Since everyone has ongoing stories on the, er, go...hmm... I decided to put mine up. This is a rewrite of the novel that I started and shared with DragonsDomain, our australia-bound mod.

This is the first chapter, already gone through the DL4-Proof-Readin Service™, and snippets from the following chapter SHALL be inflicted on you. The reason i have put up a whole chapter this time, however, is because I wish to test it on you lot.

I need 100% honesty from you all. How much did you read before you got bored? And if you made it to the end of the chapter, did you want to read more?

I apologise for the length. Enjoy...please...

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CHAPTER ONE: THE MEETING OF THE GUILD

Fog.
Shadow.
Darkness.
All three hinder vision. All three disorientate creatures that are within them. All three are allies for the Walkers of the Night. The people of the shadows. The Thieves.
Thieves travel unseen through the fog. Journey invisibly through the shadows. Conspire masked by the Darkness. Each one as ruthless as the next. Each one is agile and cunning. Each one is out for himself. Each one is loyal to THE THIEVES’ GUILD.

“Halt! Who goes there?”
It was more of a demand than a question, but then that was the point, wasn’t it. It was a stupid question, really, since those who were up to no good tended not to identify themselves, and those who did identify themselves usually complained about the inconvenience of having to spend five to ten minutes trying to pass this overenthusiastic but inefficient guard.
‘Damn fog doesn’t help either,’ the Vigile observed with frustration, his hand remaining on the hilt of his sword.
Even with the torch mounted on the wall behind him, he could barely see past the wrist of his outstretched arm. He couldn’t even take the torch down because it was too high up, but that probably wouldn’t have made any difference. He still couldn’t see a damn thing.
He wasn’t even sure there was anything there. The wind was fairly strong tonight, plus the distant hubbub of another enjoyable night in the City, the twenty-first consecutive night he’d missed out on, drowned out even his own breath. But he knew he had heard something. Soft footsteps along the stony road out of the City. Just ahead of him. He closed his eyes and listened.
Nothing. Just the wind in his ears, the far off footsteps and drunken roars of the closest taverns, and the occasional creaking door as someone else went out to join in the festivities tonight. It wasn’t even a special occasion or anything tonight; everyone merely decided to hail in the new week, the new month, with a lot of drinking and merriment, while he was stuck here, ‘guarding the City, forming the Front Line of Defense for our citizens…’
He shook the terrible recruitment speech out of his mind and focused. When he signed up for the Vigilia, it had been on the understanding that he would be able to use his athletic abilities and keen intellect to fight crime. Chasing suspects, solving cases, rousting taverns; those had been in his mind as he had turned up to his local Vigilia station and signed up for the next training program, not this constant guarding and patrolling.
‘Bide your time,’ he thought, ‘Work your way up to more important duties.’
He didn’t even see why the gate needed guarding. The Realm had been at relative peace with its neighbours for at least a century or two; who were they expecting to attack? Was this extra security a reaction to those ridiculous rumours about the undead gathering in the remote parts of the Realm? Was it to calm people down and eventually dispel these rumours? Sometimes the citizens of this place could be so jittery – last month, someone had spread the word that dragons were coming to eat the Kings. This, of course, turned out to be rubbish, and proved that there was no need for this extra security. Besides, it was just too much hassle to be opening the colossal portcullis that barred entrance to the west side of the City. Surely he should be more concerned with the growing problem of theft in the City. Perhaps he could join Harrison’s Anti-Theft Team, the famous ATT.
He decided against venturing out into the fog, knowing that he wouldn’t find anything and leant back against the gate, listening to the nightlife of the City. No footsteps now. Just his fellow citizens enjoying themselves.
Not that it mattered, since the thief had already climbed over the wall and was on his way into the heart of the City.
* * *

Tonight was particularly foggy, which suited him. Every month, he and his colleagues gathered in the Guild for their meeting, and the fog concealed their journey through the night. Unfortunately, the Vigilia wasn’t too stupid; if they noticed several hooded men and women travelling rather hurriedly through the city, and all on the same night, they would know that something was going on.
Fog also had other uses, particularly to those in his… his ‘line of business’, as his friends put it. For them, fog confused any soldiers of the Vigilia out on this particular night, patrolling blindly through the wider streets of the City. Any of their victims would also become confused, not knowing where to run in their panic and distress.
It also made it easier to acquire some goods on the way to the meeting. Doing so wasn’t essential, but you wouldn’t look as good if you turned up empty handed. Some argued that it wasn’t as much of a challenge when there was a lot of fog, but when your life is on the line whenever you were ‘working’, you welcomed any advantage that presented itself.
He was currently walking calmly, confidently, down the main western road into the city. There was a wide, straight road from each compass direction, one for each gate (save for the east and southeast, since that was where the docks were located), that led into the City centre, all coming to meet at the Plaza around the Castle. Here he could openly, since the Vigiles that patrolled this road wouldn’t stop him and ask questions. After all, he was in the City now, so they would assume that he got through the gate the proper way.
The fog helped here also. In the fog, less Vigiles would recognise him, so he could walk on the roads without too much to worry about. He preferred to travel via the rooftops, since they tended to provide more direct and unhindered routes to where he would be going. Rooftops also provided access to higher floors of buildings, which is where the majority of people kept their more wealthy possessions, since it takes longer to sneak up two to three floors than it does to ransack the ground floor. The exhilaration and adrenaline of jumping between buildings was also a plus.
He looked around, squinting through the fog, using the street signs and recognisable shops to get his bearing. He wasn’t too far from the Guild - about an hour’s walk. He ought to think about getting something to show at the meeting. He slowed his pace, his footsteps barely audible and listened.
There. Through the night air. A ticking.
The thief’s mind instinctively jumped to the correct conclusion. A ticking through the night means an open window to a room with a clock. Or an extremely loud pocket watch, but only the nobility could afford those and they tended not to walk the streets, especially at night.
He followed the sound, moving closer to the buildings to the left. There. Directly above him. The fogged had thinned slightly, so he could see to the top of the building. The open window was on the top floor, just below a wooden beam that lined the roof, a design that tended to appear on most buildings. He rolled back the sleeve of his robes, revealing the weapon on his wrist.
It was a much smaller version of a crossbow, with a leather strap that fastened the weapon to his wrist. At the foot of the butt was a small metal ring, through which a rope was fed. The rope led along his arm, resting on a skin-tight sleeve he wore to avoid rope burns, and down to his belt, where it wrapped around his waist three times, again fed through small metal rings on his belt. Also around his belt was a pouch full of bolts for the crossbow, his leather pouch for his money, and his dagger. The bolts were small, metal, and also had small metal rings at the bottom end for the rope to be tied around.
He removed a bolt from the pouch, tied the end of the rope to the bolt and loaded it into the crossbow. He raised his arm, aiming directly up and fired. Unlike most crossbows, where the trigger is on the underside of the butt, the trigger was a small wire beneath the wrist. To fire, the thief merely bent his wrist down as far as possible and squeezed the wire.
The small bolt rocketed upwards, the rope soaring behind it, and bore into the wood, lodging there firmly. The design of the bolt ensured that it would not, could not, be removed from the beam, as the head was jagged, pointing towards the butt. There was a resounding thud as metal struck wood, echoing into the night. The thief froze, listening intently for the rush of footsteps or the confused mumblings of a passing Vigile. He heard nothing.
Tugging on the rope three times, and satisfied that the bolt would not come out, the thief began to climb the rope. He ascended with the speed and skill of a man who had been climbing ropes, trees and mountains all of his life, though only the former two applied to him. As he reached the top of the rope, his arms aching only slightly, he swung his legs in through the open window, letting go of the rope and landing in a crouching position with a soft thud. He crouched there for a minute or so, in a position that was now second nature, with his left hand on the rope and the right on the hilt of his sword that could be seen over his left shoulder, where it rested in the sheath strapped diagonally across his back.
He listened carefully, but heard nothing. He stood, calmly, and turned back to the window. Leaning out, he untied the rope from the bolt and tied it round his waist once more, feeding the end back down his arm and through the loop on the crossbow butt. The bolt could never be used again and would remain there until someone cut into the wood and prised it out. This was a disappointment, since it left evidence of his presence, and cost him a lot in replacement bolts, but his blacksmith promised that he was working on a removable version that didn’t come loose when you were climbing. In the meantime, these rope-bearing crossbow bolts, or Rope Shots as he had come to call them, were an invaluable tool.

Blacksmiths could be found throughout the city, but a handful of them weren’t open to the public. Open only to members of the city’s criminal underground, these blacksmiths offered custom-made tools and weapons for certain clientele. The underground blacksmiths were all associated with each other, in order to keep a track of who made what for whom. No two underground blacksmiths made the same items, and the vast majority of custom-made products were only sold to one client. Neither the blacksmiths nor the criminals had a problem with this arrangement, believing that it created individuality for their colleagues and rivals. For example, the thief bearing the Rope Shots was the only criminal in the City to use them. No amount of bribing or threatening would lead his blacksmith to make them for someone else. There was a definite system of trust among the underground community, where the criminals felt they had their own specialist tools, and the blacksmiths knew they had a guaranteed source of income. The tools and weapons essentially served as criminal signatures.
The Vigilia, naturally, knew nothing of these blacksmiths. The underground blacksmiths operated from locked, abandoned basements, ruined buildings and weren’t registered under the Blacksmiths’ Guild or the Merchant’s Census, a document that listed every shop, workshop or business in the City. The public blacksmiths were equally unaware of their existence. There were suspicions, of course. If a thieves’ tool was brought into a blacksmiths by the Vigilia in the hopes of tracing where it came from, or even trying to copy it, the original tool and any copies would disappear during a nicely-timed break-in within a few days.

The thief fed his rope back through the metal loops around his belt and took another good look around the room. To his left was the grandfather clock that had alerted him to the open window, and beyond that was a couple sleeping peacefully. The thief smiled. In this city, those who lived on the higher level of apartment buildings tended to leave any valuables they had out in the open around their room, believing that no one would be able to get to it. They also believed that living on the top floor denied anyone access to their apartment, so they were safe to leave the window open at night. The crossbow bolt this couple would find outside their window in the morning would make them think again. In fact, the thief probably wouldn’t be able to loot this place for a good few months, but that’s how varied thieving was. Regardless of how easy it was, a thief never hit the same place twice. Not only was it unwise because the Vigilia would no doubt be watching the crime scene, as a matter of routine, it also displayed a lack of originality in a thief. Thieving was more of an art than an occupation.
There didn’t seem to be that much around the room. A few scattered coins here, a purse there, and the woman’s jewellery collection of course. The thief walked lightly across the room, slipping the coins into the pouch on his belt and dropping the jewellery carefully into the potato sack that he had stolen from one of the many farms circling the city. He had added a rope that allowed him to hang it over his right shoulder. The jewellery was quite exquisite for a district this common. It was comparable to the collections found in the more noble districts of the City. Diamonds and silver glowed, casting specks of light across the room as he held it up to the moonlight. He put the sack over his shoulder and turned to the grandfather clock. He was late. It was all well and good turning up to the meeting with some loot to show off, but if you were late it didn’t matter. All the showing off was done before the meeting, not during or after.
He couldn’t go out of the window. His Rope Shots were a one-way trip since, if he used it to get down, he would have no way of recovering the rope, meaning he would have to leave it there. Not only would this increase the amount of times he had to buy more rope, it also left too much evidence for the Vigilia. A small metal bolt might go unnoticed, but a rope dangling for three storeys on a main road was pretty hard to miss. He crossed over to the door and inspected the wooden latch. Ironmongers and blacksmiths had created an early metal latch, but many had complained that they rusted too easily and made too much noise when they were opened. Carpenters throughout the City had then seized the opportunity to create smoothly-filed wooden latches that didn’t make much noise, and wouldn’t rust. This one seemed to be fine work, so he flicked it across casually and slipped out of the door.
In the hallway, two torches burned gently, casting a treacherous shadow across the room. As he walked casually to the stairs, his eyes darted around for anyone to notice his shadow. Shadows were both a thief’s ally and enemy. Hiding in the shadows could help a thief avoid detection, but a thief’s own shadow betrayed his position. His soft footsteps caused the stairs to creak slightly, but there was no sound of alarm or movement from the various apartments. He considered, briefly, venturing into the other apartments and searching for more loot, but the doors would almost certainly be locked from the inside with more wooden latches, and he was running out of time. He reached the ground floor, slipped out of the front door, and walked briskly towards the centre of town.
Through the fog, he heard hurried footsteps a short distance ahead of him. As they got closer, he heard the musical chime of a lot of coins shaking about inside a purse or pouch, synchronised with the quick footsteps. He squinted through the fog and focused on the silhouette that faded into existence just ahead. The figure didn’t appear to be wearing a helmet of any kind, meaning that it was unlikely to be a Vigile, a soldier or a guard. Probably just a citizen on his way home. The figure was walking briskly in the manner of a man who needed to be somewhere in a hurry, but did not want to attract attention by running. Presumably he urgently needed to pay someone, having worked up some sort of debt. Both law-abiding and underground debts were not uncommon in the city. The thief stepped to the side and walked into the figure forcefully. As he bumped into the traveller, slipping the pouch of the belt unnoticeably, he realised it was a woman.
She was dressed in a silky dress, composed of three progressively thicker layers, each a different shade of green. Her hair was also silky, much more so than human hair.
“My apologies,” he said, with practised charm.
“Doesn’t matter,” she dismissed him hurriedly, and stormed off.
He walked with increased haste so that he could barely hear her cry in alarm at the loss of her money.
‘That will teach her not to build up debts,’ the thief thought with a grin, ‘Another friendly lesson from the Thieves’ Guild!’
As he walked, he observed that the pouch was unusually manly for a woman. Women of the City tended to own dainty little purses that could be stowed away about their person, as opposed to the leather pouches that men displayed openly around their belts. He reached over his shoulder and dropped the pouch into the bottom of his sack.
The city passed him by. Dull grey and brown buildings, supported and decorated with wooden beams. Simple glass windows hid the darkness of people’s homes and stores. If you woke up a random part of the city, you wouldn’t know where you were. Within half an hour, he was walking down Pourchaise Avenue, a long street in the Central District known for its wide variety of shops. He walked along, looking through the various windows of the stores, thinking how he could break into them. He wouldn’t, of course, since these stores were too close to the Guild. Or, at least, one of the entrances to the Guild. Since passing the woman, he’s not come across anyone else. He stopped and listened to check that there was no one else was around. No one. He slipped into a delivery alleyway and walked forward slowly. Because there were no street lamps or torches, the alleyway was pitch black.
Darkness was a friend of the thieves and an enemy to others. In the middle of the darkness, any other person would be lost and confused, stumbling over whatever lay in there path. Thieves, on the other hand, spent years training how to tread in the darkness. The Guild had a special room for this training, in which furniture and other obstacles were placed randomly in the darkness and thieves had to retrieve a wooden statue without knocking anything over. Arms outstretched casually, as if they knew what they expected to come across. Legs lifting higher of the ground than usual, in order to avoid anything that could trip them up.
Walking in this strange yet practised way, the thief reached the end of the alleyway, feeling the cold stone wall in front of him. He turned to the left, and felt for something else. There it was. An old wooden supply wagon with one wheel missing so that another was suspended in mid-air. He turned that wheel a quarter turn to the right, activating a secreted system of pulleys and ropes that slid a section of the wall back. Instantly, the alleyway was flooded with warm, welcoming torchlight, and he walked inside the Thieves’ Guild, as the secret door slid back into place.

The Thieves’ Guild was not a crime syndicate, as the Vigilia believed. It was service, a very unique service. The Thieves’ Guild allowed citizens to gain access to anything they desired. This could range from information or possessions that did (or did not) rightly belong to them, to reconnaissance work (either scouting out a building or following a person).
The Guild was the brainchild of a corrupt member of the Realm Council. Realising that, in any society, crime was present, he decided to harness it rather than fight it. The Thieves’ Guild provided the perfect opportunity for him and his fellow politicians to get anonymous professionals to carry out their dirty work… for a fee, of course. Soon, ordinary citizens including bankers, traders and even simple workers were invited to make use of the thieves’ skills. Clients simply delivered a message to the Guild by placing their message in one of the fifteen ‘paper only’ bins within the Central District. These bins were actually placed over holes in the ground so the messages dropped into a basket hidden in the sewers. The day of the monthly Guild meeting, the Master Thief would wander around the sewers and pick up these baskets. He would then look over them and decide whom he would assign each task to.
Payment was sent with the messages, usually in the form of a few small but valuable gold coins secured in the envelope that bore the message. As the tasks increased in number, the prices went up. The money was shared; fifty percent was paid to the thief who carried out the task, and the final fifty percent went to the Master Thief, though a portion of his share went to the scribes. All of the thieves trusted him, for it would be dishonourable for him to con them out of their own money.
Nobody sent a task with no money, knowing that it would not be carried out and fearing the thieves. Though it was true that thieves were not allowed to kill, none of the Guild’s clientele knew this. The fear of death kept them in line, making sure that they paid the full amount. It also ensured that the clients had enough sense not to report the Guild to the Vigilia, the City‘s police force.
In return, the thieves carried out the tasks quickly, usually the night after the meeting. The rest of the month would be spent thieving for survival, or undergoing any personal challenges. The thieves never stole from two groups of people; current clients of the Guild (there were so few of them that every thief knew who they were. Just to be sure, there was a list of their names in the library) and fellow thieves. To steal from a client or comrade was considered dishonourable and the thieves cherished honour as much as their friends – a fact that many citizens would find laughable. But they didn’t laugh at or question the Guild and its system. After all, the thieves were the best way to get what they wanted.
The Guild itself had been found by accident by its founder. The building above was a huge courthouse with an immense basement. Among the other less significant chambers in the basement was a main hall, a meeting hall and a library. A century before the Guild had been created, a fire had ravaged the courthouse, and the wreckage had been ignored for a decade. By the time the courthouse was finally rebuilt, the basement had been forgotten. Then, while visiting the courthouse, a politician had noticed a trap door underneath a bookcase. Making sure he was alone, he had opened it and travelled through the forgotten basement. At the time, he thought nothing of it, but when he came up with the idea of The Thieves’ Guild, he instantly remembered the basement. He ordered his servants to tunnel many entrances and employed an Underground door-maker to make a series of secret entrances. He swore each of the servants and the door-maker to secrecy, with the arrangement that he would have them killed if they revealed the Guild’s location.

‘If crime cannot be stopped, it might as well be harnessed’ The Guild’s founder had once said. This was carved into a wooden plaque over the corridor from which the thief now emerged. Over the other entrances to the Guild were various other phrases from the Guild lore, such as quotes from previous Master Thieves.
The thief was now in the main hall of the Guild. Lining the walls of this room were portraits of former Master Thieves, painted by the Guild’s scribes that lived in the chambers around the library, with spaces on the wall left for future memorials. Most of the thieves had already arrived and were now standing in small huddles around the hall, filling the air with confident whispers and friendly laughter. As a thief entered from the various corridors, a circle or two of thieves would greet him and talk would resume.
“Jolku!” a voice called.
The thief turned to see another thief standing with the smallest circle of thieves.
“Evening, Sek,” he smiled, walking over to his friend, recognising the grappling hook around his waist.
All of the thieves were dressed similarly to Jolku, entirely in black or as dark a colour as available, and all of them kept their hoods up. During the early years of the Guild, this had been to protect each thief’s identity from everyone else, but now it was simply out of habit. Most thieves eat, drank, slept and travelled around the city by day wearing their hoods. This didn’t look unusual, since many people of the city wore hoods by day. The underground community used them to hide their identity, while the citizens wore them to avoid the cold sea air that soared down the bay towards the city. Since everyone was dressed roughly the same, the only way to recognise a thief was by his or her weapon combination.
The idea had been introduced only three thieving generations before Jolku came to the Guild. In order to create a way to recognise thieves, and their work, it was decided that each thief could only use up to three weapons of their choice, and no other thief could use that combination. Initially, this had felt restrictive, but the thieves soon found that it gave them the ability to create their own unique styles of thieving. The result was that, to some, thievery became more of an art than a profession. Over time, tools such as grappling hooks, became included in the combinations and, to avoid confusion, the combinations were recorded by the Guild scribes in the library. Jolku was the only thief to use a sword, dagger and his rope shots, while Sek was the only thief to use a grappling hook and two daggers.
Jolku joined Sek’s crowd and recognised the other thieves by their weapon combination, greeting each of them in turn.
“Evening, Paocu,” he said, “Hobart, Thirin.”
Paocu and Hobart smiled pleasantly, and merely nodded at him. Thirin nodded, not smiling, and walked off to speak to another group of thieves.
“It’s a bit later than evening, Jolku,” Sek laughed, “Why so late? Couldn’t find anything to show off before the meeting?”
Jolku grinned.
“Well, what have you brought tonight, guys?”
“Just a silver dining set from the home of the Western Bank manager,” Paocu said, “Surprised I wasn’t late myself with his guards. All over the house, they are – even in the servants’ quarters! I spent most of the night hiding in various cupboards.”
“Pretty impressive,” Jolku agreed, “He’s probably a little anxious about security since Thirin broke into his office with his own keys. Hobart?”
“Couldn’t find much tonight,” Hobart grumbled, “Picked a few pockets on the way here but it’s not even worth one hundred coins. There just aren’t enough people on the streets these nights!”
“So it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that you’ve been in the tavern all night, and only made your way here a little while before Jolku?” Sek laughed.
Jolku’s grin widened. Sek was always in high spirits.
“I like an ale or two before a meeting,” Hobart protested.
“Well, I prefer a few ales after the meeting,” Jolku added, “You guys up for a drink afterwards?”
All three of them nodded.
“Right. We wait for each other here after the meeting,” Jolku confirmed, “Sek, what did you grab tonight?”
Sek dug his hand into the pouch at his waste and removed a few objects. He kept his fist clenched and raised his hand to the centre of their circle, before turning it open and opening his fist to reveal his take for the night.
In the centre of his palm lay several finely cut jewels. Rubies, diamonds, sapphires and emeralds all glittered in the flickering torchlight. The other three thieves said nothing, merely gasping in approval.
“What did you bring, Jolku?” Sek asked, pocketing the stones, “A bronze penny from the street?”
Jolku smiled, swung his sack off his shoulder and pulled out each of the items he’d stolen. Both Paocu and Hobart were impressed by the jewellery, and Sek thumped him on the back by way of congratulations when he removed the woman’s bulging money pouch. He put the items back and turned to his friends.
“So what have you been up to this month?” Jolku asked, turning to Sek.
“I’ve been keeping a low profile this month,” he said, suddenly serious, “I’ve been pretty much in hiding.”
Genuine concern flashed into Jolku’s eyes.
“Why? What happened?”
“Are you still in Soyhill?” Paocu interrupted.
Sek nodded and turned back to Jolku.
“You remember the delivery task I had last month?”
“The love letter to Lady Van Herford from her lover Lord Draksius? You’ve been doing those deliveries for months!”
“Tell me about it!” Sek sighed with frustration, “Well, one of the dockland housebreakers broke in the same night I delivered it and the Lady reported it to the Vigilia. The only evidence that anyone had broken in was the letter, so the Vigilia have arrested Lord Draksius for questioning. He could confess to paying a thief.”
“If he reveals the Guild he’ll get into more even more trouble, with us and the Vigilia. Besides, The Vigilia doesn’t know one thief from another,” Jolku comforted his friend, unaware of the immediate danger to his friend, “They’re stupid. It could have been any thief, in or out of the Guild. They won’t know it was you, will they?”
“Yes, but I had to meet Draksius to receive the letter! He knows who I am! He can identify me!”
‘Ah,’ Jolku thought, ‘That was a bad idea.’ But he decided against saying this.
“Don’t panic,” Jolku said reassuringly, “You have escaped the Vigilia before. Remember the recon job you did on the Trade Estate Vigilia Station. They never found you and they were searching for a year.”
Before Sek could reply, there was a loud distant chiming. The local clock tower announcing the arrival of midnight. There was a creak from the illustrious double doors at the end of the hall. The entire assembly of thieves looked towards them as the Master Thief, the leader of the Guild, walked out. He was dressed similarly to the other thieves, naturally, but his clothes were of a silkier, finer material. From the leather belt hung the Master Thief’s only weapon; a jewel-encrusted sword, passed down the line of Master Thieves.
“Friends!” he called in a loud booming voice, “The meeting begins.”
He turned and walked back through the double doors and all of the thieves followed.

The meeting room was not as wide as the main hall, but it was just as long. In the centre of the room was a long, varnished wooden table, with matching tall-backed seats along both sides, and an extra chair at the far end of the table. Each chair had cushions sewn on to the seat and back, but only the Master Thief’s chair had arms. Along the walls were more paintings of previous Master Thieves, with silver torches between every third and fourth portrait. These were the original portraits, and behind the chair at the head of the table was a portrait of the politician who founded the Guild, with a small shiny plaque bearing the “If crime cannot be stopped…” quote. The underground builders that had restored the basement for the Thieves’ Guild had done an admirable job of reviving the burnt out basement’s former glory.
The thieves took their usual seats and the Master Thief stood at the far end of the table. On the table in front of his chair was a large pile of envelopes, bearing this month’s tasks.
“Before we begin the allocation of tasks, let me say how good it is to see you all here this month,” the Master Thief said, beginning with his usual greetings, “Now we have a bit of a quiet month this time, with only one task per thief. As usual your fee is in the envelope, along with your task. I have no doubt you all want to get this meeting over and done with – after all the night is young!”
The thieves laughed. Since it was only midnight, they still had at least five hours for thieving before sunrise.
“However, I have a few announcements to make. Firstly, I’m glad to say that our absent friend Kavlock has escaped from the Central Vigilia Prison. He’s gone on the run, hiding at an uncle’s farm in the valleys to the north, so he won’t be joining us for a few months”
There was a murmur of relief and approval from the thieves.
“Secondly, one of the tasks this month came from one of the new merchants that came into the city in the past week. His details are in the library, so raiding his stock is no longer an option.”
There was a brief mutter from someone – Jolku thought it was Thirin – but everyone else remained silent. This was something that had developed over the past few thieving generations and was, to them, fair enough. With a city this big, you couldn’t complain if a few minor merchants became off-limits to the Guild.
“I think that’s about everything. Now, to business. Thirin…” he said, referring to the first thief on his right, “Senator Crenditch wants you to follow Senator Milhayn. He believes that Milhayn is fixing next month’s election.”
Thirin took the piece of paper and began reading it.
“Rothbart…” The Master Thief called, looking at the thief next to Thirin, an old dwarf. Then he realised Thirin was still present.
“Friends,” he said to the rest of the thieves, “You may leave once you have received your task.”
He turned back to Rothbart, ignoring Thirin as he stood up, bowed and walked out.
“Rothbart, Captain Hagen wants you to frame one of the Vigilia guards at Central Station. Details are here.”
“Captain Hagen?” the dwarf asked worriedly.
“Don’t worry,” The Master Thief assured him, “He does not know of the Guild, nor has he met me or any other thief.”
The entire table sighed with relief. The only enemies to the Guild were the Vigilia. If the Vigilia ever found out of the Guild’s existence - or worse, location - then various false tasks would be presented in order to bring down the Guild and capture the various thieves. Of course, with so many clients spread throughout the City, they had suspicions of some sort of illegal assembly of criminals, but the Vigilia had no hard proof.
“Then how did he contact you?”
“He dropped a letter to his colleague while walking to the station. I found it, picked it up and replied, promising that I could solve his problem. I told him how to reply anonymously and I did so in a way that he could not know of the Guild. He believes he is going to be helped by an anonymous, mysterious stranger.”
Rothbart sighed with relief once more, took the paper and left, reading it as he walked out.
“Gre’glin,” he called now. The third thief, a young elf looked at him. “You have been asked…”
And so the meeting went on. Each thief remained silent with respect, showing interest in their friend’s tasks and bidding their colleagues farewell for a month with a simple, polite nod. Twenty thieves received their tasks until, finally, it was Sek’s turn.
“Sek,” The Master Thief called, his voice now louder as Sek was further down the table, “Another letter I’m afraid. Lady Van Herford’s reply to Draksius. He was released on bail last week, so he’ll be at home again.”
Jolku grinned. Sek let out a frustrated sigh and stood up, walked to the Master Thief, took the letter and walked out. Jolku looked towards him hopefully, waiting for his task. The Master Thief shot an apologetic look at him and continued.
“Paocu,” he said, referring to the thief the other side of Jolku, “A recon job for you…”
Jolku spent the rest of the meeting looking down at the table, wondering why he had been left out and ignoring the looks from various other thieves.
The Master Thief had already said that there were enough tasks for everyone, so why had he been left out? It could only mean that his job was something big. Or something secret. Clearly, the Master Thief would wish to discuss it with him afterwards.
Slowly, the number of thieves at the table diminished, until Jolku was the only one left. As the last thief before him walked out of the meeting room, Jolku walked towards the Master Thief.
“What was that all about?” he demanded, politely.
“I didn’t want to discuss the details of your task in front of everyone. Your employer was insistent that no one but you and I were to know the details of your assignment.”
“Okay…” Jolku grudgingly let the subject go.
“This is a bit of a strange one for you this month,” the Master Thief said, “This one is from an anonymous client.”
That wasn’t too strange, of course. In fact, anonymous tasks were common at the Guild, since clients knew that many crimes might be traced back to them.
“He wants you to steal something from Commander Druart’s mansion. Tomorrow night.”
“What does he want me to steal?”
“A piece of paper - and no I don’t know why!” the Master Thief said, seeing the puzzled look on Jolku’s face.
“Is that the only strange thing?” Jolku asked, knowing there would be more.
“Well, the fact that I got this note tonight, with a task for tomorrow night, is quite strange.”
Most tasks turn up throughout the month before each meeting. Very few were submitted on the night of a meeting. Could this client have known that the meeting would be tonight?
“There’s something stranger than that, isn’t there?” Jolku pressed.
The Master Thief hesitated.
“The payment was more than the usual,” he explained, “About three times the usual monthly amount.”
“For a piece of paper?”
“Even you must see that there is more to this than a piece of paper. The fact that there is three months pay here implies that he will be requiring your services for at least three months.”
“Maybe. Maybe he’s just another eccentric noble, throwing around his cash.”
“I doubt it. I have my suspicions about who this man is…”
“Who?!”
It was only one word but it bordered on being a demand, rather than a question.
“I can’t say,” the Master Thief replied, “In case I’m wrong.”
There was a momentary silence between them.
“Anything else you think I should know?”
“No,” the Master Thief smiled, “It’s all in the letter. I’m sure you’ll manage.”
Jolku took the envelope from the Master Thief and poured the surprising amount of coins into his money pouch.
“I reckon you won’t be able to attend the next couple of meetings. If that is true, then take care on your assignment. And good luck.”
Jolku nodded and made towards the door.
“Where are you heading now, then?” the Master Thief asked after him.
“To do some brainstorming.”

In the distance, Jolku could hear the local clock tower chiming once more. One ‘o’clock in the morning. He sighed. He wouldn’t get much thieving done tonight, he was going to do some serious thinking at the…
“Take your time, Jolku!” Sek called.
Jolku looked up. He was in the main hall, and Sek, Paocu and Hobart were standing in front of him, waiting patiently.
“I didn’t think you three would actually wait that long!” he said, surprised.
“You’re joking, right?” Paocu laughed, “It took a fair amount of effort to get everyone else to go away. They all want to come with us and find out about your task.”
“Well, you can save your interrogation,” Jolku grinned, “I can’t tell you anything.”
“Are you sure a few ales won’t change that?” Hobart asked.
“I’m sure.”
“Well, it was worth a try,” Sek chuckled, before turning to the other two, “Where are we going for a drink?”
“The Sword and Shield,” Jolku said forcibly.
The three thieves looked at him, their faces puzzled, their eyes guessing.
“Any particular reason?” Paocu asked.
“What did I tell you about interrogating me?”

what d'you mean, 'before you got bored'

I never got bored reading it, thank you very much.

It's a good story

Do i feel a 'but' coming on, GC?

Since no one is paying attention, I'll post up a little more to entice some of GC and DL's fans away :P

***********************************************************
CHAPTER TWO: COMMANDER DRUART

I am in need of thy services, the note read. I have refrained from coming to thee in the past, for I have confidence in the skills of my own spies. However, the mission in question is too dangerous for such inexperienced infiltrators.

Firstly, I need to emphasise the need for secrecy concerning this matter. Only the minimum amount of people is to know. I would prefer if only thyself and thy selected thief was to know about this and the events that are to follow. This is a matter of Realm-wide security and thou will be prosecuted and executed if this does not remain strictly secret.

I need thee to employ one of thine best thieves and give him these instructions.

· Infiltrate the mansion of Commander Druart, found on Loka Walk of the Noevale District..
· Enter his bedroom suite, situated on the fifth floor.
· Steal a scroll of papyrus from his beside table.

This task is to be carried out tomorrow night (That is, the 27th of this month). Note that the guards and bodyguards will be placed on full alert to thine thief’s presence and the commander will be in bed asleep. Also note that the commander is a good friend of mine; any harm to a creature in his household is forbidden, whether the victim be unconscious, wounded or killed, and any theft of his possessions will be noted. Thou shalt suffer the consequences.

Delivery is to be made on the 28th. Thou wilt come alone to the Smosen plaza in the Theatre District at midnight.

Anon
* * *

The Sword and Shield was a tall tavern in the northern outskirts of the Central District. The building was clearly quite old as the architecture wasn’t as rigidly straight as most buildings in the City, and was mainly constructed from wood rather than stone. Instead, the building appeared to be quite crooked, seemingly incorporating any and every angle but straight ones. The first two floors were given to the drinking and eating rooms, while the top two floors were where the rented rooms were. It was surprisingly larger than most taverns or inns, but that was simply to do with the location.
The Sword and Shield was just across the street from an old castle, the headquarters for the Regal Army, the Realm’s defending military force. As such, whenever the soldiers were given leave or a night off, and even when they weren’t, the soldiers and officers would make their way to the Sword and Shield. There they would drink heavily, eat heartily, or rent one of the rooms, which would often come with a girl for the night.
The four thieves sat around a table in one of the darkened corners of the upper of the two drinking floors. It had taken some skill to dodge the guards at the foot of the stairs, because only officers and respectable citizens were allowed on this floor. Once each of them had found a way upstairs, they had selected the least noticeable corner and began drinking, joking quietly about their tasks. Jolku, who had insisted that they come up to this floor, was reading his letter over and over again.
‘It has to be some sort of test,’ he thought, ‘That much is obvious. The piece of paper isn’t important – it’s just an objective. My infiltration skills are being put to the test.
‘Or are they? Is it a test of Druart’s security system? That might make sense. The ‘events that are to follow’ might be my employer’s own burglary of the mansion. The urgency for no harm to come to the guards and no possessions to be stolen could be just him making sure I don’t beat him to the chase. No. Why bother with that when he could have the Guild do the job for him? It would be simpler for him. And that doesn’t explain the three months pay. Or the Realm-wide importance. Is he after something specific? No, because he would have asked me to get that specific item.
‘The only specific item mentioned is that piece of paper. What could be on that paper? It must be further instructions of some sort. That would definitely explain the three month’s pay. But who would need to employ a thief for three months? Who did the Master Thief think it was?’
‘The reference to ‘my own spies’ is the only clue to his identity. Who has spies in this City? The Vigilia? No, they would never admit to the use of spies. The dockland gang lords have spies, but would they be interested in anything that affects the whole Realm? Would they be able to afford three month’s pay for employing a thief, when they have so many good men on offer? Besides, the letter uses the Old Language, so it has to be someone higher up, well educated, noble. Is it a noble? A disgruntled neighbour of the commander’s. No, the nobles of this City don’t have spies. The only spies around here are in the Regal Army.
‘The Regal Army? Could it be a rival officer seeking to steal something of value to the Realm? Perhaps the paper contains essential information that the commander has withheld. Is the commander a traitor to the Realm? Would that explain the Realm-wide security?
‘Or is it the commander himself testing me for a further mission?’
He thought back over the conclusions he had drawn so far. A lot of possibilities that he had dismissed. A lot of unanswered questions. He knew that he would know at least some of the answers by the day after tomorrow, but it didn’t satisfy his curiosity. Or his anxiety. Why was he so anxious about this assignment?
He was distantly aware of someone calling his name. It was Sek, who was sitting next to him.
“Jolku, you’ve been staring at that paper for the past hour, and you’ve barely touched your first ale.”
“I, er, didn’t really come here to drink,” he replied.
“I’d gathered as much,” said Paocu, “You’ve been in your own world for most of the night. You’re lucky we’re respectable thieves – otherwise I would have had Sek here read the letter over your shoulder and tell us what it’s about. Are you sure you can’t tell us anything about it?”
“Sorry, I’ve been ordered not to” Jolku grinned, pointing at the appropriate sentence on the letter unnecessarily.
“Fair enough,” Paocu said, “but I’m still going to guess. I’ll bet your employer doesn’t say anything against that, does he?”
Jolku chuckled and shook his head.
“So why the Sword and Shield, then?” Paocu asked, a shrewd smile rising on his face, “It must be army-related. Are you employed by someone in the army?”
“I can’t say,” Jolku grinned.
“Can’t or won’t?” Paocu pressed.
“Can’t. My employer is anonymous.”
“Aren’t you the lucky one?” Sek spat, clearly approaching his ale limit, “If I get one more task letter signed ‘Van Herford’, or ‘Draksius’, I’ll burn it and send the ashes to their houses!”
The other thieves, including Jolku, laughed. He was glad to have a change of subject, both to avoid Paocu’s questions and his own thoughts.
“You would have thought they would have eloped or something by now, wouldn’t you?” Hobart joked.
“Eloped?” Sek scowled, deadly serious, “I would expect them to have married, moved away from the City and be expecting their first child by now. I’m halfway through their second year of this task!”
“If only we could all find a love that long-lasting,” Jolku winked, “How’s it going between them at this late stage?”
“How would I know?” Sek protested.
“Well, if it was me, I would have been reading their letters for months!” Hobart said, though none could tell if he was serious or joking.
“Well, I’m not you, am I?” Sek retorted, and hesitated. A smile rose on his face.
“I’ve been reading their letters for about a year now,” he finished.
Jolku and Hobart burst out laughing.
“Well, can you blame me?” Sek laughed, now in his usual high spirits, “I’ve been almost a part of their relationship for at least two years, so I’m sure they won’t mind me, erm, keeping an eye on developments.”
More laughter from Jolku and Hobart.
“So what’s their relationship like?”
“Depends whose letters you read,” Sek grinned, “Draksius’ ones are by far the most…interesting.”
More laughter.
“I’ll let you decide for yourselves what that means,” Sek added.
“So if you’re not employed by someone in the army,” Paocu said, changing the subject, “is someone from the army involved?”
Jolku turned to him and smiled. The great thing about Paocu was that he wasn’t spiteful or malicious. He merely liked to know what was going on, especially with issues that were important or, in this case, suspicious. There was no air of menace in his questions, but a hint of hope – the hope that he could be of assistance. Such an inquisitive yet charming nature was a good quality in a thief, and a friend. One day, he would make a great Master Thief.
“Paocu, trust me,” he said, “If I was allowed to tell you the details I would. But I’m not at liberty to say anything at this time. Please leave it at that.”
Paocu nodded with genuine understanding.
“I’ll interrogate you once it’s all over.”
“I can’t promise I’ll give you the answers,” Jolku chuckled, “I can’t even promise that I’ll know the answers. I certainly don’t know the answers at the moment. And even if I did…”
“I know, I know,” Paocu interrupted, holding up his hand to stop Jolku repeating himself, “You’re ‘not at liberty to say’. By the Gods, you’ve been given one army-related task and you’re already sounding like a spy.”
“Hey!” Sek exclaimed, catching up to the conversation, “You said you’d tell Paocu but what about me?”
All three laughed at Sek. It was well known that Jolku and Sek were the closest of friends, having become friends during their training keeping each other up-to-date on their assignments since then. There was very little that Jolku did not know about Sek, and very little that Sek did not know about Jolku. Paocu, of course, was very close to both of them, but nowhere near as close as the pair of thieves were to each other.
“Depends how much ale you’ve had.”
Even Sek laughed that time.
Jolku returned to his agenda while the other three continued to discuss their monthly tasks, mainly focusing on the details of the Van Herford/Draksius relationship. Hobart, in particular, was most interested to know about Lady Van Herford, though this probably nothing more than a testament to how much ale he had drunk. He had, after all, been drinking fairly solidly since ten ‘o’clock.
Jolku read through his letter one more time and then focused his hearing on the hubbub of the officers around the room. It was a skill that thieves learned during the more advanced stages of their training. A more experienced thief would take two or three recruits out to a tavern and tell them to listen out for a particular conversation. Another experienced thief would already be situated somewhere in the room, carrying out a rehearsed conversation with a colleague. The thieves-in-training would have to listen carefully to the mumble of merged conversations, listening for a particular word or phrase and then mentally tune their hearing into that conversation. It was something that could not be taught by anyone else but yourself, and a skill that had to be practised even when mastered.
So Jolku listened. He listened closely for any mention of Commander Druart. He had reasoned that his best chance of picking up information about Commander Druart, anything at all, would be to listen to the officers. The soldiers might speak more frequently about their superiors, but the officers would offer more useful information. That said, he didn’t even know what he was listening for. He just wanted anything, even a hint, as to why he had been asked to steal a piece of paper from the commander’s bedside.
He heard nothing. He heard nothing of interest for a long time. Frustrated, he concentrated harder. It was, by now, approaching three ‘o’clock in the morning, so the officers would either be heading back to their homes soon, or making their way upstairs to select the room and girl of their choice. Then, he picked up the word, ‘Druart’.
“…Druart is still working,” an officer was saying at the bar, “I mean, at this hour? Can thou understand that?”
From the tone of his voice, Jolku guessed correctly that the officer’s first words had been something along the lines of “I can’t believe…”
“I cannot understand it,” the officer’s friend was saying, “It is not as if he has got a lot to deal with. The western front is fairly quiet at the moment.”
Jolku turned to his friends, still concentrating on the conversation.
“My round,” he said simply and made his way to the bar.
Sek and Hobart stared, puzzled, at their full glasses, while Paocu’s eyes narrowed as he fought the temptation to follow Jolku, or at least follow what he was listening to.
For once, Jolku was grateful that the bar was crowded and the barmaids were busy. He stood a short distance away from the second officer, listening carefully.
“Well, to be fair, he does have to sort out all of those reports on the attack.”
“The attack was a month and a half ago. And they only attacked one camp – that can barely be one hundred and something reports at most. The troops are hardly long-winded councillors, are they? Their reports would only be a few sentences or so. Each.”
“And Druart is a bit of an obsessive for efficiency. He would have completed that task many weeks ago.”
“My point exactly, my friend. In terms of official duty, he has little to be doing at this hour.”
“Ah, but what if he is not there working on official duty.”
“What art thou implying?”
“I imply nothing,” the officer protested, “I only observe that it is a possibility that what the commander does in office at this hour may not be for the benefit of the army, or even the Realm, and indeed may not be entirely appropriate. Or legal.”
“That is the ale talking, my friend. Thou knowest as well as I that Commander Druart is possibly the most dedicated man to the Realm that the Regal Army has ever known. And that includes the Commander-in-Chief.”
“I apologise. I meant nothing by it,” the officer said, sincerely, “It may well be that any clandestine actions he is taking up there are for the good of the Realm.”
“That is if he is doing anything clandestine at all,” the second officer snorted, “I assure thee that if he were, the Commander would be doing so with the approval, if not cooperation, of the Head of Intelligence.”
“Ah, but remember, friend, that the commander is not overly friendly with Commander Laposk. He was always favoured Laposk’s predecessor, Jerfad, until he went to the Western Front.”
“Jerfad was a fool for giving up such an esteemed position to going a pick weeds out of the plains.”
“He has done more than weed-picking. I heard tell of Jerfad’s efforts at sending spies into the enemy camp.”
“Which proves my point. His actions, or rather the actions of his incompetent troops, could easily anger the enemy and spark a full-scale invasion. That could be disaster for a once-promising career. Who would stand up for him at the court martial? Only Druart. The two of them have been so married to their work that they have made no allies.”
“It is a shame they do not socialise with the other officers. They are quite amiable once one gets to know them.”
“Like I said, they are too strongly married to their work,” the second officer repeated with a grin. “Dost thou know that Druart has had an office that overlooks this place for years now, and not once has he come in for a night with one of the girls. He hasn’t even come in for a drink. And at any official ball, hast thou ever seen him with a lady companion. I will answer for thee – thou hast not!”
“It is not healthy for a man to deprive himself in such a way. If I had that office, overlooking the rooms where the girls lay at night, I would not be in my office at such an hour as this.”
“I’ll bet he isn’t even looking at the tavern. Canst thou see him?”
The first officer moved towards the window and looked up at the castle keep across the street. Jolku turned and followed his gaze.
“Yes. There he is, in the only office where the torch still burns into the night.”
Jolku moved back towards his table and looked out at the castle, mentally noting the position of the window. He sat back down at the table and looked at his three friends.
“Well, I have to be heading off now,” he said.
“Where are you going?” Sek asked.
“To find some answers,” he replied.
Paocu opened his mouth to speak, but Jolku stopped him.
“Please, Paocu,” he insisted, “drop it. You’ll find out in due course. Hopefully, I will too. I ask that you do not start any of your own investigations into my task. It’s my business and no one else’s.”
Paocu nodded, sincerely, and Jolku stood
“I’ll have questions for when you get back.”
“Well, you better write them down, because I don’t know when I’ll be back.”
Concern flickered in Paocu’s eyes.
“My employer paid me three times the correct amount. I think that means I’ll be working for at least three months.”
Sek now looked up.
“Let us know when you get back.”
“I guarantee it,” Jolku promised.
With that, he downed his ale and made for the stairs.

A) I do NOT have fans
B) is the reason for this and the point I was trying to make I am not a good story writer and you are. ppl are not inticed by an story I've written, not in the sense hat yours is a story anyway.

C) it's just that, a story and though I wouldn't buy it or any book revolving around theives (for obvious reasons) it is very good.

In which case, thank you very much, GC.

And in answer to C, it's only meant to be just a story. That's why i write. I don't have a great message for the world, or deep insights that i should share with people. I just want to create a story for people to enjoy.

I'll inflict a bit more on you all later. :P

you're missing the poiint dear boy, old chap....watever i mean to say that though i call myself a writer, in story sense i am not because i have lived most of it. If i tried 2 write a story it would probably b crap. you have a talent, i simply relay the past...see the diff

Ah. Point taken. I wouldn't worry about it - you have a talent for relaying the past.

Okay, on with the story.....actually, no, i won't bother putting any up. There's no point if no one's reading it. I'll let you have more if someone reads some of the previous lot :P:P

guys- just a thing- could u post smaller chunks- too much to read in one go.... :)

lol. Sorry, but i wanted to put it in chunks that make sense. Scenes, if you will.

SO START POSTING ALREADY.

.....smaller chunks....you mean Demon Lives? not really as I post by chapter.....sorry. If its any help it's almost finished now.

-_- sorry didn't mean to offend or wish a story to end... -_-

No problem, stressederica, i didn't take any offense. I'll post a little more when i get time. Tomorrow.

Ok, i've started writing this again, and i was going to post up the latest bit, but i haven't posted the rest of it yet, so i'll do so in short(ish) snippets. Enjoy!

The Regal Army was begun by the Royal Family, long before the creation of the Three Kingdoms’ Triumvirate Sovereignty. The eldest in each generation of the Royal Family was traditionally the next in line for the throne, regardless of the heir’s gender. The other siblings would not inherit the throne unless that eldest abdicated or was killed. Many centuries ago, the Queen had been blessed with seven sons. The eldest inherited the throne, as was the tradition, but his six brothers had felt left out, insignificant and useless. They wished to assist in the running of the Three Kingdoms, even if they did not make any decisions. They were all military-minded men and skilled warriors, and they decided to serve their brother by using these qualities. After many council sessions, and with the approval of their brother and their mother, they became the Regal Knights. Basing themselves in an old castle a short distance to the north of the Royal Castle, where the throne stood, the six brothers served their brother honourably and expanded the concept of a Royal military force.

Over the following generations, more royal family members who would not rise to the throne sought out the glory of being a Regal Knight. Their actions became legendary and soon the word spread to the towns and villages throughout the Three Kingdoms. Ordinary people wished to become a Regal Knight, to defend their King or Queen, to fight for the Three Kingdoms. The structure of the Regal Knights was expanded to create the Regal Army.

The next century saw reforms that shaped the Regal Army. Still officially based in the castle of the Regal Knights, outposts were created throughout the Three Kingdoms. The years saw the creation of the Regal Army’s ranks, rules and regulations, uniforms, hierarchical structure, and as the years passed, Haven grew around the castle headquarters.

The castle, therefore, was the oldest building in this area of the Central District. As crooked as The Sword and Shield tavern looked, it appeared straight to passers-by. The castle was constructed entirely of old stone native to these parts, unlike the Royal Castle that was built from stones brought down from the Nirem Mountains, and had been built years before the birth of Haven as a coastal outpost for the human army during the Tri-Race War.

Surrounded by a tall and similarly crooked wall, the castle compound had a series of buildings around the towering keep. Most of these buildings had been used as other things when the castle was first built, such as storehouses, kitchens, and barns for the animals that would provide food for the troops. With the luxury of being in the middle of a city, where almost everything was available and with a mile’s walk, these buildings had been converted into barracks and offices. The stables remained, of course, as had the kitchen, though they now incorporated the storerooms since few soldiers now used the castle’s canteen, choosing instead to go for a meal somewhere else, such as the popular The Sword and Shield tavern.

The castle keep was five storeys tall, which was an impressive height for a castle so old. The keep was also quite wide and long compared to other castles of the same era, which made it all the more useful to serve the Regal Army’s purpose. While each of the floors had originally been split into two or three rooms, they had become more complicated as these rooms had been split into smaller chambers and corridors. The keep now served as the administrative centre for the Regal Army, coordinating the outposts and castles throughout the Three Kingdoms, with an office for the head of each area. The keep also contained research departments in the dungeons, though what the army needed to research was only known to a very select few people.

The barracks in the compound were full of soldiers, though many of these men and women were recruits in the initial stages of their training, while most of the other soldiers were those who were only fit for parades and other ceremonial duties. There hadn’t been a threat to Haven for hundreds of years, so most of the more formidable troops were sent to defend the Three Kingdoms’ borders. This made little sense to the people of Haven since, to the best of their knowledge, there had been little to no danger to the borders of the Three Kingdoms, so surely the best soldiers should be close to the Kings, in case of internal enemies.

The castle was highly defended. Ten archers lined each of the surrounding walls, four kept watch from the roof of the keep. At the main gate, directly opposite The Sword and Shield, stood four guards, plus an extra four archers on the wall above the portcullis. The other gates, the west and east entrances, only had two guards and two archers, though the steels portcullises were impossible to penetrate, even when unguarded.

To any citizen, the Regal Army Headquarters were impossible to break into. The walls were too high to scale, the gates were highly defended. Despite all that, any thief saw no problems in entering the Regal Army headquarters if they needed to. After all, the army had yet to create an adequate defence for the sewers.


Jolku walked out of The Sword and Shield, grinning smugly as he strolled past the bewildered man at the bottom of the stairs, who spent the rest of the night wondering how a man dressed as scruffily as that had gone up to the officers’ bar, and turned away from the castle. Once he was a sufficient distance from the castle, he looked around and listened carefully. It was past three ‘o’clock in the morning, so he didn’t expect anyone to be around, but he had to make sure. He heard nothing, save for the distant hubbub of the tavern. He stepped forward cautiously, until his footsteps turned from soft thuds on stone became timid chimes on metal. He was on one of Haven’s many sewer covers. He stepped back onto the cobbled streets and listened once more. Nothing.

He turned to peer into the shadows, searching for anyone following him. He didn’t expect anyone to be following him, but he would be a poor thief if he hadn’t checked. He grinned slightly as he thought that the only person he was likely to find following him was the ever-inquisitive Paocu. But Paocu wasn’t there, and neither was Sek or Hobart.

Satisfied, he crouched, drew his dagger from his belt and prised the sewer cover open. He let go of the dagger with one hand to hold up the heavy metal disc, sheathed his blade and grabbed the cover with his other hand. He pulled it aside, his eyes darting from side to side as it scraped against stone and lowered himself into the sewer, feet first. He pushed his feet against the other side of the tunnel so that his back pushed into the stone behind him, thus suspending him just below the sewer entrance. From here, he reached for the sewer cover and slid it back into place, before dropping down into the darkness of the sewers.

He landed with a light splash, and the overwhelming stench of Haven sewers subdued him momentarily. Having travelled through the sewers regularly, and even living in them occasionally when he could not afford an apartment or find a safe hideout, he quickly became accustomed to the smell and turned in the direction of the castle.

Thieves of Haven often used two means of travelling that citizens don’t use. One is the rooftops, for their quick, direct routes through the city and the ease with which they can be navigated. The other is the sewers, which are much harder to navigate. As a result, thieves tended to pick up a good, accurate judgement of distance during their early sewer travelling. This then develops into mental maps of whereabouts beneath Haven they are with regards to landmarks or particular buildings. It is with these skills that Jolku quickly found his way underneath the castle and soon found a way in.

As Haven had grown around the castle, and the inside of the keep had been altered, the latrines also been updated. Now the latrines in the barracks delivered effluence straight to the sewers, as opposed to storing them in underground canisters that would later be disposed of. For maintenance purposes, iron rungs had been fitted to the wall, leading up to the latrines. Presumably some poor underpaid servant had been given the responsibility of flushing or sweeping any blockages further down the sewer and away from the castle. Fortunately, no one was doing this at the moment, so Jolku was free to climb the rungs up into the barracks, his rough gloves protecting his hands from the cold metal and the slime that clung to it.

Holding on to the top rung with one hand, his other hand poised underneath the latrine hatches, he listened for any footsteps, voices or sounds of movement. No, the room above was empty. He pushed the latrine hatches up, creating space for him to climb through, and pulled himself up into the room. He closed the latrine hatches, stepped away from them, and inhaled briefly through his nose. There was a distinct smell of sewers around; he would have to hide his boots and gloves.

He crept over to the door, left hand over his left shoulder, gripping the hilt of his sword, right hand stretched out, reaching for the door. He lifted the latch slowly and pushed the door gently, a thin crack of light shining into the moonlit room. He listened. On the far side of the next room, someone was snoring. There was no other sound. He pushed the door slowly, creeping forward, and slipped through the doorway, closing the door quietly behind him.

This room was the main barracks. It was a long rectangular room, with crudely-made wooden bunks lining either side of the room before him. Separating each bunk was a small chest, presumably for each soldier’s possessions and uniform. Only one bunk was occupied, but the man was snoring so loudly that he was drowning out the thief’s soft footsteps.

Jolku crept to the end of the room and peered out of the double doors there. The courtyard was filled with soldiers and guards. Most were standing around in crowds, talking calmly, while others were patrolling the courtyard or walls, looking for anything out of the ordinary. There were four guards by the main door of the keep, and from this doorway Jolku could see no other way in. He certainly didn’t want to risk going out into the heavily populated courtyard. He made a mental guess at the distance between the barracks and the keep and slipped back inside.

Making his way back to the latrines, he descended into the sewers once more. He crept along the sewer tunnel, using his mental navigation skills to guess where the keep was. Once he reckoned he was in the right place, he began feeling along the walls for another ladder or some means of leaving the sewers. He found similar iron rungs to those below the barracks and climbed quickly into the latrine room above.

This one was also empty, fortunately. This room was identical to the one in the barracks, save for the addition of torches to light the room and smoother wood for the latrines. He crept over to the door in his usual manner, hand on sword, and peered into the next room. These barracks were even larger, but they were empty. Most of a thief’s fate was down to luck, and Jolku’s had currently been good so far.

Jolku crept around, inspecting the chests. As soon as he found one without a lock, he opened it and slipped his boots and gloves off, stowing them away inside the chest. He closed it and bounded lightly over to the door, his bare feet chilled by the cold stone floor. As he reached the door, he inhaled through his nose briefly a few times. No, the sewer smell was unnoticeable. He opened the door slightly and peered through.

A stone corridor, decorated with suits of armour and Regal Army banners, with a guard walking away from him towards the end of the corridor, where he had the choice of turning right, left or going up a stone, spiral staircase. He peered the other way and saw no guard. He slipped out into the corridor, closed the door silently and followed the guard. His bare feet made no sound on the stone floor, so his pace could be quicker than if he were wearing boots. The patrolling guard ahead turned left and disappeared from sight, his footsteps fading. Jolku checked behind him every couple of seconds, but no guard appeared. He reached the end of the corridor and peered to the left and right hurriedly. No guards. He dashed up the stairs hoping his luck would last for the next couple of floors.

He crouched as he reached the top of the stairs, and was faced with identical corridors. He paused near the top of the stairs and listened for footsteps. There were some, approaching from the right. He took a few steps back and sidestepped into the centre of the staircase, trying to stay as out of sight as possible without his feet being visible on the floor below. The guard down the right hand corridor walked straight past the stairs, continuing down the left corridor. The thief crept up the stairs and peered after him. Clearly bored, the guard was walking his patrol route without even bothering to look around. Jolku turned away and continued up the stairs.

According to his best guess, Druart’s office was on this floor. He stopped near the top of the stairs again and listened. There were two guards on this floor; one ahead of him, and one down the left corridor. Druart’s office was to the right, opposite The Sword and Shield inn. The guard to the left appeared, turned down the middle corridor and stopped in front of the other guard.

“This is so boring!” the first guard complained.

“Keep your voice down,” the second guard snapped, “This is the officer’s floor. You’re in the presence of your superiors.”

This was his chance. Jolku crept forward and prepared to dart down the right corridor.

“Like who? Druart? He’s the only one on this floor!”

“General Druart is still a superior, and one that does not tolerate insubordination… or disturbance.”

“It’s classed as insubordination to be bored beyond your wits? Besides, if you ask me, he’s already disturbed!”

The second guard raised his head to the ceiling, muttering a silent prayer to the Gods. Jolku dashed down the right hand corridor and stopped, listening to the conversation.

“What are you dribbling about now?”

“I snuck down that corridor and…”

“General Druart said no one was to go down that corridor! He does not wish to be disturbed.”

“I know, but I didn’t have to go far and I could hear him. He’s talking to himself. I think he’s lost it – always working while everyone is enjoying a night in the City, and now talking to himself. He’s a lunatic!”

“You speak out of your place!” the second guard barked, “You should not be down that corridor in the first place, and anything General Druart does or says in his office is his own business, and is no doubt for the good of the Three Kingdoms. Why do you persist in testing the boundaries of your discipline?”

“Well, anything to avoid walking up and down the same corridor. Why do they need guards in the keep when the compound is so well-guarded?”

“It’s called security! I wouldn’t expect you to understand – I hear your money pouch was stolen from you last week.”

“Yeah, it was that damn girl from The Sword and Shield. Must have been. A pity. I liked her. I might go and have another listen to Druart to cheer myself up!”

“You do that and I’ll report you! General Druart said he didn’t want to be disturbed. No one is to go down the west corridor.”

“Fine, be like that,” the first guard muttered, as their footsteps resumed, “Just because you’ve been nominated for promotion.”

Jolku grinned and dashed lightly down the corridor.

oh wow...long thread....must read...but uni work preveals...AUUUGH :wacko: !! *wails* will read when I have time promise.

|LXM|

waah I just read all that and now my eyes have gone funny!

Good story though! (^-^)

Yeah, im really sorry theyre long posts, but i can't stand the idea of posting half a 'scene'. That last post was only one 'scene'

my apologies

lovely just lovely!

man i wanna write a story from the beggining but whenever i sit down to do it my mind goes blank so instead all i got is random scenes from thru out

i admire ur ability to take da plunge!!

Lol, thanks very much Stripes, but just try it.

Try what I do. Just start a story in the middle of an exciting scene, see where the scene takes you, and see where the story leads you. as soon as you have some idea of what sort of story it is, sketch out some sort of a storyline - even if it's not a complete one, just plan a few chapters ahead.

Yeah, or you could work backwards. Think of all the cool scenes, try to put them in order, and fill in the gaps between them.

I can't do that, because my focus is character progression. :wub: the characters!

>back to story - you know I think its good, TF :D