Two months ago he was on the run during a jail break. Now, he was in Connlaoth. Connlaoth was not where Simon would have chosen to do his work, but the alchemist he was working for had specified dragon bones from a pearl black dragon. The magic, they'd said, was in their bones. Personally, Simon thought that a dragon was a dragon. There was no need to cross the border, risk being caught by a Mordecai, and taken fully into death by the magic hating people of Connlaoth. But his employer insisted. So, north he had gone into Zhared'dur's barrow to bring back a sack of bones. The map he had been provided was clear enough. Two miles west of a small hamlet, there was a waterfall. Under the waterfall was a cave system that can up to the dragon's lair and final resting place. Being gifted-or cursed- with the ability to not need to breathe, Simon was perfectly suited to go in and out without any discomfort or fear of drowning.
This wasn't the first fetch quest he had been sent on; Hama wanted this that and the other thing for her collection, promising that each rare and unique reagent would bring Simon one step closer to the land of the living. He'd have to keep working for her after that for another three years. This was fine. She's accepted his odd state, outfitted him with dark leather boots and gloves, sturdy canvas pants and shirt, leather armor, an ash grey cloak, and a wooden mask to conceal himself as he did her work. She'd funded his equipment purchases as well, not blinking as he'd insisted on a brace of daggers, an adventurer's basic kit, and thieves tools. Hama'd merely tallied it up and paid the bill, then sent him to an abandoned witches hut for a rare lichen. He'd found some other, more valuable things there, too, like spellbooks and potions, so he sold those on the side. He'd become rich with such side work, but Hama's list came before his own.
That's how he had gotten here, at the edge of a sheer chasm not listed on the map. Simon had no rope or ladder sufficient to cross. Instead, he'd need to climb. Too bad for him he had no tools.
"Great. A trip to town and to the blacksmith. Just what I need." he grumbled. Especially in Connlaoth. Ah well. Nothing to be done for it. He'd already discovered a hidden cache of jewels, so finding was no issue. It was just...even a glimpse of his pale, greenish skin would send the town into a panic. He didn't want that for them or himself. He'd have to bribe the blacksmith to be quick. Even farrier's nails would do, if he had them made already, Simon bargained with his goddess, Lady Luck.
Back through the cave, out of the water tunnel, and back ashore he went. His gelding Fairwind was as nonplussed and unbothered as usual, earning a pat and scratch for his even temper.
"Alright, boy. Let's go. I'll get you an apple or something for your patience," he promised the beast. The morning sun and calm breeze dried his gear during the leisurely ride into town.
Together they rode into the village, grey horse and grey cloaked stranger. They earned plenty of stares. Rather, Simon did for the mask he wore. It was spelled simply, not allowing anyone to see past the narrow eye and mouth slits to the monster underneath. Simon rode Fairwind to the inn and stable and paid the boy there for the horse's care.
"I should be back around sundown," he promised, noting that there were several other horses stabled. They were big and had the air of military training around their strong flanks and withers. Crap. Military horses? They were fine bred enough. Maybe it would be better to hide in the woods for the night until the knights moved on. And waste another day in Connlaoth? No thanks, Simon decided. He turned on his heel and walked out to the mud street. A small chapel to the local god drew him in. He didn't worship their deity, but it always paid to be polite. The priest eyed him suspiciously, especially when he didn't remove his cloak or mask.
"This is a house of god, man! Have you no respect?" the priest challenged in anger.
"Forgive me, honorable one...I was cursed some time ago and it is less of an offense for me to be concealed than to genuflect as your patron deserves," Simon replied, flashing the handful of amethysts, rubies, and sapphires he was depositing in the offering box. Mollified, the priest blessed him and bid him a good day. Simon nodded and returned the benediction.
Next was to the smith. He received similar treatment: suspicion followed by gratitude at his generosity. He had money to burn and a good reputation was valuable, he decided. He went to the market next, more to waste time than to purchase anything. A knot of men and women caught his eye: armor and swords. Dangerous. Simon moved away from them to an older woman selling pies. She was distracted by a customer and the situation was being taken advantage of by a small boy intent on thieving. Simon put his hand on the kid's shoulder.
"Hey now. That isn't yours, boy. With fingers as clever as that, you could earn your pies rather than steal them. And trust me, I know...earned tastes better." he lectured, knowing that the whelp was him ten years ago. Thieving had built his life and ruined it. Now he used the skills, but against the dead instead of the living. The kid squirmed away from him and tried to run, but the pie lady stopped him.
"'ere now, that's three times this week you've stolen, Bradderick! The Watch'll be on you!"
Simon drew in a small breath at the threat. He remembered the beatings he had gotten when he was caught and it drove him to compassion.
"Miss, please be merciful to him. Does this cover your losses?" he offered her a gold coin, which she took quickly. He turned to the boy and was about to say something further when a buzzing, droning feeling in his head started up, then overwhelmed him. With a groan, he dropped to a knee. Hunger like he had never felt started gnawing at him. The zombie wasn't hungry...it was starving. With a guttural, monstrous groan, it pushed itself back up and stumbled to the pie seller, snatching at her to try and rend her flesh. Teeth gnash and snapped under the mask ineffectively.
