Disclaimer: The Drow and any recognizable characters do not belong to me. No money is made by writing this.
Neven: Great and you made my day by reviewing. It would become even better and greater if you'd post the next chapter now, even though I still won't be writing any faster afterwards.(Grin)
Anonymous: You review I update, how about that?
Alhana: Yes comforting is good! I can hear Toren munching in the background…
Betaed now!
All the trouble in the world is due to the fact that a man cannot sit still in a room.
Blaise Pascal (1623-1662) French scientist and philosopher
Pensées, #139 (1670)
C
Sit in my place
C
With quite a bit of surprise I note that the sun is just setting when I look around in the narrow, quiet and rubbish riddled back street Giciel's portal dumped me in before it closed behind me. I feel like dropped in the bin. How fitting. So my whole life has been turned completely upside down in the course of only one day? The realization brings a wave of fatigue and only now I become aware of how tired I am, but I cannot go and rest yet. First I must think about my next moves and try to formulate at least a vague plan for my revenge on the traitor wizard.
What are my options? I could try to earn enough money to hire a professional assassin. I'm bad with money though and seeing that the only thing I was ever actually properly trained to do in any manner is whoring I think it will take me far too long to earn any substantial amount of money. Now if I could find Ufrelyn or her brother I could maybe convince them to go against Liral, but he's not the main objective and I doubt they'll find anything I can offer worthy of taking the risk of attacking a mage. Especially one who has already been involved in the deaths of two highly skilled Drow wizards.
But I do know one person who would certainly be interested in the death of Giciel: Vergir, the cousin of both Andy's former and our recently deceased Master. The first was killed by Giciel personally and the second on his grounds. If I go to him though I have no doubt that the price for any action on his part will certainly be my freedom, because there is no way he'll not notice my desperate determination enabling him to claim virtually anything from me. Am I really prepared to do this, to avenge Andy on cost of my own life? For going back to the house of my Master and to Vergir would mean giving up any hope of being able to ever again make important decisions for myself, rendering me as little more than an animated doll to be used and discarded at will.
On the other hand, what do I have to live for really? My family and Clan have shunned and cast me aside, all my so called friends have obviously been getting on splendidly without my presence the last few months and as far as I know no one besides Ayren has missed me or even wondered where I have gone. But Ayren surely hates me after I barely even thanked her and now that Andy is dead…
Dark despair threatens to overwhelm me and I have to clench my fists until I draw blood to jerk myself out of this dangerous state. Now is not the time to fall apart! If I let this happen I won't be able to stop crying and howling until the world ends, which now that I think about it, wouldn't be such a terrible option after all. At least then I would not hurt so fucking much. I just want it to stop! Gods I'm so screwed. I'm in love with a dead Drow… absolutely mental if you ask me. Nobody does though, because nobody cares whether I live or die. Yea, self pity is just so great to wallow in Toren, now stop whining and fucking do something!
Thinking about it seriously though, I find that despite the strong feeling of hatred I harbor towards Giciel I'm not quite ready yet to abandon any thought of an independent life by throwing myself into the eager clutches of Vergir and even though that realization causes a bout of previously unparalleled self loathing to well up and engulf me, it doesn't actually bolster my resolve.
With an utterly disgusted sigh I sink down, leaning my back against the rough wall of the nearest house. I can do nothing right it seems, well besides causing anguish and trouble wherever I go. And with that thought the tears begin to flow. I try, but I can do nothing to stop them so eventually I just surrender to the urge until my head hurts, my eyes are swollen and my nose is so blocked I don't think I'll be able to breathe through it for the next ten years.
I react with a startled gasp and a very embarrassing hiccup when somebody suddenly touches my shoulder and I finally lift up my head. Through tear blurred eyes I see the broad face of an old man, his features scarred by the rough life on these streets with some precious few broken teeth left in the gaping mouth. His clothes are torn and little better than trash. The insane glitter in his bloodshot and yellowed eyes is rather worrying and permeates even the thick fog of tearful apathy that has settled around me.
"I don't have anything worth stealing." I growl, my words sounding slightly silly because of my blocked nose. Well, at least this way I don't have to smell his stink. "Go away." I tell him. In answer he gives a high pitched cackle that causes a cold shiver to run down my back. A laugh like this should be outlawed! The twisted insanity which lies only barely hidden in the spiky sound drags me back to full attention in an instant.
"In my place you are sitting!" The man complains in a strange singsong voice and starts to dig his claw-like nails in my shoulder. "My place, my place. Elf must go away!" He insists trying to pull me sideways with surprising strength. What distinguishes this spot from any of the others in this dump I can only guess, but he'll have his reasons I suppose. In this moment his smell finally gets through to the unfortunate nerves of my nose and I have to suppress the strong urge to vomit. As fast as I can I get halfway up and scramble away from him only to collide forcefully with the next pile of rubbish, causing a small avalanche of disgustingly moldy salad and potatoes to slide down and pile up on my shoulders. Argh! Sickened I shake them off and run towards the end of the street. I have seen enough! Insanity frightens me even on good days and today is not a good one at all.
After this rather disturbing encounter I walk around without any real aim, trying to think up a way to get back at Giciel without having to give up living, but other than the possibility of sending an anonymous message through another mage I produce no useful ideas and that one has the decided flaw of not knowing whether it will have any effect at all, seeing that I don't plan to hang around at Giciel's tower to become a firsthand witness.
Almost instinctively I avoid anything that has the looks of officiality or uniform especially after I remember Liral's accusations concerning Old Bo's murder. I don't know if he was actually speaking the truth, but a bit of extra caution is much better than ending up as the accused in a murder trial.
As much as I want to, I can't go back to Dai in case his rooms are being watched. To drag him further into my troubles is not what I intend anyway and if I were to turn up at his place again it would certainly end like that. After a few hours I find myself on another dark street, still with no notion what to do and increasingly disheartened. I'm beginning to feel like a wounded animal that is dragging itself further and further without sense or reason. I hate myself for not being strong enough to do what is necessary.
Out of old habit my feet carry me to the next decrepit, run down tavern where I would usually drown my brain and all nagging fears in cheap alcohol. I have no money though; a fact that only comes to me as I step through the door and set eyes on the colorful collection of people that has assembled here. At least judging by the looks of them no one here is going to be on good footing with the law so I won't have to worry overly much about one of them calling the guards. Now how do I convince the guy behind the bar to give me some beer, vodka or whatever else he may have to offer that has a sufficient percentage of alcohol to make me pass out. If I don't do something to dim the steady flow of derisive voices in my head, I'll start screaming soon.
After a rather adventurous trip through a little crowd of Halflings who give every appearance of being fully occupied by their gambling I finally get to the bar. The nearly unnoticeable feeling of small hands searching my pockets with long practiced skill and accuracy only to come up with nothing is nearly enough to make me smile. I don't though and turn instead to the bar to try and get a drink despite my devastating financial status.
"I don't have any money."
The chubby face of the barman turns from slightly bored to slightly hostile. Seems like starting with the truth wasn't the brightest idea I have had today.
"So what do you want here then? If you're not going to order anything go away and stop wasting my time."
"Do you have work that I could do?" I inquire hopefully only to receive a grim stare.
"No."
"But maybe…"
"No."
"And what if…"
"No work. Stop pestering me. Does Breen have to show you the way out?"
At these words a hand nearly as big as my head on my shoulder and after a look in the small beady eyes of its owner I decide to give it one last try. I have nothing to lose in any case.
"Anything?"
The massive fingers start squeezing, which makes me utter an undignified squeak, but before the walking mountain can actually drag me anywhere another voice sounds from behind.
"Leave it Breen. I'll pay. The Summerbrew for each of us."
When I turn around to see the mysterious speaker who has just offered me a drink my tear reddened eyes fall on a stocky, balding man with an uncomfortably sharp gaze. Even though I can detect no hint of lust on his bland, plain face I remain wary. There is something he wants or else he would not have interfered. The question is, am I prepared to do it? The simple grey cloak he is wearing gives no definite clue about his identity or occupation, besides the fact that he must have some money to be able to afford garments of such apparent quality. The fact that I can't seem to remember how he looks even moments after seeing him suggests a minor spell is in place that protects his identity from casual glances.
The barkeeper merely shrugs indifferently and pours two glasses of a clear liquid with a faint blue-ish glow. I have no idea what this is, but as I grab the glass and toss its contents down my throat without further hesitation I'm surprised at the pleasant taste, that carries with it the remembrance of warm summer days and fresh, green grass. The warm glow that follows is nice, as is the slightly fuzzy feeling which is now spreading in my head.
He looks taken aback for a moment by my speedy consumption of the drink, but then shrugs and with a wave of his hand orders another one.
"This kind of beverage is usually drunk in little sips." He explains calmly as he hands me the glass. "It is quite potent so you might want to be a bit more careful with this one."
Feeling a bit dazed now I can only nod and follow him to a table near the wall, where everything is shrouded in a dim light that leaves most of our features up to the imagination of anybody who should care to look upon us, an arrangement that has my full support.
"What do you want?" I ask him bluntly once I have placed myself at the grimy table, a task of surprising difficulty after only one glass of whatever this blue stuff is. Two or three more and the much craved oblivion might be in reach of my grasp at last. There are things to discuss though and before I can proceed to drink myself under the table I must listen to him first.
"I need a courier." He says just matter-of-factly. "And you seem to need money quite badly."
No really? His powers of observation have just officially floored me in their genius like acuity! He is right though and I'm not going to turn down a job that sounds reasonably easy and might give me the chance to do something else about this situation than just moping around.
"A courier for what and to where?"
My suspicion suddenly flares. If he has this useful spell on him and is obviously endowed with quite a lot of money why can't he do it himself? Ok maybe he has busines here that he can't leave unattended, but still, it never hurts to be careful.
"The what is of no consequence Elf. It isn't dangerous to you that is all you need to know. The recipient lives in a tree though and I have no wish to climb that high. Someone of you're your heritage should have no problems though."
"A tree?" I repeat dumbly. Who would live in a tree? A Druid maybe or a priest of sorts? I've had enough of priests of any confession for quite some time! The stranger shrugs indifferently.
"Mage." He says as if that would explain everything, which I suppose it does in a way. Mages are known for being quite eccentric at times, so that living in a tree is actually sounding quite tame compared to some other stories I have heard. Well I guess that task is nothing I am not capable of fulfilling.
"How's the payment?" I want to know running my fingers down the smooth surface of my still filled glass. If he's surprised to find such a sell-sword attitude in an Elf he doesn't let it show. My hopeless situation is probably too obvious to expect anything else.
"Twenty gold pieces when you get there and the drink for tonight."
"You provide the horse and a map I suppose."
He nods. Good. If I take on this assignment I might be able to persuade this tree-mage to send a message to Vergir instead of giving me Gold. This alone makes the whole endeavor worth my time. It is the best opportunity I have right now and it'll get me out of this cursed city which is apparently infested with Drow and self-righteous Elf lords as well as a whole troop of city guards who are quite possibly still looking for me right now.
"You are willing to do it?"
"Yes."
"Very well. I'll be back tomorrow with your package and a horse."
"Great." I say and gulp down the second drink, thus causing his eyes to widen in disbelief. They become even bigger after I remain upright and ask him for another drink with a voice that is reasonably clear and composed.