Between Corks 'n Anchors - Erickar Avery

[lum]

. . .

[lum]

I took the shot glass back from a young fellow listening to the name Franky, sloshing the substance all over our hands as I friendly tried to inform him he was still too wet behind his ears to collect shots like that. The inn was as black and as sinister as the martial temple of a sacrificial cult, the patrons rude and dirty, and the owners degrading, toxic and unhelpful.

Not exactly the place for lads like Franky to hang out. I didn’t often predict one’s future as it rarely mattered. Yet my cautious conclusion, drunken or not, forsaw Franky floating face down in the docks before the light of the stars would be extinguished. Or worse. The trouble bobble on the back of my head told me as soon as that boy would hit the doorstep, they would grab him and drag him down in the vast sewer system below the city, or in one of their damp, dark windowless basements, handcuff him to the wall and rip those fancy clothes off his pale, pitiful form. If he was lucky, they would slit his throat immediately right after making fun of him... after taking all his belongings. If he wasn’t… I guess I should pity the skinny lad.

However… this was not my business. And thus when Franky stumbled forward off his barstool, grabbed a moment my arm for support, clinging there slack-jawed and almost slumping over before regaining his balance and waddling through the crowdy, filty taproom towards the door… I didn’t stop him. I wasn’t his dad, nor his captain, and the last thing I desired was getting involved with pirates and likewise scum all over again. I turned and looked over, watching a moment what would be Franky’s last appearance, leaning with his elbow against the doorpost, his head hanging down on his skinny chest.

In the better parts of the city one would probably have felt sorry for how the boy struggled to remain standing, but around here there was always a lack of ordinary compassion. I shrugged and turned away. Soon they would put an end to his misery anyways. It’s not that I didn’t care. Heck, I even did him a favor by taking away his last drink. I knocked back the boy’s glass and wiped my lips with the back of my hand. Damn… I really needed to shave myself. Or rather... not... as then I would lose part of my disguise. I struggled a moment to get up from my seat, the dark brown leather I wore creaking when my hand reached for the distinctive blade standing next to the chair. Probably the reason why they left me alone. I glanced back at the entrance of the inn, the beaver brown timber door closed now.

Maybe he would have a chance...

[lum]

I turned around and started making my way towards the weathered wooden stairs. To me that walk felt like an eternity, but to anyone observing me it appeared as if I was just taking my time, moving without rushing, confident almost like the relaxed, purposeful walk of a jaguar, my fingers casually gripping around the dark grey scabbard I carried in my left hand. Almost there and not a moment too soon as I overheard an individual behind me exhibiting slurred speech.

“Eeeeyyyy! Where d’ya think yeeeer goin’!”

I turned my head slowly, very slowly, and as I kept my face in the shadow of my hood, I peered through the foggy taproom… only to witness how a sailor with the skin of the deepest ebony, showing off a frame similar to that of a muscular gorilla alpha-male, jabbed one of his impossible thick fingers into a smaller rat-faced man’s chest. Rather poorly dressed, sunburned nose, big oily hands, greasy fingernails and clearly outclassing the other man in every physical aspect. Laborer, dock worker high likely, I thought.

“Gerrofff me!” the small lad leaning against the bar hiccuped, fruitlessly trying to push away the hammer-like hand with his own greasy fingers. “Ye lame drunk!”

Here we go again, is what I thought. Exactly the kind of thing you could expect when walking into one of these establishments that lurked close to Muzhujaarnadah. Except here it would be unlike any other brawl. Usually in these parts of the city people tended to be a lot more nervous and knives were drawn in a frighteningly enthusiastic fashion. Before reaching the top of these stairs, blood would have been spilt on the plank floor and bones would be bruised over broken tables. The most passionate of thugs would be grateful having the opportunity to prove their mettle and ability, nourishing and sustaining the concept ‘Might makes Right’. It was an open secret that right after a ‘good’ brawl, sinister captains suddenly started organizing interviews with certain individuals over a couple of mugs and bloodstained gold. I could really picture it well… as I can know.

Since that... is how I once got into it myself so many years ago...

After observing how the small guy tore at the strong fingers at his throat, I turned back to the stairs. The exact date of that guy’s death was known as the vise-like grip would not loosen. After that… all hell would break loose. All I could see however were images in my mind, which repetitively continued to shift to one, single image. That of a dark-haired beauty straddling my waist, with sweat glistening on her cheeks like fairy glitter, and an eager glint in her eyes. The scent of jasmine and female spice, merely a memory now, deceived my nostrils.

I shook that recollection of events away and grabbed the handrail...

[lum]

Upon reaching the third step, a choking sound and the dull thud of a body dropping to the floor that echoed throughout the place, followed by a silence of people watching the scene with bathed breath, waiting for what would come next, told me my analysis was as accurate as a marking knife. Not bad for a near drunk guy… almost a shame I wasn’t in the mood for any of it. And hells, one could save ten lives down here every damn hour of the day. But I wasn’t responsible for any of this mess. My view on it was really simple and honest, even if I say so myself. If you didn’t know how to roll here, you stay away or just die. I smirked faintly. In the light of all these considerations, it was really ironic how this actually was one of the safer places for me to go below deck.

I could almost sense how cruel knives were drawn soundlessly behind my back, ready to slice and amputate, and by the time I reached the fifth step, the ringing sound of a much longer weapon slowly being pulled from a steel scabbard had me turn over my head briefly. Usually sheaths like those were used for military sabres, and for a moment there I wondered whether the local Amlakkar somehow was getting involved as well. Hmm… pirate captain by the looks of it.

I shook my head as I should have known better. Not even the most hardcore fussy Chawals would dare to poke their nose in here, let alone throw themselves between a horde that was ready to settle a matter with more than just a handful of blood, the pitted floor beneath their feet a silent witness to that. By the time I reached my room, everything was going just as predicted, and I closed behind me the miserable excuse for a door to shut out at least some of the screams and sickening cracks of furniture being crushed and bones being broken.


I sank down on the bed, the worn out mattress with sharp springs protuding from all sides creaking under my rump. Lazily, I glanced about my ‘personal quarters’. The filty carpet under my soft leather boots was littered with broken bottles, discarded and unwashed clothes as well as mouse droppings. The only table, which was holed and splintered and had most of its wooden legs missing, was found upside down in a dark corner. The single windowed room looked as if a mini cyclone had been gusting about the place… yet, unfortunately without taking along that deep penetrating musky odor originating from those triangular-shaped spots darkening certain parts of the walls, especially at the corners of the room. Even in my state of drunkeness I knew this room wasn’t just a mess... but a disaster zone, a biohazard that could seriously infect people. Even a pig hole was less disgusting. But I just shrugged, pulled down my wool woven hood, and reclined against the tattered mud-brick wall.

Why, I don’t know, but my thoughts twirled back to my meeting with ‘fancy Franky’. His dad -assuming there he had one- wouldn’t be all too euphoric when Franky’s mutilated corpse was to be found in the dirtiest cesspool this city had. Not really. Perhaps if he was a man of influence he would order these slums to be torn apart, piece by rotting piece, until he found his son’s murderers. I’d picture the lad rambunctiously forking over every bit of rags and dirt scattered throughout the darkest corners in this labyrinth of dark tunnel-like lanes and alleys that was the Dock Ward. Inevitably, it would lead to more bloodshed as the lid would be blown off of some of the other malovent and dishonest activities. Not good for business, and… perhaps not -that- good for my cover. Somehow I also doubt Sultan Batras would prevent any of it. Groaning I slowly started to scramble back up from the bed while convincing myself I was merely taking care of my own interests. People around here better show me some sincere gratitude afterwards for making sure things remained fairly ‘peaceful’, and their sinister business unharmed.

Yea… right. The hint of sarcasm in that being my typical own.


I opened the door of my room and peered in the direction of the stairs. By the sounds of it, the uproarious crowd was still actively wrecking the place. With an acute feeling for detail my mind produced crystal clear mental images of the exchange of blows amid the wreck of bottles and glasses, of tables being tossed across the room and a body dropping to the floor with every vocal grunt. Of deadly angry faces, of people choking as the airflow to their lungs gets cut off by hamsized hands, preventing them from grunting one final syllable. And of men being kicked so hard that they actually flipped over and smashed into a wall, the force of the crash leaving some debris and dust flying out over them.

Long after this brawl would be over, people would be still licking the blood from their numerous cuts, and several would be toying with the idea to do it over again, albeit more thoroughly, their thoughts a road of vengeance as they plotted ahead. If there’s one thing I learned, that is that there never would be an end to any of this...

[lum]

I suppose it was time for me to move on to another residence anyways, heh. And hey, looking at things on the bright side. At least I wouldn’t have to dredge up old memories by saving Franky in the public eye. The backdoor was just down the stairs leading to the stables. Or what could pass for such as it was more an run-down barn with a roof that was a patchwork of old tiles, tattered sailcloth and rusty stripes of metal holding it all in place at the corners of the mud-brick walls. Hopefully it would be enough to carry my weight as I wasn’t planning to travel on the ground level. Instead, I crossed the creaky plank floor of the long narrow hallway and opened the worn-out round top window. If there was a way to track down Franky more quickly, it would be by going across rooftops.

As I brushed aside cobwebs glinting like frost in the silvery light of the Moonmaiden, I glanced down into the dark abyss that was the alley separating the shabby stables from the inn. I estimated my jump would be no less than eight feet. While I focused, searching for things to grab for, puffs of white vapour rose up in front of my face as my warm breath met the moisture-less air of a cold desert night. Whether that was rare yet not entirely uncommon for Calimport. I muttered. A moon partially sheltered by murky looming clouds had its tactical advantages, yet also involved risks. I would have to watch my every step and every leap, assessing them very carefully before executing them. But hey, just like the good ol’ days, right? I grabbed the stiles of the window frame and rocked a bit back and forth. Focus… Ric… focus…


Boy, am I glad I have been rather competitive over the years, and I actually take pride in the things I can do. The feeling of a jump like this I would rather describe as heart-thrilling, surreal and… pretty much insane. Over the past years however I had developed enough feeling and strength to make such leap and I judged my chances for survival rather high. Next thing I knew I jumped up and out, my arms swinging back and then forward as I leaped, bridging that gap effortlessly. But then… Istishia’s buttcrack! #$@&%* !! Some frosty protusion or what??

What it was I’ll probably never know. All I do know is that my left hand almost immediately lost its grip, my fingers slipping from the edge. There I was, dangling from a building about fifteen feet above ground, my other hand holding onto a ledge for my dear life. I knew I couldn’t keep this up for long as the rather biting cold eventually would chill my fingers into clumsy numbness. Why again didn’t I bring my climbing gloves along? Oh yes.. I was drunk, right? But spare me the compassion whatever god you are who is watching me, snickering and rubbing your hands together. Bite me! I am not done yet!


My other hand reached now also for the ledge and I brought my knees into my chest, and then I pressed the tips of my boots into the crude wall. Next, I pushed hard, using my toes and hands at the same time. My shoulders cleared the top of the ledge and then I pushed even further, leaning away from the force of gravity that was pulling me down. As I shifted the balance in my body, I was able to climb on the roof, bringing my legs over the side first and then the rest. Not exactly my most fashionable jump ever, but hey!
In silence I gave the cold world a lewd gesture. In your face, Beshaba!

For a moment I looked out over the part of the city that I could I see from here, its overall structure reminding me a little of a chaotically created honeycomb. The nightly skyline was dominated by dome roofs, slim minarets featuring multiple balconies stabbing at the sky, and small arched windows filled with elaborate Calishyte tracery in nearly every building. Here and there was a glint of metal or glazed brick as I turned my gaze to one specific minaret in the distance. I bet ‘fancy Franky’ lived in one of those…

[lum]

I turned around and started to make my way over two-story high mud-brick buildings, their roofs featuring a mix of thatch and wood. I headed in the direction of Palace Ward as that was the place where all the fancy people lived, the richest of this entire society. The Ward lurked against the Jewel Ward and I was headed towards the broad drudach wall that seperated them. In other cities those would be called thieves’ highways, but around here many were guarded, with merlons and defenses along the parapet. I’d have to watch out once I got there, but my guts told me Franky was one of the people living in that direction, and I really didn’t feel up to use the vast labyrinth of pipes that were used to empty the filth of tens of thousands into the deeper seawaters.

I stopped a moment. Unless... the fool was too damn drunk to even realize where he was heading. In that case, tough luck. Heh, at least I would have given it a try, but hells I wasn’t going to bust my butt for ‘fancy lad’. Also, several times when I tried to save someone it almost cost me my life. But that last time... it would have been worth it…

Friggin’ pirates, still pissing me off years after. I’m no chicken and those sons of seawolves murdered in cold blood the woman I desired. After they took pleasure in torturing her, the bastards fed her body to the sharks. The memory still freaks me out at times, shaking me up from my sleep and making me feel like my heart sagged down into the deepest, emptiest ocean one can imagine. Damn this. Not going to let it happen again. Even though not a single hair on my head would even consider to court a man, let alone Franky, I would try and do my best to save his sorry butt. I grinned only faintly about my own little joke. But… perhaps it would ease the pain of her passing a little bit, heh. And who knows, maybe one day, when a fair wind is blowing… I may get my revenge.


I made my way over old, weathered buildings, albeit more careful now as the wood creaked under my weight. They were in a rather poor condition but at least their slightly sloped rooftops had proven sturdy and long lasting over the years. Almost a pity things had gone downhill around here with all the crime... and some piracy. A reason also why this part of the city had fallen into disrepair and local government was unable to carry out any necessary renovations. Reality, neighbourhood gangs around hadn’t really taken interest in keeping up the magnificence of it all. But that could also be because most of them were rather short-living. Batras rather left actual business to the local guilds, and the syl-pasha as well as Batras’ enemies were only busy with plotting, manipulating and framing.

Within a few years any form and sense for urban structure had been erased. New, yet dubious masonry turned several streets and alleys into dead ends, sometimes literally their exact purpose, while on other locations entire walls of buildings were torn down. Or, heavy hammers had been consuming man-sized holes in them, making new passageways or creating escape routes. Everyone just did as they saw fit, altering this maze of alleys, staircases and walls for their own hidden stories.

Up here it was easy to get lost as well, the rooftops spreading in every direction like chaoticly curling sea serpents with irregularly arranged scales. But at least from here I could look into the labyrinth this borough was, the place right now in different tones of grey and black. Heh, so what, my sight was deprived of color as of lately anyways. During my last torture, and just before I managed to escape from their ruthless fists and crushing feet, my head had been severely beaten. I figure something happened within my brains, as ever since... I live in a monochromatic world.

The houses here were only two to three storeys high, but my view from up here would have to do. I leaned forward with one arm around a chimney while a frigid wind poked me with its icy fingers. Man, everywhere I go cold seemed to stalk me like a spectre death. As slow moments drag by I’m starting to regret my choice of doing this… until I heard them.

Yes… them… voices. Seemed Franky was one of them. How I know? Cause I’ve been chit chatting with him… or rather he with me for about the entire evening and some evenings before that. And I rarely forget a voice.

I slid down and started to crawl over a gently sloping roof, evaded two holes at the very last moment and peeked over the edge on the other side, carefully... as just a series of fireworks got launched from somewhere in the Palace Ward.

Fancy folks, always in need to show off their wealth...

[lum]

These scenes were getting old and tiresome and she wondered for a moment again why she sticked around. Well, the main reason probably was cause she made rather good coin from those who lived and visited this port. She would never deny that. But damned if the wasted potential and the despair of the oppressed weren’t turning infecteous. Still, the ‘working ladies’, the tavern lasses, actresses and other artists paid her well for the various healing potions, perfumes and the occasional love potion. Any ethical considerations over selling such dreams she had lost long time ago. Besides, sometimes it did gave them joy and cheeriness, things that were more than needed in this shanty area.

Still, she rather prefered the other ways of making her own little fortune, though they took far more effort. Doing the hair of rich men’s concubines and some of the higher classed of the entertainment and upper class Wards were giving her a more respectable clientele as well as reputation. In the homes of these females, she learned of the beau monde, their habits, their mannerisms. She had a knack for fashion and for design, and she was a pretty good mime. She also knew many old tricks handed down by her clan, the least of which was the shamanic and ritual use of herbs, and some alchemy. Her essential oils and hairdressing products were slowly becoming known. And to these people, she was not just some Zakharan outcast. A few casual words strewn here and there had them all believing her to be the daughter of a poor noblewoman who went astray.


The only downside of being here were those who couldn’t keep their hands at home. She was cautious, and alert, avoiding to catch their attention. After all, these men were probably already cheating on their wives, and just looking for the next taste of something more dark-skinned and exotic. While she could not completely hide all her features, she did manage to cultivate an air of tragedy. Not that it was hard. It is not like she was living the best part of her life ever. Not really. But her modest and concealing outfit and quiet demeanor around them appeared to make them lose interest fairly quickly. Of course it was all an act, one she had been perfecting to make herself appear to be too much work. After all, there were many other more willing lasses to be had, ones that would not require so much effort. And never once did she let the offer of their gold tempt her. She would not become a harlot for any amount.

But the lure of the easy money selling these love and other ‘helpful’ potions still called. One lesson she had learned well, cold unconcerned coin could get one over the worst of situations. If she ever wanted to realize her own little dreams, something like a small place of her own to live, and a garden where she could grow herbs in peace, then any gold was gonna be required...


So, here she was, in one of the meanest, crummiest taverns in Calimport, praying that none of the sea lads would recognize her. Years had passed. Long years as a matter of fact. Yet the threat and the heartache still lingered. She wished she hadn’t noticed the thoughtless young male weaving in staggering steps between the patrons. But the flash of finer clothes drew the eyes. He stood out in this miserable place. And then… she saw his face.

-He-... was not her problem, so she tried to tell herself. So… what if she knew his aunt. So... what if the fine lady paid her well to help her around her house and attend to her hair. So what... if this aunt adored that young lad. She talked enough about him, confided her worries for him. Damn it, this ‘kid’ was the elder woman’s only living relative. Being alone is too damn hard, another lesson she had learned well. And it is one thing to lead a solitary life by choice,... and a whole other thing to have it forced on oneself by circumstance, or sheer bad luck.


Franky was on his way getting shanghied. She had watched the scene play out before. Some stupid young lads would get drunk, get pulled into a little brawl, stagger out into one of the shady alleys between shuttered buildings, and find themselves waking up on a vessel heading towards unknown destinations where they’d be given the choice of joining the crew or get fed to the sharks. Of course some didn’t mind so much of joining, but Franky... the young lad had never worked a hard day in his life before. It would become his version of the Nine Hells. In a way, it may make him a stronger lad. But his aunt...she did not deserve the heartache.

She could see the two sailors who stalked Franky were about four or five shots over the limit of good sense. They were nearly as drunk as he was, though a lot meaner and a lot more experienced. Her hand tapped the hilt of the blade that hung from her skirt. She couldn’t wield it very well as she was a healer, not a fighter. But sometimes, just the show of the wickedly sharp blade and a bit of acting could be enough. And by the looks of it, she was getting out of this place just in time…

[lum]

She was glad she wore the worst dress she had, its color long faded over the years of washing and drying them in the sun. The alley between buildings was unremarkable for this part of the Ward. Wet sucking sounds rose up from under boots as she went in, and when a persistent smell from underneath the junk filled her nostrils, she tucked her skirt up into her belt, without shame baring legs covered by stockings and half high boots that hugged her calves. At some point her heel sank into a soft ‘something’, and she winced when she perceived an unidentifiable animal’s body, dung, and rotten food at her feet. Franky was getting into so much trouble. If not with those sailors,... then definitely with her.


The men had Franky cornered, and the young lad was near tears. She narrowed her eyes as she really hated men without a spine. Normally this would be enough to make her turn away. But the gods be damned, why did she have to keep picturing his aunt’s face in her mind? His aunt, who was a sweet old bird, who gladly gave her items of clothing and small gifts, and who spoke to her…no... with her as if she were a friend rather than an employee.

So she found herself tapping her little blade, thumping its wooden haft against her open palm, and holding it so as if she mastered the craft of knife throwing. The wind had picked up, blowing strands of long dark and curly hair over her face. Moonlight lit the alley, but not by much. She would have to try and sound clever, and as she tried to stand there with a straighter spine, she addressed the little group.

“Now, now, lads. Isn’t that little fishy a little bit too pathetic? I’m sure even you can tell just by looking at him he wouldn’t even last a week. Why don’t you smart boys go have your picks elsewhere?”


She only hoped these guys would pick up the warning she put in her voice as well, the weapon in her hand maybe adding to what the consequences could be like.

Usually, these types are bullies. Usually, they’d try to avoid an audience, and they certainly didn’t like to face someone in a fair fight. She kinda had hoped that her unwanted and undesired attention would send them running over like the usual rats they were.

Said hopes disappeared however like a ice before a burning sun as soon as she caught their eyes turning her way. Crap, how could she ever have forgotten that with each shot a male drank, his perception of his attractiveness to the female gender grew. Both men forgot Franky and started to do their version of peacocking, one running his greasy fingers through his hair as if to straighten it out a bit, the hooded one flashing a wide smile that showed he was at least missing two or three teeth. That smile however was fake and faded just as easy as it had appeared. She swallowed when saw that one reaching for a dagger of his own...

[lum]

It hadn’t been Franky’s lucky day. Not really. Actually, it was about to get way worse than having ‘just a bad day’. Hours before all of this he had decided to give way on his desires, being a warm lady of pleasure, plenty of booze and perhaps hang out with some friends. His aunt had shown him the door after a series of remarks on his laziness in an attempt to bring him to heel. “And do not return to my estate unless you at least found yourself a job… any real job...” were her final words right before he had slammed the door shut behind him.

He kinda now wished he hadn’t refuted her arguments and be still in her warm house, safe, and unconcerned. He was drunk, very drunk, but not -that- drunk to not realize this was the exact reason what had been causing these differences of opinion. For the first time in his life, Franky acknowledged he was lazy, careless and rakish. And with it… probably the last time.


They had trapped him in a dark corner and when he clumsily reached for his only tool of defense, he found his leather sword belt empty. The surprise in his eyes had triggered a soft chuckle from his pursuers. Not that he would have been a match for the sailors or hunters or whoever these guys were who were closing in on him. The rapier -probably stolen back at the inn- had been a gift from his aunt on his 16th birthday, now about three years ago. The hilt of that slender, straight-bladed weapon was guarded and looking brand new to the very moment he lost it, without even a day of usage. There have been intentions to get fencing lessons, but as with several other things he had just kept postponing it. In fact, for that matter, he had been postponing his entire life…

Franky’s heart beating against his ribs could be compared with the thrumming wings of a caged bird drumming and laboring to no avail as a reaction to a slowly impending hand. His breath quickened and his body started shaking. Franky had started to cry and his reactions prompted a grin on the attackers’ faces. A grin that grew more wide and toothy as Franky tripped over a pile of garbage and inelegantly landed in the hygienically dubious sludge. The young man held up his silky skinned hand as if that could ward off the impending doom, making him look even more miserable.


And then suddenly there was that voice of a woman involving herself, interrupting these crimps’ affairs. When Franky dared to lower his hand by an inch, he witnessed how the men who had been pursuing him in this jungle of winding alleys and dark narrow streets, turned away, their unprotected backs facing him. His eyes darted nervously left and right, seeking a way of escape or to defend himself. Not finding any, Franky’s shoulders sagged and his eyes turned to his ‘savior’, his at first hopeful expression turning into a sniveling prayer for a miracle once he fully perceived her appearance. Just a working girl wielding some knife, not a big deal for these burly pirates or whatever they were. They probably would have some fun with her right before they would drag him down in the below deck of their vessel. Just a small delay, nothing more…

[lum]

Franky... you miserable, miserable coward…

I scowled silently when I saw him hunkering in the corner like a thoroughly beaten dog. And they hadn’t even laid a finger on his sorry rear yet! I counted three of them, and they were all facing some lass who had been foolish enough to interfere. What had gotten into this working gal I didn’t know. But what I did know was that things were about to get messy. I had to get off this damn roof. Though, when I looked left and right I didn’t immediately found something that could reduce the gap between myself and the street level. I smirked as my gaze shifted back to the scene below. Just like the ol’ days then, I suppose. Silently I rose to my feet and drew the slightly curved blade that hung on my back. I placed my right boot half way over the edge as my hands closed tighter around the blade’s handle. I turned the blade around so that the tip was pointing down, and then suddenly, with deadly accuracy I swooped down onto one of the men.


At the sound of leather stretching upon the rooftop, one of the attackers looked up. He uttered a curse to whatever god he worshipped, but it was too late to focus on the source of the sound. A thrust of air, a nauseating crack and before they all realized what happened, one of the attackers had been struck by a terrifying blow from a dark cloaked figure swooping down like a pitch black, predatory bird with a blade as sharp as a hawk’s talon, killing the alarmed man instantly.

Frankly blinked and crawled hastily away, like a spider, his movements rapid, somewhat sketchy and seemingly random until he bumped his head randomnly into a wall.

The other two pirates watched a moment with drunken amazement how what appeared to be a trained assassin turned to them, a pair of seemingly grey eyes glinting in the moonlight from under a crude hood. That short hesitation was all he needed. The hooded man dashingly parkoured his way through the debris and other junk, only to jump and digging his soles into the wall. Like a cat he leaped onto his next victim. With all the booze from earlier, the pirates’ sight had been too lazy to follow the assassin’s dazzling movements, and before the next pirate realized, he dropped to his knees with a gaping hole where his left eye had been. ‘Faster than a frustrated wraith’, were that man’s last thoughts before the metal entered his skull through his eye socket. Blood splattered everywhere, the violence of the attack leaving strings of dark liquid snaking down a nearby wall.

The dark figure swiftly withdrew the cruel blade that had been angling upwards through the man’s head. One more… The assassin’s face, shadowed by his hood turned in the direction of the last pirate.


Crap… almost broke my leg when I jumped down from that roof. I also noticed during my ‘manoeuvers’ my joints and muscles all appeared a wee bit sensitive and stiff. Heh, what else could I have expected when not performing in this line of work for the past years. At least I have made a great entrance, though a good massage after this would not be out of place. There was an eagerness in my blood to do it more often again, but it’s high time I first do something about my current physical fitness. And unlike his companions, it seems my third opponent wouldn’t just remain standing like a good boy… since he wasn’t exactlly in the same spot anymore...


Franky, who had passed out, lying like a hopeless bag of potatoes in the alley corner couldn’t tell, let alone warn his dark savior either...

[lum]

She really thought she had bitten off way more than she could chew on when she perceived another pirate emerging from the shadows. The gods must have had wicked plans for her as she was going to get eliminated because for trying to save Franky’s worthless hide. But she would go down fighting and taking as many with her as she could. She was not entirely defenceless. Not at all.

But then, near the end of whatever wicked game this was, a star player dropped from the shadows and took out one of the pirates in such a quick motion that at first she wondered if it really had happened. Franky… had dispatched himself. He had bumped his head, knocked himself out cold while drenching his pants in his own piss. The worthless curr. Though their savior appeared more like devil incarnate rather an angel of mercy. Still, perhaps it was better to wish and prey for a devil than an angel as devils are way more suited for jobs like these. And this specimen appeared some dark predator who came forward from one of the deepest pits of the Nine Hells. It did tickle her to watch as the hunters became the hunted, but the degree of violence… that sent a feeling through her as if some unforgiving cold ran down her spine. It was better to keep wary, just in case this dark hero had his own agenda.


Her clan once claimed she had certain gifts, gifts she more than once had deemed more like curses. But it was certain, she could see things others could not. Or sense them. This dark angel… or more, devil… was struggling. His stance showed a stiffening of his body, a flare of pain she could sense around his leg. He was off balance, and that last pirate, drunken or not, he noticed it as well.

All these years on her own, she still hated some aspects of those ‘gifts’ she had. And there were things she rather wouldn’t know about herself. But this ability she had to heal… could also be used to harm. Healing with a touch of her hand, could be hurting with that same touch, how much she disliked it. But right now she wasn’t thinking clearly. Anger, annoyance, it was a fatal flaw. Without thinking she reached out with her free hand. A current of power moved from her core to her fingertips, and towards the last pirate.

They could all hear his cry of pain, and she just watched coldly as their enemy faltered. Her other hand brought the hilt of her blade down upon his head. And be it fate, or luck, or just that man’s own drunken state… he fell like a ton of bricks, his head smashing upon the stone with a nauseating crack. She knew, she sensed that she had just taken a life. Bile rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She was not done yet here and her debts had to be repaid.


One step took her close to the dark cloaked man’s side. One word illuminated their surroundings with just enough light for her to see her hand reaching out to use her skills once more, albeit now with the intend to heal. Until… she saw a ghost when he turned to face her. That face… the face of a fallen angel. Those dark honey eyes against a tanned skin, a strong jaw, a masculine beauty with a rugged appeal. Sun kissed stubble shadowed his cheek and jawline. The male she knew preferred to be clean shaven… but that scruffy beard only added to his allure. Except, she was no longer that young girl he once woed…

... and abandoned.

“Ric…” his name was less than a whisper,... more a gasp, a curse.

Her hand, the hand she intended to use to heal… curled up into a tight fist and connected with that strong, handsome jaw...

[lum]

A series of expressions had rippled over his face, and far too quickly for the girl to get any clue of what he was thinking. Next, the man she had recognized as a pirate, an assassin... and more…, collected the quick and direct punch with the expression of the baffled. Taken aback by the suddenness and speed of the attack, Erickar needed longer than usual to recover from his surprise. Not from the punch itself, since that had been fairly insignificant.

My best guess here? Kelemvor was screwing me. Instead of me jumping off that roof, killing those men and saving Franky and that hooker heroically,... in my drunken state I tripped over a chimney, tumbled down the roof boards, and broke my neck unceremoniously on the dirty, rough-paved alley floor. Right now, those pirates were probably standing over my dead body, making me look more than a fool with their facetious remarks. In a way that was frightening distorted and perverse, the Judge of the Damned was somehow manipulating my memories in the Fugue, punishing me for all the crimes I have committed, -and- making me pay for all the grudging souls I’ve sent his way.

Not that they had been so innocent. Not really.

But right, hey. Rosabel?? That one ‘do good’ in my entire life, and in which I had failed miserably?? C’mon…

For a moment longer there seemed no cure to bring my sluggard mind back to wakefulness. Not the warm blood rolling out of my nose, flowing down my upper lip, leaving a metallic taste there as it trickled further down along my unkempt chin. Not the wind picking up and seemingly digging its cold fingers deep into my flesh, penetrating my very bones. Nor my hand trembling so violently, that I dropped my blade onto the weathered pavers where it bounced off the hard surface with a resonating metallic clang and settled. It would seem I had turned deaf temporarily, and all I heard was my blood rushing and my heart pumping.

Wait... what? Heartbeat?


I peered at the face of the ghost in front of me and knitted my brows. It just didn’t make any sense… at ALL? One moment I had been reliving some of my memories up there on the roofs -just for fun-, and the next, someone decides to juice it up -just a little bit more-?

A brief jolt when through my body, and then I used all the self-control I could gather.
“B… Bel’ ?” My moving lips practically breathed that name.

Mind you, I had great difficulty in allowing that name passing through my lips. And it was not because of all the blood. But saying her name seemed an affirmation of what was currently taking place… was real.


The female stared at him, her mystical sea green eyes blazing. Even in his now colorless world he could remember very well how those beautiful eyes turned to him that very first time, and how they had held him captive. He got catapulted back to a time that seemed like an age ago, of a time where she had laughed one of her barking laughs and where he watched her in slight amusement as she wiggled her fingers at him in a wave. Of a time where her hips had swayed seductively under his palms, to where he pushed that gleaming hair aside in order to kiss her cheek. Of a time… on some gorgeous, untouched island far far away, where the rustling of leaves and the sound of labored breathing underneath him drowned out every other sound in the universe...

In their mutual surprise she had the time observe him. And, his response disarmed her, but only for a moment. Her name on his lips provoked a new storm... and a second attack...

...

[lum]

She heard him utter her name, and then her fist connected with his shoulder, sending pain up her hand and arm. But it was worth it enough that she hit him again and again. How dared he act surprised to see her?? How dared he disrupt her life again while she wanted nothing but put the past behind her??

How dared he look so damn handsome…


She heard her own words and couldn’t stand the sound of her voice as it turned shaky,... unsteady. She was going to cry, like a typical female. She hated it to be typical, or ordinary, or silly-girlish, or whatever. The direct sight of his lips, and his voice, deep and mature... wasn’t supposed to make her insides go all mushy, and make her lose her edge. No! She refused to do so!

“No! Don’t you ‘Bel’ me, you… dishonest, pilfering wharf rat… I waited for you...for tendays, months even. I would likely still be waiting had your friends not try to reclaim me...in YOUR name.” Words poured from her like whisky from a bottle at a pirate den.
It was like a sickness that had to be purged.


“Why you lied to me?! Why did you have to lie so hard that it came close enough to a truth, a reality I was ready to believe? All those lies which I even now can still see swirling around you! Was it fun?? Did you had a good laugh?? Did you pass?? Did you score with your crew?? I hope you’re suffocating in your lies and crumple inside like… like...” She finally realized she was ineffectively pummeling his chest, allowing a violence course through her that would have appalled her at any other time.

Was she really this weak? Letting this man enrage her into acts of violence? But he really did have the nerve to exist -and- to appear here like that! And why?? To shatter the remaining pieces of her heart? Suddenly she felt weak, and sick. All the color drained from her face, and her voice turned into a weak, creaking noise. “Why..."



The assassin lowered his hood, revealing the type of guy who would just splash some water on his face, run his fingers through his hair and move out the door without even casting a glance in the mirror as he rather bothers about other stuff. A familiar pair of small golden hoops sat at his right ear.


Nor the explosion of harmless hits on my torso, nor another short lapse of time did furnish me with an ample explanation on how this once so young girl, who combined every possible aspect of beauty and other elegant qualifications with a warm yet wild heart, could possibly still be so very alive. I witnessed how tears of rage and helplessness filled eyes of which I remembered they were green, and listened to the continous stream of words while I reexperienced the past with all its ups and downs of ecstasy and misery.

I found myself compelled to wrap my arms around this now somewhat more matured girl. Thus far I had maintained a lengthy silence as my tongue felt too thick and too clumsy, but my eyes were burning with the need to look at her lips and the air between us seemed to tingle when she met my gaze. I wasn’t sure if my heart had ever pounded so fast in my life when I silenced her flood of words by pressing the warmth of my mouth on hers, the touch sending a current down my very own spine. I inhaled the mesmerizing scent of magnolia lemon of this wonderful creature I considered born with saints in a sacred court of angles, and I inhaled it ever so deeply as if to convince myself this all wasn’t just a dream. And when she started to back away to proceed her foul-mouthed tirade at me, I simply pulled her back against me and reengaged our kiss, a new, more burning sensation surging throughout my entire body.

Crap, Ric… you are drooling, man…

Her scent, now filling my nose, merely amplified the memory of the passion that had existed between us, and for the first time since long I felt… desire. Heh, I had no idea what all had happened to her in the past years, and it was very possible she was married and all that.

As if I would care about that…


All I could see was a picture in my mind of what we once had…

[lum]

The gypsy-like woman found her torrent of words halted by strong arms wrapping around her, her body pressed against the assassin’s and held against a form that was all whipcord strength. His arms caged her, stilling the ineffectual beating she was trying to dish out. For a moment, she fought it… resisted it. But she soon melted into the kiss, memories and feelings assaulting and overwhelming her.

His arms had always been so strong, that has not changed. And his body felt even harder, all muscle, with barely any fat on him, perhaps too lean. And his taste, he tasted of whiskey and mint...She wondered if he still chewed mint after smoking a cigar. Memories came rushing back, that connection between them. Their time had only been a few weeks, yet it was enough to have scarred her permenantly. She tried to pull away, only to find herself pressed against the wall. His mouth was firm against her own, forbidding any more talk from her. One strong, in leather encased thigh pressed between her legs, pinning her in place.

Her heart pounded fast. She knew she should fight this, but when he was kissing her as if doing so was more important than drawing his next breath...well...it… it was hard to resist. Too hard when she had gone without any affection for so long. Her hands ceased pummeling his shoulders and instead ended up entwined in his unkept hair. They would talk… after. They probably would fight too… after. She would have to guard herself… after. But she just needed a few more moments of this...just a few to last her a lifetime. She placed both her hands on his chest with her arms locked at the elbow… but didn’t push.


After what seemed to have last for a lifetime, or at least for a long while, the assassin broke the kiss, drawing in several deep breaths in an attempt to rein in his less... -cultivated- impulses.

And when I looked into those what I recall as sea green eyes, my chest went tight. The things she must have gone through. Trust… she had trusted me to catch up on her and I didn’t. But how could I possibly have known? And even if I had, I wouldn’t have been able to free myself earlier. A warmth expanded through my gut the more I looked into those eyes, like feeling lost on a wondrous ocean. I couldn’t resist myself of leaning in again albeit more careful, and nipping at her now moist lower lip. I leaned my forehead against hers, the tip of my nose brushing her cheek, and silently I cursed the dark shadows beneath and the tears pooling in -what I recall- wonderful eyes.

So… I tried it again as I caressed her lower back.

”...Bel’...”



Meanwhile, about five streets away, a man who’s reputation preceded him, stood on a mossy sea-wall in front of a black sleek ship with muscled arms folded over his chest, his large rough hands touching slightly tensed bicep muscles. He was very tall with long brown hair in ropey dreadlocks hanging about his scarred face. He cast a calculating look in the direction of the dock’s district before finally turning over to the men lounging and waiting behind him. Golden earrings, battle scars, scruffy beards, rows with yellowed and missing teeth had all been on the alert as they faced the captain the moment he turned over to them. His scarred face was frightening in its own, and proof he was able to conquer, those sunken eyes -dark as rum- commanding respect as they penetrated each and any one of them.

The men, all armed to the teeth with daggers and short curved blades, disappeared swiftly and silently in the night after a silent nod from their master pirate. Standing on the jetty not far from his ship, with the cold wind tugging at his dark red cloak, the captain awaited their return, his hand on the hilt of his sabre.

[lum]

Her name on his lips awoke her from her moment of inner sunshine. How dare he kiss her so tenderly after what he had done? After what he had cost her? After she practically had sold her soul to him?? Anger bubbled back up, swirling with the passion. Her hand balled up into a fist and connected with rock hard abs encased in soft leather.

“Ow!!!!!” The cry of pain ruined what was to be her grand show of anger, her hand now throbbing with pain as she shook it. “You...you….bastard! You cur...you hurt my hand!” The absurdity of that statement was so utterly lost to her in her fit of rage. How comedic this would look to an outsider. And what a tragedy it was to the players. Fate was such a cruel and fickle bitch.


Erickar, who found himself incapable of bracing himself, including the incoming fist which he almost glady seemed to collect as if it were some sort of pay off, grasped her by the shoulders with a somewhat firm overhand grip. Then, as if it seemed to occure how petite she (still) was, he loosened his grip some, yet without letting go of her.

“Them be shoutin’ ye be dead, Bel’… fed t’ th’ sharks...” My otherwise steady and heavy accented voice suddenly seemed so damn tense, so tight and so husky with emotion. I wrapped my arms around her and held her close.


The girl could sense and hear the assassin’s strong heartbeat and for a moment they lingered there, relishing this moment of closeness. The smell, the feel and the touch of each other was swallowed by the darkness surrounding them. Then, Erickar drew a bit away and looked her in the eyes. “Ther’ be lot t’ shout ‘bout... but…” he cast a glance at the dead pirates and shook his head,” ‘s much I be likin’ t’ catch up, nay ‘ere.”
Especially while being assaulted by all sorts of sensations, overwhelmed by ‘ordinary things’ that should not affect him, the assassin didn’t seem exactly comfortable by sticking around so long and so close to his victims.


I wanted to grab her around her waist, sling her over my shoulder and carry her out of here as fast as I could. Strong evidence for… what, eh? The wind felt so damn cold on my now warm, moist lips and I looked at the one responsible for making me feel vulnerable and sensitive to things so suddenly. It were things I never even had cared for in the past years. But hells, I wanted to taste and drink her soul again, and I wanted to feel utterly unconcerned about the consequences of some of my choices once more.

Never have I ever forgotten how she once looked at me, on that day when we escaped for a moment, and I playfully handed over a fitting hat. Such a young girl, her dark hair looking brown in the light of the sunset and a sky adorned with brilliant reds and oranges...