Oh man I'm a rebel with my double posting. Anyway this post includes the updated first scene as well as what I've written for scene 2. (Fun fact: I wrote the last four lines while I was still halfway through the first scene; I built the scene so those lines would fit, basically. :D)
Note: I'm not going re-italicize all of the words on which there is emphasis... just imagine that the words that should have emphasis do.
Chapter 1
The dust-alley hadn't been swept out in days and it made for an absolutely breathtaking sight in the moonlight - it was only too bad that the frenzied mob were so focused on murdering their quarry that they took no notice of it.
"I think we've got him!"
Arin twisted deftly away from the mob of grasping hands and swung his makeshift club randomly into the fray, connecting with something that may have been an elbow. "Watch out, the Wrecker's got some towerstone!" a member of the mob, apparently slow on the uptake, called out.
"Filth and dust! Where did he pull that thing from?"
Arin flashed a toothy grin and said, "Wouldn't you like to know?" while continuing to back into the dust alley.
At this one of the more thickheaded members of the mob stepped forward and began angrily with, "Yes! We would like to-" before being shut up by his fellows.
"You really can't tell?" asked Arin with a condescending air of concern about him. When the mob responded by continuing forward menacingly Arin simply shrugged and said, "I guess I'll just have to brutally murder each and every one of you until those of you remaining do understand."
The speed with which the mob ceased moving forward was astounding, "What?" said the leader of the mob - one Lord Rikard - flatly.
Arin's grin broadened. "I'm an Architect, sir, surely you remember that much?"
Rikard's face reddened in embarrassment and a fair amount of anger. "I know exactly what you are, foolish Wrecker. Mine was one of the purses you cut, if you do recall." Rikard paused for a moment, letting his cronies chuckle at his witty retort.
"You have little reason to smile, Wrecker!" he spat when the Architect's grin didn't fade. "When the quarries run dry your people will serve no purpose and I'll be free to continue the glorious work of my forbears!" As an afterthought he added, "And you know as well as I do that your kind can no more channel your ancestral sorceries than I."
Several of the men in Rikard's mob voiced their agreement vehemently, "Lord Samurel took care of your lot long ago!" added one, eliciting even more agreement than the Lord Rikard's accusation.
"Oh Samurel sure did an excellent job," Arin agreed, "because if he hadn't, I would never be able to do... this." In a flash Arin's hand appeared to dart into the towerstone club and pull forth a sizeable dagger. "So..." he was silent for several moments as he performed a number of complicated twirls as if testing the balance of his new blade, "...who wants to test the effectiveness of Samurel's purge now?"
There was no answer. All that remained of the angry mob was a swiftly retreating rabble which happened to be carrying arms. Even the brave and noble Lord Rikard was backing away from the Architect, wide-eyed, not willing to take his eyes off the man for a moment, fearing the retribution he was sure would come. Arin rose his arm purposefully and almost languidly, making as if to throw the dagger his way. "You can run now, you know," he said.
The great lord required little prodding and with just one last fearful glance at the towerstone dagger, he was off - scrambling away with the speed of a man decades younger.
As Arin slid the dagger back into his sleeve he said , "Well that worked better than it had any right to. Someone owes me six quarter-nobles."
* * *
"It worked," Arin said matter-of-factly.
Syndra sat across from the haven's entrance in a battered chair that had probably been of fine quality at one point or another in the last century. How Arin hated that loathsome chair, Syndra had somehow turned an innocuous piece of furniture into an object that seemed to condemn him every moment it remained in the room. "That isn't the point, Arin," she began, predictably, "even Willan told you-"
"I thought I threw that chair out this morning," he interjected.
"And I bought it from a street urchin who had built a fort from it this afternoon," she said flatly. "Now, if you'll stop changing the subject maybe you can explain to me why you-"
Shutting the door behind him and moving to the table in the room's corner he asked, "Where did you get the money to buy it?" as if her second comment hadn't even registered in his mind.
Syndra played along, having long resigned herself to Arin's evasive maneuvers. "Your stash is never quite as well-hidden as you seem to think it is, Arin, now are you ready to tell me what possessed you to pull this stunt?"
Arin sighed and submitted, having long resigned himself to Syndra's stubbornness. "Why do you worry so much? It's not as if Rikard rules the city," he said, carefully removing his weapons from beneath his cloak.
"Yet, Arin, yet. You, and everyone else in the city, know that the old man won't make it more than a month, and what's to stop Rikard then? Do you honestly believe that the madman will be content with staying a Councilor the rest of his life?"
Removing his cloak slowly and deliberately Arin said, "There are other ambitious Councilors, Syndra, what's to stop one of them from seizing the city?"
"Are you really that dense, Arin? The other Councilors are afraid of the man, deathly afraid - which you would know if you listened to me for once and went out to the Noble's Circle for even a minute. He had no response for this so she pressed on, "And this is the man you provoked tonight with your silly tricks, and he also saw your face, Arin, and unless the man's thick as a stone wall he's going to have your description passed to all of the guards in the city. I just need to know why you had to risk so much over a diversion, what made this worth all of the-
Syndra suddenly stopped her criticism and blurted out, "You've been stabbed!"
"Have I? Angry mobs are prone to doing that when they get their hands on weapons, you know."
"But the dagger is still in your side..." she whispered, mortified.
Arin replied, "I hadn't noticed."