Daughter of Wreath, ch.6

Author's Note: In a long-lost crypt searching for golem parts to recycle, Nowa and her companions face their greatest threat yet!

[story/combat] [nudity/snuggling]

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A bassy rumble begins to shake the entire chamber, dust drifting off of the walls and ceiling in great plumes. I stare up at the metallic creature in horror and awe, taking what fleeting moments I might have used to flee to take in its appearance, to attempt to see and understand this iron behemoth as it rouses itself to life, though whether it’s ‘activated’ or simply enraged by our presence, I can’t say.

The thing far exceeds Gelyn in height, explaining why the chamber containing it is so massive – I’d guess it at ten or eleven feet, though how many thousands of pounds it must weigh I cannot possibly fathom. In ways, it resembles a enormous suit of plate mail with a full helmet, a single wide point of piercing orange light peering out from behind its visor. Glyphs and sigils decorate the armor, but are neither painted nor neatly engraved, but crudely rent into place, as if a dagger, axe, or saw was used to scarify the metal. To torture it.

It is so much more than armor, though, for it holds no wearer within its metal cage, but an endless maze of whirring, chewing things, the inner workings of its magical artifice sometimes visible at joints or between plates. What few glimpses I get of those reveals them to not be mechanical in nature at all, not the cogs and springs one would expect to see on a great clock or other modern device. The things moving beneath the plates are tiny creatures, shackled and chained to one another, bound to perpetual labor operating this titan – spirits, not unlike the creature in Paiz-Lee’s lamp, or the ones Vexa has previously conscripted to our services. Creatures of the natural world, enslaved in iron forever.

“Ooooh, this is gonna suck!” Gelyn exclaims, though her voice remains oddly cheerful as she tightens her grip around her mace-ax, preparing for what promises to be a very unfortunate experience. The rest of us quickly backpedal, brandishing weapons of our own as the thing shakes the dust off of itself, gauntlet-like hands flexing and tightening, exploring their range of motion over what must have been an outstandingly long time dormant. It doesn’t speak, but it does groan – a sound not unlike that of my village’s blacksmith, Otto, getting out of a comfortable chair… if he was ten times the size and encased in steel.

In a moment, that groan rises to a shriek, the sound of tortured iron echoing off stone walls as the sound bellows from deep within it, not a voice, but a function, every inch of anguished metal now awakened… and if the bas-relief outside is any indication, probably also quite unhappy. “MMMRRHHHHHHH–!” the thing roars, tilting its massive body to point a massive arm at Gelyn. The shokari is alert, ready to react… but not fast enough by a fair measure to parry a blow from the titan’s fist, for it does not strike as a human would. Rather, it ‘aims’ its fist toward her, then fires it forth like a bolt from a crossbow, its fist rocketing forth from the elbow on a sturdy metal slide – and, for however brief a moment, exposing the writhing, squealing spirits beneath the armor.

While Gelyn neither parries nor evades the strike, her weapon blocks a portion of the blow, the force of the strike still sending her flying back a solid five feet and onto her ass, scrambling to stand once more. The thing pivots at the waist – no, not pivots, rotates – now facing me. “Oh no – no no no no no no–!” I yelp as the opposite fist launches out at me. It makes full contact with my chest, and even as I roll with the attack, trying to let the force carry me backward rather than just crushing all my pitiful little bones, a wave of pain blasts out through my entire body, the kind of pain that makes your teeth hurt, the kind of pain that makes you wonder for a few moments if you actually survived at all. I’m sent back even farther than Gelyn was, and far less gracefully. I feel my back slam against the brick wall behind me, feel a couple ribs crack, and taste warm blood trickling down from behind my nose, onto my tongue. A single hit. A single hit.

I blink in pain and confusion, regaining consciousness an instant later, now slumped on the floor with my back against the wall, legs splayed out in front of me, my short sword clattered to the stone half a foot from my fingertips, where I dropped it. I try to move, to reach for it, but my muscles scream with pain – and I’m confronted with just how useless I really am. What sort of idiot am I to wander willingly and knowingly into danger when I have no noteworthy skills of my own? Above-average overland stamina and the ability to tell a western wanderlark from a blue-tipped bushdart won’t do anything against a giant made of steel, deep below Wreath’s surface, in some dungeon where I’ll probably die. My only power comes from monsters… and there aren’t any here. If I survive this, it’ll be because of the women I brought with me.

But how magnificent they are! Shortly after hitting the wall myself, Gelyn’s already back on her feet, lunging forward with her great, bladed mace, crushing the blunt end against the joint at the creature’s shoulder. I can see she’s being cautious, too – after underestimating the speed of the first strike, she now evades the direction those fists face entirely, keeping toward the golem’s back and sides, displaying surprising agility considering her enormous, muscular frame. It pivots constantly, letting out that long, low, thunderous murmur as it tries to get her in reach of one of its devastating blows, great plumes of dust gushing out from its joints as it launches its fists outward again and again, trying to land a hit against the elusive shokari.

Our goblin guide, Paiz-Lee Funcheon, slipped out of the fray before the first blow landed, wheeling around towards the back of the chamber. While she had been tightly clasping that short, straight-backed seax she keeps, it’s back in its scabbard now – instead, the goblin’s taking a moment to rifle through that little butt-pack of hers, sorting through different strange items and finally withdrawing what she was looking for: a fine, thin length of chain, on either end of which is a segmented bronze orb. She grins, a grin that shows teeth, as she clicks a small catch on either of the orbs, causing them to slightly expand, now taking on more of an oblong shape as parts of their inner workings are exposed. I can only watch, uncertain but interested, as she tosses the length of chain at the creature, successfully wrapping it around on iron-jointed knee.

For a moment, I wonder what the point was. It doesn’t explode, there’s no spikes or anything like that, it doesn’t even seem to restrict the movement of that specific joint – this metal behemoth still stomps back and forth, pursuing the shokari who’s so desperately trying to do any damage to it, largely failing. It takes some time before I notice the gadget’s purpose: from the extended ‘capsules,’ a viscous black substance has begun to drip, streaming down the goliath’s leg, ever closer to its foot. What gooey liquid could this be, and why would it– wait! Could this be Dark Oil? I’ve read precious little about it, other than that it somehow differs from the oils we get from seeds or blubber, what we use to keep our lanterns running. Valuable, too, or… it’s supposed to be, anyway. Why does Paize have it? And why’s she wasting it by letting it dribble down this golem’s leg? Strange goblin!

Vexa, visibly, is holding back, keeping a safe distance with her staff positioned in front of her, using its gnarled tip to send forth a thin, crackling ray of blue-white light, like a lightning bolt but far, far less impressive. While the golem barely seems to notice it, her restraint makes sense if what she said about magic is true – that it doesn’t come from nothing, but the wielder’s own life, shaving weeks, months, and even years off the time a magic-user may spend on Wreath. If she goes all-out on a fight that would eventually have been won anyway, she’s wasted something she can never get back. The way I feel, though, knowing the force of the creature’s blows… I do wish the elf was doing more to help.

Gelyn backpedals step after step, letting the golem press her, gain momentum. I can’t tell if she’s trying to lure it away from us or if she’s just getting exhausted from the burden of the thing’s attention, but it thunders after her, each massive step summoning a storm of dust and dry, cracking papers into the air, those fists raining down hit after hit, more focused now, almost impossible to evade completely. More and more hits are being slapped away by Gelyn’s mace-ax, or making contact with glancing blows. She can’t keep this up much longer, and I don’t think I can–

There’s a grinding and squeaking sound as the metallic monstrosity tries to take another step forward, its massive, ‘booted’ foot landing, then abruptly twisting in place, sending the entire thing into a tight spiral with enormous momentum, ultimately crashing down to one knee. An instant before it falls, I see – or at least I think I see – what caused the collapse: the black goo trickling down its leg, what I suspect to be Dark Oil, has finally reached the bottom of the creature’s foot. Is that what caused it to slip? Or has Thoph possessed me, given me the gift of creating something from nothing, in this case a half-formed theory out of precious little information?

What’s important, though, is that the thing’s fallen. Still incredibly dangerous, mind – its torso continues to pivot around, though now with a more slow and jerky rhythm, and its arms still lash out in front of it… but only in front of it and to its sides, leaving its backside exposed. More importantly, it’s extended itself in a way it isn’t meant to, its ‘breastplate’ lifting up from what would be its waist, exposing an underbelly of the squirming, wailing spirits bound inside.

Spirits….

Wait, are spirits monsters?

I try to summon the strength to make my fingers twitch, my toes curl, anything. Time seems to slow down as I watch my three companions seize this moment of advantage – Gelyn wears a wide smile despite her battered body, having crawled onto the thing’s back, smashing down blow after blow at the back of its head. Paize throws strange little contraptions of bent and twisted metal that stick in place like burrs, aiming at the creature’s joints, causing them to pop and squeak as it tries to move. Vexa has gotten a little closer, keeping that thin beam of light streaming forth from her staff, but now aiming it directly at the open visor of the golem’s ‘head.’ “Die you fuck!” she snarls, “Those take you, just stop fucking moving!”

It does not stop moving. It’s slowed, distracted, annoyed, enraged, but it never seems damaged, it doesn’t seem like anything any of us can do can actually stop it. Unless, maybe… I can get to it. I grit my teeth, and concentrate. Think of why I’m here – not just in this ancient, dusty tomb for long-forgotten golems, but why I came to Tague, why I’ve traveled halfway across Paraven and gathered these strange women along my journey. My mother. I have to find her, I have to… to save her, if she’s in danger. I may not be a real hero, but it’s time to start acting like it.

With an agonized groan, I plant a foot beneath myself, and push myself forward, half-standing, half-crawling, half-stumbling, gaining enough forward momentum that I find myself trundling forward on knees and elbows, one hand outstretched toward the creature’s exposed ‘waist.’ It rotates sharply in place, a shriek of rent iron ringing out through the chamber as Paiz-Lee’s metal burrs dig into its joints – and it grabs Gelyn by the arm, squeezing tight, causing the shokari to scream out in pain. “AaaaaaAAaEeGHhhHhH–!” I hear a bone break, I think, as her scream rises into a defiant, blood-curdling crescendo.

I hear shouts around me, and as ever, that endless, hollow moan from the golem itself, but it’s all drowned out by the rushing of the blood in my own ears. I stumble a few half-steps more, then lunge, reaching out at the exposed cluster of spirits. I don’t know what this will do, or if it’ll do anything at all – I don’t have the slightest understanding of how or why my ability works, so right now, all I’m going off of is blind faith… faith, and the hope that if I pull my weight, we all make it out of this place alive.

My fingers tangle in a clump of writhing bodies, the wires and fine chains that keep them linked together, keep drawing from them to power the steel behemoth they reside within. They feel… soft. Tingly. Squishy, almost. Not all of them are the same, though. These are spirits taken from all over, some swath of the natural world raped of the things that made it live, now likely lying barren. Little creatures of springs and ponds, grasses, flowers, campfires, ashes, smoke, earth, insects. Everything that makes life alive, everything that makes Wreath real, shackled together to fuel this abomination.

I make a fist, and try to use my power, focusing on this handful of small, squirming things, using my mind’s eye to visualize their essence flowing into me. I’ve never used my powers on a spirit before, nor on several things at once, and I know next to nothing about whatever sort of magic is binding them. I can only hope for the best.

I see black, and pain shoots through me, spreading from my hand to my chest, then radiating outward until it’s reached every fingertip, every toe, my eyes aching, tongue aching, even my hair feels like it’s aflame. Blackness again, then light, then blackness – I see the stone floor beneath me, hear shouting from Vexa, hear metal against stone – blackness again – more pain – the floor again, now with a splatter of blood, from my mouth I think – blackness again. Finally I roll onto my back and gasp, sucking in a stale breath, the taste of iron and dust on my tongue, my vision spinning, blurred. I squeeze my eyes shut, wonder if that was the last time they’ll ever open.

Blackness again.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

“Nae worries, Tague’s safe a place as any for the wee kine to have a wink of beauty sleep. With the haul we got here, we’ve more’n enough bits to see she’s treated fondly, aye?”

“The question is whether she’s gonna wake up after that, at all.”

“Oh, she will, won’t she? Four adventurers is just the right amount, and… well, I’m not sure we could have done it without her.”

“Four? Who said anythin’ aboot four? Dinnae act like I’m one o’ yer merry band after we’re back to the city, I got wit I wanted, ne’er signed myself to travel across Wreath wit ye.”

“Fair enough.” I feel the back of a clammy hand touch my forehead, definitely Vexa’s. A moment later, long fingers feel my neck for a pulse. “She’s alive, and breathing. Yo, bug! If there’s anyone in there, let me know if you want us to bury you here or have Gelyn carry you back to Tague. Alternatively, it’s not impossible that I could transfer your consciousness into one of these golem bodies, but considering your weird-ass power, I’m not sure I recommend that. Not sure I wanna see a half-Grazzoth golem.”

My eyes slowly crack open, but I’m definitely not strong enough to sit up. “Uggghhhhhhh….”

“Oh shit! She’s awake!” Gelyn gasps, rushing over to my side with a wide, bright smile.

“Well, dust me with sweetness and call me a hotcake.” I hear Paiz-Lee’s voice, but can’t see the goblin from where I’m laying.

“Gelyn can… carry me… anywhere she – koff – wants,” I chuckle weakly, struggling to pull myself up onto one elbow, getting a look at my surroundings. We’re still in the same chamber, and the golem we fought lies inert in the middle of it, in the same position it had been when I’d touched it, the cuirass lifted to exposed it’s ‘waist’ – which now lies empty but for some chains and wires, devoid of all the spirits that had once infested. “What… happened, exactly?”

Vexa considers her words a moment, dragging her single metal fang over her lower lip thoughtfully. “Well, after you did… whatever the fuck it was that you did, it was, uhh… hm.” She pauses again. “It was like dumping a bucket full of ice onto a bonfire. Lot of smoke and light and noise. Was sorta hard to tell exactly happened. You changed colors a few times. Then, ahh… yeah.”

“Its head popped off, but we beat at it for a little while afterwards just to make sure!” Gelyn adds excitedly. She’s badly beaten up – blood cakes her brow, lip, and nose, and has left her brightly-colored clothing primarily red, while black bruises ringed with a sickly pale green decorate a good deal of her purple-gray skin. Somehow, she seems to be in excellent spirits.

I try to shake the pain and dizziness from my head, sitting up a bit more and feeling more pain and tension in my chest – some ribs are definitely cracked, if not broken entirely. Not great. At least we aren’t far from civilization. Vexa stands up to join our goblin ‘friend’ in looting the room, and suddenly I remember why we even came here in the first place. “So, Paize, did you get, uh… whatever it is you wanted to come here for?”

“More’n I coulda hoped for, lass,” the goblin shoots a wide grin in my direction, holding up an inscribed metal orb that she’s fished out of one of the inert golems lining the walls. “I’ll scav the best stuff, then sell the coordinates – get a team of strong-backed blokes to come gather all the scrap wi’out fear o’ harm. Shame the research looks to all be rubbish, whoever was here built somethin’ impressive, but not exactly… stable.”

“Not all the research,” comes a pleased coo from Vexa, the witch rummaging through desks and piles of papers – not looking for the parts like Paize is, but the notes left behind, and it seems like she’s found something. “This is coming with us. Call it a finder’s fee.”

“Oy, now, we had a–”

“It is not up for discussion.” The elf’s tone is icy and final. “Hey, bigstuff, you alright to carry Nowa? I’d like to get out of this place and into a warm bath sooner, rather than later. We’ve held up our end of the arrangement, and the city awaits.”

“I can get her, yeah,” Gelyn nods, “I just hope she doesn’t mind the occasional big sneeze.”

“I’ll be alright,” I wince, laying back down and awaiting collection. “And yeah, a bath sounds great. And… probably a healer, too.”

“Ain’t a thing in Tague’s free,” Paize warns, “but… as I said, this is a better haul’n I expected to get. Be a pity to send the three o’ ye into Tague wi’out so much as an ambit to yer names. We’ll work somethin’ oot.”

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

It takes longer to get back to Tague than it took to reach the catacombs. The agony of cracked ribs I find is pleasantly tempered by the joy of being bridal-carried by Gelyn, though I have to actively shield my face from the yield of her many, many violent sneezes along the way, one of which nearly sees me dropped to the ground.

Finally, we reach the gates of Tague. It’s quite… impressive, in a strange way. Tall walls surround the city, constructed of bent, jagged metal, rusted through and patched over in plenty of spots, the tops of the walls sporting spikes or cut into sawbacks, ensuring that any attempt to climb over would be… inadvisable. In addition, every so often a section of wall will have a palisade built behind it, acting as a platform for one of the city’s true guardians: Golems, just as Paize said. Every bit as twisted, tarnished, and malformed as the walls themselves, these barely-humanoid monstrosities stand silent, unfeeling vigil over this city of scandal. Quite an effective deterrent, I can see why the Order hasn’t tried to impose itself upon Tague.

“Right then, I’ll have a wee bit o’ gab wi’ the guards and we’ll be right on in.” Paiz-Lee heads out ahead of us as we approach the gate, greeting a couple of goblins in piecemeal chain armor standing guard outside, their shields bearing the city’s standard: A fat snake trying to swallow a giant, winged coin from beneath, all in black on an emerald green background. The three exchange words only briefly, then coins, and Paize waves us over. Just like that, we’re past the guards, and at long last, we’ve made our way to Tague… supposedly the current home of the Shrine of the Second. Finally, the search for my mother can resume. I’m so close now, I have to be.

The city is an immediate menagerie of sights and sounds, displays I’m too exhausted and wounded to fully appreciate. This place, especially for a non-goblin, is designed to suck you in, get you to start spending money straight away so you can help to further swell Tague’s already outstanding economy. Fliers for eateries, breweries, circuses, brothels, freakshows, and everything in between litter the uneven cobblestone streets and decorate the sides of buildings, and the air is clogged with noise, people shouting over each other just to be heard over the din of advertisements and hawkers. A goblin man to my right sells his services as a guide to find “all the best spots” in Tague, while a goblin woman claims a nearby establishment offers the best “massages” in the city, wearing a bustier so low-cut that both her deep green areolas are clearly visible. Throughout all of it is music, ranging from pleasant distraction to discordant cacophony depending on where you stand – various live bands playing completely different songs in entirely different styles, either on the street or within an establishment, each trying to drown out the others. Colored canvas canopies shade the street, and beneath those, colored glass lanterns, hazy swirls of red, blue, yellow, and purple casting strange glares and shadows across this busy, complicated place.

“Those beyond,” Gelyn whispers under her breath. “I thought the circus was crazy.”

“Welcome to Tague,” Paize chuckles as she leads us in. “Suppose I’ll help ye get yer bearings right quick, ‘fore ye gets yerselves lost. This–” she gestures with both hands at the bazaar around her. “–Is Nickel Boulevard. Reckon you’ll spend most o’ yer time around here. Biggest part o’ the city, an’ it’s where the bits change hands, hence the name. Fair few taverns, inns, and hostels, so you’ll have no shortage o’ lodging, neither.”

“Speaking of bits,” Vexa says coolly, narrowing her hawkish golden eyes.

“Right! Right, dinnae flap,” Paize feigns forgetfulness, but reaches into her butt-pack and withdraws a sack of coins, tossing it to the elf. “I’d say that makes us more’n even, you’ll be able to rest easy and have a wee bit of pocket coin to splash ‘round.”

Vexa catches the bag, immediately opening it and peeking inside. What has she gone through that’s made her so untrusting, I wonder? Still, with Gelyn at the opposite side of the trust-spectrum, I suppose it’s good to have someone watching our back.

“Keep going!” Gelyn beams. “I wanna hear about the rest of the city!”

“Right, so ya do,” Paize nods, turning and pointing toward the horizon, the sun beginning to set behind a hill at the city’s far end. “That far up bit is called the Jaw. Closest Tague gets to a government district. Doubt ye’ll have much ‘cause to head that way.”

“The Jaw?” I ask.

“That’s where the Tongue sits, ain’t it?” the goblin chuckles. “I’ve nae time to haver about politics, but the Tongue makes the calls once decisions have been made. Mind yerselves, an’ ye’ll nae have to worry a bit aboot it.”

“Tongue sits in the… Jaw…” Gelyn murmurs, suddenly aware of and seemingly discomforted by her own tongue, ultimately sticking it out between her lips like a cat that got distracted mid-lick.

Sucking in a deep breath through her nostrils, Paize continues. “That way’s the Rows, if yer after some ‘legitimate’ businesses,” she throws us a wink. “That way’s the Workshops. Scrap and rebuild golems, all that sort of bawbaggery, keep the city goin’. And, uh… that way’s the Longlies. Just houses, mostly. Where the folk who ain’t just visitin’ actually live.”

“You mentioned the Warrens earlier,” I groan, “where are those…?”

“Warrens are underneath Tague. I’d nae recommend ye head that way, though I dinnae rightly ken the sort o’ nonsense ye came to Tague for,” she looks pensive for a moment, as if she’s considering asking, but seems to choose not to. “For most visitors, the Boulevard’s gonna have e’erythin’ ye could ask for.”

“Let’s not write the Warrens off,” Vexa says thoughtfully, turning her piercing gaze toward me. “The Shrine could be anywhere; we still don’t really know what we’re looking for.”

“Shrine?” Paiz-Lee’s purple eyes widen, her large, pointed ears visibly lifting up and pointing outward. “You dinnae mean the Shrine of the Second, do ye?”

“...We might….” I respond uneasily, from the comfort of Gelyn’s strong, smooth gray arms.

“Would nae go lookin’ for that,” the goblin says with a dismissive wave of her hand that contrasts her sudden interest. “Plenty o’ lavvy-heided doolallies swing thither tryin’ tae find it, most o’ ‘em either get tae fuck empty-handed or dinnae show back up at all. Enjoy the city. Lay low, spend some nickel, if those Holy Vessel roasters have ye in their sniffers, they’ll lose the scent a’fore too long. An’ hey, if ye ever need a few more bits floatin’ yer way, ye dinnae make half-shoddy corsairs; look me up sometime, aye?” She turns to leave, then pauses, pointing westward, “There’s a tavern not far off called the Ticklish Eel, high-class but gentle on tourists. Dinnae say I ne’er did nothin’ for ye.”

With that, she vanishes into the crowd, and I can’t help but feel a little sad to see her go. We were a team, for however short a time, and Gelyn was right – four does feel right, somehow. Then again… I suppose our journey may be nearing its end anyway, right? Soon I can go home. It’ll be another long walk, but at least I’ll have my mom with me.

“Well, that was fun while it lasted. Who else is fucking starving?” Vexa snickers, pocketing the sack of coins and heading off in the direction Paize pointed out, with Gelyn following behind, carrying me. “I’ve heard good things about goblin food! Only ever had a little of it, myself. All the importing of spices and herbs is supposed to make it very flavorful.”

“Do you think this tavern has a healer?” Gelyn speaks up. “I don’t mean to complain, but… Nowa and I, and… especially Nowa… we’re not doing so great. And I’m getting really, really tired.”

“Nothing a good bottle and a couple nights sleep won’t fix,” the witch lies, “but… yeah, we’ll keep a weather eye open, I suppose.”

We make our way past a public display of bellydancing and a pair of brothers advertising their nightly show as illusionists and escape artists, but all of us are too tired to stop and admire the sights of the city just yet. I’m surprised at how many non-goblins are on the streets with us – not typically hawking their own wares, but bringing their money to Tague to buy. Mostly humans (among them, primarily graiceans), with plenty of elves and even more unusual folks, like the shokari or the zura.

The Ticklish Eel is quite easy to find, its sign (bearing an image of a squirming eel, surrounded by disembodied hands with tickle-fingers extended) brightly lit by what I assume to be bound spirits. It’s three stories and built of sturdy white brick, encrusted with old fliers and posters, then even that overgrown by an aggressive green ivy with red-tipped leaves. Its top floor is shunted slightly sideways, leaving room for a rail-protected patio where taverngoers can have their parties under the moonlit sky. Huge round top double-doors, coated in flaking blue paint, loom ahead of us – and behind them, finally, some rest.

Gelyn sets me down on my feet, and I lean against her, the two of us hobbling along behind Vexa and into the building, where we’re assaulted once again by the sound of music, slow-thumping drums under loud, wild strings, the air filled with the sound of lyres, viols, and a steel whistle. The smell of food, particularly that of toasted spices, also hits hard, and I find myself very, very excited to spend a few days here. The first floor is large but still a little cramped, with a bar at the back end and a kitchen behind that, the main dining area dominated by polished wood tables and squat stools, short enough for goblins but sturdy enough for one of Wreath’s bigger folk (though I don’t see Gelyn having an easy time with one). In the corners are larger, well-stuffed chairs and couches, their threadbare casings concealed with an eclectic array of blankets in all types of chaotic patterns, and this seems to be a place for taverngoers to sit, smoke, drink, and talk, the farthest away from where the band plays.

“You two watch yourselves, I’ll get us a room,” Vexa says, vanishing into the crowd before either of us can say anything.

“Wait, room? Just the one?” I murmur.

“Hopefully it’s a big one,” the shokari strongwoman says with a hint of worry in her voice, keeping a firm hold on me so I don’t topple over.

Some moments later, the lanky witch shuffles back through the crowded common area, holding up an odd-looking metal key. “Got a decent deal for a week’s stay. Only two beds, so two of us will have to share, but we get a private bath. Paid to have meals and wine brought, too.”

“And a healer?” Gelyn asks.

“Ugh, you two and your endless talk of healers,” Vexa feigns disgust, then chuckles. “They don’t have anyone on the payroll, but I found a guy who claims to have been a sawbones for the Insurgency and bought him a couple drinks, he should be up to our room soon enough.”

“Fine by me,” I groan. I’m not in much of a position to be picky, even if I’m not really sure what the Insurgency she mentioned is.

The three of us head up the stairs to the second floor, and find our room, which is pleasantly spacious. It seems like, with Tague being the money-trap that it is, lodging is uncommonly affordable, letting you spend your hard-earned nickel elsewhere in the city. Fine by me.

The room is surprisingly spacious and actually quite nice, which… honestly, I couldn’t be happier with. Months on the road, sleeping on the ground, with my only brief respite being the occasional single night in a seedy roadside tavern, I could really use a proper bed and some proper rest. The lot of us set aside our weapons and heavier pieces of equipment like boots, belts, and cloaks, and I finally flop back onto the bed and just let my eyes close.

The sawbones Vexa mentioned shows up after close to an hour – a scrawny, dark-haired elven man with one ear and more broken fingers than intact ones – and while his breath smells of wine, he dutifully looks over Gelyn’s and my injuries. He confirms that a few of my ribs are broken, as are a few of the shokari’s, before wrapping the injured areas in clean bandages and offering a few spots of stitching to some of Gelyn’s badly-closing wounds. After informing us to get as much rest as we can, Vexa drops a few ambits into his hand, and he takes his leave.

Some twenty minutes later, food arrives, and I’m hit with the scent of it before it even comes through the door – rice infused with herbs, crispy on the bottom, and thick slices of what I assume to be duck, glazed with a sauce that tastes of honey, oranges, and pepper. My injuries temper what hunger I can muster, but the wine Vexa ordered (which is dark red, woody, and very sweet) conjures it back in only a few sips, and I eat as much as I think I can hold. My companions, likewise, eat their fill and guzzle from the wine bottle, and the Birch Witch heads down to buy two more bottles before coming back to our room, and immediately starting to strip out of her clothing.

“Whoa! Uhh, why are you…?” Gelyn starts to say, taking a surprisingly demure sip from her own mug of wine, pale eyes lingering on Vexa as the elf discards her ragged black robes and the various scraps of black leather holding her outfit together, exposing more and more of her lanky, impossibly pale figure.

“If there’s one thing better than wine, it’s wine in a hot bath,” she says, opening the curtain to our room’s washing area to reveal the decently-sized claw foot tub within. She removes what remains of her smallclothes, leaving herself stark naked as she works the hand-cranked pump to get water to flow from the inn’s cistern into our room, and I find myself oddly delighted by the sight. I’ve seen Vexa naked before, of course – we’ve had sex twice, now, after all – but there’s a certain strange joy to getting to admire her nudity in a casual setting, not from up close, from across the room. She’s beautiful, despite a somewhat specific sort of build and the pallid peculiarities that come with it, and I like just looking at her. “Besides, why wear clothes?” she comments, as if reading my mind. “Clothes are made to protect and conceal, and I have no interest in doing either from the two of you – you want to stare, stare away.” It is like she’s reading my mind!

“Honestly, we’d probably do better to get out of these dirty things, too,” I say, glancing at Gelyn as I fuss with the buttons of my undershirt, letting it drift open and then squirming out of it, dropping it to the floor beside the bed I’m apparently going to have to share with Vexa.

“Yeah…” the shokari offers a nervous giggle, then a nod, “I mean, what’s the worst that can happen? Someone accidentally… I don’t know… sucks someone else’s dick or something…? Like, how crazy would that be?”

“Crazy. Like, so crazy,” I chuckle, feeling an immediate zing of pain in my ribs that makes me hiss. Maybe a joke I’ll wait a day or two to actually act on.

Nevertheless, Gelyn and I strip down to our bandages, sipping wine while we wait for the elf to finish her bath, then taking baths of our own, heated by a fire spirit Vexa cajoled away from the tavern’s kitchen to help us. Within a few hours, we’re cleaned, fed, bandaged, and rather drunk, night having fallen on Tague, not that the setting of the sun did anything to lessen the city’s ambient noise. Eventually, I find myself laying on my good side, arms wrapped gently around Vexa’s slender waist, face tucked into her pale neck, a red-and-purple quilted blanket tossed over the two of us. While Gelyn snores contentedly in the bed beside us, I gently squeeze and cuddle with the elf until the two of us, too, finally fall asleep.

It’s taken a lot to get to Tague. I’m glad for a chance to rest.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o

Paize Funcheon’s trip to the Rows was a fairly short one. She skirted around the more dangerous alleys and stayed away from turf she knew she had no influence over, making her way toward her own haunt, an unassuming, barely-decorated, single-story building called Milkwick’s Delivery. A sign outside proclaimed the place as closed, which did nothing to deter the goblin from going in.

Inside, the building was as dark and derelict as its exterior suggested, but not all was as it seemed. She entered the office, popped open the trapdoor under the desk, then headed down the ladder to her real haunt, a subterranean structure of greater size (and rather better lighting) than the front up top, a hidden place where the Rows and the Warrens met.

“How iz it, boss?” a hammer-wielding goblin guarding the bottom of the ladder nodded to her, making no motion to stop her as she made her way to the establishment’s actual office.

“Good haul, this one,” she responded, but didn’t stop walking. “Send Fid tae my office, I’ll need to have a quick talk at him, aye?”

“Will do,” the guard grunted, turning and heading toward the opposite hall from Paize. In a few moments, she’d arrived at the office – her office – clicking the rounded metal door shut behind her and toppling in the stuffed seat behind her desk, scribbling down several notes before pulling out a heavy black ledger, opening it and scratching some things down in that, as well, the nib of her raven-feather quill moving furiously as she took special note of some unexpected new inventory.

The door clicked open, and from behind it came a thin, nasal voice. “Euh… boss?” The reedy, droopy-cheeked goblin known as Fid Hockstop, the closest thing Paiz-Lee had to a second-in-command.

“Here,” Paize said quickly, sharply folding up one of her notes and handing the scrap of parchment over to him. “Best haul we’ve ‘ad in ages, and I want it all in the warehouse by morning.”

“Boss, most of our loaders are about to go to sleep, I–”

“Double their pay. We cannae let a rival get tae it ‘fore we do, now it’s unprotected.” She sighed, leaning back in her chair, running her tongue across the front of her teeth.

“...Double pay it is,” Fin nodded. “Anything else I can do, while I’m here?”

“Aye, a wee question, if ye will,” Paize said, pensive for a moment. “How go our efforts on uncovering the Shrine of the Second?”