2 comments/ 18363 views/ 3 favorites A Harlot's Tale Ch. 01 By: erusian Thylisa threw back her head, moaning in mock ecstasy. The pot-bellied innkeeper, puffing and grunting in his efforts, blew his rancid, ale-tainted breath in her face. She stifled an urge to vomit. 'By Necanta's blood', she thought to herself, wincing as he thrust his bulbous member into her, 'this is the last time I suffer this pig's affections. This cesspit of a room isn't worth it. I'd rather trust my fortunes in the streets of the Bazaar!' Drops of sweat from his bloated face fell to her chest. She felt a sickeningly warm, filthy stream of the stuff collect between her breasts and then slowly meander down to her belly. Thylisa braved a glance at his visage. 'Good', she thought, 'not much longer'. The man's face contorted into a mask of almost comical exertion. Suddenly, he ripped himself from her. With a grunt he clambered up on his knees, positioning himself on her chest. Grasping his manhood in hand, he grinned a toothy smile at Thylisa, reveling in her fury. 'No! Gelik, ya cursed bastard!' Thylisa aimed a blow at his groin -- and connected. With what sounded almost like a squeak, Gelik fell with his full weight on top of her. Ever color of the spectrum flashed behind her eyelids all at once. 'You... filthy... whore,' he wheezed. 'Ya shouldn'ta done that, ya little bitch.' Thylisa couldn't breathe. She hammered her tightly-clenched fists into his ribs, to no avail. 'No bones -- just fat,' she thought. Gelik was recovering quickly. Much to the girl's relief he lifted his massive bulk off her chest. Air rushed back into her lungs. That heavy, pungent, humid air was the sweetest breath she had ever taken. 'I... I couldn't breathe, damn you!' she hissed at him. Her words never made it through the thick blanket of rage that had wound itself around Gelik's brain. 'No... ya shouldn'ta done that, Thylisa. Now I jus gotta teach you a bita respect for your elders.' Gelik tried to grab both of her wrists, but only managed to trap her left hand in his sweating paw. Her right hand shot toward his groin again, but this time the old man would not be taken by surprise. Again he landed all his weight on top of her her, trapping her arm between them. Redyellowbluegreenpurpleblack swam chaotically through her mind. Behind this veil of color, something was taking form, very shadowy at first... YES! With a speed that Thylisa hadn't credited him with, Gelik rolled off her and stood by the bed. He had managed to get a better grip on her left wrist, and with that he jerked her off the small bed. She landed in a heap on the floor. He still clutched her wrist firmly. It was throbbing. 'Get up! Get up, ya miserable cur bitch,' Gelik yelled at her. She looked up at him and saw that he was smiling -- almost laughing. 'He's enjoying this,' she thought acidly. 'The filthy pig's enjoying this.' He pulled her roughly to her feet. Her body collided against his. His hands went to her shoulders and held her like meaty vices. He lifted her up, looking into her striking green eyes. 'Ya have much ta be thankful ta me for, you ungrateful slut. Not two cycles ago I took ya in. Ya didn' have a pip ta yer name. Ya didn't know anyone in Corici!' he shouted. 'But I gave ya a roof o'er yer head and food in yer belly, and look what ya do ta thank me! Didn't yer mother ever teach ya not ta piss in the pot from which ya eat?' He summoned phlegm from the depths of his chest and spat in her face. Before she could react he launched her against the wall. Her head thudded against the slightly rotted wood. She leaned heavily against the wall, dazed and disoriented. This time there were no colors, but the shape that had been forming revealed itself in shadowy relief. RELEASE ME, SISTER! The voice that was not really a voice -- more like a wave of subconscious breaking on the rocky shores of her pained awareness -- seemed to be coming from what appeared through the shadows to be ruins. Yes ... a tall, crumbling keep built into the side of a mountain. Something was wrong...yes, something was very wrong. It was...all the anger. All the hate... It became difficult for Thylisa to distinguish her surroundings. She was in her room at the Inn of the Spitted Kid, standing in front of its proprietor -- and at the same time...her shadow ('Yes, that must be it,' she thought) was standing among ancient broken battlements and toppled columns, very far away. Her head spun with the force of the blow. Gelik cocked his fist back to strike her again. Slowly drifting through the flame-blackened arches, past the shattered iron-bound doors, into the keep... All the hate... Pain erupted from her jaw. She couldn't look. She couldn't stand to see that mocking smirk on his face. She... hated -- yes -- hated that cocky, pig-lipped smirk. Down the stairs. Spiraling down. ...let him feel it. He grabbed a handful of her dark tresses. He yelled something as he yanked her away from the wall, but she couldn't hear him. He was so far away... Through the locked and barred chamber door, like a spirit -- like a shadow. Into the dark. There... in the center of the room...an altar? No, it's a deep pit -- or a well of some kind. Let him feel the hate, sister... The shadows in the vision slowly seeped in to join the shadows in the room, like bandits preparing for an ambush. They crept slowly... stealthily from the corners, from beneath the bed, from behind the cupboard, centering the focus of her rage on the image of this despicable slug of a man. What little light that seeped into Thylisa's room had become suffused into crimson, dancing with the ghastly shadows. A searing pain impaled her senses, still she kept her gaze steadily on the fat, miserable vermin that she hated so very, very much. Something was written around the stone rim of the pit. If she could just read those words... Frustration welled up inside her. Feed the hate... Thylisa had not learned to read. ...let it go...speak your heart... Thylisa stood, trembling in the middle of the room. Gelik was yelling at her, his hand raised to strike. She couldn't hear him. Her head hurt, her left eye was swollen, she was sure that her jaw was cracked, and more than anything else in the world, she wanted to see Gelik in pain. She wanted to see him 'DIE!', she screamed. 'Ya'd like that wouldn-' Gelik never finished his statement. His eyes shot wide open, his hands clutched his gut, which was swelling beyond its already tremendous proportions. The master of The Spitted Kid stumbled back against the wall of the tiny room, reaching blindly for the door. His body heaved... once... twice... and with the force of a seadragon's breath, Gelik vomited. Ale, food, and bile flooded from his mouth. His agony did not, however, end there. He staggered in circles and finally dropped to his knees as thick white liquid issued from every orifice. Thylisa stared in horror. She had seen men die, it was almost too common, but not like this... and what's more, this time the dead man's blood would be on her hands. Gelik turned to her, a pleading look in his eyes, the mucous-like substance oozing down his face. He looked like a thing from some twisted demon's nightmare. His hands went to his throat, his swollen body convulsed as he hit the floor with a smack. The convulsions continued well after the breath of life had fled him. Thylisa stood for a moment,still sobbing, not quite sure what to do. She took a deep breath to compose herself and began to dress, trying to block the horrid scene from her mind. She pulled on a low cut blouse and fumbled with the laces of her bodice. As she fitted her skirts around her waist, a sickening thought crept upon her. She knelt beside Gelik's corpse, and felt of the white liquid. 'It feels right,' she said under her breath,'but there's only one way to be sure.' With a grimace, Thylisa touched the end of her finger, covered with the slick ooze, lightly to her tongue. She stood as wave of nausea welled up inside her. There was no mistaking it. Gelik had drown on his own semen. 'Ai! By Necanta... what have I done?' she whispered shakily as she gathered what little possessions she owned into her pack. Her motions were mechanical, thoughtless, her mind unable to spend effort on anything but fear and confusion. A thousand unanswerable questions stormed through her brain. Pausing, she forced her questions and her fears to the back of her mind, locked away until she could find the answers. As she wrapped her scarlet sash around her waist, she managed a smirk in Gelik's direction. She gathered her things, and after pausing once to spit on the innkeep's still twitching corpse, Thylisa left the inn and tavern known as The Spitted Kid and stepped out into the streets of Corici. * * * Corici was, by appearances, a beautiful, glorious city set upon a majestic isle, swathed in gentle mists in the center of Lake Gelidmere. Here stood the legendary towers known to the world as Shadoeholde. Necanta's onyx and silver temple reached high into the lavender sky of Agrond from its foundations on the highest tier of Corici. From its opulent center courtyard flowed the Fountain of Souls, which meandered through and down each of Corici's four tiers, to finally empty its watery life into the welcoming arms of Gelidmere. Sadly, the beauty of Imperial Coricia ended at the outlying shores of the vast lake. Most of the land in southern Coricia was parched and barren. What little was grown there had to be shipped off to Corici to feed its overbearing populous. Farther north the land was a bit more wholesome, but rogue nomads, bandits, and beasts -- malign and spiteful -- plagued the area and refused to pay tribute to the empire. The legions had been at war with them since the draught began nearly twenty summers hence. This, coupled with the ages-old war against the elvin kingdom of Renelaun to the west had taxed heavily on the once mighty empire. Many leagues to the south, a gleaming diamond in a sea of ashes, stood Corici, the Gem of Agrond, the Garden of the Goddess, the seat of the Corician Empire, wrapped in the blanketing safety of Gelidmere's magical mists... Corruption often hides behind a mask of benignity, however, and it thrived within the heart of these vapors, on the lowest of Corici's four tiers, where the mists were heavy and putrid. Various hot springs (the source of the mists) bellowed steam into the air, trapping the stench of poverty and decay beneath the beautiful blanket of white. Thylisa made her way through the streets of this lower tier, known as the Beggars' Quarter, toward the southwestern shore of Corici, toward a makeshift city of tents and shanties called the Bizarre Bazaar. The Bazaar was a fairly new addition to the city. Many seasons of both verbal and physical battle between the Merchants' Guild and the rogue citizens of the Beggars' Quarter finally ended with Imperial intervention in favor of the later. The Bazaar was an immense winding maze which housed taverns and brothels and vendors and such, selling everything from jewelry and perfumes to weapons and devices of torture. The streets were teeming with activity. Most of Corici's inhabitants were human, but certainly not all. For the most part, the various races were free to come and go and kill or die as they pleased, with exception to one race in particular... Even now as Thylisa worked through the throng of people, a drove of elvin slaves hurried past her, pulling an 'aphthan' (which was a sort of passenger cart often utilized by those persons who made a living off the elvin slave trade in some fashion), spurred on by the razor sharp crack of their slave-mistress' whip. The driver of the aphthan, a slightly large, older woman, recognized Thylisa's occupation by the scarlet sash riding her hip, and extended a smile and nod of invitation to the girl. Instinctively, Thylisa smiled as she looked into the woman's eyes. They were glazed and bloodshot. Sores had taken hold of the corners of her eyes and across the bridge of her nose. Thylisa had befriended a girl at the inn who died from the effects of the addictive 'theflyn' root. She had looked much the same as this slaver in her elf-drawn aphthan. Bowing politely, but averting her eyes in declination, Thylisa continued on her way. Her decision to turn the slave-mistress' offer down was not in her best interest, she knew. The Slavers' guild was one of the more prominent guilds in the city and certainly the most powerful here in the Beggars' Quarter. It did not behoove one to deny the whims of one of its guildmembers. She was fortunate this time, the woman was lost in the haze of the theflyn and immediately disregarded her. Had she been sober, the woman could have very easily stopped her aphthan and flogged (or killed!) the harlot there on the street, and no one would have paid a bit of mind to it. Thylisa recognized the risk, but with circumstances in their present state, she had to find help. She knew only a few people in Corici, having arrived only a half season earlier, and no one she knew was reliable... but what's a girl to do? She turned onto Via Aquina, the main drag in the Quarter, stretching from the Merchants' District through the Harbor District and into the Bazaar. The sun was setting and the twin grey moons of Agrond were climbing the sky to take its place. Thylisa quickened her pace - the harbor wasn't a friendly place after sundown. Via Aquina skirted the coastline. The Merchants' District, where Thylisa presently made her way, was fairly well populated. Although it was all too common for assailants to come upon the unwary pedestrian with almost frightening blatancy; it was equally common for those assailants to be cut to ribbons by locals, not wanting the vermin around scaring off business. In the area of the harbor there were fewer shops, and at the western end, more taverns - thus fewer 'honest' people and more drunken thugs. Thylisa entered the Harbor District with more than a little trepidation. To her left, she saw the first of the long line of wharves, occupied by crafts varying from makeshift rubbish scowls to giant Corician man-o'-wars upriver from Valinosti. To her right stood a row of abandoned taverns and inns, having fallen into disuse as the nightlife of the Quarter moved from the Harbor District to the Bazaar, at the western end of Via Aquina. Thylisa drew her arms across her chest in effort to buffer the chilling winds that steadily blew in from the lake. Again she increased her pace through the ill-boding place. Far ahead she saw the warm yellow glow from the lights of open taverns, marking the end of the harbor and the beginning of the Bazaar. A sharp blast of a horn to her left made her heart jump to her throat. In her panic she dropped her pack, spilling its contents on to the cracked paving stones. The clear hailing of the ship's forward watchman dissolved her fear. She knelt, gathering her things into her pack, watching the merchant vessel pull into the wharf. With a sigh of relief she shouldered her pack and continued on, entering the Bazaar at last. ''ell now laddies, what 'ave we got 'ere? A right 'andsome trollup, it seems, 'eh?,' Brandil's boys snickered as they watched the Thylisa's well-figured silhoutte pass through the torchlit arch that greeted customers to the Bazaar. ''twould seem real pi'y for th' lass ta go on unescor'ed like 'at, don't ya think Brandil?' Finch'd had more than his share of 'root' earlier that night and occasionally found need to support himself on Derth's shoulder. Derth was not so ready to offer that support and nudged his lethargic half-orc compatriot to the side more than once. ''ell then...I think it's time ta make our introductions, shall we lads...' Brandil stepped out of the tavern door into the street, the others followed in suit. Thylisa saw the three men walking toward her,'No, not now ya filthy bastards,' she muttered under her breath. She looked to see if there was anyone around to aid her. There wasn't. Everyone was packed in the taverns, hooting and hollering and gambling and who knew what else. She tried to alter her course to head into a tavern heralding the sign 'Bonnie Lark', but the thugs intercepted too quickly and now surrounded her from all sides. 'Look now m'lady, were not 'ere ta do ya 'arm. We're jus' simple lads out ta 'ave a bit o' drink. Ya look a li'l lost so were jus' off'rin' our services, right chums?' Finch and Derth grinned as they nodded agreement. 'I'd be more than happy ta accept your most gracious offer, gentlemen, unfortunately I'm on my way to meet with an officer o' the Corician Corps. I certainly wouldn't want ta keep him waiting,' Thylisa maintained an even, controlled tone as she concocted her ruse. Brandil didn't buy it. As the other two followed his lead and closed in around the girl, he said,'Aye, that'd be a sure pi'y, but ta be 'onest I don' give a beggar's wealth abou' your previous obligations, wench. Now why don' ya walk real casual-like wi' us ta yonder alley an' share a bit o' yer wares with us, lass?' Thylisa began to feel the same queer feeling she had experienced in her struggle with Gelik. With tremendous effort of will, she suppressed it, still very afraid of... whatever it was. ''xcuse me, lads,' a voice came from behind Thylisa, she turned to face her newest threat. 'Ya wouldn' 'appen ta 'ave a pip o' copper or two ya could spare an ol' sailor 'ard on 'is luck, 'eh?' The beggar walked with a slight limp, as if one leg was shorter than the other. Brandil and Derth turned to face the man, Finch kept a slightly blurred eye on the girl. 'Can't ya see we're busy 'ere? Now bugger off, ya cretin, b'fore I give ya a clubbin' in th' eye!' Brandil kicked some dirt at the wretch. The man stumbled back, almost losing his balance. 'Forgive me m'lord, sorry ta bother ya. Good eve to ya,' the man headed off from whence he came. Thylisa knew she wouldn't get another chance to escape. She swung her pack at Finch and tore off toward the Bonnie Lark as fast as she could. Finch had grabbed her pack when she tried to hit him with it. It would be futile to wrestle a half-orc. Thylisa released her hold on her pack. It didn't matter, if only she could make it to the tavern... Derth was the first to catch her. As he grabbed her, she spun around, clawing at his face. He caught her wrists and began pulling her back out into the street to where the other two waited like predators, ready to feast. At first she thought that the drunken idiot had spewed his guts in her face. The warm, wet stuff was in her eyes. Derth released his grip on her. She quickly wiped her face, thinking 'No, not again...'. She opened her eyes to see Derth fall to his knees, the point of a long, thin-bladed knife protruded from his neck, through his windpipe. He made a kind of gurgling sound as he struggled for his last breath, and then fell face forward onto the paving stones. Thylisa looked to the other two in time to see Brandil fall as well, a similar blade embedded deeply in his forehead, and another in his belly. The beggar had returned, his staggering gait replaced with quicksilver grace. Finch, with her pack still in hand, bolted down the street. The beggar fluidly unsheathed two more blades from beneath his rags and let them fly at the drunken man. They both hit solidly, one behind each knee. Finch screamed as he fell, writhing in the street. The beggar walked casually to the man and placed his knee on Finch's head. 'Well, my friend, it's really too bad that you won't live long enough to benefit from the lesson you've learned here tonight,' the beggar pulled a shorter, thicker knife from its sheath behind his back. Finch was still cursing as the ragged man slit his throat. Thylisa watched, dumbfounded, as the man pulled her pack from Finch's twitching fingers and slung it over his shoulder. With consistent nonchalance he disengaged his knives from Finch and Brandil, cleaning the blades on their respective victims before sliding them back into their cleverly concealed sheaths. A Harlot's Tale Ch. 01 Thylisa stammered in her best High Speech,' M-my sincerest gratitude, sir. If I may ask, what is your name?' The man seemed to pay her no mind as he walked to Derth's body. He placed his foot on the dead man's back and reached down, pulling the knife free. 'Good eve, milady,' he smiled, a quick, emotionless gesture. Placing his last blade in its proper place, he walked past the girl and into the Bonnie Lark. A Harlot's Tale Ch. 02 The Bonnie Lark was one of the most frequented pubs in the Bazaar. Callous slipped through the crowd and found a table near the bar. He sat across from a snoring dwarf, who had obviously indulged a bit more than was wise. Callous slipped the dwarf's still full mug from his hand and drank, waiting for the girl to follow him in. The tavern was uncomfortably packed. A high stake game of lots was on, in which a laborer had gambled a season's service against a night with a merchant's three elf-maids. Elvin females were a rare commodity in Corici and highly valued as pleasure slaves. Many of the patrons had gathered round the men, yelling taunts and cheers in typical drunken fashion. It took the girl a while to find him. He watched as she strained her way through the crowd, looking for the 'beggar'. 'She's quite pretty', he thought, 'it's really too bad...' She eventually found him, and he noticed that she immediately changed her countenance to an expression of utmost self-confidence. The girl smiled to him as she approached the table. Callous stood and crossed to stand behind the chair in which the dwarf sat slumbering. He tilted the chair to one side and the dwarf slid onto the floor, where he mumbled a bit about 'the stupid imperial' something or other, and then carried on, snoring away. 'Welcome, Thylisa,' he said, offering her the newly vacated chair, 'Sit, my dear. We have much to discuss.' 'Wait, 'ow do ya know my name? Who are you?' Thylisa stood back, ready to run if need arose. 'Fine,' he said, taking his seat, 'let 'them' find you, I certainly don't care.' Callous put the mug to his lips, drinking deeply. Thylisa sat, her curiosity outbalancing her apprehension. She didn't like the way he stressed the word 'them'. 'All right, ya got me. Now what're ya talking about? Who are 'they', and why is anyone lookin' for me?' 'My, my... aren't you the inquisitive one...' he said as he beckoned to a barmaid. 'No details yet, my sweet, first we drink. This place isn't safe for such talk, most of these people would sell their souls at the drop of a few crescents.' The barmaid was young, about fourteen summers, and rather unkempt. Callous recognized her accent, as it was a harsher slang than that of Corici. The lass hailed from Balifor, same as the three dead men lying in the street outside the door. 'Wha' can I get ya? We're ou'a anythin' cold, our ice spell's on th' blink again,' the girl smirked at her own sarcasm. Magic even as routine as ice spells was all little more than a childhood memory to her now. 'A horn of ale for myself and a goblet of red for the lady.' 'Four crescents fifty,' the girl said. She stared oddly at the man. One certainly did not expect proper speech (or silver, for that matter) from a beggar. The slight girl extended her grubby palm. Callous counted four silver crescents and two brass pieces from Brandil's purse into the girl's hand. 'Graces, m'lord,' the girl attempted a clumsy curtsey and flitted off to the bar. Thylisa leaned across the table,' Look, I appreciate what ya've done, but I haven't time for this. I don't know who ya are, or how ya know me, but I've a lot of things to take care of at the moment. So if ya'd be so kind as ta return my pack ta me, I'll be leaving.' An inferno flashed through Callous' eyes as he spoke to her. 'You have quite a few more things to worry about than you think, whore!' He closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them, the fire was gone. He settled back into his chair, the mask of comfortable amusement had returned. 'I do hold you at somewhat of a disadvantage in that I know who you are...and you haven't the slightest idea who I am. I like that.' He smirked. 'However, I am not unkind. You may call me... Callous,' he smiled again, and almost to himself, 'Yes. Callous... that will do nicely.' The barmaid returned, carefully balancing a drink-laden tray. Callous thanked her before she dove back into the sea of screaming drunkards. Anticipating her reaction, Callous casually slipped one hand over Thylisa's. He sipped his ale before he spoke. She followed his example, uncertain how she should respond to his touch. 'For now, I will tell you only that I am the most efficient thief in the city, and I have been hired by some rather influential persons to escort you to your execution.' Thylisa gagged. Her mouthful of wine nearly went all over the table. She tried to get up, to run away. Callous crushed her hand painfully in his grip. 'Sit, woman!' there was nothing jovial in his voice. Thylisa took her seat. He leaned close to her, 'I cannot explain at the moment, but you are no longer safe in this city. I have found it to be in my best interest to help you, and you will live, but only if you sit here like a good little wench and finish your wine.' Callous released her hand. Once again he settled back in his chair and drank from his horn. The girl trembled slightly as she drank, occasionally peering over her cup at him. Callous could imagine the thoughts running rampant through her mind. The thief smiled at her again. As the two walked out of the Bonnie Lark, they were followed by four orcs, carrying the man who owned the slave girls. He had lost, but refused to make good on his bargain. He did not struggle as they carried him around the side of the building, as he was quite dead. Callous' eyes scanned the bodies of his three victims. Street urchins had stripped them of everything they owned. The thief knew that by morning the bodies would be gone. People tended to get very hungry in the Bazaar. They plunged into the maze, and Callous spoke to her as they walked. 'Let's see... where to start... There is much more to you than you know. I myself found most of it unbelievable, but after your little display this afternoon, I have decided to keep a more open mind about such things. 'What? How do ya know about that?' Thylisa tugged on his sleeve, whispering harshly. 'Well now, I've only been watching you for a whole cycle. I'm still shocked that you don't recognize me,' Callous smiled, 'after all, I've visited your bed twice already.' Thylisa stopped. 'You what?!' She started to storm off, but then remembered that she had nowhere to go. This arrogant, insidious man infuriated her, but if he was telling the truth, she had no choice but to trust him. Thylisa hated feeling trapped. 'Calm down, Thylisa, it was a jest,' he looked at the dark-haired girl, she had set her jaw and glared straight ahead, fuming. 'Now, as I was saying... It seems that you are greatly favored by the Mother. In fact, at one time there was a scroll deep in the vaults of Necanta's temple that was written all about you, my dear girl.' 'And just how can ya expect me ta believe that?' 'Wait, allow me to finish. I say 'at one time' because it's no longer there. It is now in my possession. I shall let you read it a bit later, if you're good.' Thylisa snapped her head to the side so she wouldn't have to look at him. Callous shook his head, 'But I digress... Now, as it happened, our good emperor Kaine summoned me to the Citadel and, much to my surprise, fattened my purse quite a bit. Without telling me any details, which I didn't necessarily appreciate, Kaine directed me to follow and then deliver you to him on the eve of All Seasons'. Then, I am certain, he plans to turn you over to the Shadoewatch. I believe that Mistress Ylaine plans to dispatch you in their... usual manner,' Thylisa didn't know what he meant by 'their usual manner', but was afraid to ask. They turned off Via Aquina now, and headed north, toward the cliff that formed the second tier. 'I'm cold, can I have my pack?' Callous unshouldered her pack and handed it to her. She withdrew her shawl and wrapped it about her shoulders. 'So what now? Ya said that 'it was in your best interest ta help me', but then ya say ya've been paid ta bring me to Kaine so he can do... whatever. I'm confused.' 'Of course you are, my sweet' 'I wish ya'd stop calling me that.' 'Too bad. Now, what you don't know is that following orders is not my forté, so I took it upon myself to do a bit of research on you. That twisted path eventually led me into the vaults of Shadoeholde, and slinking into Necanta's temple is not an easy task, I assure you. There I found the fruit of my labors, a parchment entitled 'The Scroll of the Avatar', which you shall read in a few moments.' They had almost reached the edge of the Beggars' Quarter, where a ninety foot cliff rose to bear the weight of the Merchants' Quarter, Corici's second tier. The houses here were all rather small and cramped together. The roofs were all flat, and Thylisa could see that some had various degrees of gardening attempted on them. Callous led her to one of the tiny hovels and fit a key to the door. 'If you're the 'most efficient thief in the city', why do ya live in this place? It's more fittin' ta a two-pip thug' Callous smiled as he turned the key and opened the door. 'I have my reasons,' he said. While the outside of Callous' home was a dump, the inside was a palace. Silver statues sat atop short marble columns. Antique paintings and tapestries adorned the walls. Hand carved furniture rested on an intricately designed rug which spanned the floor. Light emanated from silver lamps hung about the place. Everything was clean and meticulously placed. Thylisa stood, speechless. 'Not bad for a two-pip thug, wouldn't you say?' Callous called from the adjacent room. 'It's... it's absolutely beautiful, Callous. I don't understand. This is all worth so much. I mean, I could live off this for a lifetime or more,' Thylisa sank down into the plush couch. It felt wonderful to relax after the day's ordeal. 'You, my dear, are destined for much greater things. Come, I want you to read this.' When she entered Callous was no longer garbed in his beggar's rags. He now wore loose black pants with high black-leather boots. A long-sleeved grey tunic was worn beneath a darker grey hooded cloak. He had cleaned himself up, and now looked a little younger, Thylisa guessed about twenty-eight. His reddish-brown hair was pulled into a topknot, which hung down to his collar. He was actually quite handsome. She felt more secure now that she was near him. The tension waned from her face. 'Go on. Stop gawking and read the damn thing.' Thylisa opened the scroll. Her eyes wondered about it for a moment, and then she shut them tight... her head hung low. 'I can't read, Callous.' 'Yes, of course,' Callous said, taking the scroll. He seemed more disturbed by this than he had intended. Thylisa thought he looked at her as if she had just failed some vital test. She was not far off the mark. Callous sighed, and went about filling a small backpack with things he had set aside. When he had finished, he sat next to Thylisa and began to read. A Harlot's Tale Ch. 03 THE SCROLL OF THE AVATAR CHRONICLED BY IOVANE, SCRIBE OF THE SCOURGE All Seasons' Eve, 680 Tomorrow is All Seasons' Day, the first and most important day in Agrond's calendar. On this day, the seasons join throughout the innumerable Spheres before going their separate ways. This year is distinct in that Myrha, Agrond's smallest moon, consumes the light of both our suns. Our Matriarch, Selane, has been blessed by Necanta. During Myrha's dominion over the sun, she is to bed with K'Gahl, an incubus that the Mother has managed to seduce from within her prison. This joining shall produce a daughter. This sacred child is to be Necanta's avatar. When the avatar is born to us, we will nurture her, secure her in her power. When she comes into her own, we will stand behind her as she lays waste to those that would oppose the will of Necanta. An end, thereafter, to the wars we wage with the elves. A beginning to that which was intended. The Mother will return to claim Her own. First Cycle, day the second, 681 It is done. Myrha has danced before the sun as was foretold, and I have just been witness to the most significant and unsettling catastrophe of our age. I shall attempt to put it down as best I can on this scroll. These shall not be the witless words of conquering and thoecratical dominion. I am not writing now as the Scribe of the Shadoewatch, but merely as Iovane, a woman who is presently very afraid for herself and for the future of her people. Let it suffice to say that the words we are given cannot relay the depth of my wonder or the keeness of my fear at the spectacle I have seen this night. It was very cold in the temple. Ten of us were gathered there, each priestess a member of the highest sect in the Order of the Shadoewatch, known with due respect as the Wraithguard. We stood in a circle around a shallow octagonal pit, which normally housed the like-shaped stone slab that served as Necanta's sacrificial altar. I must take a moment to document the workings of this pit I have described. From hollow recesses in opposite sides of the octagon, four iron chains reached into its center, each terminated in a small shackle. A sturdy winch was set to one side which operated the chains simultaneously, pulling each one into its respective niche. It is easy enough to decifer the intentions of this device, so I shall leave it at that. Our backs were turned to the pit as we reverently awaited our Matriarch. No one moved. The only sound was that of our breath as it turned to icy mists before our faces. I will not recount how long we waited, as it holds no relevance. I will only say that it was some time before we heard the deep, ominous rumbling of Necanta's ceremonial drums reverberating through the halls and rooms of Shadoeholde above us, announcing Selane's descention to the temple. She was skyclad when she entered. We all bowed to one knee, as was the ritual when inside the Mother's temple proper. Behind our Matriarch, eleven young acolytes walked in measured pace, governed by the slow, steady rolls of the unseen drums. DdddDOOM! Step. DdddDOOM! Step. Each girl was wearing naught but a white satin choker, declaring the rights of motherhood. Each of these adolescent mothers carried their newborn child in their arms. As Selane reached the dais in which the pit was set, the drums stopped their steady, rhythmic beat. The drummers were not in the chilling confines of the room, but the precise number of steps were counted and compared to the exact beat on which the drums would fall silent. So far, all was in due order. A child began to cry in the discomfort of the room, and was soon joined by a chorus of wailing from his peers. No effort was made to quiet them. We all turned to face the pit. Selane stood behind it...her eyes closed...lost in an unfathomable trance. It was at this point that I noticed that her breath was not visible as it was with the rest of us. Her chest rose and fell steadily, but as far as I could tell, nothing issued forth (at least not in this world). Selane spoke, her voice carried loudly in the chill air, still her breath incited no mist. 'On this great eve Necanta sends Her blessings to us!' 'Bless Necanta! May the pettiness of gods be their undoing when the Mother comes to claim Her own!' we recited in unison. 'We offer up to You, our Divine Mother, the fruit of our wombs, that You might see our unerring devotion to Your service.' 'All hail the Whore-Goddess of Agrond! Blessed be the Mother of the Spheres!' Our words echoed in the expansive stone chamber, amplifying our voices. Selane spoke now to the first of the acolytes, 'Come, Myna. Your time has come to enter the Order...as a priestess.' Myna stepped onto the dais and into the pit. Tears streamed unchecked from her eyes. Her infant daughter screamed, sensing the distress of her mother, yet not comprehending its source. The young girl, all of fifteen summers, laid her wailing child in the middle of the pit and bound her wrists and ankles in the tiny shackles. She stood, staring at Selane, unable to continue. 'Come, child...it is for you to do,' Selane's voice carried an edge of sincere warning to the girl. Myna stepped out of the pit and stood by the winch. Her daughter screamed at the top of her lungs. There was no attempt to comfort the child, as that was not our purpose. You must understand that we are not evil by nature, nor are we heartless. Every one of us is human, furthermore we are women, thus we have an innate maternal instinct. Indeed, never before tonight has child sacrifice been committed by anyone of our Order. I assure you, it was no task of simplistic destruction that we practiced this night. I can only explain our motives in that in order to rip the very fabric of the Her prison, to allow enough of the Mother's essense to escape, there had to be a tremendous well of energy for Necanta to manipulate. This ceremony supplied that energy in its purest and most unblemished form. I shall not plague you with sleepless nights by describing the sacrifices that were made in that pit. Only take to mind that at the completion of that part of the ritual, the pit was deep with the blood of eleven children, and with the tears of their mothers. We waited now, for Necanta to open a rift in the Spheres, to send Her essense in the incarnation of Her consort, K'gahl. If he were to need only to arrive in spirit, such an extensive ceremony would not be required; however, in order for Selane to conceive, K'gahl would have to manifest corporeally. I had not imagined that it would happen as I saw it. The pool of blood began to churn, only a little at first. As the turbulence became more aggressive, Selane motioned for us to kneel. The eleven former acolytes had been dismissed, to wait in the Hall of Silence for the ceremony to end. Only the Wraithguard and our Matriarch remained. I stared into the pool, unable to look away. The blood had now formed a maelstrom in the pit, and slowly, from the center of that unnatural whirlpool, a bloody mass emerged. I had often fantasized about being swept away by a beautiful incubus, his dark, well-defined form pressed against my willing flesh, his leathery wings wrapped tightly about me, cocooning me in his ravenous desire... It is the dream of many a young acolyte in Necanta's service. The creature that rose from the pit this night has banished all aforementioned desires from me now. It was not the beautiful, winged spirit described in our ancient tomes. It was not the rapturous, breath-taking demon I shared my private moments with. The beast stood taller than any man I have ever known. He wore no skin...only muscle, bone, and an intricate lace of bluish veins. His eyes were white and empty, yet they emanated an undefyable aura of command. If I were asked, at this moment, if I would have entered the pit in Selane's stead...I would be lying if I said yes. That is if I were to be asked now, in the well-lighted confines of my study. A few hours ago, kneeling under K'gahls demanding presence...I would have done anything he had required of me. Thus it was for our Matriarch when he leveled his unsavory gaze on her. She could not begin to try to mask the fear and revulsion on her face. K'gahl reached out one hand, dripping with infantile blood, and beckoned her to join him. She did as she was bade. Selane knelt before him. K'gahl pushed her back into the bloody pool. He drew his fists together in front of him and then slowly moved them out to his sides. Selane's legs parted in compliance. She was completely covered by him as he mounted her, and when he impaled her there was an audible ripping of flesh from her groin. I did not understand until later, but Selane's scream was joined by eleven more from an antechamber outside the inner temple -- from the Hall of Silence. K'gahl thrust relentlessly into Selane, paying no heed to her pained cries. I was hard pressed to maintain my composure as I watched that uncanny display. When K'gahl finally seeded, he bellowed a deep, mind-shattering cry. By this time I was trembling violently. Never in my life had I known such genuine fear...until the doors to the inner temple flew open. They stood, eleven strong, in the shattered doorway, Myna at the head of their ranks. Their dead eyes stared at us from mangled faces. The girls' necks had been broken and their heads were cocked at odd angles. We did not move. The mighty Wraithguard of Necanta was completely helpless. I do not know how to relay the feeling that came over me, except that it was more of a total lack of feeling. Death has come here to Shadoeholde. He has come with a message, spoken from the mouths of eleven torn and disgraced young women. His message was this: 'Again your goddess has transgressed against the Order of the Spheres. The gods of Agrond have turned their backs on Necanta. Your goddess, yourselves and the following generations of your people will suffer for your insolence. There is but one among you that may find redemption. Without her, you need not seek absolution. You need not seek sanctuary. You will wither and you will die.' In what I can only assume was an omen of our fate, the bodies of the girls decomposed before our eyes. I shall keep this horror to myself, it deserves no description. It is all together...unwholesome. As I said when I began this recollection, I am very afraid. I cannot sleep but I have nothing more to write for the moment. I think I shall simply pray. Fourth cycle, day the sixth, 681 Tragedy is upon us. This eve, our Mistress Selane died in childbirth. The demonchild was saved, but we could do naught for our matron. May she rest in the Mother's bosom. I pray Our Lady's grace in the days to come. Fourth cycle, day the eleventh, 681 My fears have become manifest. There is descention in the Order. The Shadoewatch has split into two factions. A number of our priestesses rally behind Tevaar, who is our most senior. Tevaar speaks heresy against the Mother, claiming that we must seek forgiveness from the gods of Agrond. The remaining faithful sisters, myself included, have chosen to follow Danaise, who holds the child. Tevaar has summoned a devil of frightening ability, which has trapped us here in the catacombs beneath the temple. Danaise, who is quite adept in the arts, has warded off the beast thus far, but it seems only a matter of time. Fourth cycle, day the fourteenth, 681 We have found an escape route through the sewers. Danaise has chosen me to carry the child to safety within the city. Three of our priestesses have given their lives in order for Danaise to form a gate to the Abyss, which should draw the devil back from whence he came. Tevaar has spent much of her energy and more than a few sacrifices to appease the great beast. Mistress Danaise plans to lead the rest of the sisters out through the sewers and wait for the devil to break through her wards. Once he has fallen into her trap, she will lead an attack on Tevaar's weakened company in the temple. Fourth cycle, day the nineteenth, 681 I have fled with the child to a brothel in the Beggars' Quarter. I am presently masquerading as a Scarlet, awaiting news from the temple. Fourth cycle, day the fifty-third, 681 The child is gone. A fortnight ago, Tevaar and eight of her followers found me in the brothel. They stole the child, burnt out my eyes, and left me for dead. A girl from the brothel lead me back to the temple, where I learned that Danaise had reached the temple only to find that Tevaar had fled. She had immediately sent for me, but I arrived as the messenger was departing. When I relayed the demise of our plan to her, I felt her rage like a burning of a heretic in the ages past. Danaise, now Mistress of the Shadoewatch, sacrificed the girl from the brothel and gave her eyes to me. I am now able to see, though not quite as well as before; however, my unnatural eyes allow me to see beyond natural limits, with the proper ceremonies, of course. So now my punishment for losing the child has been to shed my own blood in order to scry in search of the demon-spawned girl. As of yet my attempts have been futile. Second cycle, day the thirty-seventh, 682 By Necanta's grace, I have found the girl! I have lost much of my blood and I suffer from a crippling madness, but I have finally succeeded. Tevaar carried the child to a keep in the foothills of the Devilspine Mountains with a cluster of her followers. We are not aware of what her intentions were, but whatever they may have been, they are ruined. It seems that the keep is now inhabited by a group of bandits. It seems they have taken the child into their keeping. Many of the rogues have died in the siege, but the broken bodies of Tevaar and her priestesses are very clear to me. Tevaar has woven some sort of spell about the girl. None of our order have been able to decifer its purpose. We believe that the bandits assaulted the keep soon thereafter, catching Tevaar in a state of weakness. Danaise is...' 'The writing ends here. The rest of the scroll is just smeared with ink and blood.' 'Where's th' rest?' Thylisa stared at him, a blank expression on her face. 'That's all there is, Thylisa. Iovane slipped into madness and never returned to her writing,' Callous slipped the scroll into a tube before placing it into his pack. 'It can't be about me. I've never been in Corici 'til two cycles ago. I was born in th' plains, as a gypsy, not as some half demon avataress!' Callous smirked. 'I see... and I assume that your antics this afternoon were some obscure rites of gypsy magic. Is that it?' Thylisa continued her denial, determined to ignore the overwhelming truth Callous presented to her, 'Anyway, even if I was to be this 'avatar', whatever that may be, why would Danaise want ta kill me? I wouldn' think Necanta'd be very pleased with that.' Callous continued packing as he considered. 'You're right, but Danaise doesn't care much about the will of Necanta any longer. She uses her position as Matriarch to weave her influence into the Citadel. She has Kaine grovelling to cater to her. She simply sees you as a threat. After all, you're the redemption of Coricia. If that secret gets out, she's no longer in control.' 'So why can't I jus' walk into Shadoeholde and claim my title?' she said as she lightly rubbed her bruised jaw. 'We have no proof. You must first understand and harness your power. That's why we have to-' There was a harsh pounding on the door. Callous ran to a mirror which hung on his wall,' Follow me,' he said to the girl. Thylisa grabbed her pack as she watched Callous crawl straight into the looking glass. She touched her hand to the mirror, it was solid. Thylisa heard the front door splinter. Callous' hand appeared through the glass. 'It's an illusion. Take my hand. Trust me.' A Harlot's Tale Ch. 04 The men had made it through the door. Thylisa took Callous' hand. As she was pulled into her own reflection, she heard the men shouting the thief's name as they set about destroying his home. It was dark. The two were apparently in some sort of crawl space. Callous whispered softly, 'Very quiet...here's the ladder.' He placed her hand on a rope ladder that led upward. The thief led the way. Thylisa could still hear the men shouting from inside the room as she started up the ladder. There was a soft scraping sound. Moonlight filled the tiny shaft as Callous scurried onto the roof. 'So, Barrod was right! The little rat thought to escape by rooftop,' Thylisa heard a deep, resonating voice from above her. 'We've got him,' another voice, more nasal and strained, called loudly. Again left with no alternative, Thylisa crept up the ladder and peeked onto the roof. Two warriors were approaching Callous, scimitars held out toward him. Thylisa recognized the black and silver mantles they wore. They were warriors of the Scourge, a new sect of the church or the army, she wasn't sure which. She knew they made her nervous, and she had begun seeing more of them in recent months. When Thylisa emerged onto the roof the warriors stopped. The larger one edged toward her, glancing over to his compatriot, 'A'right then Tandin, here's the girl, keep an eye on that cutpurse.' The warrior lowered his scimitar and beckoned to Thylisa, 'Now we aren't after doin' ya harm, lady. Kaine jus' sent us along to fetch ya to 'im. Come away from that miscreant, and you'll be well taken..' 'Go!' Callous grabbed Thylisa and pushed her to the edge of the roof, 'Jump across, now!' he yelled. She did. Thylisa landed ungracefully on the roof of the adjacent house. Callous landed behind her. 'Come on!' he said, pulling her after him. 'They've taken to the roofs!' came the call from behind them. Thylisa could hear the men vaulting to the roof. She chased after the thief as best she could, rooftop to rooftop, up stairs and through gardens. The shouts of their pursuers, remaining steadily behind them, were now joined by more of the Scourge on the street. Callous stopped and spun round to face the men, a knife in either hand. He let the blades fly as the two warriors made the jump to the roof he and Thylisa occupied. The first blade connected with the larger of the two, lodging itself between his collarbones. The warrior was still trying to free the knife as he toppled backward to the street below. The thief's second blade did not fare as well as the first. The man had seen Callous throw the knives, and tucked into a roll as he reached the roof. He stood and drew his sword, but neither the thief or the girl were anywhere to be found. The stout warrior crouched into a defensive stance, circling as he examined the roof and the surrounding houses. He tried to scream as Callous' garrote wound around his neck, but the thief was too quick. All the man could manage was a panicked gasp as he slipped into the darkness that is death. Thylisa crept from the shadows from where she had been hiding with Callous. He motioned for her to follow, and jumped to the next house. She followed, relieved that their rooftop journey was taking them farther away from the shouts of the bloodthirsty men. Their trek came to an end in a particularly run-down section of the Beggars' Quarter. Callous turned to Thylisa and said, 'Now do you see why I chose to live here? It may not be the Imperial Quarter, but it accommodates quite nicely when one needs a 'road less traveled'. This is, by the way, is our destination.' He led her to a small trap door. 'Whatever you see in here, keep your head about you.' He opened the small door and started down a small set of stairs. 'Quietly now,' he motioned her to follow, which she did. The smell was awful. All around, Thylisa saw the bones and carcasses of animals, people, and... well, other things. Some were hanging from hooks set in the dark wood of the walls. Many were strewn here and there about the floor. Thylisa tried to contain her revulsion. She leaned heavily on the thief. He understood her discomfort and led her to a chair. Her head was spinning in the stench of rot that seemed to come from everywhere. 'Welcome be, Callous,' a woman's voice, barely audible, came from a shadowy corner of the room. A cloaked figure stepped from the corner and approached Thylisa. 'And this must be the one you promised me...' The woman lowered her hood. Two things struck Thylisa as odd about the gaunt woman that smiled wickedly at her. Firstly, she was bald. Not as if she had shaved or that her hair had fallen out - more likely that it had been ripped from her scalp in clumps. The second and most disturbing thing about the woman was that her eyes didn't look quite right. Thylisa gasped as she realized that the woman's eyes didn't belong to her at all. They had once belonged to a young prostitute, who had only been trying to help. A Harlot's Tale Ch. 05 'Thylisa, this is..' 'Iovane...' Thylisa finished the awkward introduction. 'Welcome be, blessed Avatar. I have waited many seasons for this opportunity.' Iovane bowed gracefully, keeping her eyes locked on Thylisa's. There was a dangerous look in those eyes. Thylisa found that she could not move. She could only stare blankly into those cold, unnatural orbs. 'Welcome be, indeed,' they seemed to say. The woman's natural grace belied her harsh, rat-gnawed appearance. She bore an air of regality, as one who had been places few dared to travel. Thylisa was relieved when Iovane diverted her attention to Callous. The thief sat across from Thylisa seeming somewhat distant, his mind detached from his surroundings, working out some greater problem. 'I was not expecting you for another week, Callous. Something is amiss.' Callous disengaged himself from his train of thought and proceeded to relate the tale of Thylisa's first realization of power, her flight to the Bazaar, the skirmish with the drunks, their conversation in the tavern... Callous went on with the story with Iovane listening intently. Thylisa took a moment to gather herself. Every ounce of her rational thought screamed for her to run... get away from all of this. The thief, the witch, the Scourge... nothing was making any sense. Raped, prostituted, beaten -- nothing had ever made her feel as helpless and controlled as she did at that moment. But where to run? Her family had been massacred by the damnable elves. Not that it mattered now, the plains were far, and she couldn't even afford passage across Gelidmere. 'It's best jus' ta wait,' she thought. Iovane turned to Thylisa when the thief had finished his story. 'My lady, you must be exhausted.' Her eyes were much softer now. She smiled tenderly at the girl. Thylisa redirected her thoughts to her many unanswered questions. 'Mistress Iovane... I don't understand. You're a priestess of Necanta. What's brought ya ta...' Thylisa looked around the small room, piled high with flesh and rot and things one dare not describe. 'I am sorry to say, my lady, that I am no longer in the Order. The Shadoewatch excommunicated me when my ravings became uncontrollable. I am reduced to the life of a derelict, left to fend off my malady as best I can until it devours me entirely,' Iovane cleared her thoat and breathed deeply. 'It has, however, allowed me to retain some control over the fleeting winds of magic. Thus, I have been able to counteract it with certain -- unwholesome rituals. Unfortunately, Necanta has turned her face from me, denying the powers I once held as Wraithguard. My only skill now lies in what I know of simple witchcraft.' Iovane reached to a small table and lifted a narrow skull from the refuse. Bits of flesh still clung to the hideous thing that had once seen the world through bright elven eyes. Iovane smiled as she held the skull like a trophy. Thylisa thought she saw a poisonous look flash through the woman's undead eyes. 'My studies in the craft have revealed that elven flesh -- more concisely -- elven blood, has a distinct effect on the rage. Unfortunately, the ravenous hunger of my sickness seems to be less than appeased as of late. I don't know how much longer I have. My only hope lies with you, blessed Avatar.' 'Forgive me, but, what am I supposed ta do?' 'We hope that you will be able to accomplish much, in time, my sweet,' Callous said, rising from his seat. 'There will be time to discuss our plans on the morrow. For now, we should all get some sleep. We will learn to appreciate what little rest we can afford in the coming days.' Iovane pulled the table away from the wall. Thylisa saw that there was a long rectangular trapdoor set into the floor where the table had been. 'I hope you can find some comfort in here,' Iovane said as she opened the door. Inside there was a sort of shallow pit, a rough mattress of straw mats was laid out across the bottom. 'I used to sleep here, when I afraid that the Shadoewatch would be more comfortable with me out of the works. The madness drove me from that practice...It's much too...confining in there.' Iovane seemed to be speaking more to herself than to her guests, staring into the makeshift berth. She snapped back into the role of hostess, 'I'm sorry that I can't offer more hospitable lodging, but one does as one can.' 'Thank you, Iovane. This will do nicely. I would much rather sleep here than in some musty cell in the depths of the Citadel.' Callous knelt down onto the mats and swept the dust and grit off onto the floor of the pit before he lied down. Thylisa followed the thief onto the bed and nestled down next to him. Iovane smiled disarmingly as she bid them good night, then slowly lowered the door. They were enveloped in darkness. 'Callous' 'Yes?' 'What happens now? We can't jus' hide here forever.' 'No, we can't. We rise early tomorrow. After tonight it will not be safe here. Kaine and the Shadoewatch will be hunting us like dogs. Things haven't exactly happened according to plan, so now all we can do is improvise. I have a few ideas, but we'll discuss them in the morning. Now try and get some sleep. Tomorrow will be a very long day.' Thylisa turned into Callous, seeking some sort of comfort in his arms. Just as she got comfortable, the thief rolled onto his side, turning his back to her. He was asleep in moments. She sighed heavily, 'All alone, Thylisa my girl, all alone...' * * * Barrod led his detail back to the Citadel. As they marched up the ramp from the Merchant's Quarter to the Imperial Quarter, he could feel hits guts wrenching with fear. Goar, the captain of the Scourge, would not be pleased with his report. 'No, not pleased at all', he thought to himself. All said and done, Barrod was still a proud man, and he quelled the fear that sought to dishearten him. The sergeant led his men into the Imperial Quarter and marched towards the great iron towers that bordered the gates of the Citadel. High on the battlements, from which one could see all of Corici laid out before him, a guard shouted, 'Barrod has returned! Open the gates!' Barrod's stormy blue eyes wandered along the impressive architecture that was the Citadel. Tall iron towers stood at each corner, connecting the dark walls, black as charred flesh. The Citadel's black iron gate was ornately carved with the seal of Coricia, a malicious hawk bearing a warhammer and lightning bolt in its talons. Necanta's eight pointed star rode its crown. This giant gate was again bordered by two high, monolithic towers. Barrod led his men through the gate and dismissed them. He straightened his back, breathed deeply, and set off for Goar's audience chamber. 'The captain will see you now,' Goar's stiff chamberguard said as he opened the door to his master's room. 'Thank you,' Barrod said as he walked past the man to stand before his captain. Goar was standing at a broad table with his back to him as he entered. The captain's long blue cloak, the insignia of his station, spread over his broad shoulders and hung nearly to the floor. Barrod brought his fist to his chest in salute, 'My captain,' he began. 'Where are they, sergeant?' Goar kept his back to him. Barrod could tell by the tone of his captain's voice that he already knew the reply. 'My lord, they slipped out thr-' 'I do not have time nor patience for excuses, sergeant! Kaine wants the girl -- and the thief. Your mission was to bring them here. Is that not correct?' Goar was almost shouting as he turned to face him. In his hand he held a small crossbow. A bolt slammed into Barrod's shoulder, he stifled a scream with hardened military bearing. Goar began to pace, reloading his crossbow. 'What would you have me tell Kaine? 'My humble apologies, Your Eminence, but my men are not capable of hunting down a pathetic thief and a miserable whore.' Or perhaps you would rather go to him yourself...' Goar almost smiled, 'I thought not.' The next bolt slammed into Barrod's leg, lodging itself just below his knee. The fire from his wounds fueled the sergeant's growing fury. All said and done, Barrod was a proud man, and he had reached his limit. Uttering the battlecry of the Scourge, he rushed his captain. The searing pain in his leg caused him to stumble. He fell hard to his knees. As he hit the floor the bolt tore its way through the remaining muscle and tendons and broke through the backside of his leg. Goar laughed as he came to stand in front of him, reloading his crossbow a final time. 'You disappoint me, sergeant.' He raised the crossbow to Barrod's forehead. There was no remorse in his eyes as he loosed the bolt into the man's skull. All said and done, Barrod was a proud man, but as the Corician proverb goes, 'proud men don't die on their knees.' Goar strode to the door of his chambers, 'Kayle-' 'Yes, my captain?' 'Bring in the elf swine' 'Aye, my lord.' Goar smiled as he went about making himself a drink. If the reports about this elven scum were true, Necanta's avatar would be in shackles by sunset. * * * 'Callous?' 'Yes?' 'That's Iovane isn't it?' 'Yes it is. Stay quiet, we don't want to alarm her.' The two had been torn from sleep by something Thylisa thought sounded like another raiding party, coming to carry them off to rot in some horrible dungeon...or worse. 'Get out!' SMASH 'Get out of my- aaaaiiiiI hate y -- INNUNA REGUNA VIE, MALESTEK!' Iovane tore a fleshy carcass from its hook on the wall. 'BERANA DIAM! GETHINID BEYAL LINIMAS!' Iovane slammed the decaying, broken body against one wall and then another. The fragile skull cracked again and again. 'DAINUU VERIL DIAM! REGUNA VIE!' She raised the corpse over her head. 'REGUNA VIE, MALESTEK!' She slammed it down hard on the hook that had been its home. Flesh ripped. Cold blood flooded from the fresh cavity in its back. She lifted the defenseless thing over her head again, ready to rip it in half on the blood-drenched, rusty hook. 'REGUNA VIE!' Iovane did not understand the words that she herself spoke. She only knew that those words were thick with rage and they made an empty ruin of her soul. 'Nooo!' She threw the hapless victim of her violent dance on the floor, where it joined the remains of its equally unfortunate brethren. 'I have the demonchild! Do you hear? I have the avatar! I will be rid of you!' She slid down the wall onto the floor, sobbing. 'I will be rid of you...' She took the smashed, rotting head of the discarded corpse into her arms. Her tears fell onto that once childish face, mingling with blood than ran, unmissed, from the deep fractures in its skull. Thylisa didn't know how many hours she lied there listening to Iovane sobbing. She couldn't help but feel for the tortured woman, however, she was deeply disturbed by her as well. What did she mean, 'I have the Avatar'? * * * Kayle led the elven slave into Goar's audience chamber. As he stepped into the room he brought his fist to his chest. Goar returned the salute. 'My captain, this is the elf boy. Do you requ-' 'No, Kayle. Leave us.' Goar silently studied the elf. His hands were bound in front of him with tight leather cords. Unlike most of his kindred, the thin creature was uncommonly short, no taller than an average man. His matted blonde hair fell over his face as he respectfully kept his gaze on the floor. Goar clutched a wide leather strap in his hand. As he approached the wretched creature he slid is fingers along the smooth, polished leather, caressing it like a lover. He began to circle the elf, 'What is your name, dog?' 'My lord, my name is Riverion,' the voice was scarcely more than a hoarse whisper. Goar swung the heavy leather strap, connecting at the backside of the elf's unprotected knees. The creature dropped to the floor. 'Now that's much better. From your knees now...once more, what is your name, dog?' 'My lord, my name is Riveri-' The strap drew blood along the elf's lean, muscled back. Goar grabbed a fistful of the wretch's hair, pulling his head back so he could look into his eyes. As he stared into those pale blue eyes he was almost startled. There was something about those eyes, something... 'I don't think you understand. I'm going to say it one more time, very slowly. What is your name...Dog?' 'My lord, my name is...Dog...' 'Now I think you understand. So, Dog, I hear that you have a rather unusual gift. I hear that you can track a man better than a wolf tracks his prey. Is this so?' 'Yes, my lord,' the elf said. 'I have a very important task for you, Dog. If you are successful in this endeavor, you may just find yourself among your folk in Renelaun. If you fail,' Goar said as he trailed the strap along the elf's spine, 'oh, my friend...you had better not fail.'