Post by gainreduction on Sept 3, 2013 23:24:35 GMT -5
It was a cold night in Waterdeep. A particulary cold night.
Rodioc went about the last rounds over his shop, as he usually did. Satisfied that no one would break in this night successfully, he pulls down the awning to his Cobbler and Keys store. There was a resonant note from the iron on the cobbles as the sheet metal that protects his door from unwarranted guests. With the inside door locked neatly in no less than three locks and a padlock, he left to return home.
The breeze was chilly on his back, and he pulled his scarf around his neck and placed his hands in his woolen coat pockets to warm himself on the way home.
Living this way isn't easy, he thinks to himself, recalling a run in that he has had earlier in the day with a local gang. He continually paid them off to stay in the clear on their turf.
However, with a harsh winter business has been quite slow. People are not buying new boots, and even rarely repairing old ones, and not many have come to him for locksmithing either. Roidoc whispered a quick prayer to Tymora under his breath that he would make the payment later in the month.
His small form moved quickly down the now quiet street ion Trader's Way. Down the street he could see the lights of the local tavern dancing away, spilling bawdy song and revellers out onto the road. A man is forcefully ejected by the bouncer of the tavern into the road, giving his face a real taste of Waterdeep pavement.
Cursing under his breath, Roidoc crosses to the other side of the street. He doesn't want to be caught out by Briar Bob or any of his lackeys this time. Or worst yet, he'll be caught none the wiser by one of his friends who'll say, "Just stay for a pint or two."
It was only two miles or so to walk home, but he often feared for himself on the streets. Young Roidoc wasn't a stranger to a bit of a scrap fight, but there was worse lurking down the alleys. He quickly whispered another prayer to Tymora to ward him from Beshaba's misfortune this night. But even to this day he didn't expect what was to come next.
Suddenly, all in a clamour, a bell rings out. He could see the fire from less than mile off, on Selduth Street. It was in the middle of the street, Roidoc's house.
Gods above, Lucinda....
His wife-to-be would be waiting at this hour normally at the table with dinner ready on the table. Roidoc's heart almost skipped a beat, but he raced down the road quicker than a barrel of ale falling off a wagon.
The firefighters were already at the scene when he arrived, pumping water from a nearby well. The blaze was very much out of control, and a male firefighter almost twice Roidoc's size tried to usher him to the side. With the strength of ten men, Roidoc bursted into the blaze, launching himself through the front window of the previous modest home Lucinda and Roidoc had made for themselves. Glass smashed everywhere, even in his fingers and hands, the heat seared at his face and his hair began to shrivel and wither.
The roar of the fire surrounded him. He struggled through the blaze, although unfettered by the blistering of his skin and the wounds sustained from his crude entry.
His boiling blood reached a highpoint as he reached the dining room. He opened his mouth and screamed out in agony...
Lucinda! What have I done!
Rodioc went about the last rounds over his shop, as he usually did. Satisfied that no one would break in this night successfully, he pulls down the awning to his Cobbler and Keys store. There was a resonant note from the iron on the cobbles as the sheet metal that protects his door from unwarranted guests. With the inside door locked neatly in no less than three locks and a padlock, he left to return home.
The breeze was chilly on his back, and he pulled his scarf around his neck and placed his hands in his woolen coat pockets to warm himself on the way home.
Living this way isn't easy, he thinks to himself, recalling a run in that he has had earlier in the day with a local gang. He continually paid them off to stay in the clear on their turf.
However, with a harsh winter business has been quite slow. People are not buying new boots, and even rarely repairing old ones, and not many have come to him for locksmithing either. Roidoc whispered a quick prayer to Tymora under his breath that he would make the payment later in the month.
His small form moved quickly down the now quiet street ion Trader's Way. Down the street he could see the lights of the local tavern dancing away, spilling bawdy song and revellers out onto the road. A man is forcefully ejected by the bouncer of the tavern into the road, giving his face a real taste of Waterdeep pavement.
Cursing under his breath, Roidoc crosses to the other side of the street. He doesn't want to be caught out by Briar Bob or any of his lackeys this time. Or worst yet, he'll be caught none the wiser by one of his friends who'll say, "Just stay for a pint or two."
It was only two miles or so to walk home, but he often feared for himself on the streets. Young Roidoc wasn't a stranger to a bit of a scrap fight, but there was worse lurking down the alleys. He quickly whispered another prayer to Tymora to ward him from Beshaba's misfortune this night. But even to this day he didn't expect what was to come next.
Suddenly, all in a clamour, a bell rings out. He could see the fire from less than mile off, on Selduth Street. It was in the middle of the street, Roidoc's house.
Gods above, Lucinda....
His wife-to-be would be waiting at this hour normally at the table with dinner ready on the table. Roidoc's heart almost skipped a beat, but he raced down the road quicker than a barrel of ale falling off a wagon.
The firefighters were already at the scene when he arrived, pumping water from a nearby well. The blaze was very much out of control, and a male firefighter almost twice Roidoc's size tried to usher him to the side. With the strength of ten men, Roidoc bursted into the blaze, launching himself through the front window of the previous modest home Lucinda and Roidoc had made for themselves. Glass smashed everywhere, even in his fingers and hands, the heat seared at his face and his hair began to shrivel and wither.
The roar of the fire surrounded him. He struggled through the blaze, although unfettered by the blistering of his skin and the wounds sustained from his crude entry.
His boiling blood reached a highpoint as he reached the dining room. He opened his mouth and screamed out in agony...
Lucinda! What have I done!