Brazod had always been good at repairing locks, but not good enough for a Stronglock. His family was once renown for making the best locks, but his more talented brother , Olaf Stronglock, had pissed that good name away when he decided to turn that talent into a life of crime. Now the Stronglocks are but a faded memory that only those as old as Brazod can recall.
One of those people is Xelra Hindlemire. A minor noble that never forgot what Olaf stole from here, and since he is long dead she takes her grief out on Brazod. She calls herself his nemesis and has used her influence to bar him from any locksmith job in the city. If it weren't for his spotless record and Captain Tevan, he probably would have lost his job as bailiff. Though the Captain is no saint and reminds him of that every time a rusty lock needs seen too, but it keeps Brazod busy. Or it did.
News from Xanaste came yesterday. A high profile criminal is
to be transported there and Brazod drew the short straw. This criminal is so hated he was kept in the oubliette and Brazod has never known his name or seen his face, and would not even know of his existence if he wasn't tasked with retrieving him.
"Keep an eye on him Brazod. Do this right and when you get back
I'll see about making you quartermaster, t'hell what that b$!%@ Xelra says. " Brazod nodded to the Captain, but was not really listening. He was captivated by this prisoner that had not seen
sun in so long that his eyes squinted when they pulled him outside
and he tried to cover his face, but the shackles did not have enough give in them to allow that maneuver. Whip and burn marks marred this Elf's body. They must have hated this one. He thought to himself, not that he liked elves any more than the next Dwarf, but he was not much for the excesses of torture unlike
his fellow bailiffs.
The Elf saw Brazod starring at him once he recovered from
the sudden sunlight. He muttered something in his native tongue,
Brazod was sure it was not complimentary even though he could not understand it so he shoved him into his barred carriage. "Save it for Xanaste you ugly bastard. I am not sure what those decadent fools want with you, but I'd wager it isn't going to be pleasant." He said with a smile on his face, and the Elf's face fell and he remained silent while Brazod finished with his preparations. Xanaste. Why did if have to be that hell whole?
Brazod turned and said goodbye to Vixmyr. Vixmyr was a decent sized city on the main road to Xanaste, but most people just passed through rather than made their lives here. The local nobles like the Hindlemires held a tight grip on the city and discouraged outsiders from making a decent living. Brazod contemplated this as he decided he was not going to come back. He would drop off this miserable elf and be done with it all. Maybe Xanaste was in need of a capable locksmith. Or maybe he would take his chances outside the city. Either way, Brazod turned from Vixmyr and faced the road ahead of him will renewed vigor.
