There is one little warning before I start. This version of the main character is quite… different. If that bothers you, I'm sorry. Well, not that sorry.
Other than that, constructive criticism and advice is welcome (and encouraged).
"The gods are pissing on the roof again." Snick wiped dribbles of rain from the bar with the filthiest cloth I'd ever seen. He glared up at the leaky ceiling. "Bastards couldn't hold it until I got the new shingles nailed on."
Thunder cracked like a whip across my eardrums. It was another beautiful evening in the City of Coin. So many coins and so many hands ready to take them. It was a town where thieves ruled the night and merchants could really make a killing. The perfect place for a guy like me.
"Another one, Mister A?"
"Yes."
Snick topped up my glass with a double measure of cheap Westgate whiskey. I held it up to the light, admiring its deep amber glow, and shot it back. It burned a hole straight down my gullet. That's why I liked this place. The Crooked Crane served booze so strong, it made you feel alive.
I'd spent many a night sitting at this counter, breathing in the air of smoke and desperation, knocking my drinks back one by one until I fell off the stool or found an expensive dame to take me home. That was exactly what I had in mind as I sat there that night, until she walked in.
I saw her feet first, neatly encased in tiny black slippers with blue dragons embroidered on the toes. Wealthy dame, wearing the finest Athkatla had to offer. My eyes traveled up the sapphire silk skirts, the jewel-encrusted bodice, the sleek mink stole partially covered by a thick rain-spotted cloak. She pushed back her hood, revealing long golden fairy-princess curls and eyes as blue as the summer sky. Snick's jaw hit the bar. He looked as if he'd just seen a goddess. He wasn't far off.
Of all the bars in all of Faerun, she had to walk into this one. Mirielle Coltrane, the Bhaalspawn mage with a heart of gold and the bank account to match. Some folks called her the Savior of the Sword Coast, and some called her the Destroyer of Saradush. Me, I called her, "Sis."
"Hello, Sis," I said. "What brings you to this wretched dump?"
She flashed me that winsome little-girl smile. "Can't a girl come by to say hello to her big brother?"
"No." I turned back to my drink. "I haven't seen you since the wedding. What's it been, five years?"
"I've been busy."
"So I heard. Business must be good if you don't have time for your own flesh and blood."
She glanced at the door. "I don't have time for chit-chat. I need to talk to you, and Imoen, too, if she's around."
"Sit down, take a load off. She'll turn up in an hour or two."
"I can't wait that long." She rested a soft hand on my arm. For a moment, I felt privileged. "Please, Sarevok, I think they're after me."
Someone two tables away dropped a glass on the dusty floor, and Sis flinched. I'd never seen her flinch before, and we'd been through a lot worse than broken glass. I quit messing with her and began to pay attention. "Who?"
A tear rolled down her porcelain cheek. "The ones who killed my husband."