• Solo • The Hunt Begins

[Rat]

9th of Zi'da, Arc 717

It was strange, Rat thought. Being back in the banisters where the assassin was two days prior. Retracing his steps, looking for any semblance of a clue that could point him in the direction of the would-be-killer. He walked carefully over to where he and the attacker exchanged blows, noticing that still stained the solid wood of his work place. A bit of torn cloth stuck out from where the assassin had thrown both himself and Rat off the rafter, but it was just a strip of black cloth. Nondescript, and wholly useless for Rat's purposes.

Looking down to where he had almost met the Fates, Rat felt his heartbeat hammer against his chest. He could still remember the falling, the certainty of his demise, and his own acceptance of it. He flexed his claws and bared his teeth at the site. He didn't know why the assassin hadn't taken the extra time to finish him after they had Ruputured to the backstage. Maybe the hired killer panicked at his own failure, desperate to get away as fast as possible. Maybe he had pity of the Lotharro, seeing his youth and thinking about how the Fates would judge him for his actions. Rat shook his head, refocusing on the task at hand. He supposed it didn't matter why the assassin spared him, just that he was alive. Whatever the reason, Rat intended to make the man regret letting him live.

It was a short walk down the stairs and to the stage. Rat was glad it was empty, he would be hard pressed to explain as to why he was wandering the theatre this late at night. Though, that was the reason he had chosen this break to work in. At this break, most everyone was either home or asleep, He could work with impunity, not having to worry about being caught by the rough and violent hands of Clay.

The crossbow was missing, of course. Rat knew that Jane had her own people hired looking into that, and for that he was glad. Rat was good for a quiet step and keen ears, but he didn't know the first thing about tracking down a weaponsmith or interrogating a suspect. He hated to admit it, but he was involved in far more than any slave or boy should be. He had to be careful, and play to his strengths. Jane had made it clear that no one in troupe could be trusted, and that if he were caught, the punishments would be severe for a slave in his suspicious position.

Leaving the main stage, Rat moved quickly and quietly to the place backstage where he had been found. However, as he rounded the corner, he saw another figure standing over the bloodstained spot. Rat ducked around corner, not wanting to be seen but desperately curious at who else was here. He peeked his head out slightly, not enough to be wholly seen, but present so that he could keep an eye on the figure. Rat couldn't make out who it was in this light, it was black as pitch backstage at his break, but he saw them searching around the area. It was similar to what he had done both in the rafters and on the main stage, but Rat couldn't tell if the person was searching for clues, or attempting to get rid of evidence. The Lotharro was tempted to confront the person and demand answers, but he forced his blood to cool. Patience would be paramount in hunting his quarry, so Rat decided to hold his position and wait for his prey to move.

It was half-a-break before the person was finished with whatever they were doing. Checking to see if they were being watched, the person then rushed off towards what Rat suspected would be the theatre's back entrance. The Lotharro kept his body low as he prowled after the suspicious individual, barely even breathing as he carefully and quietly kept to the shadows. Rat hid behind an errant set piece as he saw the person getting closer to the door, now holding his breath to still his sound completely. The boy's patience paid off, as once again the individual turned to see if he was being followed while fumbling with a key. In his hurry to depart, the person failed to notice Rat's hiding place, and the Lotharro got his first good look at the person.

Rat saw the lines of Clay Deveraux's face, and felt only confusion.

Rat knew that Clay had great love for the nobility, and was one of the few people in the company to be amicable towards Isadora's rather polarizing personality. It didn't make any sense, and if he wanted Isadora dead the man had both ample opportunity and the ability to do it himself. However, the assassin did get in under Clay's watch. And Clay was oddly out of position and near enough to backstage door to be able to let someone in if he wanted to. Rat's eyes squeezed tight with anger as he considered his options. Perhaps Jane was right, Rat couldn't trust anyone, or what thought of anyone, in this. No one was above suspicion, and needed to chase after every angle he could if he was going to find the killer or the person who hired them.

The door closed behind Clay as he exited, and Rat gave himself to the count of ten to make a decision. If he left the theatre, and if Clay caught him, the consequences would be severe. He was a slave, leaving his post to follow his overseer in the dead of night. If he only received a beating Rat would consider himself lucky. Torture was probably more likely, and the Lotharro wasn't sure how well he'd hold up under a knife. However, if he didn't, Rat would be giving up his only lead. Perhaps even his only chance to find the person who had tried to hurt Isadora.

Rat made it to five before he was out the door.

[Rat]

Rat pumped his legs to keep up with the man. There wasn't much use for stealth at this point, Clay had broken into a full run the second he was out of the backstage door. The Lotharro was fairly sure that his overseer was unaware of the chase, as if he was Rat was sure he would have stopped to beat him within an inch of his life. Whatever had galled Clay into movement, it was pressing enough that the human was willfully ignoring his surroundings. Rat was thankful for it, because, despite all of his quiet ability, he had not mastered the art of staying silent and running at the same time.

Knifing through narrow alleyways and pressing past abandoned merchant stalls, Rat was unsure where his overseer was leading him. He made sure maintain a decent distant from the man, as pushing to close would alert him even in his frantic state. He had to push himself to keep pace, leaping over boxes and stray debris rather than take the time to move around the objects. The two cut through most of what Rat knew to be mid-town, and slipped into the subtle danger that was low-town.

What business did Clay have in low-town? He hated the common folk, viewing them little better than animals. Rat would've thought he would have avoided the unkempt alleys of low-town at all costs.

Unless.

Unless he wanted to hire a killer. To finish the job that another wasn't able to.

Rat slowed down as they entered the more crowded streets of low-town. It seemed that the late night was this section of the city's hour to come alive. He filtered through the crowds quietly, unconcerned with having his pockets-picked by any enterprising thief. He had nothing of value in his pockets, no gold or jewels or even a dagger at his side. Just secrets tucked away in his mind.

Clay had ducked away into a staircase leading down. Rat tailed after him, now slow and quiet as opposed to his earlier sprint. He shouldered his way through the thickening crowd. Wherever Clay had decided to go it appeared to be a popular place even at this late break. Waiting for Clay to enter through a pair of weathered old doors, stepping swiftly down the steps when he saw the man vanish into the building. Looking up, he was just able to make out the name of the establishment. The Blacksmith's Arms? What was Clay doing at a smithy this time of night?

Opening the door as quiet as he could manage, Rat was greeted by a cacophony of sound. Raucous laughter and angry shouts filled the air in equal parts. The smell of beer and blood was quick to follow, and Rat wasn't sure anymore if this was a smithy. To him, it looked more like a tavern. Though in fairness, he had never been in a tavern before. Raised by a monk, the youthful excess of drinking wasn't something he was exactly allowed to do.

A patch of red that Rat knew to be Clay bobbed up to the bar. The Lotharro pushed his way through to the bar, reminded of his mission. He stopped short of Clay, keeping a distance of a few feet and his head turned downward. He kept his ears perked for anything that Clay would say that would give him some sort of information, but the noise of the crowd swallowed any sound that slipped free from his overseer's mouth. He saw gold being exchanged, and then Clay move to a back part of the tavern hidden behind a curtain. Rat waited to a count of 5, and then followed the man as he passed behind the curtain.

A heavy hand fell on his shoulder.

"Didn't see you pay Hemlock," a voice growled from behind Rat. Just his sarding luck. Rat turned, looking up at the behemoth which stared down at him. He could see the man's muscles tense as he waited for Rat to answer, ready to move if he didn't like what the Lotharro had to say. His mind raced as he struggled to think up a clever enough lie. Rat needed to get better at this part of the job. Too often to his liking he had to betray the virtues he was raised with for his mission. But his mission was Isadora's safety, so it would be worth it. He was taking too long to reply, he could see it in the guard's face. Rat could feel the sweat form on his brow. He had to say something. Anything!

"I'm his slave," he blurted out, wincing as the giant raised his hand. The blow didn't land, so Rat must've had said the right thing. Confidence replacing fear, Rat gently pushed the guard's hand off him. He raised his wrist, revealing the stylized 'D' that was burned into his flesh. "See? D, for Deveraux. Sorry, I meant to say it earlier. You're just, well, a little scary." Rat smiled nervously, seeing the guard mull over his lie. Deception left a sour taste in his mouth, even if it seemed that Rat had a growing talent in the act. The lie was simple, and not entirely untruthful. The way Clay treated him sometimes, he might as well have been the human's slave. Maybe the hint of truth would make the deception more convincing?

"Go on then, catch up with your master."

Rat hurriedly ducked his head and moved behind the curtain, hiding the surprise plain on his face. The back room was dark, the only light coming from a candle around the corner. That must have been where Clay went. Keeping low and to the darkest parts of the room, Rat crept quietly over towards the candlelight. He moved painfully slow, desperately aware that any sound in this enclosed area would give him away near-immediately. He saw Clay's face in the candlelight, but not the face of the person they were talking to.

"Thank you for meeting with me here. Hate that it has to be in low-town, but that's the point isn't it? No one would expect people like us to be in a place like this," Clay began, his voice low and his body hunched as he talked. He was right, nobody would expect someone who hated the low-born as much as Clay to be in a low-town tavern. And apparently whomever else he was with. Rat wished he could get a better view, but to do so would risk his hidden position. He stayed put, for now. "We should talk about the attack shouldn't we? Damn lucky that rafter-rat was there, aren't we?"

Good, Clay wasn't involved in the attack. As much as Rat disliked the man, if he turned out to be involved the Lotharro knew he wouldn't be able to take him on his own. He had been on the receiving end of enough beatings to know how strong and viscous his overseer could be.

"My property has a name, and yes we were lucky that he was there. Which brings us to the matter of payment. My slave covered for your failure, and I don't think it is unreasonable to expect some sort of recompense for damages. He was stabbed for Fates' sake," Rat's blood turned cold. He knew that voice. He hadn't heard it in months, but he knew that voice too well to be mistaken. Even now, from his distance, he was convinced.

"Your property?! If I recall, Mr. Davril owns Rat-"

"At my leisure. Davril is a dressed up fop, barely better than the man he claims to own. His ambitions are limited, as is his use. Rattigan however, I have plans for. And he was damaged under your watch saving your actress. The beatings I can overlook, the boy always was too mouthy for his own good. But being stabbed? Saving your pretty little actress? That requires payment."

Rat forced himself to breath deeply, panic threatening to reveal himself. That had all but confirmed it. Only one man ever called him by his birth name. The man who raised him. Somehow, Farrix was involved in all of this. He thought all ties were cut when he was sold into slavery, but apparently the monk still managed to pull his strings all the way from Warrick.

"I won't be bullied," Clay countered, the threat in his voice palpable. Rat didn't know what to do, he wanted to leave, but fear kept him in place. He thought he could sprint out the door, run back to his rafters and never leave again. He shouldn't be here, he shouldn't be involved in all this.
Farrix was right, he was best when he was a tool. This, finding a killer, that required agency. Choice. Rat shouldn't be left with that.

"Do you really think fighting a monk of Warrick will get you anywhere? Think, Clay, for both our sakes. You fight me, you win. Then you have the Faith breathing down your neck, finding all your dirty little secrets. For instance, that girl you keep secreted in low-town? Nobody needs to know about that, but I can't help what ends up on the monastery's doorsteps," Farrix replied, his voice smiling. Rat knew that tone, it was the voice he used when he had someone cornered. It was the voice he used when he confronted Rat about his late-night adventures into town, and the voice he used when he sold him off into slavery.

Rat couldn't listen anymore, not without delving into a panic attack. He slipped out of the room, quiet and quick as he could. He ran out of the tavern, not stopping until he reached the familiar sight of the Rynmere Theatre. He pushed through the back door, finding his room with ease. Three months he'd been here. Three months he'd endured the indignity of chains. Why now? Why did he have to show up now?

Slamming the door of his cramped room shut, Rat screamed until his voice went hoarse. His fist crashed into the wall, again and again and again. Blood seeped from of his knuckles, the pain doing little to distract him. The fact that Clay wasn't involved in the attempted killing wasn't enough to satisfy him. Farrix was back in his life. And somehow he was involved with the attempted killing. He didn’t know how, he wasn’t even completely sure, but he had this feeling right in the pit of his gut. Somehow, it always came back to the monk. Somehow, the monk was involved, pulling strings to get what he wanted.

And Rat didn't even have the courage to confront him.

[Pegasus]

Rat

Overview

First and foremost, I really enjoyed reading this thread! I liked the way that you explain Rat's thought processes - and I love how he thinks! You do really well at scene setting, and attending to small details, which gives the post flavour. One point I would make is that I feel like I came in at the "middle" of the story - a "following this: link" at the beginning of the thread might have helped give it more context ~ just a thought and a very minor point. You handled the dialogue really well and wrote a really interesting thread. Thanks so much - I look forward to seeing what happens now - and come on, Rat!! More courage!!

Points

XP: 10

Fame: -2 (lying about slave master)

Loot

None

Knowledge

Investigation - Following a suspect
Investigation - Visiting the scene of the crime
Intelligence - Secrets are exchanged in backrooms
Intelligence - Clay Deveraux's low-town girl
Deception - Good lies have some truth
Acrobatics - Leaping over objects to move faster

Non-Skill Knowledge:
Farrix - True master
Farrix - Involved in assassination attempt
Farrix - Influence extends outside of Warrick
Clay Deveraux - Working with Farrix
Clay Deveraux - Not the assassin
The Blacksmith's Arm - A sketchy low-town tavern
The Blacksmith's Arm - Has backrooms behind the curtains
Low-town - A dangerous part of Andaris
Slavery - An excuse, if used right