The Attendant hurried Achil and Nishga along, he was a tall man with broad shoulders that held aloft a corselet of thick tempered rings, his deep red cloak greatly pronounced his stature, and every step he took with his hobnail boots clattered against the cobbles. For a man of such a height and bearing he did appear overly apprehensive. Perhaps he was unnerved by the fast approach of dusk, which often heralded the coming of the Furies. And with that knowledge, no one wished to remain in the open any longer than they had to. They moved passed empty streets and barren parks; a once thriving bustling metropolis was now silent and still, held captive by a desperate fear from above, and a harrowing nightmare from below. Their guide knowing every side street and alleyway rushed his charges to greater speed. And just as the sun began to dip low toward the horizon they arrived where they were quartered. Entering the house the attendant closed all the shutters to the windows, and told them not to venture out until dawn. He went over to a small chest that leant up against the wall, and opened a small draw, wherein were kept candles, he handed them to Achil and Nishga. He quickly directed them to a platter of food and showed them where the utensils were kept, and any bedding they might need, and seeing that they were comfortable enough, made to leave.
“The Furies are unlike anything we have encountered before,” said the Man. “They are monstrous to look upon, fang like teeth that can easily rip the flesh off a man, nails like unsheathed daggers, with a cry that freezes the soul. And with that thought I hope you both sleep well.”
“Thanks, after such a tale I’m sure we will, and safe journey,” replied Achil.
Achil properly secured the door as the man disappeared into the night, and immediately made sure the door to the rear of the house was locked. He then placed some logs on the hearth and started a small fire.
Achil sat back in his chair, removed his boots and warmed his feet by the fire.
“So what do you think?” asked Achil.
Nishga waved her hands up in the air, “Well for us it is like, same old, same old. In fact I don’t know why we are hiding away in here; we should be out there looking for the Furies right now.”
Achil smiled, “Or we could just open the doors and let them come to us. First things first, remember the conversation in the tavern. Tomorrow we should go take a look at the tomb of the man who died, and try to understand why his death directly brought on the manifestation of these Furies. Then we need to prepare a trap; which reminds me, If I could just remember those symbols used on the Muli in the Gypsy camp. Perhaps they‘ll help defeat the Furies.”
Nishga nodded and sat back in her chair. The fire began to warm the room. The plastered walls and stone floors seemed less inhospitable, as though the heat had tamed them somehow. Shadows latched on to beams that ran across the ceiling giving them some eerie semblance of life. Even the closed shutters gave the impression of comfort and security, they may have been a long way from home but at least they felt at home. The food that had been left in the scullery was fresh and Nishga hurriedly prepared a hearty meal, the first really good fare they had had in weeks.