Tales from Solemn Vale: The Stack

Atop a grassy outcropping on the cliff edge overlooking the mostly submerged wreck of the Persephone, a strange structure protrudes from the ground. The old red brick chimney, commonly known as ‘The Stack’ around town, extends fifteen feet in the air above the rocky ground. The treacherous cliff path to get to it, as well as its distance from any roads or viewpoints, make The Stack a well known spot for teenage hangouts and underage drinking. The weathered red brick is covered in graffiti, and if one would climb to the top of the construction, they would peer down into nothing but darkness with no bottom in sight. 

Town records are vague as to what exactly the Stack was for, or what it must have been built to vent. Many claim it’s simply leftover from a never completed property, or all that remains of one.  

During the night the chalky brick of The Stack is oddly warm to the touch. People say it just absorbs the heat from the day gone by, but there are a few who claim to have seen smoke churning from The Stack in the dead of night, belching out from the bowels of the cliffs beneath its protruding exterior. Sea maps state no cavern extends below The Stack, with the chimney apparently just continuing straight into the ground. Put your ear to the grass though, and it’s almost like you can hear movement down there. Under the low sound of the waves, a low and churning rumble, like the gears of some ancient machine. 

Birds that fly directly over the stack have been seen to twist in flight, as if their sense of direction is suddenly compromised. They spiral from the skies, flapping wildly, to crash into the ground not far from the old chimney. Even sitting near the Stack itself has been known to bring a feeling of dysphoria, nothing a few drunken teenagers would notice at first, but too long around the Stack does more than make you feel strange. The longer spent by the Stack, and the churning becomes louder, in the air even without an ear to the ground, the sound becomes more complex, intricate, until the sound of cogs and gears and pistons can be heard. 

The sound of the infernal machine follows visitors to the Stack for some time. They feel it in their fingertips, in the ground beneath their feet. Those who’ve been to that old chimney too many times know that something is down there, beneath The Stack. They know that one of the darkest secrets of Solemn Vale is not born, but forged. 

Down by the River

Cerce’s head broke the surface of the water and she managed to suck in a heaving breath. The white spray from the falls filled her eyes and she clawed desperately in the freezing water all around. She’d heard Adam screaming her name, and knew he had gone over the falls too.

For a few horrified heartbeats she clawed at nothing, her feet treading water and her soaked skirt dragging her down below the surface over and over.

She tugged off her boots and unhooked her belt, and saw the red material of her skirt instantly get sucked away by the current.

There was motion in the water not far from her, and she glimpsed a sight of Adam’s green cloak just long enough to reach out and snatch at it.

Adam’s weight dragged her along for a moment, before she pulled the cloak back to her and finally got her claws under Adam’s shoulders. She yelled his name, but even her own voice was barely heard over the roar of the falls and the smashing rocks swiftly approaching.

Her leg kicking madly, water in her mouth, eyes blinded by the hammering spray, Cerce forced herself along, dragging Adam’s unconscious form to the shore.

-

Cerce breathed out and finally stopped shivering. The fire she’d constructed had finally gained momentum and now crackled along, lighting the evening in the grassy vale she’d come to. The low hum of the falls echoed across to her, and Cerce continued laying out the clothes before the little camp.

She stood, shaking out her still damp hair. Her shirt had been soaked, and she hoped it’d dry out without too much damage. Her skirt, boots, and the lovely leather jerkin she’d only had a couple months had sadly been swept away with the current of the river, and Cerce bemoaned their loss greatly. It took her a long time to break in a nice pair of boots. Forever at her side, her heavy halberd lay on the grass nearby.

Her underwear had been ruined when Cerce crawled, spluttering and coughing out of the river, and she simply bundled up and tossed the small garments in the fire.

Cerce’s naked form was pale green in the dying light of day, and she stepped over to begin undoing Adam’s belt.

Adam was still unconscious, and so hadn’t put up much of a fight when Cerce stripped him of his wet clothes. Adam’s clothes were lighter and looked like they’d dry out well, but Cerce was certain he’d not be happy about losing any of them, regardless of the hypothermia.

His handsome features shifted uncomfortably a little as he slept, and Cerce put her hand to his brow. Freed of the soaking clothing, he was warming up a little. Soon enough he’d open those big green eyes and give her one of those winning smiles, and she’d tease him for having fuller and poutier lips that a Zenancian whore, as usual.

Adam’s body was slim and toned, with a pleasant lean figure that Cerce had seen out of his usual silk and brocade finery a handful of times before. Cerce allowed herself a girlish smirk as she pulled off Adam’s trousers and his manhood flopped out to lay across his thigh. Thick and nicely weighty, with the ashy gray of his pubic hair against his pale flesh, Cerce found that she thought the whole arrangement rather cute.

-

As she crouched arranging the clothes by the fire, she turned at a slight noise and found Adam rising to his elbows.

“Wow…” he muttered, a hand to his forehead.

“You’re awake!” Cerce said, her fangs bared in a grin as she returned to him.

“Did we go off the...” he started incredulously, before shaking his head, trying to regain his senses somewhat.

“We certainly did, right off the top. And against all chances we managed to land in the river, and not with our guts splattered across the famous white rocks like some Orc art project.”

Adam looked up at Cerce, gazing at her legs. Strong, powerful calves, long and slender thighs. They met at a thick bush of white hair, and above that, a toned stomach crossed with little scars. His gaze continued up over heavy breasts, dark green nipples, an elegant collar and swan-like neck, and Adam gave a sheepish smile as he finally met Cerce’s gaze and rubbed the back of his head.

“In the river eh? Well that explains the...well, I ah… can’t help but notice I can see your cunt, Cerce.”

She gave him a playful kick and spun, her white hair flying.

“That’s alright, you’ve got your cock out and I was polite enough not to mention it. Chilly out, d’ya think?” Cerce chirped, her wide blue eyes narrowed as she teased.

Adam groaned and raised himself from the floor.

“Here I am back from the brink of death and you’re already trying to kick me where it hurts, you’re a wicked one, Stormbringer.” Adam smiled.

He stood, shook out his ashen blonde hair and stretched. Letting out a few little hisses of pain as he did so.

Cerce watched him, and rolled her eyes. Carefree as always, and more than a little bit of a show off, Adam made no effort to cover his swinging cock as he walked over to join her at the fireside.

Sitting cross legged, Cerce closed her eyes and let the warmth of the fire relax her. She hadn’t realized how hard her heart had been hammering, waiting for Adam to show he was okay. She cracked an eye to see the thief looking at her, or at least, not at her face, and was thankful he was clearly himself already.

“For a second there...got to say, did think you might be dead though.” Cerce whispered. She met Adam’s eyes, and he shot her a winning smile.

“Takes more than being thrown off the top of a waterfall by an insane renegade Orc mercenary to stop Adam Serra.” the thief said as he shifted closer and placed an arm over his friends shoulder.

They sat there for a moment, the feeling of warmth on their bodies, flesh touching, Cerce's nails toyed on his body, running them down his arm. Adam moved to brush a lock of Cerce's thick hair out of his face, and turned it in his fingers.

“How is it so soft… It’s incredible.” Adam ran his hands through Cerce’s long white hair. Clean of dust from the road, it almost shone, and was so light to the touch it felt like silk to the hands.

Cerce turned playful eyes to him, and nudged him with her elbow.

“Well, my people have hair purely for shows of dominance and mating displays. Whereas your people have it to...I don’t know, stay warm or something? Like the repulsive pink apes that you are.”

Adam was staring down at Cerce’s naked body. Her green skin glowed in the light of the fire, and she stretched out a long leg, exhaling softly.

“Just as soft there too I’ll bet?” he asked, looking down to the large triangle of white hair on Cerce’s mound.

Cerce gave a coy shrug.

“Ah, who knows… Try me,” she said, her lips turned upward in an ever-so-slight smile.

Adam gave a laugh, but in the movement, slid his hand down the skin of Cerce’s stomach.

He traced the lines of the many little scars across her abdomen, his fingertips light on her flesh, slowly down to her high hips.

He stole a look up at Cerce’s face to judge her reaction, and found one of her white eyebrows slightly cocked, almost in challenge.

“Lost your nerve?” she asked, baring her fangs in a wide smile.

Adam shrugged and slid his hand down to brush his fingertips deep into Cerce’s bush. She gave a low gasp, her face lit with surprise.

“Nope, just calling your bluff.”

Cerce tilted her head back and laughed. Adam smiled at her.

Cerce found her cheeks were warming in a blush.

He could be a bastard and a thief, for certain, but Adam’s face truly lit when he smiled. His high cheekbones caught the light just right, and he looked positively dashing in the moment. Cerce was looking into those green eyes when she noticed Adam’s fingertips had continued to move. They stroked, they teased, and slowly they began to travel down across Cerce’s mound.

She gazed down his smooth stomach, to where a pretty line of ashen hair trailed down to his cock, shapely and lying against his thigh. It had thickened and swelled up from earlier, and she watched it slowly gain length inch by inch, the heavy head slowly righting itself. It was mesmerizing to watch.

“So other than having hair like spun snow… everything works the same with you Nadyr?” Adam asked, the coy smile slowly becoming a smirk. Cerce met it directly

“Well, I don’t know about you, but I haven’t been between the legs of too many human girls… from what I understand I...ah!” Cerce’s sentence cut off in a sudden gasp, and her eyes widened.

Adam’s fingertips had slid down and parted the delicate skin, and his forefinger was brushing across the nub of flesh found there.

“Well that spot tends to get a reaction in my experience, so I can assume that things work much the same.”

His fingers began to work slow circles over the tender spot, and Cerce gave another breathy gasp in surprise.

“You always did have good hands, all that fiddling about with lockpicks,” Cerce whispered. Adam’s fingers were making firm stokes, in and out of her, and she felt her breath begin to catch in her lungs.

Slowly, Adam slid down Cerce’s body, his lips marking kisses down her as he went. The nape of her neck, her breast, her stomach. He nipped at her hip as he passed, and pushing his weight to her leg, he slid Cerce’s thighs apart to bare her.

Revealed, Cerce was a soft shade of pale pink, beneath the pure white of her pubic hair. Adam realized that, apart from the whiteness of her inner flesh and slight variations in curve and shape of the anatomy, Cerce was remarkably similar to a human woman.

He leaned in, his shoulders against Cerce’s thighs, and placed a hand upon her stomach, holding her down.

“Now… if you were poisonous...you’d tell me right?” he asked with a smile. Cerce felt his breath on her, warm and so close, and bit her lip with a grin.

“Worth the risk finding out, right?”

“Without a doubt,” Adam whispered as he kissed suddenly at the lips of her sex.

Cerce allowed her eyes to close, and rested her head back on the pile of furs as Adam lashed his tongue across the softness of her inner flesh.

Her bush was soft and delicate as spun silk, just as expected, and Adam nuzzled his nose into it as he kissed.

The taste of her was new to Adam, uniquely distinct from a human woman, but not at all unpleasant. Cerce’s juices seemed to tingle his tongue as he continued to lash it across the pale folds, and the scent of her brought to mind the sharp, wet tang of petrichor.

Cerce breathed hard and snatched at Adam’s head, grabbing a fistful of his ashen hair and pulling it. She opened her mouth to form a quip about how rough his human hair was, but failed to draw in the necessary breath without instead coming out with a breathless gasp that surprised her.

There was a heat rising in Cerce’s belly that she at first couldn’t describe. Somewhere straddling the line between pleasure and pain, it burned and rose as Adam licked at her. She gave a hiss and then a cry, and the pressure of Adam’s body between her thighs felt so perfect.

Finally, when the heat had risen so much she felt she’d simply burst, Cerce thrust her legs out and kicked Adam away.

He looked up at her in surprise, his face wet with her, and she glared back at him. She licked her tongue across her lips, and promptly reached out to push him over onto his back. He hit the ground hard, and immediately Cerce was over him, her hands holding him down.

Her breathing was hard, but slowly steadying. Cerce’s blue eyes bore down into Adam’s, and her fangs were visible at the corners of her lips.

“I like to be in charge,” Cerce whispered.

Adam could only nod, suddenly and in surprise, as Cerce leaned forward to kiss him hard on the neck.

Adam’s body was lean and firm from years on the road, on the waves, fighting and fucking and everything else Cerce was suddenly imagining. His arms were slender, but wiry, and she felt the muscles move in his sides as she struggled under her.

Cerce felt a sudden thrill from the feeling of him struggling beneath her, the touch of his naked, pale flesh. She darted forward and bit him sharply on the chest, eliciting a yelp of pain. His nipples were small and pink and clearly sensitive, and she drew her tongue across each one in turn.

Darting back, Cerce drew her claws down Adam’s sides, sliding her body down until she found herself nestled down between his thighs. Her claws rested on his shapely hips and his naked cock standing up in her face. She took the time to admire it.

Like a posturing peacock, it had puffed itself up in size significantly since earlier, no doubt to try and impress her. Standing bolt upright, it bobbed side to side as Adam struggled.

It was straight as an arrow, nice and thick around and longer than Cerce might have expected of a slender figure like Adam. Cerce wrapped the shaft in her fist and slid down the soft skin, revealing Adam’s helmet as delicately as she’d unsheathe a blade. It was big, the flesh of it shiny and smooth, and Cerce bit her lip expectantly as she eyed the thing, feeling Adam’s pulse through the throbbing of the shaft gripped in her hand.

She leaned forward and put it to her lips, kissing softly at the head. She let her lips rest there, on the soft flesh gathered under the helmet. His pulse was easiest to feel there, and it seemed to be gaining speed. Across it, Adam’s wide green eyes met hers as she stared up over his bare body.

“Cerce I…” he began.

“Shhh….” Cerce hissed, pursing her lips hard against his cock and making Adam shudder. She ran a long back claw down his naked chest, turning it with a playful twist.

“You know… asking whether I was poisonous… Don’t you think you should be more worried I’m venomous?” she asked.

As Adam opened his mouth to answer, and Cerce bit at his cock. Just a tiny nip to the thickness of his shaft, but enough to elicit a gasp of surprise and a wide smile from him. She nibbled again, teasing him, slowly up the length of him, before she arrived poised neatly over it.

She glanced up, holding him still and silent in a cold stare, before her head darted forward to swallow the length of his cock. From Adam’s mouth came nothing but a gasp, and Cerce began sucking the length of him with long, firm bobs of her head.

Watching as Cerce effortlessly swallowed his cock and continued sucking hard at it, Adam moaned. Her white hair spilled over his body as her head bobbed faster and faster, and he gripped at the hand that clawed at his chest.

He reached to push the hair from Cerce’s face, and the white locks fell out of place to reveal her wide blue eyes staring back at him, her long red tongue extended to lick up the length of his shaft in one long lash. His cock was throbbing and he felt his blood pumping, her warm mouth kissing at him as she took slow and deep breaths.

“Cerce I… I can’t take much more...” he gasped.

“Shut up,” she hissed, and immediately leaned forward to suck at his throbbing head again.

Feeling his weight shift and struggle beneath her, Cerce began to moan softly as she sucked on him, the warmth of his length in her mouth and the blood thundering in her veins. She realized Adam was moaning too, and his back arching, his hand grabbing for a lock of her hair… he let out a gasp.

Warmth flooded her mouth, and Cerce sat back, watching as Adam’s whole body bucked.

He moaned her name as a thick line of semen shot from his cock, spraying across her fingers, then another, harder than the first, sprayed up across her tits. Cerce watched, curious, as he came, her hand stroking at him until the head finished pulsing.

Cerce’s face was flush and warmed, and she made sure Adam saw the thick liquid glistening on her extended tongue for a moment. With a coy smile she closed her mouth, her tongue darting out and across to clean her lips. Adam watched the muscles of her throat convulse as she swallowed.

He fought to raise himself up to rest on his elbows, looking at Cerce who was staring back at him with hungry eyes.

“Hm… if you humans almost die every time someone plays with you no wonder you’re all so anxious all the time.”

Adam gave a helpless shrug and tried to speak, taking in a breath to steady himself.

“Yeah, it’s… it’s definitely a weakness.”

He looked at Cerce, she was sitting back, palms to the floor, her long legs stretched out and sweat beading on her brow from her aggressive display. He could see gooseflesh dappling the skin of her breasts. Her long hair, as well as the fur of her crotch, was ruffling in the brisk breeze. With a wicked smile, Cerce neatly placed a hand to her lower stomach, and let her black claws roam lower, toying with herself.

“You’ve talked about fucking me for years, you’re not giving up already?”

Adam coughed and couldn’t help but laugh. His cock, lying against his thigh and aching from the power of his orgasm, was still thick and partially erect from the sight of her alone, and he took it up in his hand, beginning to stroke it, matching the subtle movements of Cerce’s fingertips on her cunt.

“You know how our sparring usually goes. We always break for a drink before the second round.”

Cerce fingers danced, the black nails deftly sliding across the curves between her legs, and she raised one knee and allowed it to fall aside, opening Adam’s view of her even more. Cerce’s tongue touched at her teeth and across her lip as she watched his cock slowly regain its length, the head rising and bulging up larger once more.

“Bounces back fast…” she said. Adam gave a shrug of his shoulders, his eyes falling down to stare at Cerce’s tits, the green flesh beaded with sweat, and then further, watching her nails expertly toy with her cunt.

Slowly, Adam rose. His erect cock stood straight out, pointing at Cerce, and he took a step towards her. She looked up at him, at his pale flesh bright in the firelight, and her hands fall back to raise her to her elbows. Cerce’s legs remained parted, and Adam stared down at the revealed nudity of her.

“You sure I didn’t die back there? Head smashed on some rock, and somewhere you’re bawling at a funeral, bemoaning all those wasted years, hiding your true love?”

Cerce gave a snorting laugh, smiling at him.

“I suck your cock once and suddenly it’s true love all along is it?”

Adam dropped to his knees, leaning over her.

“Oh yeah, I can tell these things. You’ll have to trust me.”

He nudged her knees aside, slipping between them as he came closer. Cerce looked down, seeing the head of his cock waving an inch from her gleaming cunt and feeling a rise of excitement and anticipation.

“I trust you at my side in any fight, you bawdy bastard. Better than anyone. I trust you to hold a sword half decent, suppose it only makes sense I trust you to wield that thing half as good as that.”

Adam leaned in then, suddenly. His lips meetings Cerce’s fully and with force. She thrust forward, her breasts pushed against his chest, her claws pulling at his sides. Adam was a delicate, soft kisser. His tongue moved quickly and deftly, Cerce’s own for just a moment before retreating, and his lips kissing firmer. Cerce was the opposite, a hard and forceful kisser, clumsy with inexperience but eager to please. Her teeth brushed against Adam’s lips as she tilted her head to one side to kiss him even deeper, her tongue lashing across his lips and into his mouth. She felt the tip of his cock so close, its firmness pressing the flesh where her thigh met her groin. She reached to nudge it aside, the throbbing organ now pressing against her opening.

Adam pulled back, and she looked at the wetness of his lips and the redness of his cheeks.

“Are you ready?” he asked, breathless from the depth of their kiss.

Cerce smiled, and her lips began to form the words his heart beat hard to hear.

Fuck me.

-

There was a vibration in the ground beneath them, and Adam saw Cerce’s eyes widen before he could think to question what it was.

“Fuck me!” Cerce shrieked, and twisted her hips to throw Adam aside, tossing him clear of her body far enough that Herakk’s axe came down a moment too late, and buried inches into the ground beneath the two naked figures.

The burly Orc tugged her weapon free with a pull of her muscular arm, and roared down at Cerce.

“Two hours it took me to climb down here! Two hours, and I find you rutting, in the dirt, like animals?!”

The mercenary’s trademark red face-paint was bright across her gray skin in the firelight. Herakk had typically noble Orc features, deep set eyes above a broad nose and a jutting jaw filled with large teeth artificially filed into fangs. Her scalp was almost hairless, but for a tight single braid wound with red leather that fell down her back, almost to her behind.

Cerce immediately twisted her body and launched a kick up at Herakk’s side, which harmlessly struck the heavy fur-lined red leather armour the Orc wore. Cerce gave a cry of panic as once more Herakk brought her axe slicing down, and Cerce darted forward between her legs, clambering to escape.

Adam flipped to his feet, his body held loose and turned to the side in his practiced stance.

“Cerce, my sword?” Adam hissed. On the other side of the powerful armour-clad woman, Adam saw the naked form of Cerce spread her arms helplessly and gesture towards the falls. Adam sighed deeply.

Taking a step towards the thief, Herakk’s cruel lips twisted into a playful smile, and she gestured with a shake of her axe at Adam’s still erect cock.

“That’s more impressive than that poxy little pointy thing you were trying to take a stab at me with earlier anyway,” the Orc snarled. Her heavily accented voice was husky and vicious, and she continued to luridly gaze Adam over.
“Not half bad for a human, for what it’s worth. Nice bit of meat like you, could do better than her anyway,” Herakk gestured over to where Cerce stood, bare naked and staring the Orc down. Cerce seemed smaller to the Orc than she had previously stood, the terrifying figure of the Stormbringer, the storied warrior. Herakk had actually been anxious about the battle earlier, but now the green fleshed woman seemed little, even frail.

“You on the other hand…” Herakk said, spinning her body to fully face the Nadyr, “...are a little less than I expected somehow, Stormbringer. Always figured you’d be a bit buffer, bigger tits maybe, and that bush! What a state!”

Herakk gave a choking giggle, a harsh sound from a rough throat used to yelling war cries, and slapped a gloved hand down heartily on her thigh to enhance the impact of the insult.

Cerce came in like a shot, her naked form darting forward and striking up with a closed fist at the Orc’s jaw.

Herakk was fast, jerking her head back, and then forward into a full force headbutt that Cerce twisted to take on the shoulder instead of in the face. The Nadyr snarled and spun, bringing a knee up high, and Herakk slapped it aside with a swipe of her elbow.

The hulking leather-clad form of Herakk and the glistening green bare flesh of Cerce traded blows in the darkness. Cerce’s fists and knees flew, but the Orc was faster than her great frame suggested she was, and she checked strikes with an instinctive flair for battle.

Cerce ducked a jab from the Orc’s off hand, before sliding under a wide swipe of the axe and bringing up her fist to crunch into her opponents jaw. Herakk grunted in pain as a fanged tooth chipped off, and promptly reached to snatch Cerce by a handful of white hair and draw her close.

Pulling the Nadur close, Herakk hissed into her face, blood dribbling down her lip, before she suddenly jerked forward as Adam barreled into her from behind, his driving a foot into the back of her knee and dropping her forward in a wide armed flail that freed Cerce from her grip. Cerce used the chance she had and leapt towards the camp.

Adam struggled to hold the powerful form of Herakk in a headlock, but in second she was fighting back to her feet, her hands grabbing at Adam’s arms and twisting them painfully out of their grip.

“I was gonna go easy on you, cutie,” Herakk whispered, pulling Adam up to meet her gaze, his bare feet dangling as the Orc lifted him by the throat. Adam gave a shrug as he struggled, and his gaze darted just for a moment over the Orc’s shoulder.

Herakk’s eyes darted just in time to see the flash of metal as the flat of Cerce’s halberd slapped her in the side of the head.

Herakk tumbled to the ground like a crashing suit of armour. Adam and Cerce were left standing in the firelight, breathing hard, bruised, and laughing.

-

Cerce gave a tug on the furry collar, and pulled the leather cuirass tighter around herself, it was a little loose around the chest, to be sure.

Heavy leather leggings slapped at her thighs and the boots were good too. Sturdy, if stinking.

Up ahead, the completely naked Orc mercenary gave another roar of anger, and struggled against her makeshift manacles.

"This insult won't stand Stormbringer! The fury of clan Therakka will come for you like an avalanche! I'll personally see that you get spit roasted on a..." Herakk mumbled into the garment that Adam stuffed into her mouth, and he gave the Orc a shove forward. Her hairless body was a muscular work of art, stone grey skin crisscrossed with pale scars and decorated with multiple tattoos in curling Orcish script.

"Yeah, we got the drift of it already, cutie," said Adam, his clothes mostly dry and a little crumpled, damp soles of his boots squeaking uncomfortably as he strode behind the Orc, "It's a long walk back to Tinangels, best conserve energy."

Cerce gave a smile, watching the bare form of the Orc tread on ahead.
"You know I'd say quite the opposite of your earlier unpleasant choices of words, Herakk," Cerce purred, "Quite the body you keep under all that armour. Must all that time on the road huh? Hard life of a mercenary does wonders for the behind, clearly."

Herakk roared into her gag and threw a murderous glare over her bare shoulder. Cerce spun her halberd to rest it balanced neatly over her shoulders as she walked.

"Ah, don't worry. I'm sure the watch there will find a nice shift or something for you to put on. Wouldn't be proper to hang you stark naked after all, the gallows is right near the market."

Adam whistled, "Public execution always brightens up a dreary weekend but God forbid anyone sees a bare pair of tits eh?"

"The world's a strange place my friend," Cerce smirked, "You can do violence all day but a little bit of sex... everyone'll be surprised.

She's a Rainbow

Koshka sighed, it had been a while since she'd thought of him. 

Really thought of him, anyway. Everyday, somewhere at the back of her mind she guessed she must think of him. But calling to mind his face, his voice. It was pleasant to be lost in memory.

"Go on girl, continue, please," encouraged Treave across the room. His little face peered out from around the canvas, his nose preceding the rest of him by some way, before he added, "but keep your chin up, no moving now!"

Koshka gave a cough and reclaimed her proper pose, her face tilted away to expose her neck and shoulders, staring up towards the corner of the tiny studio. Her arm was draped across her reclining body languidly, one knee coyly raised. 

"Well... I don't know what to say about him really. I suppose he was kind. Charming even," the ghost of a smile lit her lips, her fangs showing at the corners of her mouth, "Plenty of them are, of course. But him... he was different. You believe in love at first sight?"

Treave gave a theatrical sigh from behind his easel, and without leaning to look at Koshka to respond, "My dear I am an artist. A thousand times a day I fall in love with a sight." 

"Well then... you understand."

"Well go on then, tell the rest of the story," he said. Behind the easel Koshka could only see the feet of the diminutive artist balanced on his stool, and she heard the rattle of one brush being placed in the water pot and another retrieved.

"I spend a lot of time thinking... where was he from? Because he told me, I know he did. He lay there with me afterwards and he told me all sorts of things. What he'd seen on his travels, how beautiful Waterdeep was from the sea. That there was so much else to see out there. And he told me where he was from but... I just can't for the life of me remember."

"What do you remember?" came the calm and inquisitive voice of the gnome, and Koshka giggled.

"I remember his hair. It was black, and curly, I curled it around my fingers as he lay there. And his eyes, they were brown. Deep and dark and he looked right into you when he talked to you. I remember the exact size and shape of his... well, you get the idea. I remember so much, but not where he came from."

"And what happened?" 

Koshka chewed on her lip before she continued the story. It was so quiet in the room, the scratching of the brush on canvas. Dimly from outside the rom, the heartbeat bustle of Waterdeep noon could be heard.

"Well, I was laying there, on my bed, watching him dress. That nice sailors shirt, strapping on his belt, shiny silver bosuns whistle dangling from it. He came and pulled the covers back and looked at me, and said that I should come with him. Leave for adventure, on his boat."

Koshka studied the knots and whorls in the old wood boards in the ceiling, the tip of her tail fought the urge to twitch.

"So many say that, of course. 'Come with me! I'll leave the wife!' or 'Run away with me, I'll take you away from all this!'" Koshka smiled ruefully, and her white eyebrows tilted ever so slightly apart, "so I just laughed and said next time. He was still smiling at me when he left, and said he wished I'd change my mind. And I just lay there and thought for a while."

Koshka heard the cry of a merchant somewhere outside, the clack of boots in the streets. The creak of a cart going down the lane. 

"I dressed so fast I forgot to button my shirt properly. I remember running, through the alley down towards the dock. Knocked over old blind Albert who sells the shells at the corner by the fish market, I was running so fast."

Koshka listened to the slow brush strokes from behind the canvas for a moment, then:

"When I finally got to the right berth, it was empty. I watched it then, parting waves not too far out the harbour. Big ship it was, all deep dark wood, blazing white sails, a lion on them. The name he told me, The Bride of Brythony, on the back all in pretty gold letters. Up on the front, the figurehead was an Angel, wings and everything."

Koshka tail gave a flick, her attention returning slowly to the room around her. The smell of paint, her own heartbeat.

"I watched that ship until it was a dot on the horizon, and then until it was nothing. I never found out where it went, and it never came back to Waterdeep again. I... suppose I think about what might have happened if I'd been on it, quite a lot."

There was quiet in the room, and Koshka flicked her eyes aside to see Treave smiling at her. 

"Thankyou, dear girl. I always find it calms my models to chat, take their mind somewhere else."

As the gnome approached, Koshka raised one shapely eyebrow.

"Done so soon?" 

Treave gave a shrug.

"Not just yet, but in a foolish mistake I should have foreseen, I did run out of red paint. You're vibrant, you know."

"I've been told. Naturally catches the eye," Koshka said, rising from the low chaise lounge and its many pillows, and stretching. Treave looked up at the Tiefling and removed his tiny spectacles to clean them on his smock. 

"I do understand though, my girl," he said as Koshka bent over to begin retrieving her clothes, "Sometimes you only get one chance to capture something. I try my hardest to." 

He gestured his little arms around him. Although Treave was by far best known for his many portraits of the women of the realms relieved of the burden of any clothing, in between were curious sights captured in his colours. The light on wet cobblestones, gleaming fruit on market stalls, flapping sails at dawn. 

"There's many beautiful things in the city, Koshka," Treave said as he replaced his newly cleaned glasses, "It's a blessing when one of them lingers for more than just a moment."

Koshka smiled playfully down at the tiny figure, and placed her hands on her hips.

"You can't flatter yourself out of the models wages, by the way, little man." she said.

"Wouldn't dream of it, my dear."

Eighty-Seven Petals

The rain began to come down in the last day before Ness finally left the mountains behind, crossing the border into the forest edges. It was blissful on Ness' skin. The morning sun was still heavy behind her as she walked, her eyes watching the flats for any sign. It had been days since she'd seen the tracks in the dirt left behind by her quarry, but Ness had followed it this far, and knew it must have followed the same mountain pass. The rain would wipe her own light tracks clean, but the heavy hoof marks left when her quarry touched the ground were deep and unmistakable. 

Ness felt the relief of the softness beneath her feet as the rocky grounds finally gave way to at first sparse, but soon dense, grass. The seemingly endless stone walls and cliff edges of her journey had brought with them an oppressive weight to her search, and as she felt the grass between her toes for the first time in so long, Ness found herself dropping to her knees. She felt the rich dirt under her fingernails, breathed in the heady smell of fresh dew, and let her wide eyes gaze over the lush world in front of her, taking it all in again. 

For weeks in the mountains, stony grounds had hurt her feet and merciless suns had chapped at her naked flesh, but just the sight of the rich greenery of the forest ahead washed the aches away like a cool river, promising relief. Ness took in a deep breath, smelled the grass and the light scene of the little white flowers that peeked out from between the undergrowth, and rose to her feet once more. She wanted nothing more than to throw off her heavy satchel and roll in the grass, play with the birds, chase the bees that clumsily bumbled about the blooms, but she didn't have any time. Every moment she hesitated, she could be losing time. It had been a while since she had consulted the flame, and she was worried that she'd lost ground since then. 

The straps of her satchel pulled at Ness' tired shoulders, the bare skin rough where the heavy thing had hung about them for so long. She gave the worn straps a tug and pulled the satchel higher on her back. It was her burden to bear. She shook her head every so slightly, just to feel the reassuring weight of the jewel clipped in her hair, its red feathers waving, before she strode on. 

The forest was so thick by midday that the sun was hidden by the heavy foliage above. It came to dapple across the mossy forest floor, where Ness had stopped to drop into a little stream. Just for a moment, she told herself, just one moment of peace. Her satchel placed safely to the shore, Ness let the quietly warbling stream wash her free of the mountain dust. Her green skin shone in the rays of light from above. So long apart from home, the luminosity of Ness' skin had faded. She could barely even see the glow of her flesh in the night anymore. It made her sad, Ness felt like a part of her was fading away with it. She told herself, once again, that when all this was done, when she finally finished her quest, that she would be able to return home, and her flesh would gleam the moonlight shine of her folk again. 

As she stood beside the stream, letting the water run down off her body, Ness looked down at her marks. Purple against the green of her flesh, she let her fingertips trace a few. She didn't need to count, she knew there were eighty-six of the delicate petals marked onto her body. Dropping to a crouch, she opened the satchel. Her eyes searched the forest around her for movement as her fingers searched the pockets within. Every little flicker of movement in the dense undergrowth Ness noticed, the slow movement of a ladybird that made its lazy way up a vine nearby, the flicker of light on butterfly wings as a glorious blue specimen lighted onto a flower. Ness' fingers brushed the little orb, smooth surface cold among the other cluttered contents of the satchel, and found purchase on a tiny parcel wrapped in leaves. It was the last one she had left, but wouldn't keep much longer. 

Her fingertips teased aside the leaf and Ness chewed on the revealed morsel of honeybread quietly. The tips of her long pointed ears twitched, and her eyes darted across to where the rustle of noise had come from. Barely audible, the little deer had appeared across the way, drawn to the water. Its wide eyes stared at Ness for a moment, so still as she was, naked against the green of the forest, she was barely noticeable if it weren't for the delicate shine of her only garment, the gold bracers. The eyes of the deer met her own, and Ness smiled warmly. The creatures of the forest knew the folk and soon the deer relaxed, approaching the river to drink at her side. 

Ness crumbled the last corner of her bread onto a stone by the riverside as she rose to leave. Sliding the heavy satchel onto her back, she gave the deer a stroke as it came to nibble at the crumbs. Lighter on her feet than even the deer, Ness continued into the forest, telling her direction by the moss upon the trees. 

Ness had found the hoofprint at nightfall, not far from where she'd found the fallen bird. She knelt by it to look, and saw that it bore the usual marks. Neck broken suddenly and cruelly, drained not just of blood but of soul. The little body was cold, but the ground around it was freshly disturbed, flowers crushed. It hadn't been long. Ness stood, and darted forward through the green vines that draped from above. She felt the weight of the jewel bobbing in her hair as she ran, her bare feet padding the forest floor swiftly and soundlessly. Light was fading, and Ness' eyes fought to see the signs she searched for. 

The rain that had been so blissful before had obscured the way, and Ness crouched in the forest, her fingers desperately searching for marks. So close, she was so close and now she had lost it. She bit her lip. There was nothing else for it, she couldn't let it gain ground again, not after so long. She found shelter beneath a great fern looming over the forest floor, and knelt there in the darkness. From the bracer strapped to her forearm she pulled the little stick of incense. It had been so long at first, and had burned gloriously, it's blazing light so full of secrets and truths and clarity. Ness blew upon the blackened tip, and with a deep green glow, the little stick flared to life. 

The flame pulsed, glowing and rearing, not much larger than Ness' head as she held it, and the tiny figure that stretched out within the flame stared back at Ness, her eyes pleading. 

"Child...I have not much time left," the little figure said, her voice a hushed whisper. Once, the figure had stood seven feet tall, and her voice had boomed, echoing in the hills, her fire a blaze in the night.

"I'm so close, it's here, I have to stop it here, can you light the way?" Ness whispered to the figure in the flame. It seemed to flare smaller even as she watched. 

"Go child...run!" the figure hissed, and the flames flared up once more, before extinguishing in a flash that made Ness cover her eyes. For a moment, she was terrified that she'd burned it too long, before the forest floor beneath her lit with a burst of green fire, streaking off into the darkness of the glade at incredible speed. The fire lurched, seeming no to harm the grass all around it, and lit the way. Ness replaced the incense stick in her bracer, shorter now as it was after every time, and fumbled with the satchel, snatching the orb as quick as she could. Gripping the cool surface of it in her hand, Ness darted off to follow the flames. 

When the flames burned out it was all at once, dropping the forest into darkness in the blink of an eye. Ness came to a halt, her breath tight in her chest, her eyes darting, and her hands held still. For a moment there was nothing, the forest was empty of life, no insects chirped, no awakened birds flapped, there was only the sound of Ness breathing. She held it, let the silence cover her. Snatching the jewel from the clasp in her hair, she held it aside her head, close to her eye, staring into it as she slowly turned.

The red surface of the jewel reflected the forest so keenly it was uncanny, a perfect mirror reflection clearer than reality itself. Ness watched carefully, seeing her own face and the forest around her, seeking anything that wasn't visible to the naked eye. The slightest movement, the tiniest rustle of grass. 

Her ears twitched, and she turned towards the sound. There was nothing there to regular vision, but glancing back into the reflection of the jewelsight betrayed the huge form of the Nuckelavee as it surged towards her out of the blackness of the night. Ness fought the urge to scream as the beast barreled down upon her, gigantic limbs thrashing, glistening skinless flesh reflecting in the jewel. With her other hand, Ness raised the orb and flung it. 

The orb struck the beast in the forehead with unerring accuracy. There was a flash of light in the jewel, so bright it almost bled through into the real world, and the beast was gone. Ness realized she was still holding her breath, and let it go with a whoosh. 

The orb lay upon the forest floor, steaming as rain began to fall upon it. Ness hesitated to pick it up, anticipating the pain. This had been a bigger one than before, faster, seething with hate. Steeling herself, Ness reached out.

The pain was unbearable. All the hatred and anger and rage the Nuckelavee held, Ness felt it all. The resentment for all life, the unbearable hunger, Ness took it all within herself. She felt the mark burning itself onto her flesh. One more petal opening, blossoming on her body. Suddenly, it was over, she sighed. It was her burden. 

The rain came down in full then, soaking the forest. Ness stood in silence. Naked, and once more alone. Ness placed the orb back into the satchel. Its weight on her shoulders both tiring and reassuring. Delicately, she clipped the feathered jewel back into her hair, its weight further adding to the sense of security, of purpose. 

There was the briefest flicker in the ground at her feet, the last remnants of her guide. The fires flicked, directing her to look west. So it was then. Ness knew she had no time to rest. Her next quarry could be gaining ground even now. She began to walk. 

Ness did not need to count the petals on her body. She knew there were eighty-seven now. That meant there was only twelve more to go. 

-

Inspired by the Art of Tess Fowler. 

Give the People what they Want

The Yawning Portal was silent for a moment. 

Koshka's eyes darted, her breath caught in her throat, and for that moment it seemed she'd frozen.

Her clothes were a step and a half to her right, her instrument and the garter belt with her knife on it were two steps further, sitting on the bar. Koshka exhaled and realized there was going to have to be nothing else for it.

Barefoot and wearing nothing but her silken underthings, she shot from the chair and darted to her left, towards where she knew one of several exits from the Yawning Portal opened out onto the street. 

Tormyr gave a roar of frustration and, gesturing quickly to his men to take other exits, launched himself after her. Durnan didn't move, but made no mention to Tormyr's men that one of them was sprinting towards a locked and bolted door. 

Hearing the clatter and curse in the hall behind her as Tormyr found the mop bucket with his foot, Koshka slammed both palms into the heavy wooden door and fell out into the wet streets of pre-dawn Waterdeep. The sky was nothing but boiling black rainclouds, and rain spit down upon the cobbled streets as she leapt to her feet and darted towards the nearest alley. 

She was only a few steps away when she heard the door crash open once more, and the sound of heavy footfalls slamming the street in pursuit. 

Always faster than you expect, Dwarves. 

"I'm not gonna hurt you!" Tormyr yelled, and Koshka dared a glance over her shoulder to see eyes blazing with anger and an axe gripped tightly in a hand pumping as the Dwarf ran that she found didn't make the promise entirely encouraging.

Her head snapped back in time to see a fishmonger blearily rolling a wheelbarrow out a door for morning sales, hand half raised towards a yawning mouth, who suddenly jerked to a stop at the sight of a swiftly approaching amount of naked red flesh.

Giving a yelp of shock and stumbling back over his own doorstep, the man watched as Koshka vaulted the wheelbarrow and hit the street lightly, bare feet patting the stone. He was still staring after her when the Dwarf smashed full force into the wheelbarrow, sending it and a day's worth of herring flying across the alleyway with an almighty crash as the Dwarf barely slowed his pursuit.

Koshka turned a hard corner into the street, leaping across an empty market stall, folded up for the night, and picking up speed as she crossed into the tiny cobbled side streets towards the western dock ward. From the far side of the street she heard another commotion, and one of Tormyr's black clad men burst from the other side of the street, shoving a street urchin to the floor in his stride. Glancing quickly about himself, he caught sight of the Tiefling, and surged forward with a speed that startled Koshka. 

There was a brief yell of exchanged information from her pursuers, but Koshka didn't catch the gist of it as she darted down the side street and under the swinging night streetlamps. Had it been earlier in the morning, she might have found better luck with shadowy streets, a darkened corner to hide in, but candles were beginning to burn in the windows of the Waterdeep working class homes, chimneys beginnings to belch smoke, and the bustle of the long work day ahead was already rousing to life. 

Counting the small and crowded buildings as she passed, she hit the one she was looking for, and took a sharp right into the tiny alley between two houses. The normally high wall behind them was cracked and broken down here, and Koshka knew a old discarded chicken coop that would take her weight nicely. As she had a half dozen times before when fleeing a city watchmen, a debt collector or an over-zealous paramour, Koshka leapt to plant both feet on the rotten old wooden coop, and launched herself up to snatch a handhold atop the high wall. 

Tormyr came around the corner as she gained the top of the wall, and Koshka sent a darting glance back at him before she slipped from it. Tormyr roared in frustration once more, jabbing a finger indicating for his man to follow as he doubled back for another path.

Koshka hadn't looked what was on the other side, and as it turns out, the neighboring house had been slacking with the yard upkeep. She fell hard into the rosebush with a yelp of pain, and extracted herself with all the speed and decorum possible. Covered in tiny scratches and with her white hair filled with broken twigs and rose petals, Koshka sent a quiet whisper of thanks to the Gods she could name that somehow the thorns hadn't snagged on a garment and torn the underwear from her body entirely.

Stumbling across the small yard towards the street beyond, Koshka let out a shriek of pain as her bare foot came down hard on the edge of a broken brick, and followed up the shriek with an aggressive taking back of her prayer at the sky above. 

With a creak, Tormyr's man gained the top of the broken wall, and with the far more efficient balanced landing of a clothed body and well shod foot, jumped the rose bush and crossed the garden in a neat roll to follow the limping Tiefling in another alley. 

The wet streets were seeming less like her usual escape route and more like a wetly gleaming tomb as Koshka tried to gain speed again, the shadow of the leather clad man swiftly approaching and the crash of Tormyr coming around the far end of the alley. The scarlet trail left by her cut foot was bright in the yellow light from a nearby lantern, slowly washed away by the rain as she ran, and Koshka snarled another curse into the streets. 

Born in them, she should have expected she'd bloody die in them.

Looking above her, Koshka saw row upon row of hanging fabrics, the dingy overhang of this pathetic corner of the Dock Ward's market. Koshka had stolen misshaped fruit and dodgy meat from this corner of Waterdeep since she was a child. As she made the move to the dead end street she knew was coming, she had a grin on her face. She'd had her first kiss under one of the little stalls here, one dreary winter afternoon, an awkward snog with the baker's son in exchange for a hot cross bun, until they'd been caught by the boys dad and he'd chased her down the street. Damn good bun that had been, worth it. 

"Stop her!" Koshka heard Tormyr bellow, and Koshka heard the lurch of the spell before she even registered the strange words intoned by the leather clad man. 

The spear of fire soared overheard, lancing through the wet night and spreading fire with it to the overhanging drapery. The flaming materials dropped to the street before her, a wall of fire that seemed for a moment to obscure everything else. 

Koshka heard the thudding footsteps coming behind her, the impending crash of a body on her back, and without any further thought, she leapt through the raging fire into the alley beyond.

Tormyr swore and with a great swing of his arm, jabbed his armored elbow into the groin of his man. 

"Bloody Tieflings!" he snarled, leaving his man to groan in pain on his knees, "Do something helpful, you fool." 

Tormyr tightened his grip on his axe, and made to follow Koshka through the blaze. 

Taking his hands from his bruised balls, the leather clad man took up the sending stone from his pocket, and placed it to his mouth.

-

Koshka had decided it was time for her to reexamine her relationship with the Gods. 

Just as she leapt through the flames, her Tiefling skin feeling barely a summer's day scorch, she'd given her blissful thanks for her underwear once again somehow surviving catching alight, and had sped into the familiar alley, expecting to see the wide crack in the lower wall, that ancient old flaw that led a lithe street urchin to safety on the other side more than once, and found that after all these years, after all this time, someone had finally taken the effort to fix the crack.

Koshka was standing, arms hanging limp at her side, in the dark and dead-end alley as Tormyr stepped towards her. His face ruddy and red from the heat, his beard scorched and curling at the edges, his face lit with rage and fury. 

"Ready to stand the fuck still now are you?" he snapped, taking a step forward to stand firm. 

Koshka, wet from the rain, her silken underwear sticking to her red flesh, blood seeping from her foot, stood silently, watching the Dwarf. Trapped into the alley by the burning remnants of the market drapes, they stared at each other.

"I got to bring you to him, girl, you know I do," Tormyr said finally. The rage in his face had boiled out, and slowly his breath returned to normal.

"You don't have to, I could...slip away, right? I could've... almost did."

"Gave us the bloody run around, for sure. But I get everyone eventually," Tormyr smiled, taking one more step forward. His eyes looked up, left, then right. No escape.

"I suppose you bastards'll keep coming anyway, right?" Koshka asked, and Tormyr shrugged.

"If you weren't at the Portal, was gonna go to your place next. Yeah, I know where it is. If not there, your little boyfriend Errol, at his shop..." He let the threat hang in the air for a moment before continuing, "In the long run, it's better it ends here and now, isn't it? Life on the run isn't much fun, girl."

"Don't I know it," Koshka smiled giving him a knowing nod, "Spent my whole life running from one street to another."

Koshka took a step towards him, raising her hands together, as if to hold the Dwarf at bay. 

"Who am I, Tor?" she whispered.

The dwarf stared Koshka down, his heavy brow furrowed, grip still held steady on his axe.

"I don't even know who you are, Koshka," he said finally. Koshka, arms still raised in defense, nodded. 

"Exactly. I'm nobody. I'm a girl from the streets of Waterdeep. A half-breed, a tea-leaf, a guttersnipe. I sing in shitty bars for enough copper to eat, I fuck strangers in the trade ward for enough to pay debts. I'm nobody," Koshka said. 

She lowered her arms to her sides, slowly. Her hair was hanging heavy about her bare shoulders, twigs and leaves stuck among it's pale curls. 

"Lots of people are nobody, girl," Tormyr grunted. 

"And none of them, not one of them, could touch a man like Darrow. He's too rich, he's too strong. He's got the gold, he's got the magic, he's got the men who'll come for you and make people like me disappear. He knows that anyone who stands up to him has got to be somebody," Koshka spoke softly. Her voice was quiet, but without hesitation, without wavering, "Someone like me couldn't touch him."

"Unless he knows better," the Dwarf added. 

"And does he know better?" Koshka asked, one white eyebrow raised ever so slightly. 

The dwarf stared back at her for a long time, before finally giving the briefest shake of his head. 

"Because the only person, the only person who really knew, Darrow killed, right?" the Tiefling said, inclining her head. Tormyr looked down at his feet.

"He's got my cousin, girl," the Dwarf said, his voice low, "Standing right there, on his little desk. Trapped. Keeps him like a...like a trophy. All over a handful of gems he couldn't pay in time." 

Tormyr let the handle of his axe drop, to swing restlessly from the tips of his fingers. 

"Sometimes when I'm in there, in that room of his, I try to think how fast I'd have to be, to cut that scrawny throat of his, but no," Tormyr looked up, his brown eyes hard, "Guess I'm nobody too."

"Can't be nobody if you got friends though, yeah?" Koshka smiled, "Makes you somebody, at the least. You get your armour done in the Castle Ward right? Shop with the bad painting of the Wolf on the door?"

Tormyr frowned suspiciously, and the Tiefling gestured to his arm.

"Recognize the stitching, does it the same on everything. Old Wulf's shop. It's not actually authentic sword coast leather he uses, you know. He gets it in on the cheap off the boats from Calimshan."

Tormyr gave a curse, and muttered, "That bugger, I bloody knew it..."

Taking a step towards the Dwarf, Koshka extended a hand, her yellow eyes meeting his. 

"I may be a nobody, but this is my city. And If I ever get the chance, I'll help your cousin, and all those little toys on his desk, I promise."

Tormyr looked at the Tiefling's hand, red flesh bright in the firelight, and set his jaw in a hard line. He was opening his mouth to respond when all at once, as if it had been smothered in an instant, the fire around them went out. Without so much as a hiss to mark their passing, the flames simply flashed from existence and plunged the street into darkness. The sound of sharp heeled shoes clicking on cobblestones echoed down the alley, and Koshka's hand snapped back to her side. 

Striding swiftly towards them, his body hidden to the throat in a high collared royal blue coat bearing heavy silver buckles, was Darrow. 

He darted a look between the two, acknowledging the Tiefling's nudity with a brief frown of clear distaste. In the dim light, his tattoo leant his face a positively ghoulish appearance, as if the leering bony horror was truly staring out of the shadows waiting to pounce.

"One of your men summoned me, Tormyr, I trust he didn't waste my time," 

Tormyr looked to Koshka, her yellow eyes wide and staring silently into his, then back to Darrow.

"I'm sorry sir, we got into a scuffle in the street here. One of the boys let loose a scroll bit eager like. Lost our man in the confusion."

Darrow stared in silence, his face as if carved from some horrid stone. When Tormyr realized he wasn't going to say anything, the Dwarf continued. 

"Koshka here was helping us, she knows the streets well." 

Darrow slowly shifted his gaze to the Tiefling.

Koshka looked back at Darrow, his empty eyes staring back at her from dark circles, and gave a sigh.

"I'm sorry they dragged you all the way out here, Mr. Darrow, Sir. But I've no more information to give than I'm sure you've already heard. Tormyr knew I might know more about the Tiefling who supposedly intercepted the delivery, but it's not a girl I know. If we knew the colour of her flesh, maybe that would help narrow it down a little, there's not too many of us in Waterdeep. Still, no one I know would be so stupid as to rip you off, Sir."

Darrow stared Koshka down, his expression unchanging.

Tormy piped up, "Could be part of the thieves guild, they're all over the place."

"Skullport has seen ships from the Southern kingdoms, rumours of some shakeup from Icewind Dale." Koshka nodded.

Tormyr raised a finger as if he'd just thought of something.

"I heard the Xanathar has been stockpiling magic for war with the Zhentarim, imports could have been targeted."

"Xanathar, Zhentarim, even Thay has Wizards in the streets. I saw one at the Yawning Portal asking questions. Waterdeep is a nest of snakes, Sir. I know it better than anyone."

Darrow's mouth opened, as if to speak, and snapped shut again. One of his hands rose and, almost inadvertently, clutched at his throat, as if feeling something that might hang there under his clothing. 

"What kind of questions, child?" Darrow snapped, his voice curt. Koshka made an exasperated flourish.

"I didn't hear much, the usual I suppose, where is this, who's in charge, how do I find that. He gave old Durnan, that's the bartender over there, quite the working over. And they're never interested in anything I've got to sell, let me tell you."

Darrow's gaze was on the floor before him, his nose flared. Koshka decided to push.

"If you need eyes and ears on the street, I'm your girl. I'm everywhere. I play in all the bars, sleep in all the beds, sit at all the windows. If anyone breathes a word about something you want to know about, you won't find better in Waterdeep than me. No one pays attention," she smiled, her fangs showing at the corners of her lips, "I'm nobody."

Darrow gave a single, sharp nod, and with a tilt of his head to Tormyr, turned fully about.

"Don't waste my time again, Tormyr, tell your man I expect payment for the scroll," he said. Torymr gave Koshka a look somewhere between disbelief and respect, before Darrow turned with a jerk of his hand, pointing a finger at the Tiefling.

"And I trust you haven't forgotten, Koshka. 60 gold, you have two days remaining."

Koshka spread her hands apart,

"No sir, I'm good for it." she said. Darrow hesitated, briefly.

"...make it 55. Get yourself some clothes," he said, turning. With the cracking of his heels on the cobblestones, he was gone.

Tormyr was left standing looking after him in the street, and turned to Koshka. The Tiefling was standing tall, her ragged hair a mess, one hand upon a cocked hip. 

"You got the talk, girl. Give you that," Tormyr grunted. Koshka shrugged. 

"Everyone's got something, eh?" she said with a smirk, "Got great tits too." 

Tormyr gave a bark of a laugh,

"Aye well, if you like 'em on the skinny side," He stepped forward, and offered a hand to Koshka. The Tiefling took it.

"Thanks, Tor. I'll make it up to you," she said softly. The Dwarf nodded. 

"You make digging a debt a noble profession, girl. But I'll remember that." 

Together, they began to slow walk from the alleyway, Koshka limping ever so slightly, Tormyr's axe resting on his shoulder. 

"Get you back to the Portal eh? Warm up?" he sniffed, rubbing his nose. Koshka nodded, rubbing her wet shoulders. 

"First though, you know anyone I can steal 55 gold from before tomorrow night?" she asked.

Tormyr immediately gave a huff that sent his moustache to quivering, "Oh, loads!" 

"Good, In that case Tor, I need a favour..."

-

Epilogue - A Change in the Weather

Darrow looked up from his work to find a small, smiling face, stood just barely tall enough to peer over from other side of his desk. Even among Gnomes, Treave was particularly tiny. 

"Good day to you Mr. Darrow," the Gnome nodded, giving a little bow. In his hands he gripped a rolled package.

"And to you, Treave," Darrow said, placing his writing implement aside and folding his hands together on the desk, "Tell me, to what do I owe the pleasure? If I do find myself in need of a painting of some spread eagled Elf girl you can rest assured I'll reach out. No need to go door to door."

Treave gave another jolly bow and inclined his head even lower, chuckling at the comment, even though Darrow's emotionless face made it impossible to judge whether the man was actually joking or not.

"Glad to see that my well deserved reputation precedes me, my work hangs on the walls of Waterdeep's finest, as I'm sure you know. If an Elf maiden is not to your taste, I have had so many wonderful models sit for me, Dwarves, Aasimar, a particularly beautiful Goliath who had the most amazing..."

"Your pornography collection aside, why are you taking up my time, Treave?"

Treave gave a chirp and approached the desk, bearing higher the rolled package. Without waiting to be invited, Treave placed the package upon the desk. Darrow looked down at it, his dark eyes unchanging, and gave an almost imperceptible raise of one hairless eyebrow.  

Treave unrolled the package, and the revealed bracers gleamed silver. Darrow's eyes narrowed, and he reached partially towards them, curling his hand almost to a claw. Treave remained silent, the glint in the Gnome's eye remained as warm and humorous as ever, but there was something else there too. Shrewdness, knowingness. 

Darrow folded his hands once more, restraining the urge to reach out and take the bracers, and instead stared up at Treave.  

"Just fell into my lap, and I thought 'what luck'," Treave said.

"What do you want for them, Treave?" Darrow whispered.

The gnome clapped his tiny hands together, and Darrow watched as the Gnome's eyes darted around the room briefly. Quick glances at the wands strapped to the side of Darrow's chair arm, to the seemingly normal cloak that hung from the wall behind the desk, to the little figures that stood silent nearby.

Trave allowed his hands to fall to his side, and awarded Darrow with a beaming smile.

"No charge." 

This time Darrow's brow really rose, he remained silent, and Treave continued.

"Shall we say that, should I ever need a favor, I can count on a man of your... unique talents to assist as required?"

Darrow stared up at him for a moment longer, before he reached to roll the package up once more, and take it in his arms, cradling it. 

"Done," Darrow said. Treave gave a flamboyant bow, and spread his hands wide. 

"So wonderful to do business with you again, Mr. Darrow," he said as he turned to leave. As he strode, he stopped to look at the far wall.  

"This wall is very quiet, Mr. Darrow. Needs something to spice it up. I have a lovely painting of a Tiefling, by the way. I'll send it along, on the house."

Little Miss Queen of Darkness

The Yawning Portal saw the usual clientele of Waterdeep souls tonight as Koshka performed. Her eyes were closed, and the tall sitar was held in her hands, braced against one upright knee, folds of her skirts spread out upon the tiny corner stage. Occasionally she'd crack one dark yellow eye to observe the crowd, watching as she sang softly. 

It was an uninspiring night, and apart from a blonde-haired old Dwarf nursing his third huge tankard of sour smelling ale who actually seemed quite absorbed in the performance, there were few eyes upon the Tiefling as she played. A yawning human couple sat closely, more invested in each others eyes, three halflings sat around a table trading bawdy stories and occasionally laughing loudly. Koshka saw Durnan behind the bar, looking around the room with his eagle old eyes as always. 

It was a quiet song, low tempo, of slowly spiraling sitar strums that echoed about the room, a voice low, sad.

Naked Ruby cries
A painted alibi
She fell onto her knife
Naked Ruby cries 
All night

The blonde dwarf raised his tankard and drunkenly nodded his head slowly, as if in agreement with the lyrics. One of the halflings finished what must have been the punchline to her story and screeched with high pitched laughter. 

At the waters edge
Ruby grips the bed
She knows she's going to die
If she can't swim to the other side
Naked Ruby cries
All night

Another guffaw of laughter split the quiet song, and two brawny stevedores began exchanging noisy words concerning the proper way to tie a bowline knot. Koshka opened her eyes and found Durnan looking at her, giving her a spread of his great calloused hands and giving her the unmistakable hand gesture of 'give me something here'.

Koshka allowed the rest of her song to go unsung, trailing off the last strings of her sitar quietly. The quiet in the tavern went unnoticed, and no faces turned up to see what had happened to the music, other than one dwarf who still looked on expectantly. 

Koshka leaned to glance into the brown purse placed down in front of the stage, to see a scant handful of coppers had filled it since she began, and rolled her eyes. Nothing else for it then. 

Koshka turned to the lad who ran drums for the other bards, knowing he knew how to keep a beat when required. 

"Boy, get behind your drums here. We're gonna have a sing along," she said. The boy got up from his place and clambered behind the two large drums that sat behind Koshka. 

With a flowery wave of her skirts, Koshka stood, swinging her sitar around to balance over her shoulders. 

"Bit quiet in here tonight isn't it?!" she called out. A few faces turned towards her, a few eyebrows raised, "You all come from a funeral?"

A one-eyed old soldier in the far corner gave a snort of derision and called back, "Aye, yers if ya keep playin' that bloody dirge, half-blood."

There was a roar of laughter, Koshka cocked her hip and extended a pointed fingernail in his direction. 

"Oh we're all having a go now are we?" she asked, "Think you lads could do me better?"

There were a few shouts, mumbled retorts, at least one brief attempt to supply another cutting remark that fell short.

Koshka placed her sitar down, resting against the wall, and bending down, neatly undid the ties on her boots. 

Barefoot, the Tiefling hopped neatly onto the nearest table, causing the incumbent half-orc to snatch up his wobbling cup, and raised her hands up.

"Who knows 'Upon Returning from Icewind Dale?!'"

There was a great cheer from the assembled room. Koshka met them with smile, baring her fangs, and in a loud, melodic voice, she began.

We all set sail for Icewind Dale
The place where good ale flows
Where the maidens are fair
In the chill summer air
And they sing songs that everyone knows

Reaching behind her, Koshka gave a tug of the lace that held her bodice tight, and opened the back of it with a jerk of her shoulders.

But Gods help you if you are a human
'Cause you better learn to drink quick!
For those damn Dwarven lasses
They drink their ale in flashes
And they'll drink it all before you take a sip!

Koshka tossed her bodice in the air as the boy began a rolling sea shanty beat, and with a drunken roar, a dozen of the occupants of the bar joined in for the chorus, tankards banging on tables and suds spilling.

We've been kicked out of every pub in Icewind Dale
We've been beaten within inches of our lives
For we act like asses to those fair Elven lasses
It's a wonder any one of us survived!

Koshka leapt to the next table in the line, her bare feet landing between the laughing Halflings, unlinking her outer skirt with a whip of her hand and depositing the garment atop the head of one of the little folk. He emerged from beneath it with a laugh of support and reached up at Koshka's leg as she danced out of reach to the next table.

Well it was there I was drinking one fine mornin'
Flirting with some pretty goblin fun
When behind me there loomed such a shadow
That I fled out from my seat for to run!
Well I swear it was a mountain of muscle
That kicked my arse and threw me out the door
But 4 foot 7 was her height
And her anger gave her might
And she looked big when you're lying on the floor!

Her white shirt next to fall behind her as she skipped to another table, Koshka found the air around her seemed to glow, lights that were following her, dancing as if in time to her swinging hips, her rolling shoulders. Flicks of glowing lights flashed and glimmered around her fingertips as she deftly unlatched the buckles on her heavy second skirt and sent it falling about the heads of the singing folk at her feet. 

With only her meagre silk undergarments remaining, Koshka raised her voice, and the lights beamed with more energy still. 

Like whiskey and bitters are to moth and to flame
A more volatile mixture can't be found
For when you go a-travelling
If that bodice you're unravelling
Belongs to a Tiefling be prepared!

Her bare red flesh gleaming in the light from the hearth, Koshka leapt back upon the stage as the chorus continued to be belted out by an entire room of roaring drunks. The lights that followed Koshka were throbbing, seeming to feed off her energy, her confidence, punctuating her performance with every movement.

Her fingers twirled at her hips, Koshka deftly began unlacing the tiny silk knots that kept her remaining garments on. With a roll of her hip, about to whip the entirety of it from her body, she heard Durnan yell across the bar at her.

"For Tyr's sake Kosh, keep sumthin' on at least!" the bartender growled. There was a general groan of disappointment from the audience. 

"There goes yer bloody tip barkeep!" cried the blonde dwarf, sat staring up at Koshka by the stage, resulting in a resounding cackle of laughter. Koshka made a show of retying the knot and spread her hands wide in a great shrug of apology, her face lit with a playful smile.

When the last repetition of the rousing chorus finally died down, Koshka stood with hands on her bare hips, looking about the crowd. With a little kick of her bare foot, she kicked the purse clinking down onto a table in the middle of the room.

"Right... any requests?" 

The bar exploded into noise immediately, calls for 'Down among the Dead Men', 'Bound for south Serpentes', 'Calimshan Girls' echoing all over. When the old Dwarf quietly suggested 'Kisses in Skullport', one of Koshka's own ballads, she leaned over him to tussle his hair and make the old man blush. A good few drinks worth of silver and even a few glinting gold coins clinked heavily into the purse as more songs were suggested. Koshka gave a wink to Durnan as he slowly shook his head, returning to cleaning his glasses and wishing he'd stuck with the quiet raga. 

The strange lights continued their effervescent illumination around Koshka's deep red skin, swelling with her mood and her smiles. Later, drunks would trade stories all down the dockside about the evening, with the intensity of the strange magic display, and indeed, the state of nudity of the Tiefling performer growing ever more exaggerated with each telling.

-

Durnan was wiping down the bartop with a rag as Koshka sat nursing a drink at the far end of the long wooden bar. The last dregs of the occupancy were either helping each other leave, or snoring in corners waiting to be prodded by Durnan's broom. Not long before the first light of dawn would shine over Waterdeep. 

"Why so glum looking, Kosh?" Durnan asked. The Tiefling, lost in her thoughts, took a moment to respond. 

"Not been a great week for... I guess anything." she replied quietly, her voice hoarse from a night of loud and ever-rowdier shanties. Her clothes were in a pile on a stool beside her. 

Durnan reached over to give the purse that sat beside her a prod.

"You made 13 gold in one night, girl, usually you'd be bouncing off the  walls," he said. Koshka gave a shrug, staring into her drink. The old warrior gave a sigh, and leaned in closer to her.

"Look girl, I known you since you were knee-high to a grasshopper. I know when you're upset. If it's something I can help with, let me know. Yeah?"

Koshka put down her drink, chewing her lip. 

"I know... It's just... I gotta see Treave is all, he said he'd meet me here. Things'll be fine once he gets here."

"Well, you know what's best, I'm sure," Durnan grunted, and Koshka saw his chin rise as he looked over her shoulder, "We're closed lads, open up again for libations late morning."

"Oh this won't take up much of your time, barkeep," came the gruff brogue from behind Koshka. She felt a chill down her spine, and slowly turned. 

Behind her was a particularly broad Dwarf, an axe on his hip, flanked by two men in leathers. 

"Koshka is it?" said Tormyr, "I need a word with you."

-

'Naked Ruby' lyrics by Katiejane Garside.

Part 4