darrian_anner (darrian_anner) wrote in thedas, @ 2010-05-18 20:35:00 |
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Entry tags: | ! plot, ! thread, & 9:45 (5) molioris, @ darrian anner, @ dolain |
The Elusive Trail
Who: Darrian, Dolain
Where: Denerim
When: Early morning, 18 Molioris.
Summary: Darrian is slaver hunting, and drags his old 'friend' Dolain along.
Rating: M for Murder.
Status: Complete
Stepping back onto Denerim soil was like coming home. Darrian hadn't realised how much he'd missed it, not until the familiar stench of wet dog hit him like a slap to the face, the noises of a bustling, energetic populace like music to his ears. He had places to go, and people to see, but for a short while, he just walked, letting his feet lead him where they would, basking in the simple, warming feeling of being home once again. Not that he'd disliked the other places they'd visited on the Northern Star, but being forcibly removed from Ferelden had made him think far too fondly of his place of origin.
Even during his lazy meanderings, Darrian kept his hood up, making sure that his face was hidden in shadow. It would be far too easy to be recognised by any slaver - he hadn't been a forgettable prisoner, that was for sure - not to mention friends, and he wasn't planning on any reunions. Not yet. He had business to attend to first.
At the thought, the elf suppressed a small sigh, before forcing himself to abandon the careless strolling of the seedy streets of Denerim and seeking out the Pearl instead. The edifice was noisy, loud and brightly lit - just as he fondly remembered. He paused, looking at it from across the street, feeling it call to him. Within its walls were his friends, his rivals, his (former, he supposed) employer...a part of him wanted to rush inside, warn them all about the presence of slavery within the city walls, but the rest of him kept his feet firmly rooted to the muddy ground. He couldn't - wouldn't - tell them about that. The thought of voicing aloud his experience made sweat bead on his brow even as his blood ran cold. Darrian had shoved it far into the back of his mind, trying to forget about it - having to bring it all out in the open - to anyone - was not something he would relish.
It was miles better, he knew, to find the slaving ring in Denerim - if it still existed - and then do something about it. Faced with slavery,
he knew of a few people who would willingly help him eradicate it, but he wouldn't drag anyone into this until he found what he was looking for. He knew both Maeve and his mentor would have gone with him, had he asked, but he didn't want to risk their being caught by slavers. That price would be far too high to pay.
He would hunt them alone - and then, perhaps, later, when he knew just what he was up against...
The elf turned away from the brothel, knowing the guards would become suspicious with too much loitering, and turned down a side street. Taking a roundabout route he found himself at the back of the building, in a small dirty alley that he knew would give him easy access inside. Darrian paused for a moment to grin wryly at himself. The first time he'd attempted this, lady luck had smiled upon him - he'd ended up caught and offered a meal and job. This time the risks were nil - he was no snotty nosed little brat breaking into a completely new environment - and only sheer misfortune would lead to him being seen.
He was in and out of the brothel before anyone was any wiser to his presence, leaving with a few items of his that would be able to help him in his hunt. The gaiety and noise that always ruled the Pearl called to him, the familiar sounds washing over him like a comforting blanket, trying to lull him into returning, but it took no more than a hesitant moment to shove the longing away. He left without a backward glance, knowing this was the way it had to be.
Finding out the location of the slaving ring was not going to be easy. First of all he had to keep his face and weapons hidden, which wasn't easy when his height screamed 'elf', even if his ears weren't visible. All elves - but especially cloaked ones - were deserving of suspicion. Secondly, although he remembered the interior of the warehouse they'd been locked up prior to leaving Denerim quite vividly, he hadn't really seen it from the outside, so he couldn't pinpoint it on a map, or even recognise it if he walked past it.
But Lady Luck seemed to be on his side once again, just as she had been all those years ago, and he didn't have to look around for long. Completely by chance he spotted a shem whose face he would never forget, one of those who had been working with the slavers. The man, from what Darrian had understood in retrospect, was some kind of 'talent' scout - he pinpointed potential targets and did some background research into their lives. With that information the slavers found it much easier to capture the unwitting prey. Darrian's eyes narrowed, his hands immediately reaching for the daggers on his back before he forced himself to relax. The middle of an open street was not the best place to settle this score. He had been waiting long enough - a few more hours would make little difference. He let his hands - empty - drop casually to his sides again, and fell into step behind the man. This was just the opening he'd been looking for.
**
Drip.
Darrian picked up the letter, the ink still wet on the fresh parchment. He scanned it rapidly, and his fingers jerked convulsively around it as his eyes fell on the name it was addressed to. Keraer.
Drip.
The elf forced himself to re-read the letter slowly, carefully, trying to make sense of it, placing it on the table and smoothing it out carefully. He might need this yet.
Keraer,
The latest merchandise should be delivered soon, the reply was as expected. The songbird in particular will fetch a high price - ensure proper storage and distribution. They will be dropped off and delivered as usual, but delays are likely. Remember to go easy on the items when you leave today, broken toys fetch no coin. I will contact you when the market turns profitable once more.
Rico
Darrian stared absently down at the paper, a rush of blood singing in his ears. Remember to go easy on the items...when you leave today.
Drip.
The elf's eyes glazed over, his face hardening into stone. All slavers were unholy filth on the face of the earth, but Keraer in particular was one he dearly wanted to meet again, preferably when the slaver was still unaware of his presence and he had a clear opening to gut him like a pig. He couldn't be allowed to leave before he had a nasty accident with Darrian's blades.
Drip.
The annoying, repetitive sound brought him back to his senses. Irritated, he looked over at the only chair in the room, a luxurious padded chair that had seen better days. The cloth covers had once been a pale blue - now it was soaked crimson. The shem slaver was still sprawled in it as if comfort was foremost on his mind. There was, of course, nothing left on his mind - the thin flexible steel wire that had garroted him was still sunk deep into the flesh of his neck, invisible under the copious amount of blood that was still dripping onto the floor below. His face was frozen in a rictus of horror - the kind of face a man is apt to make on realising that the vindictive, merciless grim reaper has finally caught up with him.
Darrian left the letter on the table and continued his search through the deceased slaver's pockets, but the letter seemed to be the only thing of any significance. The elf straightened, frowning. He still needed to find the slaver headquarters, wherever they were. Ignoring the rapidly cooling corpse that was his only company, he tore through the study, searching desperately for clues.
Had his search been more systematic, he might never have found it. As it was, when he tossed the pile of books down on the carpet, a small ledger flew out from inside another book, having been neatly hidden within a hole incised into the pages of the larger book. Darrian bent down and picked it up, hissing angrily as blood soaked into the ledger which had landed in the pool of blood that was growing too fast to be absorbed completely by the chair and carpet.
The edges of the parchment had already turned crimson, smudging some of the ink, but most of it was still readable. Darrian flipped through it, trying to prevent the blood from seeping through any further. It was full of names, pages and pages of names and accompanying notes about every name. It didn't take genius to realise that these were - or had been - the slaver targets, over a long, long period of time, and the information scribbled within had enabled the slavers to not only capture their targets, but to do so with a minimum of fuss and bloodshed. It was exceedingly clever, and explained the sheer amount of names within the ledger - this was thoroughly well thought out and planned.
The elf's fingers dug into the leather binding the pages together as he spotted his name within the pages. The information appended to it had all been accurate, and he remembered bitterly how easy he'd made it for the shem to find out all he wished about him. The man had visited him at the Pearl, where he had plied Darrian with questions as well as tried out his skills first hand. Darrian had freely told him anything he'd wished to know - he had nothing to hide, and hadn't realised just how dangerous even the most innocent of facts could be in the wrong hands. It was no wonder that Keraer and his friends had known exactly what to say and do to get his attention and sympathy.
He continued reading the lists of names after his own, up to the most recent. The name Maeve caught his eye and he felt his throat constrict, a wave of nausea hitting him strongly enough to make him reel. Not her. Not her! Her name was crossed out, and he had no idea what that meant, but as most of the other names weren't - his included - it gave him hope that she hadn't fallen into their clutches after all. Davin was also mentioned, the annotation listing him as a gifted minstrel - with a shock Darrian realised that his childhood friend could be the 'songbird' mentioned in the letter. And two other names he recognised - Kay, who if he remembered correctly was Shiv's sister, and Naien, the sweetest little thing that he occasionally met at the Pearl.
Darrian remembered Shiv quite well, despite their never having been friends. He'd always somehow ended up entangled with Dolain, and Shiv, the faithful puppy hound that he was, had always been running after the older elf, worshipping the very ground Dolain walked on. Darrian had had little patience to spare for him, but finding out that his sister was either a potential target or already kidnapped made such old grudges pale into insignificance.
There was no time to waste. Apart from the numerous names, places were actually mentioned, locations that presumably were used by the slavers, some actually within Denerim itself. Keraer - and the slaves - had to be in one of them. Grabbing the letter from the table Darrian shoved it into his shirt along with the ledger, and wormed his way out of the first floor window. He was larger than he'd been as a kid when breaking into places was commonplace for him, but he was still flexible, and extremely good at wriggling his way through confining spaces.
The breath of fresh air was a welcome change. The elf paused, breathing in deeply. He hadn't realised how stuffy and dank the room with the dead body had been. Glancing down, he realised his hands were all bloody, and he wiped them absently on his dark pants. It wouldn't do for that to be seen. Rather self consciously, the elf, balanced precariously on the window sill, looked carefully around in all directions, to make sure he was unobserved, and find the quickest, shortest route to the first possible location of the slavers.