As with last year, I will be posting a piece of short fiction and an unreleased page image in time for the holidays. From now on, however, this will happen with the Winter Sale, when all Grindwheel Game products can participate in the promotion. Please enjoy the story, and have a great holiday season!
The Token
Amton hurried through the filthy streets, doing his best to avoid the Inquisitors and any desperate enough to kill him over the package he carried. His hands tightened around the pitiful bundle of meat, tucking it closer to his rags. As the oldest of the gang, it was his duty to deliver this year's token. With starvation and plague stalking the Low City of Roche Divine, they needed all the help they could get.
He ducked into a doorway without pausing. Speed would be key to his survival now. The dead, still air hung heavily as he approached the desk. He knew the ritual, whispered about by gang leaders and derelicts alike. He came to a stop, one hand hovering over the tarnished bell as the other kept a tight hold on the old beggar's severed foot.
He slapped his palm down on the bell. Ding! The sound of it echoed through the hollow, seemingly abandoned structure. Now he had to move again. His heartbeat thudded in his ears as he raced for the steps. Up he went, two at a time, while he fumbled in his pouch for the little, metal token. The words 'Bread, Please' were crudely scratched into the surface. He jammed it into the severed ankle as he reached the landing, just as he had been told.
He froze for an instant, scanning the darkness for threats, then began to make his way down the row of empty room. The stench was overpowering, but he had to get as far along as possible. Everyone in the district knew that the higher the room number you dumped your offering into, the more likely your prayer was to be heard. He passed the halfway point and hesitated. Surely this would be enough?
Something shifted in the darkness ahead, and Amton could not make himself go a step further. His bravery faltered, and he tossed his offering into the closest room, where it thudded down onto a pile of remains thankfully obscured in darkness. He turned...and stopped dead. They were already behind him.
His brief, terrified scream was ignored by the peasants in the street.
