A Candle in the Darkness

[brian333]

A bright figure walks among the dreary folk of occupied Isinhold. He wears red shoes, orange trousers, and a sleeveless yellow tunic cut low to show off his deep chest and broad shoulders. His brown skin is hairless except for a wiry knot of black beneath his chin, (trimmed neatly to show off his jawline,) and a wild mass of long thick black rolls of matted hair resembling the fleece of a wild ram growing from his scalp.

His eyes, almost exactly the color of his skin, are saddened by the misery he witnesses, but his mouth smiles. He offers healing where there is injury, (as inadequate as his prayers are given the scope of suffering,) and gives what words of hope and encouragement he can when he speaks with the occupied villagers.

The Zhent soldiers he avoids when he can, and when he can't he immediately obeys their orders without backtalk, though at times his eyes glare with scarcely contained malevolence.

And when Zhent ears are not around, he quietly reminds the folk of Isinhold:

"Though dark be the night, Dawn cometh."

[brian333]

Nather stepped out of the inn in the morning hours between the changes of the watches, when bored soldiers' attention was likely to wander and before their officers were likely to come by to sharpen their attention. No one was about save the Zhent, going about their morning routines. With a sigh of relief which he suppressed immediately, Nather stepped into the square.

He could feel a heat burning his hip. Imaginary though he knew it to be, still he had to assert his will to avoid fiddling with the piece of parchment he had folded and slipped into his belt. A parchment that could mean his instant death, assuming he was not saved for torture first.

Not wishing to attract undue attention, he strolled quietly about Isinhold. There a Zhent officer berated a small formation of soldiers, apparently some kind of punishment detail, Nat assumed. And there soldiers destroyed a shed, apparently for the wood it was made of, while the owner stood by helplessly.

With every step he had to reaffirm his vows, to survive long enough to pass along what he had learned. Survive today, survive long enough to see the end of this occupation.

When he wandered back to the center of town he saw a familiar face. An elf he had met before. Celith. He delivered a friendly greeting as he stepped over to the elf, and his hand wandered to his belt.

A black-robed person bearing the Zhentil Keep insignia walked over. Nather's heart hammered in his chest as the Zhent berated the elves, threatened, bullied.

"Fear is their only tool," thought Nat to himself. "Deny them this and they are powerless." Though that was not entirely true, it nevertheless helped him to think so, and by denying the fear of this psychopath he was able to put aside the fear that was burning through his hip in the shape of a square of folded parchment.

Not satisfied with exerting authority, this Zhent who called himself 'Snake' had to threaten rape of one of the elves. Unable to remain silent, Nather spoke without thinking. He wouldn't recall later what he said, but in the instant of utterance he regretted drawing attention to himself.

"Survive," he thought to himself. "Survive today, survive tomorrow. Live to see the end of this."

After a little more bullying this 'Snake' of the 'Black Dragons' bored even the other Zents and one of them ordered the gathering to disperse. Nat walked into the inn without another word.

Not long afterward the elves came into the inn. As they were haggling with Kale over the price of dinner Nather stepped up and asked for a room. Somewhat distracted, Kale handed him a key to the common room, and as Nather turned he stumbled over Celith.

Apologizing for his clumsiness, he finally managed to get the parchment from his belt and insert it into Celith's. His hands tingled, his scalp and down his spine felt as if a cold wind blew on him, his heart beat throbbing rhythm in his ears as he made his way to the basement of the Regal Griffon.

With every effort to remain nonchalant he exuded a mixture of fear and joy. His step quickened despite his intentions, and finally he found himself in the common room, alone in the middle of the morning, save for some who were sleeping off last night's binge.

His message was on it's way. Names of the Zhentarim officers he had overheard over the duration of the occupation, descriptions of unit insignia, rough estimates of the numbers of troops garrisoned in Isinhold. No longer able to incriminate him, the information was now on it's way in the hands of an elf he almost didn't know, but an elf who could travel to Shallybrook.

Fear and hope warred in his mind as he sat on the edge of his bunk. He could only pray that his message got to someone who could use it, that he hadn't placed it in the hands of someone who would betray him, that he hadn't gotten the elf killed for something he didn't have anything to do with until Nather involved him without his consent.

Guilt and fear threatened to drown him, but there in the corner of the common room a beam of sunlight illuminated the floating particles of dust dancing in the warm ray, reminding him that even here in the midst of the Zhent occupation hope remained.

He smiled and said quietly to himself, "Dawn cometh."