Chapter Four
9:60 Dragon
The Drunken Wench tavern
Later that evening…
Zevran Arainai deftly made his way through the crowd towards a private room in the back of the tavern. The Drunken Wench always turned a hefty profit since it was popular with both the commoners and the lords of Denerim. Located in a back alley next to the Elven Alienage, the tavern had a notorious reputation for its backroom deals and the quality of its serving girls. The Wench's owner, One-Eyed Arris, fought alongside good King Maric during the Ferelden Revolution. Arris kept the bar stocked with best ale, mead, and wine for his customers. His wife ran a fine kitchen that earned praise from Queen Leliana herself for such dishes as Steaming Cheese Baked Potato and Minced Meat Pie. The décor is minimal: a bronto's head is mounted over the bar and two portraits of a nude female elf holding a bastard sword adorned the walls. The tables and chairs were crafted from yew, sturdy enough to survive a bar brawl and easily replaced. In his free hand, Zevran carried a bottle of Black Scythe liqueur and in the other a leather pouch heavy with coins.
He approached the Qunari mercenary who guarded the entrance to the private rooms. The mercenary stood seven and a half feet tall, wearing black leather trousers, calf-length boots, and gripped a bar mace. The bar mace was forged from four separate steel bars with a wood and leather grip. A large, steel pommel balanced this fearsome weapon. Zevran noted the mercenary's tattoos which proclaimed his affiliation as a member of the Beresaad. He nodded to the gatekeeper who silently allowed Zevran entry to the private rooms. When the door closed, the Antivan elf walked to the center door then rapped twice in quick succession.
The door opened a fraction of an inch and the business end of a sailor's crossbow was aimed at Zevran. Through the haze of incense and smoke, the assassin could make out five other forms lying around an oval ash table on oversized, goose-down cushions. He held up the bottle of Black Scythe for all to see.
"Am I late to the feast? I bring fine spirits for you turd-sucking louts. You all have no appreciation for the finer things in life. Let me in, for I bring joyous news, hmm?"
The crossbow was lowered and the door swung open by a red-headed dwarf in steel chainmail. His beard had crumbs and bits of mutton, remains of the dinner he had earlier. Zevran remembered this dwarf, recalled his name: Dhurge Blackhand. A brigand and pirate who plied his trade on the Waking Sea. Just the kind of killer the Antivan wanted on this coming hunt. He smiled at the dwarven pirate who belched and scratched his arse. Zevran walked to an empty space and sat down. He opened the bottle, sipping a small amount of the liqueur inside. Then he passed the bottle around.
The next guest who partook of the Black Scythe was Goybet de Naudin, an Orlesian blood mage well-known in the halls of Val Royeaux. Besides his formidable magics, Goybet was also a skilled poisoner. He nodded his thanks to Zevran and gave the bottle to the next guest.
A slender Dalish maiden dressed in a frilly, white shirt and doeskin leggings accepted a sip of Black Scythe. The leather jerkin and thigh-high riding boots accentuated her curves. Zevran only knew Bloody Liada by reputation but she had been recommended to him by the elders. She preyed upon the settlements in the Southron Hills using blade and bow to extort the banns for free passage of their goods. When the mood took her, she waylaid those same goods and ransomed them back for twice their value. A crafty vixen she was.
The next one to drink from the bottle was a massive Avvar clothed in a steel cuirass and Blightwolf furs. By his side was a massive Veridium double-bladed battle-axe and twin-horned helm. Varrok the Merciless hunted just about everything that flew, moved, or slithered on Ferelden. In the Frostback Mountains where he calls home, it is rumored that he killed an adult dragon with a bronto's jawbone. While Zevran preferred finesse over primal, brute force there was no denying that the Avvar's tracking skills would be essential to locating Vorhonn's hideout. The barbarian sucked down half the bottle before passing it to the final guest.
Knight-Commander Hadrian of the Templars sat on a comfortable cushion smoking a pixie stick. The waft of the illicit narcotic made Zevran's head yearn for a hit. The Antivan Crows have had many dealings with the corrupt Hadrian. The Knight-Commander has even been commissioned to murder key members of both the Chantry and the Circle of Magi whenever the opportunity arose. Hadrian finished the bottle then tossed it aside. All eyes were now on Zevran.
"I have a very, very indecent proposition for you all. The irony of it is that for once the law will be on our side."
