Vows Taken

The dust covered archives stretched before him like a never-ending labyrinth of knowledge. The shelves were stacked high with old words, dusty records, and delicate information. The faint odor of aged paper and ink hung in the air. Marcus knew the layout well, and he moved swiftly and silently, avoiding the occasional patrolling guards who walked past the rows and rows of this city's records. With practiced hands, he reached for his lockpicking tools and approached a heavy wooden door. It led to the restricted section of the archives, where only the privileged few could delve into the city's darkest secrets. Marcus glanced around, ensuring he was still alone, and began working on the lock. After a few tense moments, the door yielded to his skill, allowing him to slip inside. Leaving the door to close behind him the letters on the door gave way to the secrets it held, Tax Records.

Marcus felt like a thief in a vault of priceless jewels. The shelves were lined with records, ledgers, and documents, each containing a piece of the puzzle he sought to assemble. His objective was clear—gather the information on the political figures who were part of the Stone Cross, the secret society that held a grip on the city's fate.

He methodically searched through the shelves, finding files on the key figures he had been tracking. Each page he turned was a potential dagger, and he couldn't afford to make a sound. The dim light cast eerie shadows across the ancient texts, heightening the atmosphere of secrecy and treachery, But as he located the crucial financial documents, he sensed a presence nearby. The trample of the archive's guardian neared, and Marcus had to make a quick decision.

He scanned the room, searching for the passage he had been told about. His eyes locked onto an old wooden cabinet stacked high with dusty books, hidden in a corner of the room. Marcus moved with hurried grace toward it and began to pull it away from the wall. Behind the cabinet, a narrow passage opened up, leading to a forgotten service corridor. Marcus squeezed into the hidden corridor, his heart pounding. The space was tight. At the end of the corridor he found himself in a small, forgotten room. It appeared to be a study or a workspace for an archivist long past. A high window was his only means of escape. Marcus approached it, hearing the voices of the approaching guards who entered the room he had just vacated.

The window was locked. He deftly worked the lock until it yielded, and he pushed the window open //With a quick, graceful leap, Marcus made his escape, landing on a narrow ledge outside the archives. The cold night air greeted him, and the city's shadowy skyline beckoned. With the stolen documents safely hidden on his person. The moonlight shone on the slick exterior of the building, but Marcus was like a phantom in the night. He descended with all the skill as one puff after another was heard coming from his boots as Marcus walked down to the ground disappearing into the maze of alleys.

Marcus knew he had to meet the information broker, a shadowy figure who could help him leverage the stolen financial tax documents into valuable intelligence on the Stone Cross and the blueprint he needed. He navigated through the labyrinthine streets of the city, his senses on high alert.

The clandestine meeting spot was a small, dimly lit jazz club on the outskirts of the city. Located at Fifth and Everbloom, the smooth tunes of the saxophone created a smokescreen for covert conversations. Marcus slipped into a back booth, concealed in the shadows, and signaled the bartender for a drink as he waited for the information broker to arrive.

The information broker slid into the booth opposite Marcus, her presence enveloped in an air of familiarity and grace. Without exchanging words, the broker's gloved hand extended into the purse Marcus had placed before she arrived. "Good evening, Marcus," She pulled a tube of lipstick from the purse and began to apply it.

Marcus leaned forward "I didn't know what you would want to drink, I ordered a Stone sour for me and a hot Blue korsou for you" He held his breath, waiting for the broker's response.

The broker's eyes seemed to glitter with intrigue as they considered the request. After a few moments, she nodded. "That sounds good. I don't have it often, but once a week is fine, and tonight is a perfect time to celebrate" The two sat back and listened to the music as the drinks arrived.

As they savored their drinks, Marcus couldn't help but appreciate the music. "The jazz here is exquisite. It's a nice change of pace from the city's chaos," he remarked.

The broker smiled, her emerald eyes glinting with a touch of amusement. "I'm glad you think so. Jazz has a way of painting a vivid picture with its notes and melodies."

Their conversation drifted from the secrecy of their earlier exchange to more lighthearted topics. The information broker shared stories of her own encounters in the city, and Marcus reciprocated with some tales of his retired life. It was a rare moment of genuine connection in the midst of their covert dealings. As the night carried on till they each went their separate ways.

Dressed in his finest attire, Marcus made his way to the opulent residence of Alden Pritchard, located in one of the city's more affluent districts. As he approached the grand entrance, he couldn't help but feel a sense of unease. Pritchard was a man with connections, and crossing him could have dire consequences.

The butler, a stoic figure in a well-tailored uniform, opened the massive wooden door upon Marcus's arrival. "Mr. Pritchard is expecting you, sir. Please follow me," the butler intoned, leading Marcus down a long corridor adorned with ornate paintings and flickering gas lamps. The house's décor was a stark contrast to the dimly lit and grimy streets of the city.

The two men arrived at an elegant study, where Alden Pritchard awaited, seated behind a heavy oak desk. He exuded an air of authority, his salt-and-pepper beard impeccably groomed, and his eyes sharp and inquisitive. His demeanor was affable but masked an underlying cunning that Marcus couldn't ignore.

Pritchard rose from his chair, extending his hand in greeting. "Mr.Hart, it's a pleasure to finally meet you. I've heard much about your engineering prowess."

Marcus accepted the handshake but remained cautious. "The pleasure is mine, Mr. Pritchard. Your reputation as a man of influence precedes you."

Pritchard gestured for Marcus to take a seat, and they settled into a comfortable discussion. They exchanged pleasantries and spoke about various matters, all the while Marcus keeping a watchful eye on Pritchard's every move.

Finally, Marcus decided to steer the conversation toward his ultimate objective. "Mr. Pritchard, I've been entrusted with the important task of working on the new wing of the H.E.A.T facility. I was told you were the man to talk to about getting the security clearance to do my work."

Pritchard steepled his fingers, his expression unreadable. "That is something I can arrange. Who told you to contact me? Surely the one who hired you initially could see to that or had sent me a letter themselves?"

Marcus knew he had to tread carefully. "I decided that it was only appropriate for me to travel here to see you in person. I am aware you are a busy man, especially tonight with your party to attend to. This seemed to be the most direct way to show you my resolve and respect for everything you do for this city."

Pritchard leaned back in his chair, assessing Vincent's words. "I understand, but you must also understand that I can't simply provide such Assistance without assurance from the one who hired you. Who was that again?"

The negotiation had begun, and Marcus needed to find a way to convince Pritchard. He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. Pulling a small envelope from his jacket pocket Vinent presented it to Pritchard. "I am sure this will say enough."

Pritchard opens the envelope to reveal photos of documents that show the Pritchard family seal on shipping documents bound for the Blackthorn estate, along with photos of the cargo showing the contents to be that of elves and human children with the Blackthorn trading company print on the side. "Oh so what you're saying is, I will provide you the credentials to walk into the H.E.A.T facility or these documents leak to the public?" Mr.Pritchard puts the envelope to his knee and rests his hands atop each other as he stares at the man across from him. "As you know I have a party to attend downstairs. If you would do me the pleasure of waiting in one of my guest rooms until the party's over, I will have the documents prepared for you then."

Marcus nodded, his expression showing that he was willing to proceed with the arrangement. "I'll wait for you in the guest room, Mr. Pritchard. But remember, time is of the essence, and I trust you'll deliver what you promise."

Pritchard gestured for one of his staff members, a discreet butler-like figure, to guide Marcus to the guest room. The butler led Marcus through the halls of Pritchard's mansion. The house was filled with the murmur of the ongoing party, its extravagance and revelry a stark contrast to the dark dealings being discussed in secret.

The guest room was spacious and lavishly decorated, befitting the residence of a wealthy and influential man like Pritchard. As Marcus entered, he took note of the pristine furnishings, rich tapestries, and the soft glow of the crystal chandelier above.

After the butler left him in the guest room, Marcus knew he needed to prepare for what lay ahead. With the window already open to allow some fresh air into the room, he went to the flower box beneath it, where he had secretly stashed a leather-bound briefcase the night before. Inside the case were tools and items essential for a clandestine operation.

Marcus opened the briefcase and carefully checked its contents. He ensured that his steam boots, a marvel of technology designed for quick, silent movement, were in perfect working order. The boots were equipped with built-in mechanisms that allowed him to move almost noiselessly. In addition, they could release steam in short or long bursts for propulsion or obstruction. He also checked his holstered revolver, a sleek and efficient weapon that would offer him protection if things took an unexpected turn.

Marcus secured the briefcase and slipped the strap over his shoulder. He then moved to the open window, gazing out into the mansion's garden filled with guests. He activated the steam boots, the faint hiss of escaping steam barely audible, and took a step. The boots propelled him upwards, allowing him to easily ascend to the next ledge. He repeated this process, knowing a long release of steam would cause too much noise.

Reaching the roof, Marcus was now high above the opulent party taking place below. The moonlight revealed the sprawling illuminated grounds of Pritchard's Estate. Making his way across the roof, Marcus looked for a way to access Pritchard's study without alerting the guests or the staff.

In the distance, he spotted a glass skylight, which he deduced led to Pritchard's study. Marcus activated his steam boots once more, propelling himself across the expanse of the roof and landing gently near the skylight. He used his skill and dexterity to quietly drop himself into the room.

Inside Pritchard's study was a sanctuary of knowledge and wealth. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes of literature and a collection of rare tomes. The room was bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, casting an ambiance of warmth and intellect. Marcus could hear the muffled sounds of the party below as he extinguished the lamp to prevent his shadow from giving him away.

As he moved through the study, Marcus began to search for the information he needed. "The documents would be crucial, and Pritchard had promised to provide them though when blackmail is involved Pritchard may sooner have his security handle me. Nonetheless, showing the documents to Pritchard will get him to cause enough of a fuss he may forget my reason for coming here or even better tear away at the trust of those under him looking for a rat" Marcus knew he couldn't stay too long; the staff would eventually check on him to be sure he was still in the guest room.

Scouring Pritchard's desk and cabinets, his gloved fingers carefully sifted through the documents and files. The sound of hushed whispers and soft jazz from the party below provided a surreal backdrop to his search. Finally, he uncovered the information he sought—the documents that would allow him to forge the necessary credentials to access the H.E.A.T facility.

With the documents secured, Marcus quickly snapped photos of them and placed them back where he found them after placing his camera in his briefcase and leaping through the skylight. By activating his steam boots, he gracefully ascended back to the roof, leaving Pritchard's study behind.

As Marcus made his escape, he couldn't shake the sense of urgency that lingered in the air. His actions within the study had been swift and stealthy, but he knew he had to make a hasty exit to avoid drawing attention to himself.

The moonlight bathed the rooftop, illuminating his path, he made his way towards the edge of the roof. In the distance, the muffled sounds of the party continued, oblivious to his presence.

As Marcus crept along the moonlit rooftop, an unexpected glimmer caught his attention. A dark silhouette was waiting near the edge of the roof nestled into one of the valley's, blending into the shadows like a predatory cat. Marcus couldn't make out the intruder's features, but there was no mistaking that he was not alone on the rooftop.

In a fluid motion, Marcus crouched low, his senses on high alert. "I was just out for some fresh air." The cool night air held an eerie stillness, broken only by the distant echoes of laughter and music from the party below.

The Figure, equally cautious, began to move toward Marcus, His coat, predominantly black, absorbs the shadows, while subtle golden highlights occasionally catch the silvery light. The intricate elven patterns are barely visible, hinted at in the rare moments when the moonlight brushes against them. His mechanical arm meld seamlessly into the night, the metal faintly reflecting the moon's glow. Black leather gloves are almost invisible, blending into the darkness. A high collar and short cape add to his silhouette's mystery, and the hood with a half-mask casts his face in a deeper shadow. his intentions concealed in the dark. Without a word, the shadowy figures launched up the valley of the roof and landed on the pitch across from Marcus, As they met on the roof the steep incline on either side of them. They began a silent, deadly dance.

The rooftop was bathed in a silvery luminescence, cast by the full moon hanging in the midnight sky. Marcus moved fast to close the distance, drew his knife and attempted to slash at his assailant's legs. His adversary was no stranger to the intricate ballet of confrontation. Cloaked in shadows, he leaped into the air again -- this time bringing down his leg like an ax. Marcus blocked the kick with his left arm as he moved to stab up at his attacker. Using Marcus as a fulcrum, the assailant flipped himself over Marcus. At the same time, Marcus's footing was put to the test as you heard the grinding of his boots against the slate shingles. The man landed behind Marcus, now under the moonlight this figure revealed his coat a mix of tan and black leather, a set of gears adorns his belt, his left hand covered in thick black leather gloves and his right hand a mechanical hook.

The music begins to get louder as the party below the voices and shrieks grow as the tempo picks up and the guests begin to dance to the beat. "Sounds like they are having a jig. Why don't we?" Marcus spins around then charges his opponent with a boost of steam. As he closes in, going for a punch, his left arm is grabbed by the claw and Marcus is thrust into the roof. The impact knocks the wind out of his sails and the knife from his hand. The faint clinks as the knife falls are lost into the night.

Laying there on the side on the roof dangling by his arm as he's held in place, Marcus has to think fast. Quickly Marcus knocks his heel against the roof triggering a burst of steam sending his leg up into the air with its arc headed right at the assailant, in that instant a second hiss can be heard as a hidden blade springs into Marcus's arm from the claw. The force of the kick and the man being dragged by the connection to Marcus has both men falling off the roof.

The party is attended by many influential members of the city from politicians to wealthy merchants. They litter the garden and the main hall of the house as jazz fills the air. Without warning, two men fall from the sky and land on top of the stone, with a loud crack and a thud thus the party falls silent.

Marcus, lays on top of the man who attacked him. Surrounded by onlookers, he panics. Quickly grabbing the arm of the unconscious man trying to free his arm. Marcus is forced to produce a small ball of lightning and send it into the arm to fry the machinery, keeping it locked. In doing so, it popped and sent a shock out stunning the people nearby. In the confusion, Marcus rips his arm free of the blade embedded in his arm, ran past the people to grab his briefcase that had fallen off his shoulder in the fight, then marcus limped away as fast as he could and with a burst of steam and a loud whistle he escapes over the wrought iron fence into the city, leaving behind a trail of confusion and blood.