Bishop scowled as he took another swig of his ale. "Cyric's balls, it's boring tonight," he muttered. He sat in his usual spot, against the wall where he could see who came and went. He nearly prayed for some action, anything to liven up the night, which he didn't want to admit, but was as boring as the one before that, and the one before that. He was almost bored enough to go out and hunt up some trouble, which was easy enough to find here in the Docks District, though he sometimes went as far as the Merchants'. His skill with the bow made him an excellent sniper, and a few times he had sought out a hiding place on a rooftop or behind a stack of empty barrels and crates where he could watch for some prey, usually muggers. He especially enjoyed the look of surprise on their faces when his arrows cut them down.
The first time he had done it had been accidental-he rounded a corner in an alley looking for a certain wench who worked there and surprised two thieves looting the corpse of a merchant. Luckily his bow was strung. They turned to charge him, and he nocked two arrows, firing instinctively and killed the first with two quick shots fired at point blank range. He drew his hunting knife and slit the throat of the other thief as he rushed him. His heart was pounding like it was going to burst out of his chest, but it was exhilarating; he hadn't felt that alive in months.
Last time he had gone "hunting" he got sight of a pair of burglars sliding down a rope out of an alley window. He had quickly finished them both, one with a shot in the temple, and the other with a shot through the eye; they had been killed before they even reached the ground, before they even knew what hit them. He was always careful to rob the corpses of their loot and remove his arrows so there was nothing to pin the murders on him. But the coin he got from that night was nearly gone, so it was time to go find some more.
He couldn't hunt too often though without catching the attention of the more organized gangs, and he didn't need a bounty on his head. There was also the Watch to consider, though many of them were corrupt or wisely decided that they didn't make enough to risk their lives. He considered his options as he finished his ale. Maybe he could find someone who needed a scout; there were plenty of so-called nobles who liked to hunt and needed guides, or fools looking for adventure—he sneered at the thought—and riches. It was ready coin, though that was usually more trouble than it was worth as it meant putting up with fools who couldn't spot game or be quiet if their lives depended on it.
"I've been in this gods-cursed city too long anyway," he muttered to himself. He needed to get back out in the wild, where life wasn't so complicated. Trouble was, the wild wasn't what it used to be either. There was something strange going on, something...unsettling out there. Something that left him feeling naked, fearful, and weak.
He scowled and pondered whether he should squander some of his remaining coin on a wench, or just get drunk, then it occurred to him that with care, he could do both. Duncan's cheapest swill provided a good drunk, though it usually came with a powerful hangover the next morning. And, really, he need not pay for entertainment at a festhall when all he needed was the use of a wench's mouth. There were enough tired, worn-out whores near the docks, and as a wise man once said, "All cats are gray in the dark." He grinned and stretched, and thought about where to take care of the latter before returning to take care of the former. Then the door opened, and she walked in.
"Well now. This night just got a whole lot more interesting." Bishop grinned as the tavern door opened and he surveyed the tall blond wench standing hesitantly on the threshold holding the door open, appraising the tavern. Here was some entertainment at last, and he sat back down and motioned to Sal for a refill. She was tall—of an enviable height even for a man—had to be tall as he was. In his opinion almost taller than a woman had any right to be, but such a transgression against nature was forgivable when it came with long legs like hers. She knew it too, judging by the tight deerskin breeches she wore that enhanced every curve. He was reminded of a deer, but no, she was too big and strong for that. An elk then. Still no match for a determined wolf though. He grinned and licked his lips as thought of those long legs wrapped around him.
The wench wasn't beautiful, but pretty enough, and he supposed might be more so if she used some paint. Not that beauty mattered much at all to him. For a fleeting moment, a trick of the light streaming through her pale moonlit hair made it look like a halo surrounded her. He blinked and looked again. No, no angel. Just a normal wench. Blue eyes, but not a pale, icy blue. More like the the sky at midday. She looked to be from barbarian stock with her broad shoulders, strong jaw and high, thick cheekbones, and generous, swollen lips. Too swollen, in fact, and then he spotted the bruising. So she's a feisty wench. He felt a stirring at that and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. She turned in his direction as if she sensed his scrutiny. Their eyes met; she held his gaze defiantly followed by a curt nod, then after glancing down and smiling at Karnwyr, she turned away. Karnwyr sat up, sniffed the air, and panted, watching her. Bishop got a mental impression that said he smelled bear on her.
She stepped in and was followed by a pretty but too skinny wood elf, who stayed close on her heels, almost clinging. He figured it must be her first time in the city. Well it was a filthy, frightening place compared to the wilderness. Pushing her way in on the blonde's other side was—gods—was that a tiefling? Really cute though, and walking in with a swagger like she owned the place. She wasn't even attempting to hide what she was. Her tail swayed saucily and drew the eye—his anyway—to her tight little ass. He had heard that tieflings were cursed, but that ass might be worth the risk. He'd bed her—bet he'd have to watch his pouches with her though. Hells, he'd bed any of them, even the skinny elf.
The loud clomp of iron-shod boots snapped him out of his reverie and drew his attention to the door, and he saw that they were followed by a bald male dwarf, probably their muscle. A giantess, an elf, a tiefling, and a dwarf. Sounded like the beginning of a dirty joke. "Is the circus in town?" he muttered to the wolf.
He chuckled at his wit and quaffed his ale and watched as the tall blond glanced his way again to see if he was still watching her. He stared her down with a leer that let her know that yes, he was watching her still, and yes, he wanted to have her, right here on this table in front of everyone. She turned away quickly and strode towards Duncan, the others heading for the bar. He chuckled as he caught a blush spreading across her cheek and resisted the predatory urge to give chase now that he had spooked his prey.
He chuckled more to see Duncan swallow nervously, wiping his hands on his dirty apron, eyes darting around for a way to escape. But Bishop's strong self-preservation instinct warned him too that things could get ugly, and he watched closely in case he needed to get out fast, but he waited, hoping that they were going to gut Duncan. Or at least break his arm. They could be collecting 'protection' money, though he had to admit they didn't look the type. A drunk like Duncan probably owed a lot of people though, and several gangs lately had been brazenly shaking merchants and tavern owners down for protection. Hells, a pair of young thugs blocked his way down an dark alley a few nights back, demanding a 'toll' to cross their little piece of piss-soaked turf. He answered them with a sneer and a dangerous glare that let them know they didn't have long to live if they didn't move out of his way. And they did.
He casually strung his bow; if things did get ugly, he would pick off the dwarf and follow through with an arrow through the blonde's back, or better yet, there was a vulnerable place right below her ear and behind her jaw. He figured the tiefling and elf would run off rather than stay and fight. Hells, if he saved Duncan's miserable hide, then they'd be even. He liked that idea. He quickly sized up the threat. All except the dwarf wore leather armor; the blond and the elf's looked so new, and fit them so perfectly that they had the gold to pay for custom work. The tiefling's leathers had a dull sheen from being oiled to help her move quietly, and the three of them made hardly a sound as they moved lightly across the floor. But they certainly couldn't be very stealthy with that scale mail wearing dwarf in tow. Couldn't be assassins then. Could still be collectors or enforcers though.
He set his quiver on the table where he had easy access. He could get off at least half a dozen shots before they knew what hit them. He assessed their weapons. The blond wench was armed to the teeth with a long sword on her left hip, and a short sword on her right, what looked like a real Duskwood bow and quiver across her back, and a mace hanging from her belt. He guessed that despite the bow, the two swords said she preferred melee fighting. She didn't look old enough to have the skill to hit with both swords though. Weak. He noted a dagger in each boot. He was also sure she probably had some more daggers concealed about her. He'd smirked, thinking of how much fun it would be stripping her of them. She also didn't have enough sense to keep her long, thick braid tucked away to keep it from being grabbed and used against her. She could be slammed to the ground, or pulled into her enemy's grasp. He thought of grabbing that braid to force her to his will. She looked like a screamer. He'd like to find out.
He shook his head to clear it and got back to business. The dwarf, who was almost as wide as he was tall and solidly built, was armed with a couple of axes as tall as he was, and had a pair of hammers and throwing axes hanging from his belt-yeah, big surprise there. It would be a mistake to underestimate how far he could reach with his axes though, or how hard he could hit.
The tiefling also looked like she fought two-handed with a well-made rapier and a long dagger. She also had a crossbow and a quiver of bolts hanging from her belt. He would have plenty of time to take her out though before she even had it loaded. Bishop watched her tail sway and wondered, could it be wielded as a weapon too? Was it strong enough, or did she have enough control over it to choke someone? Use it like a lash? He didn't want to find out. He checked her hands to see if she had nails or claws. He hadn't seen many of her kind, but he had seen one with black claws.
Then there was the elf; she was the one who didn't fit in. She was armed with a long bow and a...sickle? A tree-hugger? Here? That made more sense at all but explained why she looked so nervous. He knew enough about druids to figure out that she had probably been sent here on some mission by her Circle, and she probably joined up with the others for protection. So her presence meant they weren't likely to be thugs then, or at least not her.
Bishop scowled in disappointment as it was looking less likely that the evening's entertainment included hurting Duncan. What were they about then? He stroked the stubble on his chin and realized he should have seen it right away-they looked more like adventurers. Killing or hurting Duncan was just wishful thinking, and he should have known better.
Hells, the blond look like she hadn't seen much more than 20 summers. And other than the armor and weapons, her gear wasn't all that great. Her pack was old and patched. He spotted the glint of silver the unicorn pendant at her throat and snorted derisively. A little girly ranger who follows the girly goddess Meilikki. Even more weak. Was that why was she their leader? He could see the tiefling latching on to anyone who would allow her to join up, as traveling alone would be dangerous outside of the cities. In some villages, the 'good' people would just as soon string her up as not just for what she was. They all probably met up on the road somewhere and traveled together for mutual protection.
He shrugged and took a deep quaff of his ale, then snorted and almost choked as he caught sight of the blonde's boots: flat soled, well-worn and stained from repeated exposure to mud, they the kind of work boots farmers wore. So there it was—she was some farm wench who just left whatever mud pit she called home, strapped on a couple of swords, and was off in search of adventure. He gave her credit for getting out, and at least she was smart enough to spend whatever coin she'd found on armor and weapons. He decided that they probably just arrived in the city. In fact, he noticed now that the dwarf was a bit unsteady on his feet as if he was already drunk or had been at sea and didn't have his land legs yet. Probably just looking for a room or work. This could work out to his advantage then.
He caught the wench eying him again in the mirror behind the bar, thinking she was being clever, and if it had been anyone but him, it would've been. He met her gaze and gave her his most charming grin then laughed as she looked away. Yeah, she was interested. He could almost taste her now. He could invite them to his table and turn on the charm. He could be very charming when it suited his purpose. He knew too that many women considered him handsome. They might need a scout. Maybe not with a ranger in their band already, but he knew the area and he was guessing she didn't. He planned to be sharing the wench's bed within a tenday, and maybe a lot sooner, maybe tonight if he was lucky.
She talked with Duncan for a few minutes. The elf stayed near and continued to glance around nervously before reluctantly joining the others. Duncan grinned and grabbed the wench's hand, then pulled her into a bear hug. He called her "Little Dierdre." Bishop snorted. Ale must be affecting Duncan's brain. There was nothing little about that wench.
He was actively trying to eavesdrop now, and he grinned as he heard her ask about getting a bath. Once when he was coming back from one of his "hunting trips" across the rooftops, he had climbed in through a high attic window and found a place in the rafters where there was a crack in the ceiling that afforded a fair view of the women's bath. He wouldn't be surprised if Duncan or Sal had put it there on purpose. All the better to watch his prey, and it didn't hurt to see the goods before he tried them and make sure she didn't have any extra equipment before he found out the hard way.
She and Duncan were talking for longer than it would take to arrange for room and board though. They appeared to be looking at something she had pulled out of a pouch she wore around her neck. He heard Duncan mention Sand, the wizard who ran the shop across the street. Sand was a bit of an old woman who had a perpetual pinched expression like he always smelled something bad, but his potions were very good and cheap as well. And right on cue, Sand walked in while Duncan was still talking about him, and from his expression, saying nothing good. Gods, this was like watching a play. He hoped to be around to see Sand turn Duncan into something disgusting some day.
Then the final curtain fell on the evening's entertainment, but it dropped on him. Duncan introduced her to Sand in that stupid loud voice of his as his niece. Her uncle? He sure couldn't see the family resemblance. All his dark carnal thoughts about the wench, her companions, or for that matter about any wench, died right then, and he almost spit out his ale in disgust. Duncan's niece? Life was unfair! He could almost hear mocking laughter all around him.
She laughed at something Duncan said, and it cut right through Bishop as if she was part of the chorus laughing at him. He was going to make her pay. He glared at her then turned away but still caught bits of their conversation. She had a brash, confident voice that carried around the room, making it nearly impossible to ignore her, the only thing that gave her any resemblance to Duncan at all. His lust melted away, leaving behind an acrid residue of hate. Turning away, forcing himself to ignore her, he lost all interest in going anywhere or doing anything but getting more drunk.
Then the wizard began muttering some kind of spell and got his attention again. Mages always made him nervous. He'd been too close to a fireball spell and a miscalculated lightning bolt a couple of times, so he was ready to dive under the table. Suddenly there was a flash, and the three of them flew back and hit the floor. Well, at least that was worth a laugh, except the blond stood and brushed herself off, laughing loudly too, which ruined the joke. Unfortunately, no one seemed to be hurt, so he turned away and raised his mug towards Sal for another refill. He had nearly finished that mug when the wench's conversation with Duncan and Sand finally ended, and Sand swished out.
She headed towards her companions but took the long way around, moving with a long, powerful stride, and slowed just enough to nod at him and toss him a flirting half smile as she passed. She smiled at Karnwyr and asked him, "Who's your friend? Sure has pretty eyes."
Bishop replied with a sneer, "If I wanted a wench, I'd pay for one."
She blinked and gasped as if she hadn't heard him right, looking stunned as if she had been struck, but recovered enough to answer him with a loud, disdainful laugh. "I'm guessin' you haven't ever had a woman you haven't paid for." She shook her head and continued past him, muttering "What crawled up his backside? "
He had to add one more dig before she was out of earshot. "Stick around, wench. A few more drinks and you might start looking good."
She called back over her shoulder, "Yeah? I don't believe there's enough drink in this tavern to make you look good, and besides, I prefer men who have at least a passing acquaintance with soap and water."
Typical. Wenches always have to get in the last word. He resolved to ignore her from here on in.