2 comments/ 5785 views/ 8 favorites The Temptation of Gheeran By: Blind_Justice Author's Notes: This is the sequel to "Shilana's Trial" and it incorporates characters from "Reunion" as well. I tried to make this story as accessible as possible, but you might get more enjoyment out of this if you go back and read those other two first. A huge "Thank you" to all the people who helped refine this tale. You know who you are. As always, there are only adult beings having sex. Enjoy! ***** Part One: Spring "I think you have been lazing around long enough," Ya'tyrr said without preamble when I entered his study. "Lazing, boss? Since when is 'working your ass off to become as good as before' lazing around? I don't know when I had a full night's sleep. My whole body hurts from all the sparring. And losing," I complained, nimbly avoiding two chairs which hadn't been there the last time I had visited him. Just another test. I grabbed the back of the second chair, turned it so that it faced Ya'tyrr's desk and sat down, crossing my arms on the chair's back. "No, I am serious. It is high time you made yourself useful," Ya'tyrr went on. "You are as good as a blind man with a magic ring can get, but no amount of training can prepare you for real field work. I need you out there. With Belard and Jhaelra still recuperating from their ordeal, we are awfully short-handed right now. So, pack your things and be off." "Oh? They can rest while I have to leave the nest? That's hardly fair, boss. And they do have working eyes." "You are not seriously suggesting that your blindness is a handicap, are you?" His tone was no longer playful. Dangerous footing, Gheeran, dangerous footing. Smiling grimly, I countered, "Of course not. Well, there's the fact that I'll be making a poor lookout..." "I know that. You will not be ogling the ladies, that much is certain. But you know our rules. Either you are useful or you are out." I tasted bile as my anger rose. Ya'tyrr and I had arrived on the Surface together, been through thick and thin, and now he was putting the sword tip to my throat? Maybe Arach had been right. The concept of "loyalty" didn't exist in the heart of the Trickster's Chosen. And Ya'tyrr, my boss, and I so foolishly had presumed, friend, was the closest thing I'd ever see to a Trickster priest. "Don't scowl like that. I am not kicking you out with just your loincloth on. Although you'd make a fine beggar like that. Visit Khol'mar in the workshop to get your gear and see me again before you leave. I may have something for you." I heard his chair creak, indicating that my briefing was over. Snarling, I got up and left, passing Jhaelra as she squeezed past me into Ya'tyrr's office. I couldn't see her, but even two months back home weren't enough to entirely remove the stench of her captivity. Our once beautiful Moon Maiden priestess had changed in the wake of her encounter with Hael'quira. Before, she was always at the center of things, a smiling whirlwind of good cheer, quick with a ribald tale, an affectionate kiss or laugh. Now she mostly kept to herself, spoke only when she absolutely had to and avoided her former friends. My fingers slid over her arm by accident as she squeezed past me, causing her to flinch violently. Yeah, that too. I slid past her and leaned against the cool stone wall as she pulled the door closed. Normally, I wouldn't dare eavesdrop on my boss, but him kicking me out made me a bit rebellious. I was sure the Trickster would understand. Pressing my ear to the rough wood, I strained my hearing. "I'm leaving, Ya'tyrr. I have to." "Really? Why?" "Isn't it obvious? I am surrounded by drow. And I don't want to be. I need to be alone, and far away. The memories are driving me crazy." "Not to sound overly bossy, my dear, but that is a very selfish point of view. I can sympathize-" "No, you can't! You haven't been raped by a gods-be-damned swamp troll!" Jhaelra snapped, cutting off Ya'tyrr. Phew. If anyone else but she had dared that, the person in question would be leaking all over the floor by now. I heard Ya'tyrr's chair scrape over the floor. "I had been Shadow Master to our House long enough to have participated in... hunts before," Ya'tyrr said, much more gently than I had expected. "What do you think made me leave my House in the first place? Certainly not the idea of a glamorous life as an outcast on the Surface. I had to drag one of my own sisters back from the Surface. The priestess was very specific about the punishments, and I heavily figured into it. When Elziya was transformed before my eyes, I began to ask myself if I could do this again and again. You know what came from these questions." "Nonetheless, I need to go. You've been very kind to me and Belard, but..." Footsteps were getting closer. My listening time was up. Poor girl. In her stead, I would do the same. Sighing in sympathy, I slipped away from the door. I didn't want to be late for my own exile, did I? * * * * The bracers felt uncomfortable and restricting, very much like a pair of cuffs. They covered almost all of my forearm, from the wrist up to the elbow, leaving just a semicircular cut so that I could bend my arm comfortably. The bottom side, facing my palm, felt heavier, and brushing my fingertips against it, I felt some kind of container moulded into it. "Are these bracers really necessary?" I complained. Khol'mar, our resident tinkerer and quartermaster, snorted in amusement. I could picture his broad, dazzling grin. "You know my arms are not broken." "And I hope they never will. The bracelets are much too valuable. But the boss said you should give them a try. Hand me your wrist for a moment." I did as he asked, holding out my right wrist in the direction of his voice. He fiddled with something which clicked into place. Then there was the scraping of tools. I could feel the tension mounting, until I heard another click. "That should do it. Here, take this." Khol'mar pressed something large, cool and wet into my other hand. I sniffed. "Raw meat? You can't be serious, man." "Oh, I am. Time for a test run. Hold the steak up to your right hand and tilt your wrist sharply upwards. And make sure to keep your fingers pointed up." "Are you sure this is safe?" "If you're careful, yes. And if not, you can ask Jhael to glue your fingers back on." Khol'mar chuckled. I gnashed my teeth. For all I knew, Jhaelra could be gone or dead by now, depending on Ya'tyrr's mood. "Well, here goes nothin'." I sighed and did as he asked. With my left hand, I dangled the slice of meat in front of my right, brushing the wet thing against my knuckles. Then I tilted the right hand upwards. The back of my hand pushed into something at the bracer's wrist end, some switch or button. Then the jolt came, and with it a metallic hissing and the sensation of the meat slice being torn away. The balance in my forearm had changed explosively too. Carefully, I fingered the underside of the bracer. Sticking out a good ten inches was a wickedly sharp dagger blade, pieces of the steak still on the quivering metal. "You know what? I'll stick to hidden daggers, thank you very much," I said, aghast. It was a sure show of luck that I still had all my fingers, much less most of my face. "Yeah, at second glance I think I need to tweak the spring tension a little," Khol'mar said. "But the shock value..." "Uh-huh. I am shocked that you didn't tell me what you were planning," I complained, fiddling with the locking mechanism. "You could have killed me!" He said nothing, but he didn't need to. I was sure he was thinking "no huge loss." Ever since I had returned from my adventure with Arach, Shilana and Zentam, my companions had been more than a little distant. Maybe it had to do with my blindness. After all, Down Below I would have been put to death the moment my lost eyesight would have been discovered. Ya'tyrr always said that the gods sent blindness to people who they deemed wise, since wisdom comes from within, but I knew better. My blindness was the result of a medusa's venomous spittle to my face, combined with her desire to have her very own fuck toy. And since medusae usually petrify anyone they look deep in the eyes, becoming her fuck toy meant my badly damaged peepers had to go. She had gouged them out with a glowing dagger, to make it as quick and painless as possible. Relatively speaking of course. The only other time I had experienced that amount of anguish was when the Mother of my House used a flame-enchanted whip to amuse herself on my back for some minor misdeed. I still sported the burns, and going by the stiff feeling from the scars on my face every morning, my good looks were another price I had to pay. I managed to survive my encounter with Tissana, the medusa. I also managed to survive a meeting with a mad drow high priestess, thanks to a magical cloak Ya'tyrr lent me. But the cloak, imitating the way a bat saw things, was rather obvious and impractical. So Ya'tyrr had Belard, Jhaelra's brother and the resident mage of our small band of misfits, make a ring that had the same enchantment, albeit a little less effective. I could sense my surroundings a few steps in every direction, even fight rather well close-up, but seeing a beautiful woman writhe under me was a thing of the past. Or reading. Or living as an assassin with my fellow Trickster faithful. Khol'mer handed me a little chest. "Try not to lose the stuff again," he cautioned me. "I am blind, Khol'mer, not stupid," I spat and grabbed the chest. I left him giggling to himself and retreated into my own room. The quicker I sorted my stuff, the quicker I would be out of here. Somehow, I knew how Jhaelra felt. * * * * The chest held a pair of enchanted arm guards, ones without spring-loaded knives. I could feel the magic buzz through them. I had a pair of those with me when I was out, on my way to raid a certain farming village. They were very handy when dealing with blades and arrows, but not a good fit when it came to spitting snake-women. Never mind, I learned my lesson back then, and these would work well enough in a hide, seek and stab scenario. At least Khol'mar had been kind enough to fit them to my arms. Next came a slender belt which I snaked around my hips. It bore half a dozen dagger sheaths and two small bags filled with thief's tools: Lockpicks, a few handfuls of caltrops, slender finger blades for pickpocketing, a few tightly wrapped pieces of bait to throw off guard dogs. You know, the bare essentials for a man of the trade. Then I picked up the new sword Khol'mar had made for me. To the uninitiated, it looked like an oversized dagger with a fancy, curved grip, and that's basically what it was. Sadly, it was only a meager imitation of my old blade that I had lost when Tissana caught me. Sure, it boasted the finest drow workmanship and even the socket, but Ya'tyrr wasn't willing to shell out the gold for the poison gems I had set into my old one. Lastly, I tossed a few of my black garments into my bag, pulled a plain-looking chameleon cloak from its peg on the door and returned to Ya'tyrr's study. * * * * No smell of blood when I entered the room. So Jhaelra was still alive. Ya'tyrr wasn't above slitting someone's throat right in his study when he was especially mad, so the lack of that tell-tale coppery stench could mean he was in a good mood. . "Sit, Gheeran." This time there was only one chair in front of the desk, and I took it. Ya'tyrr placed his hands on my shoulders before he leaned down. I felt his breath on my neck. My unease caused me to tense up and one hand slithered around a dagger hilt. "Oh, you hurt me," he breathed into my ear. "Here I am, about to give you an immensely valuable gift, and you threaten me." Then his tongue licked my earlobe, like he used to do before he gave me a good fucking, back when I still could see and we would share his bed on occasion. I placed both my hands on the table in front of me, the old, notched desktop soothingly solid under my fingers. "That's better. Hold still." A moment later, his hand caught my wrist. Before I even could fight back, he dragged something sharp over the back of my hand, cutting deep into the flesh. "You fucking-" I began, trying to writhe out of the chair, but he pinned me down. A second later, cool liquid poured over my hand and the pain was gone almost as fast as it had appeared. "Stand up," Ya'tyrr ordered. I did as he asked, this time drawing two of my daggers and falling into a fighting stance. I heard him sigh and move. With more luck than skill I blocked one of his hands, the other grabbed my wrist and twisted. The dagger clanged to floor. I hissed, going for a spare. The sheaths were empty. "What the fuck?" I snapped, taking a step back and almost tripping over the chair. Casually, Ya'tyrr took the last dagger from my slack hand. "I stole them. All six of them." Ya'tyrr laughed. I felt the air move near my ears as he threw two of them past my head, the weapons burying themselves into the bookshelf behind me with a low thrum. "So, you are completely unarmed. Do you still want to kill me?" Ya'tyrr challenged. "Of course not. You're my boss." I spread my hands in the gesture of peace. "Then I'm not trying hard enough." A moment later, pain exploded in my crotch as his knee slammed into me. Even without my eyes, my world turned into a sea of white and I felt my breath leave my lungs in a pathetic wheeze as I folded double. Now I wanted to kill him. If only I had a weapon! And then I felt the dagger hilt in my palm. Cool, welcoming and inviting. I closed my fingers around it and unfurled, launching myself in the direction of Ya'tyrr's breathing. "You shouldn't leave daggers on your floor," I hissed as I advanced on him. He parried my stabs with two of my own daggers no less, then I barely evaded a brutal punch to my face and he disarmed me again. I was beyond furious now. First he tells me I'm ready to leave, now he was humiliating me to the point of red, glowing rage? Again I felt a dagger hilt in my hand. On instinct, I closed my fingers around it and renewed my attack. Another parry, another disarm, and it took only a moment before I felt the reassuring presence of the dagger in my palm again. I stepped back, comprehension dawning. "You set me up with a cursed weapon?" I snapped, throwing the dagger Ya'tyrr's way. I heard the air move as he dodged and the clatter of the weapon skidding across the floor. A moment later, the weapon was back in my angrily clenched fist. "No. Why should I? You're still my friend, Gheeran. This blade, this dagger, is bound to you by your blood. Wherever you may go, this weapon will be just a thought away. That's the only thing I am able to bestow upon you. Believe me, were it in my power to give your eyesight back, I would do that. But you know how the gods work, right?" I nodded, fighting for my composure. The memory of Tear and Arach, singing a haunting, beautiful duet, pleading for the Moon Maiden to restore my sight, was still painfully fresh. The feeling of bottomless despair was only buried under what felt like a paper-thin sheet of discipline. Why did the oh-so-merciful goddess refuse their plea? Annoyed, I shook my head. These questions were haunting me in my sleep anyway, and I made myself look like a fool. "I am sorry, boss," I began. Ya'tyrr closed the distance and wrapped me in his slender arms. "Nothing to apologize for, my friend. Just promise me you'll come back in one piece." Then he kissed me goodbye. * * * * They were kind enough to escort me to the nearest trade route, but from then on, I was on my own. I could have gone anywhere, but my gut told me the best place to start my new life as the blind assassin would be Storm Harbour. If I was lucky, I could rejoin my former adventuring companions. Or maybe I could find someone who knew of a way to restore my eyes which did not involve the gods. Or maybe I just needed to ask the right gods. Maybe the human gods were not so fickle in bestowing their grace upon an outcast. That was an awful lot of "maybes," and the only certainty was that standing around in the middle of nowhere in the dead of night would get me nowhere. My magical blindsense had just enough range to allow me to perceive the ditch next to the trade route, and then I had to evade the wheel ruts dug into the muddy road surface. Smooth walking was almost impossible here. But in which direction was Storm Harbour? I knew that the city was on the east coast of the Western Continent, so I needed to head east. Even using the heat of the sun as an orientation aid was out of the question, because we drow normally only walk the Surface by night, especially those of the Trickster faith. No one had bothered to give me a compass I could read. And the chances of finding a helpful traveller at this hour were... almost like finding a naked, willing virgin right in front of me. Wait. I think that would be even slightly more probable. I dug in my purse and fished out a coin, an ornate gold piece. Another one of Ya'tyrr's presents. He gave me a small pouch filled with these, to cover my basic needs wherever I wished to settle down. Even one of them could buy me a roof and food for a few weeks, and the bag's worth could get me a small mansion, complete with hopefully willing servants, if only for a few nights. One side was printed with a sailing boat proudly displaying a crescent on its sail, the other side was blank. So, ship meant "left", the other side meant "right". And knowing the Trickster, I added rim equals "horny, willing virgin" to my list of options. I tossed the coin, the wind a soft whistle on its notched rim, the turning coin a fluttering sensation in my field of perception. The coin came back down again and I caught it, slapping it onto the back of my glove. No horny virgin, sadly. I turned to the left and began to walk. * * * * While I was trudging along the pitted band of packed earth which served as a road around here, trying not to break my ankles in some unexpected pot holes, my mind drifted back to the first time I experienced the Surface. After almost ten years being drilled and trained in the Fighter's College, leaving the stalagmite-riddled cavern of my home town for a Surface raid was almost like a badge of honor, one of the few occasions where males were allowed to shine. After long, gruelling marches through the convoluted bowels of the earth, we eventually emerged from a cave entrance and stopped dead in our tracks. It was night back then as well, but compared to the eternal quiet Below, I felt utterly out of my depth. The members of my raiding party were awestruck as well, wondering at how large this unnaturally bright cavern really was. The Priestess we were accompanying got a real kick out of the fear we lowly grunts experienced. There were no walls, no ceiling, no stalagmites to hide behind, just endless open spaces. 'Alien' would be the word to aptly describe this landscape, from one who had never set foot upon it. And then there was the noise! Compared to the occasional dripping of water, stealthy rustling of predators or the plaintive cries of something careless dying between jaws or claws, it was a cacophony of noises. There were so many things singing, chirping and hooting, how should one hear an enemy approach? The air never stood still up here as well, there was always a gentle breeze or other pulling at our cloaks, setting them a-rustle. The Priestess allowed us a few minutes to adjust, but then we were off, sneaking towards a small farming village which we raided for valuables and slaves. With each subsequent visit, it became easier to navigate the Surface. As they say, familiarity breeds comfort and when I left the Depths for good with Ya'tyrr some years later, I felt quite at home. The deserted monastery we found was almost like our houses back home, with both wide halls and narrow corridors. Compared to home, they weren't stacked on top of each other in hollowed-out stone columns, instead they were spread over a wide area, much larger than any dark elven compound home. The Temptation of Gheeran Home. Ya'tyrr had kicked me out of mine and now, stumbling through the night with only my magical ring to guide me, each step again felt like a new foray into unknown territory. Almost as if to remind me that I wasn't alone, I could hear faint noises further ahead. So there were people out here. Blind luck, huh? I sped up my steps. I had to walk only a few meters before I heard the voices. And then they noticed me. "State your name and business or I'll... shoot!" someone yelled. By now, every highwayman, brigand and monster in earshot would be on the way, because in the dead of night, sounds carry on for miles and miles. And this stupid person just yelled at the top of their lungs. I stopped dead in my tracks and listened intently. Some beast snorting, then another voice, female, trying to whisper. "Dad, we're out of bolts!" "He doesn't know that!" the other voice whispered back. If there was one thing dark elven ears were made for, it was catching careless whispering. Ever wondered why we had these sexy points? Bigger receptors equals sharper hearing. And he just blew his bluff. A well-armed man, one accustomed to fighting, wouldn't have yelled, he would have shot first and asked questions later. Especially in the middle of nowhere. As long as they didn't have any other ranged weapons, I would be safe. Grinning to myself, I strode closer. "The way I see things," I began, fishing for my enchanted throwing dagger, "it's as follows. You're stranded out here, away from any wayside shelter." Another careful step. Then I heard the whistling. A lifetime of paranoia helped and I flung myself back. With a solid "thunk," something buried itself into the muddy road just a few feet in front of me. Gingerly I slipped forwards until the edge of my perception caressed the item. It was a long-hefted hatchet, the kind made for chopping down trees and throwing at unsuspecting drow. I cursed silently; totally forgot about those. "Want to throw anything else my way?" I asked, hefting the weapon. "Hey, why don't we start again? I'm not here to hurt or rob or ravish you. But then, if you insist on the ravishing, I'm your dar... man." "Darmen? What's that?" the female voice asked. Seriously? Well, these were no adventurers. Maybe some farmers on their way to - hope against hope - Storm Harbour! "Ummm. Just a very handsome species of traveller, that's all," I improvised. "Listen, if you need help, maybe I can help." "And you're sure you're no marauding highwayman or dark elf?" the male voice, Daddy, asked. "Do I look like a dark elf to you?" I brazenly asked back, lowering my hood. Hey, I held the axe, what could possibly go wrong? "Now that you mention it, no, not really," the girl said. Wow. There's naïve, doe-eyed country girl, and then there was this little thing here. "No?" I asked, teasingly swaying my hips. "No dark elf?" "No. Everyone knows that dark elves are at least this big and they have red-glowing eyes which you can see in the dark for ever and they have these large tusks growing out of their mouths and wings and—" "Hush, Marigold, don't blather," Daddy cautioned. There was curiosity and there was horrified fascination. Hadn't they ever heard of dark elves before? The area between Storm Harbour and the huge, almost impassable Frostguard Mountains was notorious for the frequent drow raids, what with all those tidy small farming villages dotted across the countryside and that wonderfully hilly landscape, so ripe with all manner of orchards, fields and cave entrances leading into the Depths. "You're not from around here, I take it?" I had to ask. Marigold answered, and I could hear her radiant smile. "No, we're from across the mountains. Took us almost three months, and the snow on the high passes..." "And what exactly is bringing you to Storm Harbour?" "How do you know, good sah?" Daddy asked. "Well, it's easy. You wouldn't take a three-month trip just to visit some relatives in River Crossing or Valcrest, now would you? No relative is worth crossing the mountains before the snow had thawed off enough." "No, you're right. Daddy is a gem cutter and—" "By the rocks and the earth, child, shut up," Daddy hissed. "For all we know, he could be a highwayman. It's awfully late." Somewhere in the distance, a cockerel went off. "Or rather early," Daddy corrected himself. "Listen. Here's a tip for surviving the open roads. First, Highwaymen rarely come alone. Then, they usually don't waste their breath with banter, only after they have secured the valuables and are arguing who gets their first stab at the... let's say, less material goods." "Huh?" both Daddy and Marigold asked. "Your maidenhood. You can only lose that once, and it's a highly sought-after prize in certain circles. Anyway, since there are no more of me—" "Which we know of," Daddy cut in. "No more of me hiding in the ditch or the field over there, why don't I help you fix your cart and we could be off to Storm Harbour before real misfortune finds us? "And what reward would you like for your aid?" Marigold asked. I had some ideas, but with Daddy around, that would have to wait. And she sounded awfully small. * * * * They say wisdom comes with hindsight. In hindsight I shouldn't have offered my help, because holding up the cart, even with all the stuff you need for a three-month trip removed from it, was deadly for my back. Marigold indeed was small as I found out when she came to reclaim the hatchet, no more than slender three and a half feet. Apart from a never-ending barrage of questions, she had precious little to offer in the way of raw lifting power while Daddy, or more appropriately Handley, the gem cutter, rummaged under the cart, replacing a busted wheel mount. Eventually, my torment ended and I sat, back aching, wedged between rolled-up bedrolls and warm blankets. Handley and Marigold were in front, softly talking to themselves. Maybe they were discussing what to do with this dodgy traveller, but at least they kept true to their word and offered me a ride to Storm Harbour, Before we left, I heard Handley stash a small lockbox full of rattling somethings under the driver's seat. The constant creaking and swaying of the cart, fighting in the well-worn wheel ruts, had a soothing effect, and before I knew it, I was out like a light. The dream was wonderful. I dreamed of Arach, her silky smooth lips, the nether ones, tightly wrapped around my rod, hardened by a generous helping of a certain salve which the priestesses of the Chaos Queen always had at hand. The stuff guaranteed nights-long endurance for their twisted rituals. It also had the added benefit of dulling down my own arousal, so that I would only spew my seed when properly stimulated, which in that special case necessitated Neer'din shoving his sizeable tool up my rear entrance. Good times. Then Hael'quira ordered poor Arach to clean off Neer'din, after he was done ravaging me. Arach had climbed onto my lap, taken both of my hands and placed them on her breasts as she feigned unholy arousal, licking Neer'dins slickened dick. I didn't remember Arach purring against my chest or her arms around my neck. She needed both hands to keep Hael'quira's chief henchman from ramming his tool down her throat... Wait. That required further investigation. I forced my eyes open, only to remember that I had no eyes to open. No eyeballs, no lids, no lashes, just a pocked crater landscape where once my eyes had been. And there were fingers, caressing the wrinkled mass of scars. Irritated, I shook my head, now fully awake. There really was someone sitting on my lap, a firm behind rubbing against my crotch. My hands came up and I quickly patted the body down. Her hair was long and done in a thick braid which hung almost down to her waist. "Hey, that tickles," Marigold purred into my shoulder. She wore a simple kirtle under a thick cloak, which she had tossed over the both of us, blanketing us from the occasional draft slipping under the cart's tarp. That was odd. No girl of three and a half feet should have that much cleavage. But there was no mistaking it, the little minx sported a decent handful. "What about that?" I asked, squeezing gently. "Hmmm, that's nice. Don't stop, please?" "Why are you touching my face?" "I have never seen a blind man before, let alone had sex with one. Are you mad?" I postponed the answer and instead opted for another grope. Her nipples hardened under my touch and offered little resistance to my questing fingertips. "You really know how to touch a woman, stranger," she sighed. Her hips began a rolling motion against my crotch. There was no way she could miss my rising hardness. "A woman, huh?" I teased. Going all in, I slipped one hand into the worn-out arm hole of the kirtle, teasing her skin. Goose bumps and purrs awaited my fingers as I slid them over her chest. No. That couldn't be a child's body. Only if I suddenly had ended up in a special place made for mad, blind drow assassins. "Hm-hmmm. I'm twenty-four years old. Don't they have halflings where you come from?" Halflings. Now things made sense. Somewhat. Halflings were small humanoids, their bodies seldom reaching more than four feet in height. People, including me it seems, tended to confuse them with human children, a misconception those with a sinister disposition liked to cultivate. The priestesses called them "mutants" where I came from, but they were prized as curiosities or sex slaves, especially for their shock value. And I had heard of many a halfling slave using their master's neglect for their own gain, often backstabbing them at the worst opportunity. They were legendary for their quick wit and even quicker fingers, a claim I could wholeheartedly confirm. Marigold's fingers were nimble indeed as she undid the laces of my trousers. "What are you doing?" I hissed, tossing my head in the general direction of the driver's seat. "Daddy's much too busy driving," Marigold whispered back between small, hot kisses to my cheeks, nose and ravaged eyes. "As long as you're quiet, that is. I have played with myself often enough in here while we were on the road and he hadn't noticed. So, are you mad at me?" she asked, a mischievous tone in her voice. Ye gods, I wished I could see that smile. Why did she smile? Because her small, gentle fingers were checking out my meat, by now painfully hard and bent at somewhat of an angle as the tip was still firmly lodged under her crotch "See for yourself. Do I look mad?" I asked, placing my hands under her bum and lifting her off my lap long enough for my pole to spring free. I sighed in pleasure. She wriggled on my hands and a moment later, there was no fabric left between her petite bum and my hands. I had no idea what she bathed with, but her skin was silky smooth and she smelled fresh and clean when I buried my face into the small of her neck, licking and biting the skin. I wriggled my thumb around until I could brush along her slit. Only a light fuzz tickled my fingertips. Marigold inhaled sharply. "No, I think we might get along just fine. Set me down, will ya?" "Do you have a special place in mind?" I whispered. She giggled into my ear, then one of her hands snaked between us, pointing my tip where she wanted it to go. "I hope you don't take me for a shameless harlot, but it has been more than three months," she hissed, her voice catching as my tip caressed along her slit. "And I hope you don't take me for a... oh, Trickster..." Suddenly, coherent banter was impossible. With a swift downwards motion, she had taken me by surprise. She wasn't a virgin, that much was obvious. "That must have been lonely three months," I rasped, amazed at how tight and wet she was. Despite our size difference, she seemed able to take my whole cock with ease. And let me tell you, after my own dry spell, her pussy around me felt like heaven. "You have no idea. If Daddy knew, he would rip my head off. For him, I'm still his innocent little adopted flower, but I can't be twelve-and-a-half forever. And no, you're not hurting me. In fact, you're just the right size. So gooooooood," she hummed into my mouth while we were rocked by the shaking cart as it struggled through a section of road plagued by deep pot holes. And believe me, it's true what they say about farm girls - they know how to use their stuff. She most deliciously squeezed my rod with her insides when the road was straight and level. "I hope it's a long way to Storm Harbour. I could get used to this," Marigold murmured. "Same here," I chuckled, moving my hands from her amazing breasts to her butt cheeks, lifting her up so I could thrust into her. Her lips found mine again and each time I moved, she moaned into my mouth. Her hands had slipped under my shirt and her fingernails were crawling up and down my chest. There was just the two of us, a wonderfully warm bundle of coos and murmurs, only silence around us. Then I realized it. It was suspiciously quiet. Even Marigold had stopped moaning. "What?" I hissed. "Why is it so silent?" "Because... we're not moving any more," Marigold gasped, her voice torn between lust and panic. "Why?" "Because there are people watching," she quavered. "What kind of people?" "A huge, blond giant of a man. And an auburn-haired elf. And... Daddy?" She sounded like she was about to die on my prick. We got caught? But why? "Hello Gheeran, fancy meeting you here," a cool female voice purred. She sounded smooth and dangerous. I knew that voice from somewhere, but with most of my body still in the bedroom, so to speak, concise thoughts were tricky. "Where are we?" I rasped as my rod collapsed. It slid out of Marigold and flopped onto my lap. I hoped we were still covered by that blanket. "Why, at the Land Gate, Storm Harbour. Have you already forgotten my name? It's 'Shilana,' remember?" I wished I could faint. * * * * "And that's how you found me. Happy?" I asked, a little chagrined. I would have liked to say my goodbyes to Marigold, but between her shouting match with her father and the two soldiers guiding me towards the Guard House, there was no opportunity. Shilana sat across from me; I could sniff her tell-tale ozone scent even across the table. Behind me, one other person paced from one end to the room to the other, his armor rattling with each step. "What are you planning to do, now that you're in Storm Harbour?" the other one, Leo, asked. He stopped behind me, his presence looming in my field of perception. I remembered him. He was the reason why Shilana had gone willingly into a drow camp, to be abused by one of my kinfolk. From Shilana's tales, I knew Leo was a paladin, so I didn't even bother with lies or colorful jokes, that would have only made him mad. By the Trickster's shrivelled bollocks, he felt huge, even larger than when I leaned against his petrified body, back in Tiss' lair. It felt like that had happened a lifetime ago. "I think Ya'tyrr wants to test me, how much of use I can be to him, even like this," I began, running my fingers over my scars. "And how are you going to find out?" Leo asked, not unkindly. "My first idea would be to seek out Tear and Arach. I have adventured with them and I know they trust me, somewhat." Well, Arach at least. She had trusted me enough to let me fuck her, which, in a renegade drow female, is quite a sign of confidence. No Blood Oath either, although I wouldn't have minded that all too much. Being linked to her lover, Tear, had been deliciously sweet; all her emotions regarding Arach were intoxicating. No, Arach trusted me enough so she could play the charade and didn't have to worry about Neer'din, who was all too eager to have his way with her. "Tough luck," Shilana said, her hand clasping mine. "They left Storm Harbour four days ago with most of the other Moon Maiden faithful. Something about a 'full moon feast' or some such." "I can wait. Ya'tyrr gave me some coin. They will come back eventually, won't they?" "You are not getting into trouble while you wait," Leo cautioned me. "Otherwise we will be forced to kick you out of the city, adventuring companion or not." I nodded. "I'll behave." "Do you want a guard to guide you somewhere? I imagine going through Storm Harbour alone and blind can be a little problematic," Shilana offered. I had been to Storm Harbour several times in the past. I even had some contacts in the local Thieves' Guild. But telling members of the Guard that wouldn't be a wise idea. I could hardly ask them to find one of my contacts for me, now could I? Walking alone was out of the question either. Even in the quieter winter months, Storm Harbour was too crowded for its own good. We were getting close to summer, and the city certainly was bursting at the seams. Being swept up by the crowds wasn't my idea of fun. "I would be honored if one of your men could take me to the Toothless Godling, if it isn't too much of a bother." "Not at all, and it beats finding your bloated corpse by the roadside," Shilana said as she stood. * * * * "How are we going to do this?" the young guardsman, Thaion, asked. I felt his unease radiate off him like heat waves. "Shall I take your hand?" "I have to figure that out myself," I grumbled. "I'm new at this blindness business myself. But hang on just a moment." I undid the laces holding my purse to my belt and slipped the purse under my shirt, tying the laces into a loop long enough that I could wear it comfortably around my neck. Then I took off most of my armaments and tossed them into the small bag I had on my back. Thaion's presence shifted inside my small area of perception, but I could make him out clearly enough. "I think you won't need to hold me tight," I teased. "Just go ahead, I'll follow." "If you say so, sir," the young Guard said, saluting almost on instinct, the rivets in his glove ringing off his helmet with a gentle "ping." Then he did a smart about face and walked ahead, towards the exit of the Guard House. The difference in noise levels as he opened the door was shocking. Trident Road was one of the major thoroughfares of Storm Harbour, and the sounds of walking travellers, clopping hooves, peddlers hawking their wares and whatnot crashed over me like a roaring tidal wave. Suddenly Thaion was gone, swallowed up by a veritable wall of people in front of me. I tried to take a step backwards, but bumped into the flank of a horse, the animal neighing irritably. Before I knew it, I was lost in a maelstrom of jostling people, my magical blindsense overwhelmed, useless. It was so precise, I could sense a coin fluttering in front of my face, but now all it registered was a wall of humanity crushing me on all sides. And to top it all off, I felt a small hand sliding along my crotch, zeroing in on my belt. Snarling, I intercepted it and caught a shockingly thin wrist. "Hey, lemme go!" a young boy squealed. I hauled him close and slapped my free hand over his mouth. He bit into it savagely but I didn't let up. "Nod if you understand me," I hissed at him. He stopped struggling and nodded. "Good. I could snap your neck like a rotted stick, so don't make me mad." I felt him tense up against me. "Are you with the guild?" I asked him. He relaxed a little, then nodded hesitantly. "Good. You go and find Rokun. Tell him Gheeran wants to see him at the Toothless Godling. Got that?" Again the boy nodded. Keeping him pressed to me, I fished for a coin and pressed it into his hand. "A quick tip and the only second chance you'll ever get. Don't just comb the crowds. Look where your hand is going to go. Here," I placed his hand on my crotch, "you won't find coins, but you'll make the owner suspicious. Or horny. Not everybody is as quick as I, but you still might get caught by someone who isn't as friendly." He groaned into my hand, so I let him go. The urchin bolted. I heard Thaion call for me, so I raised my hands and waved. The Temptation of Gheeran "I didn't notice you were gone until I was almost two corners ahead," he apologized. "No matter. You know what? I've changed my mind," I said, my voice trembling. All I wanted now was to be away from the constantly jostling, pressing masses, away from their ceaseless chattering. My heart raced and I noticed I was shaking when I held out my hand. He took it and pulled me along. Not wanting to look like a total fool, holding hands with a Guardsman, I slid my hand from his grasp and grabbed his elbow instead, and almost like a pair entwined in a strange, sideways dance, he began to steer me around obstacles in the road. Eventually I smelled the acrid stench of a tannery and heard several hammers ring off anvils. We were deep in the Craftsmen's Quarter by now, and the Toothless Godling was a small inn mostly frequented by travelling artisans and crafters, at least it appeared to be on the outside. The Thieves' Guild had a sizeable stake in it as well. Locksmiths were craftsmen as well, after all. The roads became even worse and we had to slow down. Storm Harbour may be the biggest city in these parts, but even the largest city couldn't afford paving all their alleys and byways. Or maybe people took the cobbles and used them for their own ends. After a few more minutes, we rounded a corner, Thaion slowed and I could smell the inn, that particular scent of people, food and spilled ale wafting from its open windows. "Here we are," he said, clapping my shoulder. Away from the clogged main streets, I felt much better, but still far from my best. "Which way is the door?" I asked. "Oh, sorry. Here," he said, placing my hand on the handle. "Thank you." "Don't mention it. Glad I could help. Will you be all right from here?" He had me there. I shrugged. "Guys like me fall on their feet. Don't see why it should be different this time." "Good bye then," he said and left. I pulled the door open and entered the taproom. By now it was around noon and many locals were having lunch here. Whatever was on the stove, it smelled delicious, and I realized how hungry I was. I threaded my way through the crowded place, ending up at the bar. The shaking had subsided, but I still felt like I was balancing on marbles. Far too many jostles, far too many people around me. Suddenly quite exhausted, I groped around for a stool and took a seat, the hard, unpadded wood an island of stability under my bum. A moment later, something warm and wet bumped into my hand. Carefully, I felt around, only for a large, slobbery tongue to lave my fingertips. "Umm, what's that at my hand?" I asked no one in particular. Someone snickered nearby. "Back off, Muffins, stop molesting my customers!" The thing next to me gave a small bark, then the wet sensation disappeared. Oh, just a dog. "Hey there, stranger. What'll it be?" The voice was female and friendly, quite a nice surprise. "What happened to Torgun?" I asked her. "Oh, him? They found him in the harbour, gutted like a pig. Some say he rattled his bone-box at the wrong people and some cross-traders took offence." I smiled thinly as she went on in the Cant. "Others say he took garnish from the Law and ratted out some buggers hiding in the sewers. Oh, and Muffins? He's my bouncer. Say hello, boy," The dog gave a good-natured "woof", then placed his head into my lap. I wasn't an expert on canines since we drow preferred lizards or, in the case of our priestesses, giant spiders as pets, but he was a big, drooling mass of thick fur with big, floppy ears, a slender, long nose and quite a lot of teeth. "Good riddance," I smirked. "You're quite the pleasant surprise." "The same goes for you," she purred, leaning in. Her breath was warm on my cheek. Soft lips and a noticeable underbite, two pointy tusks, brushed my skin. She smelled like herbs and smoke, an interesting combination. "Wait—are you—" I began. She cut me off with a finger to my lips. "Name's Zejka and I run this place now that uncle has kicked the bucket. Gotta problem with that?" Interesting. Zejka had to be Orc, or at least half-Orc, if she was related to the late Torgun. That meant large, curvy, green skin and black or brown eyes, with hair to match. "No problem at all. But Muffins? Really?" I had to ask. Zejka laughed, a full-bodied, sensual sound that made me smile. "Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but his fur looks like freshly-baked cupcake dough. So yummy." Nodding I went for my purse. Placing two coins on the counter, I turned on my most dazzling smile. "I'd like a room for the next few weeks and whatever you're cookin'. Will that be enough?" I pushed the coins across the counter. The wood was thoroughly scrubbed, only the barest of hint of knotholes and grain under a thin greasy layer of lacquer and polish. My hand brushed hers. Her fingers, strong yet supple, peeled mine off the coins and squeezed them. "With that kinda money, you're very welcome here," Zejka cooed. I shot her a grin. But before we could go on, I heard soft steps approach. A moment later, a body entered my perception from behind. "Ah, Gheeran. Still trying to lay everything?" I turned in my seat and grinned viciously as I heard Rokun inhale sharply. Our last meeting had been almost a decade ago, but then, I had still had eyes. Hearing Rokun's surprise gave me quite a rush. Normally, he was as cool and unflappable as you could be and not be dead. "I'd say 'nice to see ya', but..." I began, my grin widening. "By Desire's floppy tits, what happened to you?" Rokun asked. "Oh, I intend to tell you. But why don't we take this upstairs?" "Zejka, honey. A bottle of that fantastic elven white you got, two glasses and whatever Gheeran had ordered." "Your tab or his?" the woman behind the counter wanted to know. "You got coin?" Rokun asked me. "I just gave her some. And I promised you last time the next one would be on me. My tab," I offered. "I'm not arguing," Rokun said. "Which room?" A metallic scraping, then something cool bumped my fingertips before Zejka's fingers tapped mine. "Room three. Has its own back door. Fine?" Zejka said, her hand still not moving. I slid the key towards my other hand, pocketed it and squeezed her hand back. "Very thoughtful. Thank you." * * * * "You look horrible," Rokun remarked, handing me my glass, freshly refilled. I took it and leaned back until my head gently bumped into the unevenly plastered wall. At least the bed appeared to be comfy and there was no discernible movement in the straw-filled mattress. Much better than what I have seen here in the past. The wine was also a nice surprise. Refreshingly sour, yes, but without the acidic aftertaste many whites had. "Lack of sleep," I said. "That's not what I mean. Your face—" "Don't go soft on me now, friend. Don't tell me a few scars are unnerving you," I said with a fierce grin, poking my finger into what remained of my left eye socket. "It must be getting to you, despite your brave act," he observed. "You're even thinner than usual, you're pale and you're shaking." "Told ya, lack of sleep. And I'm not wasting my nights polishing my stalagmite." I drained my glass in one long go. Good stuff. "Got someone who does that for ya, eh?" We both shared a chuckle at that. I shook my head and held out the glass for a refill. The food, a thick stew with meat, veggies and potatoes swimming in molten cheese broth, had vanished while I told him of what had happened to me, and we were polishing off the second bottle. "I wish. That halfling girl this morning was the closest I had gotten in the last two months. I think the days of Gheeran, ladies' man, are finally over." I said bitterly. Something Marigold had said kept coming back at me, and the more I thought about it, the angrier I became. "I have never seen a blind man before, let alone had sex with one. Are you mad?" Was that all I was to her? A curiosity? A black, somewhat frayed feather in her cap? I snarled and took a swig from the wine, trying to get rid of the bile in my mouth. "Well, keeping the past behind us always helps," Rokun said. I could picture his grim little smile. If you were to look for "stoic" in a phrase book, his finely chiselled, hawk-nosed face would look back at you. Calm grey eyes, hair somewhere between silver and snow white, pale lips, slightly pointed ears. Your typical half-elf. No matter how grim the circumstances, how nefarious the deed, his calm exterior would never change. The little grim smile was all the emotion he allowed himself to show, and there were enough people who had taken it into their grave. "Good advice, as always." I admitted, draining the rest of the glass, again urging for a refill. The wine warmed me up and the shaking subsided. "And that's mainly what I'm here for. Advice. What the fuck am I supposed to do, Rokun? I nearly died out there today. I've never felt so ... helpless." "Well, what you need is a cane," Rokun began after a moment. "A cane? Look, I'm blind and all, but—" He cut me off with his hand on my thigh. "Let me finish. I know some beggars, war veterans who hit it pretty bad after the last raid. Remember that one where they lighted up the grain silos? Poor suckers got their faces melted off. Anyway, they are quicker and more dexterous walking with a cane than you can ever hope with that trinket of yours. Also, people will make room when they hear you coming." I shuddered. The memory of being caught in that maelstrom of people, without any beacon for orientation, came back. The stuff of nightmares, as if mine weren't disturbing enough already. "That's the point. What kind of assassin announces his arrival with a frickin' cane?" "The one no one would expect. No one would think the blind man clicking up to them could be any danger. You pull out your hidden dagger and that's that. Once you're close in, that ring works, doesn't it?" I slipped my foot out of my boot and concentrated. I could make out Rokun, sitting relaxed on the only chair in the room, both feet on the bed. Trying to hide my grin, I planted my toes right into his crotch, caressing him. His hand clasped around my ankle and shoved, hard. "You know I don't do it with men," he snapped, a distinct note of disgust in his voice. "You have no right to complain until you've tried at least once," I smirked. "Who says I haven't," he spat. "If you have, why wasn't I involved?" "This isn't about me, you know. You asked to see me and here I am, trying my best to help you. Can we stay focussed on that for at least a moment?" Rokun moved in his seat and I heard the bottle gurgle. * * * * After lunch, Rokun had disappeared for about two hours, leaving me to settle in. Not that I had much to do, but a quick nap made me feel almost whole again. When he returned, he introduced me to the dwarf Harok, one of the war veterans he'd spoken about earlier. "Now ye're like a helpless babe," Harok chuckled. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. He smelled worse than any dwarf I had the misfortune of meeting. Unwashed wasn't new, but underneath that baseline of sourness I could make out something much viler, the stench of decay. And then there was the eye-watering bite of stone water. Compared to him, Zentam, my erstwhile battle companion, smelled like a spring meadow. I made sure to keep downwind from him as we entered the Godling's back yard. Rokun handed me a long, slender cane and I used my fingers to explore the object. It was just over four feet long and made from three pieces of oak wood. The main shaft could be split in two for easier storage, and one end had a small wooden ball, mounted to a spinning disc, attached to it. The handle was wrapped in leather and felt very nice in my hand, almost... Wait. I snaked my fingers across the thing. Yes, this was almost like a sword hilt! Grinning, I noted a button inserted into the pommel of the handle. "Are ye listening ta me, elf?" the dwarven beggar snapped. "I doubt it," Rokum smirked. "He has the attention span of a drunk kobold and a one-track mind. Maybe he's thinking about how to lay you." Two releases clicked open when I pressed the button. With a soft hiss, the handle came loose and I pulled it away from the cane, noting the distinct sound of metal sliding on wood. A quick check with my free hand confirmed my suspicion. The handle ended in a slim, triangular blade, not unlike the duelling swords many nobles loved to ineffectively wave around. The weapon was built like a rapier, just not quite as long, more like in between a dagger and short sword, but it made the perfect nasty surprise. "I think we start with walking first," Rokun whispered, handing me the rest of the cane I had dropped. I felt his hand brush mine and everything went dark. Well, not much darker than it already was, but the bubble of perception I'd started taking for granted vanished. "You little—" I spat, whirling around and whipping the cane through the air. The thing clattered against the nearest wall, without hitting any insolent half-elves on the way. "As with anything, you need to learn the hard way first," Rokun explained. "Once you have the basics ingrained into your very essence, then you can think about cheating reality. Now, find Harok. And mind the puddle." "And how am I supposed to do that? I can't see!" I snapped. "I know." His patient tone drove me up the walls. "Harok can't see either, but he managed to make his way here no problem. Plus, he told you already. You haven't been paying attention." Sighing in defeat, I again listened to the dwarf's long-winded explanation of walking with a cane. Leave the cane-holding hand in front of your stomach and lead with the rolling ball on the floor, exploring the space where your next step would land. We were in the back yard of the Toothless Godling, but to me, it was more like a whole new continent. I felt utterly helpless as I got lost time and time again, splattering through the huge puddle in the middle of the yard, hitting the supports which held the inn's second story or just veering off-course. At the end of my first afternoon, I felt angry and frustrated, convinced that this would never work out. To add insult to injury, Rokun refused to hand me back my ring. * * * * Weeks later, I got the hang of feeling ahead of each step with my cane and things became a bit easier. At first, Harok had me thoroughly explore the Godling's back yard, tasking me with finding odds and ends he dropped while he was counting the time. When I managed to find those items reasonably fast, he took me out into the back alleys surrounding the inn. And something wondrous happened. Once I stopped being afraid of each new step, walking, exploring and memorizing the convoluted tangle of streets, back yards, alleyways and plazas became much easier. Once he felt I was sufficiently secure, Harok took me along on his routes. As a blind beggar, he didn't have too many options when it came to making money, but he persevered somehow. The first long way I learned was the one to Temple Run, the wide avenue near the city center lined with places of worship to Justice, Mercy, Plenty, Death and all the other deities the humans worshiped. Once a week, Harok told me the priests of Mercy would give alms to the needy. There were shops and inns he visited where he could get some food on the cheap, but to my horror, his favourite place to get food was the Fish Market near the harbour. I was mortified for two reasons. First, the smell. Like an oily blanket, the stench of fish guts hung heavy in the air. No matter how brisk the wind, like rotting mouths the large smoke houses easily managed to foul the air and Harok told me they regularly dumped huge amounts of fish guts straight into the harbour. The second was the harbour itself. I may have gotten comfortable walking through narrow streets, but Harok's way to the Fish Market led straight through a good stretch of the Harbor, over crowded piers along the stinking basin. Hadn't it been for nimble passer-bys, I might have found out just how interesting that harbour water really was. Harok knew some people doing jobs in the fish trade, from fishermen to gutters to haulers who once were with the Guard like he was, and they supplied him with all kinds of fish-related goodies. What they got in return still eludes me. Part Two: Summer One morning, it had to be in my third month in Storm Harbour, I had just finished breakfast and was pampering Muffins with some leftovers, Harok slapped his meaty hand on my shoulder. "Good news! The Guard has their annual veteran meeting and I'm invited." I nudged his ribs with my elbow. "Did they invite a necromancer too? If you're in, all the fallen should be too," "Watch yer tongue, elf. I may be blind, but I don't need eyes to choke you with it. Ready for a walk?" "Sure. Just let me get my gear." I fondled Muffins between the ears one last time, then got up. "What are you two up to now?" Zejka asked, swooping in to collect my breakfast cutlery. "Man stuff, wench," Harok huffed. "Don't you get Gheeran in any trouble, you hear?" the innkeep warned "Zejka, sweetheart. I'm a big boy," I said. By now I knew the taproom of the Toothless Godling well enough to traverse it safely, even without my cane. As long as Muffins didn't decide to sleep in the middle of the floor or some patron forgot to push his stool under the table, I was fine. "And Harok is trouble for three." Zejka stomped back behind the bar, dumping the crockery into a tub as she went. "Just be careful, that's all I ask." A few moments later, I had my weapons and enchanted arm guards on me and returned back to the taproom, wrapped in my cloak. "Ready." "Good. The sooner we're there, the more we can drink," Harok said, rubbing his hands together. Then I heard him make his way to the Godling's front door. "We're taking Carpenter's Walk up to the small market and then a bit of Trident Way. You think you can manage that?" he asked once we were outside. I nodded. Carpenter's Walk was notoriously crowded with long wagons carrying everything from tree trunks to planks to finished furniture and the draft horses would be tired and bad-tempered, but I liked the smell of freshly cut wood and sawdust. The small market was open all week, one of the places where those living in the Craftsman's Quarter could get fresh food. The monotonous "tock, tock" of our canes gave the walk something soothing, and before I knew it, I already smelled Carpenter's Walk, that aroma of sawdust, wood and horse manure. We were close to Midsummer's Eve and Storm Harbour was steaming under the unrelenting sun. There was the occasional breeze off the ocean, but by the time it reached into the Quarter, it was heavy with the stink of too many people and hardly refreshing. We ran the gauntlet of overhanging cargo our canes couldn't detect, bustling loaders not paying attention and bad-tempered horses trying to get a kick out of kicking us. "I wish I had me axe," Harok grumbled once we reached the end of Carpenter's Walk. "I wouldn't mind a bit of fresh horse. Beats the stale bread Mercy's giving out lately." "You're not allowed to keep your weapon?" I asked him, incredulous. "Nah. All me gear was property o'the city. Once they kicked me outta the Guard, they kept the armor and the axe. And I had no coin to buy a new one. Besides, when ya gotta choose between food, drink, wenches and weapons, a weapon comes up pretty late:" I shuddered at the thought of stinking Harok writhing on top of a prostitute. I was truly glad that Zejka allowed me to use the Godling's bath without charging extra, if only to keep me from chasing away customers by being unwashed. I got yanked out of my musings when I bumped into Harok. The dwarf had suddenly stopped.