Grayell and the newcomer, Margrett were on patrol of the town. Wistvale had not become a lawful town overnight and much caution was needed when roaming some of the crowded corners - but thus far Grayell had had no issues anywhere in town since the Council had come into place.
He did need to see whether Marg was cut out for the guard though. Better they have no trouble, but in once sense, he was seeking it out.
Margrett kept pace with Grayell, keeping her head high and her stride imperious. It was going better than she expected, honestly. She fingered the green jewel that hung from a gold chain on her neck.
Grayell looked over his shoulder as they turned the corner into a quiet street.
The council has approved certain criminal aspects of society so you know. Wistvale's economy is largely dependent on shady deals and black market merchandise, but no crime is tolerated within the town. You may find it's an uneasy compromise, but one that keeps much of the hostility behind closed doors. We haven't had any large conflicts as yet.
This way.
Grayell stopped and pushed aside a large flap of worn canvas that covered a doorway. He stepped inside, into the gloom. The large room looked like a housing shed for livestock, but smelled of mold and dust. Not a soul in sight and no animals.
Grayell spat on the floor and then looked at her over his shoulder.
As you know, there are things we don't tolerate. Much of the market had left with the announcement of slave laws. Too much hassle. A small band of the bastards took an issue with it though.
Grayell kicked a burned up bucket as he paced through the room.
They're no longer an issue. I don't imagine this place will see any use for some time. Even the vagrants won't sleep in here.
Grayell nodded. It was apparent this place bothered him. He headed on and to the other end of this long room. A sheet or parchment fluttered across the floor.
It caught Grayell's attention. a sole stark piece of movement in this dank, dark room. He picked up to look at it and his eye's widened.
It was a name, a name and a rough reference to an address. The name simply said 'Dogrin.' Grayell crumpled the paper in his hand, looking through the wall. He knew the place.
That bastard. Could he still be skulking in town?
Grayell shoved the parchment into his cloak and pulled his hood up. He headed for a door on that side of the building.
Well then. Let's see if we can't get in some trouble yet.
Grayell slipped through the door and darted right, into an alleyway. His eyes were left and right, being sure to see they were not noticed. They took another turn and came upon a lane cluttered with boxes. Grayell climbed onto one crate and turned, offered her a hand.
Dogrin is the piece of shit that ran the slave auction. I thought he'd be long gone. He's connected though - we need to keep well from sight if we're to find him home. Up we go.
Grayell took her hand and likewise climbed onto the next crate, the rolled off his shoulders and onto the roof. He clambered away from the alley and then stood, free from prying eyes. He looked back to Marg with a smile.
Grayell chuckled as he balanced across a beam that connected one roof to the next.
Perhaps we should race then. Work out some of that enthusiasm of yours....
He waited for her though and when she had crossed, he continued on. A few more rooftops and he signaled for her to hunker down beside him. They were like predators up here, no one aware of their skulking. Grayell pointed.
That's the place. That building with the green roof. Smoke in the chimney says someone is home. However.... I want your take on this. How should we proceed Miss Margrett?