The late afternoon sun was a warm, buttery light that cascaded over the city, making the dust motes dance in the air like tiny specks of gold. The streets of Blackhaven were a vibrant, bustling river of people, a symphony of sounds and smells that filled the air. Carts rumbled over the cobbled roads, their wooden wheels groaning under the weight of goods. Merchants in the marketplace shouted out their prices, their voices a melodic chant in the warm air. The scent of fresh bread and roasted nuts from the street vendors mixed with the faint perfume of flowers from a nearby shop, creating a heady, welcoming aroma.
Roric sat at a small table outside a café, a quiet island in the sea of noise. The café was a quaint little place, its facade painted a cheerful blue with a red awning that offered a small patch of shade. It was the same one that Elias and Lyle had patronized a few days ago though Roric had no way of knowing this. He'd chosen this spot it for its anonymity and its excellent coffee, a luxury he didn't often afford himself. Also, his daughter, Jamie, was quite fond of the pastries they sold so he decided to get some for her while he was there. It was also quite close to a location he'd been staking out for a while now.
But that wasn't the only reason her was there.
It had been close to a month since he'd visited the Dukker household. A month since he'd last taught Elias and Aina about hunting. Well, they were bright kids so he had confidence that they'd make due without him. He felt a sharp pang of guilt at not being there to mentor Elias most especially since he'd need all the help he could get if he wanted to survive even three days inside the 'Iron Forest'
But his absence wasn't without good reason. He had been using this time to investigate a group of men with rose tattoos who had not only been active within Blackhaven but seemed to be operating with a stealth that unsettled him. Their presence was like a quiet, unnerving hum beneath the city's lively surface. He wasn't sure what they were up to, only that they were up to something. He had tried to follow them, to watch them from a distance, but they were like ghosts. They would appear out of nowhere and then vanish into the crowds, leaving no trace behind. It was almost as if they knew they were being watched. Their evasiveness stung at his pride a little because he was a hunter, his whole gimmick was stalking prey. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he'd picked up recently.
Normally, the actions a a few men wouldn't bother him, everyone was entitled to freedom of movement. But these men were members of the 'Azure Rose Order', the main force of knights operating in the duchies of Nordhelm, a powerful nation to the north of Aerthos. He knew this because his late wife, Raizelle L. Thorne, was a former citizen of Nordhelm. She had come to live in Aerthos for reasons Roric didn't feel like thinking about, but it had something to do with her family.
She was the one who had told him about the 'Azure Rose Order' and their function one evening when they shared each others company, he asked her what it was like in her country. That night the stars were bright in the sky and the moon illuminated the meadows with its ethereal light.
"They are," she had explained, "Much like the Enforcers of Aerthos, a powerful, elite group of knights who maintain order and enforced the law. But unlike the Enforcers, their loyalty is only to the royal family. They were the Queens's personal guard, her instruments of power, and they had absolute authority to do whatever was necessary to protect the realm."
He remembered her laughing as she drew the symbol of the Azure Rose in the dirt with a stick. A rose with a thorny stem.
" In reality they are the Queens's hounds, my love," she had said, "and they have an unyielding loyalty to the royal bloodline. They are to be respected, but also feared. 'Necessity' is what is dictated to them from the royals. the lowest ranking soldier within the order is a the 'Saint' Stage of Ascension. "
She had then drawn a sword cutting through the rose.
"This," she had said, "is a mark of dishonor. It means they have committed a grave violation of the laws , something so egregious that they have been cast out. But they are granted three chances of redemption before, if they fail, they are stripped of their rank and their honor, and they are left to fend for themselves, a kind of...exile. "
Roric's mind then turned back to the men he had seen. His late wife Raizelle of blessed memory had taught him what to look for, and he had seen it on more than one of the men. These were not men who had made a small mistake. They were men who were particularly dangerous, with nothing left to lose. He reached into his collar and touched a medallion hidden under his clothes, a keepsake from his late wife. It was silvery in color and had a golden anchor with outstretched wings with the upper part of the anchor forming a star inscribed on it . He rubbed its smooth surface with his thumb, and his mind filled with the memory of a woman with indigo-black hair laughing as she ran through a glade illuminated by sunlight. Her face was obscured by the radiance, but her smile was shining brighter than the sun itself as she reached out towards him.
He took a deep breath, and the warm air filled his lungs, a soothing balm to his frayed nerves. He then turned his mind back to the task at hand, his thoughts a whirlwind of questions and doubts. What were such individuals doing in a foreign nation? And why were they so secretive about their presence? Even more suspicious was the fact that they were in Blackwood of all places, a region that served as a border to Nordhelm in the North and the Sultanate of Kemet in the East. This placement seemed to be a little too convenient.
He contemplated whether he should report this to Alaric but he dismissed the thought as quickly as it had come. He still couldn't prove anything yet. He had gone back to the shack in the forest but after a thorough investigation he found nothing. The arrays on the iron bars and chains had already faded away.
There was also no guarantee that these men were actually involved. They could just be seeking amnesty, a place to start over though that was very unlikely. Still, it was a possibility to consider.
That and with the current state of international affairs between the Trade Union and the Free Guild, one wrong move could ring forth a a diplomatic incident with Nordhelm. Dishonored or not, they were still soldiers.
Roric sighed. He was overthinking again. His order arrived then, a small, dark cup of bitter liquid that was a perfect metaphor for his current state of mind. He picked it up and took a long, slow sip, its warmth a small comfort in the cold, hard world.