Neadaigh

The Mercenaries Guild wasa bleak and dingy warehouse who's door could only be reached by navigating a narrow maze of alleys courts and streets where the  houses,  and grubby little shops crowded in and leaned on one another as if unable to support themselves. By day a noisy mass of crooks and drunkards, by night an area in which a stranger would have to be nothing short of a lunitic to walk alone to travel the ill-lit passages. The facade of the warehouse would never arouse suspicion, even in the most observant. It gave off the impression of disuse completely, the walls plastered with peeling paint and graffiti just like its neighbors... though a discerning eye might detect repeated symbols. The Diamond and square sigil of the Mercenary Guild the most prominent. Surely though only rats and a few desperate vagrants would settle here? Where the cracked windows and scarred brickwork told clearly of the building's decay.

Yet the Warehouse was known to a horde of villains, footpads, assassins, pickpockets, forgers, scoundrels, prostitutes, garroters, thugs, burglars, tricksters and the like as a place of utmost importance. Several hundred such 'kin and kith acquainted with the method for obtaining entrance to the interior of the building; the precise sequence of sharp raps on the small door almost invisibly set into the large wooden gates where once any amount of cargo and goods were brought in from the rivers and streets to be stored until carriage, ships or other transport had dispatched them. Immediately inside the doors the impression of a storehouse long unused remained. Though a small desk and a sitting room had been added to the main room, barely enough to be called a meeting place, but apparently it suited the Mercs.

It was only when one crossed the room and entered the door on the far wall that to even the closest inspection seemed to be rotting, insubstantial and flaking away that you stepped into another world. On the far side of the door was a huge room, steadily but faintly slanting down into the earth, filled with plain but sturdy wooden tables and benches. To the right a ruddy complexioned Denari man and an almost ethereally slight fairykin woman stood behind a counter dispensing hot soups, bread, teas and spirits. to the far left a stairway led up into the loft the Arch-rogues and the Spider lived in comfort that vied with the luxury of the noble district, and if one followed the steady slant downward you would find a series of simple, but comfortably furnished rooms. Travel farther still, and through several more magically enhanced wards and the catacombs began.

This is Neadaigh, the nest of the "Birds of a Feather" of crooked stripe and bent. This is the Den of thieves, and the Web of the Spider.

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