Category: Renado

Still unable to use his sword arm for much, Renado armed up with a crossbow.  He still wore his blade—and his trusty boot knife, of course—but the trigger-fired weapon was much easier to use.  He hooked it to his belt and threw on a loose black cloak.  The hood covered his publicly-known features and the returning whiskers on this chin.  Prepared for anything, he strode out of the seedy room, down the stench-filled hallway, to the inn’s common room where Asar and Omma waited in similar disguises. Continue reading Renado 80

Ren didn’t see Sarim for a few weeks after they had struck their deal.  Ren and his men frequented the Komen Commons, which seemed as safe as Sarim had suggested.  Disguises remained necessary, but the city guards seemed scant and deeply involved with the various gangs and other groups that frequented the slums. Continue reading Renado 79

Good lookalikes they did not find, so their search turned to finding allies.  While the closest they got to the former was a drunkard who vaguely resembled Asar, the latter led them toward a smuggling ring in Saanazar’s underbelly.  They heard one name twice—Sarim—and it was a name that meant something to Ren. Continue reading Renado 78

When Renado pulled on his a brown cloak that morning, he was ready to mourn Woodro’s death.  He was ready to stand there and watch the consequences of their revenge.  In truth, he was ready to leave Saanazar.  He had made the Brethren pay, and—he hoped—the Matriarchs, too.  He was nearly ready to find Rado again.

That was not what happened.  Continue reading Renado 77

Ren moved down the street slowly, keeping his head down and his hood up the entire way.  Kal walked ahead of him, marked by a dark blue cap.  They were still alone in Saanazar, in search of their friends.  The sprawling city was full of faces—none of them familiar.  They had left marks at their former locations, such as eyes scratched in wood or broken brick, and signs of a location to meet, like a circle for the Round Barrel Tavern.  There were too many places to look for such hidden messages and far too many searching guards.  Their friends couldn’t find them, and they couldn’t find their friends. Continue reading Renado 76

Weeks passed.  Renado and Kalikus went from living under an overturned rowboat, to abandoned shacks in the slums, to a brief stint in a tavern, to a makeshift camp in an alley somewhere.  The Saanazar Guard pursued their telltale appearances with fervour and force.  Patrols moved day and night.  Sometimes, Kal would wake Ren up to hurry them away from a search party or the prying eyes of devout city-folk.  The loyal warrior also reported that the City Guard had descriptions of other members of Ren’s party—among them: Asar, Omma, and a few sailors. Continue reading Renado 75

After Ira left them for a vine-cloaked terrace, they were seven.  Three walked ahead of Ren and three walked behind him.  Ren was armed with his bastard sword on one hip and his hand-span knife on the other—plus the little knife in his boot.  Virn, walking straight ahead, carried that enormous two-hand blade hung upon his back.  Asar had a shortsword and a handful of knives strapped across his chest.  Omma, a head taller than all of them save Virn, pushed his way through the crowd with burly hands or the weighty staff he carried in one arm.  Bran walked beside him, hand resting casually on his own sabre.  Urro preferred a one-handed axe, though his man Kal was armed with a buckler shield and a hefty thrusting blade.

The mercenaries, armed to the teeth, cut a wide path through the streets of Saanazar.  It was time for answers or for blood—or both. Continue reading Renado 74

The return to Saanazar had been unfortunately uneventful.  Renado and his entourage to Trell reunited with Urro and his men in one of the taverns they had learned to trust—only to learn that no news had returned from their Squora assassin.  Then two weeks had passed, but still no news had come.  Either it had been very successful, Ren told his men, or it had been very not. Continue reading Renado 73

For Renado and his henchmen—as well as most of the inhabitants of Trellios’ drinking houses—the celebration of the Raderan New Year lasted well through the first day of the year.  When they were not drinking, they were gambling.  Virn always won the former—despite Asar’s and Woodro’s years of expertise—and Ira the latter.  Ren did more observing of the activities than partaking.  Maybe it was his recent weeks in Trellios’ archives and libraries, scouring dull texts for information on the Grey Brethren, Archpriest Roithe, and the recently murdered scholar-or-Conclave-member that made Ren’s eyes remain glazed over for the first thirty hours of their New Year’s celebrations. Continue reading Renado 72