#and also jorlan is here

[snacobie]

Some oc portraits I’ve been doodling

[crowfeatherquill]

Spider and Songbird Behind The Scenes

(Cos I promised y'all I was gonna talk about The Knife Thing)

Tathlyn BTS 1: On Intimacy and Knives

In the spirit of following through on my commitments, I am here to present you with a Behind-The-Scenes look at a thing that actually got touched on in an Ask we were sent a while back. A very astute reader mentioned that, despite us writing in a modern AU, and Tathlyn and Daddy Jo both being soldiers, it seemed like neither of them ever used guns.

At the time, the reason I gave was that arming them primarily with swords and knives was a way to preserve some of the “DnD” vibe in the otherwise modern setting. And that’s true, that is one of the reasons I’ve only had them use blades -- side note, Jack has included guns in many of the chapters they’ve written, or I would say “we.”  I’m the dramatic ren faire bitch making Sword Decisions and forgetting that I have other options with which to arm my little dudes.

As it so happens, though, there’s a secret second reason why Tathlyn in particular primarily uses blades (although he does branch out to firearms in a coming chapter. Spoilers. Shh.). And that reason is, of course, Complicated Intimacy Metaphors!

It is probably not going to come as a shock to anyone that Astarion shows up later in this AU. He doesn’t make a significant appearance in Spider and Songbird, but there are other fics in the same ‘verse that feature him pretty heavily, like Maxim of Loyalty. It’s also not likely to surprise anyone that he and Tathlyn get involved. I have, without really realizing it, committed to a running metaphor of Astarion and Tathlyn as Knife and Wielder (the most prominent example, and a teaser for an upcoming fic, shown below).

This isn’t the only time that knives and intimacy have been tied together for Tathlyn either! His stabbing of Derendil’s hand in “In Which Tathlyn Has A Heart” is, however gruesome and coerced by outside forces, several layers of intimacy, both in the act itself and in the circumstances around it. These are hands that Tathlyn has fantasized about for some time now -- how they might touch or hold him if things were different -- and he is being punished for craving that intimacy by injuring the source of it. But the act of stabbing Derendil is its own expression of intimacy and trust between the two of them regardless. Derendil doesn’t fight him. Trusts him enough to know that Tathlyn wouldn’t be doing this if he had other options.

And later, in the followup chapter, that same fragile trust and intimacy is punished again by another character Tathlyn shares a very close relationship with. Even if the dynamic between Tathlyn and Jorlan is far more twisted and abusive than what’s there between Tathlyn and Derendil, there’s still an intimacy and familiarity in Jorlan having been one of the people who most directly shaped what kind of soldier Tathlyn became. That, and the fact that Tathlyn was the one to save Jorlan’s life after the accident that took not only his looks but anything that might have remained of his mercy. Jorlan kills Derendil with a knife, and in doing so removes the burgeoning hope for a better life that Tathlyn had started to develop through his relationship with Derendil. Then, he tries to kill Tathlyn with that very same knife, and Tathlyn turns it on him.

I could go on for an additional essay worth of pages about the other layer to all this (Blood And Intimacy) but for now, suffice to say that in any scene where Tathlyn is using a knife as his primary weapon, there is likely to also be an abundance of intimacy (in some form or another) between him and anyone he’s using it on.

[the-aviarys-models]

And I just realized we never posted our models for the Velkynvelve drow captors, so here they are. (And hey, now we have an actual pointing pose for Ilvara!)

We like giving elves Pathfinder-esque eyes to set them apart from other humanoid races by making them a little creepy! We also think it'd be cool for drow freckles to be white like stars, so we did that.

We wanted to give the drow some sort of unique take on cosmetics, but since we don't know a whole lot about makeup we just bullshitted it. Men and women both wear it. Jorlan is not wearing any because he's ✨given up on life✨

Ilvara is meant to have makeup markings resembling spider eyes near her eyes to reflect her high ranking status under Lolth.

Jorlan and Shoor may share the same stat block, but we wanted them to look distinct; Jorlan is experienced, so his weapons and armor are more worn down. Shoor is new, so his are less battered.

[galaxa-13]

Some D&D NPC stories.

Glabbagool was enjoying its time on the surface.

Everything had gotten so much more interesting since meeting its friends. There was no telling how long it roamed that old temple before they found it and the place started to flood. Glabbagool was glad it had not needed to eat them like the drow. So many interesting conversations were had, so much to learn!

Then it went to sleep for a while. At least it assumed that’s what sleep was like, Glabbagool was unsure how sleeping actually felt, but it became stone for a while and so couldn’t think or move which was pretty much sleeping from what it had observed. It was glad the friends came back to make it not stone anymore and continue their adventures, but it was a little sad it never got to meet with this Pudding King they all talked about. The strange sense of directional yearning was gone and it might have been nice to know what it had meant.

Then they were all going to the surface and that was very exciting, but the gnomes complained that Glabbagool was making them slow. At least Friend Selthand had a solution. He was a very smart wizard man. Glabbagool huddled inside his magic bag and was carried around like that for a couple of weeks. It was similar to having been in the temple. It was dark and no one to talk to. Glabbagool would have preferred sleeping as a statue again, but it supposed this was fine. Selthand had promised to let it out and he hadn’t lied to Glabbagool yet.

When the moment finally came Glabbagool was astonished by how much the scenery had changed. So that’s what the “sky” looked like. Those were “trees”. That creature was a “cat”. There were many opportunities for learning here on the surface. As it turned out there would even be an exchange of knowledge.

A wizard woman had seen them in the city the group had ventured to and demanded to study Glabbagool. Selthand seemed nervous about the idea, but the ooze saw no reason to deny her. It wanted to learn about new things and she seemed much the same. Glabbagool was well aware about its unique nature at this point. So they went back to the college this woman was from and Glabbagool soon became the focus of much academic excitement. Selthand hovered and insisted no samples be taken. He was a very good friend. The ooze couldn’t help but jiggle in glee at all the attention.

Then all the old friends had to go off and continue their own lives. Glabbagool found a new home at The Lady’s College as a source of study. Occasionally Phillipe would come and visit, but she never stayed long. Something about feeling uncomfortable being watched by all the wizards? Glabbagool didn’t really understand, but it appreciated that she visited at all and brought news of Friend Selthand. Apparently he was traveling the world looking for more cursed people. It was so nice he was finding more friends. Glabbagool had many wizard friends now, but it did miss Selthand.

==========

Jorlan found it quite odd to be back in Menzoberanzan. He honestly thought he’d never come back. He honestly thought he’d be dead by this point. One outcome was more disappointing than the other.

Smudge had proven a great travel partner at the very least. He didn’t get lost in the twisting tunnels of the Underdark, only needing basic directions, and he knew how to gather sustenance without poisoning himself. He also didn’t talk a lot. All were qualities Jorlan found admirable in a disgusting surfacer. They spent much of their time together simply walking along in silence. They had a strange mutual respect for one another, one born from both parties not trusting the other and knowing the other held the same beliefs. This weird comradery only deepened when, unexpectedly, Smudge had one day asked him why he had bothered to release the slaves in Ilvara’s possession.

Seeing no reason to withhold such useless information Jorlan told his tale. How he had been second in command, respected by everyone for his abilities, and then how an unfortunate accident with a strangely hostile slime ruined it all for him. He lost everything that had been important, namely he lost the good graces of Ilvara herself. Having been so carelessly tossed aside by the woman he loved, and so easily replaced, he could only plot the most shameful humiliation for her.

As a priestess whose family had been in the slave trading business for generations he felt losing her slaves was the best way to take her down a peg. Unfortunately, he explained, his plan had been rather hasty and not only was he caught in his collusion but he was also forced to join her in her mad hunt to reclaim them.

He had expected Smudge to have some disapproving words for him, but was surprised when instead he received sympathy. Smudge, though hesitantly and with much discomfort, informed the drow that he deserved better than how Ilvara had treated him and shared in the assessment that she was a huge bitch that deserved being murdered.

Jorlan could almost laugh. With his desire for revenge and paranoid nature the tabaxi was most like a drow out of any of the others. Perhaps that is why Jorlan remained by his side despite finding himself in the midst of the City of Spiders, the place he was most likely to be imprisoned rather than finding a warrior’s death. With Smudge he could have a sense of familiarity without the risk of being turned in for the crime of being lesser. He could never say this to the ranger, of course. Admitting even a semblance of sentimentality? Insinuating that Smudge shared anything with the very thing he hated? No, better to not mention anything useless like that and keep focused on why they were in this city to begin with.

==========

Tappy was reluctant to return to the Underdark after her foray on the surface, but she did have a business to get back to. Especially after all the promotion work she had just done! It was so exciting to meet all those people and talk to them, not to mention getting to spend so much time with Selthand.

True, when she first met him it had been no more than simple attraction. A nice, polite, tall man come walking into her establishment? Not to mention those tusks! Then in no time at all he had promised to take her to the surface, it was little wonder she had fallen so hard for him. Yet the actually journey to the surface had been an eye opening experience.

Selthand had explained he was a practitioner of the arcane arts, she’d even seen him copying down spells on different occasions, but actually seeing him wield such power was something of a shock. It was like an entirely new side to him, how easily he killed those which got in his way. It was only because his first action with anything sentient was always to use his words that she was not frightened by him. The trip did teach her that she really didn’t know Selthand all that well.

On the surface she made more of an effort, between her excitement, to really talk with him. Learn about his favorite foods, what his family was like, how he felt about children. So that he could also learn more about her she offered up such information about hers (roasted rothe with mushroom sauce, dad is a miner and mom died when she was young, she honestly didn’t know how to interact with them but as long as they weren’t causing trouble they’re fine). She did like Selthand, but she didn’t want it to be just surface level. Especially when she knew she would be going back home and pining after him anyway. Better to do so when you have a deeper understanding and not just because they’re cute and nice.

With a bag full of souvenirs, she reluctantly headed back down to Blingdenstone. It was a lot smaller than the large group they had come up with. Selthand had made it clear that he would not be staying in Blingdenstone long, as he had other things he needed to attend to. She stayed close to his side and tried to pull every scrap of information she could out of him the whole journey back. If he was going to leave she’d need to store up everything she could to mull over while he was away.

When she had unpacked and set the Foaming Mug to open once more she made the wizard promise that he’d send her messages. He couldn’t forget about her! Where he went he’d always have a room here for him when he needed it! She… She wasn’t going to cry. She wasn’t! He was an adventurer. This is what adventurers did. They left all the normal people behind and went off to do cool things.

At least, for a short time, she had gotten to feel like an adventurer too. It would have to tide her over as she served drinks to the gnomes and waited for someone to walk through the door looking for a room.

==========

The goblins were a rambunctious bunch. What else could one expect from goblins? After giving them their task he sent the four on their way, off to find their fortunes. Perhaps they would do good in the world, perhaps they would cause only chaos. It wasn’t much of his concern. He opened his box and peered inside. Hm, that wouldn’t do at all. He’d have to find a remedy for that little issue.

He walked down the street to the apathy of the other street goers. That’s exactly what he wanted. When he wanted to make a scene he’d make one. For now he needed to get somewhere unnoticed. He could really make thing interesting, but he had to follow the rules. One must always follow the rules when betting. He was a man of his word and he didn’t cheat.

His little sidetrack had been amusing for the time, but work must be done now. If they play their cards right he might just help them out when the time comes. It wouldn’t be too much to offer a little aid for their services in entertaining him and his habits.

Just needed to check in with some people first. Though knowing them who knew how long that would take. Ah, he was going to miss the downtime he had had, it really was far too short.

[wythedumpstercat]

Episode: Back in Goodhaven

Passing through the gates of Goodhaven for the first time in what must have been six...no...seven winters, it feels like nothing has changed. The sun is setting over the city walls, and Wy takes in the familiar sight of the bustling crowds, eyes tracking the smaller street urchins weaving expertly between people's legs. A pair of streetlight lighters have started lighting up the street lamps, and the many street-side hawkers have begun packing up their wares for the day.

The atmosphere however, is agitated, the reason of which is obvious enough. The pride and heart of the city, the famous clock tower still towers magnificently above the rooftops, but Wy can already see something is very wrong. The time on the clock face doesn't match up with the timing of the setting sun.

When the party gets closer, it becomes apparent why. The rumour of the attack on the tower had undersold how badly the clock had been damaged. It looked like something had burst out from the inside, one of its faces now completely gone. At the base of the tower, the city guards were busy milling about, clearing away the rubble. Wy finds he recognises a good deal of these guards by face, and decides that it's best to not join the rest in approaching them; Arryn seems to be of the same opinion.

Instead he eyes the missing clock face. He'd been in there before, having climbed and entered the tower in his youth. He'd even encouraged other Damned kids to do the climb, since it had proved to be a great coming of age excercise in stealth and a number of other useful skills. Digging up a small forked twig from his numerous pockets, he mutters the incantation for locating objects as he tries to recall as much of the contraption that used to take up the majority of the inside of the tower behind the clock faces. Small pieces of rubble draws his attention in the crumpled piles on the ground, which is to be expected...but as he raises his gaze to the surroundings, the top of another building seems to glow, pulsing lazily at him. Wasn't that...that was the Bank. The oldest one in the city if he remembered right. Interesting.

Meanwhile, none of the guards there were very amenable to the questions from the rest of the party, and so Ezekiel and Laenor announces that they'd very much like to go to a nice tavern to drink their day away. Jorlan and Dane joins them, while Allie says she'd like to check in with the local outpost of her church. Wy blinks as he thinks of the building where he remembers having seen others wearing the same garb as Allie came and went from, and comments that an 'outpost' wasn't quite what he'd call what was here, but he'd show her the way. Arryn tags along as he's still strapped into the Hooky-carrier. The rest also break off to do their own things.

Arriving at the heavily ornate cathedral Allie seems a bit overwhelmed for a moment, then heads inside alone.

While Arryn is hissing at the stone swan gargoyles decorating the outside, Wy spends some time getting the attention of a group of fat rats in a nearby back alley. Sending them off with a short message to a few different individuals Wy hopes is still in the city. He doesn't expect much. He has been gone a very long time after all, so when Thrinnav appears at the edge of the square, Wy immediately perks up despite her obvious apprehension.

It takes a while talking to her to make that apprehension melt away into a somewhat companionable mood instead. While she doesn't know anything more than the party does about the perpetrators of the clocktower incident, she does mention that she can get them into places, if that turns out to be necessary. Wy jokingly suggests the clock tower. Thrinnav makes a thoughtful noise before saying that it'd definitely be doable, though more challenging than usual with the guard on high alert as they are.

Remembering Laenor's fun history-music-skill-thing, Wy tells Thrinnav they'll need to get a friend before they go at it. It's hard to set a specific time, since the clock tower is out of commission, but they decide to reconvene near the tower just before dawn, when the night is darkest and the guard shift is getting ready to switch.

Allie eventually comes back out, the bottom front of her dress somehow looking wet and stiff at the same time, still trailing drops of red. A message had apparently come from Ezekiel, informing of the inn they'd ended up at. The Silver Oak apparently. Waste of good gold.

Getting to the inn, they all bump into eachother in the hallway on the second floor. Laenor is thoroughly inebriated. Too inebriated to join in any break-in shenanigans, he insists.

"I can fix that." Wy quips, and cups(read: slaps) Laenor's face in his hands, casting a quick restoration spell. The blond's face cycles from giddy drunkenness, to surprise, shock, and settles at outraged frustration within the space of a heartbeat.

"RUDE!" He nearly screeches.

"So, you joining now or what?" Wy asks, nonplussed.

"NO!" Laenor grouses, and turns to sulk to Jorlan about it, but seems to only get amusement in return. The sympathy he probably hoped for, is nowhere in sight; Dane and Ezekiel also failing epically at containing their mirth.

Wy sighs. They all did need a break, to be fair, and Wy could agree that finally breathing fresh air again felt great. They did deserve some time off but...

Ezekiel supplies between giggles that they had gotten an in with one of the guards while at a tavern earlier, and had set up a meeting with Guard Captain Mills of the City Guard the next morning anyway. What was the point in going into the clock tower the illegal way, when they could do it legally?

It would be less fun is the point, and Wy couldn't help feeling a bit antsy about being back in Goodhaven.

....and the name of the Captain rings a bell. An uncomfortable one.

Wy ignores it in favour of muttering about going for the bank instead. It had pinged when he'd tried locating the clock components after all. Not that he bothers telling anyone about it. Well, except Arryn. At least Arryn is dependable in situations like these.

Or...maybe not...Wy thinks for a split second when the alarms start blaring the moment Arryn slips through the little window in the wall of the bank. No, it was probably just rotten luck today. It'd felt awkward when he had vaulted Arryn up to the window in the first place. Everything felt off today. So no, Arryn was the best. The greatest. What an absolutely stupid thought, he berrates himself while he sprouts four extra sets of limbs, stretching into a giant spider.

He isn't fast enough however.

"What the Hell is that!!" A guard spots them as Wy scuttles up the wall, pulling Arryn along for the ride.

"Aw, Hell no." Someone else curses.

"Shoot it down, coward!"

At that Arryn starts screaming dramatically about being kidnapped. It seems to work. No arrows follows them, but unfortunately the sound of people taking up the chase does.

Quick thinking has Wy Wild Shaping out and into a much smaller spider when the guards lose sight of them momentarily, and attaches himself to Arryns shoulder instead. Arryn does a valiant attempt at fooling the guard into thinking he is an innocent bystander, but it devolves into a wild chase over the rooftops instead.

Just as they're approaching the Silver Oak, Ezekiel pops out of nowhere, grabbing hold of Arryn by the neck, and poof they both go elsewhere.

Little Spider Wy lands expertly on the crooked roof shingles, suddenly all alone. He doesn't stay alone for long. The guard that had been chasing them catches up soon enough and while the poor guy is glancing around furtively after any sign of the suspect, a little Spider climbs up his boot, settling quietly in the folds of fabric at the man's lower back. He stays there unnoticed, all the way back to the bank that is still blaring the alarm.

The guard reports losing the suspect over the rooftops to his superior. The superior sighs, shaking her head. "We might as well turn off the alarm. I think it has alerted everyone that needed to be woken up, and many more besides. Let's not push the citizens' patience more than necessary in these trying times." And so, through the main doors and into the bank propper the guard goes.

Pulling a lever makes the noise stop. Having done that, the guard trots back out. The little hitch hiking Spider on the other hand had already disembarked the Guard Ride, and as the sound of the guard fades from the building, a full sized Wy settles down in a corner, knocking his head back against the stone wall.

He was in. And there was nobody around. He could afford a short breather before starting the search.

Breaking another forked twig, the spell has his attention fixed to the floor. He can feel the thing he's looking for is somewhere faaaar beneath where he is. Good. He hadn't sensed wrong earlier. Seems his luck had turned.

Or maybe not, he thinks a short while later when he jolts awake from the sound of people entering the bank again.

Peeking through the crack between the door and the frame he watches the three guards split off; one heading upstairs, one down, and the last one stays to thoroughly inspect the foyer. The guard makes his way slowly past the booths, inspecting them each meticulously. As he nears the room Wy is situated in, Wy mutters the spell for Pass Without Trace. Unfortunately, it seems he isn't quiet enough. The guard whirls around, and readies his weapon, approaching the door with caution.

Wy pouts. Fine. He quietly presses his back into the wall behind the door, while digging up the caterpillar cocoon he'd prepared in advance from one of his many pockets. Crushing it in his palm, he waits till the guard has fully entered the room. The hand motions are quick and efficient, the incantation precise, and just as the guard turns around to lock eyes with Wy, Wy blows the powdered cocoon into his face. The transformation lags for a moment, the guard's eyes wide and horrified. Then, there's a turtle in his place, swaying shellshocked on its four stubby feet, the look in its eyes mirroring the man it had just been.

Wy can't help the grin as he crouches down to come closer to the turtle's level, patting the top of its shell. Animals sure were better than people. "You were so slow out there, I thought this form would suit you better."

Glancing around the room, Wy spots some buckets and other cleaning equipment. He picks up one of the buckets and a broomstick. Bringing his Bag of Holding to a heist as risky as this was a bad idea, so he'd left it in Dane's room at the inn, meaning he had nothing except the bare necessities of supplies. The broom would work as a makeshift quarterstaff if necessary, and the bucket would be nice in case he needed a throwing weapon. Stepping past the turtle Wy swipes the turtle up into the bucket. "You might turn out to be useful too." He tells the Turtle Guard. The turtle blinks slowly at him, head retracting into its shell to the point where only the tip of its nose peeks out. Wy chuckles. "Don't worry. I'll be nice."

So down the stairs they both go. Wy can hear the footsteps of the guard that went downstairs echo in the halls, while his own are just whispers against the cold stone. If he's lucky, he won't bump into the man at all.

He isn't that lucky. Walking past hallway upon hallway of smaller vaults, slowly working his way down further into the belly of the bank's fortified underground, he does eventually see the flickering light of a torch at the bottom of the next flight of stairs. Unfortunately.

Hiding in the shadows in the corner by the stairway opening, Wy considers his options until his eyes land on the Turtle Guard still nestled in the bucket. If the Turtle Guard had eyes that could bug out of their sockets, they probably would be by the time Wy picks the turtle up and tosses it down the stairs at the upcoming guard.

"What the fu–" is all the guard has time to say before there's a crash, and then a series of louder crashes cascading down the stairs.

Wy peeks out from around the corner, down at the unconscious guard at the bottom, lit by the flickering flame from the torch that landed nearby. The turtle is swaying back and forth on its back, still spinning slowly, feet kicking uselessly in the air.

That worked surprisingly well.

A voice comes from somewhere above. Ah, right. There was a third guard. Hm. Better pick up the pace then.

Walking past the guard on the floor, Wy picks up the turtle.

"Don't take that too personally, k dude? You were just so very convenient. And it worked, didn't it?" Wy says to its little face before placing it carefully back into the bucket. "Your buddy is probably fine. He's still breathing. And I'll be outta here soon enough. I just need to check something, see."

A 'thunk' emerges from the bucket.

"Oh. Why am I still bringing you along? I'm sure you'll be convenient again 's why."

Several more floors down, the sound of the third guard finding the unconscious guard finally reaches Wy, but no matter. The lead he had on them should be enough…Wy thinks, until he’s faced with two large dragon statues guarding a door that’s also a dragon. All six pairs of eyes stare ominously at him. On the door there’s a riddle. “None unseen may pass” or something like that. Wy doesn’t give the wording much attention.

Putting out the torch does nothing. Eyeing the eyes from behind his darkvision goggles, he bends down to rip some strips of fabric from his trouser leg, and ties them around the two guard dragons’ eyes. Still nothing. Maybe…? He covers the last two eyes on the doors with his hands.

The doors begin to inch open.

As the crack widens, what Wy sees inside has him frowning.

There’s pillows and books strewn over the ground surrounding a makeshift table made of stacked books and a tablecloth that looks like it’s been abandoned in a hurry. The grate in the far corner clangs shut behind a bushy tail in testament to that, but one single person stayed behind and they’re staring back at Wy with large glassy eyes.

“Sloopy!? The hell are you doing here?”

Sloopydoop bubbles something unintelligible, as per usual.

The doors are now wide enough for Wy to slip inside, still carrying the broom and bucket with the Turtle Guard nestled inside. Aside from the loose items lying around, there’s another door on the other end of the room, and something large covered in a giant tarp. Wy strides over to inspect it and the door. There’s no obvious way into the next room, and the locating spell still pings further down.

“Y’know, I’d appreciate some assistance, Sloopy.” Wy almost whines.

Sloopy bubbles some more, and Wy wrinkles his nose at him. It would have been so much easier if the Fish would speak some normal common rather than that undercommon gibberish.

The guards finally figure out the doors, and Wy suddenly has very little time, but at least he has good ideas. He grabs the Turtle Guard from the bucket, and carefully times it so that the door opening is just large enough when he lets the turtle fly towards the female guard opening the doors. A quick hand gesture accompanied by a release word, and the turtle rapidly turns back into a person in midair, crashing noisily into the guard in the door. They both tumble to the floor outside the room, and the doors again start sliding shut.

Unfortunately that doesn’t keep them down for long, and within a few moments they’ve managed to get inside again. A fight breaks out while Wy tries to focus more on figuring out the door than dealing with the guards really. In a desperate effort to incapacitate the guards, again, he summons two giant snakes. They fall in, covering the room in pure writhing muscle. Hm. Maybe not the best idea.

One of the guards manages to get a good grapple on Wy, and he gets dragged out of the room. Sloopy…disappears and is of no help, while the snakes tries to bodyslam the guards, also to questionable effect.

By this point, Wy figures it’s probably better to just bolt, but getting out of the grapple proves to be difficult. He never was the best at getting away from live people…places on the other hand was easier. People. Ugh.

He tries literally ferreting away, but the guard grappling him doesn’t let go. He is rude enough to stuff Ferret Wy into a bag, and Wy is thoroughly offended.

It takes a while, but eventually Ferret Wy manages to gnaw a hole in the bag, and slip out onto the floor. The guard immediately knows something is wrong, and he takes up the chase, boots clattering loudly down the stairs once again.

A few floors down, it seems Sloopy hadn’t been entirely useless after all, as he stands over one of the guards staring woozily up at the Fish that’s speaking gibberish at her, shaking a lungfish in her face.

Ferret Wy skids past Sloopy’s feet, and tries to jump onto his clothes, but Sloopy sidesteps completely. Wy chitters irritably up at him, and the Fish stares at him for a moment before making an understanding noise. Then he tosses the lungfish at the female guard and plods further down the stairs while casting a spell. A wall of force erupts between them and the guards.

Finally, some time to actually take a closer look at that stupid stupid door.

Not that it helps any, really. The door won’t budge. Pulling off the tarp from the big thing in the room, reveals it to be a large sculpture of a Beholder. There’s sigils carved into each of the irises on the eyestalks. Wy can’t make up or down of it at all. Sloopy seems to be able to read them, but the sounds he makes doesn't make any sense to Wy either, so that was useless.

At a loss for what else he can do, Wy decides it’s probably best to just book it out of there. It wasn’t like staying any longer would be of much help, and it sounded like the guards were on their way down the stairs once again anyhow.

He climbs down through the sewer grate in the corner, and looks up at Sloopy. The Fish grimaces, and then poofs out of existence. That was also a way of booking it.

The parts of the sewers he ends up in looks older than any sewers he’d been roaming before, but then, he’d never liked hanging out in the sewers, unless it was absolutely necessary. Like now.

Emerging out of the sewers, Wy finds that the night is still plenty dark, which reminds him that Thrinnav is probably going to be waiting for him by the clock tower, unless he notifies her of the change in plans. He grabs a hold of a street cat, and tells it to carry a message for him. It obliges after a promise of a big chunk of the Good kind of fish in the morning. It would find him to collect the fee; Wy agrees easily.

Getting back to the inn from there is surprisingly uneventful, so Wy grabs his bag from Dane’s room when he gets there(the guy is snoring so loudly, Wy doesn’t even need to try being silent), before crashing in his own room for the night. Nothing is going to stop him from sleeping in that morning.

It’s nearing noon when he reconvenes with the rest of the group at some upscale eatery. More waste of money, honestly. These people…

Laenor asks him what he’s been up to, and Wy doesn’t bother lying as there’s no point in that. Not to mention, it had been exceedingly fun to bowl down the guard with the Turtle Guard. And telling the party of the clue he’d found was a good idea. He really didn’t think he’d be able to get through the door without them, puzzles had never really been his thing either.

The discussion over whether or not it is likely that there’s a Chiral Core inside that vault at the bottom of the bank rages on, and whether or not it’s a good idea to pursue it is touched upon, but ultimately falls flat. Ezekiel would rather just thoroughly enjoy the time they had topside, and Laenor agreed wholeheartedly. Which meant Mero(actively) and Jorlan(grudgingly), and also Dane(with enthusiasm) did the same. Ugh.

After lunch, Arryn decides he’s gonna try to hit up some old acquaintances. Wy tags along in case he needs backup. He doesn’t. Instead he almost leaves Wy with said acquaintances when he backflips out of the window when he decides to end the conversation. Wy isn’t too amused. But they did get some backup distractions for the future second(or was it third?) attempt at the bank. There had to be something in there, Wy just knew it.

They reconvene with the others once again, but this time at a bar named the Succubus. Wy and Arryn make another attempt at convincing the others that they really should take a look in that vault at the bottom of the bank. Allie and Amreth, surprisingly, seem in, but the others are more interested in a night of drinking and fun instead.

It takes Amreth grabbing both Wy and Arryn by their collars to prevent the two from running off to do the heist on their own. He insists that it’d be best to go in with everyone, preferably sober, and also with a proper plan. Preferably with permission from the correct authorities as well.

Wy wrinkles his nose at that. No way is he meeting that Captain. Nope. Nu-uh. Way too awkward. Especially if he was who Wy thought he was.

Thus it was decided that they’d go talk to the Captain once again, but in the morning.

Wy doesn’t join them, obviously. Instead he transforms into a small sparrow, and flits around, peeking in through the many windows of the City Guard Headquarters.

He spots the right window eventually, where Allie and Ezekiel are talking to Guard Captain Mills.

The man looks almost exactly like Wy remembers him. Broad shouldered and muscled, like someone who had never spent a single day behind a desk, despite the desk job he now sported. He probably still ran out to work in the field at any chance he got. Wy remembers he usually rather liked doing the patrols, but often not because it gave him something to do. It was more that he got to move his body around; helping people in a way that he could use his muscles for ‘what they were made to be used for’. Whatever that meant.

Wy didn’t even know if the man still remembered him. Probably not. He’d just been another street urchin back then. One of hundreds in Goodhaven that probably came and went. Even so, it was still best not to meet him.

It wasn’t like Wy had anything to say to him anyway.

-:-

Guard Captain Felix Mills shakes his head slightly as the door to his office closes behind the Shankers of Goodhaven, and Friends. The neat scrawl of Ezekiel's autograph laying neatly on top of his paperwork has him smiling despite all the recent troubles and the strange request that the group had come with.

Access to a single bank vault. On the off chance that there might be a Chiral Core inside.

How they had even gotten the information on the vault in the first place was...questionable in itself, but they were probably somehow connected to the instigators of the ruckus at the bank the night before. Strangely, nothing had been stolen, and the guards that had been stationed there came out of it with only some mild bruises, that were nothing compared to their bruised egoes. Their pride as Goodhaven's Guardsmen having been the greatest victim of the night, judging by the guards' testimonies earlier this morning.

Which hadn't been easy to extract from them. Normally he didn't require that kind of verbal recounting of events, but the report they had submitted had been abysmally lacking. In the face of the three guards' supremely embarrassed faces when Mills brought it up however, he'd agreed to let them explain off the record. Though he wasn't sure whether to believe them or not; the story being so absurd and surprisingly benign.

A tall bushy haired young man, turning Jake, the newest recruit, into a turtle, bowling down Petar in the stairs. Summoning a Fish Person and two giant snakes, and a wild chase up and down the many sublevels of the bank. The youth, finally, turning into a ferret, only to disappear completely, leaving no trace. At the description of the young man, Mills’ heart had jumped. But the following story erased his suspicions. It was simply too absurd. That Boy had never shown any sign of magic…

Having readied the letter with the Shankers' request alongside his office's seal, he set his secretary assistant on the job of getting the right people to the right places in preparation.

He's deep in thought when he returns to his desk. Glancing out the window he catches the Shankers of Goodhaven being joined by a tall man with a strangely familiar demeanor and unmistakable messy curls. Mills presses his side into the window frame, squinting to get a better view. Was that...?

A disbelieving laugh escapes him when he finally recognises the face just as the group slips into the growing crowds. But it made sense. If it truly was that boy, it all made sense.

When his secretary assistant returns to report that the preparations have been made, the girl finds the Guard Captain intermittently giggling into his paperwork. She raises an eyebrow at the chain of turtles chased by a small ferret doodled into the margins of the report lying at the top of the Finished pile she gathers to be filed away, but the Captain only shakes his head at her questioning gaze.

-:-

It had been his first week as a newly minted recruit of the Goodhaven City Guard when Mills had to personally deal with the boy for the first time. Well. It was more like he'd yanked the boy right up off the street when catching him red-handed at pickpocketing. The boy couldn't have been more than seven or eight years old.

He had thought dropping him off at the Guardhouse would be the end of it, but the boy slipped between the bars of his cell, and then promptly caused a mass escape incident by lockpicking a number of the other cells. According to the testimony of the other convicts anyway. The report said nothing of the sort, but having the fact that a child managed to escape out of the city guards' dungeons, and also breaking out a bunch of other convicts on his way out, in writing would be massively embarrassing for the institution. Instead, they quietly just added more steel bars to the existing ones.

Mills meanwhile vowed to keep an extra eye out for the urchin with the shaggy dark hair, which turned out to be a sound decision as the boy didn't lack for shenanigans. It ran mostly in small-time theft and breaking and entering. And the occasional absolutely mind boggling nonsense.

Like the time he stole what turned out to be the good Lady Edwina Skald's aging cat. The Boy had insisted he'd just been helping Mrs Grandma Cat because she'd been complaining about her limbs hurting too much to climb high enough to see the sunset from the best spot in the city. Namely the ledge just underneath the clocktower's west facing clock face, which was just where Mills had happened to spot him and the cat while on a patrol. Getting access to the clocktower just to order the boy to come down from there had been a mess. The guard on shift at the tower initially refused him entry, but when the boy high up there inside the restricted area was pointed out to him he suddenly couldn't get up there fast enough.

The report writing following the incident had also been an absolute headache, because of course the boy refused to come down willingly before Mrs Grandma Cat was done with enjoying the sunset. When the sun finally did set, he still wouldn't budge. It took Mills half hanging out of a narrow hatch near the clock face in question, trying to reason with the kid for a good ten minutes before they eventually landed on the terms: to let the boy personally take the cat back to its owner, in exchange for coming down without wasting even more of the guards' time.

Handing the cat over to a frail, but grateful, Lady Skald's arms, the boy blurts "Don't leave her alone again like that. She'd be whale-sized sad if she couldn't be there at your very last moment. She said wants to be the one to guide you to the other side."

The cold jolt racing down Mills' spine was nothing to Lady Skald's horrified expression, nor the two rows of servants having gone bone rigid.

"Boy!" Mills hisses, and when the boy looks like he's going to continue talking, he slaps a hand over the kid's mouth. Apologizing profusely to the good Lady, who graciously ignored the ominous comments, Mills receives the Lady's thanks for returning the cat and bodily drags the kid away from the large manor entrance.

"What the hell was that Boy!? You can't say things like that to people!" Mills scolds when they've gotten far enough to not bother the old lady even more than they already have.

"Mrs Grandma Cat told me her Lady dun have long left." The boy pouts with his whole face as he mumbles. "She smelled a bit like it too. Both of them really. Probably won't survive the winter."

Mills sighs, forcibly relaxing his shoulders. "Even if you do know, some things are better left unsaid, Boy." He ruffles the kid's messy curls. "Here. Your finders fee. The Lady was generous." He says as he offers the boy the single gold coin the good Lady had given them.

The boy blinks at him, puzzled. "You're not keeping it yourself...?"

"I can't take money like this."

"B-but..."

"I'm already getting paid for this. Taking money directly from citizens for things that are already part of my job description would be very bad form. You on the other hand." He grins as he places the coin on top of the boy's head. "You deserve it." Looks like he needs it too, Mills thinks as his eyes trace the tatters the boy probably calls clothes, but doesn't voice it.

The coin disappears with a flourish of nimble fingers, and with a muttered "Thanks...Mr Guard Man Sir" the Boy also disappears, merging smoothly into the evening crowds.

Explaining all this to his superiors had been rather difficult, but he was just a recruit. He'd done well. For a recruit.

Then there was the time a few years later when a traveling menagerie arrived in town. They'd set up on the edge of the outer city outside the city walls and had been pulling massive crowds to the shows. The public’s complaints of being ripped off by the exorbitant prices and shady business practices of the staff became a constant murmur around the city. Two days into their stay however, the outer city suddenly got flooded by exotic animals running rampant in the streets. Some of them even managed to make it past the city gates before getting caught.

Arriving at the scene, Mills found a very familiar kid, being restrained by the menagerie’s own guard, sneering up at a red faced and hysterical Menagerie Owner. A Master Stoak. The situation gets explained and it turns out that the kid allegedly released all the animals.

Mills has to work hard to not massage his temples. He knows firsthand just how good at picking locks this boy is, but Master Stoak didn’t need to know the fact that the same kid had done the same to the City Guards’ own prisons several years prior. Man, the kid was good.

“The animals are kept in locked cages, right, Master Stoak?”

“Well of course! I can’t very well let them roam around free, you can see what happened when they were let go!”

“And they’re also usually guarded rather heavily, right? By your own guards?”

“Yes. Obviously! What is it you are trying to say Inspector!?”

“What I’m trying to say is, your guards sure are incompetent, letting a child sneak in and break out nearly every single one of your animals. If, truly, it was this child who did it, and not someone of your own crew who actually had access to the animals and the keys.” Mills deadpans. “Maybe it would be best if you spent a bit more money on some more competent guards, or maybe it’s about time you reevaluated your routines when it comes to who has what kind of responsibilities and access to what keys around here. Maybe then this kind of thing won’t happen in the future.”

Master Stoak sure does not like hearing that, and explodes into righteous fury, getting in an impressive straight left into Mills’ cheek. Mils staggers backwards as his second in command, and several others of Mills’ underlings rush to physically hold the man back from assaulting Mills further. The Menagerie’s guards seems to have taken a step back to just observe the spectacle; clearly not happy with what Mills said either, but definitely not willing to help de-escalate Master Stoak from doing something stupid.

They eventually manage to come to the agreement that the City Guards will assist the menagerie people in recapturing all the animals safely and not holding the menagerie accountable for the damages the animals caused in the city in return for not reporting Master Stoak for actual assault on Chief Inspector Mills, provoked or not, and holding the Menagerie open to the public, free of charge for the rest of their scheduled stay outside the city.

Master Stoak was of course not happy, but what could he do? He assaulted a City Guard. If he refused the rather generous terms, he’d most definitely have a good long stay in chains to look forward to, if not an even greater fine on his hands, which would be worse.

When Mills’ underlings have all gotten their assignments, and things were finally underway to be resolved, Mills turns to the source of the troubles.

The boy had been sitting quietly on a bench, observing. The guard that had been restraining him earlier had been sent off to help with the recapture as well, yet the boy had shown no intent on running away when nobody was looking anymore. Indeed, he looked downright angry where he sat, betrayal shining in his eyes.

“Why are you helping that Monster?” He accuses the moment Mills gets close. “He doesn’t deserve them! Dun treat them right! Treats None of them Right!” There is a quiver in his voice.

Mills sighs. “Boy. They are his animals. He owns them. You can’t just decide that he isn’t deserving, and let them all run free. That isn’t how it works.”

“B-but they cried to me. They all said they dun like it here with him. He’s mean, and the food is bad, and his people are mean too and they make the poor animals do things they don’t want and that are difficult and–!” The poor boy heaves shaky breaths, trying his hardest not to let the fat tears gathering in his eyes fall.

“And they’ll most definitely die if they disappear out into the wild here.”

“But at least they’d be free!”

“In a place they can’t call a home because it isn’t their right habitat. That freedom won’t be very long lasting, boy. They’ll just have traded assured but uncomfortable survival with certain death.”

That has the boy silent. As if Mills struck a nerve. Was there more to it than just sympathy for the animals? Mills bites down on the thought. It doesn't concern him. The boy was just a street urchin. He didn’t need to read that much into it.

“So, I got you out of some pretty serious trouble here. Can you promise me you won’t mess around with the cages again?”

The boy nods dejectedly.

Mills smiles, and ruffles the boy’s hair. “‘preciate it, Boy.”

-:-

After the Menagerie incident Mills started finding random items in his pockets if he’d been out in the streets. Small things like a shiny rock, or a small hand carved wooden figurine, or some other small trinkets. Then eventually short notes on small pieces of fabric or dried leaves. Some just said ‘cute magpi’ or ‘prtty rok tu big to carri’ or some such in blocky inexperienced letters. One memorable occasion the note said ‘som dickwad lifted this got it back’ tied to the strap of said money pouch.

Then one day came the note that would boost Mills’ career upward. He was doing well for himself as it was, he didn't really need nor want promotions, but what could he do when he got served it on a platter?

‘thing u’r looking for is here’ it said, with a pictogram alongside the writing on the scarf; It was just a bear with a bow tie and then an arrow towards a hole with an arrow pointing through it, and then a poop pyramid underneath. But Mills could guess where this was. His suspicions of it being the Boy dropping him these ‘gifts’ finally confirmed.

That teddy bear was after all a good depiction of the one Mills had bought the Boy after the Incident at the Toy Store, where he had busted the boy and his compatriots in robbing it. All the other kids got away, probably skittering out the back door and through windows, but few of them managed to take anything of great value. The Boy on the other hand had stuck around for some reason, and Mills quickly understood it was a ploy to help the others disappear and avoid repercussions. He’d had a moment where he was genuinely impressed, and then he’d realized that the likelihood of the Boy being the main instigator of this entire thing was rather high if he was willing to be responsible for the getaway of the other kids.

Still, the Boy diligently tidied up the store as Mills told him to, and as a reward for listening to Mills without complaint, Mills bought him the teddy since he’d noticed the Boy eyeing it.

The note was pointing to the manhole down to the sewers that was nearest to that specific toy store.

Investigating the sewer system nearby that manhole quickly revealed a large cache of smuggled goods, which then led to cracking a larger smuggler's den. The people apprehended during that bust would later lead them on to nearly taking down the entire smuggling ring.

At the end of it all, Mills would be credited with the greatest contribution to the case and promoted, much against his will.

The notes and trinkets kept coming and everything settled into a pleasant rhythm, with the occasional new breakthrough clues coming in, in the form of more pictograms only Mills could decode. He’d tried showing one of the pictograms to his superior, but the guy had just stared blankly at it till his eyes were spinning in confusion. He’d promptly been told he wasn’t allowed to quit, and to take good care of his informant. Which was easier said than done when Mills could barely catch sight of the Boy’s unmistakable mess of tangled curly hair unless the Boy let him. He’d gotten a lot better at sneaking around unnoticed with the years.

Another year goes by, then suddenly two weeks pass without a single trinket. Worry churns uncomfortably in Mills’ guts; had something happened to the Boy? He catches himself wondering if the Boy would come to him if he needed help…but why would he? The streets had served the boy well enough in the years Mills had known him, and it wasn’t like they had a relationship that would indicate that amount of trust and commitment?

Still, Mills can’t deny the relief he feels when the Boy slips into the seat across from him one evening while he’s out drinking and his table companion has disappeared off to the latrine for the moment.

The Boy had grown a lot since last Mills got a good look at him, his knees knocking into Mills’ underneath the table. He was probably gonna stretch into quite the giant in another few years, with enough food.

Mills grins. “Do I finally get an actual audience with our esteemed elusive Street Urchin? What an honor.”

The Boy, no teen now, snorts, lips curling into a half grin himself. The mirth dissipates worryingly fast, the Boy seemingly debating with himself. When he finally does start talking, it’s not what Mills had expected.

“I’m leaving Goodhaven. Figured you deserved to know.”

Mills swallows the sudden lump in his throat. “I see. Any reason you’d be willing to divulge?”

“You’ve heard of the Damned orphanage?” The Boy asks. Mills nods. Who hadn’t heard of that infamous orphanage. A good third of the street urchins around the city were from there, and the affiliated businesses were numerous, but could rarely be traced back to the orphanage. Mills had figured the Boy was one of those Damned kids, but had never had a need to confirm it. Well, now it was. Much use that was.

“The Hag–uh, Miss Candy, the…the pro…prie…tress, is opening up another orphanage in some other city. She wants me along for that apparently.” The Boy rests his chin in his palm, the lack of enthusiasm abundantly clear. “Turns out she thinks I’m good with the littlest ones. I mean, they’re kinda like little baby animals. Animals are easy to deal with.”

Mills hums a laugh. Only the Boy would compare toddlers to animals. "So, where exactly will you be going?"

The Boy raises an eyebrow at Mills. "Does it matter?"

"Of course it does. I'd have to keep track of news coming from that direction. You don't seem like the type to write letters." Mills says as he leans back, crossing his arms with a mild smile.

Raising his head from the perch on his palm and tilting his head like a confused puppy, the Boy squints at Mills. "Why? It's not like you're my dad."

It feels like a punch to the gut. "....would you like me to be?" Mills blurts before he can stop himself.

Silence reigns while they both digest what's just been said. A blush hot enough to melt stone floods the Boy's face.

Mills can feel his own ears heating up in response. "I mean, I...I'd be willing to if you--"

"Are you completely out of your muscle brained mind? That's the stupidestest thing I've ever heard!" The Boy rattles, his eyes a bit wild. "You...you...massive chicken!" He finishes lamely as he pushes away from the table. He nearly trips in his attempt at a speedy retreat out of the tavern.

It’s the last time Mills sees or hears from him. That is, until now.

-:-

It was late afternoon, and Mills had finally gotten through most of the day’s paperwork. He considered having his assistant get him something to eat, but no, his butt was feeling exceedingly flat by now, and a walk would do him good. He’d just go grab something greasy off one of the many street stalls, as usual.

Walking past the fresh produce stalls, he nearly stumbles into a tall man. He apologizes, then does a double take, grabbing the man’s elbow when the man nearly bolts. There’s a tense moment where they’re both at an impasse, staring each other down.

“So it really is you, Boy.” The grin on Mills’ face is insistent. “Been a while, hasn’t it.”

The Boy, no…young man now, tries to tug his arm free, his expression conflicted. Mills has no compulsions to let him get away that easily. It takes one more furtive tug from the young man, before he huffs a sign, and petulantly pouts at the ground. Some things never change.

Mills drags him off to a nearby decent eatery, taking a table in a corner, and conveniently taking the outer seat, making it difficult for the young man to get away.

Drinks and bowls of hearty stew are placed on the table and the conversation is mainly one sided for a while, but with a bit of encouragement, Mills manages to get the young man talking. Catching up on the missing years. It’s quite the story. Almost unbelievable at some points, but with how reluctantly the young man is telling the tale, it can’t be anything but the truth. His enthusiasm rises when he gets to his newest pet, and Mills has to keep his face carefully neutral as the implications of the young man having a rapidly growing beast with razor sharp hooks for arms hits him. Good thing he didn’t bring the thing with him to Goodhaven. That would never end well…

Eventually there’s a lull in the conversation, and Mills frowns. "You know, I don't think I ever got your name back then...Hell, I still call you 'Boy'."

"Why–" The young man catches himself. Mutters something unintelligible, stops. Then, reluctantly, as if he isn't certain himself, he says a single word.

"Zen?" Mills repeats. Zen nods slowly, eyes tentatively meeting Mills', carefully gauging the man's reaction. "I'll remember that." Mills says as he ruffles Zen's messy curls. Just as he's done so very many times before, smile growing wide enough to split his face. It feels like he's been entrusted with a massive secret when Zen's entire posture softens; he very nearly melts into his arms on the table, face and ears redder than a tomato. Must have been something he'd had on his mind for a long time.

Mills pays for the tab.

“Do I have to squeeze out a promise of not being a stranger from you, or?” Mills threatens playfully when they get back out into the street. The sun has already begun to set over the city, bathing everything in soft orange tones.

Zen tilts his head from side to side with a considering look in his eyes. “I’ll drop by next time I’m in town.” He eventually agrees.

-:-

The next morning, Mills finds a small fluffy teddy bear sporting a red, spotted, bowtie on his desk in his office. His secretary assistant asks if he thinks it’s secure since nobody has had access to enter and place it there. Mills grins. He knows exactly where this came from.

-:-

OMAKE

“So where we gonna go tonight, fellas?” Yor slings her arms around the necks of both Petar and Jake, paying extra attention to muss up Jake’s hair. “Wha’cha say, Turtle?”

Jake blushes, covering his face with his hands, “I’m never gonna live that down, am I…?”

Yor cackles. “Nope! It’s gonna stick FOREVER!” She turns to Petar with a wider grin. “Though I mean, it’s better than Fishy. Don’t you agree?”

Petar grumbles irritably. “That bank is cursed, I say. I can still feel my spine feeling like jelly.” He shudders, then freezes to the spot.

Yor waves her hand in front of his face. “Yo, what’s wrong?” Petar grabs her arm, and points toward the two men who just exited a nearby eatery. Yor recognises the Captain immediately, just about ready to raise her voice to call him over when Jake squeaks in terror.

The person beside the Captain was none other than the youth that had given them such a hard time at the bank.

A thought hits Yor like a rampaging horse cart. Had…had the bank been a setup? A…a test!?

“Oh no. The bank was a test by the Captain…wasn’t it.” Jake whimpers. “We failed that test, didn’t we…” He looks ready to sink into the ground.

“Not just us. The entire squadron failed. Shit. I’d heard the Captain was good at this kind of thing, but holy shit. Training days are probably gonna be hell from now…” Petar mutters blankly into the air.

Yor just laughs nervously, and leads them both away from the Captain, just in case…of what she wasn’t sure, but either way, it was best not to meet that youth again. Ever, if she got her way.

[galaxa-13]

A story of NPCs from the game I run.

“And here I thought you were loyal to me, Jorlan.”

The priestesses of Lolth stared at the scarred man plastered to the wall with webbing, her eyes cold and angry.

“Why would you attack my quaggoths and then lie to me about it?”

The man she was interrogating said nothing.

“After all the trouble I went through keeping you alive after your little accident and now you not only lost me guards you also let all my slaves escape.”

Still more silence.

“ANSWER ME!”

She raised her hand and with three quick lashes attacked him with her tentacle rod. He groaned as a trickle of blood ran down his face from one of the slashes.

“We should lock him up like we did Sarith.” the drow man standing next to Ilvara said.

She turned and gave him a sharp look.

“Do not tell me what to do, Shoor.” she said, testily. He quickly bowed his head.

“No! I would never presume to order you!” he said.

“... No,” the prietess continued, “I still have a fondness for Jorlan. Else he would be dead right now.”

She stepped closer to her former lieutenant and placed a hand against his cheek, the one free of scarring.

“For all your service in the past I willing to give you one last chance,” she said, a smile pulling at her lips. “Help me recapture all those slaves. You will continue to live and serve me as long as I have your oath that you will do this task.”

“Of course, mistress. I will do as you command.” Jorlan answered, causing her smile to widen.

“Good. I knew I could still count on you,” she purred before stepping back. “But you still need to be punished for today. Shoor?”

Her current lieutenant straightened up.

“Jorlan’s eye hasn’t been seeing well since his accident. Best to remove it all together.”

Jorlan stiffened against the wall, but kept his face perfectly neutral as Shoor smiled cruelly at him. He would not give this upstart the satisfaction of seeing his dread.

“Deal with this while I check on the others. I expect the both of you to be ready to hunt our prey when I get back. I will send Asha to stop the bleeding.”

With that she turned on her heel and marched off. As she did so Shoor pulled out a knife and approached the wall.

“Don’t think you can keep getting away with shit just because you used to be the favorite,” he said as he held the knife up in front of Jorlan’s face. “I’m the favorite now. Don’t you ever forget it.”

Jorlan grit his teeth as the knife made its plunge. To ignore the pain coursing through his eye socket he focused on his seething anger. This gambit may have failed, but he would see both Ilvara and Shoor suffer. His only purpose in life anymore was to see them tortured and despaired. He would bear this pain and let it feed his spite. Next time he wouldn’t fail in getting his revenge.

Meanwhile, the junior priestess made her approach. She saw what her cousin was doing to Jorlan and stopped. Ilvara had told her that her healing skills would be needed and sent her this way. Even after everything, to think her mentor was still being this cruel to Jorlan... Asha gripped the front of her robes as she watched the torture play out. 

She would have to have a private chat with him. Perhaps while she tended his wounds? She did not know if what had happened today was some attempt at revenge, but even if she wasn’t she would nudge his feelings that way. Damaged as he was he was still one the best fighters this outpost had. He would be a powerful pawn in her efforts to usurp Ilvara herself. Best to take the throne before she was cast aside as easily as he was.