The air moves languidly, hot, and humid upon the grasslands of central Llaigis, where the city of Gathis rises, just a little higher than the other scattered hills that it surveys. It is the late afternoon, and the sun beats down in the face of any traveller who treads the dusty once-paved road that approaches it from the northeast. Scattered camps surround the old, rough-hewn stone walls, with their round tents and staked horses.
Towers dot the city, here and there, with different shapes to suit their different purposes. In the centre, north of the great road that runs through the city there rises a lone hill, taller than its peers, with a second wall about it.
The northeastern gate stands wide open, manned by seven men in chain shirts over maroon tunics, and an eighth in scale armour, with a maroon cloak over his left arm. Men-at-arms come and go freely, and merchants are seldom stopped. Off to the side, there is a lone permanent building outside the walls.
Inside the city, the smell of sweat and blood is everywhere. Men and animals move this way and that, to important things and to frivolous things. In the near distance, a man can be seen carried on a palanquin, north. To either side of what was once the Emed-Dar Road, there are inn-houses, courtyard-taverns, petty temples, and guild-halls. Beyond them is a maze of streets and alleyways, some paved, and some unpaved, and all filled with activity, with the exchange of goods and of flesh and of steel.

Gathis, known among the central hill tribes as the City of Velvet Lies. Gordak smelled the decadence of the city long before he first caught sight of it. And now that he was actually in the city, the scent was overwhelming. But even so, Gordak could still sense the power here. And with cunning, bravery, and a good measure of luck, that power would one day belong to him. For now though, Gordak was new to the city and as such was unfamiliar with its layout and its ways. And while experience would certainly change that after a few days, a guide would make things easier. Fortunately, Gordak had a talent for finding help. It was simply a matter of searching in the right places.

A man approaches Gordak as he passes through the gates, saying "Sir! You will be needing lodgings and comfort in town. My master, Juras, his house is as fine as any palace and his wine more blissful. It will only cost you a small purseful of silver for the week, and you need not go elsewhere for pleasure!" Another calls out, advertising the stables and armed guard of his own master's house. Flesh turns on the spit in the courtyard immediately south of the square. Two buildings empty on to it, with people coming and going, and what must have once been a garden is barren. People of all kinds are idling about, some eating, some drinking, and some doing neither and beggars kneel a few yards away from the entrance.

Gordak paid no heed to the barkers advertising the houses of their masters. Even if he had the silver to purchase a week in those halls, he didn't care much for the prospect of losing himself to decadence mere moments after passing through the gate. Instead, Gordak continued on in search of good hench material. As he walked, he went through his initial ideas of who and what to look for and eventually settled on seeking out a Blighted serving in bondage to a master who wouldn't be missed. Blighted always made good henches. Especially when freed from cruel masters and coaxed into service with promises of fairer treatment.

To kill a slaveowner does not emancipate the slave - if the enslavement is lawful. In Llaigis, where the sword is two thirds of the law, many are not. Even still, most would be very much missed, even in the city, as to keep a slave requires some measure of good position, and those slaveowners who are not well to do tend to be cornerstones of their communities. However, if a community of blighted knows of a kidnapper, such a man would be a very good target, and the victim might very well be willing to join the cause of their liberator.

A kidnapper. Yes. This was, of course, what I had meant to say from the very beginning. Gordak goes in search of a Blighted community. There, he will go up to the first Blighted he sees that looks inclined to answer questions and speak with them. "You there." Gordak says. "I am hunting a man who has been kidnapping Blighted here in Gathis. Has anyone in this community been kidnapped recently?"

Finding such an enclave is not so easy to one new to the city. Most blighted in formal employment live in the houses of their masters, or in dormitories on their masters' property. However, it is not so hard to find where the poor of the city live together with one another - in the south of the city, beyond the warehouse district - and from there the Blighted can be found. Indeed, they can be.
In among the shacks of the Gathis slums, there stands a hall, built of huge mud bricks that would be difficult for an ordinary human to shape and carry. Inside the structure, outside the doors, a group of people wearing long, gently falling headdress of charcoal grey kneel and weep. Inside the doors, music sounds in a strange language, a hauntingly beautiful voice that sounds like it must be something beyond mere sound alternating with a great cry of many voices.
Here, passers-by look at Gardak with a strange mixture of fear, scorn, and pity. The likeliest person for Gordak's inquiry does not, as it happens, appear to be Blighted at all. He has a slight build, coppery complexion, and unusually close-cropped hair. He wears a sable caftan. "You're not likely to find many friends around here by asking questions like that. Everyone knows what you're about, and it sweetens it none to dress it up as concern. Still, I think I can help you, but let's not talk of such things here, not before they are accomplished."
He turns to go, heading towards a dim alleyway to the West, where he waits. A test of Gordak's trust, and a refuge from the shadow of the Bleeding God's Assembly-Hall.

Gordak knew he had reached his destination the moment he saw the hall. The bricks it was built of would not have been made easily by ordinary hands, but their creation would have been a simple task for a Functionary Blighted dedicated to construction. And it would not surprise Gordak if he learned later that the siren song echoing out from the hall and into the street has a Functionary dedicated to singing as its source.

Gordak doesn't enter the hall though. Interrupting whatever was going on in there wouldn't win him any friends. Instead he looks around outside for someone to speak to, ignoring the looks that the residents send his way. Eventually, Gordak finds a seemingly human resident who looked willing to converse. The man's ability to see through Gordak's façade of concern impresses Gordak enough to make him nod approvingly at the display of insight. As the man gets up and moves to the alley though, Gordak's eyes narrow at the thought of going somewhere secluded with a stranger.

Even so, Gordak follows the man. He does pause a moment at the mouth of the alleyway though, scanning its dim interior for any sign of danger. He is willing to pass this man's test of trust if that truly is what it is, but Gordak is not so naïve of the ways of city folk to not know how they set their ambushes. Gordak will enter the alleyway if nothing seems out of the ordinary. But if he sees any indication of a trap, he will remain at the alley's entrance.

Gordak sees nothing to speak of in the alleyway, save the general sense that he is an outsider in this place. The man leans in a shadow and speaks. "I do not know that you are much better than a kidnapper yourself. But I do not think you are worse. I know of such a thing. An orphan, who has never been able to keep much in the way of posessions for herself, though she is old enough to work, and very capable." He sighs, glancing about. "I think you will find her well-suited to your purpose, and I am sure she will find you well-suited to hers. All I ask is that you allow me to speak to her in private before you abscond to whatever treacherous peril has enticed a man of the hill tribes to Gathis. Do you give me your word?" He leans against the alley at surprising ease, a great sadness about his eyes.

"You have it." Gordak says with a nod of agreement, keenly aware that he is out of place here and is keener still to be on his way before the residents decide to begin objecting to his presence in earnest.

The man nods. "Follow me," he says, and leads Gordak to the West, saying nothing until they had come to another part of the slums. "This man, the kidnapper, is a coward. His brother is an innkeeper of some ill repute, but they have not much to do with one another. He lives on the edge of the slums, having used some of his small inheritance to buy the illusion of respectability. I do not know if he is home. He has friends enough that were any of the Blighted, or their allies in the city to attempt a rescue or more, it would be very difficult for them. In this way, you who seek only to profit from us are a blessing from God." He does not speak another word.
Before long, he points out, among the long shadows of the low sun, a courtyard on the other side of the road from the shadowed alley in which they stood. "His apartment is on the upper floor of the house to the left. The occupants around him are no doubt in league with his corruption, and may not leave as he certainly will. What is your plan, if I may ask?"

"These occupants who are in league with him. Do you know how many there are or how skilled they are in combat?" Gordak asks the man. "If there is only a small number of inept fighters, I should be able to rout them easily enough. If they are many or would prove to match my prowess though, then that would call for a more cunning solution to the problem before me."

The man shakes his head. "That, I do not know. I do not even know how much in league they are, only that they must be, to live so easily with him. You might well be able to go in and come out without a fuss."
Just then, a man makes his way out from the courtyard. He has a clean-shaven head, and wears dark brown hose under a pale blue tunic. At his side he carries a dagger. He goes out and soon is met with another man, of similar appearance from this distance, and they go together, north. "That is he. He will return, late in the night, drunk. If you wish to go about this rescue unaccosted, now is the time.

"Then go I shall." Gordak says as he watches the kidnapper and his fellow take their leave to wallow in the city's decadence. "But before I do... The orphan, what is her name? And who should I tell her has sent me to her rescue?"

The man already seems to slip back. "Her name is Tarinn. Mine is Ruris. You may need to be direct with her to bring her away from that place."
The street is not full, but people walk about, wearing thin clothing that hangs loosely about their body. Some among the lower classes had stripped back some way, baring their chests in the hot and humid evening, men and women alike, although the middle classes and those with somewhere to be continued to cover themselves up, at least in the streets. The courtyard is like many in Gathis, with its circular arch and three single doors, servicing six apartments, and perhaps some meagre lodgings for others. The windows of four of the apartments are open, but those of the kidnapper's are shuttered with what look to be thick boards.

"Direct." Gordak confirms with a nod. "I will return shortly." Moving out of the alleyway, Gordak makes his way across the road and into the courtyard. There, he goes to the door of the shuttered apartment and checks to see if the kidnapper has left it unlocked.

To reach the apartment door, Gordak must enter a small alcove in the front part of the building and climb the stairs to the second floor. Here, the door has a simple hole to access the bolt. Many Gathis-dwellers put a simple tamper-proof seal on the door, and secure their belongings in a locked or hidden strong-box inside the house, but no such knot or seal is present here.

As he stood before the apartment door, Gordak narrowed his eyes at the lack of a knot or seal. Every other door he had seen had such a thing. But not this one. Either this kidnapper was foolish enough to think it unnecessary or he had other defences at the ready. Gordak checks the bolt hole for any hint of it being trapped, only putting his hand in to unbolt and open the door if no sign of a snare can be found.

There is no sign of snare or any mechanical contrivance about the door or lock, but when Gordak goes to unbolt the door, his fingers blister as a sticky substance adheres to his hands, causing a steady burning sensation. Inside the door, it is an ordinary apartment chamber, with an unlit hanging metal brazier sitting in the corner, a shelf with preserved meat and a handful of scrolls in leather tubes, and a number of low-sitting cots. There is a window out to the street, and a door to the second room in the apartment.
Sitting on the floor, in a flaxen shift with various blisters on her hands and feet, is an uncommonly beautiful woman with short dark hair and golden-brown skin. Her face bears some scars with no commonly-recognised pattern to them. Her hands are clasped around some object, apparently precious to her. She does not acknowledge Gordak's presence.

Gordak grunts in frustration as the adhesive chemical coating the bolt takes its toll. While the hole housing the bold was safe, it hadn't occurred to Gordak to check the bolt itself. Not until it was too late and the chemical was already burning his hand. Lesser men would likely flinch at the pain. They would immediately pull their hand away from the pain and perhaps give up altogether. Not Gordak. Gordak endures the pain long enough to open the door and wipes the chemical off on a wall as best he can as he enters the apartment. When he sees the woman in the apartment, Gordak glances down at the floor for a moment before returning his gaze to her. The woman's blistered feet suggest that the chemical coating the bolt might also be on the floor. If it is though, Gordak trusts his boots to protect him from that. "Are you Tarinn?" Gordak asks the woman.