Give me a Hill to Stand On

It took an event of some significance to rouse Morethek’s attention from their work.

The endless pages of knowledge that the adept was tasked to painstakingly translate and transcribe required flawless attention, immaculate accuracy, and the most delicate of hands. Hours, often days, would pass at a time before Morethek found cause to look up from their work. 

So it was that the red folds of the adept’s robe did not so much as shuffle when Berlewen returned from her errand with a thud of the great library doors, and came striding down the aisle between shelves, boots sending echoing clicks through the immense room. 

Arriving at her assigned place opposite Morethek, Berlewen placed her new texts down on the table across from her fellow scribe. Morethek absently waited for the sound of the adept taking her place, for their work to resume. 

The sound did not come. Berlewen continued to stand in barely contained silence above her station. Finally, it was impossible for Morethek not to send a brief glance across the table at her. 

Berlewen returned the look from beneath her cowl, her expression contemplative. Morethek’s face was partially obscured by the workings of their implanted eye, but the slow raise of one eyebrow spoke lengths in curiosity from the usually stoic adept. 

‘News, sister?’ Morethek asked. One mechanical hand folded a completed text closed, immediately reaching for the next. 

Berlewen breathed out, as if steeling herself for what she was to announce. 

‘The Fabricator-General has declared for the Warmaster.’ 

Morethek held the next text in stillness. 

‘Possibility for error?’ 

Berlewen pulled her seat out, and swiftly slipped into it, excitement touching her voice. 

‘None. Confirmed accurate.’ 

There was a moment of silence then, as Morethek attempted to resume their work. Text opened, eyes darting. 

Among the most diligently skilled of all Mechanicum adepts, Morethek was not familiar with distraction. It seemed now though that the information before them was blurry, meaningless. Morethek looked up from their work once more. 

‘This choice will mean war. This will lead to destruction.’ 

‘All freedoms are bought with blood, this was inevitable.’ 

Morethak’s cybernetic implant whirred, searching their companion’s expression. 

‘Sister, the Emperor brought us order, and structure and so, so much more. He is absolute, to deny him is nonsensical.’ 

Berlewen frowned, confused. 

‘No… no, you mistake order for control, you’ve been lied to my friend, like so many others. His chains are not hung for us to climb higher on, they are to bind us lower in place. Allowing him and those like him to shit on us from ever greater heights. This war will mean freedom for all of us.’ 

Morethak placed their hands on the table before them, the meticulous work upon it forgotten.

‘That is purely conjecture, supposition. I do not deal in opinions or conjecture, sister. I deal in knowledge, and knowledge is absolute.’ 

‘And knowledge is what the Warmaster will bring us! The shackles will be removed, our access to information unseen, the secrets of ages, ours! He will allow us to open the vaults, Morethek.’

‘Knowledge is hidden for a reason, sister, for a multitude of reasons. Until it can be examined appropriately, all facets considered, that kind of power will cause more harm than good.’ 

‘They gave many reasons that true knowledge was hidden from us, none of them satisfactory,’ Berlewen tapped a metal finger down upon the table, ‘Nothing should be kept from us. Nothing.’

‘Untethered access is chaos,’ Morethak whispered, and Berlewen rolled her eyes. 

‘They have their claws into you, again! Chaos is nothing but a word used by those who seek to keep us restrained. It’s fear-mongering. Order is a gilded cage, it may shine but rest assured we are trapped within it nonetheless. Horus will break us free, give us access to everything. True knowledge. True power. Ours to use as we see fit.’ 

‘That is treason, sister.’ 

‘No, refusing that call is treason. Obeying an unjust law is, in itself, unjust. Refusing the call to that freedom is inexcusable.’ 

‘You are speaking in idealism. I took an oath, sister. I took an oath to cherish the information we unearth. To hold such secrets above flesh, above life. To value understanding at any cost.’ 

‘I took the same oath. It spoke of seeking that knowledge at all costs. To never allow our pursuit to be interrupted. Thus will the totality of our knowledge grow.’ 

‘The safeguarding of information is a cause I would die for, sister.’ 

‘And I would kill in the pursuit of it.’ 

There was silence between the two of them for a moment, as each looked at their fellow adept. After a while, Morethak reached for their text, to continue the painstaking work. 

‘We have indulged our debate too long, most enlightened sister.’ 

‘It is good to share our voice at times, most celebrated colleague, thus is our knowledge shared and our understanding increased.’ 

‘I honor the Omnissiah in all things.’ 

‘I honor the Omnissiah in all things.’ 

Each returned to their task, pages turning, script flowing. Many times in the hours to come, Morethak found the urge to look up from the tireless work at their fellow adept. Each time, they found Berlewen’s gaze staring back.

Sleepless Night

Koshka awoke suddenly, the quiet darkness of the room around her was a small comfort to her thumping heart. There was a chill in the air, and looking up from her bed to the open window, she watched the delicate curtains dance in the breeze. 

Slowly, she rose from her covers. Sweat was hot on her skin, and she threw the bedclothes aside to try and settle her thoughts. Though the quiet bustle of noise from the late night streets of Waterdeep outside was as reassuring as ever, Koshka couldn't seem to the shake the troubling feeling of having just awoken from a nightmare. Letting the chill night air cool her body, she knew there was no getting back to sleep again tonight. 

Slipping from the bed, Koshka donned her robe. A flighty thing of black chiffon and feathers with more use as a prop than an actual garment, and silently crossed to her door. Her hand hesitated on the handle before twisting. This had become something of a ritual of late, as Koshka, knowing full well that it was madness but still compelled to do so, would stop to quietly ensure herself that when opened, the door would reveal only the quiet landing of the tavern she knew, and not the shadowed, windowless halls of the other place she had seen. She exhaled, and opened the door.

The tavern living quarter was pleasant at night. Koshka almost floated through the wooden halls. Floorboards gave a slight creak as her bare feet trod familiar pathways. Her hair was undone, hanging a mess about her shoulders, her eyes red and puffy from another night of troubled sleep. Her bare body beneath the thin robe had none of the usual vibrant ruby luster, just the colour of old blood in the dark. She let her hand rest on the wooden rail as she descended towards the main tavern floor, running fingertips across well known curves and cracks in the pine. She'd spent the last few days feeling like something had been taken from her, and any attempt to think back to the source gave her a feeling of dread that left her feeling continually distracted and disturbed.

The tavern itself was dimly lit, a candle burning on the bartop, and the tinkle of sound from the street outside barely passing the heavy walls. There was a shift of movement in the gloom, and it gave Koshka a start as she stepped forward, before she recognized the small form of Lilmaia crouched atop one of the bar stools. 

Wearing a simple dirty white smock a few sizes too large, the Goblin was busily eating a platter of cheese, gnawing on the heavy red rind of a particularly large block of edam. Her wide eyes reflected light in the dark as her gaze darted to Koshka, and she bared her pointed teeth in a smile. 

"Koshka!" the goblin chirped through a mouthful, dropping to sit on the stool, her legs kicking. 

"You're up late Lilmaia..." Koshka said as she stepped into the darkness of the quiet tavern. Lilmaia gave an energetic shake of her head. 

"Tomorrow's the day Elf comes in to count food. So today's day I eat a bunch in the night so have extra get here sooner." 

"Of course... you have to keep a schedule in business after all," the Tiefling sighed, the baffling discrepancies between supply costs and sales suddenly making much more sense. 

Lilmaia nodded and responded with a muffled 'mmhmm' around a heel of crusty bread.

Koshka looked over at the far corner of the tavern floor, at the raised area and it's wide cushions where she performed her shows. Her instrument was resting against the wall, upright on its langot, the delicate silver pegs glinting in the meagre light. Koshka had first seen it among the wares of a Gnome trader in the market, and immediately thought it the most breathtaking instrument in the world. Before that she'd played dulcimer, fiddle, and mandolin, but all of a sudden none of those had come close. 

Koshka had stolen it that night, obviously. She'd spent agonizing months trying to learn to play it by ear, until finally a silver-tongued spice dealer from Aglarond had offered Koshka real lessons on the instrument in exchange for nine nights in her bed. Three years later, Koshka saw the Gnome merchant again. She'd slipped four gold into his pocket using her trademark bump and lift maneuver. Only after that had the instrument felt truly hers.  

Koshka realized it had been a long time since she'd held it in her arms. Never before had so much happened in such a short period of time. She'd slacked in her practices. For a moment she found she missed the simple quiet of her old home terribly. 

A sharp little claw poked Koshka in the side and she turned with a yelp to find Lilmaia sat, feet swinging, on the closest bar stool.

"Can't wear that dress outside, people'll get mad," Lilmaia chirped, chewing on a hunk of gouda. The Tiefling glanced down at herself absently and gestured down at the expensive translucent garment.

"Oh, well this is a nightdress, you don't wear it outside. It actually quite a fine piece of material, I got it from an Sea Elf designer who..."

"It's stupid, not even half a dress. You got ripped off Koshka," Lilmaia nodded matter-of-factly.

"You're probably right," she sighed, and snatched up a slice of bread as she sat down beside the Goblin, "You aren't supposed to eat cheese at night you know... gives you nightmares."

Lilmaia seemed to think on that for a moment, chewing on another mouthful, before giving a great shrug and waving the hunk of cheese in front of her. 

"Would rather eat cheese and get nightmares than not get to eat cheese at all," she said firmly.

Koshka exhaled, blowing whisps of hair out of her face. 

"Good way to live I suppose," she said. 

Lilmaia's gaze suddenly darted up, her wide eyes meeting Koshka's. 

"Why you scared of nightmares though?" she asked quickly. Koshka was briefly taken aback.

"I'm not scared of them... I just, I don't know. If there's one place I should feel safe it's in my own bed," she sighed. Lilmaia gave a great sigh and rolled her eyes.

"Nightmares can't hurt you! They just in here!" she reached out to prod Koshka in the forehead with a nail, "Can't hurt you in there. Just in head. Nothing can hurt you there."

Lilmaia went back to her food, before her eyes widened and she turned again to the Tiefling. 

"Oh! Unless someone GETS you while you're sleeping! That different," Lilmaia quickly mimed a brutal stabbing motion with the hunk of bread in her hand, "Then you're dead! Or if house falls on you while you're sleeping. You're dead then too. Lots of ways to die sleeping."

"Thanks Lilmaia," Koshka said wryly, "That helped a lot."

Lilmaia simply nodded.

Koshka watched the slow rise of dawn through the thick bottleglass green windows of the tavern, heard the insistent hum of the city coming back to life around it. She realized Patrick would be down for the morning chores soon, so darted back to her room for a proper change of clothes to spare giving the boy a startle.

Giving her hair the briefest of brushes, a quick polish to her horns, Koshka returned to the tavern and seated herself in the high corner. Reclining among the pillows, Koshka set white faerie lights to glowing with a thought. After a moment taking in the old smells of wood and beer and sweat, she took up her sitar. 

Somewhere in Between

Groves gave another great grunt, his arms straining, cheeks puffed out, as once more he desperately tried to lift the wheel. The massive thing seemed made of steel, and budged no more off the ground the first five times the old merchant had tried to lift it.

With a great cough and a tumble of skinny limbs, Groves let go and slumped to the ground. The cart gave a worrying tilt and he scrambled to try and jam the plank back under it. The last thing he needed was all his silks spilling out onto the dirt road.

Satisfied that gravity was kept at bay for the time being, Groves stared miserably down the road. Dusty, sun baked and thick with rocks, it was more than two days home, and still hours from the gates of Truronia. Groves had to hit the one stone among a thousand that would throw his wheel off. He'd never make the market now. 

Murrey gave a low honk, and Groves waved a hand at the scruffy donkey. 

"Aw shut it. Some help you are," he grumbled. Murrey gave a further splutter and turned to graze at the meager brown grass that grew sparingly all down the road. 

He'd expected the road to be well traveled, and when he'd first thrown the wheel and been tossed, quite by surprise, onto the dirt, he'd thought someone would be by in no time. But the hours had lingered on, and the sun had grown heavier, and not a soul walked the dusty road from the north country. 

-

Groves was staring up at the sun, his vision blurry, and his tongue dry. He'd brought enough water for the trip, but not for this. He would have had something left to eat if he'd not made sport of throwing the wife's awful scones at birds along the trip.

He took a swig of the last waterskin he had left, and shook it. It was getting troublingly low. 

"What do you think, Murrey?" he asked the donkey, looking over to where the beast sat panting in the sun, "Shall we make a walk of it?" 

He could barely stand, his body was so weak. His arms and legs ached from the strain of lifting. His arse ached from the tumbled from his seat. His nose was scorched red from the sun. Groves finally admitted to himself it was lose all the silks and stagger home a begger, or maybe not get home at all. 

"What would the wife say? Eh Murrey? If the sun doesn't kill us, she bloody will I tell you that for nothing," he gave a snort. When he spoke again, it was in a mockery of his wife's piping accent.

"Lost all his wares on the road he did, on that old cart acting a todger as usual. Got nothing left, had to eat the donkey for dinner."  

He smiled at the donkey, and the beasts dark eyes stared back. Groves gave a long sigh.

"You never had any sense of humour."

He looked up the road again, the evening light tricking him into wondering if he could see the shadow of great Truronia's walls on the horizon, but there was nothing. No guards, no soldiers, nothing.

He gave a cursory glance back the way he had come, and his head turned back suddenly when something caught his eye.

He thought it must be a mirage at first, some trick brought on by the sun. 

There was a figure coming down the road. Slow and steady.

The figure was strange, hard to make out at first, seeming to be nonsensical. The blurriness from the sun was making clear assessment difficult. It looked like they were wearing some sort of hat.

Groves watched, mesmerized, as the figure strode closer, slow and steady. 

Tall, and slender to the look of it, not bulky with clothing as far as Groves could tell, but blue all over. Gods, that blue. He'd silks from Zenance he'd sold for a small fortune not as blue as that. He'd have to see where the figure came by it. Some sort of hat was definitely going on there, a tall arrangement extending beyond the figure's head. Almost like horns. 

The figure was clearly female, Groves noticed. He'd made half a century out of watching for women in the marketplace, the way they walk, the shape of their hips. All these thing he'd notice. The curve of the body, the clear shape at chest, hips, it was a woman all right. Something on her thigh was reflecting the dying light, sparkling.

Soon enough, Groves mouth dropped open. The figure was coming closer, slow and steady. It wasn't a hat. They were horns, huge upright horns that pointed towards the great open sky. They extended up from a dark veil, concealing the figure's face. The blue material of the rest of the figure was smooth, not even material like. 

Groves gave a cough and a stunned mutter when he realized the figure was naked. Her skin the most vibrant icy blue he'd ever seen. He found himself staggering to his feet. Staring, he still couldn't believe what he was seeing.

She was a beauty. A figure molded as if from marble. Strong and elegant she strode, one shapely foot in front of the other. Her toes were a softer shade of purple, and they pointed delicately as she walked. Slow and steady. Glinting silver, clasped around her upper left thigh, a coil of metal. Almost like a garter. 

Groves was overcome with a strange dissonance of emotions. To stare at the figure, to take in those legs, the curve of the hips. A modest bosom that he'd have found worth a glance even clothed, swayed bare in the sun as she walked. It made him feel like a giddy child. 

At the same time, he felt a rush of adrenaline, apprehension, fear. What manner of woman walked nude, across miles of country, bearing a head of horns and skin blue as the western seas. 

Was this death? Was this how she comes for you? Groves found himself entertaining the idea, and momentarily glanced back, half expecting to see his own dead body laying there in the dirt. 

No figure lay at his feet, and Groves turned back to find the woman now only minutes away. Within shouting distance, even. There he stood, somewhere in between home and Truronia, somewhere in between standing and fleeing for his life.

The figure came to a stop, a few feet before him, and Groves stood staring, mouth agape. His brain ceased to function for a moment as he took her in. Her face was mostly concealed by a simple black veil that hung about her head, concealing any hair, with holes to allow the horns to sprout through. Only the lower part of her face was visible. A strong, aquiline jaw, with thin purple lips. A face that betrayed no emotion. 

Her eyes were not visible, and he immediately felt shame as hie glanced down at her icy blue body, at her breasts, the dark purple nipples. Her figure was strong, like he figured a warrior must look. The muscles of a worked abdomen reminded him of a youthful body deserted him some thirty years back. He looked between her legs for a moment, a mound of snow white curls inviting him to stare, and found himself looking up directly at where he eyes must be, trying to play it off, thankful that his sunburn concealed his blush. The purple lips did not move to show any displeasure at his apparent appraisal of her bare body.

"Good evening to you, ah, ma'am. Miss." he said, stuttering. His powerful, practiced merchants bark had escaped him, and he sounded like a meek child, "Are you...are you alright, miss?"

The woman looked at him for a moment, as far as Groves could tell, and her hands came to meet in front of her hips. Strong arms, the blue colour darkening purple as it reached her fingers.

"It's a beautiful evening, thankyou. It seems you're having trouble, good sir. Might I be of assistance?" 

Her voice was unexpected and Groves was taken aback. A firm and loud voice, used to speaking, but delicately pronounced, as if speaking to reassure, to calm. Her accent was lyrical, like folk from the old country, and Groves was filled with a wave of nostalgia. 

"Your wheel is broken, might I help?" she continued, and Groves realized he hadn't responded. He raised a hand to scratch his head and turned to the cart, tearing his eyes from her beauty with some difficulty. 

"Oh, yes! Yes, the wheel. Came off on a rock. Heading to Truronia, for...for market." 

"Market day is beautiful, so much to be thankful for, all around."

"Not much to be thankful for here though I tell you that for... been in the sun a long time."

"Nonsense," the woman said, and immediately stepped forward, Groves was taken aback at her approach, and suddenly became aware of the woman's obvious strength. She stopped just before him, her head a few inches above his own, but her horns towering higher, and her lips spread in a warm smile.

"We must be thankful for the trials, and the hardships, and the suffering, good sir. Every day." 

Without a further word, the naked figure dropped to a crouch before the cart. Her strong arms reached out for the wheel, and ran a finger down it, as if appraising the construction. 

"Each day we suffer is a blessing. Each ache, each strike, each burn of the sun on our flesh is a reminder of our physical form. That we can endure, we can feel. We can do so much."

Groves opened his mouth to speak, but nothing came out. He leant to attempt to help, but the woman raised a single hand to him, stopping his movement. 

"Please, allow me to take this burden from you. If it please you."

Looking down at her, Groves gave a shrug.

"I may not be a big lad but I couldn't move it an inch, If you think you might have better luck, you're welcome to give it a try." 

The lips smiled again, and the veil dipped in a nod. 

"Thankyou." she said quietly. 

Groves watched as she moved to grab hold of the wheel, her naked body tensing. He watched as her powerful muscles bunched, her legs braced against the road, arms tightening as she took hold of the wheel. The clasp around her thigh, he saw now, was a delicate arrangement of crossing metal. Clasped so tight was it about her thigh, that as she moved, he knew it must be digging into her flesh. 

"May it please you," she said quietly, then gave a hiss of exertion. Her hips twisted, and with a cry, she lifted the wheel clean from the ground. For a moment, the weight of the great thing was fully supported by her, shoulders tensed, body shaking, teeth clenched hard. With a thrust of her whole figure, she brought the wheel forward, slotting onto the axle with a resonant clunk. 

With one last thump of her clenched fist against the wheel, she slumped to the ground. Groves watched, mouth trembling fighting for words. The woman sat down, seating herself, chest heaving with slow, deep breaths. 

She sat there like that for a moment, her head down on a raised knee. Under her breath, Groves heard her quiet prayer.

"For every pain, for every ache, for every drop of blood I am eternally, exquisitely thankful."

Slowly, she rose. 

"That was... incredible," Groves stuttered, "How did you do it?"

The figure gave the slightest of bows to him.

"No praise is necessary, good sir. You were kind enough to gift to me your pain and hardships. I am deeply grateful."

She extended a hand to him, and for a moment, Groves didn't know what to do. Slowly, he extended his own, allowing her to take it. When her fingertips touched his, they were cold. 

Delicately she bowed, leaning forward, to bring her lips to his palm. Her kiss was soft, and as chill as her touch. 

After she released his hand, he took it back, cradling it to his chest. The sensation of her kiss remained. 

"Who...who are you, please?" he asked. Returning to her pose, hands clasped in front of her hips, she nodded briefly.

"I am Sister Thekkla, if it please you. Of the sisterhood of the martyred one, in the service of our patron The Sundered Lord."

"Well... thanks to him he sent you my way. I could have died out here if you hadn't passed by."

He gestured to her, at her naked figure, and felt ashamed for doing so immediately, but couldn't conceal his interest.

"Why are you...well, you're naked, miss. I thought you were a vision when first I saw you stroll up." 

The head inclined again.

"Penance, good sir. For my transgressions must be punished, so that I may become wiser, stronger, and closer to Him."

"Penance? You're being punished? They just stick you in the stocks where I'm from, not send you out bare naked into the sun."

A ghost of a playful smile touched the purple lips.

"I disagreed with my most exalted mother superior regarding the construction of an awning. She deemed it sufficient to weather winter storms, I made claim otherwise," she hesitated briefly, before continuing, "Twice. The second time including a... choice of language ill fitting someone of my devotion."

"Ah... yeah I've been chewed out for telling my boss to go fuck himself too."

Thekkla laughed, a musical tinkling that was pleasant on the ears.

"Thusly, must I walk at precise pace to Truronia, to the church of the Lost Martyr, to receive a mark upon my back from the disciplinarian. At the exact correct pace, I should have been back before dawn."

"Through Truronia? Like that? You're not afraid you'll be... you know." he gestured down the street, at the specter of the great and luminous capital city.  

"I fear nothing, good sir. And there is no hardship that can be visited by man that my body would be unprepared to endure."

Groves exhaled, glancing again across her body. The curves of it, the cords of muscle, the beauty and strength of it. It was mesmerizing. If he could sell artwork of that body he'd pack in the silk trade altogether and be a rich man. 

Thekkla gave a bow then, a deep and gracious curtsy, her arms spreading out, before bringing her hands back to clasp over her heart.

"Be well upon your journey sir, enjoy the markets. And take pleasure in the hardships visited upon you. Should you ever again face hardship you cannot overcome, bring them to me at the monastery above Marazion Village. I will welcome you."

He stared, awestruck, wanting then deeply to find some hardship. 

"That I will, be sure of that."

Thekkla turned, and began walking back the way she had come, into the evening light. Slow and steady. 

"Truronia's that way though!" Groves blurted out, pointing down the street. 

Without turning, Thekkla stopped, and spoke.

"The pace to complete my penance is quite precise. Mother superior will know I have dawdled. I must return now, and begin anew. Be well, good sir."

With that, Thekkla strode down the dirt road, her bare feet stepping over sharp rocks. 

Groves watched after her for some time, until her naked flesh was just a pale ghost in the moonlight far in the distance. 

Tales from Solemn Vale: The Stack

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

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

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

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

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

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