A pounding on the door to his apartment started Decian awake and he realized he had fallen asleep at his desk while reading.
He cursed himself for his stupidity and studied the text that had been serving as his pillow to see if he'd smeared the ink or drooled on the parchment. Fortunately the text remained intact. All books are precious but all wise men know some are also dangerous. Falling asleep over one such book could prove disastrous.
The pounding intensified as Decian gathered his wits.
Vorlakkur! Decian Martel, are you present?
The shout was barely muffled by the thick, iron-bound oak of his door. Decian got up and moved to the door, pushing back the eye hole he'd installed after moving in and revealing a woman holding a torch standing on the stairs that led out of the flooded street to his door.
She was young, with brown eyes and brown hair and holding up a Vorlakkur's badge next to her face.
Sleepy or not, Decian was still suspicious. He lived in the Puddles because it was free and the Muckruckers, the local theives guild who kept order in the district absence a real watch, left him alone in exchange for some magical advice and the occassional exorcism. Typically even the high-handed Vorlakkur, who policed magic use in the city of Absalom, took the time to check in with a district's watch.
I'm paid up with the Muckruckers - you can check with Topkick if you want to risk a beating. Decian's tone was deliberately insulting since the chances of an actual Varlokkur showing up in the Puddles was rare outside one of the Green Mist Murders.
The woman reddened a bit at the implication she was a cutpurse but didn't start yelling abuse immediately. If she was a Vorlakkur she was either very patient or needed his help very badly.
I'm not here about that. You're the Assistant Librarian for Esoteric Literature at the Forae Logos?