Chapter 8: The Chosen Storm

Fen stayed in the Lake for a long time after Halla left, wondering if he had made the right choice. Harl came around a few times to fill up his drink, but the tavern keeper ignored Fen’s silent requests to talk more about his mission.

After a few hours he gave up on trying to get his friend to talk to him and went out into the midnight streets of Unger. The city took on a different air at night, the normal industrious feeling was still present, just twisted for the purposes of those whose business was better conducted under the cover of darkness.

Still spinning about in Fen’s mind was the strange mention of The Chosen Storm from the evidence he had gathered from his incursion into the palace. The ledger had mentioned that it was a troublesome cult, and the fact that Fen had never heard of them before hinted that they were new to the city. It was the only thing that was keeping Fen from taking his pay and leaving this mission behind him. He didn’t like feeling as though he was leaving a thread unpulled, and something about the King hiring a cult to do his dirty work was leaving him very unsettled.

The least he could do to settle his mind was to look into the cult, at least a little bit.

Fen crept around to a dark alley on the south side of town where he knew a bunch of ruffians liked to hang out. The thugs immediately recognized Fen as he walked into their alley, and they went on their guard, tensing up and eying him suspiciously. Fen stayed relaxed, but internally he was eying up each of the gangsters and building a fight plan.

“What do you want?” The one in the leather coat demanded.

“I’m looking into some new guys in town.” Fen said. “A group that uses the hammer and anvil emblem on their sigil.”

“You’re going to need to be more specific than that.” The man said.

“It’s apparently being used by a cult. The Chosen Storm sound familiar at all?”

“I’ve heard nothing good about those fellows.”

“Well, I like to check in on people who have nothing good to be said about them.” Fen said. “I want to keep our neighborhood clean.”

The group eyed Fen, and some sort of unspoken communication passed between the lot of them before the man decided to trust Fen. “We’ve heard they set up in that old, abandoned warehouse in North end. The one the Guachos left behind.”

Fen nodded his thanks to them and turned to leave when another man, the one wearing the funny hat to distract from the mace at his hip, spoke up. “You do right by our city, or else we’ll make you regret asking for our help.”

“That’s the goal.” Fen said. He didn’t turn back, but he had the feeling that funny hat guy must be the leader of these toughs, so he took the words seriously. In that moment he was officially committing to see this path through to its end, wherever it might bring him.

Fen headed straight for the warehouse they had told him about, slowing a few streets away to ensure he could make his approach with due care.

He moved carefully through shadowed alleys to avoid the open, moonlit streets, and he made sure to stop constantly and check his surroundings. Fen didn’t see any sort of lookouts or guards as he made his way to a pool of deep shadow right across the street from the warehouse.

There was motion inside the building, so Fen froze, counting on the shadows around him to mask him from anyone who might glance in his direction.

One of the shutters was just slightly ajar, sending a beam of light out into the dark street. Fen knew it was reckless, and his every instinct rebelled against the urge, but he felt the need to get a peek through that window.

So, fighting against himself, Fen waited until there was a lull in the movement he saw inside and then darted across the street, stopping in another dark spot on the other side of the street.

He stopped for a long time, stilling his pounding heart while he looked frantically around the street to see if his reckless move had been spotted. When he was finally satisfied that he was safe, Fen started creeping towards the window, making each move with slow intentionality.

Before he knew it, Fen was sitting under the beam of light that was bursting out from the window, internally kicking himself for his stupidity.

But, he had come this far, so Fen turned and quickly stole a glance through the slit and then ducked back down.

In the instant of his peek Fen didn’t see anything too out of the ordinary. The warehouse was a huge open room stacked with boxes all along the walls. The room was very well lit with a large amount of lanterns scattered around, and Fen could see about a dozen people wearing dark robes wandering about the open area.

Fen’s glance had been far too brief for him to ascertain if any suspicious activity had been taking place, but he wasn’t about to stick around for a second look. The first look had already overdone Fen’s daily quota of stupidity.

So, Fen quickly retreated away from the warehouse, slinking away in the shadows. He rushed his way back to Regis’s house, realizing that he had never established what to do when coming back late at night, so he snuck his way through the traps and then knocked gently on the door.

He heard the familiar sounds of Regis grabbing and arming his crossbow before the small man opened the door.

“Fen, good to see you in one piece.” Regis ushered him through into the house. “I got the couch all ready for you.” It had a pillow and blanket on it.

“Thanks.” Fen said, slumping down onto the couch.

Regis grabbed a key off a shelf and handed it to Fen. “Just use this next time so I don’t have to stay up waiting for you.”

“Thanks.” Fen said again.

Regis shot him a smile and then walked over to the wall of bookshelves. At a touch from Regis one of the shelves swiveled out, revealing a passage into a well appointed bedroom.

Regis closed the shelf behind him and Fen went to tuck the key into his pocket, but he felt something crinkle as he did. He pulled out a scrap of paper that had cramped writing on it.

Mr. Fenrir, we have noticed your attempt to begin poking into our affairs. Be sure that the consequences of any meddling will be dire.

-Those who choose the Storm.