Jonathan Moeller, Pulp Writer

The books of Jonathan Moeller

UncategorizedWraithblood: The Elixir

Wraithblood: The Elixir, Episode 7

“I suggest we escape over the rooftops,” you say. “Any archers will then have a harder time targeting us.”

“Capital idea,” says Nasser, lifting his scimitar. His coat parts, and you see that he’s wearing mail beneath his fine clothes, along with additional blades secured in his belt. “This way, if you please.”

He darts through a side door, down a hallway, and up a ladder, with you a half-step behind him. You scramble onto the rooftop of Megabyzes’ coffeehouse, giving you a fine view of the Cyrican Quarter’s warehouses and bazaar.

And the three armed men on the rooftop, swords in hand.

“That’s her!” bellows the leader. “Kill the man, and take her alive!”

The leader lunges at Nasser, sword a steely flash in the noon sun. But Nasser sidesteps, his scimitar a flashing blur, and leaves the man bleeding to death on the flat rooftop. The other two fan out around him, and Nasser backs away, trying to maneuver the men in front of the other.

Which makes it very easy for you to step up behind the nearest thug and hit the release on your left bracer. The paralytic-tipped blade scratches his hip, and the man bellows in pain, goes rigid, and topples. Nasser finishes off the remaining man with ease, and you are alone on the rooftop.

“Ah,” says Nasser, unruffled. “Raggan’s men. Apparently, he took exception to you working for me.” He glances at the paralyzed man. “What did you do to him, by the way?”

“Drug,” you say.

“Effective,” says Nasser, lifting an eyebrow. “Come along…”

He stops, and you follow his gaze.

From the rooftop, you have a fine view of the Cyrican Quarter’s warehouses and main bazaar. A bazaar that currently appears filled with armed men. At their head is a burly, paunchy man in leather armor, a massive hammer in his right hand. Raggan himself, and he looks rather displeased.

In the alley behind the coffeehouse, you see more armed men, led by a tall, thin fellow with a sour expression and greasy black hair.

“Zosimus,” says Nasser. “Did you offend him?”

“I drugged two of his men on my way here.” you say.

“Your fame continues to grow,” says Nasser. “I suggest we make haste.”

“Wait,” you say, tallying the numbers below. Both Zosmius and Raggan seem to have about thirty men each…

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