He had been an expendable mercenary for the dirty city for almost a month and even the people with some measure of authority had tried to kill him. Usually just for the sake of not having to pay him after the job was done. However they in turn would soon be left face down on the road by their own subordinates in order to usurp each other's ranks.
He unclasped the bag of coin from his belt and dismissively threw it roughly in the direction of a small table in the corner of the room, shortly followed by the signed papers of his newly completed writs. He was slightly happier when he looked to see most of the papers had landed irreverently on the floor. He didn't make much money. At least not enough for decent equipment at any rate, he thought, staring down onto the dented metal breastplate. "Is that rust?" he pondered with a disgusted sneer. On the other hand he had managed to secure a good enough income to rent rooms at the Seafarer's Royal Roost, a dockside inn in Freeport's eastern district, conveniently the city's central hub.
He had given up trying to remember who he had been before the great cataclysm that sundered the face of Norrath. All he had left was fragments. He knew he was from the Tier'Dal city of Neriak. He knew his name was Vallasch, but of his family name or the name of the house they may have served? Nothing.
He sighed as he removed the rest of his poor quality armour. Then he realised shortly after that he had nothing better to do than to go downstairs and drink into the night, but the city was not the type of place to walk unprotected anywhere. No matter, his steel suit of armour needed to be sent for repairs anyway. So he opened one of the randomly placed chests in his suite and started to buckle on the articulated plates of his dark, scarlet stained, leather armour. Then he picked up one of the smaller bags of coin left on his corner table. After all if he was going to be mugged the least he could do was to be spiteful enough not to make it worth the attacker's while.
Lastly he clasped a tattered black, hooded cloak around his shoulders, which he'd relieved a Seafury Buccaneer of earlier that week. It was both amusing and sobering to know that a fleet of pirates made up Freeport's navy, though entirely unsurprising. For all the city's faults, Vallasch had to respect The Overlord Lucan D'lere. The machiavellian society of Freeport ensured that weak were weeded out and that the strong and resourceful survived. Whatever Lucan was, human, undead or something else, he was most certainly clever.
He stepped out and locked the door behind him. Rather than a corridor, the Inn's upper floor was more like a gallery. It was a large oblong shaped space with a railed gap in the middle of the floor so that patrons could overlook the ground floor, where most of the evening's entertainment usually took place. At each narrow end of the gallery was a group of tables and a staircase down. Seeing a large group of rowdy patrons shamelessly drooling at the multitude of courtesans at the far end, he chose the staircase closest to him.
He pushed his way between the crowded spaces between tables towards the bar. There were two people serving, a greasy haired man with a ragged goatee and a half-elven redhead with two rings in her lower lip and a stud in her eyebrow. The man was busy serving the ogre that towered over everyone. Clad in platemail he was at least twice Vallasch's height and three times as broad, gulping down ale from a stein as large as a man's head.
Vallasch leaned against the other end of the bar and look into the half elf's eyes. She came over and flashed him an unreturned smile. "Evening dark sir, what can I get you?" she asked, apparently unfazed by his stern expression.
"Nerrian blood wine," he hesitated, "please."
"I'm afraid it's become too difficult to locate suppliers for the Nerrian stuff sir, The Roost does however stock it's own brand if that'll do?"
"Apparently it'll have to."
As she poured the drink he looked briefly at the other patrons. He had thought that the ogre was probably the evening's security, until he saw the Freeport militiamen standing by the door. A red-eyed dark elf and an albino ratonga, both wearing the blackened iron platemail uniform emblazoned with the red crest of the common soldiery. The fact that they carried their scimitars naked in their hands suggested they were thoroughly bored, which had a tendency to make the militia somewhat overenthusiastic in their ironic roles as keepers of the peace.
"Fourteen silver please sir," the barmaid asked, disturbing Vallasch from his reverie. He fished out a fistful of coins and unceremoniously slapped them against the bar. "Thank you dark sir," she said, evidently still unmoved by his attitude. He reasoned that she's probably had to put up with much worse. His respect for her increased slightly, but then that's slightly more than usual for people in this city. She smiled, "We're also required to remind everyone that all our wines are served in hand blown, custom made glass. Therefore if you break it we will be inclined to break something of yours."
That made Vallasch smile as he made his way into the corner of the room, away from everyone else. It was a busy night and many of the patrons were shouting and jeering at the multitude of women dancing in various small pockets all over the room. There was only one corner space left and it was annoyingly close to someone else, a decidedly drunk looking iksar whose tongue lolled languidly from it's needle-toothed snout. As Vallasch sat down the iksar let out a harsh rasping hiss. He instinctively reached beneath his cloak for one of the swords belted at his waist, then relaxed when he saw the iksar was looking across the room and not at him. "Soft skinned wenches!" growled the lizardman, "when will we see real women with some tail!"
The iksar didn't seem aware of anything else going on around him, so Vallasch simply ignored him and relaxed. The dancers were uninspiring to him. Mostly humans, one or two half breed elves, a gnome and others. He took a deep gulp of the wine, only to spit it out again in a fine, red mist. It tasted like alcohol mixed in with the bodily fluids of the local livestock.
He set the glass down with a grimace as he licked the remnants from his lips. Then he noticed the dark elf woman in the far corner. She was incomparably beautiful, clad in a black corset and long, opera style gloves that were covered in buckled straps. Her elegant movements caused her long skirt to sway about her, which was split up the front but overlapped so as not to expose much more than the lower part of her thighs. Her legs were covered in matte black, moulded stockings that clung like a second skin. On her feet she wore low silver shoes, from the heels of which long wires coiled up just below her knees, like shining metal ivy. They were obviously made as a ceremonial piece without practicality in mind; however every move she made seemed perfectly measured and yet natural at the same time. Despite them she moved with fluid, inhuman grace and never broke step. Her long hair was completely untainted by colour. Cascading over the back of her shoulders, while the front parted in a stark white frame for her perfect angular features. What caught Vallasch's eye most however was the way she danced. He couldn't think what it might be called or how the steps were performed, but there was definitely something familiar about it.
He simply stared at her. Transfixed not only by the physical perfection of her figure, but also because he desperately tried to place how he recognised her movements. It was obviously a Nerrian art but he was sure there was a greater significance. As enchanting as the Tier'Dal woman was, only one other person was watching her with more than passing interest. A lecherous human sat at the table closest to her, practically unblinking as he studied her. It sickened Vallasch to the core that a beast of burden such as that man could think himself worthy to set eyes on her.
Then with abrupt finality, she slowly halted mid twirl and bowed. Vallasch then realised that she was not a part of the Roost's shows as she simply walked confidently and purposefully out the door, her shoes rapping loudly as she went. She didn't even break stride or spare them a second glance as she stepped between the militiamen. When he saw the mongrel of a man follow shortly after, Vallasch's choler rose uncontrollably. He got up from his seat and returned the glass, then left the inn. He had decided to follow and see what the man's intentions were. Personally Vallasch hoped he would do the stupid thing, because there was nothing he would enjoy more than putting the human in his place.
As he walked out onto the cobbled road he made a casual sidelong glance to keep track of where the Tier'Dal enchantress and her stalker were headed. It was a cold night, but the main dockside road was well illuminated. Shadows skittered all over the district, cast by the massive, flame lit beacon set just into the water. It was a stone pyramid much the same size of a house with a large metal disc set atop it. The pyre danced across the dish and never went out come rain, snow or bitter winds. It served as a primitive kind of lighthouse. Cattle-sized stone braziers in the shape of grotesque yawning faces were set periodically along Freeport's streets, as well as tall posts from which green arcane fire lanterns hung along a chain connected to the wall of the districts next tier up.
Freeport was not a city constructed to be aesthetically pleasing. There was little naturally living plant life, the whole thing was built of dark exposed stone, and the roads and streets twisted and wound up to higher levels as one went from the east to west side. As a fortress however, it was a masterwork. The twisting roads would be hell on any invading army, as troops became confused, lost and ultimately demoralized. While the multiple tiered elevation gave the defenders a massive advantage, as there were multiple plateaus on each level where troops could rally together and counter attack the enemy.
Vallasch's victim however had stayed on the lowest level for now, following the dark elf woman toward the gates that led into the northern district, the primary residential area. For the sake of stealth Vallasch simply crossed over the road to the nearest stone brazier and only glanced once or twice to be sure of where they were heading. He made a show of warming his hands over the fire. Even going so far as to pull a small dagger free from his belt and pretend to pick dirt out from under a fingernail.
Once again, the two ogre militiamen guarding the gate paid her no mind. In fact they seemed almost afraid to look upon her as swept on into the northern sector. ‘If only the witless human had been so smart,' Vallasch thought bitterly to himself. He put his knife away and checked the two longswords at his hips. Then he pulled his hood low over his face and shrugged to make his cloak fall over is shoulders and around his body. Then he followed.
The city's theme for being entirely practical for war was no more evident than in the residential area. Every house looked like a barracks. There was no trace of any windows. Instead the terraced buildings had either arrow slits or murder holes and they all had flat, open roofs or balconies from which soldiers and civilians alike could rain arrows upon an attacker in a torrent. Every building looked the same, and even with street signposts it was almost impossible to find one's way unless you lived there and had thus learned the layout over time.
Vallasch soon decided that he had hung back too far when he saw the ragged man round a corner unto an upper sublevel. However the street the man had turned on went around a large rectangular block of housing before meeting with the ground level again. The two streets met at another, larger stair that led to a large public area, with a merchant area, the Temple of Dismal Rage and the Academy of Arcane Science. A plan began to form in his mind. He would have to make haste around the housing block and head the man off before he reached the path to the temple plateau. If he passed the woman on the way the she would simply think it a coincidence and think nothing of it. Vallasch was certain that the human wouldn't have gone into any of the houses, since North Freeport was the residential area reserved for the wealthy, and the human was most assuredly scum in Vall's mind.
Threats, extortion, greed and murder were a daily occurrence. The only true crime in the continent of D'lere, was being stupid enough to get caught. Everyone in the city was suspicious, so Vall decided it was no longer necessary to be inconspicuous if he encountered anyone else. He broke into a run, dashing past the bolted doors of the houses in between him and his victim. When he reached the end of the rectangular block he pressed himself flat against the end wall. "It's time to teach you a lesson on respecting your betters, human," Vall whispered to himself as he drew both swords, "one you wont forget in the next world!" He rounded the corner and dashed into the opposite street with a feral, snarling grin. Then he faltered in his steps and came to a halt. What he found was not at all like the plan.
The human was in pieces. He was ugly before as far as Vallasch saw, but now he had no discernable features left. His body was entirely covered in a labyrinth of red, lacerated paths. The floor and the wall of the upper tier were painted in his blood. Poised over the tattered carcass stood the dark elf woman, her arms spread wide and her head bowed just like the final pose of her dance. Only this time, she held long crooked dirks in her hands, still dripping warm blood.
She looked up, slowly, deliberately, their eyes met. She was halfway down the block but within a couple of seconds she had closed the gap between them, her face utterly devoid of expression. She was a blur of movement and the only thing that saved Vallasch from ending up like the human was the sound of her steps, hitting the cobbles with a lightning clang.
In the space of a heartbeat she sent both daggers forward in plunging stabs. Vallasch turned sidelong to her in order to make himself a smaller target, he managed to parry her right handed weapon but the second punched straight through the leather pauldron on his left shoulder. The dirk's narrow blade meant it did little damage, but the crooked shape made the blow extremely painful as it tore into his flesh.
Knowing that at such a close range her phenomenally fast attacks would eventually end him; he decided he'd have to exploit his own advantage. Reach. Gritting through the pain in his left arm, he swung both his own blades in a figure of eight that forced her to jump back a step. As soon as she was clear she spun low and swept her leg across the floor, forcing him to jump back too. However he now had room to go on the offensive. He made a backward slash with his left hand that was level with her face, while following quickly with a stab for her heart with his right. He hoped that the slash would distract her eyes long enough to run her through, however she simply ducked and simultaneously parried his thrust wide and making Vallasch overextend himself. She lashed out with a riposte that scored a red flesh wound into the top his right forearm but he thankfully managed to maintain his grip. He followed through using the momentum he gained from her parry to spin left all the way until he was facing her again. At the last moment he changed the angle of his weapons and slashed down with both swords in an attempt to part her arms from her torso. Now the whole world seemed to slow down for the two of them as the seconds became long minutes and the whistle of sliced air become the howling of a banshee. She raised both of her knives quick enough to block his swords but he would still overpower her. Which is precisely why she hadn't counted on the block from saving her. Instead it bought her just enough time to kick up with her right leg at such a high angle that she could have kissed her own knee as her shining, metal heel connected with Vall's chin.
He had to stagger back several steps to stop himself from falling onto his back. After being given a painful view of the sky he looked down again quickly, expecting her to press her advantage. She however, stood stock-still, waiting for him to make the next move. ‘She fights as if she were still dancing,' he realised, ‘like a ballet of blades.' He felt moisture strike his face and he took the whole scene in again for the first time since the skirmish began. At some point it had started raining and he hadn't even noticed. His lips parted and he bore his canine teeth in a wolfish smile. No matter what she-devil power allowed her to move so quickly, she would never be able to keep her balance now. Not with her absurd attire and a wet, cobblestone street!
Vall spat out a mouthful of blood, glad that none of his teeth followed. Then he threw his cloak back behind his shoulders and pulled down his hood, shaking loose his long hair. Then charged straight for her, seeking to use his entire bodyweight as a weapon to unbalance her.
"Get a good taste of this!" he called hoarsely swinging both blades down in a crosscut. She didn't move until the last second. As he swung she dove around his left said, rolled and was on her feet again. He almost tripped over his own legs as he clumsily turned, trying to defend himself from her onslaught. Blades rang and screeched against each other as they traded attacks in what had become a lethal dance of it's own kind. Seeing that she fought with such casual grace, Vallasch knew she was obviously more skilled than him. But if living in Freeport had taught him nothing else, it taught him that fighting and fighting for life were entirely different. Both his arms were occupied in parrying and making small counter strikes where he could, in order to tie up her blades. Eventually there was an opening and Vallasch took the opportunity. He put his boot hard into her stomach but she showed barely any sign of the blow. She stumbled back a half step and then she pressed her attack again, still with her impassionate stare of cold, blue murder.
"Impossible," Vallasch muttered, losing all sense of discipline. "You're..." he began, growling in between swings, "not... this..." Then he forgot about trying to forget himself as he roared, "FAST!" and lunged with his left sword to impale her head. The attack had been a feint, immediately after he began to spin on his right foot to make a backward slash with his right hand aimed low for her legs. However she had anticipated that too. In the time it took for him to make the second strike she had already used both her knives to make a cross guard, trapping his sword in her blades like scissors. Then she twisted Vall's offhand weapon out of his grip and back flipped out of the way. Vallasch had barely registered what had just happened when she was upon him again, running forward with her body low. Vallasch lowered his own stance to meet her charge but then she launched herself into the air. With the handles of her knives secured in her thumbs she grabbed his shoulders and used him as a platform to propel her lithe body up into the air and behind him. They were now stood back to back with half a metre between them. He reversed his grip on his remaining sword and attempted to stab backwards into her spine, but again she was quicker to react. She pivoted on her heel and delivered a straight-legged kick into Vall's kidney.
He stumbled back into the stone wall of the upper tier. Then she pitched one of her knives at him, which drove straight into his already wounded left shoulder. Before Vallasch could move away from the well she had him pinned there, with her remaining dirk up against his throat reverse gripped. She slowly pushed the point into the soft well at the base of his neck until there was a tiny scarlet bead where steel met skin. With her free hand she pulled her other weapon back out of his shoulder, taking the time to seemingly admire the red stain across its edge.
Then with Vallasch still in place she ran her tongue across the dagger with an almost orgasmic purr. He looked her straight in the eyes and studied them. Her irises were rings of beautiful malevolence, almost radiating glacial light. Then he heard her articulated, honey-like voice for the first time. "A good taste indeed," she said, mocking his earlier battle cry. "I think I may have to savour you." Vallasch wasn't paying attention, as he looked her up and down. Her elegant yet muscular and lithe form was perfection embodied. She looked like a statue of some dark goddess carved of blue marble, yet he knew if he could touch her limbs would be warm and supple. Then he noticed the small bumps in her clothes. The boning of her corset, the hem of her long sleeved gloves, everywhere on her body was a concealed sheath. She was literally clad in daggers.
She evidently noticed what he was looking at and Vallasch tasted his own blood on her lips as she gave him a quick teasing kiss. Then with a flick of her wrist she sheathed the dirk she'd licked clean and drew another, shorter blade from out of one of her leggings. Then with Vallasch unable to stop her, she slashed it across his right bicep. It was only a flesh wound so Vallasch simply snarled with a grimace. She leaned in close enough for him to feel her breath, "are you afraid boy?"
"Afraid?" Vallasch paused, considering the question. "Of death? No. This city is such an underworld of filth that oblivion sounds somewhat luxurious. Afraid of you however? Perhaps I am, but if that's the case I'm too in awe to notice. You are exquisite annihilation," his tone almost reverential.
She gave him a predatory smile and took a step back, "Oblivion you said? Is that really where you think you're going?"
Vallasch's brow furrowed in confusion at the question but before he could answer, he doubled over on his knees, as his entire nervous system seemed to turn to brittle ice. Agony seized his limbs and wracked his body as he became completely paralysed. Before he knew it he was almost kissing the wet road as he cringed into a ball.
Adding insult to injury she kicked him over onto his side and then she pushed the instep of her foot under the side of his face to make him look up at her. Vall hated the indignation but was powerless to do anything about it. Then the midnight blue hued goddess twirled the short dagger in her nimble fingers. "Drachnid Venom," she explained. "Subtle but when the effect takes hold the victim is completely helpless so that the Drachnids can bind their prey while keeping them alive and fresh for their young. Also excruciatingly painful so it would seem. As I said I'm going to savour you. I'm going to enjoy breaking you piece by piece."
"Bitch!" Vallasch groaned before he convulsed involuntarily. If his nerves truly had turned to ice before it now felt like that same ice was cracking up, exploding into shards of anguish. Above him he could hear her laughing but could no longer see, his vision had become nothing but blurring coloured outlines. "Who... are you?" he managed to gasp. Then he felt himself being rolled onto his back and the sole of her shoe covering his mouth to silence him.
"The only name you'll ever need to remember," he heard her but the voice was becoming distant, "is Mistress." Then Vallasch lost consciousness.
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