Private Tales Let Us Bare Our Teeth

[Iskra]

She regretted telling those with her on the ship where she was staying, but even more so Roul as she opened the door to the her room above the apothecary shop. To see his face this early in the day warranted a deep scowl.

Iskra opened the door fully and wandered back into the room, pouring herself a glass of whiskey. "What do you want?" She grumbled, still fighting the last grasps of sleep clinging to her.

In order to keep her lodgings, Iskra spends the night cleaning the shop and aiding the shopkeeper in refilling vials and stock. Manageable duties, at least, until she came up with an idea on how best to utilise the magic she did have now that one cuff had been taken off her wrist.

It never hurt to have some coin, even in these parts.

"Did someone die?" She asked, pouring her guest a glass and handing it to him.

 

[Roul]

The Cortosi eyed the brown liquor flowing into the glass. Not even half past eight in the morning.

“No,” he rasped, his voice the guttural grind of a ship’s hull on sand.

The sullen-eyed mercenary stepped further into the room, his boots thudding across the shoddy wooden floor. He looked over the array of vials and herbs. They had her doing busy work for an apothecary. He grunted. Quaint.

"We have a job." He tapped a vial filled with some sort of bright green liquid and peered at it, curiously. "New gang of fungus dealers. Haven't been paying their dues to the Black Fortress. Wardens need it dealt with."

Roul turned around and looked Iskra up and down. "By us."

 

[Iskra]

Her eyes narrowed, and in the dimly lit room, her eyes looked as it there was a predatory glow. "The Wardens." She repeated, shaking her head and downed her glass. The mage steeled herself at the burn, using this time to think on what he said.

"I don't work for those bastards." Not after they continuously rejected her requests for the cuffs to come off. There were scars wrapping around her wrist where one cuff came off, due to the efforts of Iren, but even with a fraction of power, Iskra wouldn't be attempting the same method again. "Did they ask for me themselves, or did you think 'Hm, maybe Iskra wants to play fetch with me...'?"

The mage mused, turning to meet his gaze. "I haven't tested the full extent of my magic right now." It was not Roul's fault, entirely, that the Wardens left a bad taste in her mouth.

 

[Roul]

The way she slammed back the glass. The dangerous look in her eye. The phrasing of the questions.

Roul smelled a trap, no matter which way he answered.

“Hmm.”

A low rumbling in his throat, a cornered wolf considering his options.

“They haven’t sold or killed us yet. We’re useful. The more useful, the more trust, the less chains.”

He pointed at her wrist in emphasis.

“Let’s go.”

No one ever accused him of having a way with words. Why beat around the bush hoping some birds would fly out. Get down to it. Burn the bush and move on.

 

[Iskra]

Iskra rolled her eyes at his urgency, but took the time to pour herself another glass to wash down the pull of slumber still resting heavily upon her eyes.

Well, at least she got to break her fast.

Iskra caught Roul as he got to the bottom of the small staircase, the mage grabbing her cloak that hung up by the door leading to the shop front.

"Morning, Nellie." She sighed, giving the fae a grim smile in return to the squinting of the shopkeeper, who made no remark on acknowledging her newest hire.

Iskra was glad her first purchase had been a fine cloak in a purple that reminded her of the colourful empire, a token of remembrance. It certainly made her stand out, but with her withering stare and halting demeanour, it only left strangers to stare at her from afar. Following Roul, who was thankfully not one for small talk, they gathered many stares.

 

[Roul]

Roul touched his forehead in passing greeting to Nellie as they briskly strode past.

He glanced behind him as Iskra caught up.

“Nice cloak. Tyrian dye?”

Expensive shit. Made from crushed snails, or something, in that island city off the coast of Annuakat. Roul hadn’t been but they said the shores reeked from the drying snails. Not exactly picturesque.

Sure as hell couldn’t say that for Cerak. The place was the biggest pile of feces, piss, discarded trash, street graffiti, drunks, and rampant clap. Roul was pretty sure he had passed the same corpse in an alley three days in a row and nobody had done shit to clean the body up. He supposed if he saw it again they should burn it.

Still… there was something about this place when the smell of the by came in with the fresh breeze of salt spray and seaweed.

“You notice it yet?” He gestured errantly at the few strangers they passed.

“No hateful looks. No town guards ready to haul you in for what you did in a past life, or a curse you can’t control.”

 

[Iskra]

Iskra snorted. "Didn't think you to be the kind to know about Tyrian dyes." Or care about it, but the mage gave him a nod of confirmation and followed him to wherever it was he was leading them towards. He knew the details of the job, and Iskra made no effort to ask for more details from him. She was no sympathiser to the Wardens, had wanted nothing to do with them, but even she knew who ran this place.

Let Roul be their dog, Iskra thought, dark brows furrowing at his question.

She rolled her eyes at his answer.

"We have not been here that long. Allegiances shift all the time, and I intend to be on a boat away from here when those Wardens no longer see our worth."

The only stares they got where the eyes looking upon her Tyrian dyed cloak, but many thought twice after seeing the glint of silver at her hand. Half strength of magic did not fill her with the confidence she had without the cuffs, but she had been trained by the best to know her way around blades. If there was a group stirring trouble with the Wardens, then it would not be an easy job.

 

[Roul]

“Guess you would say that,” he grunted.

Unlike him, Iren, and the rest of their sad little group, Roul didn’t know of any curse that plagued her, or any writs for her execution. When no one wanted you dead or imprisoned, it made returning to the continent a simple choice.

Roul did not have that luxury.

He glanced at her.

“Didn’t always used to be this, you know. A fugitive. Had a life before that. Even had some pretty, dyed cloaks.” He frowned. “Still the same at the core though. A killer. Just a different cause.”

He sniffed and rolled a shoulder, lost in thought.

They crossed the street and entered an even more ramshackle side of town, with twisting alleys and houses that looked thrown together - a wonder they managed to stay upright.

 

[Iskra]

"Did we all not have lives before?" She mused aloud, following him closely and not losing pace. The mage was not unused to the bustling of a street, and much rather this sort of traffic than an empty street. It allowed them to move without true recognition or attention; two forces breaking against the flow of people going about their day.

It was not until they crossed, now breaking from the crowd and walking towards the debilitated buildings and the smell of shit assaulting their noses. Iskra brought the hood to her cloak to mask her nose, face scrunching in obvious discomfort. Nothing here seemed like it would last, with many homes without doors, without windows, just holes in the wall with heads peering out as Iskra and Roul ventured in and not out.

"I have seen better slums than this." She murmured, voice low and soft as a whisper. "No wonder the Wardens wanted you to do this in their stead."

 

[Roul]

“Hm.”

She’d certainly grown a tongue since that little caravanserai in Amol-Kalit.

Roul knew he went through life like a bull, solving problems directly and usually with excessive force. When you train your whole life to commit violence, finding any other profession or method seems temporary at best. Somehow, he always found himself with a sword in his hand.

Back to basics.

People tended to not be… receptive… to that approach. Iskra didn’t seem to care.

“Raith said you had certain talents that could be useful. Any idea what he was talking about?”

The Recluse seemed to know far too much about their individual histories.

Roul pointed as ahead loomed a somewhat larger building with a first floor made of stone and the second and third stories made of wood, jutting out above the first floor and slightly into the street. Someone had painted a grinning toadstool on the building’s side in red paint. At least… he thought it was paint.

“This one.”

 

[Iskra]

Iskra stiffened only slightly, not noticeable as the pair continued their walk to their destination. "I am a mage... there is always a talent." She left the quiet to hang there a moment before offering something she knew might not be the case of Raith's attentions. "Illusions, hypnosis... hallucinations... fogging of the mind."

It had served her well to learn such magicks, kept her alive and well all these years working for the Empire.

Iskra had told them all she was a vagabond, not liking to be in one place for long. It had been on the ship before the storm, and she was only glad that her wanting out of this bayside shithole only sold further her claims.

The building Roul pointed out looked like it had been slapped together without much care, and that only seemed on message with the childish picture painted on the stone's side. It earned a snort from the woman.

"Fungus dealers." She echoed the words he had told her earlier that morning.

 

[Roul]

Roul’s nose twitched and he glanced at Iskra, just for a moment he’d smelled… fear.

Hmm.

“Yeah.”

The mercenary looked at the building. He didn’t particularly want to go inside. With one fist he banged against the door as hard as he could.

“Come out,” he bellowed.

A moment, some sounds of hurrying feet from inside followed by a crash, then a high, cold, sneering voice replied from the other side of the door.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Wardens sent me, don’t matter who I am.”

“Fuck the Wardens.”

“Come out now or I swear to the fucking celestials I will burn this whole building to the ground with you inside on the count of three. One…” he lit a fire in his palm with spark of magic that grew larger and hotter until it smoldered in a glowing orb of flame. “TWO.”

“Shit, shit, ok!” The door creaked open and the fungus dealer scampered out.

It was, of course, a goblin.

Roul scowled down at the creature.

“You the boss of this gang?”

“Nah, big boss is busy. He ain’t got time for you. I’m lil boss, you speak to me now.”

Roul had not dismissed the fire in his palm. “Why don’t I just burn your face off and then look for big boss?”

The goblin didn’t look like he appreciated that.

“Iskra?”

 

[Iskra]

Amused, a brow lifted as she watched Roul handle weeding out whoever was on the other side of the door, her face turning sour at the sight of the goblin. Filthy, grubby little thing, the goblin tried to give them the run around. The mage though it brave of the creature, large eyes staring at the flame held in the male's hand.

At the sound of her voice, she flicked her gaze to Roul and canted her head. "Goblins don't like a nice soapy bath." She offered, and the small creature threw her a look of disgust at such a suggestion.

Iskra shrugged, edging closer to the door without much thought of the goblin still in the door way. "I suggest you go bother the person we are here to see. You think fire is nasty?" Something shifted about her, moving beneath her cloak. A soft hiss could be heard, and out from the clasp at her chest, a python's head emerged. It slithered up and out from under the Tyrian dyed cloak, behind her neck, and resting there. It's yellow eyes watched the goblin.

"Big... big snake!" The goblin tried not to look as nervous as they felt, but the mage began smiling.

"Something of your size should take about.... five or six days to digest?" Iskra crouched down, so that the python's head was somewhat leveled to the goblin. "It will take you a minute to get the one we wish to speak with."

 

[Roul]

"Yeah," rasped Roul, reaching out and seizing the goblin by the back of his shirt. He started pulling the little guy toward the snake, who opened up a maw that horrifically grew larger and larger and larger.

"Shit, oh shit, oh fuck, oh my god," screamed the goblin, "stop please - I'll tell yuz where he is please just put me down."

"Where?" Roul growled, still not putting down the goblin.

"He went down ta wet his whistle at the Scarlet Harlot."

"The hell is that?"

"What's it sound like, idiot?"

Roul grunted, then threw the goblin back into the road with apparently little effort. He pointed at the sprawled fungus dealer. "If you gave us wrong information I'm going to come back here and feed you to the snake. Piece by piece."

Then with a heavy sigh he turned on his heel and started walking off in the direction of the row of houses where most of the whores seemed to ply their trade here in Cerak.

"Can't imagine this place will be up to Kaliti courtesan standards," he complained to Iskra.

 

[Iskra]

Iskra fell into step with him, the python illusion dispersing with the change of wind.

With a sigh, she shared in his complaints. "Why must they always go to a brothel?" Her brows furrowed, annoyed that the amount of times her inquiries in the line of work would take her to whorehouses and other respectable places of pleasure.

She had not ventured all too far in Cerak as of yet, perhaps a refusal to become familiar with this shithole. Where Roul moved, she was not far to follow.

"Seeing as you didn't get a name from the goblin, it's a good thing I swiped this from his pocket." When Roul had the goblin's face near the python, Iskra's eyes moved. She held out a letter, the same ghastly grinning toadstool drawn onto the front of it. "Does it help our little detour?"

The letter would contain a warning, that the Wardens were onto them and their organisation. Perhaps the arrival of Roul and Iskra would give time for someone to warn the boss running the dealership.

 

[Roul]

"Hm. Nznzap. That doesn't make any sense. That's- oh..."

Roul turned the letter rightside up sheepishly.

"Bazuzu. Right."

Clearing his throat, Roul strode on until they came to the street where the whores plied their trade. Scowling ferociously at the women and men who tried to gain his attention, Roul took on the aspect of a thunderstorm - focused solely on the way ahead. He squinted and pointed at a sign hanging above another dilapidated building. It depicted a redhaired wench.

"There."

 

[Iskra]

Iskra scrunched her face at the name. "Gods, that the boss' name?" And still wore the expression as he corrected himself.

Her eyes followed where he pointed, a redhaired woman painted above the door. "Good boy, Roul. You found the Scarlet Harlot." Sarcasm dripped heavily from her words, but she gave him a smug look before crossing to the building. Iskra's cloak billowed behind her, only coming to rest once she paused outside the door and knocked thrice. Moments later, it opened a crack and someone peered at them from inside.

"Yeah?" Asked a gruff voice.

The mage lifted a brow. "My friend here needs a lady." She simply said, taking a step towards the door but the man on the other side kept a firm distance of the door being ajar.

"What, you not enough for him?"

"Oh, he is not my type. I too would like to browse your available girls."

This earned her a snort. "We charge extra for that."

Iskra rolled her eyes. "Yes, I know how this works. Not my first time visiting a Scarlet Harlot."

She turned to look at Roul with an exasperated look.

"Pay the man so he can let us through the door."

 

[Roul]

Not her type- oh... hmm.

He shot Iskra an annoyed look, then made a show of fishing out some coin from his pocket. He pushed it around in his palm. A few Anirian silvers. An Allirian gold piece. Ah, there was a Kaliti coin with the minted face of that half-giant emperor on it. Wasn't he missing or something?

Roul handed the Imperial coin to the doorman. "Let's go," he growled, "I want to see your wares."

The doorman grunted and let them inside to see the 'wares' which in this case happened to be several women and men standing or sitting in a lounging room. The air was smokey and reeked of the cloying sweetness of dream pipe. The courtesans came in quite the uh... variety.

Roul leaned over to Iskra. "Is... that a Naga?"

The snake lizard flicked a forked tongue at them and one translucent eyelid flicked open and shut.

Did... did she just wink at them?

 

[Iskra]

Iskra made sure to walk in before Roul, needing that first assessment of their surroundings that told her a few things.

Where they had entered from cannot be used to get back out if they needed an immediate escape. The hall was long, doors boarded up but hidden with painted depictions of several risqué positions that told a story each step they took deeper into the interior.

There, in the main receiving room, at least two guards. Daggers sheathed in every reachable spot on their persons, but Iskra knew she would have a quicker draw before they could palm their weapons. Magic had been her saving grace, the gift she would thank the dead gods she prayed to for blessing her.

Not only Naga, but orcs, elves, and even an elegantly poised lesser fae that sat at the pianoforte were among the evenly balanced number of humans.

"Well, it appears we have the pick of the place." She mused to Roul.

"Welcome, patrons. Any of our darlings striking your interest?" A woman appeared from down the stairs, pausing a few steps from the landing. She was a short woman, but her perch above them all gave her precedence. Her eyes raked each over Roul and Iskra, smiling to herself. "Handsome man... and what an exotic woman you are."

The mage wanted to gag, but refrained as she turned and leaned closely to Roul, so that it cloaked her face as she murmured to him so softly, it was inaudible, but heard by only him due to her magic. "We cannot let anyone know we are looking for anyone. Pick someone."

 

[Roul]

The Cortosi's beard bobbed as his lips pursed. He stroked his chin. Fuck. Keres might kill him. Resurrect him. Kill him again.

He inhaled through the nose and nodded, as if he'd been inspecting the wares instead of contemplating the weird wanderings of his life, then pointed at an entrancing fae whose sheer green slip of a dress managed to evoke the forest while also trying very hard not to exist at all.

"She'll do."

Now what. He'd drag this fae off for some coin to do his business while Iskra interrogated the owner? Probably that short woman on the stairs.

Hmm.

Roul hadn't come in here with much of a plan. If he had his way they would just start kicking in doors until they found the hobgoblin. How many of them could there possibly be in this establishment right now?

 

[Iskra]

Iskra turned to look at where Roul pointed, doing her best not to snort as he no doubt had picked the prettiest face from the selection. Her eyes appraised the fae woman, smiled, and wandered over to offer her hand. "You wouldn't mind if I came to join?"

"Audiences are extra." Called the woman on the stairs.

The mage did not look her way, but reached beneath her cloak for the coin pouch and tossed it. She shouldn't have made the throw, but her magic helped guide it's trajectory and the woman caught it. She huffed, but no one denied the mage and the werewolf.

A hand reached out and took Iskra's outstretched one, standing up and towering over the mage. The prettiest of smiles was directed at her as the fae looked up to Roul. "Would you both like to follow me to the room?"

Iskra beckoned Roul forward, offering him the fae's hand and to take the lead. "I think I would like to watch you and my friend first."

I have spells to cast. Once we are in the room, you need to stall for a few minutes. Iskra's mouth did not move, but her voice was right there at his ear like a whisper blown in with the wind. Spelled, so that only he may hear her.

 

[Roul]

The burly Cortosi shot Iskra an amber-eyed glower as her voice whispered in his mind, whilst her lips stayed silent.

Sorcery.

Cursed Three below, he hated sorcery.

And sorceresses.

Well. His thoughts drifted briefly. Maybe not all sorceresses.

With a grunt, Roul grabbed the slip of a fae by the hand and dragged her toward the nearest room. Her bones felt fragile beneath his calloused fingers. His heart felt cold. Black. How many whore houses had he torn apart? How many witches had he burned? All in the name of the Sun. Could still smell the ash sometimes, at night. Hear the screams. Worse than battle fright.

“Watch all you want,” he rasped coldly, making no show to play the gentleman. They expected a rough corsair.

He yanked open the door to a bedroom down the hall and practically tossed the slender fae inside.

“On the bed,” he commanded.