Week 6

“Where is he? There was no body. Is that right?”

Lazlo paced the great hall looking to each of the assembled guild members in turn. Concerned faces stared back him, hopeful that he would know the next move. The truth was though that Rio had not told them what the next move was, he hadn’t planned for this and Lazlo felt a great pressure to step up and provide some sort of comfort to his brothers. It was no secret that Rio had shown favour to Lazlo, that he treated him as a second in command, although nothing had been made official.

Outside the rain poured heavily. It was dark now and the bitter cold crept in through open windows as the prison was a difficult building to keep warm. From inside the prison tower Lazlo could see out over most of Sanctuary and he watched as most of the others did too over the eastern gate where the barricades had been built and the soldiers below made their preparations.

The great Wyvern let its presence be known every now and then with a terrifying roar that commanded a silence on both sides of the wall.

Hours passed. The rain slowed but never really stopped. Lazlo had retreated to a quieter part of the tower, a part he had never been to before. He walked in to Rio’s chamber, a place the Sea Elf had always kept very private half hoping to see him in there as though none of today’s events had ever taken place, but that was not what he found. Around the frame of the door small parts to a much larger trap were mid construction, and the room itself chaotic as if decorated in a hundred or more thoughts.

Lazlo slumped down on to the arm chair and sat there in silence for what seemed like a long time lost in his thoughts, but was really only a couple of minutes. None of the men where fighters, not really, and Lazlo didn’t have the authority or desire to lead them to the gate. Instead they seemed happy in the unease of pondering as to what was the best course of action. Inaction it seemed favoured them all.

The weather outside stirred, the loud crash of thunder provoking a sharp reaction from the young leader who until that point had seemed lost and partly overwhelmed.

Lazlo shot to his feet, his emotions evolving from fear in to anger. “Where was Rio?!?” He foraged through piles of papers and aggressively turned out draws searching for a clue as to where, or why. It then that he noticed the wardrobe had been moved. Scuff marks along the floor betraying it. Wet foot prints nearby suggested a recent disturbance. With measured hesitation Lazlo moved the wardrobe as carefully and quietly as he could. Behind it was a small closed door.  Lazlo cautiously checked it for any traps before opening it and stepping through.

On the other side of the door was another large room. There was no other doors offering entry or exit, only the one he had come through. There was however an open window that looked out in to the oncoming wind and rain. Judging by the newly wet floor this window had not been open long. Lazlo dashed over and shielding his eyes from the rain he looked out, but could see nothing.

Turning back in to the room, he wiped his face dry. The thunder built behind him now and the lightening followed shortly after. Tonight the Gods appeared angry he thought. It was on the second flash of lightening, and the brief illumination it offered that he caught sight of his surroundings. An empty chair pulled up to a table where freshly bloodied bandages lay.

Was it Rio? Had he been here? Who else could it have been he thought?

His eyes scanned the room further and it was then that he saw them. Hung up on the far wall, delicately placed side by side. 4 cloaks black as the night sky, emblazoned with a circle of pure white dressed in golden threads. Well, it looked like there ought to have been 4. One was missing.