Azrael's Stop: Prologue

8/3/2019 Azrael's Stop: Prologue

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Prologue



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They say that people come to the Stop when they’re ready to die.

They say that Death himself is a patron. Certainly, that’s where the

tavern got its name.

Azrael’s Stop. Watering hole for the Angel of Death.

There’s an altar in the corner, a white ash cabinet with a statue of theangel. It’s simple, but stands out—most taverns don’t have altars toDeath, after all.

They say you’re supposed to leave an offering on the altar, instead of

tipping. Not wanting to risk attracting Death’s attention, most do it.That’s also why most avoid the name, and just call it the Stop.

~

But that was all just rumour, and Ceph didn’t trade in rumour. He just served the drinks.

Only seventeen years old, small, thin, Ceph looked perpetually tired.

He’d seen a lot of death in his short life. Maybe that’s why he washere. No one really knew.

No one really knew much about the Stop—like why a hooded crowlived in the rafters of the common room. That’s why so manyrumours sprang up.

But they were just rumours, Ceph said.

Except, of course, that every couple of weeks, someone died atAzrael’s Stop.



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Losday, 30 Kornym, 1006 KR

Seventh Bell

The Stop was busy tonight. Outside the heavy oak door, the famous mists ofTheore City blanketed the metropolis in muffled quiet. Inside, the common roomwas kept warm by a slowly burning fire and the closeness of bodies, like thecramped space was designed to remind everyone that they were still alive.

Ceph poured an old dwarven tanner a glass of heavy Running River mead.

“Need a room? I haven’t seen you around.”

The dwarf shook his head, his grey braided beard swaying. “Nah, I live in town.

Just needed a new scene. Something calmer, y’know?”

“If you want calm, just don’t piss off the crow,” Ceph said, without a hint of asmile. The dwarf watched as the crow flew down from its perch, and stole adrink of whiskey from someone’s glass before flying away again. He snorted.

“How come it don’t caw, ever?” he asked.

“No one’s died yet.”

The dwarf stared at Ceph, but Ceph moved down the bar to help someone else.

~

Someone else might have asked the dwarf why the change of scene, but most ofCeph’s patrons didn’t like to talk about their problems.

Ceph had seen the darkness in the tanner’s eyes, the downcast look, theweariness. Someone close to him had died recently; the dwarf was here to grieve.

Alone, surrounded by people. As they all were at the Stop.

~



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“Ceph!” Old Tom said as Ceph brought another glass of whiskey fey to his oldestregular. “I meant to tell you, the shutter in my room was stuck this morning.”

Ceph wasn’t sure how old Tom was. He was probably in his seventies, thoughstill a big man, his hands engulfing the small glass. He’d had a few already,tonight—this was the third time he’d mentioned the shutter.

“Blame the crow,” Ceph said. “Something about a safety hazard. Don’t want youdying on us, eh?”

Tom laughed. When he had first come to the Stop a few months ago, he said he’dcome because he was ready to die. “I like you, Ceph. How’d you get so smart,being so young?”

“I was cursed by a gnomish warlock. I can still hear the ticking of his infernalclocks.”

Tom laughed again, and Ceph moved on.

He didn’t know much about Tom, but they got along. He didn’t want Tom to die.

Not like everyone else had.

~



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There was a momentary break in the orders for drinks, and Ceph leaned againstthe rack of bottles behind the bar. His hand automatically went to the copperamulet around his neck, the design it once bore worn smooth by his thumb overthe years.

He was tired. He was always tired.

His regulars wondered what had brought a seventeen-year-old kid to run a bar

like this. What they didn’t know was that he wondered the same.

He didn’t know where he was going. Barely understood where he’d come from,all he’d come through.

So much death.

It haunted him. He was always tired.

He watched the hooded crow. It cocked its head at him.

“I’m fine,” Ceph said under his breath, as if to the crow.

It’s what he told himself every day. At least working at the Stop was something.At least it kept him busy.

He was fine.

~



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Tenth Bell

Ceph was wiping down a table when they all heard the tenth bell chime.Conversation died, and in the moment of silence, the dozen patrons raised theirglasses, a nightly toast to the dead.

He’d barely returned behind the bar when the door opened, cool outside airmomentarily chilling them, like Death passing by. A woman in a heavy cloakentered, one hand holding the fabric tight around her, the other pulling the doorshut again.

She fell onto the stool at the bar. “Something strong,” she said. She lookedyoung—maybe in her early twenties. She might have been very pretty, Cephthought, but she looked worn. Like a newssheet, crumpled up and thrown on theside of the street to be trampled by horses.

Ceph poured her a shot of local gin. “A room?”

She shook her head, and downed the gin. Ceph poured her another. “Won’t bestaying that long, I think,” she said, her voice weak. She shivered. “It’s coldoutside.”

Ceph figured these thoughts were unconnected. “I can stoke up the fire, if thecrow lets me.”

She glanced at the hooded crow, and cocked an eyebrow with the slightest smirkon her face, then downed the second gin. When Ceph made to fill it again, sheshook her head.

“I used to like fire,” she said. “A lot.” She paused. “Too much, really. I burnedthings just to watch the flames dance...”

She didn’t look at Ceph as she spoke, and Ceph felt the weight in her voice ofthings carried too long. He knew it well. Knew that here in the Stop, the burdenoften proved too much.

“I was always careful. I knew the power of fire. I respected it.” She stopped.Then, “I waited until the family had left the house. I’d always wanted to burn abuilding. To see the flames claim a structure like that, to see them tear downwhat men had worked to put up... But—” She drew a ragged breath. “Theremust have been—the kid must have been asleep—I heard him scream...”



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Ceph looked away from her, suddenly disgusted. He was elsewhere, he couldstill see the fire of his childhood, the wood burning, the paint wilting. He couldsmell the smoke. He could still hear the screams. If only he’d...

“I ran,” the woman said, and her voice was a hoarse whisper, now. “Ran and

ran. That was five years ago. I’ve been running since. Every night I hear thatscream. It’s followed me. I haven’t been able to live ever since.

“Then tonight—a real scream this time. I was passing an alley, and saw mangrabbing a child, trying to rob her mother. And I realised... I couldn’t keep onlike I was. You can’t let one thing define you the rest of your life. You have tomove past it, move on. It doesn’t matter what came before—you choose what todo with the time given you.”

She coughed, a rasping cough.

Ceph frowned. She was sweating, he suddenly noticed. Pale.

“I grabbed him away from the kid...”

“Are you okay?” Ceph asked, as she coughed again.

She raised her hand up in front of her, the one that had been holding her cloakclose. It was crimson with fresh blood.

“I’ve been better.”

She fell off her chair.

Ceph ran around the bar as the patrons suddenly fell silent, gathering around.Ceph moved the cloak aside, saw a gaping wound in her side.

“How’s it look?” she gasped.

“I’m afraid the diagnosis isn’t good,” Ceph said. “You seem to have caught anasty case of knife-in-the-gut.”

She smiled, a sheen of sweat on her face.

“Sometimes,” she said through clenched teeth, “you do your best, and you getshit as a result.”



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Old Tom passed Ceph the bottle of gin, and he dribbled a little into her mouth.The others stood, silent. Most had seen enough death to know that it was toolate.

“The important part,” she gasped, “is that you do your best. Do well by others,

right? Go forth with dignity.”

“The kid?” Ceph said, quietly.

“They got away.”

Ceph nodded. “Then meet Azrael with dignity,” he said.

She closed her eyes, and the caw of the hooded crow rang in the silence.

~



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First Bell

The common room had emptied. The woman’s body taken away, the regularsgone home, Old Tom retired to his room. Silence filled the Stop in Azrael’s wake.

Ceph scrubbed at the floorboards. There would always be a stain, but he didn’tmind that. He thought she should be remembered.

He didn’t even know her name.

When the bar was full, Ceph could distract himself, could put on a brave face.He’d seen a lot of death, and it no longer fazed him. It was no longer anindividual tragedy, but the next stage of the journey. It surrounded him.

But alone with his work, his memories filled the emptiness, and he could distract

himself no more. That fire, the screams. But also the rock, the darkness. Theblood and swords. The sickness. Every time, he’d been spared. He had to livewith every one.

The hooded crow drank from one of the mugs left on the white ash cabinet. Hewalked toward it, causing the bird to flap up to the rafters.

He looked at the statue of the angel, and wondered if he’d ever see the white-eyed man again. Maybe he’d be stuck working at this bar for the rest of his life.Would he care if he did?

It wasn’t like it was much of a life to live, anymore.

But a part of him still wondered why he was here. Wondered if he’d ever get anyanswers. He’d long given up on getting any peace.

He picked up the whiskey fey Old Tom had left on the altar, and downed it,ignoring the burning in his throat.

He glanced at the crow, who seemed to be giving him a disapproving look, thenpicked up the rest of the drinks to take to his own room, preparing for anothersleepless night.

~

They said people came to the Stop to die.They said Death himself was a patron.sCeph didn’t trade in rumour. He just served drinks.

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Azrael's Stop: Prologue