Month: June 2018

The Grand Chronicler’s Circle was a favourite destination for Xyrven. Every street was lined with carts filled with inks, nibs and empty scrolls. Scribes offered writing, translation and language services just as the farmers peddled their freshly harvested goods on each tier of the Terraces.

The Grand Library, central to the district, housed texts from all over Golarion. Xyrven frequented the building, spending hour after hour skimming through the innumerable books and scrolls.

It took him several months before he was confident enough to hold a believable conversation with any of the library’s attendants. He took note of unique sounding writings that were referenced in the texts and would ask for them by name. He learned the organisational structure of each section of the library and spoke of obscure documents until finally, somebody offered to retrieve them. Within six months, he became quite popular and by the turn of the new year, even the surly head librarian would raise an eyebrow and nod as he came and went.

Xyrven didn’t know what they thought of him. Perhaps they considered him a bright young student, keen to learn the ways of the world. At worst, they may have thought him a child of the middle castes, desperately trying to claw his way into upper society.

In truth, he only came to the library for one thing. 

Her name was Prem. Her rich, onyx hair flowed like a waterfall on the River Sald. Her brown eyes were pools so deep that Xyrven lost his breath every time she smiled. She smelled like the seerbloom of Kyonin and though he had not tried the plant himself, Xyrven was sure its effect would not be even half as potent.

Sitting curled up in a corner of the study area and thoroughly enchanted, he stared at her over the edge of the leatherbound tome resting on his knees.

The scene, paused in that moment, swam on the surface of the pool of dark red liquid below his restrained body. It wavered with each droplet of blood that dribbled down his chin and landed in the basin…

“Have you got it?”

An excited whisper. The drunkard’s breath hangs in the still air, reeking of cheap ale.

The hooded figure before him nods, presenting a pale, closed fist. Sinewy fingers open slowly, revealing a gold brooch no more than 15 centimetres in diameter. Inlaid filigree of the finest quality glistens despite the meagre light from the crescent moon.

“Good, good.”

The man begins to wipe spittle from the corner of his mouth, then pauses, staring at the lower half of the hooded figure’s smooth, unblemished face. “Heh. You’re just a fucking child.”

With surprising speed, the man snatches the pendant away. Xyrven’s fingers twitch in response, apparently too late to stop the manoeuvre.

The man smiles broadly as he pockets his prize, straightens to full height, turns and begins to walk away.

“My payment?” Xyrven whispers harshly.

The man grunts. “You’ve a lot to learn, boy. I say you have ten seconds to run away before my associates turn you inside out, Master… Lothien, isn’t it?”

“How did you…” Xyrven’s words trail off as six bulky figures emerge from the shadows, blades of all lengths sliding from their scabbards.

———-

Half an hour later, lying on his back on a marble plinth in the gardens of The Heights, Xyrven stares up at the winking stars. He smiles. Hand in his pocket, he gently runs the tips of his fingers along the detailed filigree on the finest brooch he had yet seen in his young life.

Elsewhere, a seething criminal vows to hunt down Lothien the thief, as the counterfeit brooch crumbles in his quivering fist.