Alaric hated rivers, a sentiment that made his current situation – drifting lazily down the River Guild under the cover of night – deeply inconvenient. He also hated pineapples, a very specific breed of horse, and Elves, but in this case only the latter really applied.
Floating spread-eagled at the surface of the water, he bobbed through a section of current that spun him around and left his feet pointing downstream. From his new orientation he could see the town walls looming in the dark. Lights moved along them, tiny motes of brilliance held in the hands of the elven guards patrolling the battlements.
A small part of him, one of the many fragments of his mind currently entertaining themselves while the serious part did the work, pointed out that – since the wooden walls didn’t actually have crenellations, or merlons, or any sort of practical cover at all – they weren’t technically battlements. The part of Alaric’s mind that was currently working sent thoughts of pineapples in response.
“I am impressed.” A voice, and an accompanying swell of emotion, echoed inside Alaric’s head. “Last time we had to sneak into a town you managed to kill half of the guards on the way in. Not a single casualty yet, this time around.”
Alaric shrugged, making a small splash with the motion. One of the lights on the wall closest to him bloomed brighter, and a beam lanced out of it to scan the river for the source of the sound. Alaric exhaled, letting his body sink beneath the surface. The beam passed over him without pause and continued to scan the river for a few moments before appearing to evaporate. The beam shattered into a million tiny pieces, the dust-like particles of pure light sucking back into their source in the guard’s hands.
Alaric breathed in, his sealed helmet providing all the air he needed to rise back up to the surface. His armor may have appeared to be a typical Dwarven-made suit of plates, but it was nowhere near as heavy. As light as a dying man’s final breath, it did nothing to impede his bobbing progress down the river.
“Hm. I almost wish they had seen you,” said his armor, sending resigned acceptance along with the words. “You can be rather boring when you’re not killing.”
“We’re here to pick someone up, right?” Alaric thought back, almost shrugging again before catching himself. “You were the one who said we should avoid excessive bloodshed this time around.” He chewed on that for a moment before continuing. “Which is really not like you to say, to be perfectly honest.”
The armor sent the impression of laughter in response. “Fear not, we’ll get to cause much violence later on. This is just a part of the preparation.”
The warm lights of backlit windows sent sparkles dancing across the river’s surface as Alaric passed the wall, the modest stone houses and buildings of Guilderford flanking his path. It was a human town, so of course it would be full of firelight. The clouds overhead parted, and the moon’s black glow quickly dulled the water’s reflection.
Alaric glanced around, careful to keep his motions slow and quiet and to avoid making undue splashes. “Which place are we looking for, again?”
“The Trademaster’s warehouse, most likely. It has access to the river, if my memory holds true. You should be able to float right in.”
“When we’re done here I want you to promise me that we won’t have to deal with rivers ever again.” Alaric sent pointed resolve along with the thought so that his armor would understand that he was serious this time.
“That’s what you said last time.”
“Don’t even get me started on that,” Alaric thought in response as he angled his body towards the shore. The warehouse had to be that building with the huge doors over the water, one of the parts of his mind told him. They probably opened to internal docks, to keep riverboats and their goods dry and clean in the frequent jungle rains. “Last time I was near a river I almost lost my legs. Remember that?”
“I remember that you tried to wrestle a hippopotamus whilst naked, yes.”
Alaric hesitated, waiting for the part of his mind that handled memories like that to chime in. It sent him a sheepish shrug along with the incredibly specific sensory details of a hippo biting down on a pair of flailing legs. “Hm. Well those things live in rivers so I’m still justified.”
His armor didn’t reply beyond a dash of smugness, indicating that this conversation was over for the moment. Probably a good thing it was, for Alaric passed beneath the giant doors at that moment. He ducked underwater once more, just in case anyone was paying attention inside.
After a moment spent breathing in the air his armor provided, Alaric surfaced again. The interior of the warehouse was dark, for the most part. A large riverboat, more a barge than a true ship, sat in its moorings on his right. Boxes, crates, kegs, casks, chests, and all other manners of containers were stacked here and there, some on shelves and some on each other.
The only light to be found was beyond one of these stacks. Alaric could see it flickering against the far wall. Most likely a candle, or perhaps even a glass lantern, left lit for the benefit of any guard patrols. It was certainly fire, which was a good sign in Alaric’s books. Steady light meant elves, and elves would make this difficult.
Still careful to avoid excess splashing, Alaric swam towards a set of steps at the end of the closest dock and pulled himself out of the water. A strand of riverweed clung to his armored hand as he ducked into a shadowed corner in the stacks of goods. Finally in his element, and cloaked in the darkness of the warehouse, he reached up and pulled off his helm.
There was a faint hiss as it unsealed at the neck, and he breathed in the damp, exotic smells of river-borne goods in transit. The armor worked wonders for him with its ability to seal, but he was robbed of most of his senses inside of it. His hearing and touch were dulled, and he couldn’t smell worth a damn. He had tried to figure out if taste still worked, once, but the logistics of such a feat had been beyond him.
With his helmet removed, the world was open like a book. He ran an armored hand over his hair, tugging at a couple of tangles in the course curls, before stopping halfway through the motion. Muffled sounds were emanating from the direction of the flickering light. Sounds of someone struggling against someone else. Muted grunts and gasps were accentuated by the sounds of hard things being bumped into and hard shoes scraping the stone floor.
Helmet in hand, Alaric made his way along the shelves towards the light, taking care to remain in the shadows. The latter wasn’t a difficult task. His armor practically glowed with darkness in the same way as the moon, emanating inky black into the air around him. He pressed himself up against a massive barrel as the shelves turned. The sounds were coming from around the corner.
In an instant, the scuffling of feet turned into slapping footfalls as someone broke away from the fight. As someone broke away and began sprinting in his direction, no less. Alaric backed up and dropped his hand to his sword, drawing it just as a young woman rounded the corner and slammed into him at full speed.
