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."

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

Behind Blue Eyes

Koshka approached the little wooden door and stood quietly for a moment. The cobblestones beneath her boots were wet, and the Tiefling glanced to either side down the dark alley. Echoes from the docks could be heard dimly over the crowding buildings. Clutched against her bustier was the pouch of coin. 

Her dress was heavy with the rainfall, and water glistened on her curved horns as she took a breath to steady herself, before she knocked firmly three times on the door.

There was a moment of silence before the little window slid open with a crack that made Koshka jump, and from it gazed the large black eyes of the Half-Orc bodyguard. He was having to learn awkwardly to see through the small window, and frowned down at Koshka. 

"I'm here to see Mr Darrow," she said, hesitantly. 

The Half-Orc gave a snort, and the window slammed shut. Koshka shifted uncomfortably. Pulling at her dress and tugging her shirt from it's uncomfortable wet hold around her neck. 

Finally the door swung open, and the guard stood aside to allow her in. He was huge, and Koshka felt his gaze on her back as she stepped down the little hallway towards the office. The hallway was long and tight, and should someone stand at either end with a crossbow, Koshka was painfully aware there was nowhere to go. 

Her boots echoed noisily down the hall, and it seemed a long time until the Tiefling finally turned the corner to enter the office. It was small, the ceiling seeming to encroach on headspace, and Koshka held her hands clutched in front of herself as she waited to be addressed. 

Darrow was seated behind his desk as always. Papers and coins cluttered around. Multiple heavy scrolls were lined up in a row near him, and he appeared to be in mid-transcription when his gaze finally crawled up Koshka's body to look at her. Every time when Koshka thought she was prepared, that she was used to it, she'd look into those eyes, deep and big and blue, staring out from that awful face, and immediately feel her stomach turn.

Koshka automatically turned her eyes from his gaze, and tried to look elsewhere. Her gaze found the little statues on the corner of his desk, and the awful feeling of tension in her gut started again. Glancing at the scrolls, she didn't want to be accused of snooping, so instead she settled on looking around her at the items on the walls instead. The pictures, the paintings, the many collected items that had found their way to Darrow's office. 

"Koshka," Darrow said, his accent extending the first syllable into an unpleasant hiss, "You're wet."

Koshka tugged at her skirt uncomfortably. 

"Yes...It's raining," she said. 

Darrow's face, his true face, was as unreadable as ever, and Koshka tried again not to stare at it as the human extended a hand to gesture at her.

"You're treading water on my carpet, girl." 

Koshka stepped back onto the bare stone quickly, tutting.

"Sorry, sorry I didn't mean to..." 

"Towards me, girl, where I can see you," Darrow said. 

Koshka took a breath to steady herself, and stepped around the red carpet to stand before Darrow's desk. 

"Do you have something for me?" he said. 

Koshka suddenly remembered why she was there, and fumbled the little coin purse from her bustier. Almost dropping it, she extended it to place on the desk before her. 

Darrow's hand shot out, fast and deft as any thief. Snatching Koshka's extended hand and gripping it tight around the purse. Darrow's nails were neat and trimmed, the cuticles of his fingers red and sore looking.  

He waited in silence until Koshka raised her gaze to look into his eyes. 

Those blue eyes. It was so hard to look into them. Koshka's breath was shallow. 

Darrow was a more horrifying sight than any bodyguard he could possible employ. 

Darrow's skin, where it was visible, was a pale and pasty white. Years without sun had made his flesh like parchment, the skin around his eyes dark and sagging. Every inch of visible flesh upon the man, and Koshka could only assume, upon all the rest of his flesh currently covered by a plain and simple black shirt and breeches, was tattooed in excruciating detail of a demonic horror. As if superimposed over his own body, the demon seemed to regard Koshka as Darrow looked at her. Around his thin lips were leering, grinning fangs, tongue lolling black down his chin. Horns so elegantly designed they seemed almost to bulge from his forehead. All the way to his hands, where individual bony claws stood upon every finger, each knuckle meticulously covered. When buttons on Darrow's shirt had been loose, Koshka had seen glimpses of of bony ribcages, black against his pale flesh. 

"Little small, isn't it?" Darrow hissed, dragging Koshka from her horror, "You owe me 60 gold, Koshka."

Koshka stumbled over her words for a moment, before she found her confidence. 

"It's 25 gold, I...I had trouble this week. Things didn't go as planned."

"Yes well things rarely do if you plan poorly, don't you find?" Darrow said, without an ounce of humour. He continued to hold Koshka's hand in a surprisingly firm grip, "I find to take care of things I often have to do things myself, so that I don't have anyone else to blame. Tell me Koshka who do you have to blame, hm?" 

Koshka hesitated, "No one."

"No one? So you are squarely to blame for failing to provide what you owe? 60 gold by this week Koshka, my spells don't come cheap, you know that."

She nodded firmly.

"Yes, yes I know. I'm sorry, I'll have the rest by next time, no question."

"I have your word, girl?" Darrow said, his blue eyes narrowing. Koshka had the sensation of being crushed, her ribs tightening, her breath short. For one awful moment, as she stared at his face, she had the sudden impression of one curving tattooed bone twitching, ever so slightly.

"You have my word, you'll be paid in full."

"Trust is all we have in this business, Koshka. I don't have to warn you what happens when someone fails to honor an agreement with me, do I?" 

Koshka's gaze fell to the little statues upon the desk. Each one so real looking, so detailed. Almost impossibly so, like they'd start moving any moment. One, a dwarf, looked like he was in the process of beginning to swing a weapon, beard flailing, the tiny face twisted in rage. The newest one there was a woman, dark skinned, naked, long curling braids about her shoulders, an expression of shock on her face and one hand raised as if to defend herself. Koshka recognized the woman from the Yawning Portal, a known thief. 

"Yes, I know," she said. Darrow allowed her hand free, with a deft turn of his fingers, he slipped the purse loose and, without looking into it, placed it into a drawer behind his desk. 

"You have until three moons from now, or I'm making space on my desk." 

Koshka gave a nod, and was about to turn to leave when Darrow's head tilted to one side, clearly listening. His face twisted, briefly, into a scowl, before his usual unconcerned demeanor returned. 

"He doesn't have it?" Darrow suddenly snapped, responding to a conversation only he could hear.

Darrow spread his hands flat on the table, his face suddenly a mask of concern, "Hold him there until...No, send him back here, both of them. Now." 

Koshka made to leave, but Darrow's voice snapped sharply, he was pointing to the corner of the office room.

"You. Stand there. Face the wall. Silence. Understand?" 

Koshka hesitated, and Darrow raised his voice a small but noticeable amount. 

"Now."

Koshka stepped to the corner, staring in confusion at a coatrack as she head hurried footsteps coming down the little hallway. She heard Darrow whisper under his breath. 

An odd feeling came over her, a strange, cooling sensation her entire body over. In shock, she realized she couldn't see her own eyelids when she blinked. She had become invisible. 

Koshka stood, silent and invisible, in the corner of the office, as two figures entered the tiny room with a commotion.

"Darrow, Darrow mate I'm so sorry I don't know how it happened but there was a problem with the trade off, they're all gone," came the gruff and panicked voice from the newcomer. From the height the voice came from behind her, Koshka could tell it was a Dwarf. 

"You lost the satchel," Darrow said, his voice like ice. 

The Dwarf stuttered, and another voice began. Koshka's breath burned in her throat, and her eyes widened in shock and recognition. 

"There was a miscommunication, at the tradeoff, Mr Darrow, sir." the voice said. The same voice Koshka had heard whispering sweet things into her ear a night before, "I think, I think someone knew about the meet."

"And you, a professional courier, gave my package to the wrong person." Darrow asked.

There was a huff of breath, and Koshka could picture Finn's trademark shrug and careless rolled eyes.

"Professional hazard, always. I'm sure it can be found, after all, I remember everything I..."

Darrow cut him off by slamming his open palm on the desk with a slam that made everyone in the room jump.

"You allowed yourself to be tricked. To be fooled. To be taken for an idiot. To have MY PROPERTY STOLEN FROM YOU," Darrow's voice boomed, raised to an echoing yell. 

There was silence for a moment, held breaths. 

"I do so love having someone to blame, don't you?" Darrow said, coldly. 

"Mr Darrow, surely we can..." the Dwarf began. Koshka's eyes hurt suddenly, and sickly green light filled the room. There was a moment of horrible screaming, and then nothing. Koshka stared into the corner in terror, waiting.

"You'll find my satchel by the end of the week, is that clear, Tormyr?" 

"Yes Mr Darrow, yes sir, you have my word, all the best on it already." 

"Go." 

There was movement, the shuffle of a single pair of feet down the hallway. Silence.

Koshka felt herself return to normal, the feeling of chill replaced by the sudden awareness of being visible again, and the unexpected feeling of vulnerability it caused. 

Darrow was seated behind his desk, hands spread. There was no one else in the room. 

"Three moons, girl. Clear?"

"Yes...Mr Darrow... sir," Koshka whispered, breathlessly.

Darrow gestured at the door, and Koshka left. 

Heart hammering in her chest, Koshka strode down the hallway and stood before the bodyguard. The Half-Orc placed a finger to his lips briefly,  The last echoing footsteps were echoing down the alleyway, and when they fully disappeared into the night, he slowly slid finger from his lips, and opened the door for Koshka to leave.

-

Rain hammered down on Koshka as she walked through the streets, heels clicking on the cobblestones. 

An awful weight hung in her throat. She'd made a terrible mistake. The only person who had seen her face was gone, but she knew, somehow, somewhere they'd be onto her, seeking her out. 

Koshka looked down the rainy streets towards home, and instead turned in the opposite direction. Treave, she had to go to Treave. He'd know what to do.

-

Darrow sat in his office, his hands spread and gripped to the table in front of him. His breath was heavy, heaving in his chest, and he thrust out a hand to fumble with his drawers. 

There was a roaring in his head. A hunger. A hunger that had to be sated before something terrible happened. 

As he reached out, the claws of his tattoo rippled, for just a moment. The awful bone-white claws tatooed onto the backs of his fingers leapt fully from his flesh to scratch lines into the wooden desk. Darrow turned aside, trying desperately to contain it, but he was running low. 

His store exhausted, he tugged one of the rings from his own fingers. Powerful magic, but no other option now. Holding it in his hand, he tried to concentrate, to quell the roaring deep behind his eyes. The creature staring out of his skull hissed a threat into Darrow's brain. 

He concentrated, the magic ring quivered, and burned away to nothing in the palm of his hand. Magic surged through him, calming, quieting, sating.

Darrow leaned back in his chair, sighing in relief. It was quiet for now. 

Darrow slammed shut the drawer and hissed. He was running out of wondrous items. Soon there would be nothing let for him to devour. 

-

Part 3

Livin' on a Thin Line

Findan sat up to rest on his elbows and watched the Tiefling as she reclaimed her clothing from around the floor. She turned yellow eyes towards him, and he got that thrill again. Dark eyes full of laughter and promises. He still couldn't believe his luck. Years of courier work and never had a job ended like this. 

She stood up, her dark red skin almost the colour of blood in the dim light, her body hidden only by a barely-there chemise.

"Well it's been a pleasure doing business with you, sir, I do hope we can arrange it again sometime," she said. Her voice was husky, with a lyrical accent Findan wasn't familiar with. He spread his hands wide and grinned.

"You got that right, where can I find you when I'm back in town?" 

"Oh, I'll find you first," she purred, slipping back on a deep blue shirt and buckling the front around her stomach. Findan's satchel lay on the floor nearby, bulky and heavy. He had been sick of carrying and watching the thing all the way from Icewind Dale. 

When the Tiefling was fully dressed, standing tall in low-heeled riding boots, a frilled skirt and a small jacket, she knelt to take up the satchel and slung it over her shoulder.  

"Until next time..." she whispered, and blew the courier a kiss, Findan watched her go, and decided to get a few more hours sleep. 

-

Tormyr was gnawing on the second hunk of dried meat he'd purchased from the nearby stall when Findan finally appeared, trotting down the watery street with a spring in his step. The Dwarf gave a grunt of acknowledgement as the courier approached and flashed a smile.

"I said noon. Not noonish, Finn," Tormyr grunted, waving the meat at him. Findan gave a nod and fluttered a hand in apology.

"Oh come on, I'm barely late. Sometimes in life you have to take the time to relax, Tor. Don't you ever take a day off?" 

"Not really, s'matter of fact. Why y' so perky?" Tormyr asked, his eyes narrowing under his great bushy salt and pepper eyebrows. Findan gave a laugh.

"It was a good night, sometimes all it takes is a change in luck to brighten up the whole world, you know?"

"Apparently so. Coulda' fooled me though, looks like another shit morning in Waterdeep f'rall I see though. The meet go well then?" the Dwarf asked.

"I tell you, If you'd told me what the contact was like before I would have taken this job weeks ago," Findan gave a whistle. Tormyr stared at him curiously.

"Oh aye? The Tiefling yeah? Scary looking bugger isn't he?"

Findan hesitated, looked down at the dwarf, hands on his hips, and gave an incredulous half-laugh.

"He?" 

"The Tiefling. Your contact. Koziel. Big bugger with horns out to here," the dwarf gestured, extending his arms either side of his head, "What do you mean?"

Findan was silent a moment, and he looked out down the wet streets, chewing on his lip. Tormyr's moustache gave a concerned wiggle, and he prodded the courier. 

"Why...who'd you give the package to, Finn?"

"Erm... I think there might have been... a misunderstanding somewhere. I met a Tiefling at the dock... she said she was the one I was looking for."

"She? Well did you ask for the password? The one the contact was to give you?" Tormyr thundered, his gruff voice echoing off the cobblestones.

Findan scratched at his head sheepishly, the colour having suddenly drained from his face. 

"I... I fear it slipped my mind," Findan said, all trace of levity gone. Tormyr stared up at him, moustaches quivering in rage.

"Who'd you give the package to Finn?!"

-

Treave looked up at the polite knock on his door, and cautiously called out. 

"Yes, yes?" 

"It's me," came the voice from beyond. Quiet, distinctive. 

Treave's face lit up and he tucked his paintbrush behind his ear and scampered across the room to unlock the door.

"Koshka! Koshka my dear come in, quick quick!" he stood aside to make room as the Tiefling crouched to fit through his miniature studio door. The red-skinned woman gave the tiny Gnome a hug that almost covered his figure entirely in her frilly shirts and great skirts. Treave gave a quick glance out the door before he closed it behind her. Koshka slumped a clattering satchel on the ground. 

"Is this it? Is this it? Well done girl! How on Earth did you get it from him?" Treave said as he cleared aside his easel and paints, eagerly tugging at the drawstrings of the satchel. 

Koshka gave a low shrug and smiled.

"People'll believe anything if you give them enough reason to."

"Clearly, clearly so!" Treave chuckled. The contents of the satchel displayed, he tugged an elegant loupe from his shirt pocket and placed it to his eye. 

"Well...what have we got?" Koshka asked hesitantly; watching the Gnome work. 

Taking items from the satchel one by one and carefully examining them, Treave nodded slowly.

"Hm, it's definitely magical cargo alright, looks like a wonderous item horde. Let's see now..."

Koshka clutched her hands together in anticipation and bit her lip with a sharp fang. Treave proceeded to meticulously examine the contents of the satchel item by item, sniffing stoppered bottles, tapping on something here, listening intently to something there.

"Wig of many styles... Self inking quill... oh!" he lifted a thumb-sized dull metal object, "Unpierceable thimble of defense!"

Koshka's face started to fall, as Treave continued to sort.

"Goblet of goblins... Evergrowing cheese... Abacus of counting..." 

"Is it all... trash?" Koshka ventured. Treave gave a shrug.

"Depends on your view of trash I suppose, there's always a market for novelty magic items you know. This Bag of endless beetroot? Might get a few silver for that at the market." 

Koshka slumped back, dejected.

"Where's the good stuff? The Potions of longevity? The Rings of wishes? Girdles of giant strength?"

 Treave looked up at her and gave the Tiefling a comforting smile. 

"There there my dear. They can't all be dragon's hordes. But, don't be too down," he was sniffing at a tiny metal flask, pearlescent liquid sloshing within, "Because I happen to know that a certain masked Lord will pay at least 30 gold for this one." 

He tossed the tiny item to Koshka, who cradled it in her hands. 

"What is it?" she asked reverently. Treave gave a wink.

"Potion of hair regrowth. He's been trying to employ a wizard capable of giving him back his curls for years now."

Koshka shook her head and sighed.

"Thankyou Treave. I'll leave the rest with you?" 

Treave gave a nod, shoving the bulging satchel aside. 

"Of course, of course! Anything I find a home for, I'll be sure to kick you back your percentage." 

She leaned to give the gnome a small kiss on his prodigious protruding nose, and made to leave.

"Oh, if you still want to earn a little more, you know you can always come model for me, dear!" Treave called after her. 

"You haven't got the gold, Treave!" she called back playfully. 

-

Koshka stood in the rain outside the tiny door, clutching the potion to her breast. 30 gold would be enough to tide over the debt for now. 

Taking a quick glance either way down the street, she sped off towards the dock, heels clicking on the hard cobblestones.

-

Treave listened as the footsteps trailed off out of earshot, and once more made sure his door was locked.

Digging into the bottom of the satchel, he pulled out the metal bracers from the bottom. Etched in filigree and gleaming silver. They seemed heavier than they should be. Treave kicked the rest of the satchel and its contents aside, and placed the bracers carefully upon his work desk. 

"Now then, let's see why they wanted you so badly..."

-

Part 2

In the Lair of the She-Beast (A Cerce Stormbringer Story) Part 4

Part 3

-

Chapter 4

Cerce's every sense flooded instantly. The sound of the waves and the crash of blades and yells of combat were blunted down to echoes as she sucked in a deep breath and water closed over her head, the battle behind her and suddenly so, so far away.

The water wasn't shallow, and Cerce's feet kicked at nothing, a horrible absence that felt like it went on forever.

But the weight of her Halberd dragged her down. She could feel the water trying to take hold, pull her down to the sea floor or toss her forward towards the rocks, but her grip on the artifact kept her steady.
Cerce had gambled her life, but came up lucky. The power that gave the weapon its impossible density planted Cerce down to the sandy floor beneath the waves, and held her steady as the invisible force of the tides pulled against her.

All around her were clutches of shining white orbs, smooth along the sea floor, their colours and shapes as varied as the Merrow on the decks above. She began to stride, placing one foot slowly and steadily in front of the other, avoiding treading on the colourful clusters. She knew she was moving as fast as she could, but as the air began to burn in her lungs it felt like the moments stretched with every heavy step.

There was a sound beneath the waves, a horrible bird-like warble with a high pitched whine threaded through it. Cerce couldn't identify it at first, but soon realized it was the Merrow talking to each other; it was what they sounded like in their own realm. Shadows moved just out of Cerce's field of vision, darting shapes moving swiftly through the murky waters.

She gritted her teeth and strode on. The solid lines of cliffs were visible somewhere up ahead, but Cerce's blurry view through the surging sea made distance impossible to tell.

There was a noise in Cerce's ear, a sudden sharp whistling rushing up on her. She turned, raising one arm defensively as fast as she could through the weight of the sea. The jagged little stone knife that the Merrow wielded dragged a line across Cerce's flesh, and red blood blossomed through the water, only to be immediately sucked away as quick as it had bloomed by the surges of the tide.

It was a small one, fast. Her skin blue and glittering in the dappled light from above, her slim frame darted side to side, her movements unaffected by the water that hampered Cerce's movements.

Cerce thrust out with her halberd desperately, and the Merrow took the bait, slipping up underneath the huge head of the weapon to come in close. Cerce let the weapon sink on to the would-be assassin's tail. The Merrow was close enough to slice with her dagger at Cerce's gut, drawing more blood, but Cerce pulled the girl in close, closing her fist around the smaller girl's hand, and jamming her own fist up hard behind the Merrow's jaw. The soft gills were a glaring target, and though Cerce didn't have speed on her side under the waves, she had strength. She jammed her fist into them again and again while the creature thrashed and flailed.

Gripping tight the bare waist of the Merrow with one hand, Cerce tugged at the shaft of her weapon with the other, unanchoring herself and her assailant, and found herself lurched along as the creature thrashed for escape.

Cerce momentarily lost awareness of her place in the world as she spun through the water and her air left in her lungs dwindled. The powerful back of the Merrow she clung to bucked and tossed madly, spinning Cerce around, upside-down and over her own feet faster than she could see.

All of a sudden the wind was crushed out of Cerce in a great crash, as her back came into contact with the hard rock of the cliffs and the dregs of her lungs bubbled from her lips. Sunlight blazed down from above, the water level so close above her head.

She'd lost her grip on the Merrow during her collision with the rocks, a blessing she realized allowed her to reach up with one arm, claws scratching desperately for grip above the waterline. Cerce's lungs were on fire, and she had the momentary vision of her corpse merrily floating face down into the filthy waters of the Foul Mouth for everyone to have a good laugh at.

Just when she was about to spend her dying breath cursing Red Tom's common sense, her fingers found purchase and she pulled.

For one brief, blissful moment, Cerce sucked in a gasp of crisp sea air, felt the flash of sun on her skin, before her head bobbed back below the waves.

Tugging herself loose of the water's grip almost ripped her shoulder out of its socket. She tried to keep hold of her halberd, awkwardly maneuvering her body to balance it anywhere, but without both hands on the cliff face, the sea threatened to pull her back in. Cerce dropped the weapon.

The forgotten Merrow made herself remembered, thrashing at Cerce who suddenly found claws in her face.

Without the weight of her halberd, Cerce was able to grab the nearest flailing limb and smash it hard against the rock, sending the dagger flying from the crushed hand, and sent the Merrow darting away for easier prey.

Cerce summoned the last of her strength to pull herslef up the cliff side, coughing up water and belching. She almost laughed as she rolled onto her back and found a moment of respite on the flat crest of rocky cliff.

Cerce's clothing was soaked, the laced front of her jerkin ripped open and ruined by the Merrow's dagger and scales. The garments stuck to her skin, heavy and itchy. She muttered a few choice words of frustration and climbed to her feet.

The sea cove Cerce found herself facing was dotted with rocky pools of unclear depth, disappearing into the darkness of the overhanging cliffs. The sunlight sparse and speckled. There was no way down here but to swim, or to fall a hundred odd feet from the precarious edge above.

It was quiet for a moment, the echoes of battle ringing low across the waves, but Cerce felt eyes on her from the darkness of the cove.

"I know you're there, I'm here to talk," she called into the shadows.

Cerce's clothes were so heavy her pockets could have been filled with rocks, but she felt naked all of a sudden without her weapon. On the ground nearby was the tiny stone dagger, and she knelt to snatch it up.

There was a slither of movement in the cove ahead, shadows upon shadows that squirmed just out of the harsh light. Her eyes failing to adjust, Cerce had the horrifying momentary image of multiple huge snakes, coiled and folded in on each other. She gripped the paltry blade and bore her fangs.

"Show yourself!" she hissed.

The voice that came in return was unlike anything Cerce had ever heard. Deep and rumbling like the guttural bluster of a barrel chested horse, but piercing to the ears like a dolphin squealing in a fisherman's net. It was a horrid cacophony, and Cerce stumbled a step back as a loop of thick pink flesh unfolded and slapped down heavily onto the rocks.

The wet coils were as thick around as a tree trunk, hot pink in the sun. From them, fin-like extensions flickered and flailed, glittering with the light. The longest tip of the coil began to extend, slithering a tapering point around the cove edge. The awful mental image of snakes moving in reverse persisted, before the movement in the cave all of a sudden clarified, and Cerce could see that there were not multiple creatures lurking within, but only one.

The Merrow that lurched from within the overhang of the cove must have been forty feet long, her massive frame held upright on coil after coil of her serpentine body. Her visible flesh was striped with white bands, and rows of long twitching ribbons of flesh extended from her broad body. Cerce watched as muscular arms reached for purchase, dragging the huge frame forward. The upper chest and highest loops of the Merrow's body protected in a gleaming white armour of spiky coral.

While some Merrow features mimic those of human women to the point of mockery, the face that Cerce now stared into was inhuman and repulsive. Beady black eyes stared out of a long sloping skull, and a jaw circled with needle-like teeth leered open wide enough to admit a child whole. Baubles of jewelry were pierced through the flesh of the creature, and proudly hanging down over the huge swell of her chest were three necklaces of partially shattered bones.

"Par...parley. I'm here to..." Cerce stammered and faltered, her voice fighting to escape the tightness of her throat. 

A long tongue extended from the black depths of the creature's gullet, and tasted the air in front of Cerce's lips. The angle of the maw warped slightly, tilting irregularly.

Cerce had seen familiar expressions on Merrow before. Snarling rage and anger was common and unmistakable on any species, but staring up at the creature that leaned over her now, Cerce felt she was seeing one grin for the first time. As if to confirm the thought, a noise emitted from the thing's wide gullet, a slow and choking cough that came over and over again in the horrid mimic of a laugh.

Shaaaa...kaa...kaa

Shakka the She-Beast roared into Cerce's face.

Cerce leapt in time to avoid the crushing coils as Shakka flexed her body and drew her tail inward in a death embrace. The flailing sails all along the monster's body flashed and darted as Cerce spun, jumped, and landed crouched on Shakka's coils, aiming the tiny knife at Shakka's eyes.

Shakka thrust a powerful arm out, shoving Cerce so hard in the gut that the wind was knocked from her with a grunt of pain. Before she had flown far, Cerce was struck in the back by a roiling coil that lifted and tossed her straight back into close range with the She-Beast. One of Shakka's talons reached out to snag Cerce by the front, taking a huge handful of clothing and twisting. The wet clothes tugged up around her throat, and Cerce was lifted entirely from the ground, feet kicking helplessly.

One of Cerce's hands thrashed at the claws gripping around her collar, trying to dislodge the black talons that were ripping through her clothes and holding her aloft. The other still gripped the tiny knife, and Cerce jammed it into the fleshy pink wrist and twisted.

Shakka's flesh was like boiled leather, the knife barely penetrating, and Cerce resorted to stabbing wildly at the huge hand that was holding her aloft, digging the twisted little blade into Shakka's knuckles. If Shakka felt pain, she didn't show it. Cerce kicked out, going for the distinct lines of gills visible beneath Shakka's deep set jaw. The incredible reach of Shakka's arm left Cerce only grazing her bare feet on the sharp edges of the Merrow's coral armour, sending droplets of blood across the pearly white covering.

Cerce finally got purchase with the knife in a crevice of flesh and twisted, and Shakka recoiled her wrist, tearing loose Cerce's clothing. The tangle of wet garments ripped from her body, Cerce was deposited on her arse on the ground of the cove. Circled again by Shakka's huge body, Cerce scrambled to escape the coils as they moved to enclose her. 

The huge loops rose and fell, writhing as they coiled inwards. Cerce screamed as Shakka's immense body rushed inwards from all sides. The muscular loops coiled her from knees to shoulders, and Cerce's body was raised fully from the floor of the cove, her feet dripping blood and her chest compressed tighter and tighter. She desperately tried to suck in one shallow breath after another as she was slowly lifted towards Shakka's leering face.

The Merrow exaled stinking breath into Cerce's face, and the eyes above the massive maw glittered with anticipation. Cerce heaved in a shaky breath, aware it was possibly her last, and coughed out words as fast as she could.

"I know what you want and I can help you!"

Shakka continued to stare, the wide yellow eyes gleaming. The coils gave another squeeze, but then loosened, and Shakka's brow jerked upwards once, as if in encouragement. As if the Merrow urged, go on. 

"The ship came through your new home, I know. I've seen the eggs. You're just trying to protect them."

Shakka's tongue lolled from her mouth, and she gave a deep guttural bark. 

"I can make sure this land is yours. This island. I can make sure you're safe here and that no ships will pass. This island will belong to your people! You fled your old home because the waters were poisoned."

Shakka's face leaned in closer, so close that the rough texture of her scaly flesh was clear to Cerce's  watering eyes. 

"If your people kill all of us, they'll just send more. More ships next time. They'll poison the waters here too. We don't have to do this. We can end the bloodshed, you and I. If you don't attack any more ships, I'll make sure the island is yours."

Shakka leaned back, her huge head tilting to one side, eyes keenly staring at Cerce. She uttered a quick croak with an upward inflection, jerking her jaw forward.

"The island will be yours, and no one will come around these waters again, I promise."

Shakka stared deep into Cerce's eyes, and gave a long, slow blink, before tilting back her whole body and letting loose a bellow that shook the cavern. Cerce's body dropped to the rocky ground as Shakka's coils relaxed, and she scrambled to her feet. 

There was an eerie silence, with nothing but the slapping of waves against the cavern walls reaching Cerce's ears. The cries and clash of battle had stopped. 

Merrow faces were peering from the water as Cerce stumbled to the mouth of the cave. Lifting her hands to her mouth, she yelled at the top of her voice over the waves to the Adamas. 

"Put down your blades! Peace!" 

---

Cerce was hoisted onto the boat in the arms of two heavy Merrow that lifted her as if she were a child. Her remaining clothes sagged with water and hung about her in shreds. Her skin was so covered in grazes and scratches and blood that at first glance, Red Tom thought the Merrow were delivering Cerce's body. 

Stepping off onto the deck, Cerce gave a half-hearted smile, before collapsing into Tom's arms as he ran to receive her. 

The Merrow were motionless on deck, their weapons down. The Silver One seemed to be uttering orders. The crew were still gripping weapons, warily balancing the battle blood in their veins against the urge to collapse from exhaustion. 

"They'll call off the attacks," Cerce wheezed, "It's over."

Cerce's vision was blurry, and she watched as if through the veil of a dream as the Merrow began to slip from the deck of the Adamas. Some were slithering, weak and defeated, some carried bodies of their slain sisters, and some gave dark looks at the pirates as they began to drop into the water off the side of the ship. 

The giant siege Merrow took the help of several of her sisters to heave her massive bulk over the side, where the resulting splash sent the whole ship swaying in her wake. 

Before long, the last remaining Merrow was the Silver One. She stood with one hand held to a gouge in her side from which thick blood was oozing. The crew were helping one another up, many bleeding, many barely walking. A few clearly never to rise from where they lay on the wet boards. 

The Silver One extended a long fingernail and thrust it at Cerce. There was silence on deck, but for the moaning of the injured.

Cerce fought to stand on her own, and shook loose Tom's grip from her shoulder as she took a step towards the Merrow commander. 

The Silver One gave an inquisitorial croak and cocked her head towards the island and the cave. Cerce gave a shrug, not knowing what to do. After a moment, the Silver One fiddled with a bracelet on her wrist, a pretty thing of pearls and dangling shells, and detached it. She extended it out at arm's length, to Cerce. Hesitantly, Cerce took it.

"Thank you. It's beautiful," she said quietly. The Silver One made a gesture with the outstretched hand, clutching her fist, and pulling it towards her chest. It took Cerce a moment to realize the meaning of the gesture.

"Oh...I haven't got anything...I..."

"Allow me, girl," said Red Tom as he approached. He had a dagger in his hand. The Silver One looked to him expectantly. 

"I'm the Captain here. I'm the one whose men you killed." Red Tom said. He reached into his hair and cut loose a tangle of matted black locks. Sewn into the tangle was a large silver coin. He extended it to the Merrow. She gave a chirp as she took it. 

"Looks like we done for a few of your girls too," Red Tom nodded at her. The Silver One gave an incline of her own jaw, barely.

She turned, silvery tendrils hanging behind her, and moved to the edge of the deck. Before she dropped, she turned to look at Cerce. She gave a trill, and there was movement that answered below the ship. An echoing whistle, somehow high and deep at the same time. It was a haunting sound, and Cerce had the sudden awful gut feeling of something below the ship, far greater than anything seen above the waves. A massive coiling tentacle rose beside the ship, white flesh semi-translucent in the sun. Coiled amidst it, rescued from the waves, was Cerce's halberd. She moved to reclaim it. 

She knew she should feel grateful to have it back, but there'd been a moment there when she'd been free of it, and the weight gone from her shoulders for just a little while.

The Silver One croaked to get Cerce's attention. She placed a clenched fist to her own mouth, and opened it, her splayed hand flashing out in a quick gesture, then back into a fist before her face. Then she dropped silently into the waves.

"What was that?" Cerce asked, cradling the bracelet in one hand and shouldering her halberd with the other. Red Tom brushed blood from his chin and turned to go to his crew. 

"Your word, girl. She told you to keep it."  

Epilogue

It was well into the second day, lying in her bunk somewhere between restless sleep and aching wakefulness, that Cerce finally had the strength to return to the deck.

Her body was sore and covered in bruises and half healed scabs, and she wore a simple white shirt that Red Tom had provided for her. It hung to Cerce's thighs and tied with string at the collar, and Tom had told her now that she had a cheap frilly shirt she made a proper pirate.  

The crew were on deck as usual, sweeping and shaking down the ship for the close of the sunny day. The breeze was brisk, and Cerce held her shirt down as she walked over to where Red Tom sat, bottle in hand, in one of the little hammocks set up to lounge in.

"The beast awakens," he said, raising his bottle to her. He smiled, but there was a shadow behind his smile. 

Where the men worked, there were spaces in the line. Here and there, Cerce noticed them. Where three men before had been leaping amidst the rigging, trading shouts and laughter, now there were two. One man sat up front at the stern, drinking from a big metal tankard that a few days earlier had been shared between three. 

"The ghosts never quite leave. They stay with the ship," Red Tom said, nodding at his men. 

"I'm so sorry, I..." Cerce began, but Red Tom shook his head.

"Nah, not on you, girlie. You show me one pirate who actually retired at the end of his days and I'll be damn surprised. Nah, it's what it is. Each man who went down fighting earns us a bonus from the guard. That's shared between the crew. Burials at sea go cheap, luckily. Rest of us plod on 'til the next time." 

Cerce looked up to the crow's nest, where Ben the Black was leaning, looking down over the sea before him. A long ragged piece of white material was strapped around his head, stained black with old blood from his missing ear. He coughed up a mouthful of brown spit, and sent it spiraling down towards the deck where it disappeared into the hole left in the boards by the huge Merrow. Ben gave a half-hearted cheer. 

"Promising an entire island to the enemy," Red Tom gave a chuckle, and whistled appreciatively. "Being the one who's going to have to tell Wib that...don't envy you much girl."

Cerce gave a shrug.

"Seemed the only thing to do. Can't always just go on killing, can we? Everywhere we go. Got to end sometime. When I was a kid the Orc war was still going on. Now, Orcs live everywhere. The best food in Penryan is that Orc place that does the turnips."

Red Tom gave a theatrical shrug.

"That question is well above my pay grade, I'll tell you that much. What I will say is, Wib's gonna say someone has to go give the news of the deal to High Chairman Adze."

At saying the name, Red Tom took the time to make a show of spitting over the deck. The captain fought to his feet, and gestured with a wave of his arm for Cerce to claim pride of place in the comfy hammock. As she climbed in and lay back in the hanging white sheet, Tom gave her a wink.

"And I'd be willing to bet that Wib says that someone is going to be you." He gave a reassuring pat of her bare leg before he went, "Not too long 'til home shores now." 

She watched him go. 

The breeze was cool over Cerce's face, and in silence she watched the crew go about their work. She idly toyed with the bracelet around her wrist, rolling the pearls between her fingertips.

One of the men near her, barely older than a boy, was sitting cross legged on the deck, making repairs to a violin. The instrument looked ragged and homemade, and Cerce watched his calloused fingers fixing the strings on the little thing. The man she'd seen leading the rowdy songs on the journey before was usually upon the rigging, but she looked now and realized that his was one of the faces missing from the crew of the Adamas. 

After a while, Cerce called the boy over to her, and whispered to him.

"I know it," he responded, lifting his little instrument and placing bow to strings. He waited patiently; he knew the voice started the old song. 

Cerce lay back in the hammock, closed her eyes. She felt the salty sea spray on her face, and began:

    I dreamed a dream the other night

    Lowlands, lowlands away my john

    I dreamed a dream the other night

    Lowlands away

The boy began to play. The reedy sound of the string instrument echoing over the sea, matching the slow croon of Cerce's voice. 

    I dreamed I saw my own true love

    Lowlands, lowlands away my john

    He stood so still, he did not move

    Lowlands away 

    

    I knew my love was drowned and dead

    Lowlands, lowlands away my john

    He stood so still, no word he said

    Lowlands away

    Around his form, green weeds had hold

    Lowlands away

Cerce's singing voice was the stuff of softly spoken bar legend up and down the coast. It rose over the crash of waves. Her accent lyrical, her words clear. 

    I will cut away my bonny hair

    Lowlands, lowlands away my john

    No other man will think me fair

    Lowlands away

    For my love lies drowned in the windy lowlands

    My lowlands away

The sea was smooth, the endless clouds filled the sky, split here and there to spill sunlight like gold dust across the world. In the distance, the first shadows of the southern coast could be seen among the blue waves. 

-

For Andy

This Woman's Work

When they finally came upon it, it didn't look like they had expected.

They'd argued for a moment after the clearing came into view between the trees. Low brick buildings surrounded by simple farmlands, old wooden fences. Maxim, his stocky build crouched into a squat, was the one to voice the opinion first.

"Where are the church grounds? The bell towers? The stained glass? This isn't it. Let's keep moving. Must be further up the hill somewhere."

Maxim's bassy voice carried on the wind, and sheep from the little farm raised their heads to peer off into the forest where the two thieves were crouching.

Li shook his head and gestured to Maxim to keep it down. The wiry little man narrowed his eyes and scanned the arrangement of buildings.

"It's not like that, this isn't a church, it's a convent, a nunnery. They keep it subtle."

Maxim snorted and coughed into his gloved hand. He examined his palm as if to see if anything that came out was worth his attention.

"You said they'd have something worthwhile up here."

"They do. The nuns have to pay for food and things don't they? And gold statues and stuff, right?" "

"Still don't look like no nunnery to me. Looks like dirt poor farmers. You brought us to the wrong place, Li, you turnip."

Li shrugged, squinting for movement among the buildings.

"Has to be it. Here, let's try something."

Li stood, and kicked about the forest floor for a moment.

"What you doin'?" Maxim grunted. Li bent and picked up an egg sized rock from among the pine needles and dirt.

Retrieving his sling from his belt, he placed the stone to it, and in a moment the sling was a blur around his head. Maxim may have been a more hands-on man himself, but he loved watching Li work.

With a neat arc, Li sent the rock flying across the clearing, into the side of a white wooden chicken coop. It gave a great crack that split the afternoon silence, and the screech of worried chickens could be heard clear to the two thieves.

"Now, we see who comes out to check. Five copper callans says they got a habit on and this is the right place."

"You're on."

There came a tinkling, and a glittery silver arrangement of chimes was disturbed as a door opened.

From the back of the building came a small figure. Walking barefoot to the chicken coop, the woman cooed softly to the panicked creatures. Maxim and Li looked at each other, and Maxim spread his hands in apology.

"We didn't shake on it."

The woman was wearing a long and severe black garment. Free of decoration or flair, and no adornment but for a rope tied about her waist. Above her rosy round, cherubic face, her hair was hidden entirely in a white wimple.

Li stood, hooking his thumbs into his leather belt, fingertips just brushing the edges of the daggers held on his thighs. Maxim took a pull at the heavy strap that held his war hammer, making sure it hung just right.

Whistling, the two thieves emerged from the trees and descended towards the monastery.

-

Sister Myer took another look over the months supplies and made a little note in the ledger. She spoke aloud as she walked down the line.

"Four bags, flour. Two crates, melons. One crate, beans."

She stopped and looked towards the door where young Sister Kinn had left to check on the chickens a moment before. The bobcats usually didn't bother them during the day, but Myer knew the novice wasn't afraid to stamp her feet and scare off the predators.

It had been suspiciously quiet for a moment longer than usual when Myer took a glance out one of the room's small windows to see young Sister Kinn standing talking to two men. Myer placed down her ledger and collected her skirts, to move at speed to the door.

The chimes on the door signaled her approach, and the smaller of the two men was already looking in her direction as Sister Myer turned the corner of the building and strode to the hutch. He was leaning over the low wooden fence, and smiling ear to ear.

His big friend, standing behind him and looking more muscle than man, had no clear expression that Myer could identify.

She saw their weapons immediately.

"Hello sirs," Myer said immediately as she reached Kinn's side. The young novice was wringing her hands in that way she did when Mother Ava reprimanded her, Myer gave her a reassuring nod.

"Hello yourself, sister." the little man said. He was a sharp looking young man, all edges and smiles, but Myer could see something awful in his countenance right away, "We were just having a nice little talk with your friend here. You ladies doing alright for yourselves up here eh?"

Sister Kinn gave a flustered nod.

"The good sirs say they're...they're passing travelers," the novice said. Myer nodded to her.

"Indeed, well we're always happy to help those in need here. Needing food or fresh water are you sirs? Maybe directions?" Myer asked, folding her hands in front of her hips.

The big man was peering with narrowed eyes over the convent and seemed to ignore Myer entirely. The smaller man neatly hopped over the fence, faster than Myer expected him to move, and strode with swinging hips towards her.

"Ooh, all sounds pretty good actually. Must have all sorts of supplies, up here in the forest, yeah? Your young friend here was telling us you rely on donations."

Myer nodded and looked to Kinn, who continued to wring her hands. Myer turned back to the man who now stood a few feet from her. He spread his hands, being sure that the multiple shining blades strapped in leather sheaths to his thighs were revealed.

"Well we're just kindly travelers, seeking our way through the forest. If you'd be so kind as to show us to where you keep your little donation box, we'll take it off your hands. You'll soon make it up selling your eggs and blessings and...what is it, needlepoint?"

Myer gave a bow, slowly.

"Of course, good sirs. I believe I understand. We'd be happy to assist," Myer placed a hand on Kinn's wrist, and spoke softly and clearly to her.

"Be a darling and go fetch Sister Thekkla would you?"

Sister Kinn looked confused.

"Surely Mother Ava would be..."

"Sister Thekkla will be able to best assist these good sirs, Sister Kinn." Myer spoke slower, enunciating sharply.

Kinn nodded, and quickly headed off around the building.

-

It was a moment in the quiet before Maxim noticed that the sound of hammering had stopped. There was something in the air, like a chill without a breeze, and he found himself rubbing the back of his neck to calm the little tingling hairs that were standing on end.

It wasn't until he turned to ask Li if he felt something weird that he realized they were being watched from across the yard.

The young nun they'd approached earlier, the round little one with the rosy red cheeks, she was pointing at them and keeping step behind a second figure. Maxim had his eyes on her earlier, that one. So young and pretty, no business being a nun. He could see the curves of her through that depressing robe and knew it was an awful waste.

But Maxim wasn't looking at that pretty one now, as he couldn't take his eyes from the gaze of the second woman who was now crossing the yard towards them. He tried to turn his gaze away, but found he couldn't. Frozen, looking into the staring eyes that were coming closer across the yard.

"Li..." Maxim said. His voice came out a little croaky, "Li what's that?"

Li looked up from his quiet staring match with the older nun, and turned to his friend.

"What's what you big..."

He trailed off as he saw the figure approaching them, now stepping barefoot over the grass a few yards away.

"Oh, hello there." Li said quietly, his eyebrows raised in surprise. As the figure came to a stop just in front of her fellow sister, Li nodded slowly, "Well then. Where the hell did they find you?"

The figure was robed exactly as the other nuns at the convent. Simple blacks and whites, a featureless, slender robe and neat pinned wimple.

White eyes with no colour stared back at Li, chilling eyes that when peered into, appeared to have rectangular pupils that were uncomfortable to meet. Although covered from ankle to throat, it was clear that the woman's flesh was an icy blue. From just above her eyes, below the material of her simple habit, grew two great ridged horns. Black, twisting as they rose to point to the sky.

"Blessings be upon you, good sirs. I'm sister Thekkla. Welcome to our humble convent." The dark blue lips barely moved as she spoke, and her quiet voice had an unexpected, lyrical accent. The voice of the common folk of the valleys. "And to answer your question, the Hell they found me in has no power over me. I see only the kingdom of our almighty God."

The woman called Thekkla neatly folded her hands in front of her slim hips. Her fingers, and indeed her bare toes, were of a sickly purplish hue not dissimilar to frostbitten flesh. Maxim felt a sudden involuntary revulsion in his gut at the idea of being touched by those delicate fingers. He immediately imagined them clammy, cold. Fingers of the dead.

Maxim looked at Li, his broad features blank, unsure of himself. Li gave a shrug, but it didn't escape him that both the other nuns had subtly slipped back, putting Thekkla in front of them.

"My fellow servant of our Lord tells me you kind sirs were seeking to unfairly take donations that we'd received from selfless folk. Surely she's mistaken, and just misheard you fellows. Is that right?" Thekkla said, and smiled. Her teeth were as expected, sharp, wolf-like, but the smile that held them was honest, and encouraging. She nodded, to further enforce her words.

Maxim shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Li, this ain't right mate...." he said, and immediately Li raised a hand to jab a finger in his direction.

"No! No don't fall for this. This is farce. Look at them!" Li gestured to the three nuns, Thekkla standing impassively before the other two, her expression calm, her shoulders relaxed. Li could see the girlish frame beneath the black robes was not broad, and probably not even a third of Maxim's weight.

Li turned the accusing finger to Thekkla.

"Don't fall for it. They ain't got nothing. They wheel out this freak to try and scare us off. They're hiding something up here and I want it."

Li unlatched the leather holds on his belt, and in a dramatic flourish, produced one of his daggers, turning it over in his hand.

"Now stop playing me for a fool, and show me where the money is. Or I'll cut off your boring bloody dress and see if you got anything that catches my eye under there. Understand?" Li's voice was unwavering. Maxim looked back and forth between his friend and the nun in stunned silence.

Slowly, Thekkla lowered her eyes, and shook her head.

"May the words of my mouth and the dedication of my heart be acceptable in thy sight." She whispered. She gestured with a single fluttering hand for the other women to step back. They did so, immediately and without question.

Her eyes snapped back up to look at Li. The smile had dropped from her features.

"You seek to steal that which is not yours, and now make threats upon the purity of my body. You sir, have no place on holy ground."

Li produced a second knife, turning it effortlessly in his fingers in a practiced display of dexterity.

"You play nice, and we leave, and I don't have to do anything your god don't wanna have to see."

Thekkla calmly gave a tug on the plain silvery rope that bound her slim waist.

"My God sees all suffering there is to see. And I fear no threats. Nor bloodshed nor rape nor murder. There's only so much pain that can go on in the world at any one time." She gestured around them, at the convent. "It is our place, here, to take a little extra onto ourselves, so that other's pain might be lessened."

Thekkla spread her blue hands, her open palms displayed to Li and Maxim, and then slowly curled both into fists.

"My good sirs, you are about to ease the burden of many."

Thekkla's body moved like liquid, launching forward under Li's elbow even as he began to raise it to defend himself. Her slender arm reached out in a neat and accurate jab, slamming him in the gut with a closed fist so hard he was lifted entirely from his feet and deposited on his arse a full five feet away.

Li struggled to find his footing and fell back, heaving to suck in a breath. He gestured wildly at Maxim.

"Fuckin'..." he started, failing to get anything more out. Maxim's eyes were bulging from shock, and he hesitated, dumbfounded for a moment before he got his wits together enough to pull up his war hammer from the sling on his hip.

Before he could even move to the correct position to swing the thing, Thekkla was beside him. Her hip jammed into his groin with her full weight, and he felt her arm slip under his armpit and a great force was suddenly pulling him from his feet.

For a moment Maxim felt weightless, and then he hit the ground like he'd just been tipped off a horse. The upside-down view of the sky, coupled with the pain rushing up from his squashed balls forced a sudden wave of nausea to surge through him, and he gave a groan of pain and discomfort as a foot was placed against his chin.

Maxim tilted his head forward to see Thekkla looming over him, her bare foot held threateningly to his throat.

"Li, she hurt me Li." Maxim managed to croak, wincing in pain.

"I thank you for your charitable donation." Thekkla said.

Catching sight of movement in the corner of her eye, Thekkla snapped her head aside in time to see Li's arm raised and moving, and a blur above his shoulder.

Maxim watched as Li launched the projectile from his sling, and his eyes could barely follow as Thekkla rose into the air as quiet and graceful as a bird, her whole body turning sideways and spinning. The flying stone missed her turning body to crash against the chicken coop with a resounding echo.

Thekkla's robe flared out, and Maxim saw a flash of bare blue flesh as Thekkla spun, something silver was strapped tightly around her bare upper thigh

Thekkla completed her aerial rotation before returning to the ground, her feet coming down on Maxim and making him groan in pain once again as her robe neatly fell back into place. One of her hands landed neatly on the haft of his warhammer.

She dropped to a neat crouch, and immediately launched herself a few strides towards Li with a speed that was startling. Her pale eyes glaring, horns pointing, jutting out as if to gore the man.

Li fell into a crouch to ready his blades, and was met with Thekkla crouched similarly, one of her long legs outstretched, the other tightly coiled beneath her behind. One arm stretched out, the second held behind her back, her whole body still in perfect balance.

Li waved the point of his blade in her direction.

"Alright, you've made a very pretty point. You got a lot of free time up here, clearly. But I'm betting you never looked death in the face." Li asked.

Thekkla met his stare without expression, and calmly replied.

"Suffering does not come from death."

She swung her arm around her body, spinning her shoulders, and let her grip on the warhammer go at full tilt.

The huge weapon shot towards Li, and it didn't take much of his considerable skill to weave aside, twisting his body like a dancer to avoid the projectile. It flew a little too high, and Li watched as it sailed over his shoulder to crash into a tree, taking a chunk of bark off with it.

Li had not found firm footing in time to react when he realized he'd been tricked. Thekkla leaped so silently that all he heard was the rustle of her robe before her knee connected with his chin.

Li crashed to the ground, his blades fallen to the dirt floor of the yard.

Thekkla stood, hands neatly folded in front of her hips. Only the slightly increased depth of her breathing betrayed any suggestion of her actions.

Maxim climbed to his feet with a groan and, cupping his balls in pain, ambled over towards his friend.

"We...we're very sorry to have bothered you ladies, I mean sisters... here today."

"Do please collect your friend." Thekkla said, watching Maxim through lidded eyes.

Maxim bent to pick up the limp body of Li, wondering if his friend's jaw was broken and how he'd explain to Li when he regained consciousness that he'd had his arse kicked by a nun.

"I'll remind the kind sirs that we here depend on the charity and selflessness of strangers," Thekkla said.

Maxim stared at her for a moment, before reaching into the pocket of his jacket.

"Oh...well I um. I got a few copper bits here."

Maxim held out his hand, and Thekkla reached to take the coins. Just for a moment her fingertips brushed his, and all the awful dread came right back. Cold as ice.

"We thank for your generosity, kind sirs. Do please be careful when descending the mountain." The simple smile on her lips was the last thing Maxim saw as he turned, and, holding Li in his arms, began to walk away.

The hair on the back of his neck tingled, and Maxim didn't look back, only trod a little faster, feeling the white eyes of the nun on him every step.

-

Thekkla realized she was smiling, and forced the expression down. She felt the surge of excitement still swelling in her gut, and tried to force it too under control. She'd wanted to hurt them so much more.

She exhaled softly as voices whispered behind her, and Thekkla turned to see her two fellow sisters, and the watchful eyes of Mother Ava looking to her.

"Thank you for you work today Sister Thekkla." Mother Ava said. The wizened old woman's expression as always, perpetually unreadable. "The roof of the barn is progressing well, you can continue the work tomorrow at sunrise after your morning duties.

Thekkla bowed low.

"Yes Mother."

"For now, you have other responsibilities to your order."

"Of course, Mother."

-

Thekkla closed the door of her little room and took in the quiet for the moment.

Nothing lay within but bare walls, a stone cot with no blankets or pillow, and a simple wooden stool.

Thekkla removed her robe and wimple, and placed them upon the stool, folded neatly. She wore only the sharpened metal clasp around her thigh, each silvery link inscribed minutely with the words of her God. Her Holy Symbol. The constant discomfort of its tight grip was subtly reassuring.

Her blue skin chill in the evening light from the tiny window, Thekkla knelt, and removed the switch from below her cot. It was brown leather, firm and simple. Thekkla had made this one herself when her previous one had worn out.

The many scars that crisscrossed her bare back still ached from the morning.

"May the words of my mouth and the dedication of my heart be acceptable in thy sight."

She began.