Tangled Visions, Part One

                                                Chapter One

"Desperation does funny thin's to yer head."

                                                                        -Mouse

            Mouse moved quietly in the shadows, trying hard to avoid being seen.  He wore nothing fancy or flashy- partly because his job required him not to, and partly because he simply couldn't afford most of life's pleasures.  Bigger people surrounded him, talking loudly and laughing at each other's stupid jokes.  The tavern was brightly lit, and Mouse had trouble sticking to the shadows.  Fortunately for him, though, most of the people in the room were too drunk to notice the dark haired halfling slinking around.

            Mouse preferred taverns to almost every other place in the world.  When he wasn't on business, it was easy to get an affordable meal and a couple of fine folk worth losing an evening with.  When he was on business, Mouse's feelings towards taverns didn't change.  Mostly, he found, people weren't surprised to wake up one morning with their heads in their vomit and their purses half empty.  Most people assumed they had spent it on drink. 

And that was exactly the kind of thinking that kept Mouse in business.

The Blue Dog Inn was full tonight, because the harvest had just come in last week and there was no more work to be done in the fields until the first snowfall.  Everyone was celebrating.  Mouse only half listened to the cheering and the toasting going on around him.  His eyes, black like charcoal and quick like a hawk's followed the people around him, tracking their clumsy movements.  Mouse sneered slightly.  Although he was fascinated with them, Mouse had never particularly approved of the way Big Folk moved.  Although these were obviously under the influence of strong wine and beer, they were still loud and clunking, like oxen pulling a plow. 

But Mouse wasn't just watching the men's movements. 

He was watching their purses.

By now, Mouse could tell that the humans were sufficiently drunk, and quite unaware of their surroundings.

 Now all he had to do was choose a target.

Most men in the Dog were farmers, or worked on the farms.  They were all poor, hardy folk living off the land and spending their few coins on drink and dance.  Now these same hardy folk were clustered around rough-hewn tables and benches, and especially around the bar.  They joked about the hard work they did and how nice their little town was.

            As far as Mouse was concerned, Jubliant was nice enough from its looks, but once someone was inside the walls they could see the grease, dirt and disease that ruled the lives of the workers inside.

            To Mouse, all that meant one thing- the men here were poor.  And, Mouse knew, if the men here were poor, than he was too.

            And that was not a good thing. 

            Mouse surveyed the area once again.  The Dog was a seedy little inn right at the border of town, made of wood and mud with torches lining the walls on the inside.  For such a cheap little place though, it was surprisingly well run.  The inside was clean and bright, and the ugly brown benches inside were sanded down to keep them from splintering.  It was one of the halfling's favorite inns. 

            Mouse knew most of the people in the room, not by name but from looks.  He had a good memory that way.  Mouse knew that, by now, most people's purses would be empty, and those that were sticking around were there in the hopes that the bartender might let them have a free round or two.  Mouse cursed himself under his breath for arriving there so late.  Had he been half an hour earlier, the pouches would still be full and he would be a rich halfling.

            Mouse changed positions again, moving like a swift black shadow.  He cut across the room, changing from the right side to the left, still facing the bar, which was located at the very back.  His eyes roved over the crowd, searching for a likely victim.  Most people were clustered together around the bar, applauding something.  Others sat at the tables towards the back, laughing over mugs of ale about as tall as Mouse himself was.  Mouse knew better than to rob somebody in crowds like these.  There were too many eyes waiting to catch him in the act, and too many hands ready to snatch him up.  With a sigh, Mouse turned away and tried to accept the possibility that, perhaps, tonight's hunt was fruitless. 

            And then his black eyes found her.

            She was sitting at a table near the door, alone.  A single candle was on the table, illuminating the woman's features.   She was sitting right in front of Mouse, and he quickly summed her up.

            Like most people in Jubliant, she was human.  That much was obvious.  But she was unlike any human Mouse had ever seen before.  She wore a pair of men's breeches and tall leather boots, which seemed fancy despite the fact that they were caked in mud.  She seemed to wear no shirt, except for a piece of chain mail draped over her breasts.  It had only one sleeve.  The other looked ripped off.  The skin on her bare arm and stomach was deeply tanned, though Mouse thought that the yellow color may have been from the flickering candle.  Bits of other armor- a pair of leather covers over her thighs, a cuff on her left forearm- decorated her muscular form, protecting some of the more vulnerable body parts. 

            Mouse straightened himself.  Compared to this human's poorly cleaned armor, his black leather didn't look nearly so worn. 

            The woman had long, dark brown tresses, which were separated into hundreds over tiny braids that hung over the sides of her face, disguising her features.  But that wasn't even the beginning of it.  Strapped to each of her boots was a long, sharp edged dagger, which Mouse knew wasn't just for show.  He flinched though, when he saw what was strapped to her back. 

               Slung from a long dark leather strap and fitting comfortably into its sheath was a giant sword.  It was almost twice the size of Mouse himself, and so big that the woman had to carry it across her back, instead of against her side.  She was sitting, relaxed, in her chair, with her long human legs stretched out in front of her.

            Mouse didn't recognize this human, and he didn't exactly like her appearance.  And, it seemed, the bartender didn't either.  He kept glancing over at the woman, and looking away quickly before she could catch his gaze.  A large mug of ale sat on the bench in front of her, which the woman seemed to be looking at, though her gaze was distant and unfocused.  Suddenly, she sat up straight and snapped her fingers, signaling to the bartender.  She reached into a bulging purse on her belt and withdrew a shiny gold coin.  The bartender came over warily, like a dog that knows he had done something wrong. 

            Mouse's eyes narrowed slightly when he saw the woman's belt pouch.  Immediately, conflicting thoughts began to fill his head.  Obviously, this woman had a good deal of money in there if she could so easily produce such a coin as that one.  If there was ever someone to steal from, she would be it.  After all, would she truly miss a couple of silvers? 

            But Mouse paused when he looked again at the gigantic sword across her back.  He was never one to take unnecessary risks, and robbing a swordswoman twice his size was not an ideal plan.  Especially in such a large crowd. 

            Mouse paused again, uncertain.  Then, steeling his nerve, he slunk quietly up behind the woman's chair. 

            Meanwhile, the bartender was picking his way carefully through his other customers, taking his time getting over to the fearsome newcomer.  When he finally got close enough, the woman turned her head slightly, and said in a low, harsh voice,

            "Fill it up again, Inn-master."

            He nodded, and quickly poured some foamy ale into her cup from his pitcher.  His hands shook.

            Mouse crept up from behind, and crouched.  Had his armor not been so worn in, it might have creaked or squeaked, but as it was, it made no sound.  Mouse deftly undid the full pouch on the woman's belt, trying very hard not to hit the short sword that hung close by next to it.  As the pouch loosened, Mouse put a hand under it so that when the straps of leather came undone, the bag wouldn't make a sound as it fell.  With the last knot undone, Mouse straightened ever so slightly, ready to turn and slink off while the woman was still busy with the bartender.

            There was a horrible sound of wood scraping on wood, and a chinkling sound very much like shattering glass.  A vast dark blur filled Mouse's vision, and he stumbled backwards.  He would have fallen right over onto his backside, except that something grabbed his wrist and pulled him straight off the ground.

            Mouse thrashed desperately, but the woman's grip was like a steel manacle.  It didn't loosen, and Mouse stopped thrashing quickly.  The woman had grabbed the hand that still held her pouch.

            Mouse swallowed, and looked into the woman's now visible face.  She had stormy blue eyes framed with long dark lashes, and a full, exceptionally red mouth.  But Mouse didn't really see any of that- his eyes were focused on the livid black scar on the woman's face.

            The scar was long, and it looked as if something like a knife had been dragged across her face.  It started on the left side of her forehead, right at the base of her dark hair.  It cut diagonally across her face, running over her fortunately still functional right eye and stopping over her right cheekbone.  Although the wound had healed over and there was basically no indentation left behind, Mouse could tell that the wound had been a deep one. 

            He swallowed, and looked around him.  The bartender had been scared out of his wits by the woman's sharp movements, and had dropped his pitcher in fright.  He was too intent on the woman and halfling to pick up the shards of clay on the floor, or stop the spreading liquid.  Some other men in the Inn were looking over at the spectacle, wondering what on Pelor's Oerth the woman and halfling were up to.

            The woman was still sitting, twisting backwards in her chair, and her deep blue eyes gave Mouse a steely, hardened look.  Mouse swallowed again, and tried to speak, but the woman did so before he could.

            "And just what," the woman asked, "would a halfling be doing with my pouch in his hands?" The woman's voice was harsh and raspy, and sounded as if it hadn't been used in some time. 

            Mouse opened his mouth, and a small squeak came out.  He couldn't take his eyes off the scar.

            "Erm," he said quickly, mind racing, "Please, misses!  I warsn't doin' anythin', I promise!  I jest, erm…  Well, yeh see, yer, uh, yer bag hed fallen off yer belt when yeh reached in to get yer money out, and I was jest gonna pick it ep for yeh and hand eht back over.  Y'know, like, uh, like good folks do fer each other."  Mouse swallowed again, and twisted slightly in the woman's grasp.  No such luck.  She held his wrist firmly in her hand, and didn't seem to be considering letting it go of it.

            The woman raised an eyebrow, seemingly surprised by the halfling's Northern accent.

            "You seem to have been paying close attention to my money, halfling.  Would you mind telling me why?" she said icily.

            Mouse gulped and wiped a little sweat off his brow.  Lying was not his strongest skill. 

            "Ehm, well, eh… Well, When yer as shert as I em, misses, yeh can't 'elp but notice somethin' fallin' off a person's belt, y'see.  Ehts really all a matter of perspective."

            To Mouse's surprise, the smallest hint of a smile formed on the woman's perfect lips.  Then her hawk-like eyes narrowed, and she stood up quickly, still holding the halfling off the ground by his wrist.  Mouse yelped in surprise and dropped the money pouch.  The woman caught it deftly in her free hand.

            "Thank you, Master Innkeeper," she said without turning to look at the bartender, "But I think I will cut short my visit here.  The halfling and I have some… business to attend to."

            The woman, still holding Mouse off the ground by his arm, walked quickly out of the inn without waiting for the bartender's answer.

            The woman somehow managed to get out the door without loosening her grip on her captive, and walked out into the cool night air.  It was a chilly night, Mouse realized, for summer.  The seasons were turning again, and soon fall would be upon the villagers.  That would mean more work, and lots of good cider and fresh bread to go around.

            If Mouse ever lived to see that. 

            The woman walked some ways away from the bar; her strides fast and long.  Mouse looked around desperately for some sort of escape, but found none in the narrow city streets.  The woman's leather boots made almost no sound on the cobbled ground, and the only real noise was the sound of Mouse's pounding heart, which was something only he could hear.

            Suddenly, the woman stopped, and dropped Mouse gracelessly to the ground.  The halfling yelped as he landed on his behind.

            "Don't try to run, little one, or you'll soon find out just how good I am with this sword."  As she spoke, there was a swishing sound, and the woman drew the finely crafted steel out of its sheath.  It glittered menacingly in the moonlight.

            Mouse stood up awkwardly, and rubbed his backside.

            The two stood there for a couple of seconds, the human pointing her sword at the halfling, who was standing stock still in the street. 

            "Ehm, I'm not exactly suggestin' yeh do this," Mouse said finally, "Beht are yeh plannin' the kill meh or not?"

            The woman's eyes gleamed a little in the moonlight, and she smiled wryly.

            "Actually," she said in her low, gruff voice, "I'll leave that decision to you.  Indeed, I have a proposition for some with your… talents." She let the sentence hang.

            Mouse's eyes narrowed, and he backed away slightly.

            "I don't know what you mean," he snapped.  He reached for his belt, where a small dagger hung.

            The woman's smile widened.

            "Let me put this clearly to you, halfling."  She dropped her sword so that the too sharp point rested on the ground. "I need a thief.  I need someone who can open locks, disable devices, and," she paused, and her eyes flicked to the money pouch Mouse still held in his hand, "I need someone who can pickpockets.  I can pay for your services in food, drink, shelter, and, when I have it, money.  From the looks of it, you could use a little bit of all of those."  Her eyes traveled over Mouse's beaten leather suit and dirty hair, and rested on his almost emaciated body.

            Mouse looked down at himself.  The straps and buckles that held his armor together were tightened as much as they could be, but the armor was still loose on his form.  Mouse was thin, he knew, but there had been no way of getting around that.  There was simply no way that a freelancing thief could afford to feed himself properly in a town where both the victims of his robberies and the Thieves' Guilds he refused to join were out to get him.  He had to move fast, and always be on the alert.  If he had to leave and area, then that's what he did.  He couldn't be picky about where he stayed anymore. 

            "And jest whet would I be doin' fer yeh?"

            The woman gave the halfling a condescending look.

            "Exactly what I told you I needed you to do.  If you can do all those things, of course."

            Mouse folded his arms over his chest and hissed angrily under his breath.

            "Ehv course I can do all those things!  Whaddya take me fer, a stupid Orc?  I wouldn'da survived fer half as long as I 'ave if I couldn't do those thin's yeh said!  This ain't a nice city, y'know!   Ehve watched people get murdered in the streets loads o' times for bein' careless!  Yeh can't be a single thief 'round here anymore without having some skill!  Otherwise the Guilds wouldda caught up with me by now an' put me outta my misery!  Thin's ta do!  Sure!  O' course I can do them!  In Pelor's name!"  Mouse closed his mouth, and looked angrily at the human.  For a second, an amused smile covered the woman's face, but it disappeared when she began to speak again.

            "Fine," she said, "I'm glad you have the required skills.  That makes things easier.  Now, what could I do to entice you to work for me, halfling?" she said hoarsely.

            "Fer one thin', yeh could stop callin' me that. Ehv gotta name, y'know."

            The woman raised an eyebrow.

            "Do you now?" she said with fake sincerity.

            "Yeh, I do.  It's Milo.  Milo Tosscobble.  Though most people call me Mouse."

            "All right then, Mouse," the woman said, her voice serious, "answer the question.  What can I offer you that you'll work for?"

            Mouse readjusted himself, planting his feet more firmly on the ground.  He took his hand off his dagger and folded his arms.

            "Well, pay's good.  Lots of it.  That's better.  Also, yeh said before tha' you could offer food an' shelter.  I'd take that.  But I wanna know what this damned job is."

            Something flashed in the woman's eyes.  Then, a sad, almost haunted look came over her face.

            "I've been chasing Raiders for four years now, Mouse," she said, her voice steady, "and I've tracked them down to a large temple ruin on the outer edge of the Plains.  I know I have the strength to take them, but traps and other devices protect the ruins.  I need someone with knowledge about such things to get me into the area, and then I can take them" A fierce gleam rose in the woman's eyes.  "That would be your job.  Get me in, and I'll pay you.  Get me out, and I'll double that.  It's a long trip to the ruins, so I'll be guiding you and keeping you safe.  I'll feed you and keep you sheltered during that time.  After the job, we part ways.  I probably won't be coming back."

            Mouse was silent, his face pale.

            Of course.  The perfect job had fallen right into his lap, and the only catch is that he going out to hunt Raiders.  Raiders.  The scourge of every society and the fear that most people wouldn't even speak of.  Raiders were the outcasts of communities that banded together and ransacked villages and caravans for loot.  They were a versatile bunch, because they were made up of so many different races with so many different skills.  Their numbers had been growing lately, and their bravery grew along with it.  They lived on the Plains, the only place in the world that was big enough and dangerous enough to hold such a group.

            And, of course, Mouse was going to hunt them down.

            For pay.

            He groaned.

            "I understand that you think this is very dangerous," the woman said, "And you're probably right.  You don't have to take the job.  I won't make you.  But consider this- everyone in that bar saw you attempt to rob me, and I seriously doubt that you will want to stick around long enough to find out how the people of this city treat thieves.  On the other hand, if you stick with me, I can lead you out of this town and safely away into some other village, where you'd be free to start off fresh.  And rich.  That is, if you survive."

            "Yeh," Mouse said, shaking his head, "All this looks great teh me.  I can stay here an' get meself strung up and quartered, or I can go with yeh and get meself butchered all the same.  Verreh appealin' aptions."

            To his surprise, the woman laughed.

            Mouse sighed, and looked at the night sky.  It was dark up there, with the twinkling of stars just visible over the roofs of the houses above him.  They seemed oblivious to his problems down here.  He knew he couldn't take this job.  He just couldn't.  He was no fighter or woods-person- he didn't know how to protect himself out there.  Of course he had learned to take care of himself in the world, but going out to hunt armed and dangerous men seemed like suicide.  Mouse would prefer to leave the killing and hunting to the armies in the world.  Not to two beaten down people armed with a dagger and a sword.  This wasn't something Mouse would ever want to do.  His mind told him that he shouldn't, couldn't do this.  He couldn't take this woman's job.  He couldn't do it if he was even the least bit sane.  And being level-headed was something Mouse prided himself on.

            But desperation could do funny things to you're head.   

            "If yeh's are still offerin', I think I'll take yeh up on yer deal." Mouse said, running his hand through his long and shaggy hair.

            The woman smiled.

            "Still offering," she said.

            "Y'know," Mouse said, glaring at her, "It's all yer fault.  I wouldn't be in thes whole mess if yeh 'and't waltzed up inta town and sat down with a full purse like tha'.  I'd still be sitting in there, biding meh time, waitin' fer someone stupid to drep a coin or somethin'."

            "I know.  But if I hadn't come through, you of probably starved to death sooner or later, or be strung up and quartered by now."

            Mouse gave the woman an acidic look.

            "I resent that.  Ehv been through worser scrapes than this without yer help, misses, erm…" he trailed off, and looked at the human expectantly.  She smiled.

             "Brigit," she offered, "Brigit Stoneheart."

            Mouse was about to say that it that was a fairly odd name for a human, considering it was dwarven and all, when he thought better of it.  Humans were an odd race, and he knew that they sometimes named their children strange things.  

            It must have come from being so tall.

            "By the way," Brigit said suddenly, "I need to ask you something.  Do you have any family, or anything?  I wouldn't ask you to work for me if you had family."

            Something strange flickered in Brigit's eyes.  For a second, her face seemed haunted.  Then it passed.

            "Nah," Mouse waved a hand dismissively.  "Nothin, er, nobody.  I never much wanted a family.  Never had use fer one, really."

            "Ah," said Brigit.  "And another thing.  Can you…Are you at all good with any weapons?  It doesn't much matter, but I need to know."

            Mouse pulled his dagger out of his belt.

            "I'm good with this thin'," he said.  Then he paused, and walked up to the door of the Blue Dog Inn.  Out of a burlap sack in front, he pulled a hidden crossbow, just right for his size.

            "Yer not allowed to bring weapons inta the bar," he said, "So I hid this outside.  I'm really good with this."

            Brigit smiled, her face lit up by the moonlight.  She sheathed her sword.

            "So that's why the bartender didn't seem too taken with me," she said.

            "Oh yeh," Mouse said casually.  He glanced at her scar again. "That an' other thin's, I suspect."

Mouse suddenly thought about where his gaze was, and looked away quickly.  Brigit's hand passed gently over the old wound.

"I'm not insulted, Mouse," she said quietly, "In fact, I cherish this thing.  It is a constant reminder of why I hate Raiders.  That," she said, mimicking Mouse's accent, "And other thin's."

            Mouse smiled, despite himself.

 "And now," Brigit said loudly, "I think we should get any belongings you might want to take with you.  It's a long trip, as I said, and I don't think you'll be coming back to Jubliant after all this is over."

            Mouse looked up from his crossbow sharply. 

            "I 'ope yer not implyen that Iem goin' te get meself killed out there."

            "Oh no, I'm not," Brigit said quickly, "Not really, at least.  Though it is a possibility.  But they do know you're a thief here, don't they?"

            "Oh, yeh."  Mouse said.  "And tha's yer fault, yknow."

            "Yes, I know," Brigit said, rolling her eyes.  "Come on, halfling, let's get to your hole in the ground.  Or wherever it is you live.  I think the barman will be out soon to look for us.  I don't think I paid." Brigit said thoughtfully.

            The two walked down the street, weapons slung over their backs.

            "Hey, human," Mouse snapped, "I told you not t'call me tha'."