Mud and Magic Ch. 08

And a lot of naked skin, Rhys thought. The dancer pirouetted, her slender hands accentuating her graceful movements with passes along her flanks and over her behind. Her right buttocks was adorned with a large golden spider tattoo. The only concession to modesty was a strip of silver filigree hanging between her thighs and her unbound mane of snow-white locks cascading over her shoulders. It almost covered her small, firm breasts but many of her jaunty moves allowed peeks at her stiff nipples.

"I wonder what the elves think about their dark-skinned cousins defiling their ancient home like this," Borna muttered.

A silver-haired elf tossed a long-stemmed flower onto the stage, blowing the dancer a kiss. Effortlessly, the graceful dark elf dipped and claimed the gift without breaking her step, threading the flower into her hair.

"Never mind me," Borna grumbled, almost managing to stifle her chuckle.

"Look, there's an empty table," Lishaka said, tugging on Rhys' arm. The table Lishaka had spotted sat near the stairs leading up, in a shallow alcove not too far from either the stage or the bar. Somehow this place managed to feel cozy despite the taproom being twice the size of the one back home. Maybe all that wood, Rhys thought. A huge candelabra made from a large cartwheel hung from the ceiling, which along with numerous lamps and the fireplace afforded warm illumination. 'The Dancing Dryad' was bustling tonight, with most tables occupied. The one next to theirs had been claimed by a motley crew of mercenaries, armed and armored to the teeth even while they celebrated. An impressive number of half-emptied bottles and glassware covered most of their table. Or they try very hard to die very drunk, he added. Rhys claimed a chair and looked over at the stage.

Lasciviously shaking her hips, caressing down her front and stopping just shy of her sex, the dancer finished her routine, earning a rousing round of applause and cat calls.

"My, she's popular," Chassari said. "I wonder if she offersss other favorsss too."

"Do we have the coin for that kind of entertainment?" Rhys asked.

Chassari gracefully slid onto a chair and offered him a cryptic smile. "I do." She undid a small, jangling bag from her tool belt and quickly counted a handful of coins into Rhys' hand. "For beds, food and drink."

"Thank you. I'll talk to the innkeep," Rhys said. "One moment." He walked towards the bar. No one seemed to have noticed their group -- or the assembled mercenary types didn't bother. Either way is fine. The last thing we need is undue attention. The band began another song. Rhys allowed himself a quick glance towards the stage. This time, it was a curvy half-orc, clad in furs, who shook her ample behind in time to the drum beat.

"So, what ye want, lad?" Rhys returned his attention back to the bar. A heavy-set, bald man grinned at him. His skin was almost as black as that of the dark elf but he was clearly human. Rhys tried to remember his much too infrequent dives into the library. He's probably from the Southern Continent. The innkeep's front teeth had been replaced with golden chompers, giving his grin an eerie and threatening air. He had thick, bushy eyebrows and a hawkish nose.

Rhys placed the money Chassari had given him onto the bar. "I'm looking for room and board for me and my companions over there." He indicated the table. "How far will this get me?"

"Let me guess. The gear merchant cleaned ye out, eh?" Another glinting smile.

"Am I that obvious?"

The barkeep didn't reply. Instead, he swiped the coins and quickly counted them. "This will get you two rooms for the night and enough food and drink until you're sated. Breakfast is extra though."

"That's... uncommonly generous," Rhys stammered. "I'll take it."

"Your lucky day, lad. We have a tasty game stew on boil and a few loaves of fresh bread. Some good ale too, enough to go around. Sit down and I'll see to it ye're properly served."

"Thank you." Rhys turned to leave, but he stopped. "Another question, if you don't mind."

The barkeep slid two keys over the table. "The rooms are upstairs and should be big enough for the tall feller in your party. Did you want anything else?"

"It's silly, really... but the dark elven dancer-"

"No can do, lad. She's not one of mine. If you want to...," here he waggled his eyebrows suggestively, "ye need to talk to her directly. If ye ask me, try something less dangerous. And it's certainly none of my business but don't you have a steamin' looker in your troupe?" He openly admired Chassari. "If anyone should be askin' for favors, it should be me."

Rhys claimed the keys. They had simple stripes embossed in the handles. He counted three and four respectively. Chuckling, he turned to leave. "I'll let her know." On his way back, he glanced at the entertainment again. The half-orc woman was naked now and knelt near the edge of the stage. One of the soldiers from the next table, a helplessly flailing dwarf, seemed to drown in her cleavage, much to the amusement of his table mates. Beet-red and gasping for air, the dwarf finally managed to slip from his ample and green-skinned predicament. He did a jolly jig and hopped off the stage.

Rhys sat down at his table again just as a blonde half-elven youth arrived, bearing a tray with four steaming bowls of stew and a basket with fragrant bread. Chassari eyed him hungrily. Rhys had to admit, the blonde waiter was cute. He was reminded of Sen, moving with an earnest purpose and grace he admired in her. "I'll be back in a moment with your drinks," he said, his voice a melodious sing-song.

"And what about ours?" The slurred words belonged to a wild-eyed man, his face a disgusting criss-cross of scars, sitting with the other mercenaries at the next table. "We ordered more booze ages ago!"

"I'll see to it momentarily," the waiter said, bowing apologetically. He swiftly returned behind the bar, filling glasses and claiming bottles off a shelf.

"We should go out more often," Borna purred. "I'm enjoying myself quite a bit."

"Because a greenskin is shaking her ass at you?" Lishaka asked, around a mouthful of food.

"I was talking about the dwarf," Borna corrected her. "If he's into strange women, maybe I could brighten his night." Her voice drifted off.

"What are you thinking about, Rhys?" Chassari asked him, her hand on his thigh under the table.

"Oh, nothing in particular. First off, the barkeep said the dark elf wasn't 'one of his,' whatever that means."

"It means I only wanted to see if my moves could elicit the same crowd response as the lithe elven beauty who had the stage before me," a warm, soothing voice cut in. Rhys craned his neck. Behind him, slender hand on her hip, stood the dark elven dancer. Only now she wore a tight-fitting bodysuit under a nondescript cloak. Metal glinted, maybe from a studded armor or off her belt. Rhys wasn't quite sure. The leather-wound hilt of a sword was visible above her left shoulder. "Going by the amount of proposals, both decent and indecent, I think I have my answer."

"Would you mind another one?" Chassari asked, caressing down her front. "I guesss at least two of usss would love to know you better."

The dark elf hummed a few haunting notes and her eyes took on a silvery gleam. Rhys could feel the swirl of magical energies, a tiny, almost nonexistent maelstrom of power centered on her.

"An intriguing proposal but I'm afraid I have to decline for now," she said. "My services are needed elsewhere tonight. May the blessing of the Maiden be upon you." She hugged Rhys from behind and breathed a kiss onto his neck. A shiver ran through him and he could have sworn that something cool and soothing trickled down his spine. He watched the dancer hug and kiss Chassari in a similar manner, a quick peck on the neck, causing the serpent woman to shiver in surprise. Lishaka was next, receiving a fond smooch onto her wide forehead. And now Rhys saw it, akin to a sprinkling of silver dust, disappearing down the goblin's spine.

"Are you sure you want to do that?" Borna asked, an open challenge in her gaze. The dark elven woman didn't even hesitate. She embraced the towering demon princess and brushed her lips against Borna's porcelain-white cheek. "I wish I could help you," the stranger murmured, barely audible over the raucous crowd by the stage.

"I get that a lot," Borna snarled.

"Before you go... what is your name? I feel strange, being blessed kindly like this without knowing who did it," Rhys said.

"You can call me Astra'il. But now I must depart. Our paths will cross again, no doubt." She bowed gracefully, claimed a pack from behind Chassari's chair and left, her cloak rustling.

"And there goes your entertainment," Lishaka crowed, favoring Chassari with a wide grin.

"Some battles are lost, others are won. Here come our drinks," the serpent woman said wistfully. She effortlessly claimed all four ale steins off the waiter's tray and placed them in front of all present. The waiter nodded thankfully and bustled past them, presenting the remaining bottles on his tray to the mercenaries. Rowdy cheers and the clinking of glass answered him.

"Do you think she has been following us?" Rhys asked Borna.

"No. I would have recognized her scent." Borna picked up her spoon and began to devour her portion of the stew with almost inhuman zeal. "Whoever followed us didn't smell of horny dark elf," she said after a few spoonfuls. "They didn't smell at all. Maybe I'm simply paranoid." She sounded bitter. "With my body, I feel stares everywhere I go."

"I felt it too," Lishaka said. "The forest had eyes. Felt like it." She held the large glass with two hands and drank deeply, coming away with a foam mustache. "And that was just what? Seven hours? How far away is that supply depot again, Rhys?"

"According to the map, at least four days of travel. Going by our own progress through the woods today, I'd guess a bit more."

"That will be fun times, no doubt," the goblin muttered, picking up her spoon again. Rhys fished a slice of bread from the basket and dipped it into the stew before taking a hungry bite. The soup was surprisingly good for inn fare. Spicy too, with chunks of vegetables and meat. He devoured the bread and snatched the spoon, eager for more. Suddenly, something crashed into his chair from behind.

"I- I'm sorry," the waiter muttered. His shirt was drenched and he smelled of spirits. "These gentlemen seem to be in a rowdy mood tonight."

"We said 'the good stuff,'" the scarred man snarled, unsteadily rising from his chair. "Not this goblin piss!" He smashed a bottle to the ground. A sweet and fresh aroma wafted into the air.

"You'll have to pay for that bottle too, sir," the young waiter firmly said. "Besides, this was among our finest Dream Wine, one of the few remaining bottles in the whole hold. If you want stone water, you should probably move a few hundred miles up north."

"Careful. You don't want to enrage him even more," Chassari cautioned the waiter who quickly looked over his shoulder, towards the bar. The huge innkeep was nowhere to be seen and that moment of negligence cost the half-elf. The scarred man drew a long, serrated knife from his belt sheath and advanced on the waiter.

"You know what, half-pint half-blood? I think I'll amuse myself by cutting out your tongue and shoving it up that virgin asshole of yours. Much more enjoyable than the swill you're trying to peddle. How's that sound?" His eyes were narrow slits of malice.

Chassari slid off her chair and intercepted the mercenary. In one fluid motion, she blocked his knife-holding hand with one of hers while the other grabbed his belt buckle. Her foot slid between his and a moment later, she had the knife and the mercenary blinked at her in surprise, laid flat out on the floor. "There isss no need for this kind of behavior," she snarled. "He's just doing his job and you are ungrateful pests." She flicked her wrist and the knife buried itself between the mercenary's thighs, the thrumming hilt less than a finger away from his crotch.

"Uh oh," Lishaka said, quickly spooning a few more bits of soup into her mouth.

A moment later, a mug sailed through the air, expertly tossed by the dwarf who nearly had choked on the half-orc dancer's breasts. Chassari dodged the impromptu missile.

"I'll skin you alive, purple slut," the prone mercenary spat while he struggled to his feet. "You'd make a fine pair of boots!"

Rhys sighed. So much for a peaceful evening. He mimicked Lishaka, quickly wolfing down a few more spoonfuls of stew before he dodged out of his chair. He touched the soaked straw and willed the ground under Chassari's opponent to become slippery. With a helpless yell, the scar-faced warrior again crashed to the floor, his hands and feet scrabbling for purchase.

"Thanks for your help," the waiter said. "Too bad you're on their bad side too." He nodded towards the mercenaries. The dwarf, instead of going for another mug, had pulled a finely inlaid hatchet, hefting it for a throw. Around them, guests were clearing space, snatching drinks or food off the table while retreating towards the edges of the taproom. Another mercenary, a skeevy-looking mottled ratkin with an eye patch, had unsheathed twin daggers.

A third warrior, a hulking, bearded slab of a man, like a male version of Hilgrun hefted a whole bench like an oversized bludgeon. Last in that group was a hooded woman who calmly sipped her drink while her companions prepared for battle.

Rhys sighed. "Guys like these are always looking for a fight. Believe me, I have seen-" The dwarf suddenly paled. Borna had crept up behind him, her tail a double coil around his neck while her arms pressed him against her crotch. "I would not even think about-" she began, only to be interrupted by the barbarian hefting the bench. He swung it, hitting Borna's shoulder just as she turned his way. The bench broke in half, splinters flying everywhere.

"Oh you want your friend back? Sure, have him," she snarled, tossing the flailing dwarf at him as if he were a mere weightless toy. The cloak, only wound loosely around her, fell away, revealing Borna in all of her seven-foot, spiked-tail-waving, crimson glory. A gasp ran through the inn and suddenly the sound of drawn weapons was everywhere.

"Oh, come on!" Borna shrieked. "I'm no-"

Some magical projectile hit between her breasts, leaving a fiercely hissing crater. Throwing daggers filled the air. Rhys barely had enough time to invoke his Armor spell. Two missiles pinged off his chest and chin, their impacts stinging viciously.

"Enough!" Lishaka jumped onto the table, both arms raised above her head. A massive fireball appeared between her palms. "One more move and-"

Another projectile came his way. Rhys dodged to the side but the black pebble wasn't aimed at him. It hit Lishaka between the eyes. As her connection to the power sources around her was snuffed out, so was the fireball. It vanished.

Out of the corner of his eye Rhys saw Chassari deal with the still struggling mercenary with the face scars, her heel cutting a wicked arc as she kicked his temple. The man finally stopped struggling, dazed or out cold on the floor. Then the serpent woman dodged behind the table, upending it in a shower of stew and ale. Two daggers, a throwing axe and a Force Missile slammed into the wood, followed by a throwing hammer ricocheting off the tortured table top. Borna hung hissing and spitting on the banister of the upper floor, trying her best to avoid more assailants. Rhys saw three armored people rush towards the stairs, one wearing the golden scales of Justice on their tabard, another a delicately stitched crest of a fallen elven house and the third a variation of the Church of Light's current emblem. Despite their vastly divergent allegiances, all of their weapons were bathed in silvery flames, ready to smite what they perceived as evil.

"You will not harm my friend," Rhys snarled. "Take a break, fellas." He yanked fistfuls of power around himself and released them in a wave of size-altering magic, aimed expressly at the armored leggings each warrior wore. Like pins struck by an invisible bowling ball, they tumbled end over end as their armored trousers shrunk, hindering movement and causing intense discomfort. All thoughts of righteous smiting forgotten, they struggled to shed their useless protective gear.

"Rhys, help!" Lishaka's voice cut clearly though the pandemonium. Rhys whirled on his heels, just in time to see the one-eyed ratkin sink his dagger into Lishaka's neck. Black blood fountained and whatever else Lishaka wanted to say turned into a wet gurgle.

For Rhys, time seemed to slow down and he could see things unfold in unrelenting, crystal clarity. Next, the ratkin would angle the blade sharply and slice across Lishaka's neck, tearing out her throat and causing her to suffocate on her own blood -- unless he did something. There was no hesitation, every heartbeat could be her last. Rhys drew in as much energy as he could -- the huge fireplace sputtered and almost died -- and released it in a two-handed blast of pure annihilation. A roaring lance of white-hot flame missed Lishaka's ear by a hair, throwing brilliant reflections off the flint shards she wore as adornments and hit the ratkin square in the face, immolating whiskers, fur, flesh and bones. Emitting a whistling, ear-piercing squeal, the doomed ratkin tumbled away from Lishaka. That was no coherent withdrawal, no, that were simply muscles reacting to the last impulses of a dying brain. The headless corpse crumpled near the stairs, the sickly sweet stench of burning fur and meat thick in the air.

Rhys slid to the floor next to the feebly struggling goblin. Her hand tried in vain to pull the dagger free. Black blood was everywhere, spattered onto her face, soaking her robe, on her fingers. Rhys yanked a healing potion off his belt and uncorked it.

"I'm going to remove the dagger. It will probably hurt like hell," he said, trying to be heard over the combat around him. He caught a glimpse of Chassari flooring the hooded woman with a leaping kick. Above him, he heard glass break, followed by angry shouts. People stormed down the stairs, towards the door.

"Do it," Lishaka croaked, her small talons digging into his thigh. "Can't ...worse than..."

Rhys grabbed the hilt and pulled, praying to Mercy that the weapon wasn't barbed or poisoned. Lishaka squealed as the blade came free. He poured half of the healing potion over the wound, praying that it would seal the wound from the outside. He then placed the bottle at Lishaka's lips, tilting it up. Gasping, Lishaka drank the bitter concoction. A long sigh escaped her.

"Ow," she muttered. "First the Disjunction stone and now this."

"Can you walk?" Rhys asked her, earning a disbelieving snort from her.

"Walk? I don't know if I can even-" she began.

Rhys growled. "All right then. Sorry." He dug his hands under her back and pulled the blood-soaked goblin to his chest. She weighed much less than he had anticipated, even with her tool belt and small pack around her waist. A sudden smile brightened up Lishaka's blood-streaked face and she slung her arms around his neck, lessening her weight even more. Rhys came to his feet unsteadily.

Something hit the back of his skull and shattered. Glass shards tinkled down his back. Thank Mercy for that Armor spell still working, Rhys thought. He looked over his shoulder. The scarred warrior had somehow made it to his feet, holding most of a bottle in one hand and his long, serrated knife in the other. Tears ran down his face and as his gaze returned from the mutilated corpse of the ratkin, the fires of maddening grief lit up his eyes.

"You and that greenskin bitch will pay dearly for every one of my men. Especially Skjor!" he snarled, barely comprehensible between sobs and slurs.