Chapter Text
A bout of bad weather had hit the city of Baldur’s Gate. A massive storm blew in from the sea and brought with it seemingly endless rain. It was one for the histories to be sure as the streets would wash away and the mud became atrocious to anyone looking to preserve their clothing. The city, however, benefited from being built into the side of a cliff so much of the water would run naturally down the hills towards the lowest point. Of course, the lowest point was the sewers, harbor, and some slums.
The harbor was especially treacherous as the marina became engorged from the combination of the tides and all the run off from above. The docks were often partially submerged as wind rolled the waves. Ships that had managed to dock rocked and whined as their construction strained to hold back the water. Some ships moved so much the ramps used to unload personnel and goods would drag over the docks or slip into the water.
Ropes became difficult to grasp and caused injury to a good number of dock workers. With the rain nearly nonstop people became soaked to the bone. The flesh of their hands would be so soft with moisture that the ropes would rub it raw. The unfortunate ones would be having entire patches taken off. Many slipped on mud and wet wood.
Then, there was the night dock shift.
Those poor bastards had to deal with everything listed above and poor visibility to boot. The clouded blocked out the moon and stars. The rain obscured vision with mist from water droplets breaking upon the earth. Lanterns did little to illuminate a worker’s area. Light spells did better, but the price on such things had gone up across the city.
On top of everything, there were still hazards beyond the general work place or weather. There were still things that went bump in the night to be worried about. Since the battle against the Absolute decades before the city had undergone a transformation. It wasn’t perfect, but in many ways an improvement.
The web of power in the city had been shaken. Old trusted faces returned to their roles in one aspect to calm the fears of the people. New faces took the place of old rulers bending the framework of their predecessors to their will. Both sides came forward to repair the damages to the city to show a united front. Many people from many different walks of life had pitched in. Even the gangs of bandits and smugglers aids relief efforts. Some believe that they were convinced to help with either a handsome sum of coin or promises for leniency for their activities going forward. Other whispers say that a particular individual simply persuaded them with a spectacular use of a talented silver tongue.
These were all speculation, of course. The popular theory was it was just the right thing to do. Even the criminal underworld had been hit hard by the battle and the events before it. Stood to reason that they too would have a desire to see their home put back in order. Can’t have a business if the there was no one to do business with.
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Of course, being that the proper equipment was in vastly short supply it often became wise to hire those who would be less disadvantaged in the dark. So, when an Elf showed up looking for work it was given out easily. Though some still questioned why individual would come to the docks of all places. To put it mildly, the Elf was quite the handsome man.
At a glance he’d have blended in with nearly any party in the city. The grace and bearing of his body suggested a noble bloodline. The strength of his back and quick footwork was reminiscent of a fighter. Long black hair that hung about his shoulder blades and parted on one side. Healthy complexion, and gorgeous eyes that had some people debating their color. Some believed they saw bright blue eyes that matched a sapphire. Others swore he had eyes the color of red garnets. Many believed it to be nothing but a trick of the light. Low light coupled with fire light could alter the appearance of color.
There were whispers that he’d appeared in the lower city wearing clothing you’d find up above with the nobles. Though some would say his fashion sense was somewhere in the middle. Not that of the humbler ranks and yet not the extravagance of the wealthy. Once he rented a room those clothes appeared to vanish. Instead, he’d wear regular street clothing as he made his way around the city.
Stories would circulate that he was a lord playing peasant for fun. Perhaps, he lost a bet and was simply roughing it with the lower class until his sentence was up. If he truly was there just to play a part then he played it well.
He showed up to work on time and never complained about the tasks given. Even when others would purposely give him the garage tasks just to see if they could make the would-be lord squirm. It never worked. At most a few questions would be asked for clarification. The elf never wanted to stay idle. Even when others were taking a break, he’d be checking rigging to make sure everything was ready for when work began again.
If by some chance the man was idle, he’d be staring off into the dark. Eyes occasionally moving as if tracking something in the shadows. Sometimes his glaze would be in the direction of the upper city. It almost looked like he’d be waiting for something or someone that never claim. It was… odd. Other times he’d be watching the sea with interest on the horizon. Longing flickering in his gaze.
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On the second week of this horrible weather an incident occurred at the docks. A night hand who had been using a pulley and rope to lift a crate from the deck of a ship lost balance. A plank under them gave out and the rope holding the crate ripped out of their hands. The crate swung with the wind and was on a collision course with the worker.
Voices around yelled at the man to get out of the way, but he couldn’t. His leg was caught on the broken pieces of the plank. The sea swelled again making it hard for him to stabilize his balance. It was in that moment the Elven man just appeared out of the wet darkness. In his hand a metal rod that he used to swing when the crate got to close. The sound of the impact was muffled by the water all around. However, the hit must have been powerful as it sent the crate back up over the side of the ship. The pulley squealed and the ropes tensed now that the weight was moving in the wrong direction. It slammed into the deck of the ship. The crate splintered and the contents began rolling around.
No one seemed to care. The elf turned and used the rod to push the sides of the broken plank back allowing the worker to pull free. “Are you alright? Do you need a healer?” His voice was so smooth like he hadn’t just committed a feat that would have required some manner of strength. His voice carried an accent that gave an exotic touch though it wasn’t defined enough to pinpoint an approximate location of origin.
The worker, an older tiefling, looks up at this enigma of an elf and nods. Even in the low light and rain blood could be seen. It wasn’t much but who knew what the planks of that dock had seen. It only made sense to side with caution and avoid unnecessary infection. “How did you do that? I’ve seen spells push objects back, but all you used was that piece of metal.” The tiefling seemed more interested in the elf than his own injuries.
“Fruit of my life experience. I used to be an adventurer.” The elf held out his hand to help the other up. He allowed the fellow to put hold on for support as he carefully led them both away.
They heard calls from somewhere around to get a healer or a first aid kit. With some effort they hobbled their way into a warehouse to escape the rain. The injured party was sat down and a candle was lit. “If you have that kind of experience why the hells are you here? You could be selling your skills as a sword for hire.”
The elf’s responded simply, “I developed a sensitivity to blood.”
The tiefling watched him for a long moment. It wasn’t unheard of for a warrior to acquire sensitivities to blood or gore. Especially, if they were very seasoned with it. Of course, this would lead many to believe that this elf had lost his nerve and became the sort that could talk big but fell ill or even fainted at the sight of blood.
For a brief moment, the elf’s eyes looked red in the fire light. They danced in the glow like a predator waiting for the right moment. Then in the next moment it was gone. The elf stepped back from the candle and into the shadows as the healer arrived on scene to take over.
The injured man saw his savior leaving the room during a line of questioning from the healer. “Hold on you!” He called out wishing to physically get up and stop the other. “I owe you a drink. What was your name again?”
The dark-haired elf paused and for a moment seemed like he wasn’t going to respond. Calmly, the silence broke when he looked over his shoulder with a smirk tugging as his features. It looked out of place on his usually stoic face. Like he was amused by a joke only he’d heard. “Deimos, and you are?”
“Zahir.”
“Watch your footing next time, Zahir.” Then he was gone into the soaked darkness. Zahir didn’t see Deimos the rest of the night. Though evidence of him soon became apparent. The broken crate on the site was picked up and the contents were neatly placed inside a new box with hay to act as a cushion.
The manager of the dock later came down and dismissed everyone for the night. All they had to do was make sure the loose cargo containers were stored securely. Though some noticed a stricken look on their face. As if someone had given them quite a tongue lashing.
Orders were to have the dock reassessed for damage and fixed. If the rains didn’t stop, they needed to make sure the structures didn’t collapse.
Zahir had suspicions that Deimos had been behind this as well. The dock manager was a nasty piece of work that often-worked others to the bone. So, for this elf who hadn’t even been more than a month to completely shut the boss down and force them to stop operations for the night… who the hell was he, really?
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