The Festival of the Azure Moon

Chapter 1 - The Thief and the Magician

It was a busy day at the Riverhill market, and Shalnark was lurking about, searching for his next mark. Where he came from, money was made of paper, making it far easier to pickpocket. On this continent, however, silver pennies were the universal currency of the Travenhall Empire, and a noisy bag of silver is tough to swipe from a belt unnoticed.

Shalnark found a place to sit on the stoop of the town chapel as he continued to scope out potential victims. Thievery was punished harshly, especially during the market days. Whoever he chose to steal from had better be carrying enough coin to make it worth the risk.

From his vantage point, Shalnark could oversee the entire town. Its buildings were brick, and the half-timber frames made them simple enough to climb for a quick getaway. The feuds brewing to the north had not yet touched the modest town. This gave the citizens a false sense of security that a career criminal like Shalnark could easily exploit.

At a glance, Riverhill seemed to be plucked straight from a painting, but Shalnark knew better than anyone to never take anything at face value. Peel away the clean and secure market streets and you would expose the smell that spoke volumes of the true state of the land. The alleys reeked of piss, as people who could not wait for the gong farmer to arrive simply emptied their chamber pots out the window. The surgeons and apothecaries practiced a form of medicine that would just as soon kill you as cure you. If you wanted to eat, you would need to either steal or work yourself to the bone. Shalnark chose the former.

How long have we been trapped in this place, Ebennen?

Shalnark had been alone since he was stranded on the continent of Enuin. For most of that time, no one spoke his language, so he had only the voice within his head, Ebennen, to talk to.

Hard to say. Probably three years? Ebennen responded.

Feels much longer than that. Shalnark picked up a loose stone and tossed it down the stairs. If only we had not botched that job at the cathedral in Oxgate, we would be sailing home from Port Lood by now. Getting caught was bad enough, but losing the ship fund hurt worse than death.

At least you made it out of Oxgate alive. That's what is really important.

Is it? It took us nearly two years to gather all that silver. Shalnark rubbed his brow. Now, all we have is a single full purse, the clothes on my back, and whatever equipment we could weasel out of Oxgate.

We can always steal more silver. Your life cannot be stolen back from the clutches of Lord Death.

And remain in this forsaken primitive land for another two years? You'll have to forgive me for preferring Lord Death's embrace to having to shit in a pot.

You heavily exaggerate how bad it is in the Travenhall Empire, Ebennen said. Sure they are primitive compared to Geergan, but their living conditions are respectable.

Just keep your eyes peeled. See if you can find any more rich bastards like the one we robbed yesterday. Most of these peasants aren't carrying enough to make it worth the risk. I'm going to try to figure out our next job.

Hours had passed, and so far, the only person carrying anything of real value was a patrolling Holy Knight wearing a gilded symbol of the warrior god, Xobris. Shalnark had no intention of kicking that hornet's nest after what happened in Oxgate, but at this point, it seemed he had no choice. The scoundrel reluctantly stood and dusted off his trousers. Shalnark began to formulate a route of escape in his mind.

A familiar figure appeared at the edge of his vision. It was the same man Shalnark had successfully robbed the day before, but this time he was toting an even larger coin purse.