2:15 Spectre.

One moment, there were no sounds other than the rain.

The young Human, a newly-minted Hawke Manse guard, turned her gaze ever so slightly over her shoulder, unable to deny the feeling that she was being followed.  She checked for shadows, listened for quiet footsteps, even tried to smell what little rain-soaked breeze was passing by for any scent that didn't belong.

But there was nothing.

With a quiet sigh, the young woman turned back around and continued walking back toward her home.  She was fortunate to share a stone-built place, not too close to the docks, with two other young women who had decided not to wait until they were some male's property to live their lives.  After a long shift, most of it spent standing outside of Hawke's impressive wrought iron gate in the rain, she was really looking forward to spending the rest of the evening warming herself in front of the central fire where one of her more homey roomates would be cooking.  She turned into the alley that led to it, but only got a few feet down before a rolled strip of cloth was wrapped tightly around her neck.  Her first fear was that she'd be choked to death, but she was simply yanked backward with enough force to get her to the ground.  There were twenty seconds between the moment she dropped and the moment a heavy blow to the side of her head pushed the consciousness out of her.

"Thanks," Mi'ishaen breathed, quickly stripping her mark of her armor.  The cuirass and boots were good enough to use, but the other two pieces were useless.  While Mi'ishaen was sure that putting a hard leather cuirass over a cotton dress was not at all the highest of fashion, she decided that it would have to do until she was able to buy better.  At least Karth- at Nithraz's request- had replaced the thin prison wear with an actual dress made by someone who wasn't forced to cover every prisoner in the hole.  According to Nithraz, if Mi'ishaen dressed more like a woman, she would realize that she was one.  It was a theory that Karth had rejected as complete nonsense, much to his credit, in Mi'ishaen's mind.

After deciding to use the manse-marked daggers, Mi'ishaen used the girl's blouse for extra storage, leaving the young thing nearly top-bare in the street, then set off for the part of the Urmlaspyr where the sun was rumored to never show its face.

As she expected, there were a few merchants crammed into the much tighter, darker alleyways even though it was raining steadily.  Most shied away from her approach, either in reaction to the Hawke seal on the upper left side of the cuirass or to the soaking wet Tiefling making her way down the street as though she owned it.  It was some time before she could find a tight-lipped, quick-eyed buyer who was calm enough to face a Tiefling without being squirmy about it and brave enough to buy Hawke-marked items.  As the details of the deal were gone over, however, he seemed to either lose some of his nerve or his patience.  She was just pulling the top of the sword from its holster to show the unusually distracted buyer that it was the real deal when her tightly-wound nerves finally convinced her that something just wasn't right.

A fighter in a set of leather armor that was completely black got the jump on her, pulling her head back by her hair in the effort to put a solid punch into her throat.  But Mi'ishaen grabbed the arm that was coming down at her neck and turned her entire body in a direction that the arm could not go, forcing the rogue to turn with her in an awkward sideways spin that set her free of him.  The goods fell to the ground, the pieces of armor becoming dangerous obstacles and the short sword sliding deeper into the alley- the merchant tried to quickly do away with the blade, but a thrown shuriken that suddenly appeared from somewhere on the other side of the next building convinced him to leave it precisely where it was.

Mi'ishaen, her hair free of the attacker's grasp, now looked at him, wondering which of them would move first.  He had no weapons drawn, so she did not draw her new acquisitions either, especially since she was not completely sure of how they would feel in her hands.  After mere seconds of uncertainty, the fighter, the well-fleshed and probably male, shifted forward to try a kick to the ribs.  Mi'ishaen deftly blocked it, moving forward to throw a punch that got blocked just as easily.  A few similar back and forth passes that the Tiefling could only assume were mere warm up movements were traded.  While this was happening, a second dark figure appeared- to first kick the pieces of armor down the alley along with the sword, then for the inevitable opportunity to catch Mi'ishaen in a disadvantaged position. 

The only thing worse than suspecting that something was about to go wrong, to Mi'ishaen's mind, was to have it happen.  Problems that were complete surprises were much easier to handle, ego-wise, than those that loomed large and obvious in the much-too-near future.  This particular problem included getting kicked just under the ribs first, then in the backs of the knees.

She crumpled to the ground, more annoyed with her ability to be grounded than pained.  Normally, this would be a terrible position, but when the first attacker picked up his leg to kick her in the head, Mi'ishaen decided to repay her pain into his knee.  She grabbed the back of his ankle and mercilessly slammed the side of her fist into the joint, eliciting a sharp crack and a howl of pain that echoed down the streets beyond the alley.  He collapsed instantly, unable to bend his knee, and Mi'ishaen pulled him up to give him a skull-cracking headbutt that robbed him of consciousness.  She quickly rocked back from her knees, stood and turned, seeing that the the famine-thin cheater had a dagger drawn.

While Mi'ishaen had never been much of an advocate for playing fair, she was furious at this dark figure's interference.  She drew both daggers, taking a lightning quick moment to spin each one singly over the first finger of each hand, then to spin them simultaneously.  One of the very early memories she had of her father was him doing just that with throwing knives- first spinning the one in his left hand, then the one in his right, then both at once.  He'd flip them into the air a few times as well, catching them by the hilts first, then by the blades.  Most thought that this bit of play was just showing off, but Mi'ishaen- much like her father before her- had always taken the weight of her weapons extremely seriously.  One never knew when they would have to perform.

As it turned out, it was fortunate that she'd taken those few seconds.  The second rogue was quick on his feet, smart, and as good with just one dagger as Mi'ishaen was with two.  Both agile fighters danced about each other, sparking with energy that they poured into their respective muscles and weapons.  About ten or twelve punches and slices later, Mi'ishaen knocked the feet out from under her attacker, winding him.  Without a second thought, Mi'ishaen delivered a crushing kick to the side of the man's head and buried one of the daggers she had swiped from the guard as deeply as she could into his throat.  She waited a few seconds, twisted the hilt, then tugged the dagger out, sighing heavily- with satisfaction.

"What, tired?" a light, feminine voice called buoyantly from the side of the alley that gave way to the street.  "Seemed to me like you could have fought much harder."

Mi'ishaen found she had just barely enough restraint to turn around and look at the source of this exuberant soprano without just tossing a dagger between its eyes.  There stood a woman, dark hood pulled back to reveal a red haired, sea green eyed, freckled face.  Her skin, fair and slightly creased, preached of years that had not yet weighted her tone, and the various streaks of grey that rested with the vibrant red locks somehow seemed hideously out of place there.

"Ah, Diven.  And by a woman, too; now he's got twice the crow to eat.  Oh, my- it's a shame Selvien wasn't as good as he thought he was-" the woman marveled as she fearlessly walked past the concussed male, who was apparently a jerk named Diven, and looked down at what was left of Selvien, whose torn-open throat was now a gory mixing bowl for blood and rainwater.  "You can replace him.  That is, if you don't feel like returning to jail- again."

"And what do you get?" the Tiefling breathed, just barely audible.  She didn't care for the way the woman had shown up without making a sound, or how she'd begun making offers before she'd so much as given her name.

"Me?  I've been on your side of the table before-" the woman placed a firm knuckle under Mi'shaen's chin to have a good look at her face in what little light was available.  "-Blade daughter.  Or do you prefer Gorgeous?  No, that was for your pet girl- who you don't own, that's right.  Have to say, your friends are very interesting.  I just get a little cut- say, five, eight percent of whatever you do naturally.  Based on what I've seen and heard, you carry your trades like your blades- one for each hand, and I love, love, love it.  So flexible, so resourceful, so- useful.  Now, what you get is what's more important.  I give you cover, I give you information- but you keep your freedom.  Your talent isn't on a leash, ever.  You break the wrong guy's bones, I throw someone in a trap.  You want to know where your heart throb is, I get a pair of eyes right down into that old bone rattler's crypt.  Be good to me, and I'll be better to you- and I don't even have to be the only game in your town.  I prefer to be a priority, but you are, as it is said, a free agent."

"Who are you?" Mi'ishaen spat, turning to gather her wares, only to discover that another black clad figure had already put them back into the soaked shirt.  "Did you cut the same deal with these rats?"

"Oh, I can understand your annoyance, but some pressure testing was necessary," the woman sighed contemplatively.  "Like I said, I've been on your side of this, but I've been on the dealer's side for an admirable amount of time.  We both know I can't stay that way by working gently.  Call me Dark.  And while you weigh your options, think of this- there's a lovely little task force specifically being designed to get you back in a prison cell as we speak.  It's going to be led by your favorite half-blind, alcoholic fighting savant, who is currently on an ever-shortening leash.  Think about when Nithraz finds out that you really are a murderer- maybe not the one he's looking for, but- well, why be picky?  He'll hang you both like midday wash, find your girlfriend, hang her too, just for holding your blood-stained little hand."

"And just how do you know all this- Dark?"

"You should come meet my associates for yourself, Minx.  And when you come, know that I know that you will leave.  Maybe it'll be within minutes.  Maybe it will be a few weeks, months, years.  But you will leave; you have to.  Know that I'll keep in touch- like a distant relative or an almost-estranged friend.  It's always good to have someone who is just as aware of her usefulness to you as you are of yours to her, don't you think?"

Mi'ishaen had to admit to herself that she liked the way this older woman talked.  Still feeling there was somehow a catch, she looked at Dark expectantly.  "Deals like yours don't get made in the open air."

"Love it," Dark nodded, putting her hood over her head.  "Hand that tat back to Stone; it's why I brought him.  I know what it's worth, and you worked for it."

Stone, who was a full-blooded, muscle bound and heavily tattooed Orc, stepped up to show that he had picked everything up.  In his arms, the bundle seemed about as challenging to carry as a new born baby.

"If I hand it off, he keeps it where I can see it," Mi'ishaen replied tentatively.

Dark laughed quietly and nodded, like an approving mother.  "Hand it over, Stone.  Let's see if she can keep up with her hands full."

It wasn't an idle saying.  Mi'ishaen had quite the challenge trying to keep up with the older woman and her surprisingly agile associate while whipping in and out of alleys, avoiding guards and slipping into foul-smelling tunnels that were ankle-deep with unexplained filth.  Remembering how Silveredge had gagged first at the smell of kobolds and then again at the odor of the jails, Mi'ishaen wondered how she'd handle trudging through what was no doubt the offal and upheaval of others.  As used to unpleasant situations as she herself was, she was rather grateful that she'd acquired boots.

After twisting and turning down so many tunnels that Mi'ishaen was not sure where in the actual city she could actually be, the temperature began to climb significantly.  The floor of the burrow dried out dramatically and even became cracked like a land struck with drought.

"What is this place?" Mi'ishaen finally breathed, her gear feeling much heavier than it had when she started following the woman.

"Thank goodness- I thought you'd never ask," Dark replied lightly.  "These tunnels were thought up long ago by the Drow who ran the Darkness back when the Dhuurniv were still trying to convince the rest of the dark Elf population that the Dalelands property was a good investment."

"So your organization is called The Darkness?" Mi'ishaen questioned.

"Not for a long time it hasn't," Dark snorted.  The three finished the pathway, which led up to a solid stone door with heavily carved patterns.  Dark seemed to simply put her hand to the door, which responded by splitting in four places, shifting slightly, and pulling back into the walls of the tunnel, revealing quite the collection of pointy objects just inside.  "That Drow was a Dhuurniv, and when Little Miss Netherese Lapdog called in her favors, she demanded little sister's whole operation.  The matron made a decision that apparently sat fine with her daughter, but not all of us were in agreement with having Sembia- and thus, the Shadovar, overrun this town again.  So, there was a split- not a small, democratic or polite one, either.  It was civil war in here for some years.  But in the end, Engus- a Dwarf with a hammer that could split the head of a small dragon in half- held this place, and a few others like it, along with those of us who weren't in agreement with being the Netherese's bitches."

Dark motioned for Mi'ishaen to enter first, but Stone waited for both women to enter before he would do so.  Past the weapon racks filled with swords, axes and maces of all kinds was a squat Dwarven female with braided black hair- on her head and on her chin.  Having just thrown a sword into a water barrel, she turned to Dark and Mi'ishaen expectantly, arms crossed.  The steam cloud that hissed as it rose behind her put a formidable touch on her pose.

"Hammer, Minx.  Minx, Hammer," Dark said simply, more focused on the door, which was refitting itself together as though it had never split.  "Stone, thanks for your time.  Minx, the hardware, if you don't mind?"

Hammer, who was all business, looked up at Mi'ishaen and grunted as Stone gave her a nod and walked through the room to another tunnel-like hallway just beyond it.  Not seeing a flat space that didn't have various pieces of armor or weapons all over it anywhere, Mi'ishaen bent down and laid the make shift sack on the floor.  The Dwarf wasted no time in sitting right down and getting her well-calloused hands on the merchandise.  After turning pieces this way and that, running her fingers along the lines of the stuff and whipping it around a few times, she began to give her deep voiced pronouncements of value.

"Hawke tat; worst I've seen.  Greaves, two piece.  Arm and leg guards, ten piece.  Cuirass, prob'ly twenty five piece-"

"I'm not selling the cuirass," Mi'ishaen replied.  Hammer looked up from the armor to her seller, then over to Dark, who waved a careless hand.

"She's trading it."

"And where do you think you-" Mi'ishaen began.  But Dark simply leaned to the left slightly to have a better look at the other side of the room.

"Stitches?   Stitches- oh, there you are.  Come here.  Mama wants you, Stitches."

The way Dark had lightened her tone made Mi'ishaen think that Stitches was some sort of pet- a dog, a rat, something that responded to its name, and came when it was called.  She was absolutely shocked to see a perfectly grown Drow male, heavily burned, scarred and completely naked, who looked around himself fearfully as though he were about to have half his body bitten off at any moment.  Where there were bits of his natural skin left, it was ash grey, and his dirty slate grey hair- matted with mud in places- had been cut short and pulled into a tight ponytail with a filthy piece of twine.

"Stitches, Minx needs a good set of armor.  It needs to fit all around her, see?  All around.  And, she's got a tail- have a look."

And Stitches, who seemed to have absolutely no understanding about what personal space was, walked up to Mi'ishaen and attempted to pick up her dress to look.

"Hey, hey, c'mon!" Mi'ishaen hollered instantly, yanking the edge of her dress away sharply.  As the Drow nearly tripped over Hammer in his mad rush to get away from the source of the loud noise, Mi'ishaen figured that Bahlzair would have a field day spitting acid at this weak product of female domination.

"Softly," Dark said seriously.  "Mind flayer damage.  He might fall down somewhere and twitch for hours if you scream at him like that.  He hasn't got the foggiest notion of indecency, trust me, and was gelded like a farm horse before I ever saw him.  Stitches?"

And the Drow popped his head out from behind one of Hammer's worktables, wide coppery brown eyes blinking slowly.

"So, will you cut Mama good leather that will fit her nicely?  Hmm?"

"I'm- um- sorry I yelled," Mi'ishaen offered, raising a hand to wave slowly.  At first, Stitches ducked as though she were going to somehow magically fly over Hammer to hit him, but once he actually recognized the gesture of greeting, he ventured to show a hand and scrunch up the fingers a few times to approximate a wave back.

"Very nice," Dark smiled warmly.  "Stitches?"

A small, but emphatic nod came from the other side of the work table, and after some bustling, the Drow returned with some much cleaner twine.

"I'll have to take the cuirass off, huh?"  Mi'ishaen said calmly and evenly, preparing to shimmy her way out of it.  There were a few strange moments where it seemed Stitches was not going to come any closer to Mi'ishaen, but absolute stillness and a bit of patience was rewarded with a rather comprehensive measuring.  Mi'ishaen again felt that strange sensation of vague embarrassment that had nagged at her when the court mage was sending some sort of magic hand through her hair.  While Stitches was strangely considerate, thorough and gentle for someone who clearly didn't have all his dice in the right bag, the Tiefling still felt- awkward.

Hammer, who patiently waited until this dog and pony circus came to a close, looked up and gave her closing values.  "Daggers, five piece; short sword, fifteen piece.  Done."

"And the shirt?" Dark asked, crossing her arms expectantly.

"Rags," Hammer replied gruffly.

"Waste now, cry later," Dark commanded.  It was a tone heavy enough to mildly startle Stitches, but Hammer growled for a few moments before accepting the ruling.

"Rags, some pence.  Done?"

"Done?" Dark asked Mi'ishaen, who was feeling the Drow's icy fingers creeping up the inside of her leg in an attempt to take an inseam measurement.

"Total?" Mi'ishaen asked, trying not to shriek or tremble at how close to a tickling spot Stitches was getting.

"Seventy four gold, some silver, some pence," Hammer grumbled immediately.

"Which will cover some of the cost of your new fittings," Dark encouraged.  "Let's start with your weapons; you'll need those immediately.  Stitches, aren't you through?"

Stitches, who had somehow known or sensed that the insides of Mi'ishaen's legs were not the places most used to getting touched, was in the process of very carefully measuring off the thickest point of her calf.   After finishing calmly, he smoothed his hands down Mi'ishaen's legs, which for some reason gave her a small comfort.  Pulling away from her and inspecting his various knots, he turned to Dark and nodded, immediately scampering off to the other side of the large room.

"Fascinating creature.  So sensitive to sound and fluctuating emotions, but resilient and determined otherwise- that damage won't be forever.  He's amazing with armor enchantments.  Practically wills the stuff to protect you.  Anyhow, go ahead and have a look at Hammer's dagger assortment.  Some of them she's made, some of them we've gained, but she only ever keeps the good stuff.  The okay stuff gets traded to allies.  The tat gets sold topside- to people like Hawke and her pet wizard."

"I keep hearing about this woman and her mage as though the pair of them are the strangest things to happen to this town," Mi'ishaen said offhandedly.  "Nobody even says the poor man's name.  I know they can't be the biggest freaks around; warriors bed wizards all the time, no matter who's wearing the skirt."  She walked by the rack filled with different sorts of daggers- dirks, kukri, and a few pieces she didn't even know the names of.  Passing by a set of katars made her smile briefly.

"See something you like?" Dark prompted immediately.

"Just reminded me of someone," Mi'ishaen replied, moving along.  Stitches made unnerving noises at the other side of the room, as if in response, which gave Mi'ishaen the creeps.  "This is quite a collection."

"Hammer's the best- the Forge was built around her," Dark laughed.  "Literally.  Engus was her mate, and gave her this play room for her hundred and twenty fifth birthday."

"A good present," Mi'ishaen affirmed, her eyes finally alighting on two daggers that looked utterly out of place.  The hilts curved just slightly, fit with pommels that started with a wide moon shape base and finished with a sharp edge.  The blade itself seemed to have fangs near the base, then split to finish in two points, making it look more like an insect's head than a weapon.

"Good choice," Hammer noted, still sitting on the ground with what were now her wares.  "Take both. Fit you."

"Spin 'em around, see how they feel," Dark soothed knowingly.

Mi'ishaen carefully lifted each dagger from its place on the racks that wound around the entire room, balancing them on each finger and finally spinning them, testing their weight.  For such a strange appearance, they handled nicely.  Every edge, even the outsides of the base's "fangs," was razor sharp.

"Tiefling make.  Fallencrest import.  Ebony handle, tang goes clear through.  Pommel screws down onto it, tight.  Twisted mithral quillon.  Four functional points, eight edges, all mithral.  Light, quick.  Plain edge; no sawing through bone.  Done?"

"How much-" Mi'ishaen began.

"Done," Dark cut flatly.  "I know you wonder about how much all this is, and how you're going to pay for it.  So do I.  It'll take Stitches a few days to get some armor on that frame of yours.  While you wait, roam around the hole awhile, meet some fellow bottom feeders, sharpen your skills, get all your questions answered.  When he's done, get out there and- well, just don't get caught, hmm?"

Mi'ishaen looked from the daggers that she could not possibly afford to the woman who seemed to be essentially loaning them to her against an uncertain future payment.  "Seriously, who are you?"

The older woman nodded, removing her hood at last.  "I see.  For most, Dark is enough, but for you- Rashiira.  And this place- this is the Forge, one of Spectre's buried holdouts.  I manage ninety six or seven free agent rogues like yourself in this location- I say 'manage,' because the difference between what I'm doing and what Esvelita's pet has got her beloved Drow puppet doing is your freedom.  I respect the intelligence and the ability of each and every one of my rogues by saying, 'You are your own man or woman.  Do what you think is right.'  In Darkness, you're as protected as you would be in any gang, but micromanaged and twisted into a scheme that you may or may not have any stock in, just as you would be in any normal gang.  In Spectre, I'm only as close to you as you want me to be.  If you live, it is because you are able to.  If you die, it's because you deserved it.  All of us have our unique blessings, and we use them to the full, to our own separate and collective benefits- Stitches?  Go."

And Stitches, who had already studded part of a length of prepared leather, picked up five or six small shards of metal and rapidly tossed them at Dark as though they were shuriken.  Mi'ishaen instinctively moved back toward the racks, and was astounded at Hammer, who simply turned to move a few weapons off another table.  Dark, meanwhile, did some impressive dodging, managing to completely avoid being sliced.

"Some more work with Nails, Stitches," she panted after making sure that he had emptied his hands.  "or House Dhuurniv will make a meat stick of you.  Anyway, Minx-"

"Mi'ishaen," the Tiefling replied simply.

"Welcome to the Forge.  Make and remake yourself as many times as you like.  Dark is my fourth outside name.  Hammer's had hers since the coterie was still in one piece.  I see a female perfectly capable of being just as dangerous on a male's lap as she is in a fight.  That tavern picking was clean, but you're capable of fighting hard.  Now, if you see different..."

Dark trailed off purposely, waiting for Mi'ishaen to give herself her own outside name.  After a few moments, the Tiefling took her eyes off the working Dwarf and Drow and turned to the woman whose deal she still wasn't completely sure she wanted to accept.

"I'll let you know," she stated, resting the daggers on a table and heading for the hallway down which Stone had disappeared.

"To be expected," Dark agreed.  "You're a girl of deeds, not words.  You'll find me when you want to talk some more; I'm always closer than you think."