Nothing was ever what it seemed in the Land of Mists, and things in the city of Pont-a-Museau, in the realm of Richmulot was no exception.
Almost all of the shadows and dark places of Pont-a-Museau held things dangerous to the folk of the city. Many of the dangers were due to the unsafe conditions of the buildings used as dwellings by the poor and the destitute. Rotting wood and crumbling masonry threatened to collapse under or on to someone at any moment, and clogged chimneys and malfunctioning flues had the potential to set buildings afire, or force smoke and toxic fumes into an enclosed space. The other dangers hiding in the city’s shadows were those posed by living residents, and some residents that were un-living.
Screams in the night were a common occurrence, and an uncommon one during the day. The citizens of Pont-a-Museau tended ignored the sounds, unless they were members of the Watch or adventurers, and usually pitied the victim and were thankful it was not them screaming. Some citizens ignored the screams because they just did not care. Those that preyed upon the common folk tended to rely upon this behaviour to be able to hunt, corner and pounce upon their victims, without any unwanted interruptions.
It was with this in mind that Jaufres found himself prowling the streets and alleyways of the city, searching for his next meal. Hunting for victims was relatively easy for him and his fellow wererats, being able to walk around in the form of either an ordinary citizen, that of a rat the size of a cat or small dog, or the horrific amalgamation of person and rat. Rats, including the giant or “dire” versions, were common sites in almost all areas of the city, so they tended to be ignored (by habit or on purpose) by those around them. Because of this, Jaufres felt safe and secure on his hunt.
He should have been paying more attention to the shadows he used to conceal himself, as something else was hunting him.
Flowing from shadow to shadow, footsteps making barely a whisper of sound, identity concealed by dark cloth and ash, Jaufres’ stalker waited for the right time to move with the patience of the dead.
The victim of the night for the lycanthrope was a tavern server that Jaufres had been watching for about a week’s time. He and the rest of his extended family were suffering from attacks by a skilled hunter, and he wanted to make sure that his next meal was not somehow connected to the assassin. The nights he spent following her showed she always took the same path, with one particular section of an alleyway that was perfect for him to make his move. Taking a pre-planned short cut, the wererat arrived at his chosen spot with a minute or so to spare.
Just as the woman reached about the half-way point in the alley, he silently moved in behind her. Reaching out to grab her well-worn cloak, Jaufres felt a sudden burning pain along his back, causing him to hiss in pain as he spun around. He came face to face with the darkly clothed shadow that had been following him. It stood at the ready in a combat stance, a short sword held in each hand, one of them with a thin line of blood along a short section of the cutting edge. Jaufres knew the blades to be either coated with silver, or magically enchanted; otherwise they would not have been able to injure him.
The wererat’s victim turned at the sound of pain. Gasping in horror at the scene before her, she raised one hand to her mouth to stifle a scream. The dark sword wielding figure moved its head slightly, giving the impression of facing her.
“Run!” the figure commanded, and the woman turned and ran for home, as if her very soul depended upon it.
“You are the one that has been hunting my family,” Jaufres flatly stated, lunging at his assailant.
“I am,” was the unconcerned reply, blades flashing in response to the creature’s attack.
Unbeknownst to all involved, a small group of rats watched the ensuing battle from the nearby shadows, exhibiting no apparent concern for their own safety. Had anyone had the chance to observe them, though, they would have been more horrified of them than of the two nearby figures locked in a fight to the death. As the rats watched the battle intently, their heads moved, eyes blinked, and tails and paws twitched in unison, each and every time, as if they shared one mind, or were controlled by one.
Nothing was ever what it seemed in the Land of Mists.
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