A few weeks after the close call with the Rivershire guards and the Goblin bandits, Andre felt he needed a rest. It seemed things were spiraling out of control lately...but, they had a roof over their head at least. A warm little apartment, and enough to eat that they didn't have to lower themselves to robbing fruit merchants. It was a hard life, but it was his life. He didn't tell anyone, not even Stihe, about how restless he had been feeling lately. About how sometimes he would head up the attic with the giant hole in the side, when it was storming badly, and look out over the city as it scurried for cover to stay dry. Beyond that, the forests and fields...a green expanse that had begun to intrigue him. Ah...the concept of Andre Clearwater, getting his feet dirty on a rough trail? Picking wild berries from a bush? What a joke!
He would realize later his mistake. It was a small one, but it lead to much grief for both of them. And, in time rebirth...but, a painful one. He had mentioned to an old Guildmate somewhat offhandly on a random street passing how the Guild Leader seemed to be getting on in her years, and maybe if she wouldn't rather prefer to retire soon? It didn't help that the last missions bust had already brought him into negative light regarding guild dues...
It was a harmless remark-to him.
And, as the Thief Guild Leader Cheala was fending off rumors of corruption, someone heard those words. It was an excellent oppurtunity for Konston-a careless remark made Andre an excellent scapegoat.
Andre had felt he just closed his eyes that night, when he saw the leering face of his captor-the 'friend' he has spoken to on the street. Whatever he did, Andre was paralyzed, and went as limp as a boned fish, and offer no resistance as they carried him and Stihe away. Lucky lay in a pool of blood, badly wounded and dying, and to Andre, all he could feel was rage. Useless rage.
Andre was hauled to the Thief Guild Underchambers, where Cheala was holding court. Andre was the centerpiece...
"Bring forth the one who allegedly conspired with Cheala." said Konston
Andre mumbled. There was no point.
"Nothing to say? Take him to the dungeon-he'll talk soon enough." The crowd gawped.
The entire thing was a sham, of course, but it was how things were done. As he was lead down, he remembered the fact that the Thief Guilds torturers were true professionals, and wouldn't kill him-no, they didn't have to.
...
...
...
Andre stayed adamant. He knew what was going to happen, anyway. He was just waiting for Konston to walk through the door.
"Still not talking? I guess you pass the first test. "
Konston smirked. Andre asked him what he wanted.
"Your still useful to me-it's while you are still alive. You and I know the only way you or your sweet sister is walking out of here is by you challenging Cheala to a Dance of Daggers. You need to kill her, obviously.
And, if you win, you'll be executed of course-and I Konston, will rise to the glory that is due to me by birthright. And none will be the wiser. You have no hope for yourself, right? You told me that once. "Have no hope for the yourself, but for the world we hope to create." Bold words. Now-you'll make them reality. For me. When the torturers come back, you'll tell them Cheala hired you to cut the profits... then, the challenge is yours to make. Othewise, Cheala will have you killed herself. If you win, you had best not show any mercy to her, or I'll make sure your precious sister Stihe ends up on the block in tomorrows early morning slave auction at a discount. Count on it." Andre knew he wasn't bluffing.
...
A half an hour later, Andre stood over Chealas broken body. She had begged for mercy. Andre was almost dead himself. He was amazed he had won-and wondered if Konston had drugged the former Leader to slow her reaction, or enchanted Andres blade somehow...either way, it was all over for him. The Dance of Daggers was never supposed to be fatal-it was supposed to determine guilt or innocence through trial by combat when the circumstances of a crime were unclear. The punishment for killing your opponent in the dance was death anyway. Konston was all of a sudden, at the center of everything-the calm in the storm, radiating power and command. He had planned this for years.
"A crime compounded twice fold-I fear we may never know the true culprit...but, we shall have our revenge. Take Andre into the Wildlands. Strip him of everything. As our ancestors did in the Old Days, let the wilderness judge him."
...
A week later, he was kicked out of the wagon in the middle of no where. He had nothing on him. He didn't even know if Stihe was even still alive. The trees of the Forest encircled him as thick as the walls of a prison. Hope was a very brittle thing-all to easy for it to shatter when dropped. He may have lost hope...but he didn't. As he lay on his back on a bed of pine needles, looking up the cloudy grey sky and wishing a bear would come eat him and put him out of his misery, Lucky returned to his side. Badly wounded, but alive. The Dog had against all odds, survived it's wounds, and followed Andre Clearwater for miles, as he was taken away, out a sense of loyalty and love. Now they were both here...and, for the first time in his life, the Halfling felt not anxiety, but freedom.
Freedom from Guild Obligations. Freedom from fear. Freedom from anger. Freedom...from taking care of his sister, to be honest. Deep in his heart, would he still deny the last one was a part of it everything? To his dying day.
To his dying day.
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Topic: D&D 3.5- Western Marches: dead and gone (RIP) (Read 304002 times)