SEASON ONE BACKGROUND
Long, slow strides carried Obulus upon his path along the long corridor of the Mortician’s Guild. The faded stained-glass windows cast a murky, jaded light upon his form; washed out colours growing less remarkable with each aperture he stepped past, the day’s light gradually dying outside. At this hour, the menials would soon be found scurrying about lighting candles, the flickering lights of their lanterns casting unpredictable, strangely fluid shapes to break the blackness of the long corridors.
The Ferryman was, as always, in deep contemplation. Obulus was unique amongst the fraternity of Guild Ball players insomuch as he wielded a significant degree of power outside of the confines of the game itself. The role of a petty thug with little aspiration to call his own was not one that he entertained for himself. Since his acceptance into the inner circle of his guild, he had bent his considerable will to orchestrating a position of some influence.
At present, he was considering subject of delicate housekeeping required within his own guild. This was not a new development. Nothing in this rotting building ever moved quickly or suddenly. Obulus had learned this truth many years ago.
Obulus ruminated that to further the success of his machinations he would first have to find a way to circumnavigate the guilds authority; something that for all of his good standing, he was still subject to. He was convinced that the key was Magister Abendroth. The man’s immutable nature had long since been a tiresome barrier to Obulus’ own agenda. And so, each day, he bent his considerable will to brooding over how best to exploit the Magister and to press his advantage.
A figure approached, feet in slippers silently gliding along the stone tiles, the candelabra in his hand eerily lighting the underside of his face. It was Silence, the duplicitous apostate. Obulus knew that the man tried to create as ostentatious a display as possible when on guild business and the visage currently hurrying towards him was no exception to that rule. Obulus couldn’t quite keep his usual scowl from deepening and the corners of his mouth turned downwards a fraction further.
The idea came to Obulus at once, as he watched Silence approach, his head tilted downwards in silent obeisance.
He knew how to manoeuvre Abendroth into his pocket and simultaneously advance his own continued rise with the Mortician’s Guild. Loathe though he was to rely upon the actions of another, especially an entirely untrustworthy individual such as Silence, the man that almost stood before him would have a role to play here before being discarded as an expendable asset. Obulus could appreciate the efficiency of one scheme to remove two obstacles.
In an extremely rare occurrence, the Ferryman smiled.