Curse of the Crimson Throne

At the Shrine of Sarenrae

Sav sat and laid back against the shrine of Sarenrae, watching Terrez scurry away to keep watch. “What a strange little man” Sav thought. He let his thoughts wander as sleep came over him. With the death of the King, the city rioting, and the Guards blocking off parts of the city, it seemed sleep had been waylaid as well.

The thought of Gaedren, bloodied and beaten, awaiting trial at Citadel Volshyenek made him smile. He hoped that scumbag would be judged by Arbiter Zenobia Zenderholm. She had a reputation for cruelty, and criminals like Gaedren received just punishment. The majority hanged. She was not only a judge, but a cleric of Abadar. That put Sav at ease. There would be justice for Arbon after all.

Arbon, who was supposed to have gone one to Sable Company to become the ranger she had always wanted to be. Arbon, whose lifeless body he had found while on the search for Gaedren, consumed by the drug Shiver.

Then there was Grau. The three of them had been inseparable growing up at Mainshore Ward. Arbon and Grau had shown great promise, one going to Sable Company, the other to become a guard under the tutelage of none other than Vencarlo Orisini. Sav had been the half-breed misfit that tied them together in their mischief, methodically getting them into trouble all the time. Now Arbon was dead. And after years without contact, he had run into Grau, drunk and dirty, a broken shell of his former self, kicked out of Orisini’s tutelage over a woman. It should have been Sav. Sav was the one without the discipline to be a guard (although systematic in his troublemaking), without the commitment to a cause other than to a city he loved.

Now Korvosa seemed to be in flames. The death of the King sparking massive riots. Sav found it more amusing than worrying. That was just the way Korvosa worked, he figured. It was how it vented steam every once in a while. Without the occasional riot, the sporadic otyugh breaking free from the sewers, or a massive battle between pseudodragons and imps over the Korvosan sky, the city would fall apart. Korvosa was a living entity in Sav’s mind, and everything, from authorities to arbiters, from royalty to pickpockets, were just a tiny part of a larger entity. Besides, Sav did not much care for the King or Queen.

Shakro, the half-orc priest, shifted slightly and mumbled in his sleep. It half sounded like a prayer. Sav could see the armor he wore under his priest’s robes, and that made him chuckle. It was the exact reflection of good ol’ Shakro, seemingly calm and collected on the outside, but with a fire raging inside. At least that was the impression he had gotten so far. Completely unlike Terrenz, always twitching and scurrying and poking around. The gods had a strange sense of humour, he thought, joining their paths like that.

What a trio we must make, Sav though, as he finally drifted off to sleep.


Shimon Shimon