It was a cold night, although that perhaps didn’t say much as it was always cold on Aurora Celestis IV. The story snatchers, vulnerable as they were, required their colonies to be freezing and inhospitable to anything that grew. They also converted the skies from blue to dark clouds, flooding the atmosphere with moisture. Perhaps that’s why they were reviled so.

The streets were dark, as always, only faintly illuminated by halogen lamps on the upper floors. The human, a stark contrast to the surrounding aliens, walked ponderously. There wasn’t a need to hurry, it wasn’t like the night would come and usher in murderers and outcasts. It was always night. Instead the Story Snatchers, the covert guild, would roam, memory hooks and man-catchers at the ready. For the human, avoiding their gaze was as simple as sticking to the illuminated paths and avoiding the alleys.

The human suddenly stopped outside of a wooden building, a fluorescent sign indicating that the building was a bar. He pushed open the slightly rusty door, causing a screech that the patrons simply ignored. Unlike the human, they were almost all story snatchers. The people. Most of them were tall and lanky with spidery hands gingerly grasping solid metal mugs. One of the patrons looked up at the new arrival, all eight green eyes focusing on the human’s face. The patron’s face was unremarkable for a story snatcher, with large chelicerae and a pastel blue shell. Its left arm (the primary left arm, rather than the left hind-arm attached to its back) was gone. A stump with blackened flesh and an ash-like powder that flaked off with each minor movement took its place.

Arriving at the counter, a fat (if the term could even be correctly used) story snatcher gazed at the human. It spoke in a gurgling voice, clearly unaccustomed to speaking English. “What can I,” a brief gurgle, “get you?”

The human spoke in a relaxed, slightly rough voice that came with being a spacer.

“Hmmm, could I take a Ruby Wyvern’s Spit?”

“‘Course.”

Within seconds the fat bartender had created a Ruby Wyvern’s Spit, a drink made from the venom of a Ruby Wyvern and the blood of various exotic beasts. The venom would add a spicy flavour, although when improperly prepared could kill a man. As the human drank in silence, the strange story snatcher with a missing arm sat beside him.

“Curious choice of beverage you have there,”the spider-person spoke in a decent accent, with only slight clicks marring its speech.

“What of it?”

“Stories. They are banned here, extracted from the mind of those who speak them. Your choice of drink tells me a story, so I shall tell you one of mine. Before it’s gone forever.”

“I didn’t come here to hear the tale of some fucking drunk, I came hear to become said drunk.” The human was becoming exasperated.

“Suit yourself. But you, over there, would you care to listen?”

You look up from your cup to the story snatcher, unsure as to whether or not it would be worth your time to talk with drunks. Perhaps, you think, it might be worth hearing it out. At the very least the story of how it lost its arm might get a chuckle out of you.

“Sure,” you say to the spider. “I was a tale-teller before coming here you know. I assure you this will be worth your time. For the sake of this story, the person I will speak of is named Al’Corvo. Let us begin, shall we?”