20th Olarune, 1001YK
Sharn. The City of Towers. She was the pride of Breland. More than two-hundred thousand people were crammed into that nest of buzzing life. Out of all those people, I always managed to run into bastards that wanted to kill me. It came with the job.
I was running across the bridges of Middle Dura. Night's shroud had fallen over the city but the poorly maintained everburn lanterns of this quarter dimly lit my way. A glance over my shoulder revealed the quintet of dark shapes still chasing after me, pushing through the people I was dancing around. I might have been able to take them. But fighting alone when you didn't have to got people killed. I enjoyed not being killed. So, following the better part of valor, I used discretion and got the hell out of there.
"Clear the way!" I shouted to a particularly thick knot of late night revelers. They all looked dumbly my way. They didn't get the picture until I bowled into a puffy sleeved elven gentleman. I went down and rolled to my feet, elven curses following after me. I spoke elven, but you probably don't need to know the contents of his commentary on my character.
Luckily, the other drunks helping their buddy up created another snag as I made the other side of the bridge. I gained back what I'd lost. I was close to my destination, though. Glamorshine; a district of taverns, brothels, and other houses of ill-repute. They clustered a block thick against the walls of a central tower big enough to house yet another city block or two. I slowed, acting out of breath, just enough that my pursuers wouldn't lose sight of me as I dipped into the alleys of Glamorshine. I'd give you the copper crown tour but time was rather short at that moment. I passed by some ladies of the night and stumbling drunks. At least one gentleman was crying about gambling away his inheritance again.
Again?
Either way, I passed into one alley that led to a dead end against the wall the central tower. There, beside a pile of cogs, scraps of tarp, and other rubbish, I turned around and drew my swords. Both falchion and dagger glinted in the sparse moonlight filtering down from the web of bridges and turrets about.
Five people quickly entered the alley. All dwarves. They were out of breath and, based on their posture were a little put off. They brandished axes and hammers, pausing briefly to consider their prey.
"Don't pass by all those fine establishments out there on my account, gentleman", I insisted, gesturing to the alley's exit with the sword in my right hand.
"Give back what you stole and we'll stop with breaking a couple kneecaps", the lead dwarf said. Couldn't see his face fully in the darkness, but the outline of a bushy beard and a cheap gambeson were plain enough.
"A couple...that's all of my kneecaps", I pointed out.
"No shit", the talkative dwarf grumbled. "The dagger. Hand it over."
"Why would I hand anything over to you? I'm not the one who's painfully outmatched", I informed them, falling into a duelist's stance. My falchion was held at the ready before me, my rondel dagger beginning behind my back.
The dwarves all thought that was the funniest thing. They laughed heartily. Which, it was kind of funny. I laughed, too.
"Ah, alright, boys, let's clean this trash up", the lead dwarf said.
The brute squad began walking forward, apparently smart enough to realize they shouldn't attempt to fight me one at a time.
I raised my right fist, still gripping my falchion. I felt my arm tingle. Across my throat, a twisted mass of jagged lines normally appearing as some kind of burn scar became lambent with crimson light. The dwarves halted in their tracks.
A firebolt launched from my fist, striking the center dwarf square in the chest. The struck dwarf reeled back, both his gambeson and beard smoldering and smoking. I fired another bolt of heat, hitting almost the same spot. This one ignited the cloth armor of the dwarf, who dropped his hammer and fell to the ground, desperately trying to put out the flames that engulfed him.
"Now, Glaive!" I yelled, charging ahead.
The pile of garbage burst apart, revealing the lethally lean form of a warforged with a quarterstaff. The dwarves were startled for the second time. The staff flashed. A bolt of lighting scored a hit one one dwarf. He convulsed and crumpled as his heart stopped in his chest. An instant later, an emerald chromatic orb surged from Glaive's open palm. It struck a second thug in the face. Acid sloughed away the unfortunate dwarf's skull.
Rest assured I wasn't merely sitting and watching. I seized the initiative, thrusting forward with my falchion. The dwarf, overwhelmed by everything going on, failed to stop the clipped blade from piercing his chest. I lifted my thick-bladed dagger and angled it, deflecting away a hammer by the haft that would have fairly collapsed my entire left side. The dwarf was thrown off balance as his hammer skidded off my blade and struck the cobbles beneath us. I slashed across his back with my falchion twice, putting a boot in his back and kicking him away.
The conflict ended with Glaive putting the burning dwarf out of his misery with a quick ice shard.
The two of us stood among the dead and dying dwarves.
"You looked so at home under a pile of garbage", I said, patting the Warforged on his metal shoulder. Glaive was half a foot shorter than me; I was a few inches over six feet but I'd say the warforged with divine essence powering his magic was more intimidating.
"And you looked so at home running the hell away. You might actually have to clean blood off your leathers for once", Glaive let out a rumbling, tinny chuckle, planting the haft of his staff against the cobbles. "Ugh. Hate this stupid staff. I miss my wands. You got the dagger?"
"The...dagger?" I repeated, flipping open my bag of holding and rummaging within. "Oh...shit…"
"Zeich…", Glaive said warningly.
"I'm just shitting you, Glaive. Olladra's Dice, you need to lighten up. Here it is", I pulled the dagger in question out. It was as simple weapon; a long, thin blade in a sheathe of black leather. The hilt matched the sheathe. I thought about drawing it to inspect the blade but decided against it.
"If I had a heart, I would have had a heart attack a long time ago. Sovereigns take me", Glaive complained.
"You know it's more fun this way. Now, c'mon. Let's get this to the rightful owner", I said, tucking the weapon away. First I checked the dwarves for pocket change.
"How do five men only have two sovereigns and six crowns on them?" I lamented, pocketing coins.
"You think a bunch of thugs for hire in Middle Dura are going to be crapping out platinums anytime soon?" Glaive laughed.
"A man can dream, my metallic friend. A man can dream." I moved to the last subject of my post-mortem profiteering. "I just hoped th-...holy shit! This one's god a goddamn platinum dragon on him."
"Wait, really?" Glaive fairly squeaked in surprise.
I nodded, holding up the silver-white coin that depicted the face of Eberron, the Dragon Between, supposedly the being who made up the world we stood upon. I held one-thousand copper pieces in my hand, pretty much. It would take your average laborer more than half a year to make this much.
"I think we're both due for some gear upgrades, eh?" I enthused, tucking the coin next to its fellows in my pocket. "Alright. Now we move."
I was confident in my ability to defend myself, but walking the unforgiving streets of Middle Dura always felt just a tiny bit safer with a magic slinging Warforged at your back. Glaive left his metallic torso bare, as well as his feet. On his legs, though, he wore one of the countless pairs of gaudily striped trousers he so loved. Today's colors were revealed to be crimson and white in the light of the everburn lanterns.
Glamorshine had been the endpoint of our chase for more reasons than one. Not only was it a single lift up from where Glaive and I called home, but our current employer resided in Glamorshine. Between us and our destination, there was a fair number of beggars. They were present everywhere but in the Upper parts of Sharn.
We made our way to the Soft Glow. True to the name, the building's internal lighting was gentle and inviting, neither the glaring brightness of more raucous joints or the brooding darkness of rough taverns. Soft Glow was a thin, four-story structure that butted up against its neighbors. The the streets of Glamorshine were vibrant and loud, the Glow was an oasis of calm. Several very burly bouncers kept it that way.
Glaive waited outside to keep an eye out for anymore pursuers looking to get the dagger back. I walked into the brothel. The main room was completely open, all the walls knocked out. There was a bar taking up the wall off to my left, while there were numerous soft cushions and chairs for clients to sit in repose upon filling up the rest of the floor space. The Glow was populated mostly by tired workers and lonely guards who were off-duty. The girls in the Soft Glow had a knack for lending that sympathetic ear. A lot of gents came in just for that alone.
"Mr. Zeichem, I'm so pleased to see you back", a pale human woman greeted me as I entered. She adjusted her bodice as she sauntered up, asking, "how can the Glow soothe you this evening?"
I'd met her when I came here the first time but had completely forgotten her name. Whoops.
"I need to speak to Miss Vellen. Is she available?" I asked the young woman.
"I believe so. Just a moment, please."
The working girl headed for a stairwell that was opposite the front door, ascending out of sight. She returned less than a minute later, motioning to me from a landing midway up. I followed her.
The sounds of brothel employees and customers going about their, ah, 'business transactions' were plainly audible as I followed my escort down a plain, wooden hallway. She stopped at a door and wrapped on it with her knuckle.
"Miss Vellen, I've got Mr. Zeichem", the woman said.
"Send him in. Thank you, Rina", a female voice said within.
Ah, Rina. That's what it was.
"Go on in, Mr. Zeichem", Rina bid, opening the door for me.
"Thanks", I said as I walked inside.
There wasn't much to Vellen's room. I couldn't call it a broom closet, but it was a near thing. There was just enough room for a creaky double bed and a slightly crooked table with a pair of mismatched chairs beside it. An armoire that almost touched the ceiling filled up the last bit of corner space, leaving just enough room for a person to pace a little upon a worn carpet.
Vellen's age was not quite determinable, not that it really mattered. She had a few laugh lines in the corners of her eyes, but otherwise her olive skin was unwrinkled. She had abundant freckles on her cheeks and springy black hair. At present, Vellen concealed her body behind a modest silk robe. The robe was clearly worn and faded, but the fact that she owned silk at all was telling. It wasn't cheap.
"Good evening, Mr. Zeichem", Vellen said as Rina closed the door behind me. She was standing at a small window beside the armoire, gazing out into the back alley.
"Mydame Vellen", I greeted, standing just inside the door.
"How did you fair?" She asked, turning toward me. "Arawai's Mercy, are you hurt?"
"Huh?" I looked down, remembering the bloodstains. "Oh, hah, no, thankfully. This doesn't belong to me. Sorry, I probably should have washed it. Either way", I reached into my bag of holding, producing the dagger and offering it to Vellen without a word.
With slow, deliberate reverence, Vellen accepted the dagger. She held the sheathed weapon in her palms, staring at it like it might disappear out of nowhere.
"That's curious", Vellen murmured.
"What's curious?" I inquired.
"I expected the return of this relic to fill some part of me", she said, her hands closing around both hilt and sheath. Her inflection and diction were more refined than one would expect from a brothel. I recognized her accent all too well. "Yet it only reminds me of the size of the emptiness."
I frowned. I had a feeling I knew what she was getting at. Didn't have any idea what words would offer consolation, but I understood.
"You go by 'Zeichem of Cyre', yes?" She asked.
"I do, Mydame Vellen."
She nodded slightly. After a pause, she asked, "what did you go by before the Mourning?"
I closed my eyes. The Mourning. Seven years ago, today. Aptly named. The job had helped me keep my mind off of it. Now...now I was looking at the remnants of my homeland in as pure a microcosm as you could hope to see. Fallen grace. Enduring because too many others had already passed on. Not knowing any better disguised as strength.
"Zeichem of Eston", I informed her at length.
Vellen gently placed the dagger upon the table.
"What happy coincidence", Vellen said in a melancholy way. She offered a hand to me, "Vellen ir'Leegstra of Eston."
Before the Mourning, she probably never would have come within five feet of me, let alone allowed me to touch her.
"Good to meet you, your Ladyship", I told her.
Ladyship. Vellen visibly twitched upon hearing the word, like catching a glimpse of a dead relative in the mirror.
We shook hands. When we released our grip, silence fell over the room.
Vellen took the few steps over to her armoire, opening it up. After a bit of fiddling, she pulled a false bottom out from it, reached in, and produced a ring. It was a plain silver band with a few tiny onyx chips set into it.
"I...haven't been as successful in...raising funds as I would have liked. Please, accept this." She offered the ring to me. "The dagger was held by my great-great grandmother. It is priceless to House Leegstra. Priceless to Cyre. This ring is little more than a bauble I received on my eighteenth birthday. It carries an enchantment that makes the ring flash with light, meant to blind an attacker", she let out a somber laugh, "meant to keep me safe when attending university. Now...well, rather useless when I have the 'attackers' come to me, now. Just, ah, make sure you close your eyes when you use it."
I'd had a feeling this would be the case. I wouldn't have taken the job if it was an issue. Anything enchanted could sell for a decent coin. This one, though, wouldn't be enough to get Vellen out of the Soft Glow. Even so, no amount of coin would give her back what she had lost. Such was the lot of every Cyran left alive.
I accepted the ring. I had to slide it over my pinkie. Wasn't fond of rings, but I could get over that.
"I can never thank you enough, Mysir Zeichem", Vellen said with genuine gratitude. It hurt my heart to hear it.
"You don't have to thank me, Lady Vellen. You hired us, we did the job. I'm just glad Glaive and I could help in the process."
"Do be so kind as to pass my gratitude on to Mysir Glaive as well", Vellen insisted as her eyes drifted to the dagger once more.
"I'll do just that. He's actually waiting for me outside so I should probably get going. Thank you for your patronage, your Ladyship", I said to her as I took a backward step for the door.
"The Sovereigns be with you, Mr. Zeichem", Vellen said.
I saw her tired eyes as the door started to close. I stopped it before it did.
Not your problem, Zeich. Keep going. You can't help them all. I thought this even as I was turning around and going back inside.
Vellen had all the fear and confusion of a startled rabbit. She might have thought I intended to do something vulgar to her. I didn't blame her.
What I did do is reach into my pocket, producing six silver sovereigns, two gold crowns, and a platinum dragon. I set them on the table beside her dagger with a heavy hand.
"I'll keep the ring, I won't steal your blessing by trying to give that back", I told her succinctly. "This is a completely different transaction. Tell me. Do you know how to sew, weave, crochet, anything like that?"
"I-I learned needlepoint growing up but taught myself to s-sew to mend my garments after the Mourning", Vellen stammered.
"Take this money. Get a ticket on the lightning rail. Go to Flamekeep. When you get there, find a gnomish woman named Cuesa at a tailor's shop called The Valid Point. She's an old friend from my unit in the war. If you tell her I sent you, she'll either give you a job or help you find one. Also, cut your hair and dye it when you get there. Whoever wanted this dagger might want it back."
Vellen was completely speechless, alternating between staring at the money and staring at me. That was fine.
"Repeat it back", I said.
"F-Flamekeep, gnome named Cuesa, Valid Point, c-cut my hair and dye it", Vellen stuttered.
"Alright. Good", I offered her a smile and a nod. "Good luck, your Ladyship."
I left before she could try to talk sense into me, finding my own way out of the building, my pockets feeling painfully light. Beyond the financial help and advice, I wanted to go back and offer some kind of words of comfort. Seven years had passed, but those few of us that remained still had no idea what words to apply to the madness that was the aftermath of the Mourning. So, I left Vellen to her grief. Not very noble of me, I know. I just had to hope she'd make good use of what I gave her.
Glaive was chatting up a human bouncer about the Eight Winds Race. When the warforged saw me, he fell into step.
"You look displeased", Glaive noted.
"Shit, what are you, an inquisitive?" I snarked.
"No. Though I do happen to be partners with one. He's very grumpy, let me tell you."
That got me to grin just a little, albeit reluctantly. "Sorry, Glaive. I'll...tell you about it at home."
"Sure thing. Let's get home, then." Glaive said.
We headed for the lift that would take us down a level.