Abric - The Catalyst

[Abric]

The night was beautiful in Stormwind. The ambience of the city was welcoming and cheerful, with most of the people still conversing about this years Hallow’s End. While at an end, many decorations were still hanging from the trees and railings of the city – far too much for the Watch to take down in a day. Even the shoddy masks handed out by the innkeepers were holding together; a testament shown by the many adventurers and citizens wandering with them on.

Though, Old Town was an exception. The decorations were always scarce during festivities, and this year was no different. The denizens of the narrow alleys and tall buildings had already sold what the City Watch did not take down, and the few who walked the street in the lamp light seemed more concern with their surroundings than their appearance.

There was one man in particular, who didn’t seem to be enjoying himself. He was an elderly man, near the twilight years of his life. Thin, frail hands clutched his thick woolen cloak tightly to his body, despite the relatively warm autumn air. Sunken brown eyes darted from shadow to shadow, and a thin sheen of perspiration glistened on his balding head. Hurried, shuffling steps echoed from cobblestones, giving the imagination tricks of somebody following behind him. Even more hastened steps could not give him calm.

The man was unfamiliar with his surroundings, as evident by his second guessing of his path. He was aware of passing many buildings twice, but was unable to get his bearings straight. It had felt like days since he left the safety of the Keep’s library, when he logically knew it had only been hours. He meant to hide in one of the many inns or shelters in Old Town, but each one had turned him down. His clothes were too fine and his age too much to be trusted by the rogues and mercenaries who inhabited this portion of Stormwind.

So preoccupied with his lack of luck, the old man found himself at a dead end alley. He stood there for a moment, trying to calm himself with a few whispered words. Turning, his words caught in his thought as he saw his path out obstructed by a figure.

The figure was, at first, only an outline made by the lamplight of the street. It was average height for a man, but very thin; almost to the point of being unhealthy. The old man could make out that the figure was wearing leather armor, the sort worn by adventurers. Made of a dark hue, the figure did not hide its attire under a cloak… or the two sheathed daggers at its side. When the figure started walking into the alley towards the old man, its face was covered by one of the Hallow’s End masks – one of a human male in the likeness of the Highlord.

“It seems you have been found, Scholar. Despite your attempts at evasion… you have failed.â€