"Although the Blacklake District stands largely intact in the wake of the various disasters that laid Neverwinter low, those who inhabit the district have violently resisted Lord Neverember's plans to resettle it. The Nashers, the more violent faction of the anti-Neverember Sons of Alagondar, have claimed the area for themselves, daring Neverember's soldiers and mercenaries to try to take it from them by force."
The mage stood watching the carrying ons of the gang below. The roof he stood on once belonged to family, or their servants, or maybe it was a shop at one time. Who could tell? It was a husk of a place, on the edge of a thick black lake that barely a boat could glide over.
"There, that one," Hughe pointed, and a figure that none would hardly notice stood up. It seemed the shadows wrapped about him, but in truth he merely knew where to stand to keep himself in those very shadows.
The rogues eyes flowed to where the wizard pointed, and he saw a large husky man pointing and giving orders to others. They were moving crate around the docks, no doubt stolen goods, quite possibly, stolen goods that were already stolen.
A smile crossed his handsome face that even the blonde mustache could not hide. Tying his hair back and dropping his hat at the feet of the mage, he simply gave a nod, and was gone. Chance LaRue would almost seem magical himself, if Hughe did not know better. He was simply the best at what he did.
It wasn't a long trip, but being bound and a rough sack put over ones head made it seem to be much longer than it was.
"I'm a Nasher, you idiots, and you know how much you will pay when they figure on who it is what kidnapped me," he yelled, hoping others would hear him without him crying for help. Unfortunately all he heard was crickets and night owls. By the smell they were moving through the swamp, and by the feel of the road, it was not a well used path.
"Aren't you going to answer me," he asked, but just like the many times he asked before, no one did. The best he could tell was that he was on a cart, not a wagon. He remembered stepping behind a building near Black Lake docks to relieve himself, but suddenly found himself tied up like a hog. Several times he tried to struggle but to no avail. The knot growing on his head told him that whoever took him had knocked him out.
"Well you're a coward and a sissy boy to take a man like this. Face me face to face you priss. I have stepped on goat dung tougher than you," he hollered, but only then began to realize his voice was not carrying.
Chance, who was riding a well groomed and taken care of stud from Waterdeep, looked into the cart, and could see the man thrashing about, but could not hear anything from him.
"So that spell stuff you put around the cart only effects whatever is in the cart," he asked, looking to Hughe.
Hughe nodded, but did not elaborate further. Chance was good at what he did, and Hughe trusted his friend, but Chance was no mage.
Hughe road the horse that pulled the cart as they went through the swamp to the cemetery. It was actually a dangerous entrance, with all of the undead about. He would love to thank Valindra personally for all of the ill that has befallen the place, but alas, scores of armies have not been able to defeat her.
While Hughe was pondering all of the things he would love to do to Valindra, most requiring her to give up her secrets and knowledge before he would stop, Chance put a hand up for them to stop. Hughe stopped the horse, and looked to his companion. His eyes could see magic a mile away, especially the spell damaged eye, but Chance had an uncanny way of knowing if someone or something was about, even if that someone or something did not make a sound.
"We got trouble," Chance said, and Hughe began preparing spells in his mind to assist.