Staying hidden in the attic was probably the smart thing to do. A city under sack was never safe, but they couldn’t be everywhere. He still heard the occasional sounds of distant screams, or the tramp of passing soldiers, but never too near. 

He wasn’t thirsty, you could, with a little ingenuity, if not much dignity, Create Water into your own mouth. And wash off the blood in the same way. It would be better if he had a flask, or even a cup, but he’d not planned that well.

He didn’t have any food either, but he knew you could last much longer without food than water. He’d gotten too used to being wealthy and safe, gotten out of the habit of carrying food everywhere. Stupid.

Mid-morning he risked a peek out through the gap in the roof, dagger in hand and Invisibility on his lips. But hadn’t seen anyone. Looking towards the shore the skyline was full of smoke, like the Galtans had burnt half the city.

Was the Break safe from fire? It was almost all wood. But being above the sea should help shouldn’t it? And half of it was damp with rot anyway. He vaguely remembered there had been plans to drop parts of it as firebreaks. Hopefully the Galtans were smart enough to do similar. Unless they were setting fires deliberately, wanting to sack and burn the city then flee before Her Majesty’s army fell upon them.

Lacking a better idea, he nailed back the boards and returned to the attic. He was restless. Strange as it was with no food and a night of fragmented sleep he couldn’t sit down.

He paced the attic and examined the walls. In the jagged light coming through the gaps in the ceiling he could see the marks on the walls a bit better.  There was another of the star mark he’d followed, but larger, and carved with a bit more care. For the star itself they’d left the pale wood visible, but around it someone had rubbed the wood with charcoal darkening it, making the rough shape of a mask with the star as one eye. He belatedly made the connection with the book of Norgorberite theology he’d found in that confiscated book.

Norgorber wasn’t a permitted God in Cheliax. But that might just be because the Church didn’t want to encourage the peasantry to commit crimes? Vyre was said to be ruled by Norgorber cultists, and it was part of the empire, always had been. And Norgorber had probably been a subject of the empire as well in that case?

What he’d read of the book sounded pretty Asmodean, all about getting what you wanted by trickery. A bit more emphasis on outright lies than the exact words that Lawful Gods preferred, and on surreptitious murder over Tyranny. But that was only to be expected for one of the Starstone Gods, risen above humans but still weaker than Asmodeus.

But Norgorber could still serve Him, like Dispater or Abadar. They would certainly be allied against the Good gods, and Asmodeus wouldn’t have led Orgull to this place if they were opposed. 

As such he said a brief prayer of thanks to Norgorber. Adapting one of the litanies used for the Archdevils, with every second line reinforcing that this was all done in the service of Asmodeus, the greatest of Gods.

Late in the afternoon, he heard drunken singing slowly approaching below. Galtan soldiers wandering down the street, smashing open warehouses as they went.

Abby was a sorcerer
Way hey ya
A sorcerer a blasphemer
Ab-bey Thrune

Abbey’s Queen o’ Chel-ee-ax
Way hey ya
She learned ta make them devils dance.
Ab-bey Thrune!

Could be take them? Probably not. 

Not enough time to lever the boards away, not without making a noise. 

Sucked ol’Asmody’s cock
Way hey ya
Now she’s Queen O’Chel-ee-ax
Ab-bey Thrune! 

In Galt we whipped her good
Way hey ya
Andoran said no thank you 
Ab-bey Thrune! 

Now Cyprians come knocking
Way hey ya
Take her crown and country too
Ab-bey Thrune!

A muffled discussion outside, then a wet crumpling from the door.

He crept into the furthest back corner, and burned one of his precious Invisibilities

The sound of footsteps and rummaging below. 

“Nothing in here, just empty barrels and stink of piss”

“We should still look around. Might be somethin’”

“Yeah I bet there’s a dozen Chelish sluts with bottles of fine Andoran whisky. Probably behind that barrel there, just waiting for your ugly cock.”

Laughter from the others.

“Better mine than yours, whatever nasty pox you got from that ugly whore last night.”

More laughter.

“Come on, let’s go. There’s more fun down at the docks.”

The singing resumed now repeating

Cyprian had 500 soldiers
Cyprian had 500 soldiers
Cyprian had 500 soldiers 
Marching in step! 

With laughter each time. The joke of shoving one another at the final line apparently never getting old. 

The sound faded as they got further away.