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The Year 1472, Six Years Later
The numbers of the Cult of Thieves had dwindled. It wasn't significant, but it was enough to notice. Older members began to notice their mortality with age and reluctantly retired from the work. But their decrease in numbers was mostly due to a plague that swept through the port city. Windfeld suffered heavy losses both in the common folk and the nobility. For an entire year the nobles had their gates closed and locked and guarded from the other side safe from the greater onslaught. Their sicknesses were dealt with far more quickly as they kept their best physicians tucked away within their walls. Only just a few months prior did they open their gates back up again with a fresh new hiring spree to compensate for the losses of hired help.
Three years before they had lost Jensen, the Cult's Organizer, to a Tainted. The job was supposed to be an easy one, and yet it proved fatal for the man that had the greatest impact on Sothal's life. He took to drinking, to which he imbibed in heavier quantities with each passing year. It became a common stench to smell musty liquor permiating every fiber Sothal carried. Sometimes he smelled of vomit. The man was not an attractive sight, but despite whatever length of inebriation he could still perform his duties passed on to him from Jensen. For the most part, anyway, for Sothal was sure to refrain from getting completely wasted until a job was done.
He sat within the expanse of the Cult of a Thieves headquarters known as the Underbelly with a bottle of port resting upon one of the tables. In his hand he read through a journal by candlelight, his feet propped up in one of the other chairs as he lazily sat back. It was one of the few days he had the Underbelly all to himself. There wasn't much work in the way of the self-defined "Greater Good" apart from the usual espionage. They had already solved the case of the plague having the trail link back to neglegence on the part of a noble. It was always a noble.
And now that Shadow Magic was on the rise once again, he began to see if the growing army would dip its fingers into Faledrin just as it had so long ago.