The setup
After that last job and the mess I made in her place of work, Nyryx is calling in her favor. It’s only fair, really.
One of Nyryx's friends has gotten into some trouble with the Crows and needs to escape Duskwall. She’s asked me to help move them from Crow’s Foot to the Docks so they can board a ship.
Nyryx arrives at my rooftop sanctuary just as the Rooks and I are sorting the latest shipment for sale. She hasn’t visited in weeks, which is no surprise. I asked her for a favor, then left two bodies at her place of work. Hardly the friendliest gesture. She knocks softly on the open door and motions for me to come outside with her.
We walk the decrepit gardens in silence for a while before resting on a low wall overlooking Silkshore.
“I’m sorry, you know. I was foolish to set something up so close to home.”
“You were,” she replies. “But that’s not why I’m here.”
“Oh?”
“Oressia’s in some trouble. You said a favor for a favor, so I’m calling it in.” Her voice and face are as cold and hard as iron. Have I ruined everything? Is my only true friend turning away from me?
I reach for her hand, but she pulls away.
“Nyryx, please. You’re all I really care about in this city.”
“Your actions prove your words are insubstantial,” she sighs.
“I’ve missed you. Let me make this right. Let me fix it.” I say, but she begins to turn away.
She stops and glances over her shoulder. “Help Oressia—not for coin or reputation, but for me. That’s a start, at least.”
She faces me and presses a small envelope into my hand, my name written in her elegant handwriting. “You can find her here.”
“I won’t let you down. I swear it.” My words feel like a hushed whisper against the wind as she walks away from me. Whatever it takes, I will make this right.
Meeting a contact
I arrive at Hoxley’s office in the undercanal of the Docks. It’s a small business front posing as a travel broker, with plenty of maps hanging on the walls. Not that anyone uses this part of the canal anymore. People prefer the top-side alternatives that superseded this grimy little station. I doubt The Foundation realized they’d created such a haven for us ne’er-do-wells when they built the new canals.
Hoxley looks up from his desk, a spot of ink on his bald head, and flashes a grin that shows nearly every tooth.
“Ledger! Pleasure, mate! Pleasure! Wasn’t expecting you to drop by today, what with your recent delivery.” It sounds like a statement, but I can tell it’s a question.
“Delivery’s in hand. The Rooks are taking care of things for now. I’ve got a different quandary for you.”
“I’m all ears, mucker. Take a seat.” He stands and pulls a chair out for me. The guy’s long-limbed and lithe. I never really understood the phrase “moves like a cat” until I met Hoxley.
“I need to escort someone from Crow’s Foot to the Docks. I don’t have any transportation of my own and don’t know the best routes. Wondering if you might assist?”
“Troubling timing, mate. I’ve got all me boats out at the moment. Nothing I can lend you right now.” He actually looks crestfallen, which I appreciate.
“Might I take a glance at some of your maps, then? Work out a safe route?” As soon as the words leave my mouth, his face changes.
“Now that, mate, that’s a little too far. Them maps are my bread and butter. If I give you even a peek, why would you need old Hoxley anymore?” He scowls, but it softens after a beat.
“I tell you what, you’ve been good business to me. There’s a gondolier station just down from here. Ask for Sindri and tell him Hoxley sent you. You can hire him for the day, no questions asked. And here...”
He pulls out a map from his desk drawer and slides it across. “It’s your standard canal map—don’t get too excited—but you can at least plan your route.”
I take the map. “Better than nothing. Thank you, Hoxley.”
“Safe travels, friend. I’ll be seeing you in a few weeks.”
The bell rings as I exit.
A plan
Sindri is as good as Hoxley said. On the ride over to Bagley in Crow’s Foot, I set the route. Instead of crossing through Crow’s Foot canals, we’ll exit Bagley and take the River up to the upper Daggertown canal, then head straight for The Wharf, getting as close to the boats as we can.
It begins
Oressia and I stand in the foyer of her boarding house. Her bag is packed. She was expecting me, which gives me hope—Nyryx clearly still has at least some faith in me. I’ve laid out my plan, and Sindri waits for me around the corner. Getting here was no problem, but once Oressia exits, I can’t be sure what eyes may be on us. I take a minute to peek out the curtains, checking up and down the street to see if the coast is clear.
I get a good view of the street from the boarding house, perched atop a slight incline. The ghost field presses here in Crow’s Foot, so many dead in this area. But I feel something more. A dog worries at a bone, then runs off, but its impression repeats, as if trapped in some loop. A faint voice whispers in my ear.
“This was my turf, you know.”
Fucking Weaver. That ghost is still lingering around me after I killed the crew he was aiding. He hasn’t materialized yet, but I feel him drawing energy to himself. He can hear me, though.
“Do you have a good handle on the lay of the land here, Weaver?” I ask, keeping my voice low. “This good lady is in trouble with some upstart members of your old organization. Perhaps you might lend a hand?”
Oressia looks at me like I’m mad, but I nod at her and mouth the word ghost. Her eyes widen, but she nods back, pulling her scarf tighter around her face.
The voice whispers again. “I could do that. Guess I should tell you, though—there’s a couple of Crows coming a-knocking. Let’s see how you deal with them, and maybe I’ll keep helping.”
I feel the energy he was using to manifest dissipate slightly. A few echoes remain, but it seems Weaver is happy to stay mostly in the ghost field for now.
A quick glance from the window proves he was right—two Crows are heading toward the boarding house.
“Oressia, my dear, we seem to have some guests. Is there a back door to this establishment?”
If her eyes weren’t already wide, they are now. The color drains from her face.
“No doors,” she whispers, “but the kitchen has a window. Will that do? Please, you can’t let them get me.”
I pick up her bag and move toward the kitchen window. “Out the window we go—quiet as you can. We don’t want to give our position away.”
The kitchen looks more like a morgue than a cooking space, and for a moment, I wonder if that was its original purpose. We slide open the window, and I climb up onto the counter. My shoulder and ribs scream in pain as I squeeze through, but I make it. Oressia passes her bag through to me, just as her landlady, Mrs. Honorhorn, clatters into the room, humming a tune.
“What the devil?!”
In a stage whisper, I say, “Quickly, Oressia—no time!”
“Sorry, Mrs. Honorhorn! No time!” She shrugs and slides gracefully through the window.
As we slip into the alley, I hear a knock at the boarding house door. That’s the Crows. I doubt Mrs. Honorhorn will keep our getaway a secret. We need to move fast.
Perhaps the old Crow, Weaver, would like a chance to cause some chaos.
“Weaver, are you still around?” I feel a thrum in the ghost field, but it’s faint. Damn, I’m going to need to focus.
I take a minute, knowing it puts us at risk, and attune to the ghost field, trying to find Weaver. I’ve never been good at this.
I feel his presence and hear his voice in my mind.
“I wanted to see how you’d deal with them. Job’s not done, boyo.”
I snap back from my attunement. Oressia is looking at me, concerned, as two figures materialize at the entrance to the alley. I’ve clearly spent longer than I realized.
“Well, well,” says a gruff voice, “Just the little birdie we were looking for.”
I mutter under my breath, “Stick to the story,” to Oressia.
“Oh, mon dieu, Madeline, are these your husband’s associates?” I say, adopting my best Dagger Isles accent.
“Please, sirs, we want no trouble!” I step away from Oressia, grabbing her hand and looking pleadingly toward the Crows.
The two Crows exchange glances, assessing us.
“Dutch, that don’t look like her. Oressia’s got black hair.”
“True enough. But why were they climbing out the window?” He frowns, eyeing me.
“What are you hiding, fella?”
“You’re not ‘ere for us, then? Not friends of ’er husband, Mr. Greenwood?”
“We ain’t friends of his, but we certainly ain’t friends of yours neither. Answer the question—why were you climbing out the window?”
They’re so close to buying the ruse. Now to weave a tale, and maybe pull on their heartstrings enough to get their help to the boat.
I make a show of a sigh and speak in quick (albeit bad) Daggerian to Oressia.
“Pardon, oui, I will explain. ‘Er ‘usband, ‘e is not a pleasant man. ‘E beats ‘er and blames ‘er for all manner of things. We have been ‘iding at this boarding ‘ouse. When we saw you coming, we thought for sure you had been sent by ‘im. My ‘eart soars that you are not in ‘is employ. We ‘ave a boat waiting. Perhaps you might even escort us, get a lady to safety and out of the clutches of a cruel man?”
Dutch looks like he’s buying it, but his companion has been eyeing Oressia with a hand on his shortsword the whole time.
“Dutch, look at her hair. Black. It’s a ruse, a disguise. This is our girl. They’re playing you.”
The sound of steel ringing fills the air. Both Crows draw their weapons, short blades leveled at us.
“Listen here,” Dutch growls. “Enough lies. Hand over the girl and you can walk away. Don’t test us now.”
I raise my hands slowly, showing I mean no harm. But as soon as their attention shifts to Oressia, I act. I pull out my trance powder and hurl it at Dutch’s face, then draw a small throwing knife from my belt and aim for the other one’s shoulder or leg, trying to hobble him.
Just before I throw, I hear Weaver’s voice again.
“I’ll help.”
His form begins to materialize, drawing more energy than I thought possible. Echoes of my movements trail behind me like ghostly afterimages.
Weaver’s “help,” it seems, is a hindrance. The trance powder and blade go wide.
Weaver fully materializes, sending a surge of energy through the ghost field, knocking us all to the ground.
“Useless boy,” I hear his mocking laughter echo. He towers over me, electroplasm arcing off him.
“I’ll do it myself!”
He leaps toward me. I feel tendrils of his energy reach into my mind—he’s trying to possess me!
In a panic, I fumble for my vial of electroplasm and hurl it at him.
The throw is wild, my shoulder wound pulling at me, and the vial misses.
I feel him invade my mind, taking control of my body. A manic laughter fills my head as I lose control.
When I come to, bloodlust surges in my heart. I’m holding my scimitar and dagger, surrounded by a sea of blood. The two Crows lie dead at my feet, their bodies shredded. I see the gore splattered up the walls and all over me. Weaver’s presence fades, but his hunger for violence does not. Something has changed in me—for good.
“That’s the last time I help you, boyo,” I hear him laugh.
It’s only then I realize I can also hear the bells. The Wardens are on their way.
“We need to run,” I say, turning to Oressia. Her face is pale, eyes wide, and thin streaks of blood stain her clothing.
“You... you... you were possessed,” she stammers.
“Indeed. And now I’m not. And now we must run!” I shout, though I contain the full force of my panic.
A glance upward confirms my fears. The Wardens are coming, and the crows are circling above.
We must move fast, and covertly. Anyone who spots us will surely alert the authorities. I grab Oressia by the elbow, keeping her body in front of mine to hide the blood soaking my clothing. Sindri’s boat is docked just a short walk away.
We manage to blend into the throng of people along the docks, keeping our movements as inconspicuous as possible. When we reach Sindri, his eyebrows raise in surprise. Between the bells, the circling birds, and my blood-soaked clothing, he can tell that I’ve been involved in something violent—and that I’ve probably killed someone.
“Woah, woah, woah. You said transport, but you didn’t mention no Wardens,” he says, blocking my entry to the boat with his body, leaving Oressia and me exposed dockside.
“Sindri, now is not the time,” I snap. “We need to get away—let us on the boat NOW.”
My tone catches him off guard. He frowns but reaches his hand out to Oressia, helping her step onto the canal boat. As I go to follow, he places his hand on my chest, stopping me.
“Look,” he says, eyes narrowing, “I’ll take her where she needs to be, but you? You seem like more trouble than you’re worth. You stay here.”
I try to put myself in the man’s shoes—who would want a blood-soaked stranger, probably wanted by the Bluecoats, on their boat? But if I can convince him I’m something else—something safer—maybe he’ll let me aboard.
“Sindri, look, it’s okay.” I pull open my coat slightly, letting him catch a glimpse of my forged Inspector’s badge. “I’m on a covert operation, and it just went sideways. Your help now will be repaid by the Inspectors, I’m sure of it.”
Sindri looks at me for a long moment, clearly weighing his options. “I’ll help you now, but don’t expect any favors like this from the Gondoliers again. Inspector or not, we don’t need this kind of heat. I’m only helping you out ‘cause of the lady.”
“Thank you, Sindri,” I say, nodding. “I’ll show you that you’ve made the right choice trusting me.” I climb aboard the boat and duck into the cabin with Oressia.
“I wouldn’t call it trust, mate,” Sindri mutters under his breath as he pushes off from the dock.
A change of scenery
The boat glides smoothly through the canals, with only the occasional chop on the water disturbing our passage. It’s a short journey, but mostly on the river—harder to manage, but the journey provides an opportunity to tidy up and ditch my blood stained jacket. With the Crows likely still after Oressia and the Spirit Wardens occupied with the bodies I left behind, my greatest concern is whether the Bluecoats have been alerted. I can only hope that Sindri is as skilled a pilot as Hoxley claims, and that he can get us to the Docks without incident.
As we approach the Wharf, the smell of saltwater and the noise of boat engines fill the air. Sindri slows the boat and pulls us into a small canal dock near the Wharf. It's not as close as I had hoped, and I realize Oressia and I will need to walk the rest of the way.
“This is as far as I take you,” Sindri says, clearly trying to distance himself from whatever mess we've caused.
“We agreed on getting as close to the boats as possible, Sindri,” I say, keeping my tone measured despite my frustration.
“Aye, and the agreement didn’t include Spirit Wardens, undercover Inspectors, and a bloodstained jacket I’m now going to need to get rid of. This is as far as you go.”
I make a disgruntled noise but help Oressia off the boat. Standing on the dock, I quickly formulate a plan. We’ll need to stay discreet, moving quietly toward the boats, then hide and see if any Crows are on the lookout for her. We set off, trying to blend into the crowd as best as we can.
It’s clear that there is a Crow presence here—whether they’re actively looking for Oressia is another matter. I decide that breaking away from the crowd would be more risky than sticking with it. We press on, moving in sync with the bustle of the Docks, pushing past sailors and tourists alike.
After a few streets, we find a rhythm, and soon enough, the great black expanse of the Void Sea comes into view. We've made it to the Wharf proper.
As I turn, looking for a place to survey the surroundings, a large man suddenly grabs Oressia’s arm.
“Oressia? Is that you?” His voice is booming, and though he doesn’t look like a Crow, his loud demeanor is certainly drawing attention to us.
I step in front of her, adopting a rough docker’s accent. “Sir, please remove your hand from my wife’s arm, or I’ll be forced to intervene.” I place myself firmly between them, blocking his view of Oressia.
The man’s face splits in shock, and his hands immediately drop. “I’m so sorry, sir. Didn’t realize. Just a misunderstanding, I swear!”
“Well, be off with you!” I sneer, and he stammers more apologies before he hurries off into the crowd.
I quickly grab Oressia’s hand again and pull her into a small alcove in a nearby wall. We need to get a better look at the Wharf, see if the coast is clear for her to board.
As I begin scanning the area, I notice someone else watching us. His eyes are fixed on Oressia, and as soon as our gazes meet, he starts barreling toward us.
“Oressia, this is it,” I whisper. “I’ll entangle him, but you need to run. Run to the ship, get aboard—they won’t let him on without a ticket.”
“Ledger, I can’t! I don’t have a ticket!” she cries. Damn it. Of course she doesn’t have a ticket. But I won’t let that stop us. The man is nearly upon us now, and a fight—given my broken ribs and shoulder wound—won’t end well for me.
Time to gamble.
I point over the man’s shoulder and shout, “Help! Bluecoats! This man’s trying to rob us!”
The man whips around, and I seize the opportunity. I pull Oressia back into the crowd, hoping the ruse will buy us enough time. He knows there are no Bluecoats, but hopefully that doesn’t matter for long.
We push through the throngs of people, trying to get lost in the crowd as quickly as possible. For a moment, it seems to work—his head whips back and forth, searching for us, but we’ve already melted into the crowd.
Then, an ear-piercing whistle cuts through the air, followed by a gruff voice: “Lads, she’s here! Block the boats!”
From strategic positions around the Wharf, I see six—what I assume to be—Crows materialize, blocking the metal gates that provide access to the ticket booths and the docks.
With Oressia’s hand still tightly in mine, I pull her away from the gates. We need two things: a ticket (which is impossible with those Crows guarding the entry), and another way in.
I look around frantically, scanning for any tavern or hotel, anywhere we might duck into for cover. But the streets seem unnaturally empty.
I’m about to move down the next alley when I feel a rough hand grab the back of my shirt.
I turn to see the man who had spotted us earlier—there’s no escaping him now. He looks like the type who would rather this be a fight, and who am I to deny him?
The residual bloodlust from Weaver’s possession surges through me. Without thinking, my hand moves to my dagger, and I wheel, slashing toward him.
“Got you now—” My words are cut off as the man’s other hand catches my wrist, twisting it painfully. The dagger falls from my grip.
The whistle rings out again, and two other Crows appear, flanking Oressia and grabbing her by the arms. They begin to drag her away into the crowd. The big man pushes me to the ground, and the violent urge fades as I feel my grip on reality—on sanity—slip.
I look up, dazed, and see a beautiful sight. My Rooks—Falcon and Mannen—are striding toward the Crows in their full Inspector regalia. At the sight of them, the Crows scatter, and Oressia is freed.
But the fight’s not over. As the ground tilts to meet me, I can only hope they finish what I started.
When I wake, the Rooks have taken me back to the hideout. The good news: the Crows scattered at seeing their uniforms, and they managed to get Oressia aboard a ship. The bad news: as they were picking me up, I was surrounded by Bluecoats. The Inspector ruse didn’t hold up, and the Bluecoats gave chase. That’s going to generate more heat on us—and the real Inspectors will be looking for answers.
The aftermath
Going against the Crows isn’t small business—I imagine they’ll be talking about my actions for a while. I’ll gain some decent rep.
I didn’t take this job for the coin, but Oressia insisted on paying us—she’s provided 4 coin.
My wounds are still causing issues. I could turn to the alchemist we sought out before, but I don’t trust his abilities. I send the Rooks to find another option. To my displeasure, they return with a butcher—a primitive surgeon, but a surgeon nonetheless. He stitches my shoulder wound, but says there’s nothing to be done for my ribs. Still, after a few days, I feel better—though that’s likely more due to time than any real surgical skill on his part.
An unplanned visit
During my convalescence, I spend long hours in my room at the boarding house in Silkshore. Smoking cigarettes, I contemplate our next move. With the heat on us, we’re at risk. I could turn myself in, but what would that do to our operation? The Rooks are hardly fit to run it.
As I muse to myself, staring out into the stormy night, I feel a shift in the Ghost Field. The hairs on my arms stand up, and a familiar smell of electroplasm fills the air. It’s intoxicating—sharp, crackling, alive—and it stirs something inside me.
“So many savage choices ahead of you, friend.”
I spin around, and there, standing in the doorway, is a man. His clothing is immaculate, perfectly tailored, but it’s his eyes that draw me in—electric blue, crackling with raw power. His presence hums through the air, like an electric current, almost tangible. This is a demon.
I stumble back, bracing myself against the window, but I can't look away. He’s so close—too close. The air is thick with his energy, charged, magnetic.
“What do you want from me, demon?”
He tilts his head, that dangerous, knowing smile spreading across his face. “Nothing you haven’t already been doing, friend.” His voice is low, smooth—velvet. “The gift of savagery... You feel it, don’t you?”
The words send a shiver down my spine. Something stirs deep inside me, rising and pulsing, like the electricity in his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
He takes a step closer, his eyes never leaving mine. “Weaver Dalmore left his gift in you. That piece of him... it thrives in you now. I can feel it. The wildness—the urge to break, to destroy. He may have been the one to unleash it, but you... you were always meant for it.”
I open my mouth to speak, but my voice falters. The closer he comes, the more the air crackles between us. It’s as if his very presence is rewiring something inside me, something dark, something feral.
“I offer you the same deal I gave him,” he continues, his voice now a whisper in the stillness. “Use your savagery. Unleash your rage, your hatred, and let it burn. Paint the world red, tear it apart, and prove to me that you are worthy. Prove that you can carry my gift.”
His hand reaches out, brushing my cheek with his fingertips. It’s soft at first, almost tender, but it crackles with energy—a static surge that leaves my skin tingling. The heat between us is palpable, and I feel my body respond, an instinctual pull toward him.
His face inches closer, and my breath catches in my chest. “You want this, don’t you? To be mine. To bear my gifts, to ruin the world in my name.”
I don’t know why I answer the way I do, but the words spill from my lips, filled with the same hunger that radiates from him. “Yes... I will. I’ll be yours.”
The smile that spreads across his face is wicked, satisfied. His touch lingers, and for a moment, I feel myself melting under the intensity of his gaze. The desire to give in, to surrender, surges through me, and I almost lean in to kiss him. But before I can move, he pulls away.
“It is decided, then,” he says, his voice now carrying an edge of finality. “Now, prove yourself worthy. Show me what savagery lives inside you.”
With a crackling flash of lightning, he disappears, leaving only the faint smell of ozone in the air. My cheek stings where he touched me, and I can still feel the lingering spark of his presence, like the taste of something forbidden, something dark.
And yet, I feel the pull still—like a whisper in the back of my mind, urging me to do more, to be more.
The Rooks will take the heat. I have work to do out here.
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