(AUTHOR'S NOTE: When I write, I like to make up my own words – especially weird acronyms, ad slogans or modern slang. See if you can find my version of "nothingburger" in this chapter. Bon appetit! By the way, this chapter is why this whole fanfic is rated T instead of K or K+. You have been warned.)

CHAPTER NINE: THE DRAGON SHAMAN: A PIRATE'S DEATH FOR YOU

Prologue: At an Inn in Delthuntle

Nothing makes my mind wander to exotic, far-off places like waiting. It even makes me think up jests: How do you make fools out of four adventurers who pride themselves on not being fooled? Simple. Dangle a reward of ten thousand gold in front of them, and then, after a long and fruitless night, let them find out the reward remains out of reach. I feel bamboozled right now, at this "reputable" establishment in Delthuntle – where we gained our last prize, as a matter of fact. At least the salvage we claimed from the Vessel of the Dead was real. As for the elven agent we're trying to capture? He hasn't shown his face.

"How much longer?" I grumble, taking a long drag of wine that's mostly water. "I want to hurl my spear."

"Patience is a virtue," says our leader with a smile. "So is not using violence as a first resort."

"Not funny, Nevard," says Karuna, tossing back the remainder of his mug of ale. "Another. Be quick!"

The tiefling – Killian – smirks. It doesn't take a psionic to decipher his expression: All brawn, no brains.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch someone approaching us. A man, no doubt, and a fine one, but his ears lack the definitive point of an elf's. Also, would a spy wear nothing but a silk wrap around his waist or a belt of jangling coins? "Hail. I'm Cassius," he says, gazing straight at me. "Your pleasure tonight?"

My body stands up before my mind realizes what's happening. "Don't let me sleep unsung."

Cassius takes my arm, takes me, then takes ten gold from my sweaty palm. "For you, a sizable discount."

Blushing, I let him depart with a sated grin. I, however, am still ravenous, so I go back to the main hall.

Killian winks an onyx eye and sidles up close to me. "What you wanted, I might have given for free."

Vakhra's breath surges in my chest. It takes all my strength to restrain its fire. "What?! It's likely pointed!"

Karuna does a spit-take with his new tankard, spewing ale foam. Nevard frowns. Killian bares his teeth.

"I'm off to bed, and this time I'll be sleeping." To the raucuous laughter of the fiend, I storm away.

What a naught-steak this mission is. What a naught-steak HE is, and Kelemvor damn me before…

En Route to Spandeliyon

Our second prospect for work in this recent span proves far more promising than the first. Lord Ashdown, an elven noble contact – but not the same one who wished us to capture the spy – has another task. In the land of Spandeliyon, a notorious scoundrel named Natrald and his band of not-so-merry men have been causing trouble. Ending it is to be our first priority. Ending his access to ill-gotten treasure's our second one.

"Bring me his head," Ashdown commands, and we're all too eager to do so. Except for our leader, maybe.

He asks Karuna an odd question: "Do you have any qualms about taking Natrald down? He's a half-orc."

I thought the Soulseer might tell us to spare him, but he doesn't. "Nay. We fulfill the contract as stated."

No pause for reflection? Something tells me he doesn't consider half-orcs to be kindred. Why not? There are lesser aasimar and lesser tieflings. My people try not to treat them as lesser, so what about Karuna?

Ere I can ask him about this, he gives the rest of us a look that says he's not to be bothered. We all obey.

"Pirates are pirates," shrugs Killian. For once, I agree with him. Natrald would take our gold and our lives if we gave him the chance, so we have to beat him to it. We must prove we're stronger than mere cutthroats.

The thing is, how do we prove we're different from them? We may not steal, but we still kill for coin…

At a Storehouse in Spandeliyon

As can be expected, Natrald's headquarters is a large warehouse guarded by dozens of men. I could smell them several blocks away, their sweaty bodies and unwashed tunics mingled with salty sea air. There's no way we can take all of them on at once, no matter if a dragon spirit and the Broken God are with us.

"Follow me, and watch your step," says Nevard. We do, and to my immense surprise, he starts singing:

"If on a dark path you stray,

A new dawn's not far away.

Brighter days do lie ahead.

Don't let your heart fill with dread!

Trust in the gods, and they shall

In your heart commence to dwell.

Peace and comfort for your soul

Shall be yours at morning's toll."

"What in the Hells are you doing?" Killian hisses in my star-brother's ear. He sings the verse again, beaming.

The bored and listless lads guarding the storehouse perk their ears up. If I was taken aback when Nevard began to croon, I'm even more startled when their expressions abruptly match his. "Hey!" one of them cries. "We don't have to sit here all day. We can eat, drink, and be merry over at the nearest tavern. Let's go!"

"No, you dolt," laughs another one. "We go to the temple so we can pay heed to these gods he mentions." Without another word, he and several of his companions abandon their posts. How in Celestia can he –

Faith can work miracles. You yourself know that, and first did so when you prayed to the "brass trinket."

A tall foreman, burlier than the others, stands and plants himself in a barricade stance. "Shut up, you."

Nevard stops his mesmerizing ballad, his mouth frozen in an O, and approaches our new foe with care.

"I ain't buying it. The gods are either not here or dead, and I believe the latter. You'll soon be dead, too."

I step forward and in front of our band's head. "Are you sure? The warehouse behind you is haunted."

With a massive honk and an even more massive stench, the foreman passes gas. "Is it, now? Hah!"

Heat flashes behind my eyes, making them glow. Vakhra's awake, but I don't want him to sing just yet. "Aye. I'm a shaman who communes with the spirits of the living and the dead, so I would know. Those inside seek to make a hollow man of you, and anyone else who ventures in, without their permission."

"You're lying, wench. I nay seen no spirits in here before. Never has Natrald, so shove off." Then, despite his better judgment, he asks, "What's a hollow man?"

"What you're about to be. Can't you hear them shrieking? They're called wraiths. Once they grab hold of you with their icy talons, they'll slip inside you and rip out your guts through your mouth. It's like eating, but in reverse. First they go for your intestines, then your liver, stomach, and most of your brain. They leave your heart for last, and in the end, even your bones won't satisfy them. They'll hollow out your corpse, fool."

Another stench ensues as the foreman soils himself. Ashamed and terrified, he darts into the street nearby.

"Here's hoping a cart runs him over," I tell our group. "Wraiths do exist, but they're nothing like I described."

We make our way inside the warehouse to find much less frightening enemies inside: cloaked rogues. They have their rapiers, and Killian has his. This time, however, he takes position near one of the open windows to fire flaming arrows inside. Karuna, Nevard and I rush them with all our might, me wielding my spear and the Soulseer a magnificent greataxe. Unlike in our last battle, our healer remains conscious and upright. When crimson streams flow down our arms and torsos, he closes our wounds with Ilmater's holy power.

"Tati!" I hear Karuna bellow all of a sudden. "Come help me bash down this door. They've fled inside!"

Apparently there's a back room in here we haven't spotted. He and I hurtle ourselves against the wood, splintering it so we can peek through a now-gaping hole, but our efforts aren't paying off fast enough. We see several more rogues dashing out the rear door. Natrald is likely not far behind them. I give a heave. CRASH! The door topples off its rusty hinges, allowing the Soulseer to charge and cleave two men in half.

After that nasty work is done, we follow the remainder of the pirates to their leader, a lumbering half-orc.

Before this, I have never truly known what it means when someone says, "Off with his head." My master and the other Red Wizards preferred slower, more intricate methods of execution. At least Karuna's blow is swift and sure, severing Natrald's ugly head from his body in one stroke. Gods, how much blood gushes and sprays over us! Killian is lucky he only gets his armor a bit stained. We're drenched in steaming gore.

The fiend takes this in stride. "Looks like I missed the fun, but not the treasure," he says. "Grab his chest."

He means the heavy trunk that Natrald's men have been trying to carry while running, not Natrald's chest. That, we couldn't care less about. We split the shining sovereigns amongst ourselves, then return to Lord Ashdown with the grisly proof of our deed. With the contract fulfilled, the elven noble offers us a voucher for one magical item apiece. I choose a breastplate enchanted with twice the enhancement as my old one.

Vakhra always offers me protection, but if my enemies prove mightier, armor is an excellent guardian.