#And The Moon Sets Over Laimira | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

creative-writings · 1 year

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Twenty-Three

Integra often thought about death. It was hard not to when one was surrounded by it, striving toward it every day. Today, those thoughts were on those soon to die in Délit. Perhaps, some of those who were likely already dead.

Délit was a large, intoxicated part of Laimira’s precious wine industry. Though most days it wasn’t a jovial intoxication. No Dionysian celebration. It was the daily slog of determined alcoholism. Getting drunk on wine, and the 2nd day re-invigoration of the feeling with the first glass of water. People drinking themselves into quiet, pitiful unconsciousness in the damp streets to be ignored by others. Passed by. Unbothered. It was safe to assume rifling through their pockets wouldn’t bring about any worthwhile yield anyway.

Integra skirted around a bit of refuse on the street, then over the legs of a man that was laying slumped into a halfway sitting position against a wall, mumbling to himself. The beginning drizzle was going to wash it away, into the gutter with the man’s remaining dignity. “I abhor coming into the city,” she muttered to herself as she continued on through the network of streets toward the Finean temple.

It was no wonder this city was considered by one of them to be a fertile hunting ground. There were always people milling about, not one of them paying any attention to their surroundings any more than they absolutely had to until they made it back to their own little neighborhoods. People spent their workdays marching, drunk and zombie-like, toward the next day. Even the more respectable citizens simply knew better than to wander out in the streets too much outside of festival days. No one would notice a few people going missing here or there because they were determined not to.

The general filth and depressing energy for the majority of the year was most of the reason she practically refused to step foot onto the uneven streets of Délit. That, and she simply couldn’t stand people in general. But, she had to do something here, so she had to be on these streets, in the damp, getting gods-only-know-what on her boots, and going to the worst places in town. On purpose.

She had to keep her eye out for any sign that the creature she was here to hunt really was present. It could have been just a random serial killer, of course. Regular people were capable of much worse than one would generally assume. The missing people could just be alive, kept somewhere for some purpose or other, too.

The sad truth of this situation was that very few cared about what was happening to the missing people. It wasn’t them, so why should they? The police wouldn’t investigate such disappearances. They considered it a waste of resources. They wouldn’t get any extra pay for it, so why bother? The only sadness for the events they held was that the nobles to whom the missing people were in debt would not gain returns on their money.

The largest of these lenders was the duke: Leofric Farlight. He was a disgusting, gluttonous, lustful jackass. Most half-elven nobles kept their heads low, but he stuck his nose into everyone’s business and spread his findings with impish delight.

So, Integra was here, investigating in the dead of night since the police wouldn’t, and hoping that His Grace wouldn’t cause any problems just for the fun of it. If he began gossiping, she would have a harder time. It will make its way around the whole city somehow, and the possible vampire would hear of it. She tugged her hood up a bit more and plodded on through the drizzle.

The majority of them were being taken from in front of the temple, just a bridge away from Estrose: the red-light district. Somewhere in the pointed arches, or perhaps even in the steeple attempting to get out of the wind and rain, was an orc by the name of Hugo Arsenault.

—

Hugo was Integra’s right-hand man, her informant, eyes, ears, and – though Integra would never admit it- her closest confidant. His job was to watch for another ‘event’ tonight. Keep an eye on the movements of people in the square, reach out to the lady if he has noted anything suspicious. Easier said than done in Délit.

The man breathed out a sigh as he reached into the basket beside him for the flask he had brought and took a sip. If the lady wanted him out in this drafty belfry, he was going to at least sneak a few drinks of something to keep him warm. His steely gray eyes searched through the square. There were not many people about. He assumed it was because of the rain or the temperature outside. It was almost the wintry mid-year solstice, and people sought shelter in pubs and homes when they didn’t absolutely have to be out and about.

Hugo felt a small pang of jealousy as he desperately tried to keep from the wind. But a job was a job, and it couldn’t be avoided. He took a second to jot down a few notes.

He’d made it a habit to take constant notes whenever he had a chance. With how often he had to just know things, it had become a necessity. His family had not been in her service for so long because they didn’t live up to expectations.

The page in front of him read:

Missing Persons- Exclusively women – numbering in the twenties.

All young women, mostly human. Seemingly abducted at a rate of two per week.

No bodies found, though the rate of abduction remains steady. Spawn is unlikely, as suspicious deaths would have increased with the population.

Well, that wasn’t much to go on, but he’d manage. That was his job, after all. He almost laughed to himself as the thought crossed his mind. Yes, his job. It seemed his job was never quite complete, and even after all these years he could never quite tell what his duties were. It was always expanding. He reached beside him for the binoculars he’d brought up and took a look about. It was starting to rain, forcing the few stragglers to run for cover. Well, those that cared about getting wet. And then there was a coach. It was moving through the city quite quickly and if Hugo wasn’t looking, he might have missed it. The black body of the coach nearly blended in with the night as it raced through the streets. He could swear it was heading toward Estrose.

He reached into his pocket and fumbled with a little orb kept there, pulling it out. “Lady Erzeiros, where in the city are you?”

“I have just crossed into the Estrose district,” came the reply, slicing through his mind with all the cold precision of an ice pick. He needed desperately to look into more enjoyable forms of communication. There was something about the psychic methods that made his head pound. “Tell me you have something of note.”

“Nothing concrete as yet.”

“Then keep your attention on task, will you?” And then that small, stinging pain pulled itself out of his head. It was strange how, even though she was communicating psychically, Hugo felt that he could still hear the irritation that laced her short reply. He sucked his teeth- a feat for one with tusks- and looked back through the binoculars at the misty, dimly lit streets. In the beginning trickle of water in the gutters, he could swear he saw all of his free time for the next week wash away.

How lucky would he have to be to, for once, see the monster they were hunting on the first night? Just one time… Very; and unfortunately his luck was never quite so good. The coach took a sharp turn to the right toward Maîtrisaide, and the slim chance of a lead disappeared with it.

He set the binoculars to the side and leaned back against the wall behind him, reaching up to smooth some stray hairs away from his face and back toward his ponytail. “Fineas’ beak…” he huffed to himself. “In this weather, I would not be surprised if we saw no signs. It would take an absolute madman, or a desperate one, to be out and about at this time, and in this rain.” With the rate of the disappearances it seemed tonight or tomorrow were most likely. Though to be safe, he would be stuck here when not at the side of his Lady for the next week or until they found something.

When you want something done properly, do it yourself. Or, send Hugo Arsenault.

—

The maze of streets did not, despite their best efforts, turn Lady Erzeiros around. She’d walked these streets much more often than she would like to admit over the years. She’d walked past the houses and businesses that made the most direct bridge across the River Porter into a cramped and winding nightmare. Furthermore, she’d gone to a mass in the center Temple to Fineas, that elusive bastard, and patronized many of the merchants in the Westmarc district. As much as she liked to still think of herself as a citizen of Ofril, she knew Délit better than she could hope to remember any city in her homeland now. It made this city all the worse against her senses.

Currently, the offending tract of land was Estrose. Crossing into it over the bridge, she was bathed in a rosy glow from a nearby building’s lanterns, highlighting the sign hanging above the door. The Dragon’s Den. For a moment, she hesitated. It would be wise to go and ask about the disappearances here, correct? This was the brothel. All the young women that had gone missing were connected to this one. It was the most popular in town. Most of the cash flow from other brothels even directed itself through here.

She walked up to the door and paused, reaching for the handle. This type of place was the last she wanted to pay a visit to. Perhaps that was why she was able to focus with laser intensity on the small silver placard next to the door bearing a coat of arms. An excuse, perhaps, but she found it justifiable. It was Duke Farlight’s insignia. If she stepped foot in there, he would know. More importantly, he would know she was conducting inquiries rather than looking to conduct business within the walls of the pleasure-house.

She stepped back and brushed her hand over her coat pocket briefly, clicking her tongue as if to prove to herself that she was anything but relieved. Well, the night was still young. If she stayed in the area she would be able to find someone to tail and observe discreetly instead. Observation was so much better than questioning anyway. People lied with their lips, but actions always spoke a material truth that could be trusted. Before she could turn and go completely, however, a swift tap was delivered to her shoulder. She whirled around, coming face-to-face with a woman a few inches taller than she. She was young, probably in her early twenties, blonde, blue eyes, seemed human.

“I don’t mean to rush you but if you don’t mean to go inside yet, might I slip by you, madame?” she asked, a tentative smile stretching over her lips as her eyes flickered away from Integra’s face and to her hand as it rested on the hilt of her weapon. She looked back up to make eye contact and only slightly raised her brows. Her Southern Laimiran accent was thick, sounding as though there was a wad of cotton in the back of her mouth. Each muscle in her face moved in precise and exaggerated ways Integra hadn’t seen prior to occupying this gods-forsaken city. While unsettled by the dagger’s possible threat, she didn’t seem surprised or nearly so fazed as Integra would have liked, placing the girl firmly in the category of ‘belonging here’. The girl had more important matters to attend to and no moment to be halted by a stranger with a knife if she could help it.

Integra averted her gaze and lowered her hand to her side, taking a step aside and mumbling a quiet “excuse me,” as the woman stepped by and went inside. So much for being discreet.

#And The Moon Sets Over Laimira #ATMSOL #Ch.1 #Creative Writing #please go easy on me and my ao3 level writing

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