Completed What is Common to Mankind

THE LAST STOP​


This particular brothel didn't have much of a name. Apparently it was just called "the Ten-One-Three". A reference to something Zael didn't get, some Elbionese thing or Marte Cartel inside knowledge; that paranoid prostitute hadn't really been in any mood to explain. But the name wasn't important. It was who was inside that mattered. Vale was the star of the show, the big reason why Zael was in Elbion in the first place. Sure, there were a few other things, a couple of which were done, one of which that wasn't, and there was that party night at the tavern with Junius (not really business, but it was fun), but Vale was the prize. Just like Talus had for his Revolution, so Zael reckoned, gathering support was the thing you did all up until it was go-time—you could never have enough, especially against a foe that was nothing less than the entire might of Vel Anir.

The Ten-One-Three was deeper in the Quarterfell than all the other brothels, those all close or fairly close to the conspicuous dividing line between the district and Elbion proper. Zael was glad to have Ruslan at his side. Not that he couldn't handle himself, but walking in a pair rather than alone probably kept the night owls whom they did pass by polite. Being all by one's lonesome might've invited a few inconvenient attempts of thugs and thieves to try their luck.

Through the old streets they went.

Until, in a dark square, one of the buildings which was situated slightly back from the others on one side had etched into the space above its doorframe "1 0 1 3". Outside a burly man leaned against the wall by the door in the glow of the greasy lantern. This was it.

But as soon as Zael and Ruslan came into clean view of the doorman, he snapped an uninviting gaze to them and said, "I don't know you. Go back the way you came."

"We're expected."

The doorman scoffed. "I don't care who you think you're coming to see, I don't know you. So get lost. Before I make you lost."

Zael glanced to Ruslan, Ruslan to him. And the two of them did as the doorman said and turned around, going back the way they came.

"A warm welcome," Ruslan commented as they walked. Then asked in a perfunctory way, "So is that it?"

"No," Zael said. "We're just gonna have to make our own way in."
 
Through a circuitous route did they vacate the sight of the doorman and come around again to the sides of the Ten-One-Three. The first outside wall they checked didn't look especially promising, but the next one did: a boarded-up door, some old side entrance taken out of service.

"Alright," Zael said, hopping on the tips of his toes, cracking his neck, and throwing a few quick practice jabs, all in the effort to get his blood rushing. "This is our in."

"You have a quick way to get through, I imagine?" Ruslan said.

"I do, and it's gonna be loud." Zael clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth. "I also gotta make sure I don't set the whole place on fire."

"That 'Cartel' would be none too pleased."

"Yeah."

As Zael pressed his hands to the boarded-up door, Ruslan said, "So we just go from room to room, looking for Vale as fast as possible?" That one isolated part would be easy enough: Lucy Vale, given what descriptions Ruslan had heard of her tonight, had a distinguishing birthmark above her stomach and beneath her breasts. And, presumably, they wouldn't need to worry about the birthmark being covered up by clothes.

"That's the plan."

"Surely the men of the doorman's ilk will prove themselves obstacles to our effort."

"We'll stick close together—you check the doors on the left side of the hall, me on the right. And we don't get separated. Just drop whoever's in our way. Don't kill em, though, that wouldn't look too good."

"And it would be harder for Vale to call off her hounds if that happened."

"You read my mind. That's the whole idea. Find Vale, get her shoo away the angry muscle, and then we talk business...and you get your notion of what a persistent brothel partaker like Vale looks like."

Ruslan entwined his fingers and stretched out his arms. Took in a breath. He had been prepared to delve into some illegal goings-on this evening, and this certainly was much like it in character. If this went poorly, likely he would have to depart from Elbion sooner than he would have liked, but such was the risk.

"Let the commotion commence."

Zael nodded. Then looked to the door.

And his hands became enwreathed with a dangerous orange aura.
 
The old door blew apart in a wicked flash of magic.

Some things couldn't be helped. Small licks of fire curled around the frame, and Zael, being no pyromancer, wasn't able to stop them—better hope the goons inside could, once Lucy Vale was found. There was a man, one of the Cartel's enforcers, just on the other side of the door, and he caught the worst of it; he laid sprawled out on the floor from the inward force of the explosion, his faces and clothes marred by the barrage of splinters and broken boards. Bad luck, hotshot.

Time was now against him and Ruslan. The longer this took, the messier it would get. The two of them stepped over the fallen enforcer—who still made a token attempt to grab at their ankles as they did—and began throwing open doors as they made their way through the hall. Neither bothered to shout Lucy's name. Nothing so dramatic was needed. All either Zael or Ruslan needed was a quick look inside, because, aside from her birthmark, Lucy being a woman while most of the clientele were men made the task that much easier for them. Here a fat man, there a tall pale man, there a man who never cut his beard once in his life.

An enforcer came round the corner in the hall and charged them. Zael surged forward and grappled with him, yelling over his shoulder, "Rus!" as he ducked. Right on cue, thank Kress, a hell of a right hand from Ruslan swung over Zael's head and walloped the enforcer in the jaw, dropping him. Behind Ruslan though, the tall pale man, stark naked, sagging balls and all, but with a crazed look in his eye, came at them both. Zael whipped around and with a punch propelled by a burst of flame from his elbow struck the tall pale man hard in the nose. He slumped over hard, hitting the wall and sliding down the rest of the way, much of the crazed look and spirit for a fight gone from his eyes.

The next door Zael threw open was it.

There, lying on the bed alongside two other naked women who recoiled with fright, was Lucy Vale: black hair, freckles, birthmark. She was far prettier than Zael thought she'd be.

Two other enforcers, their meaty arms, came through the doorway to ensnare Zael and Ruslan both around their necks. "Lucy Vale!" Zael exclaimed as he struggled against the grasp of the man who held him. "We're Dreadlords! Here to see you! Business!"

That snarling look of indignation on Lucy's face gave way to a kind of pleasant surprise. "Ohhh...is that right?"

Ruslan, going right along with it even though he wasn't a Dreadlord, just said as he too struggled, "Yes!"

And Zael added, "Call them off before they get hurt!"

Lucy snapped her fingers. "Release them."

The fighting and the struggling stopped. The two enforcers who held Zael and Ruslan did not yet let go, but all motion ceased. One of the two asked, bewildered, "The boss isn't going to like this. They broke in through the—"

Lucy snapped her fingers again as if to add extra emphasis to her command, "Then Ingmar can deal with me. Tell him that. If his anger is kindled, tell him: 'Talk to Lucy.'" She smiled, thinking perhaps that fight with Ingmar was already won. Then again with the harsh demeanor to the enforcers, "Now release them. I wish to speak with these two men."

Another moment passed.

But then the enforcers relented, each letting Zael and Ruslan go. Lucy made a shooing motion with her hand at them, and even said to the two women with whom she had been sharing her bed: "You as well. Out." The enforcers and the prostitutes all left the room. Ruslan closed the door.

And Zael said, "Anyone ever tell you you're easy on the eyes but hard to see?"
 
Tonight marked a strange sort of milestone for Ruslan, and it was certainly due to his Gezi, to his traveling to a foreign place with a different culture from whence he came, and, most specifically, to the various establishments he sought out in particular tonight. That milestone was this: he had in this one night seen such a plethora of naked women that it easily eclipsed the whole of his life prior. This was something he neither enjoyed nor detested.

It had to be said, though. Did Lucy Vale intend on going through with the whole of this negotiation...while naked? It seemed so, as she lay there on the bed in such a state, making no attempt to dress herself or to cover herself with the sheets.

Ruslan would let Zael do the talking, and merely nod at the moments where such affirmations were timely, merely play along with the idea that he, too, was one of the Dreadlord representatives sent by this "Archon Gilram."

How Zael did not find Lucy's state to be awkward was beyond him. That she was beautiful made it all the more difficult to focus, to keep one's eyes where they ought to be rather than where, by their base nature, they wanted to go. But therein, perhaps, was a certain power being shrewdly exercised by Lucy, one that involved no magic at all.

Would his Anirian friend find himself under her spell?
 
Lucy tossed her head back, letting out a pleased laugh, and then, looking back to Zael and whisking some of her hair from her face with a hand, said, "No. You would be the first."

"And I'm also the first Dreadlord to come talk to you about Gilram, aren't I?"

"I was wondering when it would happen," Lucy said, her toes wiggling with a clear excitement to match her beaming smile.

"You were playin a dangerous game," Zael said. "Coulda been somebody else lookin for you. The Republic isn't above killin people in their own countries. I would know."

Lucy just tittered. "What are your names?"

"Zael Castomir."

"Rus," said Ruslan, who, unbeknownst to Zael, was keen on not giving his surname.

"Well, Zael, the pleasure is mine. But I'll tell you something about me...I always play dangerous games. But I play smart. I let word trickle toward Gilram's rebellion through some trusted contacts. And if loyalist agents of your Republic had gotten wind of it? Ha. Let them come." Lucy smirked, and this with no subtle display of haughtiness. "You Anirians like to think you've got the world wrapped around your warlike finger. You like to think your Dreadlords are invincible. I would like nothing more than to humble any would-be assassins from the Republic. Elbion trains the best, the most formidable, the most distinguished mages in all the world, a fact you Anirians conveniently like to forget."

Zael, far from insulted, grinned. "That's the kind of spirit we're lookin for."

"Let me be clear: we, the Marte Cartel, will not be sending the dear Archon an army."

"We're not lookin for one."

"Good—though it would have been fun to burst your bubble." Lucy shifted as she lay on the pillows, swaying her body ever so slightly, deliberately, as her breasts swayed along with the motion. "There is...opportunity in strife. Conflict. War. If we could have managed to get in on that first Revolution of yours, well, you and I wouldn't be having this conversation right now. Let's be frank with one another, hmm? Should the dear Archon succeed in remaking Vel Anir in his image, it would be nothing but beneficial to have him in our debt, to have special business privileges in his new order. Isn't that what it always comes down to? A little this for that?"

"That's why I'm here," said Zael. "To hash out the this's and the that's. What you want, and what we gain. We come to some terms, I take them back to the big man, and if he's in, then we have a deal."

"Of course," said Lucy. "But before we begin, there's one little thing you have to do."

"And that is?"

Lucy, lying with one leg crossed over the other, now spread them apart and smirked indulgently. "Satisfy me." With an enticing, half-lidded glance to Ruslan, she added, "Both of you."

She sighed theatrically and said, "You interrupted me while I was in the middle of something. And this is forgivable...if you finish the job. One man just...ahhh...isn't enough for me...but both of you might have a chance. Satisfy me...then we can talk business."
 
This was not something Ruslan had expected.

Nor anything he wished to be part of. Tonight was meant to be only an experience of cultural exploration, and this to be done with an open and inquisitive mind but, also, to be done with a certain distance respectful to both parties. The kind of exploration Lucy was inviting...was not that in the slightest.

That his friend Zael's particular mission depended on this was most unfortunate. The temperance espoused by Jura advised against the indulgence Lucy seemed to partake of in wanton quantities. One might well even look at it that Lucy was, in effect, demanding that both Ruslan and Zael become in this instance her prostitutes, "finishing the job" left undone by the banished women from earlier before she paid them with the privilege of doing business with her; that this is what Lucy thought of them.

Ruslan, for one, would not do it.

Apologies, my Anirian friend, for what complications will come.

So he opened his mouth, the very word was poised on the tip of his tongue, and then—
 
"No."

Zael said it before Ruslan could. He stood there defiant, blood running hot as it shored up the recalcitrant feeling backing his answer. Yet he couldn't help but think that tonight was an abnormal night, a night where he was to a significant degree beside his usual self. Would this have gone differently if he had spent the night with Yuna, met with Malia when he was supposed to, and then found Lucy? Would this have gone differently if he and Ruslan never had that talk?

There was one thing Zael did know, however. It felt like he had the power to make the choice, and yeah, he had made it.

Lucy, at first, didn't seem too bothered. "As our relationship grows, you will find, dear Zael, that I always put pleasure before business. So let us all become more comfortable with one another, shall we?"

"You heard me the first time."

But then she smiled thinly and twisted her head, glancing askew for a moment. "I don't think you understand, Dreadlord. That wasn't a request."

"And you got my answer. No. We're talkin business, and that's it. I'm not here for anythin else."

Lucy sat up in the bed, sitting now cross-legged, hands on her knees, anger's clutch on her expression strong and pronounced. "Who is it that Archon Gilram has sent me? Men, or boys??"

"We're not the ones with the petulant temper, are we?"

"You," Lucy said, snapping her attention onto Ruslan. "Surely you have some manner of manly pride in yourself. Come here, and show your meek compatriot what it is that men do."

Ruslan shook his head. "I won't be doing that."

Lucy huffed, scoffed, tossed her hands up in frustration as her wrath mounted all the more. To Zael again she raised her voice, saying, "No one says 'no' to me, Anirian. No one! Not the College, not the Council, and certainly...not...you. But do you know something? Because I am kind, I will give you one last chance. This is my gift to you. Do you refuse my hospitality? This partnership between the Cartel and Gilram's Rogues will be lucrative for us both. Do not so carelessly throw it away."

Zael looked over to Ruslan, and the man from Gild met his gaze. Sometimes, not a damn word needed to be said—the two of them shared the exact same thought. If Zael from this moment went back in time and told the Zael of even just a few hours ago what would happen with Lucy and how he would respond, Past Zael would tell Present Zael he was full of shit. But here he was, having this thought, about to do what he never figured he'd do.

Because Lucy made a poor choice of words, didn't she?

No one says 'no' to me.

"We're done here," Zael said to Lucy.

And at this, Lucy Vale's rage finally consumed her. She hollered for the Marte enforcers to come back, to beat the hell out of Zael and Ruslan both for their insolence. Whether Lucy followed in the Elbionese tradition and was herself a mage, neither Zael nor Ruslan stayed long enough to find out. They burst from her room the moment she began to holler and, for the second time in a single night, the two men found themselves being chased by angry muscle out of some establishment and through the notorious Quarterfell.

And only after much haste, confusion, and alarm, at last did Zael and Ruslan once more manage to shake off their pursuers.

What a night. What a wild, damn night.
 
"We're becoming...quite familiar with this place," said Ruslan.

Indeed, chance had something of a sense of humor, because once more Ruslan and Zael had, after evading enraged enforcers from the Marte Cartel, ended up back in the same dark and cozy spot as before, that deadend alley nestled exactly where they needed it to be while in such dire straits. The sound of running water, as before, was somewhere close by, just beyond one of the walls.

Zael glanced around. Realized then as he was catching his breath where they were. He let out a breathy laugh. "No kiddin. Got...more than we bargained for...again."

After another moment, where again they trod over a similar beat of the night in simply recuperating from their escape, Ruslan said, "I wager that it will serve us well to stay on the other side of that conspicuous line."

"Yeah. Keep your head down and all that." All things considered, for the rest of the stay in Elbion, it would be best not to draw undue attention. A broken door and a spurned Lucy Vale might be enough to turn the Cartel into a bunch of angry little bees. At least Ruslan didn't give his full name.

"So much for your mission, though."

Zael shrugged indifferently. "Eh. You got a fine enough look at the ups and downs of brothel life, so I'll take that as a victory."

"It does not bother you?"
 
Zael just grinned and shook his head. "Nah. Look, if my side really wants to get the Cartel's help, they can send someone who'll gladly plow Lucy's field—there's no shortage of em." Heh. Zael imagined someone like Edric being utterly baffled by the story of his fellow Rogue Zael refusing to fuck some woman named Vale and that this was why he now had to.

Ruslan crossed his arms. Smiled faintly. "I have to say: I am surprised. Given all you have said of yourself, I did not expect such action from you."

"Me neither," Zael said, laughing and shaking his head again. "But you know what, Ruslan? It felt good. It felt good to do that."

His smile increased in its breadth. "Perhaps you have something of the Gildan character in you."

Zael waved that off easily. "Don't get too excited there, hotshot; I am who I am. All I'm sayin is...it felt good to say 'no.' I've just never had that power before in my life, man. But there Lucy was, tryin to say that we had to do things her way, that there was no other choice. Doesn't matter if she was pretty. Doesn't matter if it woulda felt good to have sex with her. I didn't want to, and that's that. And you know somethin? Maybe she coulda been the best fuck of my life, coulda rocked my world. Hell, I'll do you one better—let's say she is the best woman in all of Arethil any man could ever bed. Say that's the case. But if you or I can't say no to that, no matter how damn good it would be, are we really as free as we think we are then? Maybe this sounds like I did it just to prove a point, to you or to myself or to who-the-fuck-ever. Nothin like that at all. Like I said, I didn't want to, so I said 'no', and that's that—there ain't nothin else to it."

Ruslan's smile didn't abate. He just added to it with a little nod and said, "I understand completely."

"Good," Zael said. Then, as the two men started to depart from the deadend alley, he added, "Because I woulda had to fight you if you started givin me shit over it."

"Would you say that urge to fight is...something to which you could not say 'no'?"

Zael snorted merrily. "Smartass. Wouldn't be that I can't say 'no' there, just that I wouldn't."
 
The line.

Here, on that bold demarcation between the Quarterfell and Elbion proper, Ruslan and Zael would come to say their farewells to one another.

"Good luck on your journey," Zael said. "What'd you call it?"

"Gezi."

"That's it."

"Farewell, and may similar fortune be yours, madi."

"Madi? Alright, now what's that mean?"

Ruslan smiled, and dropped a hand onto Zael's shoulder.

"'Friend.'"
 
DAWN​


The morning sun bathed Elbion in the early light of the new day. The night was banished.

Zael didn't get any sleep. Didn't even try to, because he didn't bother to return yet to his inn room. He had simply wandered about Elbion in the first light of the dawn until he found a tavern that was still open at such an inopportune hour for business. Certainly wasn't the kind of nice place Malia would find herself in. This particular booze-hut had a funny name: This Ain't Falwood. Yer Drunk. Honestly that's what brought Zael in, and then, to his pleasant surprise, one of the barkeeps (who surely must have an awful sleep schedule) was happy to pour him a drink.

There was some orc who, seeing Zael's eyepatch, his build, and just taking in his general demeanor, gave him a not-so-subtle invitation to work off some stress downstairs. What's downstairs, came the natural question from Zael. A place to get your fists bloodied, said the orc. Zael waved him off. Despite what he said to Ruslan a few hours ago, he wasn't really in a mood for a fight. Yeah, that's a shock that would've left even Vance stunned. But it was the truth. Zael just wanted to drink and relax for a bit after the romp through the Quarterfell.

And fortunately to that end, other than the early morning barkeep and the orc, there wasn't really any other souls in the tavern. Nice and quiet. Hell of a different atmosphere one would expect. What a difference a few hours made.

So Zael sat at the bar. Drank slowly. And just relaxed.

An hour or two later, a smile came to his face. He paid for his drinks, gave a little nod of respect to the orc, and left Falwood tavern. He still had a few things to do here in Elbion.

Walking down one of the streets, which now had a fair crowd of people likewise starting their days, Zael heard some urgent steps coming up from behind. Then he felt the clap of a hand on his back.

"ZAEL!" shouted Yuna. Yuna, of all people. "There you are!"

He kept walking.

"Hey! Can you just stop for a minute?? I want to talk to you!"

Zael stopped. He didn't turn around.

"There! Good." Yuna cleared her throat, then assumed a kind of tone that suggested she had spent a bit of time coming up with and practicing this prepared speech. "It was my fault, Zael. My fault! Because I should have known!"

She gave her hair a stylish flip from one shoulder to the other with the back of her hand.

"My incandescent beauty is a lot to take in all at once. I know you've seen it before when we went streaking—" this caught a few glances from passersby, "—but that was different! So, you see, it really was my fault last night, not yours! And I know you don't want to break your promise to me. You're not a promise-breaker! Rostok was different too! So here I am. I'm here so we can have another chance at it. Your choice, Zael. Your choice."

Zael stayed as he was for a moment. The morning bystanders of Elbion walked to and fro, passing by Zael and Yuna both. They stood as a sort of island in the middle of that gentle stream.

At last he came to look back over his shoulder. His sole blue eye found Yuna in its gaze. That smile which had come to him at the Falwood tavern he still wore on his countenance.

And he gave her his answer.
 
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