Author's Note: A warning that there's a lot of raunchy stuff in this chapter, and not really of the romantic or sexy variety. Our heroines are infiltrating a brothel, after all. Some stuff you might find there is downright gross.

45 – Ectropy

"What can change the nature of a man?" –Ravel Puzzlewell

Beneath the raucous gaming floor of the Low Lantern lay a more subdued deck, dimly lit by hooded lamps and heavy with smoke and murmuring voices. Stained throw-rugs lined the floor, and upon them rested the sort of round, roughhewn tables you'd find in any dingy tavern from the Sword Coast to Aglarond. There were two long bars at separate walls of the room, both boasting shelves stacked to the ceiling with kegs and all manner of bottles, and the oaken pillars of the ship's masts divided the deck into a couple of sections.

Unlike the patrons above who jostled each other around the turning wheels and dice games, most here were content to sit at their stools, nursing drinks and smoking pipes. Some of the men chatted among themselves, sharing a low laugh or two.

Between the tables and the little clusters of men flitted women in gauzy skirts and halters, exchanging whispers with the patrons before moving on, though often they would settle on a stool or in a lap. While there had been women doing the same dance on the floor above, up there they had been quick and flighty, flirting and trying to move the party (and the gambling coins,) along. Here was where the whores seemed to truly ply their trade, offering bold touches, enticing whispers, and even glimpses of soft flesh spilling out from their loose silks as they negotiated prices and conditions.

Through the heavy smoke and the haphazard tables Imoen tried to walk nonchalantly, though she sure felt like a sore thumb. At least she and Skie didn't get any leers and catcalls; instead the men just frowned or glanced at them curiously. Seemed they just weren't wearing the proper uniforms for that.

If Skie was uncomfortable she hid it well, just smiling her most innocent smile and sweeping the room with curious eyes as she walked towards the bar. She even put two fingers to her smirking lips and stifled a coy titter when she spied a couple on the far side of one of the masts who looked to be doing more than negotiating. Imoen followed Skie's look, then turned away awkwardly when she realized exactly what the woman was holding firmly in her hand. There were a few other couples like that here and there, exchanging caresses or kisses in the dark corners while the patrons ignored them.

Arriving at the bar, Skie casually slipped atop a stool and Imoen followed, sitting down next to a reclining young man. He was lean, without an ounce of fat on him and dressed in an outfit that displayed that fact proudly: an open vest of bright silk and form-fitting trousers slit along the sides. Barely sparing a glance at Imoen, the man looked out at the room with hooded eyes and a coy grin, all doffed up with every blonde hair immaculately in place.

Still, Imoen gave him a wave, a smile, and a friendly: "Hi there." In return he just glanced over at her with a raised eyebrow. After an awkward pause she asked: "I was wondering if you could tell me-"

He cut her off with a raised hand. "I'm not paid to tell, honey. No offence. I'm working tonight, not chatting. And," just a glance at her before he turned back to the open room, "you don't really seem like you're looking for my kind of work."

She scrunched up her face. "Oh. Sorry. It's just that you see…" Her voice trailed off as the young man simply pushed up off the stool and sauntered away, passing some tables and approaching a lone fellow in a dark corner. He bent forward when he reached the other man, resting his hands on the tabletop and leaning in to whisper.

Imoen shook her head. How rude! Then again, despite reading every raunchy book she could get her hands on in Candlekeep, it occurred to her that she really didn't know the first thing about bordello etiquette. If such a thing existed at all.

Nearby, Skie was having better luck with the barkeep. Eyes wide and swishing every-which-way, she clasped her fingers together and fidgeted excitedly as the man watched her. "Wow! I've never been on the high seas before! Everything always shifting under your feet is kind of unnerving, but you must be used to that sort of thing, huh?"

The bartender, a stiff man with a weathered face and thinning, slicked-back hair, shrugged at her. "Just a river actually. And we only sail around the bay. It's really nothing like the high seas."

"Spoken like someone who knows!" Skie reached out and gave the man's thick arm a pat. "Bet you have some tales to tell." The bartender shrugged, though Imoen could see some pride on his face. "A riverboat is thrilling enough." She leaned in closer, with big, inquisitive eyes. "And I hear you've got tieflings here? Real life devil-folk! What are they like?"

The barkeep sighed and shook his head. "Look lass," he eventually said, "I'll give you some advice. You really don't want to go acting like a wide-eyed princess down here. Easiest way to get your purse cut, or worse."

Skie looked shocked and placed a hand on her mouth. Her voice came out hushed. "Oh. You're probably right…"

"And second, you really don't want to get close to the pair of tieflings that live on this ship. Maybe your head's all full of stories 'bout how every demonspawn has a secret heart of gold, but let me tell you: these two ain't that type. You'll never meet a deadlier pair of fork-tongued bitches this side of the Abyss, and I'd keep a deck apart of 'em if I was you."

"Oh my!" Skie squeaked. "What makes them so dangerous?"

The barkeep rolled his eyes. "You don't need to know. Just stay back, and avoid the cabin at the aft of the ship. And run like the hells are nipping at your pretty arse if you ever hear one of 'em use the word 'entropy.'"

Skie shook her head and pressed forward. "But now I'm really curious. What's so special about entropy?"

He opened his mouth to respond, then gave a pointed look to his right, shook his head and walked away, apparently finding something pressing to investigate on the far side of the bar. "Speak of the fucking devils," Imoen thought she heard the barkeep mutter under his breath as he passed her.

Both girls turned their heads, and sure enough the 'devils' were climbing the steps from the lower deck. Imoen had assumed that the pair of tieflings would be siblings, being as how rare such creatures are in general, but if these two were sisters they were about as different as sisters can get. The woman who walked slightly in the lead was tall and broad, dressed in thick black leathers buttressed by lacquered plates at the shoulders, forearms and calves. Curled horns like those of a ram crowned her bald head, and her skin was as red as you'd expect a devil's to be, marked with yellow diamond patterns down the center of her brow between featureless white eyes, devoid of irises or pupils. A longsword hung at her hip, the guard made of elaborate steel basketwork.

Her companion was far shorter and slimmer, clad in a loose red-on-gold dress slit boldly down one side. She appeared more human as well, with a faint hint of sharpened horns peaking from her long auburn hair, her skin an ashy grey with mottled spots and her eyes normal beyond a red tinge. Although, unlike the taller tiefling, she did sport a long, slender tail that swished behind her as she walked.

Both women glided up the bar, slow and languid, taking their time to find stools at the far end. Once she was seated, the tiefling with ram's horns slammed her gloved hand against the surface of the wood, making the whole bar shake and rattling glasses. "Oh Lashan dear," she called with a deep, smoky voice, "are you hiding from us again at the far side of the bar?"

The bartender managed to turn a cringe into a shrug as he turned towards the new guests. "You never order drinks," he pointed out.

The tiefling with pointed horns leaned forward. "Isn't a barkeep's true job to keep good company?" she asked in a teasing, musical tone. "Isn't being a gracious host far more important than pouring drink down people's gullets in the rush towards oblivion?"

"Aye," Ram-Horns agreed with a gleam in her empty eyes. "If anything you are here to gently guide them down into the darkness. A task you should be proud of."

"If you want 'good company' just hire one of them," the barkeep protested with a wave towards the room, though he did obediently walk towards the demonic women.

"Aw," Pointy-Horns gave a mocking pout. "But we like you Lashal. You try so vainly to keep order in this," she gave the cabin her own dismissive gesture, "sinking morass."

"It will make the moment all the sweeter," Ram-Horns put in, "when you inevitably give in and slip down into the murky darkness yourself."

"How do you think he will go, Desreta?"

"My guess is he'll start dipping into his own poison, and eventually drown in it, my dear Vay-ya."

"Or finally fall for one of the sweet young things he's always watching from a cold distance. She'll take him for all he's worth, and then…"

The barkeep was glaring at them with narrow eyes, his hand at his belt.

"Or he'll finally lose his temper and draw that dagger his hand keeps flashing to. Then we'll finally have our way with him."

With a slow breath the barkeep straightened and let his hand slip from his side.

Pointy-Horns gestured with a clawed fingertip. "But for now you could just keep us company, dear Lashal."

"Much better company than that boorish little man down below," Ram-Horns added. "Here he is in a hedonist's playground, and night after night he does the same deed, in the same manner, with the same girl. Her constant yelping is driving me mad."

Imoen and Skie shared a look. Hmm. So the bodyguards are here at the bar, and Yago's down there, all 'distracted.' It seemed like now might be the best time.

The other tiefling laughed. "I don't know. I enjoy the music. There's such fury in him. Such desperate emptiness."

The bigger tiefling gave a shrug. "Perhaps. I'm simply tired of the screeching waking me from a good, deep fugue. I've a mind to help hasten their journey to the void."

"Now that would not be good for business, would it my dear Desreta? We must always keep our contracts. Am I not a child of Dispater?"

Desreta scoffed. "Distant offspring, if that. Far more likely that you were grandsired by some pretentious imp."

Scooting back from the bar, Imoen gestured for Skie to follow, and they both gave the tieflings a wide berth as they slipped between tables, stools and flirting patrons, working their way to the hatch at the far end of the cabin. They were a few paces away when the tiefling with ram's horns threw her head back, sniffed the air and turned on her barstool before leaping off. In a blink she had closed in on the girls, looming over them as they turned with a start.

"What's this?" Desreta asked, peering down and placing her hands on her hips. The scent of black lotus wafted from her lips and prickled at Imoen's nose. "More interesting company than that frosty barkeep, I think."

Vay-ya had slithered up beside her. "Agreed," she said, and Imoen noticed that her tongue was indeed forked. "They look so out of place; two practically dressed girls down here among the desperate dregs and whores. And they seemed to be…slinking about? I believe there's a story here."

"No story miss," Imoen said in as relaxed a voice as she could manage. "We were just curious." She glanced over at Skie for backup, but the girl seemed to be doing a far worse job keeping her composure. Her lower lip was quivering and she looked like she was holding back a shriek.

It didn't help that Desreta had placed a hand upon the hilt of her sword and Vay-ya was reaching for a wand that hung from her belt. "I don't think-" Desreta began.

"Oh come now!" a bold, low voice chided them as a blur of green and purple slipped between the pair of tieflings. "You've never seen two curious young women sneaking to the bedrooms of a brothel before?" Both tieflings took an involuntary step back and held onto their weapons, startled by the elf that had materialized out of nowhere.

"The fairer sex hides it better than us blatant perverts," Coran added with a grin on his face, "but often times they want a good peak at things just the same."

With the tieflings momentarily distracted, Imoen took Skie's arm and they both began to back away. It only took the nimble girls a beat or two to recede to the stepladder, and then walk backwards down the steps. Before she had slipped all the way down, however, Imoen noticed that the tieflings had recovered, both sweeping in and placing hands upon Coran's shoulders.

"Bandit Eyes!" she thought she heard Vay-ya call. "We've heard so much of you!"

And then Imoen was out of sight and earshot, down on the lower level of the ship. She turned and bent forward a bit, whispering. "Xan? Can you hear me?" They had set up the communication spell before Imoen and the other 'scouts' had set off.

Of course a dry voice replied from nowhere in particular.

"We got away from the tieflings, but they got suspicious, and I think Coran might be in trouble. He helped us distract them, but now he's got their full attention. Full, creepy, predatory, devil-lady attention!"

(Sigh.) Of course he would draw that sort of thing. I assume he is very pleased with himself.

Shooting up from his seat like something had bitten him, Xan turned towards the hatch that led to the lower decks of the Lantern and gave a wave of his hand before marching forward. "Come on."

"Scout time's over?" Ashura asked as she caught up with him.

"Indeed," Xan said with a nod, moving as fast as he could without drawing undue attention. His sudden tension had Ashura on edge, and his next words weren't exactly encouraging. "Our friends managed to evade the tieflings, but apparently Coran is now 'distracting' them, and they appear to be in a dangerous mood. I suspect everything is about to go horribly, horribly wrong. As usual."

Well, there were five of them and only two tieflings, and the ship hadn't exploded yet. There was still a chance to deal with the situation quietly. Who am I trying to fool? Ashura thought as she reached the steps that led to the next deck. When in the Hells have things ever gone quietly?

Bright, colorful curtains hung on dowels along the corridor of the Lantern's lower deck, some pulled tight and others open wide. Each marked the brothel's many bunks; just a space with a bed and perhaps a table really, partitioned by thin wooden walls and the curtains. Where the veils were thrown open the beds were empty, but more were shut, and as Imoen and Skie crept by they caught glimpses through half-shut or translucent curtains of flesh in a wide variety of hues and activities, accompanied by laughter, cooing cries, and animal grunts.

A haze of smoke wafted out from many of the bunks as well, carrying the smell of strong incense, though Imoen also smelled scented oils, along with a tinge of the black lotus. And of course the smell of sweat.

No privacy down here at all, though the residents hardly seemed to care. As they walked along the corridor in search of Yago (by Brielbara's description a slightly tubby man with a bald spot and black hair,) a man proudly strutted out from one of the bunks, just giving them a slightly quizzical look as he passed by through the hall and straightened his clothes a bit.

Skie was leaning in and peering through one of the curtains rather boldly when Imoen tapped her on the shoulder and they shared a whisper. "The barkeep said the room at the aft of the ship, right?" she asked as quietly as she could.

Skie nodded. "I think so."

Imoen looked around briefly. Darn nautical terms. Oh! She pointed back down the corridor. "Then it should be over there. Maybe the big curtain at the end of the hall?" With that they both quietly backtracked a few steps, going around the stepladder and over to the larger set of drapes.

There were noises coming from the other side of the curtains, much like the others. After a deep breath, Imoen turned to Skie. "Well," she whispered, "this'll be an easy break-in at least. No lock ta pick. Hopefully his spellbook will be sitting in a prominent spot. Though um…do we really want to-" And then her eyes bulged wide and her hand shot to her mouth, stifling a gasp.

There, silently standing a pace behind her and Skie and dressed as brightly as ever, stood Niklos the guildhouse courier. The young thief gave her an apologetic cringe and a little wave. "Hi there ladies," he whispered.

"Ack!" Imoen hissed back. "You scared the bejeebees out of me!"

Niklos gave her a bashful look and rubbed the back of his neck. "Sorry miss. Just popping in to deliver a message."

"Could it have waited? This is the worst possible time! And not um…not cause of what you might think. We're here on business." She made a face once the words had tumbled from her mouth. "And not that type of business. Here to steal something."

"It's true," Skie added. "Though you might not want to use that word so openly…" she suggested.

"Yeah yeah yeah." Imoen sighed.

"Apologies, but Ravenscar waits for no one," Niklos whispered. "Sent me to tell you that he's ready to discuss the 'big job.' Meet him in his office as soon as possible."

Imoen nodded. "We'll do that. Though it might be a while. We're on a bloody ship after all. And we've got a baby to save. Urm…long story."

Niklos nodded as if that were a perfectly normal thing to say. "Soon as you can though." And with that, and a very red face, the young thief walked to the stairway and made his way up.

Another sigh as Imoen shook her head. The moaning beyond the curtain hadn't stopped. If anything it had intensified. "Maybe Yago'll fall asleep afterwards," she suggested. "That would be the best time to sneak in, right?"

Skie shook her head. "The tieflings could be back any moment. I say we chance it. Bet he's pretty distracted at the moment." There was a wicked gleam in her eye.

Sheesh, what kind of princess are you anyway? Imoen shrugged. "Alrighty then. It has been a good half-tenday since I walked in on someone mid-coitus, after all. Might as well break the streak." With a gesture and a little hum she wrapped herself in the familiar shimmer of her invisibility spell while Skie downed a potion that had the same effect. Then, with stilled breath, she carefully parted the curtain and crept forward.

Distract the creepy devil-ladies so the girls can slip away.

That had been the plan, at least, and it had worked flawlessly. Maybe a little too much so. Trapped here against the bar with the two snake-tongued women right in his face and smelling of opiates and confidence, Coran was starting to feel a strange, tickling sensation.

Regret, he guessed. An unfamiliar feeling.

At first he had casually reached to his belt when the two had pressed him against the bar, but the ram-horned tiefling had closed her fingers around his wrist with a grip that would shame an iron golem, squeezing so hard that Coran was sure bones would crack.

"Be still now, Bandit Eyes," she purred teasingly. "We've heard how quick you can be." The pair shared a laugh and Coran forced himself to relax. When he did the grip became slightly less bone-threatening.

Slightly.

While he was held in place like that, the other tiefling dabbed a clawed fingertip against his cheekbone. It tickled a little. "Bandit Eyes, indeed! Oh, how our patron ranted and raved of you! The wife-thief. Father of his woman's accursed child. He told us to keep an eye out."

"They say you're a bit of a 'lady killer,'" the bigger tiefling said with a curl of her lip. "And there's at least some truth to that, is there not? Did Yago's wife tell you how she barely escaped with her life and suckling babe intact when he flew into his rage? Supposedly their entire house was leveled in a storm of arcane fire."

For his part Coran gave them his warmest smile as he wondered if his fingers could reach his lefthand dagger faster than Ram-Horns could snatch at him again.

"But though she escaped with her life," Pointed-Horns picked up, "her child…your child…was still doomed to die, correct? So you're here to exact revenge? Carve the heart out of your child's murderer? What a wonderfully bloody drama."

Ram-Horns gave Coran a squeeze that had him stiffening and twitching. "It's so delightful to meet a soul who leaves such ruin in his wake. Heedless and stumbling about as he shatters families and destroys lives, all with that most delightful of motivations: personal indulgence."

Coran's eyes narrowed. "It was never like-"

The clawed tip of the sharp-horned tiefling touched his lips. "Oh hush." And then he found he could not speak. "We appreciate your work. Be glad. Why, I've a mind to just send you down to Yago with your daggers still on you. Perhaps you'll succeed and get your petty vengeance. More likely he'll blast you to a smoking husk with one of his spells, before he finally kills himself with a lotus pipe and a rum bottle."

"No matter what," her partner immediately continued, "our true master always wins. Everything crumbles…falls into the void."

"And all we get is these poignant little moments where we can choose how best to push it along. So boooooooring waiting while fools hopelessly try to fix the world up, isn't it soul-sister?"

"But the choices are always so delightful. What would you choose, wife-thief? Fun and play with us, or shall we send you to Yago?"

Coran's mouth fell open and he found that he could speak once more. "Fun, with two charming and beautiful ladies such as yourselves? That's a sort of invitation I've never turned down before."

"I would have guessed that," Pointed-Horns mused.

"But I'm afraid tonight I need to…need to…" And suddenly his tongue was heavy and thick, voice faltering. The tiefling mage was grinning at him with sharpened teeth as her index finger waggled from side to side.

Coran found himself following that claw-tip. Was it glowing? The woman was so much brighter than the dimming room around her. "No," she teased, "I asked what you would choose, but if you've been paying attention you'd realize there was no choice at all. Only darkness. Only entropy. You will follow us down for some fun in the hold. As sure as the rot of the universe. As sure as the void we shall all be scattered to one day. As sure as the death of all heat and the eternal darkness to follow."

Yes, her clawtip was definitely glowing, and all around the lamplight faded. All that shone was the chiseled face of the tiefling, the only thing in a dark, empty world. "Come now." She beckoned and turned towards the steps, and all thoughts of daggers evaporated as the grip on Coran's wrist let up and he followed, eyes fixed on the woman's swishing tail.

A literal tail. Coran found himself smugly grinning, remembering a delightful demon-spawned lass he had bedded in Waterdeep. Oh, the things a nimble tail could do! Eagerly, he followed now, eyes wide and hungry.

Something was nagging him though, somewhere at the back of his mind. Had there been a task? Yes. An important task, or so it had seemed. But what could be more important than a tiefling woman's tail?

"Shame those girls disappeared on us," the bigger tiefling muttered from somewhere behind him. "They were far prettier than this wretch."

The slightest of shrugs from Pointed-Horns' shoulders. "Go search for them then. They seemed more your type."

"I may just do that." Ram-Horns laughed. "A challenge, dear soul-sister. See if you can keep this one alive until I find you, hopefully dragging those two sneakabouts with me."

"I shall make the attempt, but you know the only thing guaranteed is the void. All things fall apart, you know. His parts, like all others." They were walking along a corridor now, lined with fluttering sheets. There were motions and moans behind the fabric, but Coran could not pry his eyes from the tiefling before him. Soon she guided him down yet another flight of steps and into a dark, empty hold.

I should turn back. Coran found himself thinking. There was something. Important. His head shook a little as the woman turned towards him. What could there be? Besides that luscious pair of black lips? That gleaming dagger she had drawn and begun to play with? Those simmering crimson eyes? Even lovelier than the sirines…

He blinked. The sirines! Yes, he remembered those…those monsters. Being trapped in his own head. The bed of bleached white bones, spread out across the pool. The empty skulls.

Another blink, and another memory came rushing to him, fighting the torpor that seemed to hold both muscles and mind. A foul-smelling bedroom. A cradle. Dark, sunken eyes on a too-small face. A face like a skull.

That little face. That little skull. His daughter.

Suddenly the torpor was gone, and with the lightheaded speed of a man suddenly freed of chains, Coran grasped the hilts of both daggers and yanked them from their sheathes.

Trying her darndest to look at anything but the bare, hairy backside of the man who was on his knees and aggressively pumping away at a kneeling woman on the nearby bed, Imoen crept forward. Creeping and feeling like a creep. At least she knew that the spellbook wasn't hidden somewhere on the man. Provided this even was Yago.

The room seemed to fit at least. It stunk of a lot of things, despair among them. There were empty bottles on every surface and in little clusters all along the floor that Imoen had to avoid kicking, some of them lying atop piles of greasy, discarded clothing, sheets and rags. Besides the despair there were several foul odors competing for top billing in the filthy little room: spilt beer, burnt cloth, urine, vomit, and unwashed bodies. She had no idea how anyone could stand five minutes in a place like this, let alone live here.

At least the pile of books proved to be easy enough to spot and approach, sitting between two empty rum bottles on a dresser by the bed. No locks, no alarms, and after a brief search she found there weren't even arcane wards. Peeling back a copy of Sisters of Light and Darkness and another tome titled The Red Ravens, she came upon a book with no title. A quick survey of the pages and she smiled to herself. Flowing arcane script and magical diagrams; after all the reading that she'd been doing recently she'd recognize them anywhere. Oddly enough, the handwriting was almost as neat as Xan's.

With a silent grin of triumph Imoen stood slightly and whirled around, the pilfered spellbook in hand. Mid-turn the book smashed into something unseen and sent a jolt through her arm.

"Owch!" a high-pitched voice cried right next to her. "Watch it!" Then there was a slight gasp as the invisible Skie realized what she had done.

The creaking of the cabin's bed immediately stopped and the man on his knees froze, then turned bleary, bloodshot eyes in the direction of the dresser. "What the hells?!" he asked in an accent that made Imoen vaguely think of the Moonsea.

The woman on her hands and knees in front of him had turned as well, tousled hair covering most of her face and eyes glaring sharply beneath it. "I heard it too," she breathed.

Imoen started scurrying for the exit. At least they were still invis-

"Viauthis kret matok!" With the man's rumbling shout a flash of white light radiated out from his open palm, filling the bedroom and forcing Imoen to cover her eyes.

She blinked back most of the dancing spots, but some still hovered over her hand as vision returned. Hovered over her visible hand.

She looked over at the bed and then immediately regretted it. Now there was a sight she'd never be able to unsee. Still, she did her best to look up into the mage's eyes, put on an innocent smile, and wave.

"Um. Heya!"

Author's Note: If you're wondering what 'Big Job' Ravenscar wants to discuss with Imoen, you can find out in my short side-story: 'Now You See Me.' *Shameless self-promotion.*

And boy did I rewrite this chapter a million times. At first Desreta and Vay-ya were doing that thing where they had very different voices that played off each other, a bit like Mr. Croup and Mr. Vandemar from Neverwhere, but in the end I liked giving them basically the same personality that happens to alternate between using one mouth and then another. Soul-sisters indeed. Not sure if I'm satisfied with the chapter, but I got to that 'give up and call it done' point.