Snippet #1784299

Chancellor Calihal reaches the Imperial City when two of the three moons are at their zenith in the sky, one a thin crescent, the other more than half full. He walks down the dark, deserted streets to ascend the grand, arcing stone staircase up to the Council Hall, the hilt of his sheathed longsword bobbing as he climbs.

The night watch, two moderately armed guards, look uneasy, shifting from foot to foot or rubbing the back of a neck. One guard, however, stands to attention, addressing him, "Chancellor," while the second guard unbars the doors.

"Good eve," Calihal responds, giving them both a curt nod. He may as well have told them to sod off.

They swung the massive arched doors out to allow him into the main lobby, and he heard the iron bar scrape against the wood as they lower it into place, shutting him in. Hmm, wonder what has their skivvies in a twist tonight? The lobby, a long corridor illuminated with small chandeliers between high arches on the ceiling and torches to either side, had skylights, that during the day allowed more light to come through, but he needed little more than candlelight to see by as he walked the hall toward the tax office, passing small rooms on the lower level, and wooden doors on both sides to stairwells leading up to the rooms on the second floor. Most of the rooms were empty, lightly furnished to accommodate travelers, mainly figureheads from overseas, but none of them, at present, were supposed to be occupied. He bypassed every one of them, stopping in front of the tax office door to dig for his keys before slipping the long one into the keyhole and giving it a twist. He pushed the door inward and stepped into the dark, vacant room.

At the big desk, he wiggled out another key, unlocked the drawer with the tax records and pulled out Ferdirand's black journal. He flipped through the pages, memorized a few names that seem to be of some importance to him, and replaced the book where he found it. As he heads over to a candle holder near the far bookshelf and glanced around once before pulling it down. A stone wall slid down into the floor with a grating sound. He stepped into a hidden passageway, and turned around, preparing to use the holder on the other side to seal off the tunnel, when he saw a hunched, cloaked figure looming in the darkness before him.

"Going somewhere, Chancellor?" a raspy, crone's voice answers from beneath the hood.

"Who's there?" Calihal demanded to know. "Show yourself!"

The figure stepped forward, and with the wave of a hand, cast a spectral green light which permeated the air around them, revealing under the cloak a wrinkled, sallow face.

The old woman gives the Chancellor a toothy grin. "Poor memory for the man owing a great debt to the woman who put you where you are, Chancellor, a poor memory indeed."

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