Storyboards: Rhylon

Another day, another city. Another sleepness night in another anonymous hotel room. Another clue, to another dead-end. And the road. Always the road, stretching off into the distance, always heading off into eternity, but always wearing a hole right under the heel. Rhylon sank into the chair in the Tolnedran hotel room, and for a moment thought back, and tried to remember how long it had been...

He had been on assignment for the Legions at the time. To those who saw him Rhylon was a vagabond, a man who showed up for no particular reason but for the comfort of human company, having lost his family and, if rumour was true, the woman he loved.
To those who dealt with him he was many people, like Cormell the Merchant and Ferris the Attendant, all of whom were a cover for Raven the Drasnian spy, a man who undoubtedly had a past, but be damned if it could be gleaned from anyone.
To those who knew him he was a good friend, but more than that he was a thief for a living, and damned good at his job. He stole treasures and trinkets to be sure, but what he was truly a thief of was information. Disarming people with a pleasant demeanour, announcing to all and sundry that he stole, then having them tell everything he needed to know without them realising earned him the title of 'the honest thief', and this made him valuable.
Striding in the shadows of Yar Nadrak, Rhylon paused. Looking up at the building, he reached down to his belt, and pulled out a pair of climbing hooks. He had been observing the house for days now, and had already worked out his way in and out. Not without some effort, he began climbing up the wall, making sure his hooks were secured in the wall each step.
"Spend the time to get the job done properly once," he reminded himself, "and you won't have to waste time doing it over again."
Once he had reached the open window of the second floor, he paused, listening. Sure enough, he could hear the house guard making his trip around the house, from which he would return to the small room near the front door on the ground floor.
The door to the room opened, and Rhylon held his breath for what seemed like an eternity before hearing the door close again. Grinning wickedly, he swung silently into the room, taking his hooks with him, and quickly scanned the room. As expected, no people, but there was a large dresser with expensive jewellery scattered about it.
Rolling his eyes, Rhylon headed to the writing desk in the corner of the room, and started quickly searching through the drawers. It was in the third drawer that he found what it was he was looking for; a small chest, engraved with arrowheads, and bearing a complicated lock. Rhylon whistled, this was no common locksmith's work, it had to have been crafted by one of the smiths of the Kujarian guild, renowned for their anti-theft measures.
It took him barely a minute to pick it. Quickly disarming the trap around the lid, he carefully opened the chest and was rewarded with a folded piece of paper, which he tucked into a secret spot in the lining of his cloak. Reaching into a pocket, he withdrew a small Raven carved from wood. Whittling had started as a hobby for him, but eventually the raven had become a calling card of his, and he placed it carefully in the now empty chest before resting the traps, lock, and setting it back in place in the drawer.
Now for his exit. The day before he had 'acquired' the plans for the house, so he had no problem finding the attic access, and even less trouble squeezing up into it. Shifting aside the slate from the inside, he made a hole large enough to slip out of, and from there it was a simple matter the replace the slate and disappear across the rooftops and into the night.

To Rhylon, the halls of the Legions had come to feel like home. The people there were his family, and if the walls could talk, one would only have to ask them to know all about him. Yet the halls were quiet and empty when he entered. Normally something could be heard in the background, a comrade training, friends feasting, even people walking around, but these sounds were absent, leaving a vacuum that made Rhylon's footsteps echo markedly.
Loosening his dagger in its sheath, he stepped into the shadows and crept towards the main hall. The fountain which he had drunk from more times than he could remember was not flowing, and the water in it lay still and cloudy. Something tugged at the back of Rhylon's mind, something there but just beyond his reach. He held his breath and focused, straining his senses to listen for something, anything within the area. Someone else was breathing. Someone else was near. Moving quickly, he stepped from shadow to shadow and into the infirmary, dagger at the ready. Saniss the clan healer sat cross-legged upon one of the bunks, meditating. Sheathing his dagger and breathing a sigh of relief, Rhylon looked at Saniss with a mixture of relief and irritation.
"Saniss, what the hell is going on here? Where is everyone?"
Saniss opened his eyes and looked at Rhylon without a hint of surprise, and starlted to unfurl himself. As always, Saniss looked to be the epitome of a healer, dressed in his flowing robes, he almost seemed to have a halo of some sort. He stood before Rhylon and smiled.
"I was told to wait behind for you Rhylon. We thought that to try to get word to you while in the field would endanger you, so we thought it best to wait for your return."
Nodding, Rhylon looked around in confusion.
"Okay, fair enough, but what was so important that everyone had to leave? I mean, I see no-one here, so it's not like we're under attack, and you're still here, so it's not an evacuation, so what does that leave? What could possibly happen that would cause all of the clan members to leave the hall at once?"
Saniss looked Rhylon in the eyes, and told him the one thing he was not expecting.
"The Legions of Neutral have been disbanded Rhylon. Everybody has gone their separate ways. As I said, I was asked to remain behind to tell you, and one or two other members her are out in the field. Since there was no longer any actual rank anymore it was a favour, not an order, for me to stay behind. And by the way, you should pick up your jaw. It is most unbecoming to leave it hanging open like that."
Rhylon realized what Saniss was saying and reached up to find his mouth wide open, and pushed it shut with his thumb. He tried to think, but kept on stumbling over his own thoughts. Finally he managed to bring his thoughts into coherency enough to fumble out a question.
"What do I do now?"

Saniss looked at him with compassion, but had no answer. Rhylon looked around almost in confusion, shook Saniss' hand and mumbled some thanks before stumbling out again. Reaching into his cloak, he pulled out the paper he had stolen, the information now useless. Tossing it into the still fountain, he walked out of the clan hall, and onto the road outside, the road he would come to know all too well.
"What do I do now?"

That was the question he had asked Saniss, and it was one he had to ask himself as well, but he had no answer. He took to drowning his sorrows in seedy taverns, whiling away the weeks in a haze of regrets and self-pity. People who saw him sometimes wondered about him, but he never talked about himself, and he always paid for his drinks. It seemed that he was bent on his own self-destruction, as if there was nothing left he could possibly want but to end everything.
Then one morning, he woke up and looked at his reflection in the mirror. His eyes were red, he hair toussled, his normally neat goatee mangy and unruly, and the stubble on the rest of his face was thick and bristly. He looked like hell, and felt ten times as worse, both in his stomach in his soul. Looking at the pitiful wretch before him in the mirror, Rhylon realized two things. The first was that he did not want to be this. He did not want to look like this, feel like this, be like this.
It was in knowing this that he came up with an answer to his question to Saniss. He would live. But more than that, he would live his life. And the times when he had felt the most alive ever had been with her.
The rumor that Rhylon had lost the woman he loved was more than rumor to Rhylon. To him it was the truth that made a cold, empty place in his heart, and left him feeling like part of him was missing. They had spent time together, haggling over prices in the market place, laughing over stories together in taverns, comforted each other through their hard times. They had been in love. But then she had disappeared. Her family seemed to know that she was safe, though not where she was. His contacts had revealed no-one of her description was being held hostage, but also could find nary a trace of her. Packing his bags and preparing for travel, Rhylon shouldered his backpack and paid his bill. Stocking up on his whittling wood and checking in with his contacts, he headed out, beginning his search.

He didn't know anymore how long ago that had been. How many months, how many towns, how many times his hopes raised only to have them dashed? Rhylon smiled, and it was a smile of quiet determination, the smile of someone who had seen hell and come out on the other side unscathed and stronger than before. It was the smile of someone who had a job to do and was not afraid to go forever to finish it. Getting up from his chair, Rhylon headed down to the common room for dinner, and was most surprised to see a familiar face seated near the fireplace. He headed over, attracting her attention. Fieron looked up and smiled.
"Rhylon, long time no see. How are things?"
Rhylon smile. It had been a long time, but it was always good to see an old friend, though she would probably object to him thinking of her as an 'old' friend.
"Oh, you know Fie, travels abroad, lost loves to find, the usual. I swear I've walked enough of the world to wear through the shoes of all the Tolnedran army. Belar knows these ones are wearing through."
Sitting down opposite Fieron, Rhylon looked at the bottom of his shoes. They were good shoes, and had lasted him well, but even these had their limit, and were drawing close to that limit.
"But enough about me, how goes things for you? What has happened while I was away from the world of people?"
Fieron smiled. "Nothing much, I'm afraid. Power shifts, people come to power, money changes hands, people leave power, all the usual things, nothing interesting I'm sad to say."
Rhylon looked at her with a pained expression on his face.
"Fieron, those are the interesting things." Shaking his head, Rhylon continued. "But past all those meagre details of who is running the world, has anything interesting come up? I know you must have been getting up to something at least."
Fieron looked at Rhylon innocently.
"What makes you think that I have to have been getting up to something? Can't I have just been a good little girl, biding my time with needlework?"
Rhylon held her innocent gaze with a steady look, and raised his left eyebrow. He didn't have to say a word. Fieron grinned.
"Okay, so I have been talking to a few friends, and I think it might be your kind of thing. We call ourselves the Wanderers."
Rhylon cocked his head to the side.
"Tell me more…"

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