47 – Dirty Jobs
"No matter what you keep telling yourself, scruples and privateer work are eventually going to clash." –Captain Zahera, A Kraken's Tale
"Now this is some real food!" Skie exclaimed as her fingers delicately pinched fork and knife, sawing off another tiny portion of glazed pheasant.
"It's pretty good, yeah," Ashura agreed as she chewed on a hunk of the stuff. It was quite a feast for a midday meal, and at an opulent establishment to boot. The Helm and Cloak was about as posh as an inn could get, every surface immaculate and polished to the point that you could see your reflection in the them. The furnishings were sturdy and elegant, and the tapestries that hung from the cherrywood walls depicted pastoral scenes in mellow colors, creating a homely atmosphere. Twin candelabras lit the spacious dining hall, simple but beautiful works of crystal and brass.
It was a bit of a contrast to the adjoining section of the inn through which Ashura and Garrick had first entered, where the ceilings were covered with elaborate, erotic frescos that had them thinking that they had accidently stepped into a brothel. Supposedly the previous owner of the house that eventually became that part of the inn had been a priestess of Sune, and the frescos had never been painted over because they were considered 'masterpieces.' Go figure.
Skie seemed to cringe at Ashura's lack of table manners, turning away slightly and hiding beneath her hood. "Slumming is fun and all," she said once she had carefully chewed her food and wiped her lips with a cloth, "but the meals leaves much to be desired. It seems like its fish, fish, fish in every inn, and that gruel they serve at the Elfsong…blech!"
Ashura rolled her eyes. She rather liked Alyth's stew. The fare here at the Helm and Cloak was better of course, and quite a bit more expensive. Ten gold coins for glazed and marinated pheasant served atop a pile of fried potatoes and onions, with some candied nectarines decorating the corners of each plate.
"Well, we are in a fishing town," Garrick pointed out cheerfully.
"Yeah I know." Skie wrinkled her nose. "Makes it quite a smelly city, if you ask me. Once we have our gold I'm going to insist that Eldoth and I move somewhere inland."
"Fine by me," Ashura muttered.
Looking up from her fork and knife, Skie gave the other woman a hurt look, and then let out a sigh. "I must seem like such a spoiled brat."
"Not at-" Garrick began.
"Of course you do," Ashura said more firmly, cutting him off.
Skie crinkled her lips, then nodded. "It's alright Garrick." Looking into Ashura's eyes she added: "I don't mean to be. Don't want to be. I've lived in this city my whole life, but only seen it through carriage windows up until these past few days. I'm ever so grateful for the little 'ventures' Imoen and you have taken me on, and everything else you've done for me. I'm just not like you. You're so strong and confident and…"
Ashura waved a dismissive hand. "Bah. We're actually not that different," she offered. "Me and Ims were cloistered all our lives, up until a couple seasons ago. One moment I'd never seen a wolf except in picture books, the next thing one of them was trying to eat me. And then there's gibberlings, xvarts, hobgoblins, ogres…it was quite a rude awakening. You'll adjust. Give it time."
"Thanks." Skie gave her a weak smile. "Although, I do kind of hope I never see an ogre."
"That's a good way to go about it." Ashura gave her a little grin. "If you think the Baldur's Gate bay is smelly, just wait until you meet a ferial ogre in the wild."
"Oh my!" Skie covered her mouth, giggling a little.
"There's wonders to be seen out there too," Garrick pointed out. "And I hope you get to see it all, Lady Skie. The soaring Cloudpeak Moutains. The great gorges of the Cloakwood, with wyverns gracefully sailing overhead. Elves and dwarves and forest nymphs."
Ashura turned to him. "We've never actually met a forest nymph."
"Not yet," he teased.
"Hopefully not ever." She couldn't help but smirk.
Past the polished chairs and tables of the common room Eldoth was approaching, a generous crystal goblet in each hand. He placed one in front of Skie and took a testing sip of the other before straddling a chair next to her.
"Well hello there Eldie!" Skie squeaked, beaming up at him. "What did you bring me?"
"Saerloonian Topaz, my dear. It's your favorite, no?"
"It is," Skie agreed happily, before taking a dainty sip. "Can we try Saerloonian Glowfire next though? I've never had wine that glows before!"
"It actually glows?" Ashura asked.
"It's an elven thing," Garrick explained. "Naturally."
"Wonder if it makes your pee glow in the dark," Ashura pondered.
Skie managed to gasp, laugh and cover her mouth all at once.
"Indeed," Eldoth joined in with a playful tone. "The copper elves say it's not a true party until you're 'pissing rainbows.'"
Skie chortled at that. "No they don't! Well. Actually, Coran would say that sort of thing wouldn't he?"
They were silent for a moment, munching their meals and sipping their elven wine. Eventually Eldoth spoke again. "You've really moved up in the world," he observed, taking in the lavish dining hall with a casual tilt of his head. Skie giggled beside him, leaning against his arm. A casual tug and she plopped into his lap.
"Yeah," Skie agreed. "Why, this hardly counts as slumming at all!"
"We can always go somewhere sleazier," Eldoth suggested.
"I'm sure you'd fit in," Ashura muttered, fixing him with a pointed look.
The northerner's smile didn't falter. "Why the hostility?" he asked. "Have we not shed blood together? And I daresay, some of the gems from a certain lovely young lady's dressing table helped you pay for this lavish meal, no?" That brought out another giggle from Skie.
"We're grateful of course," Garrick said with a greasy grin. An instant later he became self-conscious of it and whipped his mouth, bashfully looking away from the princess sitting across the table from him.
"Guess you pulled your weight," Ashura agreed halfheartedly as she munched. In the end the big smug rake had fought well when pressed. He'd even entertained them some with lute and song on the Cloakwood trail, though it irked her how he never missed an opportunity to belittle Garrick. She also couldn't recall a time when he had so much as picked up a piece of kindling or helped with a tent peg or a meal whenever they were setting up or breaking camp.
"And," Eldoth added, "We've come to you with another fine opportunity to line your pockets. You strike me as the sort of woman always looking for those. Cool and pragmatic."
Ashura lifted another forkful of pheasant and watched the bard with narrow eyes. "Something about a ransom, is it?" she asked.
"Exactly." There was a wicked and playful cast to Eldoth's smile as he placed two straightened fingers against the front of Skie's long neck. His voice grew melodramatic. "Poor lady Silvershield is in mortal peril!" Skie played along, thrusting her head back and doing an exaggerated damsel-in-distress impression. "Cutthroats hold her captive, imperiling her safety and, perhaps, her virtue!"
"Oh my!" Skie gasped.
"Only a hefty payment in golden tradebars will sate them! I've communicated this to Entar's men, and we've agreed on a place to make the exchange. Tonight, ideally."
"But when we do our little handoff," Skie added cheerfully, "it'll be dangerous, and we'll need protection. We also need to really convince them, and that means competent, menacing cutthroats!"
"And in the brief time I've known you," Eldoth told Ashura, "I've seen you cut quite a few throats. Though no-nonsense stab-wounds seem to be your preference. Shar-Teel has that talent as well, and she has already agreed to help, once she was done throwing insults at me. Seems we're putting together quite the amazon brigade."
"Very flattering. So what's the actual plan and how would I be involved?"
"We simply need you to be there when one of Entar's agents sees that Skie is being held 'hostage.' We'll make sure there is no trap first, snatch the ransom money and then make a hasty escape. I have quite a bit of magic at my disposal that can stun the man who delivers the gold."
"Sounds damn risky. Isn't sending them a toe the traditional way to go about these things?" Skie's playful smile turned into a grimace at that.
"I prefer the lady's dainty feet intact," Eldoth said, a hand slipping down to squeeze Skie's knee. "Not to mention that such things would make her easier to magically track." With his other hand he rubbed the hooded cape that hung from the girl's shoulders. "This handy enchanted cloak helps proof her against scrying, but we don't want to take any chances, do we?"
"Sounds like a big chance. Meeting somewhere with the 'hostage' and those who want her back all together. Unless we just want to sell her back outright." That brought out another hurt, pouty look from Skie.
"Let me worry about the details," Eldoth said, "but you are somewhat correct. No matter what we do, this will be a precarious situation. Which is why we need all the muscle we can get. Risk must be taken, if reward is to follow. After the Cloakwood I figured you would delight in such things. And the reward will be substantial: a gold trade bar for your service. Those things are worth a hefty sum."
Ashura glanced down at her plate. "That'll buy a lot of pheasant, I guess." She looked over at Garrick.
Following her eyes, Eldoth held up a hand. "Unfortunately we're not extending this offer to the bard. I hope you understand, but you see…I don't think anyone could ever picture Garrick as menacing."
Garrick frowned, but then let out a laugh. "Damn. I'm always getting type-casted."
"We all must play our parts." Eldoth looked over at Ashura. "So, are you in?"
"Oh please! Oh please!" Skie put in with her hands clasped together, begging.
Ashura shrugged. "I guess."
"Yay!"
Once the wine goblets were empty Eldoth rose, taking Skie with him after telling Ashura to meet them outside the Elfsong tavern after sunset. Shortly after they had gone Garrick stood up as well. "Since I just can't be menacing," He quipped, "I guess I'll go see if Xan still needs help with that investigation he was talking about."
Ashura got to her feet. "Sorry about that. Eldoth's a giant ass."
"Eh. He's right. I never could master 'scary.' Really best if I stick to comedy. And maybe the lighter dramas." He leaned in and planted a kiss on Ashura's lips. Once he had tilted back she shot him a grin.
"Have fun being a do-gooder," Ashura teased.
"Have fun being a cutthroat." They shared another kiss, then parted.
As soon as he had slipped down off the final, rusty rung and set his feet upon the stone floor Xan rubbed his hands together and hid them beneath the sleeves of his robe, lest he touch one of the slick walls close by. "We always go to the most pleasant places," he groused, wrinkling his nose.
Imoen kept her laugh as low as possible, so it wouldn't echo down the narrow halls of the sewer. "Hey, it is partly yer fault!" she chided him. "You suggested we ask Scar if he needed help with his investigation." She took on a deeper, nasally voice and did her best Xan impersonation: "'Rather than another horridly violent misadventure involving kidnapping heiresses or stealing Skyship plans, perhaps we should try to make ourselves useful?'"
Xan surveyed the tunnels as Imoen conjured up a faint wisp of illusory light, mostly for Garrick's sake, as Imoen had her infravision ring, and Xan, Viconia and Coran could see in the dark. "I think this still may count as a misadventure," he complained. "The idea was to help with the iron shortage investigation, not to do the work that the city guard is too incompetent or busy to do. If I had known it would lead to a sewer…"
"Aww, but aren't you a world-class investigator? And you were the one who figured out that Lady Hannah and the others all disappeared near this sewer grate. Gotta go wherever your brilliant deductions lead!"
Xan just shook his head a bit, and Imoen patted him on the arm before starting down the walkway, stepping gingerly beside a channel of shallow, murky water.
"You know," Garrick said in a cheery voice, "it's just like an adventure story. You can't have a good one without at least one crawl through a sewer."
"Exactly my thoughts," Imoen agreed. "And it doesn't even smell as bad as I thought it would." It was hard to judge, but the air did seem more on the cloying, scummy and musty side than the overwhelming stench of a privy one might expect. Perhaps the recent rains had kept the channels flowing and flushed most of the nasty stuff out to the river. "So less grumbling and more investigating!"
"Perhaps our resident hunter should take the lead?" Xan suggested, casting his eyes towards Coran.
The wood elf looked the part, with his longbow slung over his shoulder, along with his elven cloak that had taken on the grey of his surroundings. He shot Xan an amused grin. "I'll try, but I'm not entirely sure what we're tracking, or how to single out the 'spore' when there's…well…spore everywhere."
"Just keep those sharp eyes you or-tel-quassir always brag of out and searching," Xan suggested. "And I suppose taking one path at random is as good as any other." Following Imoen, they all began to trudge down the passage, soon coming to a branch but continuing forward.
The sewers seemed to be a labyrinth of ever-branching tunnels, and the stone support pillars, grey slimy walls and pipes all looked more or less the same as they progressed. Some of the pipes were dry and rust-stained, while others belched out streams of grey water that flowed into the wider channels. Narrow shafts of sunlight broke the sameness up here and there, filtering down through rusted grates and gaps in the ceiling.
Occasionally scrap-wood planks or duckboard would span the wider flows of scummy water, rotten and crumbling for the most part. Xan cringed when Imoen danced her way across one of the haphazard bridges, but it seemed to hold, and the others carefully followed.
After perhaps ten minutes of aimless wandering through the stagnant air and gloom, Coran came to a sudden stop and placed a cautioning hand on Imoen's shoulder. The rest halted as well, glancing around. Xan cocked his head and placed a hand upon his sword, but all his keen ears could pick up was the soft gurgle of water as it trickled through the channels. Then he noticed that Coran's nostrils were flaring. How could anyone catch a unique scent in this literal cesspit?
The wood elf placed an arrow to his bowstring, turning and sniffing and searching the air, but as far as Xan could tell the passage in which they stood was remained silent and still. Up ahead there seemed to be some sort of intersection and a wider pool, but nothing moved there beyond floating motes in the sunbeams. Following Coran's lead, the rest of the group closed in a bit and fingered their weapons.
"Smell's close," Coran finally whispered as softly as he could.
"How can you tell?" Garrick asked.
"Ya," Imoen agreed. "'Course, I've been breathing through my mouth."
"Ah," Viconia hissed. "I smell it as well. Stronger than the offal. The stench of rotting meat and death."
"If it is undead," Xan whispered, "perhaps you can-"
He gasped and flinched back when he saw movement at the corner of his vision, his moonblade sliding from its sheath. Something slick and white and gleaming had slithered out of a rusty pipe nearby, countless tiny legs undulating as the thing dropped to the stone mere paces away.
Then without a pause it surged forward.
The moonblade was raised and braced in Xan's hand before the crawling thing got closer, but he was taken by surprise when it turned its head to one side and countless whipcord-tendrils unfurled beneath its wet, black eyes. Another swift turn of the creature's head and the streaming tendrils lashed out, striking Xan in the side and curling around his arm.
Acute little stings followed, all up and down his arm and body, and were swiftly followed by a seeping numbness. Xan stumbled a few steps back as his limbs grew thick and heavy.
The crawling creature lunged forward far faster than Xan could stumble, breath hissing out through a beak-like-thing between the shaggy tendrils and filling Xan's lungs with the stench of death. He fought the slowness in his limbs –fought it with all his strength- but he could only stumble back one more agonizing step.
Then a flash of steel struck one of the black orbs the creature used for eyes, sinking deep and making it weep a gush of something green. A look of concentration and effort on his face, Garrick pressed in closer and pushed the wriggling, centipede-like thing back.
With an ear-splitting hiss, the creature reeled and came off of Garrick's rapier, rearing up above them both, limbs beyond counting undulating and furious. There was a plinking sound somewhere close by, and an object flashed past Xan and buried itself deep in the creature's head, just above the clicking black beak. The centipede teetered back even further, body whipping around and around like a rope being readied to throw, then the creature just collapsed to the floor, limbs and segments twisting in opposite directions.
Nearby there was motion and the sound of scurrying, and with a great effort Xan began to turn his body, seeing Imoen dance back from the lashing tendrils of an identical creature while Viconia pointed with a gloved finger and called upon the power of her goddess. He wanted desperately to add a spell of his own, or to slash with his glowing sword, but each degree he rotated felt more difficult than the one before. He was swimming through molasses. He was buried in mud. He was…was he even moving at all?
Down the tunnel a deep and resonant voice boomed. At first it just seemed to be laughing, but then Xan recognized the words that followed. Sweet Seldarine did he recognize those words, twisted as they were by the monster's lips. Xan had spoken them many times.
"Mirith thel arc letok…"
Ahead in the darkness a figure towered, at least eight feet tall and dressed in corroded scraps of steel, round plates at the shoulders. Sharply pointed ears grew from a bald head, the skin an inhuman blue-grey, and above those ears stood a long, sharp horn.
An oni! As the creature swept the air with an open hand energy built at its fingertips. The oni's sharp yellow teeth gleamed as it chanted, voice dripping with mirth.
Xan raised a sluggish hand and mirrored the gesture, but as he opened his mouth he simply couldn't find the strength to push the air past his lips. Blast! It would be such an easy thing to counter the spell; to mimic the words and motions and knock the swirling enchantment from the air.
If he could only move. If he could only speak.
Blast! Blast! Blast! Someone release me! He knew the drow witch could do just that. If she only knew how close they were to ruin! If she knew how he could save them from it. If she even cared…
"…lelath creen neviaus!"
Too late now. The oni tossed the pulsating globe of orange that had been forming between its fingers, the spell bubbling with chaos as it streaked close and then exploded. Waves of emotion and contradictory sensation filled the tunnel and Xan's head all at once.
He closed his eyes, tightened his lips, and emptied his mind the way he had been taught long ago at the Arcane College. At the corners of his being he felt the warring sensations of the spell tugging, but he focused only on what was ahead, still and unmoving as a mountain. Another terrible moment of pulling, like the magic was a pack of wolves biting and worrying at his mind. Then the enchanted wave rolled by.
He had shrugged off the spell. For all the good it did.
Alas, he still could not move. Could not raise a dispel, or ready his weapon, or do a damn thing as he watched the bright, beautiful girl with the red hair go skipping forward down the corridor towards her doom. She looked like she was hopping across a lane, on the way to play with friends on a bright, sunny day. Of course she was actually rushing along a sewer tunnel towards a towering oni and his centipede pets. Labelas deliver me!
Xan watched it all, fighting the paralysis with every fiber of his being as Imoen skipped closer to the monster, giggling. Then his heart leapt with something a bit like relief as she abruptly turned and splashed through a shallow channel, dashing down towards one of the branching tunnels, carried along with supernatural speed by her magical boots.
His heart sank once again when she suddenly halted. What are you doing? Run! Instead, Imoen bent forward and stuck her backside high in the air, pointing it in the general direction of the oni. A quick wiggle from side to side followed. "Ha ha!" Her laugh echoed through the tunnels. "You can't catch me!"
The oni seemed to take that as a challenge, stomping forward through the filth.
But just as fast as she had bent down, Imoen was up again and zipping down the tunnel with superhuman speed, disappearing around a bend as the oni thundered along behind her. One of the pet centipedes followed, and the other broke off and began to crawl down the tunnel towards Xan, tendrils waving in the air and following a scent. His scent. It took its time, perhaps aware that its prey was paralyzed, inching along the sewer floor on those skittering little legs.
So this is it. Once before Xan had been in a similar predicament, sure that he would die; paralyzed and captured by some horrifyingly oversized vermin. Imoen had rescued him, as he recalled. Perhaps some spiteful god was getting their revenge now. Or this had just been ordained as his fate all along.
The crawler wriggled forward, some sort of liquid dripping from its beak and its black eyes gleaming. Perhaps this was for the best. For a moment Xan had been terrified that he was about to see Imoen cut down by the oni. Perhaps she would get away after all, thanks to the magic boots if nothing else. At the very least he would never know. Better to die than to see what might happen to her. He could go to Arvandor with the hope that-
A hand settled on Xan's shoulder and he stumbled a bit, suddenly able to move. "I hope you are grateful, darthiir," a familiar voice with a very foreign accent whispered close to his ear.
He ignored that, wasting no time and whipping his hand forward to shout out a desperate spell. A ray of slithering darkness leapt from his fingertips and struck the crawler directly between the eyes, making it wriggle like a worm on a hook. Xan cringed as its foul-tasting life-force rushed though the gap between them, filling him with sickening strength.
Once the blast of the emergency-necromancy spell had faded, the creature was little more than a desiccated, dried out husk coiled upon the sewer floor. Xan allowed himself a breath and glanced around as briefly as he could. Viconia was there beside him, unaffected by the confusion spell, but Coran was standing by one of the walls, staring at it intently. Garrick was on the other side of the tunnel, spinning around and around with his arms folded in front of him, as if he were waltzing with an unseen partner.
Without a word Xan began to march forward, heedlessly splashing through the muck as he crossed the sewer channel and began to jog towards the tunnel where he had seen Imoen disappear. He sensed Viconia nearby, a silent shadow on his heels. "I'll be very grateful when we save her," he shouted over his shoulder, breaking into a run as the blue glow of his moonblade led the way.
Giggling with glee, Imoen bounced around the bend in the maze. It was green and speckled with flowers; a garden with hedges and branches grown up so tight it formed a sort of labyrinth. Vines streamed from high branches, breaks in the hedges formed winding tunnels, and somewhere in the distance she could hear the distinctive trickle of Candlekeep's fountain. A familiar playground, though this seemed to be an unfamiliar corner of the place.
No matter. That made it all the more fun!
Something was thundering through the brush behind her, and her heart leapt with excitement.
Ya can't catch me! She was light as a squirrel, dancing 'round the bushes and scramble-crawling through the low tunnels. The ground was a bit sodden, and her hands, knees and shoes quickly became soaked as she wriggled beneath a bush and dashed down the next path. Musta' rained last night.
There was a big, silly roar of frustration behind her now. Ha! It was a monster chasing her. She knew this game well! Playing Monsters and Mazes with Shura and Shistal. Shura especially liked ta play the monster. Sounded like someone else roaring this time though; an unfamiliar voice.
Imoen turned a corner and now the garden had grown up ten times taller. It was a jungle! Wild and gnarly and overgrown with green, vines choking out the great trees and waving in the breeze, all covered with blood-red flowers. She slowed, staring up at the forest in awe. There were strange things hanging from low branches nearby.
Were those…dead bodies? Cool!
She craned her neck for a look at the desiccated face of an upside-down woman, tied up with some sort of silky strings that reminded Imoen of the stuff caterpillars make. The dead lady's stringy hair was hanging all the way to the ground and her jaw was slack.
Haha! There was a bug crawling in the lady's nose! That reminded Imoen of a song, though she couldn't quite recall the words. 'Something-something-something nose, something-something decompose.' It went about like that.
And there were more bodies of course, strung out like decorations among the trees. That one was a worn down to a dirty skeleton, almost. And that one had its insides all hanging out, all gross and squishy.
This was just like…like…yeah! It was just like that story! She remembered it now.
A story about one of the layers of the Abyss! A terrifying, primordial jungle with corpses hanging like fruit on the vines, collected by the crawly demons that infest the undergrowth. There were great stone temples built by long forgotten races and choked with vines and rot and undead, along with lumbering behemoths stalking through the forest that could swallow you whole. Worst of all there were carnivorous plants and giant bugs of every sort you can imagine!
And towering above it all was Demogorgon, the bestial demon prince.
Somewhere down the jungle path branches snapped and tree trunks groaned. And there he is! The great demon himself came shrugging through the trees and vines, stomping right out of the pages of a horror story.
A giddy thrill ran through Imoen as she turned and scurried in the opposite direction. Now this would make a fine, heroic tale! She turned on her heel after ducking past a tree that hung heavy with corpses, drawing her trusty, legendary, demon-slaying sword.
He was trying to hunt her, but she'd show him! Show him that she had some bite.
Of course, he was awful tall. Tall as the tallest of trees. If she wanted to fight back she'd have to reach up there. But how?
Oh yeah! How silly that she'd forgot! A quick gesture and a trembling whisper, and then she felt the magic flair through her, the pads of her hands and the soles of her feet tinging. The climbing spell! Perfect! Imoen sheathed her sword for the moment and dashed towards the nearby tree, tapping its surface with her hands and feet and scurrying up, light as a lizard.
The demon prince was gaining now, standing tall and shouting a bunch of growly nonsense. He reared back once he got close, one of his great tentacle-arms whipping forward and cutting through the air. It struck the tree trunk with an oddly metallic screech, just as Imoen leapt away and dove, grabbing at the nearest thing she could reach.
What she grabbed happened to be one of the corpses stuck up against the tree with bug-silk, and when she snatched at the back of its legs and clung on she nearly dislodged the both of them. She swiveled and her feet hit the tree, then she leapt forward and launched herself like a frog at the giant demon, sending the bag of bones clattering to the ground.
The thing towering before her had big long tentacle arms for sure, but in that instant as she flew towards it she realized that it didn't quite look like Demogorgon should. Instead of two howling, hairy baboon-heads there was just one, and it didn't look monkey-like at all.
Just one face, impossibly big and swiftly filling more and more of her vision; a great grimacing carnival-mask with two beady little eyes and a big old horn atop its head. Imoen reached out as she sailed through the air and caught ahold of the horn just like the flagpole outside Phlydia's room, swinging 'round and planting her feet on the back of the creature's shoulders.
Doesn't much matter what sort of demon you are, she decided as she drew her trusty sword once again. I'm a DEMON SLAYER! The beast twisted and bucked like crazy but she held on just like a nimble little monkey and brought her sword down.
The sudden lurch the demon made when the blade sank into its eye was too much to fight, and it sent Imoen flying forward off its shoulders. This was another familiar sensation: flying like she did off the rope swing her dad had put up behind the inn. Just like back then, she managed to sail through the air and land on her feet, albeit with a painful jolt and momentum forcing her to run forward.
Once she'd run a few paces Imoen twirled around and clapped her hands. "Ha! I won!" Normally this was the part of the game where Shura or Shistal would start arguing that the sword totally hadn't hit a vital spot and they needed to keep playing.
Instead, the great green jungle began to blur and darken, and she realized that a towering oni in rusted armor was standing before her. Half of its face was covered by one clawed hand, and blood was gushing out from underneath, a sword falling from its other hand and into the muck. Then the oni's knees buckled and it fell forward, splashing sewer water everywhere.
"Uh…what?" was all Imoen could manage as she stared in wide-eyed confusion. A scuffling noise behind her had her turning, and she blinked as the green kept fading, turning grey and brown. At first it seemed like writhing jungle vines were slithering towards her, then they whipped about and resolved into two fat, white-yellow centipedes with faces that bristled with moving tendrils.
Before the crawling things got close an arcane wave flashed by and the creatures lurched to a stop, shimmering briefly as if they were incased in glass. Two slender figures rushed out of the shadows, one in splotchy purple and the other dressed in black, her white hair billowing. Xan's moonblade glowed a bright blue as he hacked into one of the paralyzed creatures, and red light crackled across Viconia's open hand nearby. The drow slammed her palm against the other giant bug, and there was a sickening sizzle as the energy broke through grubby flesh.
Stepping back and shaking ichor off her hand in disgust, Viconia gave Imoen a glance. "It appears she did not need rescuing after all," the drow noted dryly.
Xan only nodded, clutching his knees and panting hard.
Still a bit lost, Imoen did her best to blink back the blurriness in front of her eyes and look around. A sewer tunnel and an open chamber nearby. This was not the Candlekeep gardens or an imaginary jungle at all. In place of hedges there were stone walls now, and pillars instead of tree trunks.
The corpses were still there though, stuck to the walls by the same sticky silk she had seen before. A moment ago they had just seemed like macabre decorations at a Higharvestide festival, but no; these were the remains of real people, mangled by predators and scavengers and rot. Some were shriveled, others bloated, and a few looked like they had burst from the inside. In addition there was a neat collection of cleaned human bones sitting in a heap at the edge of one of the sewer channels, and nearby sat a pile of assorted clothes, coins, jewelry, cans, bags, keepsakes, and even silken handkerchiefs. The oni's work, Imoen realized; the bones of those he had eaten and the valuables he had collected.
And the bodies had been hung up by the crawling bug-things. And she had just put her dagger through the oni's eye, after climbing the wall and leaping off one of the corpses like it was the grandest childhood game, believing that her dagger was a legendary magic sword…
Dropping to her knees above dark, foamy water, Imoen let out a hacking cough and then began to retch.
The scrape and ring of steel on steel echoed through the alley behind the Elfsong tavern as the shadows deepened and the hour of lamp-lighting neared. There was still plenty of light to see the grimace that doubled as a grin on Shar-Teel's face though, as Ashura circled wide and ducked beneath a probing slash.
"Don't know why you insist on those pansy little swords," Shar-Teel growled as she tested again. Her longsword certainly had the reach, but Ashura kept bobbing and dancing away, both women trying to force the other to turn through constant feints and footwork.
"You're skinny as a string-bean, sure," Shar-Teel went on, huffing a bit, "but you could still heft a longsword easy enough. I say it's time to drop those little-girl toys and get something with REACH!" A twist and a slash had Ashura back-footing a bit, but she maneuvered to the space between a support-pole and the alley's wall. It forced Shar-Teel to stab, and Ashura easily twisted around the pole, her sword nearly biting into Shar-Teel's exposed arm and forcing the taller woman to back away.
From there Ashura pressed. For a moment they were grapple-close, steel clanging and then locking. Another twist and they both hopped back and took a breath. "A gladius reaches fine enough for me," Ashura countered. "It has the advantage in close quarters, and it's designed to deliver the perfect stab. A stab's more conclusive than a slash nine times out of ten, especially against armor."
Shar-Teel shook her head and made her lips flutter. "Pfft! That's a quote from some combat manual isn't it?"
"Yep." Ashura faked twice and then she was dashing in and they were a blur of clinking armor and scratching steel once more. Shar-Teel almost got a slash in when Ashura got turned at a bad angle, but a parry caught it in time. A kick to the back of the knee sent Ashura stumbling forward some more. She managed to turn, but it was all she could do to fight off a string of ferocious blows.
"I'm sure you'll win all sorts of fights against paper then!" Shar-Teel snarled, breath heavy and still pressing with slash after hammering slash. "Never...never met such a naive little twat! And that's counting the prissy princess!"
Ashura just smirked and kept dancing and countering. The slashes seemed to be coming slower now. "You should know by now that you can't taunt me, Ess-Tee."
"Bah! I don't need words to open someone's guts!"
"I saw. In that duel with the Reachman pirate with the whispery-voice. He just –oof!" Ashura barely caught the dueling dagger and shoved it back in time. Then she went on. "He just shrugged it all off and kept moving all slithery, till you got him in that arm lock and broke his elbow. Nice move."
"He was one of the better ones, far as men go," Shar-Teel huffed.
"Ha!" Ashura let out the sort of bark-laugh she often heard from Shar-Teel. Ugh. Must be contagious. "Ims has this theory…" She ducked under a wide but clumsy swipe and then sent Shar-Teel hopping back. "…that these duels of yours are some just some sort of mating ritual."
"Bah!" A fierce lunge and zig-zagging swipe that Ashura caught and redirected. "Not getting stupid-angry when I poke at their precious little egos is a welcome surprise. But I sure didn't want to bed Whisper-Voice. Just wanted his gold."
"Uh huh," Ashura danced aside, grinning.
"Hrmph!" Shar-Teel snarled. "You're taunting me, aren't you?"
"Wearing you down. Should we just stop now? Unless you've got some secret reservoir hidden away?"
Shar-Teel's nostrils flared and her eyes went wide. The next series of slashes were quick and furious, but just as clumsy. Ashura slipped by and in a blink she was behind the bigger women, one of her 'pansy' short swords pointed at Shar-Teel's throat. Before Shar-Teel could say anything Ashura stepped back and sheathed her swords, both of them panting hard.
"Just glad I didn't get close enough for you to grab," Ashura said. "A broken arm would be annoying."
"Maybe next time."
"Maybe." The first time they had sparred Ashura had actually gotten knocked on her ass rather quickly. Shar-Teel could be pretty overwhelming; fast and nimble and terrifyingly strong, not to mention that she was an expert duelist. It was in the middle of their third match that Ashura had managed to prolong things long enough to realize that the bigger woman put everything into the first few blows, then got winded pretty quick. A sound strategy, perhaps, but she sure lacked stamina.
Now it was an easy matter to wear the warrior-woman down with some parrying and dancing, before finding the right moment to slip past her guard and finish the match. Ashura had even intentionally lost a few times. She really needed to get Shar-Teel to work on her endurance. Maybe they could do jumping stars together or something.
For now Ashura offered her sparring-partner a fresh cloth to wipe the sweat from her face as they both drifted towards the end of the alley. "Hope once this business is done it'll be the last we see of that grinning idiot and his pet," Shar-Teel muttered as she leaned against a wall.
Ashura shrugged. "Just hope it involves all the gold we've been promised and no complications," she said.
"Gold. Ha!" Shar-Teel rolled her eyes. "He's offering us a pittance compared to the full ransom." She showed her teeth. "Which has me thinking…"
"Cut out the middle man and collect the ransom ourselves?" Ashura guessed.
"Exactly. We could even turn the fool over to the girl's daddy, along with the girl. Say that we 'rescued' her. Viconia likes the idea too."
Ashura twisted her lip, chewing on the idea. "Skie's trusting us."
"Show's what a fool she is."
"And Eldoth's played us fair so far."
"Played is the right word for sure."
"Yeah. But fair. We've gotten paid, and paid well. And he's fought beside me." Ashura crossed her arms over her chest. "If we start stabbing companions in the back what kind of a team are we? And what if word gets around that we'd just double-cross anyone if there was a little more gold involved?"
Shar-Teel shrugged. "Sounds like we'd be seen as a typical mercenary band."
"Exactly. 'Typical.' I'd rather have decent reputation."
"Bah. You can't eat a good reputation."
Ashura's eyes narrowed, and she found herself wondering if her next words would lead to a genuine duel. Ah well. She knew how to beat this woman at least. "Ims said that when she met you that you were broke and wearing tattered hobgoblin armor in the middle of the woods."
Shar-Teel looked away and grimaced, but Ashura pressed. "How did you end up like that?"
There was a long silence as Shar-Teel glared off into the distance. "You may have a bit of a point. A tiny one." She pinched her fingers together to demonstrate. "But yeah, Yesna was up for doing any dirty job for coin, backstabbing and all. And it earned her a pretty hefty bounty. When some asshole named Greywolf gutted her my old company fell apart. Turned on each other." She looked over at Ashura and snorted. "Heh. Though, you know what I think?"
"What?"
"You're just coming up with excuses. Truth is you're just soft on the girl. Just like with that boyfriend of yours: you've got a soft spot for bumbling, starry-eyed little fools."
Ashura didn't disagree. "I dunno. Maybe. Also: Ims likes her, and she's helped us out a few times. Like or not, she's one of ours. And we don't rob ours. Got it?"
"Ha! Got it boss." Shar-Teel gave a mock-salute, then they turned and waited in silence for Eldoth and Skie. Once the shadows finished lengthening and the lamps were lit they would have a job to do.
Author's Note: Some of you may be asking: 'But what about the Seven Sons?' I fiddled with the order of Scar's quests a little here, but eventually doppelgangers and all the fun stuff involved with them will show up in the story.