Chapter Five: The Hands In the Rubbles

In Kigan there is many groups that commit thievery or are related to such actions, a number of these groups have thievery as a core of their identity, there is even tales of a mysterious nomadic nation of thieves who take remarkable things, like the sorrow of a widow, the prosperity of a rich man, the magic of a sorcerer, the shadow of a house and the voice of a rooster.

The Lords and Ladies of the Hands, or as they are sometimes known, The Hands are like a number of such groups a curious and shadowy organization of thieves who’s reach extends from Nortrieln, to Cri’Kigan and Ruihnweld the Fortress Wall that lies between the land of a thousand and more curses; Ashke’Iren and the rest of Kigan. Supposedly the Hands even have influence above and below Nortrieln and Cri’Kigan.

It is not so uncommon for an organization to have power beneath a land as well as on the surface, but it rare for an organization to have power in the cloudlands and other places of Kigan’s skies too.

The Hands are well known for two things, their entry requirements, and their meddling nature.

To join the Hands, you must be a thief that has not deliberately killed another person and you must take a vow not to steal from the needy, indeed part of their vows are to aid the unfortunate and oppressed.

To be part of the inner council of Hands, you must be able to steal one thing that normally cannot be stolen. It takes a thief of great skill to steal someone’s sense of time for example. Such an ability is usually called ascendant skill. One of the Hands naturally also has to vouch for your character.

The meddling nature of the Lords and Ladies of the Hands, is something that either makes them beloved or despised. They have been the ruin of many greedy rulers, many rich misers and a number of cruel despots. Their sense of justice may sometimes be quite questionable, but the Hands are firmly the foes of the unjust. As a consequence, some other criminal elements have no lost love for the Hands, but unlike most of such groups the Hands have the love, not the fear of the common poor.

“They’re thieves!” Ivak objected.

“Yes milord, that would be what would make them particularly effective at finding the thief for us”

“They’ll just take all our money, then they’ll use me to get treasures from the House. They only target the rich you know, and we are the rich!”

“Do not worry milord, you are not nearly villainous enough to seem an attractive target”

“I might not be, but what about the High Crest?”

“Now milord, that is just unkind, the High Crest is a stern leader to be sure, but he is no villian”

“Well what about Auntie Yagma?”

Claroosa thought about it for a while.

“She is technically not a villian”

“I don’t like this at all, they aren’t decent honest folk!”

“And the merchant we bought the artefact from was milord?”

Ivak frowned.

“Ok, that is true, but these are thieves!”

“Milord, you do not in fact have to like it, and you may think of it this way, by purchasing their services you are providing them with some good honest work at thief catching.”

Claroosa neglected to mention that thief catching was a common activity for the Hands. Indeed, for many the Hands were the only source of law and justice they had.

Ivak sighed.

“Very well Claroosa, we shall obtain the services of the Lords and Ladies of the Hands, how do we go about doing that anyway?”

“If milord would just follow me, I shall secure their aid shortly”

* * * * *

Claroosa had led Ivak to the Rubbles, the area where Welterine met the ruins of the old fortress that had once been part of the cliff-face. Here the less fortunate of Welterine lived, those who could not find work, who would not work, those who didn’t earn enough at work, and those who damaged in such a way that working was an impossible task.

They huddled together for warmth clustered around fires, race and identity obscured by cloaks and metaphorical cloaks of poverty, some lived in shoddy tents and in ruins patched up to make shanty houses. Neither the Hands nor House Vulk had been in Welterine long, and in the case of House Vulk, Haelosther had only limited interest in caring for the unfortunates of a town the House would one day leave. House Vulk took care of its own, and others were not nearly of importance. House Vulk however had been helping in efforts to provide safe homes, after all, with their artefacts it cost them little to act.

As for the Hands? There was only so much they could do, poverty often can only be treated rather than eradicated. Still, If one looked closely would could see that none of the inhabitants of the Rubbles were starving, sick or bearing particularly vile curses. In another town, a poor quarter would be full of uncleanliness, murder, predatory spirits, twisted curses and general unpleasantness. In another town it would not be safe for those living in the poor quarter, nevermind visitors.

In another town, the poor district would be far more populous.

The poor in the Rubbles were at peace, though many would still want to escape their situation, it wasn’t as fatal a one as it could be. Ivak and Claroosa were not stared at with hungry eyes, fearful eyes or desperate ones. Still as clean as it was, it was a shocking difference to Ivak, who had spent all thirty four years of his life within House Vulk.

“Ugh, this place stinks, How can anyone bear to live here?”

“Some do not have a choice milord, and I would say that people can get used to just about anything”

“Well I doubt we’ll be here long enough to get used to it, Isn’t someone doing something about this?”

“The Hands are, the High Crest is working with the town council too, but apart from food, drink and homes, what can be done?”

“Oh, I could paint the place, I’m sure that’d liven it up, the atmosphere here is so… beaten”

Ivak’s fingers twitched as they walked among the hovels that were not actually that bad. He could see colours and swirls covering everything, he could make the place a sea of dreams, he felt.

Claroosa however paid little attention, and went over to an old dwarf with a beard like steel and a face of a man who had wrestled with fishy horrors along the waves. Ivak found himself staring at the dwarf’s prosthetic legs, carved from wood. There was ticking from within the legs.

It was likely the dwarf had been missing his legs for so long that even a relatively powerful healer could not regrow them. Prosthetics were safer than grafts too, most people don’t want to fight for possession of their own limbs.

“Ho, old rock of the sea, Deahrinn spare you from the wrath of Meirann” Claroosa greeted the dwarf.

The dwarf grinned.

“Well, this has made my day, what does a pretty lass who knows a sailor’s greeting want with old Rwab? I doubt you’ve been attracted by my roguish looks, lost those overboard a long time ago, Deahrinn must have let her brother slip”

“Well, Meirann is a handful” Ivak said jovially.

That was putting it lightly. Of the Aryaith, thought by many to be deities, Meirann was particularly cantankerous and generally horrible to everyone. Meirann took great delight in messing with people, wrecking a ship only to save all aboard or saving a ship but washing away all the crew. Even those who worshipped Meirann were more focused on directing his attention on others than themselves. Deahrinn was much easier to deal with, mainly due to the fact that apart from maintaining the huge twin maelstroms either side of Cri’Kigan and reeling in her brother’s excesses she didn’t care about much.

Of course this meant she didn’t really care about being worshipped or thought of as a goddess. No Deahrinn maintained the maelstroms and few had any idea of what would happen if she didn’t.

Those that lived in the oceans tended not to have much love for Meirann (unless they were wicked folk that aided Meirann in messing with land-dwellers). Deahrinn however was respected for her compassion any time she actually bothered to care about something.

In short, having Deahrinn’s attention tends to end well, and having Meirann’s tends to end badly.

Rwab snorted at Ivak’s statement. “Aye lad, and Deahrinn’s got her hands already full”

Claroosa rooted about in one of the bags she had at her sides. Finally she pulled out what seemed to be a small hand, palm open. It seemed to have been made by crushing various coinage together, In nortrieln’s case, an ironscar. A small coin of iron, supposedly the coins of Nortrieln were a weak charm against monsters, but few were willing to test the tale.

The hand made a few signs that Ivak could not understand, but Rwab did.

He got to his wooden feet, producing a bit of furious ticking.

Rwab silently lead them deeper into the ruins, round winding passage ways. Ivak began to feel the work of magic, he was sure that if he tried to go back now he would be lost amid endless passage ways or even find himself in Awarth the mirrorrealm, or even worse, Urlbris the labyrinthine underworld of shifting mazes.

It was undoubtedly a spell so that one might not find a way to and from the hideout of the Hands. Rwab moved steadily and purposefully on his noisy legs, so Ivak was at ease as he followed Claroosa and the old dwarf.

Ivak was not sure how long it was before they came upon a door that was a pair of clasped hands, it was possible the spell around the area also stripped one of their sense of time.

Regardless, Rwab sat down by the door, took out a pipe and after preparing it began smoking something that smelt of mint and salt, which gave off cyan smoke.

Claroosa stepped forward and presented the hand of coins to the door. There was a shudder and a crack and the handdoors unclasped, revealing deep darkness that could not be seen through.

Claroosa looked back at Ivak.

“If I may milord, it would be better if I did all the talking”

“Very well, though, you’ll have to tell me how you came to have that hand”

Claroosa made no promises and they went though the doorway. The Hands clasped behind them and they found themselves in the presence of some of the Lords and Ladies of the Hands.