: Mon Apr 08, 2013 6:50 pm
It was a mild desert evening in Cadomyr when Tyan first felt watched. The air smelled fresh and clean, all the dust and sand had been washed away by a shower of pleasant summer rain. The yellowish bricks Cadomyr was made off were still warm from the day, and here and there the streets were steaming slightly, already fighting off the dampness to replace it with the usual cruel dryness of the desert.
Tyan pulled a bag filled with various uncut gems over his shoulder before he looked around the empty marketplace. Thomas, his least favorite merchant, was giggling over some note he read, and Frobenius was busy polishing faint scratches off a piece of armor. All in all, everything was pretty normal.
He shook his head and discarded the odd feeling, then turned around to go to the workshop he had seen so much lately. On his way, he passed by a few people, mostly craftsmen also working late, and a bunch of men and women leaving tavern, talking loudly. At least a few of them were quite drunk, and for a second Tyan remembered the long nights he had spent in that tavern.
He was ripped from that thought by a child running past him, and not dodging him enough and bumping slightly into him. "Sorry Sir", the child shouted as it ran on. In reflex, Tyan patted his purse. It was still at its place. There were no thieves in Cadomyr, at least no common ones.
At the workshop he found his tongs where he had left them. He examined them for any signs of damage before taking them to the big grindstone, ready to begin his work. To his discontent, whoever had used the gem grinder before him had not cleaned it very well, and dust and crumbs of dirt were still all over it. He cursed and hung the tongs at the mounting of the grindstone. He walked back to the table where he kept his tools and hurriedly grabbed the crude cleaning brick, almost letting the small paper that had been placed under it be taken away by a breeze. He quickly placed the stone back on the table and jumped after the paper, trapping it under one of his boots.
Tyan hurled around to check the three entrances of the workshop, but there was only silence. He narrowed his eyes and warily walked out of the room into the open. There, he extended one arm and held his flat hand into his vision, just between the setting sun and the horizon. His hand fit between those two perfectly, meaning it would be roughly one more dwarven hour before the night began. He looked at the paper again, his gaze fixed on the last three words. "Sounds familiar", he said to himself, before walking back into the workshop.
Tyan pulled a bag filled with various uncut gems over his shoulder before he looked around the empty marketplace. Thomas, his least favorite merchant, was giggling over some note he read, and Frobenius was busy polishing faint scratches off a piece of armor. All in all, everything was pretty normal.
He shook his head and discarded the odd feeling, then turned around to go to the workshop he had seen so much lately. On his way, he passed by a few people, mostly craftsmen also working late, and a bunch of men and women leaving tavern, talking loudly. At least a few of them were quite drunk, and for a second Tyan remembered the long nights he had spent in that tavern.
He was ripped from that thought by a child running past him, and not dodging him enough and bumping slightly into him. "Sorry Sir", the child shouted as it ran on. In reflex, Tyan patted his purse. It was still at its place. There were no thieves in Cadomyr, at least no common ones.
At the workshop he found his tongs where he had left them. He examined them for any signs of damage before taking them to the big grindstone, ready to begin his work. To his discontent, whoever had used the gem grinder before him had not cleaned it very well, and dust and crumbs of dirt were still all over it. He cursed and hung the tongs at the mounting of the grindstone. He walked back to the table where he kept his tools and hurriedly grabbed the crude cleaning brick, almost letting the small paper that had been placed under it be taken away by a breeze. He quickly placed the stone back on the table and jumped after the paper, trapping it under one of his boots.
Tomorrow, when the sun is one hand
away from the horizon, meet me at the
house of levers. Don't be late, or I'll be gone.
- a party guest
Tyan hurled around to check the three entrances of the workshop, but there was only silence. He narrowed his eyes and warily walked out of the room into the open. There, he extended one arm and held his flat hand into his vision, just between the setting sun and the horizon. His hand fit between those two perfectly, meaning it would be roughly one more dwarven hour before the night began. He looked at the paper again, his gaze fixed on the last three words. "Sounds familiar", he said to himself, before walking back into the workshop.