Zero's return to the Warehouse of Silent Shadows was prompted by a fresh wave of anxiety. He hadn't actually posted his new symbolic mission for Anya (the one involving observing tarnished city icons) at the Shrine of Lost Socks yet. He hadn't even delivered his brilliant, unreadable coded notice about the Shrine of Lost Socks dead drop to her. He'd tacked that notice to the warehouse door, hoping she (or any Acolyte) might find it. What if she returned to the warehouse looking for him or new orders, and found nothing but that baffling cipher?
He needed to check. He needed to see if his notice was still there, if Anya had perhaps left some indication she'd seen it. Or, horrifyingly, if she was waiting for him.
He found the warehouse empty, his coded notice still tacked to the door. Relief warred with a new anxiety: if she hadn't seen it, how would she know about the Shrine dead drop for her next mission report? His communication strategy was a mess.
Then he saw it. On the crate-throne, where Anya had left her report on Elder Theron and Jax, lay another scroll, similarly tied with crimson thread.
Zero's blood turned to ice. Two? Two reports?
He approached with extreme trepidation. This scroll was thicker, the parchment coarser. He recognized the straightforward, almost blunt way the knot was tied – it reminded him of how Barric, his second Acolyte, had clenched his fist after receiving the 'Mark.'
With trembling hands, he unrolled Barric's report. It was nothing like Anya's subtle observations of mercantile corruption. This was a stark, practical assessment, written in a clear, soldierly hand.
"Report to the Master, Crimson Path," it began. *"Initial survey of Northern and Eastern defensive sectors complete. Findings:
Old North Gate: Significant structural decay in gatehouse. Two ballistae inoperable (rust). Guard complement at 60% strength during night cycle, bribery observed for unchecked passage of goods. East Gate Watchtower (Skyreach): Poorly maintained signal brazier. Evidence of gambling among on-duty sentries. Peripheral wall section (Sector Gamma-7) shows signs of recent, unrepaired collapse, offering potential ingress point…"*
Zero read on, his eyes growing wider with each bullet point. Crumbling walls. Corrupt guards. Specific vulnerabilities. This wasn't a symbolic offering or a test of his esoteric knowledge. This was a military field report detailing actionable weaknesses in Veridia's defenses!
What in the name of all imaginary Shadow Gods was he supposed to do with this? Was Barric expecting him to lead an assault on the North Gate? To personally patch the crumbling walls? He, Clerk Zero, whose most strenuous physical activity was fetching ledgers?
This was even worse than Anya's report. That had been about criminals. This was about the City Watch, the city's actual defenses! This was… treasonous, if it fell into the wrong hands. His hands, for instance.
He sank onto the dusty floor, his crate-throne forgotten. He had two Acolytes. One was a highly skilled observer uncovering high-level smuggling operations. The other was a hardened soldier meticulously mapping out the city's defensive frailties. And they were both reporting their findings to him. A terrified clerk who wrote fantasy lore in his spare time.
He had to be the most successful, most doomed, shadow mastermind in the history of Veridia. His 'Path' was clearly attracting a very specific, very capable, and very misguided type of individual. He now possessed enough dangerous information to get himself hanged several times over. This, he decided, was a terrible day for the Crimson God.
***
Investigator Gregor, a man whose face seemed permanently set in an expression of weary disapproval for the city's endless capacity for folly, stood before the Dyers' Guildhall. The gaudy building was now adorned with several prominent, angry-looking charcoal eyes, each weeping a jagged red tear. The work was crude, almost childish, yet there was a certain manic energy to it.
Guild Master Borin, a portly man whose crimson face clashed spectacularly with his indigo-dyed robes, was still sputtering with outrage. "This is an affront, Investigator! An attack on the very fabric of honest commerce! These… these shadow cultists… they must be apprehended!"
Gregor listened patiently, his gaze sweeping the graffiti. Commander Marius's concerns about old cult symbolism were in the back of his mind, but Gregor was a man who started with the mundane before leaping to the mystical.
"Cultists, Master Borin?" Gregor asked, his voice dry. "Or perhaps a disgruntled apprentice with a flair for dramatic vandalism?" He'd already learned of Borin's reputation for mistreating his apprentices.
"Apprentice?" Borin scoffed. "This is clearly the work of an organized cabal! That bleeding eye… it's a mark of ill omen! They're trying to intimidate us! Ruin our reputation!"
Gregor made a noncommittal sound. He'd seen the bounty notices Borin had plastered across the quarter. The reward was surprisingly hefty for mere vandalism. Borin was either genuinely terrified or had something to hide and was using this as a distraction. Probably both.
"Do you recognize the specific style of this eye, Master Borin?" Gregor asked. "Any particular group or individual come to mind?"
Borin just waved his hands dismissively. "It's evil! That's all I know! Find them, Investigator! Use all the resources of the City Watch!"
Gregor doubted he'd get any useful intelligence from Borin directly. He thanked the Guild Master for his time and began a methodical examination of the graffiti sites himself. He noted the type of charcoal used, the height of the drawings (suggesting an assailant of average or below-average stature), the surprisingly consistent (if crude) rendering of the eye symbol across multiple locations.
This wasn't sophisticated. But it was persistent. And the bounty notices had now made this specific "Bleeding Eye" a public symbol. Whether it was a prank, a personal vendetta, or the first stirrings of something more organized, it now had the city's attention. And therefore, it had his. His first step would be to see if any informants in the Artisan's Quarter or the Debtors' District had heard whispers about who might be responsible for such… enthusiastic artwork.
***
Barric sat in his spartan room at a cheap boarding house near the West Barracks, the incomprehensible coded notice Zero had left at the warehouse spread out on his small table. He'd read it, re-read it, and then read it again, trying to apply every scrap of military field craft and common sense he possessed.
"When the three-legged raven… thrice circles the weeping moon…" What did that even mean? Was it a metaphor? A specific astronomical event he was supposed to track? He knew the warehouse had a broken raven weather vane, but it only had two legs, and it certainly wasn't circling anything.
"…the forgotten alcove where misplaced hopes find solace…" This was the only part that felt remotely like a tangible instruction, but it was still infuriatingly vague. A place for lost hopes? That could be half the taverns in Veridia.
"…Utter the passphrase 'Umbra's solace comforts sorrowful soles' to the silent guardian…" Passphrases he understood. But to a 'silent guardian' of an unknown 'alcove'? This was unlike any operational order he'd ever received.
He was a soldier. He followed orders. But these weren't orders; they were riddles wrapped in poetic nonsense. His respect for the Master's intellect was profound, but his methods of communication were… challenging.
He considered the possibility that the message was a test of initiative. The Master might expect him to cut through the symbolism and find the core intent. The phrase about "misplaced hopes" and "soles" (souls?) kept nagging at him. Perhaps it referred to a place of burial for the forgotten, or a shrine to those who had lost their way.
He decided his next course of action: he would continue his primary mission of assessing city defenses, as that was a clear, actionable order he'd already received. But in his spare time, he would make inquiries about obscure shrines or forgotten places within the city that might fit the description. He would crack this code. He was an Acolyte of the Crimson Path, and he would not be deterred by mere… literary flourishes. Even if they made absolutely no sense.