TSC - Chapter 1: Cause and Effect (9) - Mistaken Thoughts

On what seemed like the complete opposite side of the city, Shroud had found himself in the poorest part of the city. Heavy brick had been chipped away for new openings, the rusted pipes busted open so that they could be sealed up into units. Walkways above had been dismantled as the population here grew and new sub floors were added, with subsequent waist high doors. Crates were lined with sturdy fabrics, most only baring a striking resemblance to their original form. There was one thing about this place that was more different than the concentration of people here. It was the smell. It was faintly pleasant, like sweets  or freshly baked bread. It was fresh that was the real distinct feature. Shroud looked around and caught the scent. He looked over towards the crumbling walls laced with vines. The roots themselves had latched onto hook fixture, dirt grey  veins were netted over by white fibres that encircled the wrought iron. These black roots twisted downwards till then formed a stem, from then downwards towards the floor it grew greener but paler still. Its leaves ghost like, with its flowers of rusted  browns and golds. It was however not the flowers giving off the smell, rather the tube like holes in the base of the stem of each leaf. He brushed his finger against a petal, it was cold to the touch. He tried with the leaf, it snapped easily and fell to the floor. He had become distracted and startled when a group of children bounded beside him giggling at him. He swiftly turned around, hoping they would scream and run. They didn't.

The two girls couldn't be more than four and eleven or twelve respectively, with the boy somewhere in the middle. Their clothes reminded him of a fashion that was in style when he walked the roof tiles. Feathers. Anything and everything either had them, were made into them, embroidered or gilded with them. Unfortunately any material form gathered the dirt pretty quickly, and these kids, as they were playing were constantly malting gummed up feathers and soot and brick fragments. The kids seemed fascinated by Shrouds appearance in himself. A nondescript gentleman wearing the tattered garments of a once fashionable lord. They played court to him, bowing and curtsying, all the pleasantries he had once been used to, a memory he smiled at. He knelt down and asked where Neave lived. The kids pointed the way but refused to leave his side.

He walked past an old woman holding a baby in her arms, bundled in as much cloth as a baby could possibly need and more. She smiled at him with her wrinkled eyes and nodded to him as he passed with the children in tow. He took this moment to find out more about Neave, if she lived here, what she was like, who she lived with, her habits ect. He introduced himself in an educated manner and cadence that angered the old woman. She accused him of being linked to a previous lord that had employed Neave. After Shroud explained as best he could to her his position she calmed a little. She then apologised for her outburst. The old woman explained that Neave's previous employer took advantage of her at a young age, to which she bore her fist child Maeron. He had protected her while she was pregnant by sending her away to Jyrek. Years later she fell pregnant again, this time however not by her employer but by someone she loved, and who she thought loved her. After she began to show, the lord became to embarrassed to have her in any situation he was near, this then worsted to his family, his friends, and eventually she was tossed down here, still pregnant, with her child with her. She explained now that it had been around seven years now and her son, Jolro, was now being looked after by his sister while Neave looks for work. Shroud swallowed the truth as bitterly as it was to hear. He looked down at his feat. The kids surged back up to him and pulled him down the walkway. Although now  he refused to take part in any of their games, their constant laughter and shouting made him smile a little, it made him feel young even though he was young man himself. That was until the youngest girl started crying.

She seemed to have fallen over something and was lying face down on the dirty sheets that covered the boardwalk. Her, what Shroud presumed, brother and sister rushed over. He looked around to see if any help would assist but the walls here were darker than the rest, a sign that even the slums have their own slums. He walked over to the girl and attempted to assist. The young girl was crying out, although for a split second she seemed to rise up, in Shroud's opinion, although she till laid flat. She was swaddled by her brother and sister and swiftly taken into a nearby doorway. The children urging Shroud to carry on. He pushed the issue after they had gone indoors. The oldest came out and asked for him to leave; her sister would be okay, she was just having a nose bleed and was startled. The girl closed the door promptly after. Shroud, a little confused, looked around, trying to remember where they had pointed him. He spotted on the top of the archway to the door, drops of blood. He looked down, expecting there to be spots on the floor from the little girl but no, the ones above his own head where no doubt hers. He shook his head not wanting to think of it further. After a few missed turnings he found a tiny courtyard, or a dead end with three mouldy walls.

Shroud knocked and knocked again. A gruff gentleman, mid forties, hair short and neat compared to his own clothes. A scar cleaved his left eye and his cheek. It forced him to squint most of the time while talking or concentrating, and Shroud found this a little off-putting. He introduced himself again, forgetting to remove his high-spire graces and was again met with rebuke. After a quick and more succinct explanation, the man still refused him entry. She was to leave her kids for what could be months, she needed time to make preparations and say goodbye. Shroud felt stupid trying to peruse this. He questioned himself after he left the slums, why did he feel the need to make sure she was telling the truth? Was it her beauty? Her suddenly arrival? He stumbled mid thought into a guard.

A silver coin fell from Shrouds fumbling fingers, a habit had had gotten used to down here while idling walking. It was good protection, almost like the wards the sand sculptors in the upper merchant class would sell. Nobody up there could tell if their talisman worked, there was never any occasion for its use, down here though, this habit had proven itself time and time again. This time, the coin was picked up by the guard and he apologised and pocketed the coin. He formally gave access Shroud to what appeared to him, to be asset retrieval, for clients who failed their payments. The operation was swift and well oiled. The sign of high ranking Silver Palm member. This peaked Shrouds interest, and approached a gentleman with salt and pepper hair, flat functional attire made of bone and hides, with the occasional linen lining. His handlebar moustache, bushed over his mouth so that you couldn't see his lips move. The same could nearly be said for his eyes under his brow. His skin however, where his purple hued veins would run, gilded flecks passed under the skin, a tattoo made of flowing golden ink.

Shroud attempted pleasantries. The man was calm, but obviously startled. There was a brief moment of confusion, Shroud  told the man he used to be part of this group when he was younger. However this group was the salt and pepper man's group and had been since inception. Shroud in a an attempt to smooth over what seemed like a conversation going south passed over another silver coin. The man raised his bushy eyebrows. This raised confusing warnings in the man's head and he called out for an assistant. The man continued pleasantries with Shroud, noticing the wild accomplishments he boasted were being swallowed without question by this imposter. Two burly gentlemen swiftly manhandled Shroud into the shop. In the backroom was a safe; vertical, with just enough room for one person to stand and if slim enough, even bend down to the bottom drawers of the walls of storage. All but a few were busted open. Before Shroud could even act the vault door was replaced and from outside. Suddenly there was chanting, alongside the banging of metal and the sparking of electricity. 

TSC - Cause and Effect (8) - Condolences

Eryn was now unshackled and left to his own devices . At first he hadn't noticed, wandering the market freely but slowly. He was constantly shouting back instructions or points of interest that he, at least, found interesting. Kalyptein crabs were kept sedated under the chilling fumes of a spiny grey flowered vine. There were pale gold flickers in-between the metallic shells. Even with such precautions, the stand was given a wide berth by most. A gentleman was attempting to sell what looked like pearls of a dark green liquid metal. These ball bearing sized orbs were subsequently thrown at the surroundings of the vendor. Bursts of colour followed by a wild and instant growth of vines and flowers than then shattered, its remains dripping through the floor. Then there was that smell again, that cinnamon and synth. There were ways people described it in the Steadfast, each with their own unique language. Here it was known as the Gate to the Forking Path. Each concoction was slightly varied in each location, it was presumed some of the ingredients were influenced by some unseen hand, or tended to in the night by strange figures. Regardless, the outcome was the same in part, access to the Datasphere on some sensory level.  When brewed in Thaemor the drug would show the user a grey sphere, the more they concentrated and invested their thoughts into it, it would change and grow. Adapting and displaying all kinds of images and colours, lights and textures. No experience could ever be repeated by sometimes the results could, the sense of pleasure, bliss was hard not to experience time after time. With each wave slowly closing the world around you inwards till your focus was lost to the sphere. The Guldspar administered themselves this drug daily in hopes to somehow shape their images into something that could connect with the Obsidian Spire yet they still refuse to reveal their supplier or indeed the very thing they use.

But sometimes down here escaping reality was needed. It wasn't from the residents, no down here they were content in their four fashions ago. They had accepted the grime and filth and traded their skills and not their shins. When a gift was given it not only carried the weight of trade value, but also shin value and craftsmanship. A gift was a rare thing. An old woman who had been peddling the Forking Path looked over at Chloe and a tear was brought to her eye. She caught the start of a nosebleed. A nosebleed that rose in drips up into the floors above. The old woman, dressed in what looked like multiple sheets of gathered fabric and mud waddled over with a small broach. She gave her sincerest apologies to Chloe and told her she should make amends with her family if she needs to. Chloe moved backwards slowly, only just noticing her nosebleed. Chloe thanked the woman, confusing her sentiments and wiped the blood off her face and continued to stroll down the market. Eryn meanwhile keeping a distance, trying to strike up conversations with the locals while the girl was distracted with each new stall. A burly gentleman in his mid forties was trying to attempt to keep Chloe off his metal work. She had become distracted by some of the necklaces. Eryn joined her in an attempt to calm the shop keep. Eryn's sullen look, from having to stick with the girl, combined with Chloe's nose bleed, caused a burst of compassion with the man. He wiped his hands on his overalls and pulled out a heavy octagonal metal plate. The edges inscribed in a pattern and language that even she did not speak. This was to be honest, the only interesting thing about it, in Chloe's opinion and took it on that basis alone. Eryn tried to repair the damage she had done in her rudeness.

They were both reaching the edge of the market when Chloe had finally gotten fed up of carrying the metal plate around.  She approached a man who looked like he was selling some kinds of reflective surface and this plate should do nicely. He disagreed, and refused on grounds of respect and reverence that he could not take it. He gave his apologies to her and told her to make amends with her past. This was the third person in this town that had told her that and this made her angry. Not a single person would answer her question as to why they were like this towards her but everyone was sorry. She threw the plate down onto the floor, or at least let the weight of it drop from her hand. She was about to leap on the man in her frustration when Eryn calmly moved her aside and greeted the shop keep and apologised to him as well. The shop keep pointed the family crest that Chloe had decided to plate onto the metal surface on a whim and told him that they both needed to go see the Gulspar monks. Again, this was not an answer and in restrained anger Chloe picked up the plate, put it under a cloth on the merchants table and left it there. Eryn was fed up of this. It had been mere hours since they were chucked out from their own execution on a promise they could never keep. They were walking dead, with the axe waiting for information of their failure.

A cold slimly tentacle curled around his ear. He shuddered, perhaps even this own thoughts would betray him. You can't leave this city till you have found her! The words licked inside his ear, he swallowed uncomfortably.  No sooner had it come, the thing, whatever it was, had gone.  Chloe had run back towards Eryn screaming. She too had felt something and heard the same voice. It didn't feel right to stay in the market. They needed to get somewhere quiet. They walked down alley after alley until they came to a plaza with a shop being looted. However this didn't seem a crime of opportunity. There were carts and synth plates that hovered in the air a few feet from the ground. Guards were at every street entrance and two Seskii were play-fighting with each other, bearing teeth and shedding scales as claws were swiped. Eryn recognised something about this that was familiar. Was it the dress of them, the language? Chloe in her vibrantly untactful way approached one of the guards. Eryn then remembered; it was emblem of the Silver Palm on the crates coming out of the shop. He looked over at Chloe and for a split second he considered running.    

TSC - Chapter 1: Cause and Effect (7) - Whispers

The feline never returned. It could be argued that this was a blessing, not to have such a beast in close company but for one the brute force of such a creature would have been an asset, as well as secondly, staying in favour with House Ethis. Presumably the Televaraen returned the package, or carried its journey onwards and out of the city. Chloe could only now wonder with the link to this powerful house was now in the court of the creature and how this would affect the rest of their time here.  She chuckled slightly to herself, realising she was turning into a true Thaemic. This sudden outburst drew to sullen room to her and the coin she was constantly plating. Shroud had been studying her technique, the patterns she could produce, the quantity and volume before she would show the slightest signs of fatigue.  There was perhaps a large profit potential with her gift, even on any object. If only he could get her to the upper merchant floors, even potentially setting up in Greyspire to catch the wealthy. If this girl could be nurtured, taught the right lessons, given the proper instruction, she could be very profitable.

Lord Shroud immediately withdrew another silver coin and tossed it into air, with a few swift words it vanished before it could fall. He had let loose a phrase, a promise, an eventuality, he was to be known as a merchant lord and nothing more, nothing less. However this would take time, not only for the words to spread and for them to be realised, but also for himself to reach the levels above. There was no reason for anyone of a Merchant Lord Status or higher to be below the upper levels or at the very least, the top tiers of the merchant class. There was also the provisions and staffing needed. These words were just words, although believable. He needed substance to this for if he was questioned, and for that he needed to rise up and the Under-croft Market was where they needed to go. 

This place had been heavily maintained by the slight hand of the Silver Palm. Their influence stopped building work above the market, kept unsanctioned crimes low, and introduced public art and areas of relaxation in-between the merchants and dealers in pleasures.  This place, with a squinted eye, could be mistaken for high above. People are dressed fashionably, all be it ragged and torn, the objects for sale are still useable, and perhaps valuable to some. Even the artwork, the sculptures half broken and miles of greying billowing cloth, in patterns and colours that change and change never to be seen again. It was the smell however, that was still the same as everywhere else. It was rotten and musky, but here the mild scent of spices and smoke gave the promise that this place was something more, if only just a few fashions ago.  

Chloe and Eryn had been convinced to come here, if yet neither of them could remember why, as they found themselves at the market after mere moments of leaving the Pale Spine.  Chloe had was now enjoying the lack of gravity in the area, or at least what she felt and was somersaulting with ease. Her constant rotations made her aware of a woman following them, she looked just shy of Chloe's sister's age of thirty. She didn't seem aggressive, or that stealthy. The woman was just dirty, malnourished and shaking. As she approached, Chloe grabbed Shroud's attention and he immediately swung around and stopped in his tracks. She was beautiful, even under the layers of hardship and soot, grime and poverty she was beautiful. Her eyes were tinged with flecks of diamond on the dark ocean. Her hair although matted and soiled showed a promise of flowing white-gold.  He approached her and she backed away. His intent moved a few more steps, she moved in equal measure till she was further back than when she had been noticed. Chloe sighed, her eyes glazing over in purple tones. She plated the bottom of her shoes, took a few steps back, rushed forward and immediately jumped. the crystal beneath her feet had shattered, its force propelling her over to the hiding woman. Without hesitation Chloe grabbed her arm and threw questions at her, to which the woman started to sob. Lord Shroud barged oved and pushed Chloe out the way. He gently sat the woman down and scowled at Chloe and apologised to the woman for the treatment she had just received and asked why she was following them. She suddenly burst into tears again. This startled Lord Shroud. It became apparent he had not done this sort of chivalric behaviour in a very long time and he immediately held her at a distance, his head almost twisted off. She slowly calmed down and became very boring in the eyes of Chloe. She had caught her own reflection in a rusted silver tray and then looked at the woman. Although she was older, she even prettier than herself. Chloe's family was known for only three things, their transmutation ability, their connection to the Beyond, and their grace, beauty and intelligence. This woman held a certain grace to her, her beauty underpinning it. She was from down here, and Chloe knew that those in the slums of Auspar could never read, never comprehend anything more than what they can see and touch.  She wasn't a threat but regardless Shroud should be paying attention to her, not this woman.

Her motions were in vein, Shroud dismissed Chloe and told her to continue on with Eryn until he was done. Chloe's muscles stiffened, her fists clenched.  She breathed heavily and slowly. Her feet were plated, her eyes changed and she jumped away, purposefully kicking up dust and crystal shards in the direction of Shroud and the woman.  He again apologised for her actions. The woman introduced herself as Neave, she had heard of his immanent rise and wanted to join him, to better her standing and help her family. She pleaded, she knew nothing else that she could do to get herself out of this situation, and give herself the things she needed. Shroud smiled, this girl had ambition and drive in her maze like eyes. He accepted without even consciously moving his lips. Overjoyed she hugged him, again he held her at a distance and she disappeared into the market place. He looked down for a few seconds, almost trying to find the memory he just made. He couldn't put his finger on it but she wasn't being truthful. Although she would meet him and his friends in the morning, he didn't trust her motives till sunrise, so he snaked his way after her.  

TSC - Chapter 1: Cause and Effect (6) - Khat-Nipp

By now pretty much everyone inside was aware of what had happened outside. Tables had half left glasses, pipes were still lit. A game of cards littered the floor. The barkeep by now had pretty much regretted his decision but knew that once the Televaraen had moved on his regulars would be back. The seven remaining were either deaf, blind, or thumbed over a silver coin in the shadows.  Chloe, before returning back into the tavern had searched the corpse and presented to the barkeep two purses of shins. The cloth was made from dark red velvet and tied with a simple string thread. He didn't know whether to take it from the girl as payment, as a gift or purchase for liquor. She smiled at him, her hair catching on the dim light giving off a faint purple glow. Her smile was disarming. He instinctively reached out for the bag in hopes to ask questions later but it squelched in his hands. The bag was warm, and damp. Blood was oozing out as he clenched. He jerked backwards, dropping the bag on the counter. It's smell turned Eryn's stomach and his back, and disappeared by the fire. Chloe continued to smile.

The Televaraen had been previously occupied with the fork until the bags had it the bar. He walked over and gingerly poked it with his claw. He sniffed at it, his hood flowing over the wood around him.  He narrowed his eyes a few times at Chloe and nudged the sacks towards the barkeep.  No matter what was inside, the barkeep realised it wasn't worth risking his life over. He distanced the bags as far as he could from himself before opening, the blood started to seep out. Inside were thankfully shins but also tissue and bone cobbled together with some piece of metal or synth. Chloe told the man that if she had  remembered rightly there was a black market in Auspar for augmentation and this should certainly provide ample for provisions. The barkeep now was pretty much close to tears. Denying any part of this girls claim would result in death and the promise of something far worse. He looked over at both the Televaraen and Lord Shroud and shuddered; his gaze catching the last of his regulars leaving. Business hours were over. He poured the usual concoctions for the Televaraen and a distilled spirit like a liquid mirror for Lord Shroud, Eryn asked for his courage. Chloe enquired as to what was the most expensive thing he had. The man sighed to himself and looked down at his feet and breathed slowly. He brought out a small silver ring with a gelatinous disk inside. He turned around to the brickwork behind him, counted a few out and held up the ring. With little effort his hand slid right through, past the rock and into something dark. He fumbled around for a few seconds before finally dragging a bottle out. Its weight nearly putting him off balance as it swung to the ground in his hand.  Her eyes lit up, her glass filled and quickly emptied.

The fourth glass was promptly interrupted by two more well defined gentlemen, their eyelids closing both ways, their tongues tasting the air. This time however patches of scales ranging from skin colour to vibrant greens and coppers appeared in patches over the face and hands of both of them. The last three fingers on  the right hand one gentleman ended in webbed scales, while the other had his left eye encased from brow downwards. They wheeled in with them a clearly marked barrel. To Eryn this was just a branding symbol, to Lord Shroud he saw the symbol of the Silver Palm and to the Televaraen and Chloe, they both saw the mark of the House of Ethis. A silver coin was passed to the bar keep both Shroud and the Televaraen recognised what was going on and slowly drank with an attentive eye. Eryn meanwhile, had  also noticed the coin pass but this time became fascinated.  Now he had already tried to put this whole situation into some logical order in his head before but now his mind was racing again. Was this some sort of crime? Was the barrel moving oddly? To both he answered yes and ventured back outside.

He searched around by the wall to the back of the bar, looking for something that could perhaps serve as some sort of criminal secret. He found it, a metalic platform and a set of controls made from stone, along with the two brutes wheeling the barrel outside. Somehow he never factored in them actually using what he was looking for. One of them immediately set upon him brandishing a pristine broadsword. Eryn stumbled backwards against the wall. He to drew his sword and in an attempt at defence he lunged forward, only for his sword to tangle in the overhead rigging. Eryn looked slightly confused, his opponent laughing.  Now this stirred his blood. A man from Draolis takes an insult of his own prestige as a severe offence. He pressed his fingers together. A small whisper of smoke rose. His veins in his hands glowed red, fire tried to burst into life above Eryn's head. He reached out to the startled thug and grabbed his shoulder. He screamed at the searing pain of Eryn's touch which it now possessed. The grip was held was past the smell of tinged hairs and seared flesh till the man fell to his knees. Eryn, now satisfied, placed his fingers together again, the fire subsiding and laid against a crate to catch his breath.

The Televaraen soon followed out after hearing crashing and shouting. The burnt man had recovered, the remains of a slime that had been crawling its way over his shoulder had just faded into his clothing. Eryn was unprepared for a drawn sword. The Televaraen got down on all four paws, and lunged himself at the thug. His claws ripping his shirt and back to shreds. The thugs blood now mingling with the drunkard in this back alley. The Televaraen walked calmly back to the doorway and proceeded to clean himself. The other brute called for help in desperate pleas. Chloe ran out and stumbled around, steadying herself on the wall. A another similar snaked man had followed Shroud and the girl through to the alley behind them and was about to strike when he was startled by the sudden flaying. That moment was seized by Shroud and a swift kick to the head knocked nearly everything out of his head and onto the floor and next to his associate.

Chloe, meanwhile had pulled a large piece of metal from behind one of the crates, its rust bright pink with a lime green tinge. She pried open the barrel   to reveal an intricate contraption. Inside was a series of shelves, tiny orbs with a small neck and stopper were being rolled around continuously on a set of tracks being kept in place by metal plates that separated them. The core was a plant, a leaf that gave off a distinct minty smell with a sharp tang of oil. Its roots had spread all over the device. Apart from the tracks, the bottle and the plant this was the entire content. Chloe looked at the symbol a little more. She steadied herself on the wall and hurled accusations and insults at the broken man and his associate, as well as vomit over the side of the platform. The abuse was specific, targeted, she used insults that only members from certain families would know. They tried to explain themselves, their lack of information and their low pay. The fact that the drug they were transporting was genuine,  locally produced Khat-Nipp. They were using the Silver Hand connections to smuggle the thirty-six vials out of the city without being traced but now they had been caught. Shroud, dismissed this as mere nonsense and took a single drop for his own confirmation.

A tune that he only half remembered, something that made a true smile crack his facade played in his ears. His eyes dilated and he became lost. Chloe immediately noticed the effects, and the apparent potency. She, and she alone bargained not only for the barrel but for their silence. She pulled a few bloodied shins from her attire and plated them, telling them this would probably be worth more than this job. They in turn, turned to the Televaraen and presented him with some of the money. He quickly pulled out a cloth with the Ethis design embroidered on, and cleaned up these gifts. Shroud prepared himself to move the barrel but the Televaraen placed a firm paw on it and glared. For Shroud the song had finished, his eyes adjusted back to the light. He ushered  the girl and Eryn back in as more cries were heard from outside.  The barkeep tossed the sacks of shins he was given over, in return for a promise never to return. 

TSC - Chapter 1: Cause and Effect (5) - Charcoal

The smoke from inside tumbled out and dissipated as it fell to the floor. Stale tobacco clung to the damp and the smell of sawdust.  The brute emerged, dressed in what was now apparent to be more mercantile clothing. His build however, and what appeared to be two short swords by his side, definitely put him down here. In his stumpy grip he dragged the two drunks out and threw them against the wall. The Televaraen had now removed his hood. For all that was seen in the Stead, not many were prepared for just how inhuman they were. The thug tasted the air around the figure, his eyes closing in both directions. The man was no man, nor by any definition a humanoid. The astounding qualities of a feline figure, furred in burnt charcoal, was masked under a human attire.  These creatures, if it was not for their intelligence, physique, and society, they would be considered a distant  cousin of a domestic animal. This then left one thought; if the domesticated hunt vermin then there could only be one pray for the Televaraen. The brute moved passed as swiftly as he could, leaving the two drunkards at the man's mercy. These two were now crying, pleading.  At least with the Golithair their overall figure was humanoid, this man had no such features ; a savagely civilised beast.

   

Only a few feet away Eryn had managed to pass into the alley unnoticed.  While the Televaraen had been using his cerulean velvet cloth that acted like sharpening steel  on the tips of his claws; Eryn had nearly stumbled over rigging from a few floors above and nearly fell from the wall he jumped behind to hide. His new found courage had come at a price. Chloe had managed to walk straight past the thug and although his intent was to stop her. One Lord Shroud glared over, his head gently shaking and the thug backed off. Chloe gathered her cloak around her and stuck to the wall and the shadows. She was deliberate, and a lot more methodical than Lord Shroud had given her credit. She slunk over the wall. Eryn was mildly panicking he was about to be mauled to death and had his hands together ready to at least attempt a defence against onslaught. She was quickly followed by Lord Shroud his tattered clothing managing to blend to some extent his existence in the surroundings, she was more of a shock to Eryn whose nerves were pretty much frayed by now. All three watched carefully, quietly.

The Televaraen had by now finished his preparation. One of the drunks had pretty much sobered up and dropped to his knees as the other was gripped by the throat and held to the wall in a tight claw. The eyes of the Televaraen squinted, its grip flexed into the skin of his victim. A pinprick of pain was felt in the back of his head, throbbing away for a few seconds. When it subsided, the Televaraen was offered help by three apparent allies. This was interesting for the clawed man, this situation was familiar but fresh. The thought gnawed at him, his frustration ripped through the throat of his prey. The grey stone dripped in red onto the crates. Eryn went pale, Chloe looked with both fear and interest, while Shroud  looked the man straight in the eyes. In the seconds that the man had fallen to the floor, twitching and bleeding out, pools dripping to the floor below; his companion had tried to run. Within a blink the Televaraen had pinned him down to the floor, licking his bloodstained paw and the man's breath quickened and cries  for help were shouted again.

The three had unconsciously moved a few steps back while watching this. They offered anything they could for the man's life. Chloe pulled out her plated fork, the only thing she could think to offer. As she raised it, a semi broken glowglobe lit the interior, producing a spectrum on the deck. The Televaraen bounded back over to the group, but not before clawing the leg of the now fully sober man. He limped off into the dark. The blood was now nearly all cleared off and to which out of a pocket the man produced another cloth, this time in pure white and a small snyth bottle. The liquid inside was poured onto the cloth and the cloth was vigorously rubbed all over the paw and claw. Not a single spec was left. He brought a comb out after this was put away and brushed his fur that was open to the elements.  He licked his paws, smoothed down his face and patted his whiskers. His stature unnerved Chloe as he towered over her. His eyes fixated on her, pupils dilated as if the eye was nearly all black.

Lord Shroud thought of intervening, perhaps this brief respite was just for the Televaraen's own composure before a kill. There were two things about this creatures most people knew, apart from the horrific corpses it leaves behind. On a few, and rare occasions, they have been witnessed to meticulously clean themselves, and everything they carry y and after each kill their claws are cleaned while something is chanted.  This was what was happening now, and could only be seen as whatever business they had had concluded. Eryn had out of morbid curiosity gone over to the corpse, and had vomited after catching the warm scent of blood and the obvious stench below. The Televaraen tried to communicate, a language nobody else could speak. Gestures by paw and claw only left Chloe more scared on the brink of crying herself. This changed the tactic of communication.  The Televaraen got down onto all four paws. His whole garment made from an adaptive material to which had now taken on the form of the fur it covered. He nudged his face against the clenched fist of Chloe around the plated fork. Lord Shroud put his hand on her, making her jump. She dropped the fork and the Televaraen had gotten back onto his hind legs and swiped it away before it could touch the ground and started to stare at it. He rubbed his face against it, muttering a few words as another cloth was brought forth. It was cleaned and then wrapped in a separate cloth and placed into a pocket.  A few more words were spoken but not understood. A broken flagon and the jingle of shins dangled in a sack from a claw were hopefully signs of a truce, or at least, a temporary understanding, with added alcohol. 

TSC - Chapter 1: Cause and Effect (4) - Musical Chairs

For those uninitiated in the Foundations, there were a few characters that you should stay clear of. The silver hands brutes were one, anyone showing signs of radiation or mutation another and above else, anyone that would never normally call this place home. For someone like that to survive down here they would need a threat that people not only respected and feared but also brought with it a distinct fallout area wherever they may go. The Pale Spine was a place where many of these would frequent.  The heavy smoke, partly cinnamon, partly burnt syth with the after taste of something similar to tobacco blanketed the air and appearances. This made it perfect for hiding away, and unfortunately perfect for not seeing the dangers sitting next to you.

The two prisoners ducked their head as they entered. The room was sunken down into the lower floor. This created a space above on the main area used for other matters that couldn't be solved with a drink. The man smiled, almost recognizing the distinct smell. The girl however, at such an age as hers, recoiled and rubbed her eyes. She was given a slightly sympathetic look by the other prisoner before he lit up a snyth pipe that he had managed to rescue from his jumbled belongings and sat down at the bar. He got the attention of the barkeep and found his glass to soon be full with a purple liquid; its surface reflected like oil but bubbled like it was being heated with the distinct aroma of something illegally strong. This was a drink to forget. The girl on the other hand was still trying to adjust to her new surroundings. Her lost state did not go unnoticed, three guys at the corner of the bar, which by their apparent lack of co-ordination, had been drinking for a while, that or something chemical. She fumbled around in the smoke trying to find a chair. Not an easy task, especially under such a watchful gaze.

From upstairs a heavy boot stomped its way down. A small group, sitting by fire fireplace suddenly moved. The smoke gathered by their movements and swirled around the young girl, who had, unfortunately found a seat. The boots were followed by the slim figure of a man, his clothes were tailored, but from a fashion months ago.  They had seen better days but to most, this was the fashion here, anything that wasn’t from fashionable above, anything that wasn’t pristine and undamaged.  He sat down at his usual spot next to the fire. A barmaid suddenly appeared out of the smoke with a drink in hand and placed it down on the table in front of the man. Her sight then fell upon the girl, there was a brief look of confliction on her face before the sense of self-preservation kicked in and she swiftly disappeared.  The girl suddenly realised her situation, not the severity of it, but the fact she was sitting next to a dangerous stranger. So she did what she did naturally, distract and impress, reduce the threat. She passed pleasantries at him, to which he sipped his drink. She tried to charm him, removing her hood, in hopes her looks would impress. There were only cat calls from the other side of the bar. Her last resort was her most intimate to her. She reached over behind her and tapped around for a fork. She then presented it, covered it with her hand and revealed the item to be plated in amethyst. Now this, this garnered his attention.  He dispatched his own set of pleasantries, revealing himself to be Lord Shroud, or at least that was his name above. She introduced herself again as Chloe. He too, like Maw, had noticed her hands and realised she was far from home, and therefore easily manipulated.

There was a pinprick of pain in the front of the girls brain, her eyes momentarily squinted. The plated fork was snatched. She rubbed her head and then passed pleasantries at him, to which he sipped his drink. She tried to charm him, playing with her hair, in hopes her looks would impress. There again, were only cat calls from the other side of the bar. She resorted to her last tactic. Chloe reached over behind her and tapped her hand around for a fork. She presented it, plated it, and was introduced again.  However this time the gentleman produced his own fork. Taken aback by this she didn't notice one of the gentlemen from the corner of the bar being coerced into talking to her. The two guys who remained at the bar started sloshing their drink around in their glasses, the reward for a dare completed. This would go un-drunk. His approach and lack of etiquette along with her current situation left her to react almost instinctively. With his lecherous breath down her neck she reached out to his crotch and plated it amethyst. Although she unsure what ended up being plated, the man started to cry out in pain while his compatriots laughed on, one falling out his chair. The newly plated man forced his way through the rest of the patrons, through the smoke and to the outside world. The Lord laughed; she was definitely not what she appeared to be, her eyes betraying a sense of enjoyment out of the pain she had inflicted.

On the other side of the room at the bar, the male prisoner had drunk one or two more than he would have usually done. He repeatedly said to the barkeep this was down to stress.  His current state afforded him new found courage, or at least emboldened his usually passive nature. The barkeep had been giving watchful glances over at a cloaked figure in the shadows at the other end of the bar. When Chloe had plated the drunkard, it was this figure that stopped the barkeep from interfering. This piqued the prisoner’s interest. He sidled over, offered something to smoke, to which they did not reply. He offered a drink, again no reply. He offered his name, Eryn, to only be met with silence again. The barkeep now was trying to get the attention of Eryn, gesturing to move away as quickly and as carefully as possible. This went unnoticed and the prisoner quickly rose out of his seat. The cloaked figure grabbed hold of his arm. Eryn looked down and saw what was causing the pain from the grasp. The cloaked figure had a clawed grip, which was now drawing blood. They, on the other hand, still looked forward, calmly. The prisoner was now panicking; there was only one species that could do this, a species infamous in children’s stories and the nightmares of adults. Eryn tried to recoil, the claws now digging in deeper.

 The cloaked figure noticed that the two gentlemen left at the corner of the bar were now nearly blind drunk. The figure retracted their claws and nodded to the prisoner; perhaps he was being let go, perhaps he wouldn't die. The truth of the matter was that although the figure considered him to be an oddity down here, there were better things to do. The figure rose and the barkeep nervously shuffled over. A silver coin was passed over and the barkeep nodded. A look was given over to another figure in the bar, a large brutish gentleman. His eyes were squinted, while a forked tongue tasted the smoke, cinnamon, snyth and alcohol in the air. The two drunks were herded by this man out to the back of the bar and into the alleyway. The cloaked figure followed. A few moments later Eryn had downed another drink, and followed the figure out. Chloe, noticing that her companion was leaving, swiftly followed with Lord Shroud on her heels.

TSC - Chapter 1: Cause and Effect (3) - Maw

The Pale Spine could be found in the recesses of the Foundation. It catered to a very specific crowd. Money walked through the door, and it all walked back out  in someone else's pocket. The place by standards above would be described as incomparable. The chairs were torn and ripped and bolted back together, the tables didn't match, didn't fit squarely, and certainly weren't flat. The shades around the light fixtures were perhaps bought tougher, the only matching thing in the place, but the now burnt orange fabric around them had presumably been unsightly to begin with. The same could be said of many of the patrons here. Once part of a youthful gang, the city and the grime below had trodden them into submission. Their coats dirty, the furs matted, threads were left dragging on the floor. They could barely scrape a decent coin purse between them but every shin was worth an ounce of their soul and this caused problems.  Sometimes people disagreed, sometimes people were vaporised, poisoned, sliced, burnt out by some piece of Numenera, or in this case, gashed by the window they fell through.  Everybody cheated, nobody really had the skill or the knowledge to really outdo each other. If they could find something in the rubbish around them that could give an edge, it was used, until you were caught and a fight ensued. The Tethered didn't venture down here, there is no real enforced law. Rather, down here, a simple code of conduct is used. Cheat others, how you wish to cheated, but suffer the consequences if caught.  A man by the name of Maw was unfortunately caught  in his deception.

He had recently found a half damaged optical implant. Almost four years ago, he replaced his own eyes for mechanical enhancements but these were obviously inhuman and caused a lot of grief when being accused of cheating. These new devices however, were the same shape of the eyeball. His sense of sight was connected to these devices, even as one fell out of his skull, bounced onto the deck, and started rolling around until finally stopping next to the boot of one of the now hooded escaped prisoners.  A woman's boot kicked the eyeball back and Maw hurriedly shoved it back in, forgetting to dust it off. He recoiled in pain. The woman knelt down, she reached out to him and asked if he was okay. Her hands betrayed her stature and silhouette. In her hood and cloak, her figure was shapely, buxom but lithe, definitively a woman. Her hands however were pale, supple and uncallused. She was certainly younger than what she appeared. Maw looked down at them and could only see the pallor of them. A woman from down here would have hands ripe with filth and cuts and calluses, a woman above would try to strike the fine balance between pale and sun kissed, even down here a tan darker would be considered excessive  and garish. He noticed her because she wasn't from here, and she noticed him and quickly withdrew her hands.

The male prisoner looked a little more at home, although his posture was uneasy outside the Pale Spine. His hands were clearly on show although his palms were not. They had cuts, and bruises, but also burn marks, and soot. His cloak was left untied, and a leather jerkin was brandished, a very faded mark could be made out of a tiger but the light down here made it hard to properly tell. He also offered his help but not with outstretched hands. Maw took notice of this straight away and dusted himself down. He told them that he wasn't in any trouble, in fact the matter was that he was just caught cheating. The optical implants, while scanning, emitted a pinprick of red light that scanned the cards, it produced a poor resolution  but was workable. Maw had just forgotten how much his regulars smoke. With that he checked over his shoulder and scurried back in.

The two prisoners had  now recovered from their initial encounter. Although the atmosphere between the two was a little frosty now. The way that they had landed, the man had fallen onto the woman in a more than suspicious position. After realising where he was, he had moved away as quick as possible but sharp blasts of insults were already being fired across. Not only that but broken planks, cans, even rivets of metal were being hurled over in violet hues as each was being coated in an amethyst substance that, with enough force, shattered against the brickwork.  The man explained the situation, apologised for his behaviours, sent a prayer  into the Ether and hoped that was enough to calm the girl.

She on the other hand had been distracted and now overly distraught. Her hair was shifting colours and substance in clashing waves and patters. She had caught herself in the reflection of a broken wine bottle and became so infuriated about her situation that she somehow summoned up enough energy to climb her way out, plating the rubbish around her into stepping stones. The man, did not seem comfortable with his new companion, least of all her volatility. So in some effort to engender himself to the girl he carried her equipment, along with his to the deck she was standing on. She had sat herself down on the edge of one of the creates for only a brief moment when the man tried to strike up a gentle conversation. She immediately drowned him out. Her eyes had caught something in the distance, the flicker of breaking glass against darkness. He looked up at her, her corneas like mirrors, but then more like mercury as well. The light she saw was clearly reflected in them. She eagerly grabbed her pack knocking it against the weary head of her companion. He punched the crate she had just been sitting on, leaving a burnt fist mark in the wood. He steadied himself, tried not to look down, and followed her, past Maw, and into the thick heavy smoke and liquor laden Pale Spine.

TSC - Chapter 1: Cause and Effect (2) - Supplication

"Ladies and gentlemen of Auspar," proclaimed the gentleman ostentatiously, " politicians and painters, servicemen and sculptors, merchants and machinatiors alike, may all your seedlings find prosperity. Welcome, for today we pass blessing on the safe return of Her Royal Highness Princess Elise. Today marks the sixth day of the ritual and as before her sapling will gain strength from the lives of these brave and loyal souls. Show them your faith and appreciation." The two prisoners cowered, for in their darkness their world was pelted with a barrage of offerings. Shins flew past their heads, clinking on the ground.  Silken scraps, each with golden thread fell around them like the caress of fingertips. The smell of incense and flowers mixed with the roasted meat; the latter considered to be miserly, both aromas fell to the floor of the arena with a springy thud.  The crowd cheered and wildey clapped. The excitement made the two prisoners equally as sick. "In turn she will gain strength to find her way home.  We pray that this one action will course through the Datasphere, ever changing, ever flowing, into hope and celebration. Speaking of such matters the Abbot will be preceding over a Rite of Ascension later today as House Ethis completes their latest phase of building. I hope you can all attend."

There was a brief ripple of discontent. House Ethis had already commemorated one of their buildings last week. It seemed to most, almost impossible, that they could afford more building work. What was more surprising was the constant stream of Numenera used in dedication.  The more powerful the device, the more devotion and consequently the rarity went up. The only known sources of such things were either the Aeon Priests themselves or members of House Narkkonis. Neither would be giving up any of their artefacts or cyphers for matters they considered 'trivial'. Unless a deal had been made. That wasn't out of the question, society in Auspar had its cogs oiled in windowless backrooms . It was rumoured that Ethis had an entire spire to hold its most valuable artwork, while the uncountable amount of shins they owned was stored safely in the Tangent Spire under the watchful eye of one of Ethis' sons and Master of Shins Christophe. Money could buy your way up to the top in Auspar, but due to much enforcement  by the Aeon Priests, at least here you couldn't put a price on the Numenera.  Not legally anyway.

These concerns mattered little to the prisoners, as a matter of course. Their imminent departure from this plane of existence was their entire world, well that and the darkness. Through the crowd cheering and the band playing something wrapped itself around their ears. It felt cold, slimy. Tendrils wrapped their way around and into the right ear from what felt like a larger stumpy tentacle around their necks. The little tentacles wrapped their way around the ridges of each of the prisoners ears until settling down quite quickly.   Its whispers felt deeper than any words usually spoken, slightly barbed and serpentine." If you wish to live, supplicate. If you wish to live, you will find the princess. Remain standing and your blood shall nature the soil and the promise of her return. Fall to your knees and live." Both prisoners tried to rid themselves of whatever this thing was, but no matter how much they tried in their restrained capacity, this thing had no substance, nothing to dislodge or draw attention to. The sound of the ceremonial sword staff dragged in the dirt and sawdust, clinking, counting down, on the rivets and joinery of the synth plates underneath. The crowds excitement intensified. The two prisoners valued their lives, and they knew there was not another way out with it still their own. They fell to their knees. "Good." Something thin, metallic and most definitely alive slithered up the left arm of each of them. It was warm to the touch but its movements were definitively not natural. It settled back down again on the left wrist. Small needle tips quickly pierced the skin for a brief moment before it clicked itself into place, forming a bracelet. "This is our safe guard. Leave the caldera and you shall perish, betray us and you shall be punished.  We are forever watchful, forever vigilant, we see and hear all." The cold and the slime dissipated followed by utter dismay by the crowd.

A young boy, hardly eight or nine, his hair made from fine copper strands, his fingers segmented, held together by an unseen force scurried up to the old man. He sighed, nodded and gave the boy a few shins. "I have just been informed by royal decree, passed by the Visor, that these people have been granted mercy. Let us hope their actions will cause the safe return of the Princess. But do not fret my dear ladies and gentleman. These devoted souls, the seedlings of change are, to the grace of the King, endless. While the rites are given to the next loyal citizens, and in dedication to the Princess and her father our King. May I, Legatus Zivans Cianin, present Captain Zhreig and my Elite Guard, accompanied by the Royal Symphony for your enjoinment."

The next few moments were a blur, booing and yelling was interspersed by  music and the shouts of enjoyment. The prisoners were manhandled out of the arena before the audience could throw something bladed. Regardless if you were royally pardoned or not, refusing to be the cause of something greater than yourself was seen as traitorous and sinful. The prisoner's restraints were removed, and so was the cloth sack. The blindfold too was quickly removed. Their eyes were blinded by the intensity of the light outside. The guards, in a swift synchronous action, quickly kicked their boots at the back of the captives spines, sending them off floor eight and straight to the ground below.  Death by falling is very uncommon in Auspar, the radiation field sees to that; what would probably try to kill you though would be the smell, and the numerous little creatures that dwell on the detritus of the world above, including murderers, thieves and monsters that grow in the dark. A shout was given from high above and what little was left of the prisoners belongings was dropped on top of them into the surrounding garbage that had broken their fall. To some, it's considered to be better off dead, than down in the dark below.

TSC - Chapter 1: Cause and Effect (1) - City of Needles

Auspar is the the capital of the Stead of Thaemor, ruled by The Insane King, Holva the First and his Visor Melch. The city is built around the Obsidian Spire, each building, has at one point or another been the tallest building in the city, hence it being known as the City of Needles. Merchants, families, guilds and organisations all try to outdo each other in grey and tan stone, embellish with art and reach out with wooden platforms. Bunting, banners, flags, kites and wind chimes; some larger than the floors themselves  of the towers are anchored to even the remotest of moorings. The owners of towers with glass windows, brave enough to risk not barring up from intruders, have found that over time the glass has developed a unique complexity. The inside of the glass at a seemingly random time each day, melts or shatters inside, while the outer surfaces remain pristine. This process leaves the windows with a unique colouration and pattern. There are some  that have tried to decipher the patterns, believing this to be code from a civilisation not of this world. They tend  not to ask permission first, much to the annoyance of the residents. The plants grow without the constraints of gravity in aerial gardens, trees float on root wrapped boulders . Water features flow in intricate patterns, scattering light onto the stonework.

The inhabitants have no roads as the centre of wealth shifts ever upwards with the current floor four being the base line for the merchant class. Depending on wealth, status, or height from the ground you can travel between towers by bridge, floating structures, zip lines, pneumatic lifts and sky ferries. Those that are given the ability, or have bought their way have personal transport, such as jet-packs, anti-gravity devices, gliders or Numenera . Below floor four you reach the latest height of the underbelly, known as The Foundation. As the Obsidian Spire rises, the ground of the caldera on which Auspar is built upon lowers, and the walls around the city rise. When a floor becomes lower than the surrounding landscape it becomes the new lower floor and in turn the residents build ever higher. It is generally considered that there is a corresponding number of floors that the lords and ladies, the rich families and merchants live in the highest of the spires but that changes from tower to tower. Crime, garbage, and a unique gravitational radiation are what can be mainly  found in this dark and lawless zone. The Under-Croft market has been venerated by the Silver Palm , and has been maintained the by the guild for its entire existence. It can procure pretty much anything, if you don't require quality, or cleanliness. The guild has eve even managed to restrict bridging over the site, so that the space above can be used for hanging decoration and symbols of wealth and power stolen from those above.

For those, the merchant class and higher the same rules apply. Ceremony, stature and image drive the residents; each aspiring to be better, regardless of station, to build higher, to know more, to be the first in a chain reaction that leads to something monumental . Every action and intention gilded to near garish proportions in hopes of warding off competition and attracting fame. Punishments are public, festivities spill into every level, the completion of buildings always finished in a ceremony to the God of Prosperity and growth Gulspar around  the Obsidian Spire. These citizens celebrate what they have, dazzle and amaze and always try to be the first. This is the price they pay for their King. How they compensate for the embarrassment and threat. Holva the First has utter devotion to his Visor. He regards Melch's advice over own reasoning, while his own sanity wanes with each impossible new proclamation.  These new rules have turned most of the kingdom against him, with the latest being a Shadow Tax. To which it is only known to be a fund to help build the Kingdom, improve it in some form or another. The Tethered, the law enforcing Grapnel Guard, only enforce the laws decried by the King in his presence.  In all other circumstances the basic universal Stead laws, and Order of Truth tenants apply, which Thaemor's citizens thrive in, despite Holva's rule. The real law to pay attention to here is not to rise above your floor and get caught, as there is only so many places to hide and a long way to fall.

In the north west of the city lies the tiered Grapnel Arena. Home to the city guards and its best gladiatorial combatants it has also staged many of the city's ritual and rites. Unfortunately today, this ritual was unkind but necessary. Guldspar's blood must be nurtured, consequence must be caused. Two prisoners , whose crimes were indiscriminate came before the baying crowd.  Two Tethered  held their polished verred to the backs of the sacrifices . The prisoners were blindfolded,  disorientated. An intricate an ornate set of Numenera restrained their arms and esoteries behind their back. The dried blood of previous days was only noticeable in the hardest to reach parts of the golden metal filigree. A crude silk scarf was used to gag them and just as they entered the  main arena an ornate silken sack was placed over the top of their heads.

The crowd roared as they came into view, the music played triumphant tunes in brass, synth and string. This distinct smell of roasted meat and spices filled  the air, wafting gently down to the lower floor. A large silken screen, lowered from the arena platform above, relayed the ritual as if it was in clearly in front of them . The food however, was whatever was thrown down from above. At least it was masking the usual smells from below. From all the floors the noise of the crowd was deafening. Excitement crackled in the air. An man in his mid fifties, dressed in ornate metal weave armour approached the stage. Over the top of his armour was  a cloak of slowly changing brilliance cloth.  Its colour rotated around hues of green and brown,  its many tips curling in the air in an exotic display. A grey stubble beard  matched his clipper short hair. His chiselled features were created by battle, not by nobility; a noble would never be seen with scars. Metal bands and jewellery adorned every available space, their pattern contained a design  that seemed fluid,  dependant on the light. The music came to a crescendo, the crowd briefly clapped and cheered, they all then quickly fell silent.