Arelith

There are many forgotten things in the world. Some are esoteric in their import. Lost cities. Hidden grottoes. Forbidden texts. Others are more mundane, forgotten out of carelessness or hidden out of shame. A few are so great in their antiquity, so alien in their origin that none remain, god or mortal, who even remember what they were or what they might one day become.

So it was for this bleak spirit. It shambled its way through the world, looking for yet another temporary identity, yet another assumed cause. It was forgotten, largely even to itself, but its Purpose still drove it and it was helpless to resist.

It was drawn to cities like a moth to a flame. The great, thronging morass of mortality meant many potential hosts, potential homes. They were alive with many kinds of purpose , any one of which could become its Purpose. It could not watch, for it had no eyes, but the fractured, jagged, gleaming shards of what was once its mind could hear the resonant song of those fearful, forgotten, and unrelenting in their purpose. If it was enough like itself, it could make it itself, if only for a time.

****

Sky stood defiant, shivering, and furious in the chilling rain. She had backed herself up against a wall to keep the the three young men from surrounding her.

It was a shakedown, or at least it had started as one. She'd been caught furtively making her way through the turf of a minor gang called The Oi Boys. Such breaches of local protocol demanded a toll of some sort, usually coin or a beating. Sky never had any coin.

"C'mon, lad. Give-us us a bit o' silver an' we'll let ye keep yerz teef. All noice an' shoiney. Such as they is." The tallest of the three spoke gruffly in some horrible, grinding gutter dialect of common. His pose was threatening, but careless, a cudgel held loosely in work-hardened hands. He also had mistaken Sky for a boy, a common enough error given how skinny she was. It could end up going poorly, but there was some hope there, at least.

Sky's flinty, grey eyes flicked left and right. The boy to the right of the leader was small, wiry, and the glint in his eye was unsettling. He was the most dangerous of the three, she was certain. The boy to the left was stout, broad of shoulder and barrel chested. He had long arms and handled his make-shift club with considerably more care than his taller fellow.

Sky didn't have much time, then. She wasn't a great fighter, but she'd stayed alive on the streets as long as she had by excelling at the art of escape. And that, occasionally, meant a bit of scrapping. She'd need to make her way through the tall one and that meant he needed to be too angry to think straight. She took a deep breath.

"Sorry, lad, I think I left the last bit o' coin on yer mother's bedstead. If ye need it that badly, maybe ye can see if she's game to do to ye what I did t'her."

The tall lad froze for a moment. The darkness and the rain made seeing him clearly difficult, but Sky could see that the cool had drained from his posture.

"What....did ye sais t'Oi? Oi need t'hear ye clearly so's Oi will know EXACTLY how Oi'm gonna gut ye." His voice was low, growling, furious. Sky let some of her fear show in her voice, a bit of vulnerability to goad him further.

"Nothin', lad..uh. Nothin', sir. I didn't mean any harm, fer certain, sir. I just...I just meant that I buggered yer mum a bit. Only a bit, sir. Seein' as that's as much as a silver would buy."

Fuming, he took a step forward. "This one's mine, Boyos." He growled. The other two took a step back to give him room. The tall lad took one more step and...

Sky kicked out with lightning speed, catching his foot before he could set it down on the ground. His fury turned into surprise as he started to tumble forward. He opened his hands to catch his fall and the cudgel went flying into the air. In one fluid motion, Sky had caught him by the collar and rolled backwards with him. With a kick she sent him tumbling into the wall behind her and, before the other two could react, she was upright and dashing down the alleyway as fast as her bony legs could take her. Faster than the stout lad. Faster even than his wiry partner. But not fast enough. Not ever fast enough to escape her miserable existence on the streets of Baldur's Gate.

As the shouts of anger faded into the background, the ever-raging monologue started to recite itself in her mind.

If only I had an ounce o' power, I'd put a stop to this. I'd feed the poor so they wouldn't feed on each other. I'd put the powerful under the thumb o' those they've lorded their power over. I'd make it all right. I'd protect everyone. Everyone...if only I had an ounce o' power, I'd put...

Ad nauseum. Ad infinitum. A constant, rattling, wailing song. Hypnotic. Irresistible.

And the thing that was and wasn't, neither living nor dead, heard her anguish. It was an impossible duty. One that would never end and never be taken from it as long as the shell lived. A place to hide and a place to, in some way, be again.

It followed.

Ignacious Brighthold Bristlewick flexed his fingers. At least, he tried to. The nights had grown especially cold and humid as of late and that always made the joints of his fingers stiffen and swell. He gingerly adjusted his glasses and tried to warm his fingers on the fat, white candle dribbling away on his desk.

He started at the sound of his front door being unceremoniously kicked in. The draft that followed blew out his candle and he groaned in irritation.

"Sky. How many times..." Here, he was interrupted by his front door being slammed shut. "How many times have I told you to simply not burst in here? I am your employer, not your parent."

"Sorry, Brightbristle." Sky started bolting the door shut hurriedly. "This is the only place I'm allowed that has locks, sir. Also, I live here, so's I'm entitled t'free entry through the front door, accordin' to the city bylaws sir."

"Until such a time that I choose to erect a door just for you, yes." The old gnome sniffed and adjusted his glasses again. "Well remembered. But, here, girl, you've blown out my candle with all your fuss. Light it up again. My hands pain me."

Sky complied as best as she could, taking a smoldering coal from their gnome-wrought iron oven and using it to catch the wick alight. Once the gnome was satisfied that the job would be done without burning the whole place down, he turned his bespectacled attention back to her.

"Why the rush this time? Another fight?"

Sky shook her head quickly. "Not exactly. Uh. Just got sorta...jumped when I were walkin' through the Oi Boy's turf."

"The Oi Boys? Are they the ones with the codpieces that look like they were made of bread? Have the little round-topped hats?" Brightbristle waved a hand vaguely, plumbing the depths of his knowledge of the local gang scene. "Ergh. Terrible accents?"

"Them's the ones, sir. Nasty bit o' business, them."

"If I recall correctly, Sky, they mostly stick to their own out-of-the-way patch of land and only harass youths that trespass upon it." The gnome's sharp brown eyes peered over his glasses into Sky's soul. At least she felt as though they did. She gulped.

"That's entirely true, sir. Yes."

"And you were there because?"

Well. Nothing for it. Sky set her face and spoke in her usual somber, serious way. "Ye know well enough, I'd wager, sir. Lookin' fer me da or me remainin' brother."

Brightbristle gave a single, decisive nod. "In that regard, then I have some information for you."

"Infermation, sir?"

"Indeed, young Sky. I am not an important gnome in the grand scheme of things, but for those who find themselves displeased by Baldur Gate's current political climate, I'm something of a information broker."

"I thought ye was a Notary, sir."

Brightbristle, sighed. "Usually, yes, but consider, Sky. Unimportant, private documents cross my desk every day. A goodly demeanor and a bit of critical thinking means I can, in some ways see the small political currents that might one day affect the whole city. In exchange for this information, certain reformist parties will pay me in coin or in further information. It's is not always a rewarding occupation, but it is the lifeblood of the Reformationist Movement! We cannot topple despots if we are not informed, Sky. For there to be equality, we must all be educated."

Sky watched him thoughtfully. She was surprisingly bright, but still fairly naive when it came to politics, Brightbristle's true passion. The old gnome new that she would have a dozen, carefully worded questions for him come sundown tomorrow, but in the meantime, she'd just stare at him with her usual, carefully bland expression.

"So, because I am your employer and because your transcription work is finally at the point where I am comfortable leaving you to do it unsupervised, I have a bonus for you. Not coin, but something you'd find as valuable, I think."

Sky frowned "Infermation, then? Bout me Pa or my brother?"

"Your brother, I believe. If you'd be so good as to fetch me the green and gold folio from the shelf there?" Sky complied warily. News about her family was hard to come by and almost always painful.

Brightbristle carefully sorted through the sheaf of parchments and papers kept within and handed Sky a small, grubby piece of postboard with an address written upon it in blocky, awkward letters.

"Male human. Killed during a raid on a warehouse by the local constabulary. Called 'Stormy' by his compatriots, the constabulary's informant identified him as one Cloud Laurentine of Isenfel. The place where he's been buried is on the bit of parchment, there. I believe this one of the two you were searching for?"

Sky's face fell and she covered her eyes. She wouldn't cry, not in front of Brightbristle, but he could see she'd been hit badly by the news. "I'm sorry to give you such sad news, Sky. It was part of what you requested for your compensation, so I've provided it as best as I could. Please, take tomorrow off and attend to your personal business. You'll need to work extra to compensate. At least it will give you something else to think about while you sort yourself out."

Sky fled to her cabinet behind the gnome's business office. It was small, couldn't be locked, but at least it was private. It was bad news. Very bad news, indeed, but there was more.

Another scrap of parchment held grim, but less desperate news: Laurent of Isenfel. Deadman's Alley. The man was alive, though not for long by the look of things. Brightbristle would give it to Sky before she headed out, to give her day some hope, if even a faint one.