In The Crosshairs

[Ebon Ilnaren]

The Arena, midday, 24 january 2022

Standing in the quiet of the empty Arena, Ebon regarded the note on the corkboard. Two words. You're challenged. So simple, and yet with so much enigma behind them. He did not know Caleb particularly well, enough for a nod or brief greeting, a casual comment . No deeper connection. Yet he knew enough of the man to understand that this challenge was not personal. Caleb was a professional. He issued challenge, as with other deeds, under contract.

That meant that someone out there wanted Ebon out of the Overlord's seat.

Two questions, then. Who, and why?

He considered the Barons, but none of them seemed likely candidates. Anubis may or may not think much of him, but he wouldn't hire another to do what he could quite easily do himself. That held true for Karma, too, and especially Mira. Indeed, the Baron of Dockside might well be one of his loudest cheerleaders come the evening, because she didn't want him to lose the title until she had a chance to challenge him herself. That thought had Ebon grinning, but it quickly faded. No, none of the Barons would have taken such a secretive, backhanded path to ousting him.

So who did?

Moving to the bar, untended at such a time, Ebon stepped through the break to prepare himself some tea, something to soothe his mind and help him think. He was certain there would be no point in asking Caleb who had hired him; after all, the man was a professional. He would not give up his clients. So Ebon was left wondering, who? Over the past two decades and more since he came to Rhydin, he had made his share of enemies/ Many of them were dead, or vanished like Cain, or simply wouldn't use such oblique approaches, like Renna.

His thoughts drifted back through memories, of the various would-be muggers he'd humiliated in the back alley behind the Red Dragon, of thugs and slavers and brigands he'd brought to justice by means fair or foul. He remembered Renna once telling him that the Bhaalites wanted him dead... but, once again, they wouldn't resort to such tactics. They'd simply strike, hard and fast. Perhaps Cain, after all? He would surely love to have Ebon in his grasp once more, and he was one for playing the long game.

"No." Ebon startled himself by speaking aloud, and took a long drink of his tea, savoring the aroma and the heat of it. No, whoever has me in the crosshairs now, it's not any old foe or would-be nemesis. He didn't know why he was so certain, be it instinct or something in the air, but he was sure that this was someone new who wanted him off his game, for whatever reason.

"Well then," and a smile spread across his face, "I'll just have to do my best to disappoint them." Finishing his tea, he washed out the mug and set it to dry, then left the bar before crossing to the stairs heading up and out.