Nithraz had never cared for taverns.
Tavern lighting was never bright enough, nor did the tables ever seem quite clean. It was difficult for him to explain why he found the need to inspect every bench and stool before he rested his weight on it, and many of his co-workers and subordinates wondered what kind of warrior didn't enjoy a good brew with his friends. But for Nithraz, every tavern was intolerably filthy. They smelled- seedy ones reeked of salt, vomit, sweat and despair, and good ones boasted alluring perfumes, high class wines, fresh petticoats and well-crafted lies.
But every tavern smelled, and not one was clean.
On this night, nearly two weeks after Voyonov was supposed to report on his progress with the Rooftop Reaver, as the erratic murderer had quickly come to be known, Nithraz was finally back out in the Eastern Quarter of Urmlaspyr. The area was noted for being in perpetual shadow, thus earning the nickname "Dark Quarter," and all kinds of creatures took advantage of the shade. While Nithraz's iron-fisted force had once gotten the area to an acceptably low level of crime, he had been whipped up the ranks before he completely succeeded in clearing it. As he walked the streets, one luridly painted shack of sin after another preached to him that he probably should have taken a bit more care to do so. Loudly laughing men and women danced in the poorly-lit alley ways, about half of them getting paid to be that happy. Two or three peddlers disappeared into shadow upon his approach, leaving twitching buyers behind to glare about themselves with confused, hollow eyes. One bold thief snatched a gentleman's purse right in front of Nithraz- and while the captain of the guard certainly raised his voice about the situation, the dazed male shook his slightly ruffled head.
"Don't worry about it," he said amiably, his rapidly dilating eyes struggling to focus on the half-Orc. "It saves me putting money in Cuthbert's poor box, doesn't it?"
And Nithraz had closed his eyes briefly- more a reaction to the signs of parral usage than to the nearly-nonsensical dismissal of his concern. He quickly moved to the side and allowed the gentleman to pass, since the high captain knew that if the man didn't make it home in time, he would go blind and pass out before he got to a safe bed. People who used substances like mushroom powder were bad enough- the logic of those that believed that small dosages of blatantly lethal substances could be fun instead of downright idiotic absolutely escaped Nithraz, who couldn't help but feel that such creatures were to be deeply pitied, if not incarcerated for insanity. This outlook made it extremely difficult to understand his still-new and apparently perpetually intoxicated guardsman, who was rumored to only come up from the bar for air when something loudly attracted his attention. He had not been seen outside of the Dark Quarter since he'd been assigned a patrolling partner, but he had not reported being on the trail of his mark either, which seemed suspicious. Seeing his partner- a nimble Sylvan bowman who seemed to have seen nearly everything in his three hundred cheery-eyed years- walking down the roughly cobbled street prompted a much-overdue conversation.
"Trelwynen, you report promptly every morning, and I appreciate it. But where is Voyonov?"
With a laugh, the white-haired Sylvan pointed a harshly-tanned finger over his shoulder. "The Patched Petticoat, sir, if ye can stand it. Before this, it were the Bonny Dale. Been years since I showed me face in there; all the handshaking and chin wagging just about wrenched me old joints. About midday, we was at Le Lune Silvestre; that had been more your speed, aye? He were looking well out of place with all them adoring Elven coquettes in proper boning. Even some of the Eladrin come down to have a chat- or to try to. Rough lad, that- not at all good with the Common. But some things don't need talking, eh?"
"So then it's true that he just walks from one tavern to another?" Nithraz marveled, almost more to himself than to the Elf who was nearly two feet shorter than he. "How does he-"
"Something diff'rent about Voyonov, sir," Trelwynen replied with a knowing smirk that crinkled his wizened brown eyes into slits. "Never seen a man so near vagrant, yet so well trusted- and downright liked. I've heard a few yarns about men like himself, and I intend to divine what he is at the root. I been around long enough to have me suspicions; I'll sort him out, I promise ye."
"Good night to you, Wyn, get some rest. If you intend to sort Voyonov out, I suspect you'll need it." Nithraz nodded in response to Trelwynen's sharp salute and watched as the wood Elf fearlessly whistled a tune down the street toward the nearest guardhouse. Surprisingly enough, shady pushers that had scurried away from Nithraz's own advance so much as saluted Trelwynen, who seemed to stop to shoot the breeze with them. The half-Orc only suspected that something else was going on when one dealer stretched out a slender hand to indicate the direction in which the cutpurse that Nithraz himself had ignored had gone. With a harumph of slight surprise, the high captain went on his way toward one of the more interesting taverns in the area.
The tavern owner, a sweet-faced female who was a Human with a few tell-tale streaks of Drow, called upon all the patrons to toast Nithraz upon his entrance. "Fy 'Igh Cap'ain, all!" she called out, the harsh accent of the Dahst cliffs curdling an otherwise pleasant alto voice. "What shall I bring ye, sair?"
"My soldier, if you can find him," Nithraz sighed with a slight wave to the toasters. He tried not to look too hard at the stool that was quickly cleared for him, but his reputation had preceded him, and one of the barmaids instantly covered it with a white dusting cloth cleaner than one could possibly expect out of a place called The Patched Petticoat.
"An' ye means fis 'ere gent wha' run off fa cot'rie, ye may 'ave 'im i' tha side boofs somewheres. 'Ow 'e pegs a scrap from fere is past reason, but I tell ye, ye canno' drop a pin 'e dinno' 'ear. 'Im wi' one eye gone's a bet'er guardsman fan 'alf tha two-eyed Dragons I seen. I gives ye great fanks for sendin' 'im when ye did. In a fortnight, I 'ad 'eads enough o'fem Stingers ta dec'rate a castle wall, so I did! Says 'e 'ears fa blood singin', yeah? Tis talent- so says me Ryn, wha's Drow clean frough."
Nithraz found himself squinting with the effort of understanding the young woman, whose pleased Drow husband, Valryn, had come to her side to nod his agreement. "A coterie?" was all he managed after finding himself lost in her rapid monologue. "A clutch of stuffy snuff sniffers?"
"May I bother you for the sheep-back stew, Illiam? Moon table, two bowls, easy on the spice. I'll be glad to direct the High Captain." And with a brief kiss that was hooted at by the more intoxicated patrons, the two split, leaving Valryn to lean over the counter to speak more quietly with Nithraz. "The Stingers have been doing some serious damage to all the ladies in the Dark Quarter. Slicing faces, taking fingers, cutting great swaths of hair, things like that. They're not the petty poisoners they were when Illie first introduced me to this rats' nest some eight or nine years ago. Didn't honestly think that just two males could get them on the move. When Voyonov practically dragged the old Sylvan into the bar, I was suspicious. There was animosity at first, but then I showed him what they'd done to Wendre. Sweet- and very young. Half-Eladrin; just about glows when she smiles. Never saw those dirty bastards coming. Lost two toes and most of her right hand's first finger. Soon as she reached down to take her stocking off- well- that surface Elf was changed. I almost saw hate in his face. If Voyonov's blade was the thunder, the elder's arrows were certainly the lightning. You're not here to reassign them, are you?"
Nithraz didn't bother to tell the Drow that he had not sent Voyonov and Trelwynen at all. "This is more of a progress report. I just need you to point him out."
"In the Hammer booth, second one off your right shoulder," Valryn replied, nodding in the general direction. "He, unlike the Sylvan, usually folds himself up as tight as he can so's not to scare the good paying folk. If you don't see him, Udala may have finally worn his gentleman's nature down. She's nothing if not stubborn- on the other side of the booths, fourth room."
Not quite understanding what the dark Elf meant, Nithraz nodded and turned to begin his hunt. There were four booths on either side of the tavern, although he could hardly call the tables that were hemmed in on both sides by salvaged pews "booths" in good conscience. As they were from different churches, some of the benches had the markings of their former homes on them, prompting the guests and wait staff alike to call them by the symbols. Nithraz prided himself on discovering this upon hearing a patron request Eve's Glory- the waitress nodded and promptly walked a hand holding couple to a pair of benches with a relief of a hand with a heart -shaped hole in its palm. From the other side of that same wall came some muffled but impassioned sounds, and a mildly embarrassed Nithraz realized exactly what Udala was after. Stepping through the entryway to the side hallway and crossing his arms, Nithraz was greeted by the sight of the towering seven foot Dragonborn with his back to the wall, holding a well-rounded female in his arms in front of him. She, for her part, had hiked her skirt nearly to her waist to wrap her legs as far around his upper body as she could, and both were completely absorbed in an intense kissing session until the half-Orc knocked lightly on the wall with one knuckle.
The Halfling female turned and fixed Nithraz with a fearless glare, but Voyonov- who had expertly moved her to one hip- pushed off the wall and got into as solid of an attention as he could while balancing her. Nithraz wondered at how strangely sober he appeared, even when the odor wafting from himself and his much shorter female friend pointed clearly to the contrary.
"At ease," the high captain managed, the scene tempting his gag reflex. "I'd like a word with you outside- if the lady doesn't mind?"
"Da, ser," Voyonov replied sharply and instantly.
"The lady DOES mind," the Halfling shot back at the same time, her own inebriation taking the sharpness off her pronunciation but not a bit of the edge out of her tone. "Took me three days to get him this far!"
"But now that you are getting me, Udalka, I am not going away from you anytime soon," Voyonov assured in an easy, liquor-soaked baritone as he gently set the fuming female on her slightly unsteady feet. It was a vocal quality wildly different from that which he'd just directed toward his superior- so much so that Nithraz was utterly confused for a few moments. "Your prize is coming back, yes?"
"Better," Udala growled, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at Nithraz.
Voyonov bent one knee to kiss her on top of her head, then followed Nithraz out of the tavern with only the slightest hint of a stagger. There were not a few calls after him- some from patrons that were still relatively sober. Apparently, Voyonov had won himself the nickname "Talon," which was for some reason not an epithet with which the Dragonborn seemed entirely comfortable. For all the warmth and gratitude inside, Nithraz found he could breathe a lot easier in when the tavern door had closed behind them.
"So you had time to put a damper on the Stingers while searching for the Rooftop Reaver?" the high captain asked without even turning around.
"He is moving away from me when I am coming too close," Voyonov sighed. A touch of the horrible stench of mushroom ale on his breath made Nithraz shudder. "First, he is striking at temple of Lolth. Then he is causing fires at different burial grounds. Always he is making revenge, but I am not always sure what he is revenging. Some things that are angering him yesterday are not bothering him in a few hours."
"Chaotic- I see. Like your little Tiefling that MacSairlen was sitting on- and by the way, she's finally gotten loose. MacSairlen is confident that he will find her, but I'd rather add that to your plate and let him get back to some higher profile problems on the docks-" Nithraz, hearing rapidly approaching footsteps, turned to see a loosely clad, well made up young Human female nearly throw herself into Voyonov's arms.
"Please- they've got Amilie this time, I'm sure of it. I heard her down the street before, but now it's too quiet, and they sent two big men just a few nights ago-"
Voyonov closed his eyes and laid a clawed hand on the brunette's shoulder. "Saoria, yes? Tell me where this is happening, Riashka."
"East- but not in that street you told her to stay out of. She was prancing up and down by Petey's Peppered Pots, though you couldn't pay one of those flea bitten whores to tell you if they saw her! Why don't they understand that we're all threatened if the Stingers manage to get one of any of us?"
Voyonov patted the young woman's head and turned away from her. "I am coming back, Riashka. Please to go inside and tell Udala that I am coming back, and when I do, I will make sure you are not losing money for this problem, yes?"
As the young woman nodded quickly and bolted inside, Nithraz wondered precisely how Voyonov was going to honor his pledge. Just as he had not shown up to check in, the Dragonborn also had not reported to the treasury for payment.
Keeping up with Voyonov was a serious task. Nithraz didn't intend to run neck and neck with the Dragonborn, but even remaining close enough to give the appearance of backup was wearying. It was as though the news of someone in danger had put an extra urgency in the male's footsteps- and he was moving forward with such arrow-like focus that Nithraz had serious doubt about whether he was actually about to observe a fight between rogues and a drunkard or dead men and a well-trained soldier.
When Voyonov whipped himself into a narrow side street and drew his famously heavy, talon-tipped kilij, the time for guessing was over. One surprised rogue, his armor lined with spikes that Nithraz knew were poisoned, was shoved to a wall by Voyonov's odd sideways charge and slid to the ground, winded. The second Stinger was quick to draw his dagger and attempt to stab the off-balance Dragonborn in the right side where the chainmail wasn't quite sufficient to protect the skin-covered lower ribs. Somehow, Voyonov managed to stumble far enough backward to have the knife meet the wall instead, but he was quick to lean forward again and push the rogue's head into the wall with a forceful elbow. The rogue, well concussed, did a bit of his own staggering, dropping the knife completely and putting a hand to his bleeding forehead. The first rogue, who'd recovered enough to grab his comrade's knife with the thought of putting it into Voyonov's guts, clanked harmlessly against chainmail. It got Voyonov's attention, however, and the large creature dropped to one knee, letting the heavy kilij crash down onto the young male's skull. Just after this, a third Stinger appeared out of an uncovered hole between Nithraz and Voyonov- on the Dragonborn's blind left side. The second drew his other dagger and attempted to take advantage of the fact that Voyonov had evened the height differential between himself and his opponents. Unfortunately, he hit the scale that protected most of Voyonov's shoulder, and the dagger didn't manage to punch through it. Instead, the towering creature tried to stand up again, receiving a light slice to the back of the shoulder's leather-like skin, pushing his attacker backward and- awkwardly enough- tripping over him. Losing his balance entirely, Voyonov sat down heavily on the unlucky rogue's ribs, crushing blood out of his mouth. At this, the third Stinger, who was rather slender, came to an absolute halt and clearly got ready to flee the scene. Sheathing the kilij, Voyonov sprung forward and tackled the escaping rogue by grabbing his waist. Nithraz wasn't a fan of the gust of alcohol-scented air that resulted, but the rogue under Voyonov was completely sickened. Comically enough, the Dragonborn got up instantly when he heard the male beginning to gag.
"Come, come, my friend," he breathed heavily, picking up the nauseous Stinger and dusting him off. "I will wait a few moments while you are catching your breath, yes?"
"Oh- oh gods," was all the rogue could manage to say before gagging again.
"I'll take this one," Nithraz offered, running forward to collect the crumpling Stinger. "Check if that one that you- eh- sat on is alive."
"Da, ser," Voyonov replied with a nod, turning and ambling over to do so. "Ah- nyet, it seems perhaps I am heavier than I am thinking I am. I should maybe be eating little less."
"Or drinking less," Nithraz said pointedly, unable to stop himself. "Clean this mess up and report to me- in the afternoon. I'd rather not see the hangover that you'll undoubtedly have first thing in the morning."
"Da, ser," Voyonov grunted, already preparing to heft bodies. As he bent, however, he heard quiet sniffles echoing from someplace below him.
Nithraz, who didn't hear anything, turned away and began to return to the main guardhouse with his prisoner, satisfied with the thought that he would probably imprison his guardsman until he agreed to sobriety. Supposing that Voyonov was looking for someplace to relieve himself, out one way or another, he offhandedly called, "There's a big hole right here. Probably dug to some cellar- somewhere in Sembia, with luck."
Voyonov sat on his feet for a while, turning his head so his right eye could take in as much as was possible. Spying the hole where he'd remembered it, he scooted over and- sure enough- the sniffling came from deeper within it.
"That half-Orc has a wide streak of mean," a familiar female tone grumbled. "I heard your little waif say you were coming back, but I didn't trust it. Thought I'd be useful-"
Voyonov raised a hand to quiet Udala, but she came close instead, pressing the flask she'd carried out of the tavern into his clawed hand. Without a second thought, the Halfling disappeared into the hole, which wasn't nearly large enough for the Dragonborn to get into, and returned a few minutes later, pushing up a bound and trembling Human female. Voyonov wasted no time in wordlessly handing Udala back the flask.
"Alright, come on, sweetheart, this'll warm you up a bit," Udala soothed. As soon as Voyonov got the gag out of the Human's mouth, Udala got the flask into it, not accepting protest as an option. By the time the solider had managed to cut all the ropes, the flask was a third of the way empty, and the Human was breathing more deeply. "There we are. Now, what's your name? Where should we take you?"
"Amilie," the girl replied after a tight cough. "Say, what was that stuff? It burns."
"Well-spoken- an educated lass, eh? This here's spiced rum. Give it a few minutes, and it won't burn," Udala counseled. "What happened to that lot?"
Voyonov shrugged as if the two dead men were no big deal. "I am looking for Amilie, because Saoria is telling me she is being taken by Stingers. They are having good taste, but they are not handling Amilie in the right way." Udala, who had taken a swig from the flask, handed it back to Voyonov, who took a healthy portion of it before handing it off to Amilie. "Please to finish this, yes? Almost you are not shaking- this is good."
Amilie shifted slightly closer to Aleksei, who naturally set himself up to become a pillow for her, much to Udala's annoyance. She took a deep breath and finished the drink, making a face as she swallowed. "It doesn't burn as much, but it still burns. When will it stop?"
"You've got a little girl in your lap, Talon," Udala snorted, only half joking. "It'll stop in a few minutes, trust me. You'll forget it ever burned at all in a few minutes. I promise."
"Thank you so much," Amilie sniffed, dabbing at her eyes with her fingers. "I had only just walked out of Petey's- the flophouse down the way? It's my first night alone, and- and then this- I-"
"What're you doing in a flophouse, anyway?" Udala laughed, scooting closer to Aleksei in hopes of gaining more of his attention. "You don't look like that sort of girl. You're so- how do I put this- childlike. Innocent, I suppose."
"Oh, thank you, that's nice of you to say," Amilie burbled, grateful tears pushing their way down her cheeks. "I'm afraid that's not the case, but- I just- I'm so glad I didn't have to go with those men, and- I heard the commotion, I was so scared, and- oh, thank you so much! Both of you, you're so sweet, and brave, and nice-"
"I'll bet it doesn't burn now," Udala joked, jabbing a patient Aleksei in the ribs.
"Why- no- I guess- it doesn't!" Amilie smiled. "You were right, it went right away like it never happened, and all that's left is this scratchy feeling in my throat. But it's not so bad as a cold, and I feel much better. Oh, really, thank you so much-"
Udala found herself the recipient of a fairly off-balance and surprising hug. Aleksei smirked.
"This is good night," he said proudly. "Two beautiful women becoming friends."
"Must be a dream, huh, Talon?" Udala purred, putting a hand under his scaly jaw. Amilie sat back for a few moments as the two kissed gently, then reached up to take a single skin-covered fleshy tendril of Aleksei's mane-like hair between two fingers. Since it was very sensitive, Aleksei couldn't help but shudder with poorly-hidden pleasure.
"You saved me," Amilie stated simply. "I could muster a little more than just a thank you, huh?" Before Aleksei could even think to protest, Amilie had turned his head and pressed her lips onto his, closing her eyes and enjoying the moment thoroughly.
When she did pull back, Aleksei simply reached over for Udala, who was absolutely dumbfounded at this young woman who seemed to have spanned the space between an innocent girl and a free loving woman in less than a minute. "Also Udalka is putting herself where I cannot go to help you out. Is she not also deserving good thank you kiss?"
"Why, yes!" Amilie agreed gleefully, and leaned over Aleksei to do just that, pressing her hands to Udala's face as though she'd been the most handsome creature she'd ever seen. "A most beautiful savior- yes," she soothed, looking deeply into Udala's eyes before wrapping her arms around her and tenderly touching her lips with her own. It was clear that she was a professional, staying locked to the Halfling for more than two minutes and provoking some rather pleased sounds. "Both of you. My heroes," she breathed contentedly after she let the Halfling go.
"I am cleaning up this mess, yes? You go somewhere, not far, and I will maybe follow you after," Aleksei suggested.
Amilie clambered up unsteadily, but wound herself into Udala's embrace as soon as she could. "Those Stingers are nobody's friends, not even the Shar-scarred's friends. They all think they're slicker than birdshit on ice, well, that's enough. Dump them in the river, see if they don't sink right down to the hells. You come with me to the Pots, and I will make sure- you watch me, just you watch- everybody treats you real good, okay? I will make you feel so, so good- special treat." She purred the last part of her declaration almost directly to Udala, who- wonder of wonders- blushed so profusely that even the pale skin in her scalp turned brilliant red.
"That- you're- quite a girl," Udala stuttered, her own drinks finally catching up with her with full force. Aleksei felt he had to laugh.
"Maybe you two are sitting in one place, and we are going to the Pots safely together. Then, we are all making each other feel good-"
"Special treat, you watch," Amilie finished, all smiles as she leaned forward to brush her hand on Aleksei's scales. "Melt all this- to cream. I'm the Semmite guard favorite- I know I am. Know all the tricks to heat that chain mail right up, just you watch."
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