Fading with the Sun

[Darkshard]

The view from the dock front was greatly improved of late. There were no opaque towers of stacked crates, no sea of masts cluttering the horizon, no intrusive cranes to break the continuum of clear, sparkling ocean under the waning afternoon sun. From the northern wall to the southern tide-break, ship berths lay empty and docks devoid. There was no movement along the quay, no flurry of activity to break an observer’s attention or distract from the gentle lapping of harbour waves. A perfect view. Sterile. Clean. Heartbreaking.

And hearts were indeed breaking, as they beat idly in the chests of idler men, lounging dejectedly against empty warehouses. Hundreds of them, dock labourers, shipping clerks, import merchants. Surrounded by reminders of their immanent destitution, they stood united in hopeful silence, not a word shared in their midst as they gazed anticipatorily at the horizon. Hoping for a mast, an elusive ship from Waterdeep, Neverwinter, Calimport. Hoping for the wind to bring a turn of fortunes and break the beautiful siege of silence. Hoping.

It had started shortly after the war. Fewer ships came and went, fewer goods arrived or left. Sometimes ships would arrive damaged, giving a fleeting hope of salvation, only to be dashed when the cargo holds were discovered empty. There had been many slow days up until now, but never in living memory had the docks looked so bare. Many of these men were survivors, of war and of the destruction wrought in the Gate by the coming of Tiamat. They had survived great upheaval, and yet now they feared being undone by the simple, slow decay of economic depression.

Today they waited in vain. The shadows grew long, and no masts appeared on the horizon to stir the persistent waiters. Gradually, the gatherings broke up and dispersed, the silence of their mute understanding untarnished by forced words of sympathy or encouragement.

The men returned, empty-handed and in shame, to cold homes where wives and children laboured in the dark, hope fading with the evening sun.

[Considerate_]

The Ansgot, looking after the coppers

The gossip in town revolves around more than a few cases similar to that of the Ansgot family find itself in, Ms. Elissa and her two sons just received a write from her husband Erik working in the farmlands south of the Trollhills:

“To my dearest wife,

I know I promised to send you more coins my love, but all the wages has been halved. What with the extra taxes my Feudal Lord of the Manor has been forced to take in more workers to supplement for those called to the militia, enlisted, or fled, without the coin to pay for more labour this was his only alternative to hear him say it. I know you’ll make the best of the coins Elissa, for our children.

I’d tell you more, but... the mood is heavy here, even with all his fancy words my Lord cannot calm the voices of the hungry. Some are in more dire need than others, but even our food is rationed and with all those who fled here for safety with the war approaching, there’s no shortage of eager hands. Some have been sacked altogether, because those refugees would work longer and for less... but don’t worry, I’ll work the hours without complaints with you and our beautiful sons in the forefront of my thoughts
I love you Elissa, take care of the children... and tell Max I won’t be home after this harvest, but we’ll look at fixing that toy cart of his next season.

- Erik”

It’s just one story amongst many, though with the aftermath of the war most agree that some hard times are inevitably ahead of the hardy folk of the Sword Coast. Some families have started sharing and rationing their food, but these are amongst the select few. For the most part, every family is on their own, and sympathetic looks are often given to those many households who have lost a man or woman to the War with Amn or Tiamats destructive rebirth. Hundreds of families are without a steady income or even two adults who can work for the food. Some blame the Amnish, some blame the cult of the Dragon, but one thing they’ve all got in common. They look to their lords for help

[LeslieMS]

FISHING FOR HOPE

There were no more tears, not even shame, not anymore. The cries of a hungry child can drive a mother to lengths she never would have thought possible. The love and desire of a woman to keep her husband safe. In her own way, it was all she could do now. Slowly as the tenday passed, they ran out of options.

He leered at her as she gathered up the coins he threw to the floor. She tucked them away silently, pulling her hood over her dirty blonde curls. She used to weep once the doors closed behind her. That was months ago… seems like an age ago. Her thoughts wandered as she scurried through the streets towards the Wide.

She eyed the new construction in the Palace District with bitter thoughts, but she had little time before the sun set. Even this part of the city was ugly after dark. Her son wasn’t the only hungry soul in the city. With so many dead in the war and because of the dragons, she was one of the lucky ones. She still had her son and her husband. Were she not so tired, the thought of them would have made her smile. Her family was the only light left. All they had was each other.

She tugged the hood down further, to cover more of her face as she passed the meager coins to the merchant, who had an equally unimpressive inventory. Thieves stealing flour in the night, and lack of a new shipment from … anywhere were the apologetic excuses he offered her as she traded her dignity away a copper a time.

Her happiness was as genuine as the ‘sympathetic’ looks she received as made her way home. The food wrapped in her arms was treated more like a holy relic or a pile of platinum, precious beyond measure. A loaf of stale bread, some vegetables on the verge of being beyond eating, and a few fish. It wasn’t much, but folks have died for less of late. Every tenday it cost more to acquire enough to feed her family.

The daylight was all but gone when she opened the door to the small shack that had become home. Her son, nearly two years old now, slept to keep his hunger at bay. Her husband sat morosely in a corner. Their eyes met only briefly. Each knowing the other’s shame, and neither willing to offer apologies for such a thing…

She moved to the large, nearly empty cook pot. She barely had enough food for all of them, and lately the portions she took for herself were barely enough to quell the rumble in her belly. Without a word, her husband rose from his dark corner and added wood to the cook fire. He took the dry goods from her hands, spiriting them away to a hiding place until they were needed. Again there eyes met, only briefly.

She took the small dirk she carried for protection from the folds of her simple shift, and turned her attention to the food. At least tonight they weren’t having potatoes and thin broth. He paced quietly, regarding her from time to time. She really was a lovely thing. He had thought himself a king of sorts when she accepted his humble proposal. A simple farmer’s daughter with eyes like the sky, hair like gold… she had been his world.

She had made all those long hours with the sea worth it. He’d worked the last three years with the same small fishing company. Since the war there were fewer to work, fewer to buy the fish, which lead to fewer coins. He thought that would be as bad as it got, but then their small fishing boat was destroyed. He wasn’t given the details. Pirates, dragons, Amnian… it didn’t really matter. At the end of the day he no longer had work, and all that was lovely in the world was fading…

They ate in silence. Which is to say, their son ate, and they remained quiet. They didn’t look at each other. Once the boy had finished, they looked to what remained. She took up the spoon to serve her husband, but his hand met hers. She winced, and he frowned at the bruise that covered the back of her hand. She quickly pulled down her sleeve to hide as much of the tell tale signs that her hand had been nearly well broken by some over eager fellow who had grabbed her wrist rather forcefully. At least he paid well.

His jaw clenched as he wordlessly filled his wife’s plate as well as he could, taking just enough for his own, and scraping the pot clean. The last of the fish was divided in her favor. She no longer argued, for they spent more effort debating who should garner the larger portion, than was practical given the resources available. Instead she ate just barely half of what was on her plate, and stated she was no longer hungry. She insisted it not go to waste, placing what remained in front of her husband.

Deep brown eyes met hers, but he too knew better than to argue. She mended a tear in her son’s smock, taking out a few seams to accommodate the growing child. Once her husband finished his meal, the two stood side by side, cleaning the dishes and the cook pot. Once upon a time, there would have been left over stew, or they would have shared a table with good friends. Now it was simply every man for himself.

They gently tucked their young son to bed, and closed the tattered curtain that divided the bedroom. Once they had a simple home… Her husband used to apologize for it not being as large as the farmhouse she grew up in, but she never minded. It was small and cozy. A modest little place rented from a fellow who had also owned the boat he used to work on. The man offered no apologies when he told the young couple that he was selling the property. She wondered just how far away he had gotten. This layer of hell the Coast had found itself in seemed hard to escape.

Her attention was drawn to the arms that wrapped gently around her waist, and for a moment all that horror faded, offering a brief moment of relief. She sighed, held that way, feeling safe for the first time since she left the house earlier in the day, and smiled to the ‘I love you, Vera’ that was murmured against her neck.

“I love you too, Michael,” she answered and turned to face him. The look on his face gave her a moment’s pause. They began one of many hushed conversations. “What is it?”

“I can’t stand it,” he whispered. Even as soft as it was, his fury was evident. “If your father was still alive… he’d kill me for letting you walk out that door every day!”

“Michael, we’ve talked about this… it isn’t like we have a choice. We’ve both looked for work. There is no work. Not unless you are skilled in fixing or swordsmanship. Unless you got into some of this ‘rebuilding’ from the start, they aren’t taking on new hands. They’ve barely the coin for who they must pay.”

“I’d sooner die than let -them- touch you, Vera.”

“No good comes of your death, my love. You and Gregory are all the light in the world. I couldn’t lose either of you…” Her hand traced her husband’s jaw which was still clenched tight as their whispered conversation continued in the darkness.

“And what am I to do, nothing? I could go out, find what we need. It would keep you from getting hurt, Vera.”

“Yes. Until you get caught, killed or thrown in jail. Stealing is more likely to get you killed than … than… what I’ve been… doing,” Her words trailed off feebly, and she didn’t look in his eyes anymore. Her head rest upon his chest, ear pressed to his heart. There were no more tears, but the faintest shudder of a sob worked through her against her best attempts to hide it. Michael stiffened, before he gathered his wife up protectively. The kiss that followed conveyed everything that words could not.

Hours later, he looked down at his sleeping wife. He gently arrayed her curls around her face and stood as quietly as he could. He grabbed his heavy cloak and a flaying knife. As he locked the door behind him, he steeled his resolve with thoughts of his wife’s smile. He didn’t have to kill anyone. He didn’t need to take a lot… Just enough to save them… to feed them… to keep them safe… Love can drive a husband to do things he never thought himself capable of. It was his job to look out for his family, even if that meant going against all he’d promised them. All he needed was enough to keep her safe at home… Gods above, at least grant me that! He thought as he fell into step behind a man who hurried through the streets, fearing exactly what now followed in his steps.

[Valefort]

The hardness of shortcomings

Kelhort cursed as he hurt himself with the knife. It wasn't much, just a little cut fortunately. He couldn't afford to be hurt, not at all. Kelhort's hands ached as he took the knife again, mending an old fishing net as worthless as this one was no job for a man like him. Yet he had not much choice, a man had to eat.

As his hands moved on their own, repeating the gesture he made thousands of times, his thoughts once again raced towards his issues. Bloody issues without solutions, what could he do ?
He never had any problem finding a ship before ! He was strong and fit and he knew his trade well, very well. He sailed from Luskan to Calimport, many a times, he was so good that he could feel when the winds were about to change. Ah ! Kelhort was a useful man on a ship, he was !

But for two months now he had been grounded in this forsaken city, waiting. Waiting a new ship that never comes. He spent his last coins a tenday ago by now, hard-earned coin, and he was regretting bitterly every droplet of ale he drank since he arrived here. Each one seemed to transform into a roasted chicken when he thought about it. A delicious roasted chicken, its skin crispy and its meat tender under his teeth...

Swallowing hard, Kelhorn spun to watch behind him, heart thundering as he heard footsteps.
No, not yet, just a young lad ... he still had some days left after all, had he not ? A few days before the moneylender and his toughs find him, a few more days. How long before they come to collect their due ?

The innkeeper was becoming more pressing too, asking when he would leave. Like he knew. Kelhort hoped the innkeeper would remember how he helped him, how he made the thugs flee, how the innkeeper kept his fat purse. Thugs were everywhere these days, except the palace district of course. More Fist guards than lices on the head of a beggar in that place.

He grabbed the old net at his feet, he didn't remember letting it go but there was still a lot of work to do before he could catch something with it. Escaping his problems Kelhort focused on the net, hands steady, very steady now, he needed that net. A man had to eat.

It was high time he found a ship.

[Whisper]

Teela and Vicious I

What’s your name, love?” the grinning gent asked, as he took a seat across from her at the table. The fellow was obviously a sailor, perhaps a pirate. His clothes and overall appearance were of a man not strongly versed in personal care: faded black pants, an untucked buttoned shirt that looked as if perhaps many a day ago it was once white before daily perspiration and inadequate washing had finally taken its toll. A gray-black faded vest adorned this attire; probably this was his version of clothes fit for a night of drinking at the tavern in Baldur’s Gate. Long partially braided black hair and a long black unkempt beard completed the ensemble. He was a decent looking gent, perhaps he could have been bordering on the side of handsome if not for the effect his environment, obviously the harbor district, had on his personal appearance.

“The name’s Teela, and what’s your name handsome?” Mika, the brunette this particular gent had chosen to approach replied. She brushed back a few strands of her long dark hair that had been poking out of her red hooded jacket, which covered the faded brown leather armor she wore. Perhaps in another life, Mika would have been a beautiful woman befitting nobility, but a hardened life of crime seedy taverns and other vices had taken their toll reducing her from beautiful to perhaps ‘tavern pretty’. As she awaited his reply, Mika cast a sidelong glance across the dimly lit smoke-filled room to a darkened corner where her accomplice Lexi sat, sipping wine and doing her best to blend in. Lexi, a reed-thin dishwater blonde who also fit the description of tavern pretty was dressed in a light gray dress and hood over a similar brown leather armor. She sat hunched over slightly and only cast furtive glances around the interior of the tavern. Both women were natives of the harbor district and regulars at this particular establishment. Lexi caught the glance from Mika, nodding slightly to her and returned to her drink and not looking at anything in particular.

“Muh name’s Larkin, m’lady. How ya doin’ this evening? Oh…” Larkin said, spying her near-empty glass. “Can I get ya somethin’ to drank?” Larkin grinned at her, missing teeth and all. Mika hid her obvious disappointment, immediately realizing they probably wouldn’t be able to collect much from their mark this night. Well, times were hard. Mika didn’t know much about the affairs of nobles, but she knew the effects of war nobles had on one another: less spending on personal vices and folk keeping a much tighter hold on their coin and valuables. She forced a smile and nodded to Larkin, who then proceeded to yell gruffly for the barkeep.

A couple of hours of casual conversation and drinks turned evening into night as they sat at the tavern. Through casual glances throughout the evening, Mika noticed that Lexi would get occasionally approached by other patrons frequenting the tavern but she would quickly dismiss them. Mika smiled to herself knowing that Lexi was probably quite annoyed at the attention and also probably wondering about the conversation that must be happening where Mika and her male companion were sitting. As night set in, Mika and Larkin were eventually joined by two other sailors, apparently friends of Larkin. As it became night, the last time Mika glanced in Lexi’s direction, Lexi mouthed the word ‘Now’ to Mika and she knew it was time. Mika had kept a carefully tally of her drinks, drinking the alcohol much slower than her three companions and of course the men started to feel pretty good after awhile. It seemed like this was as good a time as any to bring the plan to fruition. Taking her cue, she leaned in quietly to Larkin and his boys seated at the table with her and said ‘Hey, you lot like to have a good time, don’t ya? I’ve got something back at the house that you might like. We’ll have a real good time.” Larkin and his two friends looked at each other curiously, exchanged grins and nodded at each other in agreement.

A bit more of casual conversation and Mika, Larkin and the other two left the tavern heading into a rundown neighborhood section of the city. Lexi followed them from the tavern and joined them once they were a good distance from the tavern. “Teela!” she exclaimed as she approached the group. She chatted casually with her ‘friend’, pretending to be an old friend who she hadn’t seen in some time.

“What’s your name, lass?” one of Larkin’s friends had asked after some time. ‘Vicious,’ Lexi had replied. The three men looked at each other and laughed. “Vicious, eh?” Larkin remarked, ‘That’s quite a unique name.” Lexi smirked, not elaborating further on the matter and Larkin and the men looked at each other. “Vicious it is, then. We won’t ask ye further. But I bet there’s a story behind that one.” Larkin replied. Shortly thereafter Mika brought up the idea to Lexi about having something back at her house in which the five of them might have a good time with and of course Lexi replied that she’d like to go as well. After leading Larkin and his men through a rather elaborate route through the streets they arrived at a dark residence. Letting them inside, Mika and Lexi lit some candles. Apparently neither Larkin nor his friends recognized that Lexi seemed right at home in the dimly lit dwelling.

Mika excused herself to get into something more comfortable and left the room. When she left, Larkin glanced over to Lexi. “So, ‘Vicious’, care to tell us the story of how you got that obvious nickname?” Larkin grinned oafishly but the grin vanished when Lexi stared at him coldly. The men exchanged awkward and slightly annoyed glances, but shortly thereafter Mika emerged from the neighboring room, wearing the same clothes that she had worn in when she was going to make herself more comfortable. The men never even noticed. “I got something back there for ya gents.” Mika motioned. “I’ll stay out here and keep Vicious company while you gents go enjoy yourselves.” One of the men rubbed his hands together gleefully and then Larkin and the two headed back to see what was in the other room. While they were gone, Lexi looked at Mika and smirked and Mika returned the gesture by nodding and flashing a smile.

A short time later the men returned to the room. Larkin exclaimed “Whoooo!” and he jumped around and began dancing a jig. His boots clanged on the bare wooden floor of the shack and the two other men boisterously cheered him on as he pirouetted around the room. “Hey! Watch out, you’re gonna damage my floor!” Mika yelled, trying to get Larkin’s attention. Larkin looked at her, grinning and ignored her, feeling a rush from the poison flowing through his body. He whirled around the room, stomping loudly and obnoxiously as the other two men extolled for him to continue. “Come on, Vicious…let me show you something.” Mika said to Lexi, taking her by the hand and escorting her to the room the three men had emerged from. The three men, in their current state, ignored the women and continued with what they were doing. The women went into the next room and stood silent, waiting awhile.

Pretty soon, Mika and Lexi heard what they were expecting. Three thumping sounds from the other room as Larkin and the other two sailors fell to the floor. Mika and Lexi exchanged knowing grins and emerged from the other room to find the three men unconscious. They then set about their business.

The next morning the three men awoke to find themselves missing anything of value: coin, jewelry and so forth. They went to the local Fist who looked at the three men in amusement. “Ye claim you were robbed by two women, one named Teela and one named Vicious?” the local Captain asked. “That’s right.” Larkin exclaimed and one of the Fist looked at another and burst out laughing. “You sure you boys weren’t out seeking some evening entertainment and got more than you bargained for?” the man asked.

“Why you son of a banshee…” one of Larkin’s friends exclaimed and raised his hand toward the Fist patrolman. Shortly thereafter he doubled over after taking the hilt of a sword to his gut. Larkin and his two sailor friends were then thrown into the street with a warning to be more careful next time. The men, now further broken and ashamed, headed back toward their ship cursing to themselves for the fools they had been.

The captain of the ship cursed angrily when the men reported to their better what had happened. “These damn thieves around here, they are going to have to be taught a lesson. I’m not paying someone another ‘tax’ to look the other way while they benefit from what I’m bringing in on my ship until this kind of thing stop’s happening. Something’s gotta change around here…”

[Kage]

Creep smirked. He'd been waiting all night for this. He'd broken his anchor the day before, so for now, he quietly watched as two boys... no. Not boys. Halfings. Two halflings worked at the merchant's lock. You'd think in hard times, people would be more protective, but now they just couldn't afford a guard, and this particular salesman had eaten his dog to keep cheap food on the table.

The second the lock clicked open, the halfings rushed inside. Silently, the man waited for them to start rummaging through the wares before he walked in after them. Six other dark figures spread out, one on either side of the door, one down the alley, watching for any patrols (unlikely as they were in this particular neighborhood), and the rest in various other places, to block any escape. Only one woman followed after their 'boss

"Oi, oi! Lookie this one!" One of the midgets whispered, holding up a large bottle of ale.
"'Ey! 'At's mine, aye? Ya can 'ave the rest." The second nudged some cheap rums towards his companion.
"Nah, mate, I found it! t's mine. Foind your own." Came the first with a scowl.

Oh, this was too perfect. With a nod, both Creep and the woman, Edge, leaned over the halflings, simultaneously muffling each with a cloth, and whispering, "Nah, mate. t's mine." The colour drained from the short one's faces. The first sheepishly, and very carefully set the bottle of ale down, nudging it towards the man with his foot. Creep tapped his boot on the floor four times, then six. The door guards came in, taking the halfings outside, their cries stiffled as they were beaten.

Edge looked at Creep... he could tell she was grinning. Both of them started away at the merchant's wares, the two of them working in unison. First the bottles (careful to put the finer ale aside for the two of them - the others didn't need to know), then the fruit, or what little of it there was. Then the few trinkets the man had - silver rings, a gold necklace... sure it wouldn't sell well now, with everyone poor, but later, perhaps. With the store cleaned, the floor moaned eerily as they padded outside.

Leaning over the swollen, bleeding halflings, Creep muttered, "Now, see, mate... y' can't just be takin' from people on our lot. Y' knew the risks, so 'ere's your warning." He stepped on the halfling's thumb. The squeals muffled by the large man who held him on the floor, Creep looked over at the other. He could break his, too... or...

"An' you." Creep flicked him a single apple that was almost bad. "Thanks for the tip."

The halfling's eyes widened in shock and horror as he turned to his maimed brother, still moaning in pain, but now his brother glared back with a murderous look. His smirk never having faded, Creep, Edge, and their band's boots clicked on the cobblestones as they walked away unconcerned, splitting up into groups of two or three, each departing by a different route.

[CorruptedDisciple]

Hope, Justice, Loss - Part One

The twilight's rays now began to decline as they lowered, their rays still piercing the hearts of those upon the docks. A middle-aged man lay in the centre of two others. There was but silence upon the docks as the men slowly watched the docks quietly from a distance.

"They ain't be comin', Keller," a man shouted to the man in the middle. "Ya 'er me?"
"Now cummin'. 'ow ya expect me ta be walkin' 'bout an' feedin' me lovely lass if I cannae be makin' 'nuff ta be livin' off? Them tax people'n comin', aye? Wha' can I give 'em if I ain't got nothin' tae do?"
"We've all got that problem, mate. . . there's no point in waiting. Nothing is going to come. No idiot would dare sail at night. And, if they didn't sail here in the morning, they're not coming here at night."

Keller's eyes lowered as he heard this. With little word, he stepped backwards and offered the docks a glance. His eyes now wandered curiously over them. The radiant waters . . . they were so beautiful to him. Their soft, lush surface exhilarated him. He quickly shook his head with sudden realisation. He needed an escape.

"Now come 'ere lassy, lemme talk te ya, share a drink, aye?" Keller shouted to his left as he made his way to the counter of the bar. "But ye buyin', I ain't got nuffin." This woman's skin was pale. She wore a tightly fitted dress that was extremely restrictive yet it appealed to Keller. Keller's attire was less than appealing, however, as it consisted of stains of blood from the "boredom-brawls" he had with his fellow workers during the day. His beard was dirty and his scent was that of smoke. The woman turned to Keller,
"You want me to sit with you and buy you a drink? Ya know what? I'll oblige. Just this once, yeah?" the woman said with raised brows as she lowered onto his lap.
"Whoa, whoa, lass. I just wantin' ta be speakin', aye? I didna wan- I be married, lass."
"Now what's a man without his fun? she said as she lowered her head to his shoulder and moved her arms around him.
"Aye . . . aye, ye can be 'ere, lass. Jus' buy me a drink and we be settled," Keller says with an embarrassed tone, accompanying it with an equally embarrassed smile.
"Barkeep! Yeah, get us two drinks. Strongest ya got," the woman said as she shifted in Keller's lap. It was evident that Keller now felt comfortable, albeit still embarrassed. He was simply wondering as to how such a pretty lady, by his standards, at least, was placing herself upon him. His wife was not nearly as beautiful, nor as playful . . .

"So, tell me, hun, what's got ya here and down in the head?" the woman asked whilst reaching for her drink.
"Is'a bit of a longin' story, lass."
"Ya should hurry up, then!"
"Aye, well, it been 'ere since tha' damn warrin', aye? 'ey be cuttin' me down. Nae got ships, lass. Nae got me coppers, lass. Nae got nuffin. We be standin' on 'em docks fer hours on en', and ye know wha' we be gettin'? Nay, dun answer, 'cause ye cannae. We be gettin' nuffin."
The woman narrows her eyes at Keller as he continues to speak.
"Aye, aye. I got me wife tae feed. I got me children, aye. I got a half-pretty lass. Ye know, nay nearly as pretty as ye, aye? Still luv' 'er... I just dun be knowin' where ta be goin', aye?"
". . ." the woman opens her mouth and leans in. "I know what ya can do..." she whispered into his ear. Keller's demeanour perked as he turned back to her.
". . . It be gettin' late, lass. Got tae go back to th' docks in the mornin', aye."
"Then come back tomorrow," she whispered in his ear as she pressed her nose against his cheek. Her nose's texture caused his eyes to widen upon contact. His thoughts echoed: 'I better go quickly...'

Keller moved back to the house he lived within and knocked on the door. His knuckles pressed against it firmly, he shouted, "Open up, Martae!" but there was no reply. Waiting patiently to the side of the house, periodically knocking, he sighed. "I gots me a pretty lass at 'em bar and I be comin' home to this. Wha' be wrongin' wit me life?"
"Pretty lass?" a bypasser shouts. "Look ta yer left, mate." There stood a woman wearing an evening dress along.
"Martae..." he lowers his voice.
"I don't care. Get in. Now. Go to bed. I ain't making you no supper," she said whilst somehow containing herself. Keller moved off to the room he shared with her. The wooden floors were creaking as the soft footsteps of his wife echoed around the house. The ripped curtains upon the wall, before the window, now described his life: empty. He simply moved himself towards the bed, lowered himself onto it without changing his attire, and began thinking to himself.
'Who was she? She was so beautiful . . . so tender . . . my life . . . it's going no where. I need to see her tomorrow . . . she said she knows how to let me escape . . .'

[Kage]

The wheat was second grade. The apples, while not quite there yet, were near the point they would only be suitable for the swine. Edge knew it didn't matter. The poor would buy -anything- cheap. The decently-well-off too, sometimes. After all, they kept their cushion by living like they didn't have one. She passed it all off to Slick.

"Eheh. This all?" He asked. His very voice had a hint of mischief, but that made it all the more noticeable and attractive to potential customers.
"Aye, 'at's all. Creep said take people. They'll pay more than it's worth now, so -"
"I know, I know. Been doin' this for weeks." Edge didn't look too pleased to be interrupted, but let it go.

As she walked back around the corner into the alley, he could have sworn he heard another voice. And a seal being pried off a bottle. "That greedy..." His voice trailed off as he noticed crowds were beginning to walk the streets.

"Ay! Apples! Apples shinier'n' yer lasses eyes! Get 'em 'fore their gone, goin' cheap!" He said with wide grin, showing his perfectly straight teeth. There was a reason he was selling the wares, and not obtaining them. Instantly, people separated from the crowd, and he began his work of bleeding them all dry of whatever they had to offer. The moment the apples started disappearing and his coin-purse started filling, he changed his pitch.

"Wheat, too! Bakes t' bread better'n your boots!" He said the line without faltering, but it chagrinned him not having a better one, but he knew it didn't really matter. First rule of selling things: Act like you know what you're doing. Finally his eyes rested on the jewelry they'd passed off. So that's the reason Creep told him to set up closer to the noble-housing... he'd almost always sold out faster on the harbour. He held back a snicker... this was going to take some time, but he'd make a copper or two off it.

[gimchi]

Stories from the Glass Factory: 1

The big man took off his shirt then stood there placidly while a multitude of hands poked and prodded at him. He ignored the rising babble around him, ignored all the excited comments and the sarcastic remarks about his size and his thick covering of body hair, but when Black Eric told him to raise his arms he lifted them above his head and kept them there until told to relax again.

Beagan Prazoor the little gnome Artisan hoisted a wooden crate onto his favorite workbench, then climbed up on top of it and surveyed the crowd with mixed feelings. It was the last fight of the night and he was heartily sick of the rough, noisy crowd in his beloved workshop. He had claimed right of place in the front row for the earlier bouts, but he had had enough of the stench of unwashed bodies, and of being shoved and jostled from behind. He had agreed to being paid a tenth of the night's take for allowing that thug Eric to stage fights in the back of his little glass factory, and next time he had decided he would sell ale as well if he could come by some. Right at this moment though he was regretting his agreement, but in truth he had little choice in the matter.

Business had come to a slow, grinding halt over two months ago, and Beagan had reluctantly closed his doors. Not so long in the past he had been on the verge of great success. His exquisite pieces had become in demand following one of the great balls in the Ducal Palace, and he had received a multitude of orders from visiting members of the Lord's Alliance or their representatives. But that was in the past. That was bitter history. The first few of those pieces he had crafted were still boxed carefully and hidden from sight, but there was no safe way to transport them anymore, nor to receive payment. Trade had dried up tighter than a scholar's coin pouch. In the factory all the shelves and benches were bare save for his tools which lay there gathering dust, and his twin furnaces were long gone cold. Most of the huge ingredient bins were as empty as swallow's nests in winter, and the smaller ones containing his rarest oxides had little left in them even if he did somehow manage to get hold of the basic materials needed. Supply and demand, the two great balance scales of enterprise had both been swept to the ground in the aftermath of these terrible times.

Beagan had sadly dismissed his talented journeyman and the two earnest apprentices - though he had given them all glowing letters of reference and had promised them employment again if it ever became possible - and there was simply no hint of anything in the immediate glass business future to reverse his fortunes. Fighting for money was not illegal in Baldur's Gate, but the Fist did not permit it in the streets. His little factory was well situated in the East Gate district, with large windows set up high and carefully planned and built-in ventilation flues. A perfect venue for bloodsport and gambling. Silently he cursed the chaos of wars, the tedious realities of business, the pride and greed of the aristocracy, and the unpredictability of dragons.

All I want to do is create things of beauty and live in wealth and comfort. Is it too much to ask?

He looked down at the bare-chested newcomer being examined like a prize bull, and with his fine eye for detail he noted the knobbed and calloused knuckles on the big man's hands and the webbing of silvery scars on his heavy brow. On impulse he decide to wager against the local man who was well known for his quick temper and love of a brawl, and he called out loudly to the bookmaker in his high, clear voice, "Twelve gold pieces on the colossus there." Immediately afterward he added himself to his long list of quiet curses.

Fool, lose that wager and you will not have earned a single copper from this night.

Mikull looked up over the heads of the crowd and nodded wry acknowledgment at the glass-maker as others in the crowd took up the name. The Colossus is it?

It was strange how things turned out, he thought. There was no knowing what twists in the road a man's life would take, or where the pits and rockfalls were hidden. Ten long years it had been, and here he was back in Baldur's Gate again, but not in triumph as he had imagined. Not with the coin he had been expecting, and not with the glamor or the temporary blazes of fame he had gained in the other great cities of the Sword Coast, or in Cormyr, Sembia, Thay, Aglarond, Chondath, Tethyr and Amn. All those countries and more they had traveled through over the years. All those places they had pitched their tents, raised their brightly colored banners and delivered their scintillating spiel.

In those places he had been variously known as The Hammer, The Beast, The Ox, Thunderhand, The Ogre and The Hurricane. With each of those names he had been given a new appearance. Bizarre hairstyles, oiled and braided beards, mock tattoos or sinister masks, he had had them all. Transformed again and again by the magic hands of Sally the Whale, the carnival's fat lady. He had argued many times with Saer Wallpole, owner and Ringmaster of the Calimport Carnival of Mystery and Wonders to keep one name, something that he would become known by far and wide, a name he could make famous, but the rat-thin little man had refused every time stating how much more coin could be brought in with betting as he fought his way up the ranks somewhere new.

"Great champions fight only great champions," he said. "You will get to do that every time you come to the notice of High Lords and Kings, and we will walk away with the final prize and you will take your share, but there is always so much more to be gained on the way to the top. A dozen fights where I can mostly work the odds in our favor plus the big purse at the end, or just the one big fight? There's no comparison boy. You'll do as I say or you'll make your own way."

And now the carnival was no more. In the Amnian capital of Athkatla, Saer Wallpole had simply disappeared along with the wages and savings of the entire carnival crew that he had been minding. The City of Coin it was called. Now there was irony for you. He should have seen it coming, should have seen the signs. He should have realized that as the miserable, landless noble fired the acts one after another, that as he grew increasingly belligerent and more difficult to approach, that something was brewing. But he hadn't, and what's done is done, and here he was back in the city of his birth after all this time fighting for Black Eric, a greedy and petty little crime lord if ever there was one.

Mikull saw the crowd parting opposite him and he watched his opponent step through. He was a tall man, rangier than Mikull, but wide across the shoulders and with huge bony hands. His skin was untouched by sunlight and as pale as a milkmaid's. Mikull studied the angular face, the large ears and the long, pointed jaw and recognition came.

"Tom is it? Tom the Baker?"

"Not any more, just plain Tom now. The bakery closed down a while back. Only the biggest two in the Gate are still going, and them doing poorly. And who .... ? By the gods is that young Mikull? Never thought to see you again."

The big man looked at him impassively."It's me right enough. Though not so young any more. You've got a little girl don't you if I remember rightly?"

"Three girls now Mikull, and the one you recall, Sarah the eldest, she's turned fourteen and set to wed next year. Families don't stand still."

Mikull sighed. "Time and circumstance gets us all in the end. Go home to your wife and girls Tom, there's nothing here for you but pain."

"I can't go home yet, even if I wanted to. A man has to feed his family any way he can and this is all there is for now. I've got four miserable females waiting on these winnings, so don't you go looking for any favors from me for old times sake. You're standing between me and that purse and I won't be holding back any."

Mikull nodded and raised his fists. "Nothing more to be said then."

Behind him he heard Black Eric shout out, "Gentlemen and all the Rest of Ya Greedy Scum! ... Here we Go! ... The Time is Now! ... In the Main Event of the Evening! ... It's our boy ... Tom the Two Fist Tiger versus ... The Colossus! ..... TILL ONE MAN IS LEFT STANDING, OR UNTIL QUARTER IS CALLED!"
The noise of the crowd doubled as Mikull lowered his head and stepped forward.

[LeslieMS]

CAST THE NET…

He had been sitting there for what seemed like hours, watching them sleep. His beautiful wife, his precious son… gifts he could never take for granted. The coins in his hands seemed heavier than they should have been. They were, however, not as heavy as the thoughts that circled his mind.

His gaze rested on a fresh set of bruises, and it strengthened his resolve. Even the wrong thing for the right reasons can redeem the soul… can’t it? Or were they all damned? Did the gods look down as she offered herself to strangers so that they could eat? They certainly did nothing to protect her from them. They were the real monsters… the men who would do such things to her, his beautiful Vera.

It was her face he saw as he finally found the moment to catch the man off guard enough to give him the upper hand. The dagger shook in his hand… He didn’t want to do this… He wasn’t given any choice. It was them, or her… his sacrifice or hers… and gods had she not given enough?

So unsteady was his hand that he nicked the man’s throat as he slid his blade into place from behind. The man stiffened in fear. He could smell his fear… he swore he could smell the man’s tiny bead of blood as he whispered.

“You don’t want to get hurt—Not anymore than I want to hurt you.”

The man nodded.

“I need your gold. You look well enough off.”

Indeed he did. Fine clothes of rich dyes. No nobleman for certain, maybe not even the most successful of merchants, but he had enough… Or at least more than the rest of us, he had thought. The man shuddered and whispered unsteadily.

“P-plea- Please… I don’t … business has been terrible. I don’t have much.”

He tightened his grip on the blade, accidentally moving it and drawing another bead of blood which caused both men to wince.

“Do you have any family? A wife? Children?”

His victim seemed caught off guard by the question. He stood still. He shook his head and then nodded.

“The gold, fella, whatever you have on you of value.”

Suppose one good thing about so many guardsmen dying in the war and when the dragons attacked is that, there was no one around to save either of them from what was unraveling. The man hastily tried to pull things from his pockets. A handful of gold coins, a small gemstone he couldn’t identify in the darkness of the alley. What was he doing here anyway?

“Why are you even out here? You know it isn’t safe anymore. Folks worse than me about.”

Again the hapless victim seemed unsure how to react to being chastised, and continued to rummage through his pockets and the small sack he carried. Michael continued his whispered lecture.

“You could get killed. Out here, this late… here… I could kill you. No one would know until morning. If the guards even found you at all, bet the rest of the poor would pick you over first.”

He held out 9 gold coins, and the gem in shaking hands. He nearly dropped it all. Michael cursed as three of the shining coins clinked to the cobblestones. The sound was deafening, and it drew a whispered curse from Michael as the man started stuttering apologies.

“Hells man! You’ll get us both killed. I told you I didn’t want to hurt you! Calm down!”

Michael studied the mess of a man in front of him. He took the coins from the outstretched hand before more dropped, stuffing the six coins in his pocket. He turned the dagger and motioned for the man to pick up what had fallen. He moved so hastily to comply that he collapsed in a befuddled heap at Michael’s feet. Michael shook his head.

“Gods, why are you even out here?”

He was too scared to answer as he held the remaining spoils up for Michael to take. He flinched all the same as Michael took the coins, still holding the small gem. He held it up and looked down at the man.

“What is it?”

“Amethyst.”

Michael nodded and added that to his pockets and studied the man. Now the part he was worried about.

“You can go, if you swear not to report me. If you won’t keep quiet, I have to kill you.”

He was surprised how calm he sounded. Though all he needed to do to keep his focus was picture Vera. It must have been enough because the man was already swearing his silence and begging for his life. Michael pocketed the rest of his ill gotten gains, and sheathed the small blade with a disgusted sigh. Gods what was he even doing… Damn this war, Damn the dragons, Damn them all for making cutthroats out of honest folk.

“How do I know you’ll keep your word?”

Michael eyed him coolly, he caught his own reflection in a puddle between them. He could barely recognize the thief who looked back. The man scrambled to his feet, and Michael reached for the dagger again.

“No… Nonono… Please. I- I… I have a daughter. A daughter. Please…”

Michael again shook his head. He didn’t want to do this. He was the kind of guy that folks found easy to get along with. He wasn’t a menacing type, and yet here this man stood about to ruin his fancy pantaloons.

“She likes purple?”

That question stopped his stammering and he nodded. Michael took the gem back out and thrust it at the man.

“Go. I’ve got what I need from you. Go before someone kills you for what they think you have. Stay off the damned streets. Isn’t safe here anymore.”

The man scurried off like a rat being chased by every stray in the city, barely keeping hold of the gem in the process. Michael tugged his cloak around him and hurried home. Could have gone worse. Could have killed the man, or been killed. Vera had a right to worry…

His eyes wandered back over his wife, and then to the coins in his hand. Maybe he didn’t have to do that often. Just enough… Just enough to keep her home. To take care of them. Keep them safe… He slipped the coins in with the few she had brought home, and hoped she wouldn’t ask where they came from.

She barely stirred when he slipped back into bed. A shudder, perhaps from the cold air, nothing more. He rest an arm around her waist, and it wasn’t a few moments more he had fallen into a fitful sleep.

She listened until his breathing slowed to the measured pace of sleep before reaching to wipe the tears from her eyes. She’d spent the whole time he was gone praying that he would even come home. When she wasn’t gripped by the fear that he might never walk through that door again, she found herself wondering if he would come home only to get dragged off to the jails for the crime she feared he was committing. She had prayed the gods would not leave him with blood on his hands.

She had seen him come in, but it was impossible to tell if he was bloodied or not. Relief swept over her when he crawled into bed without washing. Had he truly been hurt or hurt someone, he would have washed first to hide the evidence from her. It was her only comfort until he wrapped his arms around her… and then all that horrible truth of the world around them faded.

They might be damned… but at least they had each other. She turned to her husband, alarmed to see his face contorted in some nightmare of some sort. She caressed his cheek gently and whispered to his dreams.

“Shhh, my love… Shhh… It’s only a dream.”

The feathery kiss she placed on the corner of his mouth soothed him, and she smiled softly as she watched the lines of his face smooth into the expression of peaceful sleep. She sighed and her head rested on his shoulder.

“Oh, my dearest Michael. What are we going to do? By the Seven Heavens and all the gods good and true… What are we supposed to do?”

The prayer was half pleading, half accusing, and she wondered if it would even be heard…

[gimchi]

Stories from the Glass Factory: 2


Redleaf Jake stood on the invisible line that separated the north side docks from the south side, and watched the scene playing out in his arch rival's territory. His arms were folded across his chest and his jaw worked steadily as he gazed at the man he hated more than any of the stinking Flaming Fist, or the god-rotten nobles they worked for. A cloud of gulls swooped and circled over the activity on the south side, their sharp eyes searching in vain for scraps of fish or anything edible dropped from the hands of the men gathered over there. Jake's two lieutenants, Coppertop Harald and Marion Fivetimes stood on either side of him and waited for permission to speak.

"What have ye got fer me Marion?"

"I tried to put the fix in on the big fight tonight, but that dungbag Black Eric weren't having none of it. Says this one is too risky."

Jake hawked and then spat out a great milky-juiced wad of the the chewed up leaf that gave him his name. It splatted to the boards some five feet in front of him, and a squabble of gulls raced in quickly, then lifted back upwards with harsh cries of disappointment.

"He's takin a bigger risk refusin me," Jake growled.

He flicked a glance to his right.

"What have ye got fer me Coppertop?"

"I went ter that meetin like yer said Jake. A lot of ideas got tossed around, a lot of adventure types there desperate fer some recognition. Wavin their arms and tryin ter flap their lips louder than the feller in front of them. Reckon that half of them will fall on their own swords if they have ter move in a hurry. Yer knows the type I'm thinkin."

'Keep talkin Coppertop, and more o' the facts and less o' yer opinions."

The lieutenant nodded, and relayed all he had heard, about raising money, about helping out farmers and fishermen, and finally about the idea to raise a great merchant fleet, hire sailors, and fill ships with sellswords to fight off the pirates.

The north side gang boss threw back his head and roared with laughter for the first time that day. He laughed till tears streamed down his face, and he had to hold his belly to catch a breath.

Finally he turned to face the ocean and gestured to the docks and jetties that wrapped around the bay like the welcoming arms of a lover.

"Looky there boys. How many ships do yer see? A couple o' tubs in need o' repairs and that's all. Just lookit all them empty berths. Where in the Hottest o' the Nine Hells do those frilly idiots come up with these notions? Where they expectin ter find a fleet o' ships? They goin ter march a bunch o' the sailors from here up along the Coast lookin fer stray ones floatin by they selves?

He took a deep gasping breath and continued to laugh around his words.

"And they plannin on stickin a bunch o' would be hero landlubbers on the decks ter fight off pirates? Were they servin Dream Mist at this meetin? Don't they know that a great fleet will draw pirates like a pack o wolves ter feed on stupid sheep? If there's one thing that can unite the pirate lads fer a brief time it's a mighty prize fer the takin. Do they have any idea what them pirate ships can do compared ter even the fastest merchanter? Why they'd need a Great Man o' Warship, and at least a few Fighting Frigates manned by trained Navy men ter even stand a chance!"

Redleaf Jake turned back and watched as the crowd of men down on the south side began to move away toward the Harbor Gate. He took another wad of leaves from the pouch on his belt, and tucked it behind his lower lip. He could see the great bald head of his enemy towering over the men around him, and the hate flared through him again.

He listened to the chanting carried on the wind. "Tegar, Tegar, Tegar!"

Jake's fist clenched in frustrated anger.

"Well, with any luck that barbarian bastard will come back in a box from the Glass Factory tonight."

[Valefort]

The hardness of shortcomings

Kelhort didn't find a ship, he found the moneylender. The fear and guilt were too much to handle so he decided to go forward, before the delay for reimbursing was finished he seeked Nolon, before his toughs came for him.

He entered a rough build in the East district, Nolon wasn't living in a palace, that much was certain but he did eat well. The smell of cooked meat was faint in the room but it was enough to make his stomach rumble. Nolon was alone, sitting behind a desk and counting more coins than Kelhort had seen in the last months. He was eyeing him, staying silent, letting the silence and the sound of coins piling up do their job.

"I- I didn't found no ship, I have no money."

There, he said it, the veil of shame was so thick he wanted to weep.

Nolon's features didn't change in the slightest, day to day business for him, was that idiot hoping to soften his heart ? Not a chance, he could be used though. Nolon used silence once again, letting it last, looking Kelhort impassively until he began to speak. Nolon cut off his apology abrupbtly before it began.

"Do you still sleep in that inn ?"

That unsettled Kelhort even more, he knew that too ?! He told Nolon that indeed he was still sleeping there. The innkeeper was buying the few fishes Kelhort managed to catch for the right to sleep on the floor in the common room, not the best deal but he had a roof and he earned it.

Nolon smiled unpleasantly at the mention of the common room, not adding anything, stating the obvious wasn't an habit of his. He let him go when he was certain Kelhort understood what he would have to do.

The day Kelhort saw the two nameless toughs lounging in an alley nearby the inn he knew he had to do it tonight, that day Kelhort didn't come back with his net and hid it instead, hoping to find it tomorrow.
The kitchen was locked at night, but the door itself was nothing like the reinforced front door, it was just an assembly of thin planks. They were the only thing that separate Kelhort from stealing, too thin to hold back a man in need.

Staying awake until everything was calm he got up and opened one of the windows, half opening the shutters until he saw the two toughs, motioning for them to come. They barreled down the alleyway and entered, coming with bags. Then all went very fast, the kitchen door was forced in an instant and they began to plunder everything, the noise was enough to wake up an army and Kelhort went to hold the door to the stairs, blocking it.

People were scrambling everywhere, in the first floor he could hear the innkeeper shouting, and pounding on the door, calling his name. The toughs were done and he ran for it, blocking the door with a chair to give him a few moments. He was out and saw the toughs running away to his left, "wait me" he screamed as he began to follow.

The sergeant of the Flaming Fist didn't miss the third one, the punch landed neatly right behind the head and knocked him out instantly. The other two were too far now but this one was caught.

"Bring him to jail, I have to know what happened."

[CorruptedDisciple]

Hope, Justice, Loss - Part Two

Twilight had now descended upon the city of Baldur's Gate. Birds soared in their flocks throughout the skies. They were so free. Freedom encapsulated their every movement. They held the epitome of carelessness. Clouds formed overheard; each allowing but a flicker of the twilight's rays to pass through it onto the docks where the men now stood.

"Come on, laddy, hit me, I ain't gonna hurt ya," a rugged man says as he stepped to the side. An equal-in-stature man stood in front of him. The two circled each other with their fists raised. The two men exchanged blows; each staggering the other momentarily, before one of them tilted their head to the side.

"Look, laddy, a ship!" he shouted before continuing, "we ain't been getting ships. Come on, look!" he continued to shout.
"Nay, lad, ye ain't gonna get me with that 'un. Nay, nay. Haha," the other man said bemusedly. "Billy, stop wussin' and get to brawlin'!"
Billy then, with a new-found motivational stance, advanced against the man. He locked his arm around his neck, made his way behind him, and knocked him to the ground, repeatedly pressing his knuckles into the man's cheek.
"Gotcha," Billy exclaimed. "Haha! Who's wussin' now, mate?"
"Argh, ye bloody..." the man muttered whilst in pain. "I..." he then muttered thereafter. Streams of blood; that of his symbolical pain, exerted from beyond his skin. It symbolised this man's life; he would lose with little gain.

"All right! Enough of that," Billy shouted as he helped his compatriot up. Whilst aiding him, Billy turned to Keller, "Mate, get ready, I'll be goin' on ya soon."

Keller stood with his gaze shifted to the distance. His head was lowered, but his pupils did not stand still. His lower lip -- as dirty and bloody as it was -- was subject to the absent biting he often would resort to when thinking.

"Mate?" Billy asked as he patted the wounded man's arm.
". . . Nay, lad, day be over. I be goin' home," Keller replied in an unusual, absent tone.
"Mate! You're not gonna fight me? Come on! What gives? Avernus got your head or somefin?"
"Cannae go 'ome with me face all bloody an' at, lad. Martae be killin' me if I be doin' so. She bein' angry an' all fer lil' reason. Dun worry, tomorrow, we'll 'ave our brawl."

Keller, with little word thereafter, slowly stepped off. The others knew as well as he that he wasn't going to go home. He lied to them. They often suspected men who work on docks have this special bond. One does not lie to their fellow workers.

'I can't just tell them. That's not right. I need her. I need my escape. They'll find their own . . . they're strong like that. I don't care . . ."


Keller, whilst slowly making his way to the tavern he met the lovely lady at, continued to echo his thoughts to himself.

'What if she was lying?'

'No, she wouldn't lie. Angels don't lie . . .'

'. . . She wasn't an Angel.'

'. . . Her beauty was angelic . . .'

'Beauty doesn't mean she's great . . .'

'She doesn't have to be great . . . I'm going to trust her.'

'What if I can't?'

'You don't know that unless you try, Keller.'

'What about Martae?'

'Martae isn't helping you escape.'

Keller approached the tavern's doors and carefully pushed; forcing its opening. Prior to entering, the sensational aroma that often frequented within these taverns -- that of alcohol and blood -- had now left. Keller slowly made his way inside, pulling the door closed behind him.

[Considerate_]

The Ansgot, Tymora's Grace

Elissa had her face buried in the palm of her hands, the thick black curly hair more or less hiding the tears lining the delicate cheeks as she had finished reading the most recent letter of her husband. Things were deteriorating far too fast around her, ever since that war… so elusive, and small in the grander scheme of things. What was the war for, some petty feud between slighted nobles that now had every family starving? The streets had literally been abuzz with warmongering rumours among the noble and common circles alike. It had all seemed so straightforward, of course the war was worth it back then.

Now, as the proud woman ventured out into the streets, nothing was straightforward any more, and no amount of glory or victories would’ve been enough compensation for it to be worth this aftermath. The Gate had always been home since her husband had spirited her here from afar, the word Gate alone was one connected with security, warmth and a sense of true belonging that had rivaled that of her home in the Dalelands.

Not any more, not outside the walls of this once great city that had been home to her for so long. Pulling up the measly hood to cover her tawny skin betraying her Chondathan heritage, as she sat down in her usual spot and prepared herself for the inevitable stream of people to pass her by.

Elissa couldn’t help thinking that under normal circumstances the few coins Eric sent her would’ve been hard pressed to suffice till the next installment were due. Under these circumstances, Tymora’s grace alone would see all three of them through for the few tendays.

She let the few copper roll over her palm and down into the wooden bowl, finding a spiteful amusement in the analogy of how her own hopes were coming to collide with the harsh reality of the beggar bowl now before her.

[Whisper]

Teela and Vicious II

The street merchant looked up from his wares to see Lexi approaching, strands of blonde hair peeking out from the hood she wore and a stern expression on her face. He frowned, knowing where this was headed. ‘Vicious’, as he knew her by, was part of a local gang of thieves or street thugs; however you wanted to call it. The merchant was forced to pay protection money to keep himself and his wares safe. It was a racket the merchant realized, knowing he was essentially paying them to not rob him as well as keep others away from his merchant stall. There was little choice though, the merchant himself knowingly bought stolen goods and other questionable material followed by selling them at a huge markup. The merchant glanced to Lexi’s side and spotted her long-time companion Mika, or ‘Teela’ as he knew her by. The brunette also was not smiling, and walked with a ‘we’re here for business’ stride.

“Ladies, how are ya doing?” the merchant managed to muster, trying to keep the tone friendly to the two woman. Vicious promptly dismissed the greeting with a wave of her hand.

“You know why we’re here” she said. “It’s time for your monthly payment.” She spoke matter-of-fact, without a regard for personal pleasantries.

“Ah, of course, ladies. And of course I have this month’s dues. But I’m a bit busy with customers; you think you could come back in the evening time when I’m closing up?” This hadn’t been a good month for customers. Not with the coin seemingly drying up following the end of the war. Everyone was feeling the crunch, except for possibly the very wealthy. The merchant had the payment but paying this month’s payment was going to put a substantial hurt on his coin pouch.

Teela glanced around, seeing no one about but a grubby looking man standing behind them, waiting patiently. Vicious let out a sigh. “We ARE going to do this the easy way aren’t we?” she asked, frowning.

“Oh of course, we assuredly are!” the merchant said, in an effort to head off the warning that was coming. “I’m just a bit busy. If you would come back this evening I’ll have everything ready to go.”

Vicious sighed and said “Alright, I suppose so. I’ll come back this evening. You better not be wasting my time. You know what will happen if you try to waste my time.” She glared at the merchant. The merchant didn’t meet her eyes, only nodded and focused his attention on the man standing behind them, probably preferring to shut out the implied threat.

Teela and Vicious glanced at each other and shook their heads but left for the time being. The merchant tended to his customers during the day and evening. Once he caught the attention of one of the local dock rats, whispering an urgent message and then sent the boy on his way. Later that evening the sun was setting, the merchant was in his tent packing things away. Vicious parted the flaps to the tent and came striding in toward him. The merchant noted that Teela was not with her this time.

“Alright, I’m back” she stated as she approached him. There was nothing casual or compassionate about the tone in the blonde’s voice. Truth be told, her nickname fit her well, she was a cold hearted individual with a mean streak when pushed.

“Can we talk about this?” the merchant questioned, glancing up at her. He seemed calm and casual for the time being, as if not concerned as much now.

“There’s nothing to talk about. You owe us. It’s time to pay. You pay.” Vicious replied, glaring at him. She was in no mood for excuses or casual conversation. “You know what happens if you can’t pay.”

“I’m sure we can be reasonable about this” the merchant said calmly. A sharp look from Vicious indicated otherwise, however. She stared at him angrily a moment and he glanced to her.

“No? Well that is too bad, then.” The merchant casually nodded to the shadows and a moment later Vicious felt a heavy stick of wood smash into the back of her neck and she tumbled, dazed, to the floor.