[As Liem hurries on, gambling on his companions following after him whether they feel like they know him or not, the streets and alleys around him change, just a little. The brick and asphalt paving remains, and the blocky buildings with their many glass windows don’t disappear, but the layout of the streets and alleys shifts to accommodate his memories. He is transported back in time, to the streets of Oppara, years ago, before the war for Taldor’s throne had begun brewing, when all he had aspired to was to help keep order in his home city.
There had been a colleague: a young, gifted inquisitor with a good reputation and possession of information that Liem couldn’t afford to have get around. “Blackmail” was such an ugly word, so the colleague dubbed them friends, and came to rely on his friend’s help quite a great deal.
He hadn’t known that bad things tended to happen to Liem’s companions.
Up ahead, through the mist, come the faint and echoing chitter of tiny creatures and the shrieks of someone in distress. Liem quickens his pace without meaning to, turning a corner with the echo of a memory in his mind: the stink of blood, a body made unrecognizable, torn apart by rats. In his desperation, he cannot imagine finding anything else.
He pelts through a broad, shallow puddle lying in his way — and plunges straight in, as the road seems to crumble and melt away all at once, revealing a steep drop down which he tumbles, straight into a river hidden beneath the illusion of a city thoroughfare.]
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There had been a colleague: a young, gifted inquisitor with a good reputation and possession of information that Liem couldn’t afford to have get around. “Blackmail” was such an ugly word, so the colleague dubbed them friends, and came to rely on his friend’s help quite a great deal.
He hadn’t known that bad things tended to happen to Liem’s companions.
Up ahead, through the mist, come the faint and echoing chitter of tiny creatures and the shrieks of someone in distress. Liem quickens his pace without meaning to, turning a corner with the echo of a memory in his mind: the stink of blood, a body made unrecognizable, torn apart by rats. In his desperation, he cannot imagine finding anything else.
He pelts through a broad, shallow puddle lying in his way — and plunges straight in, as the road seems to crumble and melt away all at once, revealing a steep drop down which he tumbles, straight into a river hidden beneath the illusion of a city thoroughfare.]