The Secret of Prestor John

The door to the tavern scraped open and the sounds of raucous laughter seemed to flow out into the street. A man stumbled out, nearly falling down in his haste to escape whatever rowdy scene had just taken place within. He was a rotund fellow with a round red face and small eyes that were more often than not bleary and unfocused. He wore an unkempt beard that matched his shoulder length hair, both of which were liberally sprinkled with gray as he neared middle age. His breath reeked of cheap ale and his tunic smelled like it hadn’t been washed in weeks.

His gaze slowly traveled from the ground up as he tried to focus on what was around him. Drunk or not, he didn’t want to be caught unaware by any of the roaming thugs who would take delight in relieving him of some coin. The alley behind the tavern was dark and fetid, a foul smelling steam rising up from the refuse piled into the narrow passage between walls of crumbling brick. It was little better than a sewer, but it was one of several that cut through the back alleys of this part of town and its inhabitants had grown used to the stench.

The man staggered on towards another alley where he thought he might find a less malodorous path home. The alley mouth was almost directly across from where he stood looking around, so he began his journey over there, weaving unsteadily as he went.

Just as he stepped off the stone paving stones onto the dirt covered ground beyond, a hooded figure hurriedly emerged from the other alley and came up behind him at a run. The drunkard never saw it coming when suddenly something hard and cold smashed into his head from behind. He staggered forward for a few steps before collapsing face first onto the cobbles, unconscious before he even hit the ground.

The hooded figure quickly bent over and rolled the body over onto its back so that it could get a better look at its victim's face before anyone else spotted them lying there in plain view. They took hold of both sides of his tunic collar and lifted him up until his head lolled against their chest revealing a bruised forehead already starting to swell up. With one hand they reached inside their cloak and retrieved a knife, then they pulled down their hood with their free hand so they could see better while slicing open their victim's throat until blood began flowing freely out onto his clothes. In minutes they were finished and they wiped their knife clean on his tunic before re-sheathing it inside their cloak. They stood up straight again, wiping their bloody hands on his shirt as well before turning away to walk back out into the street beyond.

They had gone only two paces when they heard voices raised in alarm from somewhere nearby - someone must have found their victim lying by now! They turned around to see four or five men running towards them from across the street waving their arms about frantically as they shouted for help or for someone to call for the Watch or some other such thing; it meant nothing to this hooded figure hiding within their cowl as they turned about again to continue on down another narrow alley that led further away from danger deeper into this part of town where no one would notice them slip away into obscurity once more amongst these labyrinthine streets and hidden alleys filled with filth and decay where no one cared what happened here or why people like them were forced to live here away from all society's rules of decency and order by an uncaring world that couldn't be bothered to acknowledge its existence otherwise...