Fogfell
01-20-2007, 12:01 AM
<DIV>Longshadow Alley was damp. The rain had been falling for hours, and the ruined buildings and shattered cobblestones took on an almost romantic air as the standing puddles reflected the image of the exploded moon overhead. The night breathed it's message of desperation into the Freeport night.</DIV> <DIV> </DIV> <DIV>The mender finally finished my armour. Arrogant overpriced repairman. Back home, they used to hang thieves. In Freeport, they give them storefronts. Rapidly donning the freshly repaired gear, I stepped to one side and vanished into the only real home I've ever known; the shadows.</DIV> <DIV> </DIV> <DIV>I hear the other Tier'Dal going on about Neriak, and lost honours, and on and on. I perk up and listen intently when they address me. Not for some craving for long gone empire, but because they pay me. Only two things in this world are certain; living is expensive, and it's temporary. I intend to live as well as I can until someone else snuffs my candle.</DIV> <DIV> </DIV> <DIV>This has always been the way of my kind. Not the Tier'Dal...they are no more "mine" than the Overlord's lapdogs or the Qeynosian hypocrites. My kind are the Lost. Those without delusions of homelands. The Avatars changed everything. The Shattering made these people holding on to a lost past nothing but puling victims. Don't get me wrong, I'm not complaining. The petty intrigues and wetwork pay my rent and get my gear repaired. Victims are rather necessary in an Assassin's line of work.</DIV> <DIV> </DIV> <DIV>Sliding past the Viscount at the gate, I slip unnoticed into Northern Freeport and to the academy. These books must be worth something to them. They prey on the backward looking fools as much as I do, just in a different way. Who knows? Maybe one the glorified clerks will need a job done.</DIV> <DIV> </DIV> <DIV>I recently made the aquaintance of a group..a guild. They call themselves the Prophecy. Anyone who is looking forward to the future naturally has my attention. When I saw they were not trying to recapture faded glories, I joined. It never hurts to have contacts, after all. Growing up in the broken fragments of Neriak, I saw the value of contacts. Contacts mean coin, coin means food. And gear. And a roof.</DIV> <DIV> </DIV> <DIV>So, I slip among the shadows. My real friend, the darkness. And I watch, and listen, and plant my daggers when they need to be. My name? Zendafey. Remember it. It may the only warning you have before my friend the Darkness claims you too.</DIV> <DIV> </DIV> <DIV> </DIV>