The Forgotten Realms and Neverwinter world, plot, and their characters aren't mine but belong to several companies. Elondra is mine as are some others. I get no money for writing this story.

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Neverwinter, the Sunken Flagon -

- Bishop

He looked around the empty room he'd piled his crap in for months now with a half-hearted curse. The room was shabby and the furniture had a thousand customers use it before him. A thousand more would use it after, unless some sorcerer burnt the place down.

The winter sunlight showed up a stray cobweb that neither Casavir nor Pameran had noticed during the clean out. This handful of rooms had been filled by Lon and Cas with fine clothing and annoying lackeys. They had gotten up early to finish packing the last items and start hauling everything downstairs to be moved to their new Blacklake home.

He wasn't about to tell them they missed something in their cleaning; let Duncan do the room for a change. Lon was too fond of her uncle, in Bishop's opinion.

Someone stomped up the stairs to the room. It had to be Duncan, who only tolerated him, even now.

Bishop smirked at him. "You don't have to weep with us leaving, Uncle. We won't be far away in Blacklake."

"I'm not worried about Casavir. He's a good man. You've already proven unable to stop your licentiousness..."

A growl came from Bishop's throat. "Fancy words to insult me. You'll need to try harder."

Duncan wiped his hands on his apron. "I don't need to try. I know your habits very well, Bishop. You drink, you whore, you kill as the whim takes you. A few months, a year, five at the outside and you will leave again. And my niece and nephew will be broken up about it because they care about you more than they should. They will weep and mourn, even be lachrymose if I bothered to ask Sand for the proper word. But they will get over it, and I'm looking forward to that day. I don't have to do a thing. I've got nothing but time."

This was so matter of fact, without hatred or grief, just as unemotional as a statement that the sun would rise in the morning.

Rage filled him and he willed the spell to change form, wanting to rip out the innkeeper's throat with his teeth.

The half-blood elf didn't flinch, nor did he pull a weapon as Bishop walked closer, stiff-legged and snarling.

They stared at each other for several long moments.

Bishop finally pissed on Duncan and ran down the stairs... running to Blacklake. He wanted his pack mates.

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A/N: This story takes place immediately after Choices: Machinations. Challenge words are lackey, lachrymose, and licentiousness. Thanks to my beta readers who have been kind enough to read this and point out stupid flubs. Any typos that remain are not intentional. Reviews or a PM to let me know what you think would be very appreciated.