Rain made Tanya's gray robes even more drab. She felt it soak through to the marrow of her bones. The only place in this little village to stay for the night—that wasn't a brothel—was a tavern. Its windows were lit to signal that they still had life and rooms to spare. Tanya never liked taverns. They smelled of booze and cigar smoke. The patrons were rowdy adventurers and criminals at worst. Often, they were little better than brothels. If she played her cards right, she could have passed for a man and gone to the brothel. However, even in this village, spending the night with a courtesan cost more coin than she could spare. She would have to take her chances with the Leaky Cauldron.
A beefy warrior stirred a cauldron with a wooden staff in the sign above the door. From the outside, it looked comfortable. At least, comfortable enough. Tanya entered through the thick door. A heavy cloud of smoke welcomed her. Her nose wrinkled at the smell. Her father loved his cigars more than his daughter. To be honest, there were a lot of things he loved more than his daughter. Tanya still couldn't stand the smell. Sadly, it was the tavern or sleeping under a bridge somewhere. She could endure it for one night.
A fire place stood in one corner and a large fire pit stood in the middle of the first floor. The ample space kept patrons from choking on smoke. On a night like this, she expected the place to be full to the brim, but she guessed wrong. The Leaky Cauldron served relatively few patrons in spite of the pouring rain outside. Clusters of damp adventerers settled in spots away from each other. A figure sat on the mouth of the fire pit, unimpressed by the flames licking his back. Tanya tried not to stare at him. His clothes made others take a second look, but what he made himself an object to gawk at. Lavender ram horns grew out of his head, their roots concealed by wavy locks of violet hair. His skin matched his horns. What struck her the most were his pink eyes. Not just the iris but his whole eye was pink like roses. Perhaps because of this the other patrons stayed away from the warmth of the fire pit. The whole tavern seemed to go out of its way to avoid him. He looked up as if waiting for someone to enter through the door. When she turned out to be not the person he was looking for, he smiled briefly at her before going back to impatiently idling about.
Tanya did not remove her hood until she came to the bar. A barrel-chested gentleman—and she would use that term loosely—tended the bar. He looked her up and down. Her clothes were gray. Not drab in appearance, although they were, but they were gray. Gray, rough, and dirty from traveling two weeks down the Ironside Mountains. She doubted he recognized the uniform or its significance. The barkeep gave her another once over, curious at her garments, and asked what she wanted to drink.
"A beer," she croaked.
She should have ordered water. Being stuck in the rain for the last two hours made her sick of water. Besides, Grand Master Lao wasn't around to scold her over her choice of beverage. Tanya slammed two coins on the table. The barkeep snatched them up, pocketing them in his apron, and went to fetch her drink. She dropped her bag on the floor and placed her foot on top to keep potential thieves at bay. Tanya made no plans on getting drunk. All of her worldly possessions were in this bag. Her fingers ran through her damp hair. The braid had not only come undone, but her hair was a tangled web. She tried to comb it to the best of her abilities. However, the knots proved stronger than her determination. Her drink arrived when she gave up. Tanya would wait until her hair dried to deal with the mess.
Out of the corner of her eyes, she saw two men seated at the other end of the bar. She caught them staring at her. They lowered their hoods over their heads and the bar was dimly lit. Tanya couldn't see much of their faces. They both looked young, handsome, and judging by their leathers and hunting gear, either astute in fighting or great pretenders. Strapped to her back was a glorified stick she hadn't yet bothered to remove. She sat in a stool so there wasn't any worry about comfort.
"No weapons at the bar." The barkeep at last returned with a beer in his hand.
The foam flowed over the lip of a wood tankard. Tanya fished her staff and presented it to him. He took it in his beefy hands. He looked her over again.
"Is that all ye got on ya?"
Tanya's brow shot up. Where was she supposed to keep anything? She sighed and reached for her bag. Her boomerang, a gift, she tied to the side of her pack. Tanya fingered with the leather strings until the boomerang came loose. This too she handed over. Never seeing such a weapon before, the barkeep gawked at the odd almost L-shaped missile for a moment before stuffing it into his belt and walked with it and her staff in hand. Tanya sighed, picked up her tankard, and chugged as much beer she could stomach. Setting it down, she licked her lips and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. The bandages she wore on each arm chaffed. With practiced skill, Tanya unraveled them. She winced at the scarred knuckles after she stuffed the soiled strips of cloth into her bag. Five years worth of scars trying to prove something to herself. Her calloused fingers grazed against them, still wondering just what it that Master Lao wanted her to find.
The gentlemen—again, she used that term lightly—started whispering. Had they been in a popular tavern, they would have gotten away with it. Unfortunately, Tanya's human ears made out every word they shared. They were arrogant bas—Control yourself, Tanya. She stifled the urge to slam their heads together. They were honestly no better than gossipy courtiers. By their airs, she knew them to be elves. And not just any elves, high elves. The kind that liked to sequester themselves in their ivory towers and turn their noses at anyone less them. So pretty much everyone who didn't have the privilege of being born a high elf. Had these elves been those of a less prejudiced variety, Tanya might have tolerated them. But these elves... They thought they could get away with it because they spoke in their native tongue. It was bold of them to assume a human female such as herself wouldn't know Elvish. It was even bolder to assume that she wouldn't say anything back.
"If you're going to talk about a woman, you might as well have the guts to say something to her face instead of gossiping like courtesans," she said in their tongue.
Just as she predicted, Tanya stunned them. For a moment. She could see the jaw tighten beneath the cowl of one. This one removed his hood at last revealing elegant pointed ears pierced with a rose-gold ring in his left lobe.
"You speak Elvish?" He switched to Common.
"Yes. I thought it was obvious just now."
He laughed. "I didn't think they bothered to teach humans Elvish in these backwater towns."
"I'm not exactly from around here, so I cannot vouch for the local education system." Tanya took a long swig from her tankard. She drank until a single swallow was left at the bottom. Inside, she berated herself for not making it last a little longer. A gut feeling told her she would need it in a short while.
The elf sauntered over to her. He looked over her clothes, the muddy boots, the foreign uniform, and drab gray that covered her head to toe. He snickered at her disheveled appearance, especially her hair. Why was it always the hair with high elves? Tanya supposed it was better than other parts. His eyes unsettled her but it was more likely because he was drawing attention to them. Without looking, Tanya felt other eyes turning towards the bar. The other patrons found their new entertainment for the evening.
"Your clothes... they certainly aren't from around here."
She wore the robes of a monk, and not just any monk. The Way of the Open Hand was the discipline and the Gray Brothers was the monastic order. They traveled from the far east along with many immigrants who sought a better life after a horrifically long drought. A town two or three weeks from this little village had many Shou immigrants who created quarters of their own. She tried to remember that town fondly as the place she once called home. Nestled in the Ironside Mountains, the monks of the Gray Brotherhood made their presence known. To some, they remained an exotic feature to amuse tourists who paid to stare at their monastary and tell their rich friends over some tea and biscuits. Others disapproved of the monks' presence because of the order's rules regarding criminal behavior. Black market traders resented the fact that they could no longer use the mountain pass to traffic their stolen and contraband goods because of the Gray Brothers.
Tanya swallowed the last of her beer. Her stomach quivered. She should have ordered food too. She couldn't remember the last time she ate. Rubbing her face, Tanya tapped into the discipline Grand Master Lao had taught her. She took a deep breath and released it. The elf was still there much to her disappointment.
"Is there something you would like to say?" She wanted him to go away. More than anything, she wanted a bed. Her body was cold, stiff, and tired. Worst of all, she had an ungodly hunger burning in her stomach made none lighter with a tankard of beer swirling in her empty guts.
The elf put his palm on the bar. His hand was too close; his thumb grazed the back of her hand.
"I was just wondering what a woman like you is doing in a place like this."
Her heart leapt into her throat. The elf leaned too close for comfort. His friend remained seated at the other end of the bar, encouraging him. An unwelcome heat washed over her as the high elf bent down. His minty breath tickled her throat. Tanya, frozen, felt her chest expand and constrict too quickly. The elf smelled of musk and leather and a few too many ales. Her voice stopped in her throat. When she dared a peek, her stomach plummeted. A cold rush of water poured over her. She'd seen eyes like his before. The high elf's eyes burned with the same fire of someone she insulted and paid dearly for it. Tanya's hands clenched into fists until her fingers ached with the effort not to leave him sprawled half-dead on the floor.
She wanted to.
Holy gods, did she want to.
Wave after wave of emotion crashed into her. A tsunami rushing over her head and dragging her towards the point of no return. Tanya trembled, the shudder echoing from the plates in her soul wrenching apart. Her breathing quickened. Blood rushed to her legs. Fight or flight, which would she choose?
Mercifully, someone took the choice from her. The tiefling left his post at the fire pit and, unseen, sauntered to the bar. Lithe hands grabbed the elf by the shoulders and shoved him against the bar. Stunned for but a moment, the elf just as quickly regained his senses. The tiefling offered a toothy grin; he made a show of licking his dagger-sharp teeth.
"It's a sad state of affairs when a tiefling has to remind an elf a thing or two about manners. I believe the lovely lady over here wants nothing to do with you, so I suggest that you and your friend find a shadowy corner to squat in for the rest of the evening."
The elf gathered his bravado and stared the tiefling right into his pink eyes. Curling his lip curled, he snarled.
"And who will make me? You?"
The tiefling inhaled sharply through his nose. Exhaling, his shoulders dropped. He closed his eyes for a second, and when he opened them again, it appeared all the fires of the Abyss burned in them. He grabbed the elf again and slammed him harder down onto the bar. Tanya opened her mouth to protest, but the Infernal speech spilling out of the tiefling's mouth swallowed the words. If they weren't watching the scene before, the patrons were now. Out from the tiefling's mouth came guttural hisses barely construed as a language on this plane. She watched as the elf's face drain of blood and turn ash gray. When the tiefling released him, the elf ran to his friend, grabbed him, and they both headed out into the rain.
Tanya stared at the tiefling. He turned but did not approach more than arm's length.
"Are you all right?" He asked.
She didn't answer right away. Tanya needed a moment to collect herself. Her body slowed down as if it had been running without her. She took time to reunite her body with her spirit.
Slowly, she nodded.
"Y-yes," her voice cracked. "I think I will be. Thank you."
The tiefling smiled and stuck his hand between them, for her to take. When he smiled at her, he did not bare his teeth. It was the most human thing about him. Tanya reached and took his hand, shaking it.
"Ozamir Salvatorre. My friends call me Oz."
Tanya swallowed hard. "My name is Tanya Eyebright."
Ozamir took the stool next to hers but leaned on his forearm against the bar. His tail flicked from side to side, earning a chuckle out of Tanya. A rare thing nowadays. One of Ozamir's brows quirked though his smile remained.
"I'm sorry." Tanya covered her mouth. "I don't mean to laugh. It's just...your tail. It seems a little—"
"Agitated? Yes. I know. Sometimes it has a mind of its own whenever I see pricks like that harassing a lady."
"I'm not defenseless, you know," she countered.
"I know. The Gray Brotherhood doesn't let just anyone into their orders. Let alone women. You must have been a very special case." Ozamir ordered two ales from the barkeep.
The barkeep sneered at the tiefling but kept any deriding remarks to himself as Ozamir slipped him two gold pieces across the bar.
"How do you know about the Gray Brothers?"
Ozamir shrugged his shoulders. "I travel a great deal. You hear a lot of stories on the road."
The barkeep came back with Ozamir's drinks. He handed one mug towards her. She was reluctant to take it, but all those lessons about manners beaten into her as a child demanded that she accept it regardless of her feelings or shyness. The last thing she needed was more alcohol, yet, at the same time, she needed it now more than ever.
"What is a member of the Gray Brotherhood doing all the way out here?"
"Someone told me to find myself. Live in the outside world for a while before I make any final decisions about my life." Tanya sipped her ale. It warmed her throat and the heat slithered all the way down to her toes.
"Sounds like a typical monastery," said Ozamir. "I take it they offered to shave your head and let you take more permanent vows?"
Tanya nodded. At the time, she nearly jumped at the chance. If not for Grand Master Lao's staunch opposition, she would be in the monastery now, praying, training, and meditating with the rest of the monks as a proper member of the order. Not some random woman Lao had taken pity on.
"I'm not sure if that is what I want. I suppose that's why I'm out here, in the world again." Tanya's stomach grumbled.
Ozamir chuckled. "Are you a vegetarian?"
Tanya shook her head. Well, to be fair, though imposed upon her, she put up with the diet to stay in the monastery. She broke that 'vow' within a week of traveling from the mountains.
"Waiter!" Ozamir called the barkeep who looked even dourer than before. "A plate of roast beef and some stew for my new friend here."
The barkeep left off in a huff to tell the cook his order. Tanya took another swig from her mug before pushing it away. She shouldn't drink anything more until she ate. Her head now rested on her hand as she leaned against the bar as well. For a tiefling, Ozamir was very handsome. Clean-shaven, perfectly manicured brows, and hair taken care of, she didn't imagine him as a warlock. He was far too pretty for that. Most of the stories she heard about his kind, they became warlocks or some other caster. This tiefling, on the other hand, looked nothing like a spell-caster, necromancer, or summoner of demons. He was colorful as a carnival. All he needed was a stage and a tent.
He wore a billowy shirt with voluminous sleeves, a brocade vest of red and orange silk that reminded her of autumn leaves, and tight—very tight—black leather trousers that buttoned to his waist instead of his hips like other pants. He wore all kinds of jewelry from his horns to the rhinestones patterned on the sides of his boots. Gold chains dangled from the tips of his horns. The rings on his fingers were less ostentatious but still eye-catching. Tanya's own eye became fixed on the one he wore on his left middle finger. It looked like a blue eye set into a silver-plated band. A curious piece of adornment.
Tanya tried not to stare. Five years of austerity did not give her permission to stare. Eventually, the barkeep delivered her food. She ate with restrained glee. Tanya almost dropped her spoon when Ozamir proffered another gold coin to the barkeep like it was nothing.
"I can pay," Tanya mumbled. It was a lie. She had a few coppers left in her name. If not for Ozamir's charity, she would be in the kitchen washing dishes to pay for the meal. But she hated to be doted on by a complete stranger. His generosity felt like a rouse to lower her guard.
"Nonsense. Consider it a gift from a friend!"
Ozamir let her eat in relative silence. It had been a week since her last hot meal. She'd been choking down dry bread and millet seeds. Tanya seemed to have forgotten while she was in the monastery that one needed money to survive in the outside world. She ate past the point of a stomach ache; she didn't know when her next meal would be.
Curiosity bit at her. Ozamir was even more out of place than she was. A tiefling dressed as gaudy as he stood out like a purple thumb. Patrons glared at them like he committed a murder or high treason. Tanya never met a tiefling before, but already considered them far better company than anyone else.
"So, why are you here? In this tavern, I mean. You looked like you were waiting for someone when I walked in."
Ozamir sighed. He ran his hand through his hair. "I was expecting someone, but it appears that they won't be showing up."
"I'm sorry to hear that."
He shrugged. "It's not the first time she stood me up."
"Oh." It dawned on her that he was waiting for a date. More than likely a date. Why else would he be here on night dressed as he was?
"Too bad though. She owes me money. She sends a page boy with half of our original payment agreement with a letter of apology, and still expects me not to be huffy about it."
"What did she pay you for?"
"Drugs."
Tanya choked on a piece of roast beef. She managed to get it down with a swig of ale. To each their own, I guess, she thought. Then, Ozamir belted out in laughter. He filled the room. He slapped his hand on the bar, rattling her dinner plates. When he finished, Ozamir wiped a tear from his eye.
"In all seriousness," he calmed his laugh to a small snicker, "She paid me to perform for her guests at a party. Most of the time, she refuses to pay me the full amount, claiming some were dissatisfied with my performance. I think it's just good ol'fashioned prejudice."
"You're a—"
"Bard, yes. I sing songs and recite poetry and occasionally play a mean dulcimer." Ozamir beamed with pride as he said this.
Tanya glanced at his hands. She expected pointed nails, but he kept them neat and trimmed. And enjoyed painting them. Currently, they were navy blue. As she continued looking, the blue color of his fingernails turned indigo. Then violet, red-violet, and settle on magenta.
"I have a special polish that changes color to match my mood," he said.
Tanya blushed. She was staring again. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to…."
"If I'm going to be stared at, I don't mind being stared at by you."
She glanced at his fingernails. Still magenta.
"And what does that color mean?"
Ozamir lifted his hand and looked at his fingernails. Cocking his head to the side, he gave her a devilish smirk.
"That's for me to know, and you to find out."
Tanya swallowed hard past the lump that formed in her throat. She turned her eyes down and finished the last of the stew. The plate that had the roast beef had only bits of grizzle left. Her hands clenched around the sleeves of her tunic.
"Is it something I said?" Ozamir asked in an apologetic tone.
Tanya shook her head. Slowly, she turned back to him.
She took a deep, pained breath like breathing was the hardest thing to do. "I'm not used to…this. I haven't spoken openly with a man since my husband died."
There she said it.
But the tightness in her chest only doubled when Ozamir's violet brows drew together. He offered a pained look that matched the ache in her heart. He reached towards her but did not touch.
"I am so sorry. I can… I can go away if you need your space. I'm sorry for intruding."
He got up, but Tanya's hand shot out and touched his sleeve. He was a curious fellow who paid for her food and drink and made her forget for a while. In less than a few hours, Ozamir had shown her more kindness in the last two weeks than most humans she met on her travels down from the mountains. Even for a short while, they could be friends.
"No. Please, stay. I could use the company." She didn't mean for the words to slip out so quickly, but it was too late to take them back.
Ozamir smiled. A new warmth filled her belly. She smiled back as he took his seat next to her. Tanya didn't know what to expect from a tiefling, least of all conversations like they had. Patrons left the tavern one by one. Even the barkeep slumped off to bed, leaving them alone at the bar. Not that either of them seemed to notice. Ozamir got out a few laughs from her. Tanya had almost forgotten what it was like to laugh. It was late by the time they realized that both the fire pit and hearth had gone out. They sat in the dark until Ozamir cast Dancing Lights and balls of swirling arcane light danced above their heads.
It had been years since she had been in intimate conversation with a man. Most of the monks spoke in Shou and broken Common. She picked up the language little by little over time, but it wasn't the same thing as talking with Ozamir. Tanya guarded herself. She couldn't help it. They conversed about travels and hobbies, both revealing more about themselves yet keeping deeper secrets. Slowly, Tanya enjoyed their conversation more and more. Smiling became easier to do; Ozamir made her laugh at his jokes. There was a forgotten emotion bubbling inside her that gave rise to flighty butterflies in her stomach. Was she happy? She hoped so. As it turned out, she liked feeling this way.
"Ooch, would you look at the hour?"
They both peaked at the windows. The sun was rising and at any minute the barkeep or whoever was next on shift would arrive to prepare the tavern for another day of business. Ozamir diffused the Dancing Lights and stood up. Tanya still needed to find a place to stay although it looked like she would catch a nap beneath a tree again. They at last stood to go their separate ways when the tavern's doors burst asunder. Heavy wood and metal thundered as it smashed into the wall. Four town guards armed with one broadsword apiece marched inside.
"There's our murderer!" One of them shouted as he pointed to Ozamir.
"Murderer?" Ozamir's brows furrowed. He showed them his empty hands. All that he carried on his person was his coin purse strapped to his belt. "Gentlemen, I believe you have the wrong man. I've never—"
Drawing their swords, the guards rushed forward. Ozamir headed towards the back door that opened into the alley. Tanya followed in suit. They narrowly passed through it and entered the garbage-strewn alley. Tanya slammed the door behind them, however it would only stall the guards for so long. Whipping around, she saw Ozamir already climbing up the wall with some difficulty.
Tanya didn't think; she moved. Five years at the monastery earned her extra dexterity. Though she doubted the monks intended for her to use it for scaling walls to escape some town guards. She jumped from crate to crate with ease and landed on the roof just as the guards burst through the back door. Tanya reached for Ozamir's hand. He didn't hesitate to grab her hand. She pulled him up. He kicked the barrel he was climbing over into the chest of an on-coming guard and clambered up to the neighboring roof.
The man below them fell backwards into his comrades, taking his men down with him. Ozamir gave a little chuckle at the sight of four town guards sprawled on the filthy ground before grabbing Tanya's wrist and forced her to keep his pace as he ran to the other side of the roof. Tanya never ran away from town guards before. Now she had no choice in the matter.