An Encounter in the Streets of AmberIndex | Time Under Chaos | Game Logs | An Encounter in the Streets of Amber Alton paused, pulling the hood of the heavy cloak tighter around his face as he turned and looked back over his shoulder nervously. Several dangerous looking men gave him narrow looks as they went about their business, but the combination of the sword he wore and the general shabbiness of his clothing convinced them that the danger wouldn't be worth the reward. He was glad he had taken his partner's advice to dress poorly before entering the neighborhood the Amberites called the Boneyard. He turned once more and tried to keep his steps slow as he headed towards the inn where his smuggling contacts waited. ~One more job,~ he thought. One more big smuggling score, and he could head back to Kashfa a rich man, with powerful friends. And then, faster than he could comprehend, he had been seized from behind, and a knife was to his throat. "Gently, my friend," a man's voice growled hoarsely. "Be smart, and you just might live through this day." Alton let out a sound that came somewhere between a squeak and a squeal. "What ... what do you want?" he managed. "I'm only a poor traveller ... a seaman ... I have no money - no ... none!" And that was because he was on his way -to- the tavern and not back from it ... but if he had been returning ... He grew cold at the thought of it. And then colder at the thought of what his attacker was likely to do when he discovered Alton was telling no more than the truth. "Let's see about that, shall we?" the voice murmured. With a sudden yank the cloak was pulled halfway off, binding Alton's arms behind him. The man reached from behind and fumbled in Alton's pouch for a moment. The knife at his throat never wavered. "Now what's a Kashfan doing wandering the streets without coin?" the voice growled. "We don't like that sort of thing in Amber, fellow." And then the cloak was ripped completely from his arms, and he was kicked in the backside. Flailing wildly, he staggered several feet forward before falling to his knees. He rolled over and stared back. The street was empty. His attacker was gone, and so was his cloak. He stood, shaking, and then stared down at the clinking noise from his pouch. With trembling fingers he opened in, reached in, and pulled out six silver coins. Any one of them would have been enought to buy the cloak. He closed the pouch, then glanced around suspiciously. With a hand on the hilt of his sword, he hurried on towards the tavern. |
