@vulpinewhaler
Runes weren’t as common anymore, not when the Abbey had near full reign over citizens and searches for heretical items led to more and more becoming ground up into dust. They weren’t as easily crafted either. While they had always been a precious commodity, it felt like obtaining them after the plague had become increasingly difficult.
So Atticus didn’t argue when he was tipped off to a location of where Runes were promised to be stored away. The Black Friar pub hadn’t been too popular even before the plague, and after it had been taken over by gang members, repairing it later emptied the owner’s pocket of coin. Now it was just a boarded up building that reeked of spilled beer, waiting for repairs after the colder months had ended.
And supposedly, its attic held relics of bone that were of great interest to any heretic who might come upon them.
Night had settled in, and after a patrol of guards passed by on Lackrow Boulevard, Atticus emerged from an alley and strode towards the old pub.
Entry was easy. Where Atticus once stood, a plume of smoke could be seen in the dim lighting from a street lamp, and the smoke drifted low and slipped into the cracks of the doorway. The smoke then gathered back into his shape, and Atticus stepped out from the smoke and stood within the empty building.
“Filthy...” he remarked, making his way up the stairs to begin his search.
