《Stories from Jialin》


 The Runner

    The Sandscar stretched out and away from the bottom of the dune at which Roiden stood, the ruined city a dead relic of a long forgotten glorious past. The once awe-inspiring sandspires that had reached so ambitiously for the heavens lay fallen and broken upon the ground, the tiny pincer-shaped imprints on the crumbled and broken sides of the pillars the last vestiges of their creator¡¯s race.


    Roiden took another sip out of his canteen before screwing the lid on as tightly as possible and looking out over the ruins with a sigh. He wiped his forehead, flicking away sweat, wishing for the millionth time he had some way of avoiding the searing sun rays beaming down from above. He didn¡¯t. No mount for him, no shading parasol, no personal carriage, no extra weight or anything that could slow him down¡ªno, he was a Runner.


    Roiden stowed his canteen in his carefully weighted fifteen stone rucksack with the rest of his meager possessions. His eyes flickered over a locket with an insignia on it, shifting about deep within the bag, before closing the flap and sealing it tightly. He closed his eyes and sighed. Another day. A different journey.


    Heaving the bag up onto his back, Roiden glanced up at the sky. The sun hadn¡¯t even made it halfway to its zenith. Still plenty of time left in the day. Roiden glanced out at the ruins, a frown on his face. Surely, he would be out of the ruins by sunset. He would have to be. Anyone who knew anything knew that you did not want to be in or near Rrakthani ruins come sundown. Roiden knew this lesson from firsthand experience.


    And just like that, he was off. Free. Running. Over the last few dunes at the edge of the ruins, through a hole in the crumbled sandstone wall, and into the backstreets of the ancient ruins. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. In through the nose¡ªRoiden¡¯s feet pounded the slowly warming sand, sending fine grains spraying in every direction with each forceful step. Buildings flashed by in his periphery as he jogged by them, the beautiful sandstone architecture utterly ignored by the man. There were deadly things that lurked here. Roiden wasn¡¯t about to wait around and let them find him.


    Minutes phased into hours as the sun slowly slid it¡¯s way up in the sky. Roiden¡¯s lungs burned from heaving endless breath after breath of heated, dry desert air. His feet ached after pounding against the now scalding sand for hours on end. Yet he didn¡¯t stop running, stop moving. To do so would mean death. He¡¯d seen what happened to those who stopped. He knew. And he didn¡¯t stop.


    Finally, at midday, Roiden reached the central fountain. He skidded into the central plaza, sand spraying up from beneath his feet, taking in the majestic sight for the umpteenth time. The single space of respite within the entirety of the Sandscar, the last standing monument of the Rrakthani stood tall, silent, and proud, even with water having long since stopped pouring forth from the great well beneath the city. One may expect from the fact that the fountain had stopped running that it was dead. Far from it.


    Deep beneath the surface of the fountain plaza, a great leyline nature, water, and death essence flowed. The fountain tapped into that massive well of energy, pumping an unimaginable amount of mana up and out of the ground. The vast majority, however, simply diffused into the air after being removed. The grand essence relays and rune circles of the once majestic city no longer functioned, and the mana that once had a great purpose now fuelled the mutation of anything living within the area.


    Roiden smiled sadly at the glowing runes on the etched into the various columns of the intricate piece of architecture. He didn¡¯t know what they meant or what they did, but they were certainly gorgeous. They were a reminder of better times, of a time of peace, of a time two decades passed when he¡¯d been young and adventurous and never had to watch his own back. Those times were long gone. All he had left was himself and the loneliness of the sands.


    Roiden trudged over to the fountain before plopping down on the edge of the basin and setting his pack against the basin wall next to him. From out of his pack Roiden took out his trusty canteen and a wrapped set of biscuit shaped objects. Slowly unfurling the cloth surrounding them so as to not drop anything, Roiden revealed a set of gray hunks with white mottling that looked more like some sort of rotting sea cucumber as opposed to actual food. Roiden shrugged and picked one out of the bundle before lifting it out and taking a bite with a grimace. The sustenance loaves may indeed be as unappetizing as they looked, but the biomage-created substance could feed a man for a day. After another couple bites, Roiden grimaced and put the disgusting loaf back into its wrap. He could always finish it later.


    Roiden stuffed the cloth back into his sack before letting himself fall back into the basin of the fountain. After staring up at the sun for a couple seconds Roiden closed his eyes, letting his eyes rest from the intense brightness for a couple seconds. After a few more seconds, Roiden groaned, flopped over awkwardly, and pushed himself out of the fountain. Looking back up at the sun, Roiden triple checked that it was still at its zenith. It was. With a gusty sigh, Roiden took a last sip from his canteen before shoving that into his pack and cinching it shut.


    As much as Roiden would¡¯ve liked to take the day to rest at the fountain, he knew he needed to get out of the city. Come sundown, not even the fountain would be safe. He still had another half of his journey left to make.


    As Roiden walked away from the fountain and swung his pack around and up onto his back, something flew free to impact with a shattering noise against the lip of the fountain. Roiden spun nearly instantly, his eyes wide in surprise and alertness, searching for an enemy.


    There was nothing but the fountain, the heat shimmering in the air, the sand shifting on the ground, and the shattered remnants of a small mirror strewn across the ground next to the lip of the fountain. With a cry, Roiden rushed over to the fountain, collapsing down on both knees as he frantically searched for the pieces of the broken mirror. The razor-sharp shards cut into his hands as he picked grabbed them one by one before placing them in his left hand. Soon enough, he¡¯d gathered all he could find.


    With a slump in his shoulders, Roiden lowered his pack to the ground, taking out some bandages. Half of them he used to wrap the shattered, now bloodied mirror. The other half he used to wrap his cut and bleeding hands. As he stowed the broken shards in an isolated, empty section of his pack, a single tear rolled its way down his face. He sat there for a couple minutes, staring down at his hands as the blood soaked into his bandages.


    Roiden stood up slowly, with the stoop of a man bearing the weight of his world. More gently this time, Roiden hoisted the pack up onto his shoulders before turning and setting his sights on the exit to the fountain plaza. A strange sort of fire burned in his eyes. His fists, resting down at his sides, clenched and unclenched. He¡¯d have his revenge, for all the things that had been broken. Her mirror. His arm. His family¡¯s status. His dreams. His happiness. His heart. He¡¯d make them pay.A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.


    Roiden ran off into the city, out of the plaza on the opposite side that he¡¯d entered it as the sun started slowly began its descent in the sky.


    ~~~~Three Hours Later~~~~


    The Sandscar. The city¡¯s original name had been long since lost to the sands of time. Now, the city took its name from the last remaining evidence of the calamity which had rent the city in two and destroyed nearly half of each the North and East quadrants of the city. The Vein.


    The massive, artificially created ravine was both deep and long, reaching hundreds of feet in depth at its deepest points and stretching for miles across the city, spanning the entire width of the sheer valley in which the Sandscar nestled. The glass walls of the ravine, still containing residues of mana from the powerful spellform that had rent the city in two, glowed with shifting translucent colors of all the hues of the rainbow. It was stunningly gorgeous. It was also beyond deadly.


    Roiden gulped as he cautiously leaned out over the edge of the ravine, peering down into the shimmering abyss below. As always, he took his customary minute there for a break, setting down his pack and taking a drink out of his canteen before grabbing another bite to eat. Roiden absently stared down into the ravine as he absently chewed, taking in the grand sight for the umpteenth time.


    Roiden had just about finished with his break when his eyes laid upon an uncharacteristically dark and brown blotch in the ravine some hundred feet deep and two hundred down the edge from where he was sitting. He narrowed his eyes, trying to focus in on the object. It seemed to be some sort of article of clothing. Maybe someone had dropped their pack into the Vein? His eyes just weren¡¯t good enough. He¡¯d have to get closer to take a better look.


    Roiden walked along the edge of the crevasse before finally reaching the spot just above where the indistinct form was. Taking a closer look at the brown blotch on the shimmering ground below him, Roiden could definitely verify that someone had at least left their travel sack and cloak at the bottom of the Vein, a deadly mistake for any traversing the Sandscar. There might even be someone underneath all that cloth.


    Roiden stared down at the cloak, a frown stretched across his face. He¡¯d only ever ventured into the Vein once before. He¡¯d lost everything down there. But now, as he stared down into the pit that had spawned so many nightmares for him, he knew that if he could just steal one thing back, that might make it just that tiny bit more bearable.


    Roiden set his pack down and dug through it, searching for a set of tools he hadn¡¯t touched in ages. He finally found them nestled together at the very bottom of the pack. His four-hundred-foot length of silkwire, terraspikes, and last two fuseballs. Slamming the two terraspikes in an interlocking pattern deep into the sand, Roiden twisted the tops of the two devices, fusing them to the ground. He then tied one end of the silkwire around him in a harness, before dropping the rest of the spool over the side of the cliff. Taking up the rope, Roiden began rappelling down into the Vein.


    Roiden went carefully, his eyes routinely scanning the walls around him and ground beneath him for any threats, expecting at any second for something to go wrong. Nothing. After a harrowing, nerve-wracking descent, Roiden finally reached the ground, glancing around the area and into the caves that wormed their way into the lower portions of the walls of the vein.


    That was when he froze. Roiden paid homage to no god, but right now he was praying to each and every one he¡¯d ever heard of. There, in the mouth of the tunnel, stood an Illikid Reaver, a massive, twelve foot long, fourteen legged ball of chitin and death.


    Hardly moving at all, Roiden stood stock still, hoping to all the gods the beast was asleep. After nearly a minute of crouching there, unmoving, Roiden decided it was asleep enough for him. He slowly crept across the Vein to stand next to the bundle of clothes and travel sack.


    Roiden flipped back the hood of the cloak, to find a man with cropped brown hair and a sharp, angular face, almost certainly from the Mancian Provinces. Roiden shook him once gently, trying to get him to wake, then even harder a second time, frowning when that still failed.


    The distinctive sound of chitin clacking against stone caused Roiden¡¯s head to shoot up as he froze. The Reaver was moving. Slowly, ever so slowly, the massive insectoid pushed itself up onto its legs before spinning about and retreating into the darkness of the tunnel. Roiden let out the breath that he¡¯d been holding. The Reaver had just been moving to get out of the sun.


    Bending down and checking the man¡¯s pulse to make sure he was even still alive, Roiden confirmed that his heart was indeed still beating. With clammy hands and the occasional glance back towards the tunnel where the Reaver had disappeared, Roiden first tied a harness around the man¡¯s waist before securing the rope to himself.


    The climb back to the top of the Vein was brutal and grueling. Even with the help of the rope, Roiden barely managed to make it to the top before his arms gave out. He pulled himself up onto the edge of the Vein, quickly untying the unconscious man before collapsing into the sand himself. He stared up at the sun, just about to enter the last quadrant of its descent. His fist clenched. He¡¯d wasted too much time getting the man out of the Vein.


    Springing to his feet in a spray of scorching sand, Roiden ran over to the man before grabbing his shoulders.


    ¡°Hey. Hey! HEY!¡± Roiden shouted in the man¡¯s face. ¡°Wake up, by the Searing Sea, we have to leave now!¡± With a frustrated look of annoyance on his face, Roiden slapped the man¡¯s face, leaving a welt. Still nothing. ¡°Goddamnit,¡± Roiden shouted, slamming the man against the sand, ¡°by Talhonisses Unborn Child, wake up!¡± Not so much as an eyelid even flickered.


    Roiden stood up before pacing agitatedly back and forth. He put his face in his hands for a brief second. Somedays, Roiden did some really stupid stuff.


    It took Roiden five minutes to lash together an impromptu sled made of rope and cloth. He quickly rifled through the man¡¯s pack, removing any valuables, food, and water before placing into his own pack and chucking the rest back into the Vein. With a final heave, Roiden threw the man onto the pallet and the sent off through the Sandscar.


    ~~~~Four Hours Later~~~~


    Roiden¡¯s eyes flickered nervously back and forth between the buildings, every shadow a potential enemy he had to watch out for. A Sandlurker screamed somewhere far off in the distance and Roiden jumped before an uneasy smile slowly crept its way onto his face.


    Soon. Soon he¡¯d be safe. He was so close to getting out of the city. Just another fifteen minutes and he¡¯d make it.


    He huffed and puffed as he dragged the makeshift sled through the sand. The loud noise of his breath heaving in and out almost caused him to miss the sound of sliding sand behind him.


    Roiden casually glanced behind, not expecting anything serious. His eye caught the creeping form of the Reaver behind him. The tethers to the makeshift sled slipped from his hands as he turned to face the creature, a clammy hand reaching into his robes to clutch a fuseball.


    The Reaver froze for a half second but seemed to pick up on his nervousness and stepped forward with a shriek. Roiden glanced down once at the man laying on the sand in front of him before he turned and ran.


    It was nearly another hundred miles across the Talomakaran Desert before he reached Windhold. He carried that burden with him till the end.

 A Last Journey to the Darkness

    Krasis¡¯ footfalls kicked dust into the air behind him as he steadily trod up the disused path leading to the summit of Lenheim, the tallest mountain of the Droman Range. The mountain range was on the westmost seaboard of the Kingdom of Bravinia. If there was any place in all of Jialin that nobody would ever have any reason to visit, the Droman range was it. Over a hundred and fifty miles from the nearest population center Port Frakes, the location¡¯s lack of resources and remoteness made it a pointless journey for anyone but the most dedicated of explorers to travel to. But the characteristics that would drive any normal person away made it the perfect place for Krasis.


    The sun slowly dipped down in the sky as Krasis continued his ascent. Hours and hours of seemingly endless upwards trudging passed as Krasis baked under the sun, his scant possessions swaying back in forth in a sack hanging from a stick draped over his shoulder. After a while, he stopped and wiped the sweat from his brow, his gaze directed off the pathway.


    A sole green conifer stood some fifteen feet off the pathway, gently swaying in the breeze. The tree was enormous, easily over seventy feet tall, sparsely studded with only the stoutest of branches, totaling less than ten. Looking at the tree for a few seconds, one might realize something incredibly off about the tree. It wasn¡¯t the tree¡¯s size or characteristics. It was the fact that it was the only tree for another two leagues back down the mountain.


    Krasis turned off the path and stepped into the loose shale and dirt surrounding it. His feet kicked through loose pebbles and small rocks as he strode towards the tree, sending them skittering down the mountain a short ways. He paused next to the tree, leaning over to carefully regard a certain section of notched trunk.


    ¡°O¡¯er hill, and under tree,¡± the man muttered the words scribed on the trunk under his breath, ¡°¡®tween the rock and the teeth, you will find our street.¡±


    Krasis looked up and took several seconds carefully regarding his surroundings.


    ¡°¡®Tween the rock and the teeth,¡± Krasis muttered the words again, glancing at the tree in confirmation, before giving his surroundings another careful look. After a couple brief seconds of hesitation, Krasis shrugged and set off towards the second, much lower peak of Lenheim, which much resembled a massive boulder.


    After hours of walking, Krasis had finally reached the second summit of Lenheim. The sun was rapidly descending towards the horizon and the shadows would soon encompass all, but the darkness held no terrors for Krasis. He was, after all, a creature of the darkness himself. Additionally, he¡¯d found the path. Soon, he¡¯d be home. Halfway between a massive cave full of stalactites and the peak of the second summit of Lenheim was a massive arrow pointing downwards slightly off to the right. After following the arrow and searching for a short while he found the second trailhead.If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.


    This one was much shorter than the last. Still, though, it took Krasis a good hour to traverse the last leg of the journey, one which ended not long after the sun had finally finished its gradual descent below the horizon. He stopped in front of a massive, dust-covered, half collapsed temple. Once, the temple may have been quite the breathtaking sight. Now, it appeared a ruin abandoned centuries ago.


    Krasis wasted no time shouting greetings or peering around inquisitively. He knew the temple was empty. He set down his travel sack and strode forwards into the dusty courtyard in front of the temple.


    ¡°A son has returned.¡± The words rang out in the air, reverberating off the stone walls of the courtyard with their power. Seconds passed as Krasis waited. Then, flickers of movement. In the darkness, a mortal¡¯s eyes would almost assuredly have missed them. Krasis¡¯ didn¡¯t.  Shades. They swarmed out from everywhere. From the cracks in the temple¡¯s sides. From the shadows in between boulders. From the loam beneath his feet. Silently they surged through the air towards Krasis. He didn¡¯t even flinch. His eyes closed briefly before they sprang open again, awash with purple light. He raised his hands into the air and called for the Void. The Void called back. Reality shuddered as the black grains of nothingness sprang into existence into the air around him. With a nod of his head, the Void surged through the air and blew the shades apart just as his stomping feet had blown so much dust into the air, lost forever in the wind.


    The shades gone, Krasis directed the Void towards the door of the temple. It surged in through a set of small holes designed precisely for this purpose, and after a short second, a massive thunk sounded as the door unlocked and swung open. Krasis strode back to the place where he¡¯d set down his pack picked it back up. Then he turned around to stride back towards the temple before pausing outside of it, ruminating. The temple of Mallisant, god of the end and all things inevitable. A god hated nearly as much as Krasis¡¯ own kind, so much so that his last temples were long lost relics undestroyed only in the most remote reaches of Jialin, forgotten by all but those who claimed Mallisant as their patron deity. If Krasis was going to die anywhere, forgotten, hated, and alone, this was surely the place.

 The Family Business

    <h1>Part 1: The Duel</h1>


    A bead of sweat slid its way slowly down Darren¡¯s face, inching towards his chin. He ignored it. Shifting his left and rearmost foot just ever so slightly to the right, Darren adjusted his saber so that it faced his opponent, slowly circling him. Priceless tapestries, unimaginably rare vases, and invaluable ancient weapons and armor in displays shifted by in the background. Darren paid them no mind, keeping his eyes fixed upon his opponent¡¯s smug half-grin. A sneer crawled its way onto Darren¡¯s face. That grin wouldn¡¯t be there for much longer if Darren had anything to say about it.


    Taking a step forward, Darren shuffled towards his opponent before rotating his weapon out of its ready position and launching a sweeping blow towards his opponent¡¯s arm. His opponent almost immediately parried, his turned blade catching Darren¡¯s blow on its crossguard. Darren disengaged his weapon, bringing it back before unleashing another sweeping blow towards his opponent¡¯s left flank. Reacting quickly, his opponent shifted his blade in his hands and parried the strike.


    Grinning madly, Darren pushed his blade up his opponent¡¯s in a screech of steel. Quickly disengaging around his opponent¡¯s crossguard, Darren cleaved into the flesh of his opponent¡¯s arm. But his opponent¡¯s eye¡¯s only steeled. Darren realized something was wrong and tried to retreat, and bring his saber back into its ready position¡ªbut it was too late. With lightning speed, his opponent sprang forwards and drove his blade through Darren¡¯s stomach before quickly withdrawing it and parrying Darren¡¯s downwards blow in a spray of blood. Darren snarled, clutching his stomach and staggering back a half-step, his saber half-raised in front of him defensively. His opponent just took a further step back, lowering his guard and waiting. He wasn¡¯t kept waiting long.


    ¡°Halt!¡± A harsh voice shouted the voice loudly into the air. The referee pointed his left arm at Darren. ¡°Feint, disengage, superficial cut to the lower right arm.¡± Pointing his right arm at his opponent, the referee continued his analysis. ¡°Parry, riposte into a lethal blow.¡± The referee paused a second to let the words sink into the crowd. ¡°Match goes to the defendant.¡±


    A light applause sprang up across the room as the victor graciously flashed a smile out at the crowd, bowing slightly. Darren gave the man a hate-filled glare, still not lowering his sword.


    ¡°Fuck you, Khajiit.¡± Darren spat the acrid words out, glaring at Khajiit as fiercely as he could. The crowd hushed, focussing back on Darren and realizing he had yet to drop his sword.


    Khajiit just gave Darren a smug half-smile and shrugged. ¡°I told you that you stood no chance.¡± He shrugged again. ¡°Not my fault you can¡¯t handle the truth.¡± The crowd oohed.


    Darren roared and lunged at Khajiit. Several members of the crowd shouted in excitement. But Darren barely made it two steps towards Khajiit before an invisible force smashed into his chest, picking him up and slamming him down onto the ground, knocking the saber free of his grasp and all the air out of his lungs. Darren huffed and curled up slightly, desperately trying to recover his breath. His eyes watered, and suddenly the pain slammed into him. His bleeding gut. The nick on his wrist and neck. His newly acquired bruised back. After a couple seconds, Darren caught his breath. He could have stood up. But he didn¡¯t. He just laid there on the ground, panting. After a couple seconds, the face of the duel proctor loomed into view, a half-smile twisted across his face.


    ¡°I trust you won¡¯t try to stab the healer or me, correct master Stine?¡± The words were sarcastic, the duel proctor having been amused by the noble¡¯s antics.


    Darren just moaned and lay still. ¡°No¡­¡± The half-groaned word was nearly unintelligible.


    In a swirl of black and white patterned mage¡¯s robes, the proctor spun and waved a hand. ¡°Mildred!¡± The man spoke firmly while snapping his fingers and crooking his finger in a beckoning gesture. ¡°Come here!¡± A half second later the healer arrived. She was dressed in mage¡¯s robes similar to the proctor, except hers were green with blue patterns. She crouched down next to Darren and placed her hands above his belly wound. Green energy flowed its way down her arms to pulse into Darren¡¯s wound. A half second later, Darren felt the familiar burn of the wound closing itself. Out of the corner of his eye, Darren saw Khajiit slowly approaching. After standing over Darren for a couple seconds with a gloating look on his face, Khajiit leaned over and in a mock whisper spoke to Darren.


    ¡°Your brother was a goddamn coward. He died running, with an arrow in his back.¡± The words were malicious, each and every one of them aimed to pierce. Darren spat a glob of blood mixed phlegm up into Khajiit¡¯s face.


    ¡°Fuck you, asshole.¡± A dark look came over Khajiit¡¯s face and his hand slunk down towards his sword, but with a reproachful shake of the proctor¡¯s head, Khajiit backed down. His eyes narrowed as he glared down at Darren.


    ¡°We¡¯ll resolve this another day.¡± The words were menacing, and there was no mistaking the intent behind them. Darren just grinned up at him.


    ¡°Oh, I¡¯ll be glad to.¡± With a final, menacing glare, Khajiit turned around and strode away. A retainer ran up to him, offering a rag. Khajiit snatched it up and shoved the man away. He wiped off his face, and with one last hateful glare shot over his shoulder, disappeared into the crowd.


    <h1>Part 2: The Deal - An Hour Later</h1>


    ¡°You¡¯re a goddamn disgrace to this family, the Stine name, your mother, your brother, everything you touch goes to shit!¡± Carver was pretending to get worked up. That meant that he was resorting to more traditional speechcraft strategies. Unfortunately, Darren had been well trained in those same speechcraft strategies. He knew what his father was trying to get him to do. He wouldn¡¯t take the bait. He stoically met the eye of his father.


    ¡°He said Calvin was a coward. I couldn¡¯t let that go. You know that, father.¡± Darren tried to keep his voice calm. It was difficult. Carver lifted his chin, straightened his posture, and glared at Darren.


    ¡°Calvin was never a good soldier. He always preferred his numbers and letters over the sword.¡± Carver tilted his head back a quarter-inch further and sniffed. ¡°No surprise he was killed on campaign. He was a horrible duellist and a worse warrior. Better dead on campaign, than disgracing our name here in court.¡± The words were spoken imperiously and candidly as if Carver were analyzing a poor marketing proposition. Darren¡¯s fists clenched and unclenched themselves, barely able to keep himself from striking his father.


    ¡°You¡¯re sick. You sent him there to die, and you knew it. We all knew it.¡± The words were raw and came out full of emotion. Carver opened his mouth to make a rebuttal, but Darren cut him off before he could even say anything at all.


    ¡°You¡¯ll never have this family behind you. I¡¯ll manage your docks for you but someday I¡¯ll win your men¡¯s loyalty and I¡¯ll crush you and your little empire and make every last bit of it mine.¡± With that last, venomous diatribe Darren spun and walked off through the ballroom, rudely pushing by several masked and finely dressed lords and ladies loitering around in the ornately decorated ballroom. His back turned, Darren failed to notice the proud, Cheshire smile stretched across his father¡¯s face, the man who slunk out of the shadows to stand next to him, or the half-muttered words that came out of his mouth.


    ¡°I¡¯d have it no other way, son.¡±


    ~~~


    Darren cackled and threw the dice out onto the table.


    ¡°I¡¯ll never lose!¡± Darren shouted the words gleefully as the dice rolled across the table before landing on a four and a six.


    Darren''s already flushed face flushed redder as he glanced between his tiles arranged before him on the table and the numbers the dice were showing. If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.


    ¡°Aw man, why do I never win at this game.¡± A frowning Darren sullenly grumbled the words to himself. Darren tossed three of his tiles towards the pile of used tiles in the center of the table before grabbing the bottle of liquor resting on the table in front of him and upending the last of it into his wine glass. Putting the empty bottle back on the table, the edge clinked off the other seven already emptied bottles sitting on the table. Maurice grinned at Darren from across the table.


    ¡°You¡¯re sure playing a poor game tonight, Darren.¡± His words were confident, cocksure. Maurice reached out to grab two of three tiles Darren had thrown out before throwing out two more of his own and revealing his seven tiles to the rest of the group. A collective groan went up from the rest of the seven players, and Maurice¡¯s confident grin grew smug.


    ¡°Nine and a ransom. Dragon, on side.¡± A nine and a ransom was a virtually unbeatable hand with a dice roll of ten. Backed up by the power of a dragon, the odds were slim that anyone could beat it. Maurice waited for a couple seconds, glancing around the table before leaning forwards to claim the pot. Just a second before he could put his hand on it, a voice rang out.


    ¡°Hold it.¡± The slight voice was reproaching, sly, and slightly amused. Everyone at the table, Maurice included, turned to stare at the speaker. It was Victoria, the sole lady at the table. She was wearing a gloating look on her face. Her long, blue and black stylish dress shifted about on her slim figure as she uncrossed, and then crossed her legs. Maurice paled. Victoria flicked her white-gloved hand to reveal her tiles, a ten and an archmage, with a merchant on side.


    ¡°Oh come on,¡± Maurice said, flopping back into his chair and slapping his hands on the table in disappointment. ¡°Really? Ugh.¡± He pointed at Victoria with a serious expression on his face. ¡°That one was just luck, and you know it.¡± Victoria shrugged and motioned to her retainer to move the pot to her stack of chips containing roughly half the total wealth at the table.


    ¡°That¡¯s just the way it is. You win some, you lose some. Some just win a lot more than others.¡± Victoria smiled slyly, and almost everyone at the table groaned again.


    Darren chimed in. ¡°Man, I gotta get you ta¡¯ teach me sometime, Victoria. You¡¯re great at this.¡± Darren moaned. ¡°Not me. I¡¯m ter-terreal-terr-turbidal,¡± Darren trailed off, frowning, before finishing the statement with an easier word. ¡°Bad at this game.¡±


    Victoria shrugged, flipped her blonde locks with a noncommittal shake of her head, and gave him a patronizing smile.


    ¡°I¡¯ll think about it.¡±


    A retainer came around the table and was laying out a new set of tiles to the players when a man walked up.


    ¡°Scuze¡¯ me folks, but I was wonderin¡¯ if I couldn¡¯t have a brief word with young masta¡¯ Stine ¡®ere, I had a business proposition I wanted to discuss with him¡­¡±


    Darren quickly gave the man a brief scanning. He clearly meant business. The portly man was wearing black leather gloves combined with a traditional black leather duster that had long since fallen out of style. Underneath the open duster, he wore Kalmanthian military fatigues, with the black and red four sharded badge of a major. It took a couple seconds for Darren¡¯s beleaguered mind to recognize the uniform, badge, and their significance, but as soon as he did he snapped to action. Darren immediately began channeling a spell, one that would quickly sober himself up. It was one of the few spells he¡¯d had the aptitude and time to learn, and one that had served him very well in the past.


    Darren subtly jerked his head at the retainer. The man, already watching Darren, stopped laying out the tiles before straightening his back and addressing the nobles.


    ¡°I would like to profusely apologize for the inconvenience, but it appears host Stine has a business partner. If the rest of the lords and ladies would be so kind as to give them the courtesy of privacy¡­¡±


    The rest of the nobles grumbled, but nonetheless got up and filtered out of the private lounge. They knew the drill. Before the retainer could make his escape behind the rest of the nobles, Darren waved the man down, beckoning him over into speaking range.


    ¡°Would you be so kind as to fetch this kind gentleman and I a Trallean 271 S.A, please.¡± All trace of the lackadaisical, oblivious, slouch that had just been gambling was gone. The retainer nodded and left for the storeroom, coming back a minute later with the requested drink in hand before setting it and an extra wineglass down on the table in front of Darren. After filling both his wineglass and the new one, Darren flashed a winsome smile and turned to the major, handing him the drink.


    ¡°So, you said you had a business proposition for me?¡± The words oozed friendliness. The major glanced discreetly around the room before he spoke.


    ¡°Professional, emptyin¡¯ the room. You¡¯re a smart one. One, willin¡¯ to take a risk in order to get things done.¡± The major nodded. ¡°I¡¯m Nash. Nash Kephees.¡± He extended his hand. Darren firmly grasped and shook it.


    ¡°So, you were talking about risks?¡± Darren questioned the man, genuinely curious. ¡°What sort of risks are we talking about here?¡± Nash nodded and licked his lips.


    ¡°Risks. I heard what happened in the duellin¡¯ court. How you challenged that pompous ass for talkin¡¯ shit about your brother. That was a bold move right there. Khajiits the fifth-ranked duellist in the city. He would skewer all but one or two of my soldiers in a fight. You pissed him off right good. That ain¡¯t somethin¡¯ a lot of people would do.¡± Nash¡¯s eyes were narrowed as he watched Darren. Darren shrugged back at him.


    ¡°He insulted my brother. I couldn¡¯t let that stand.¡± Darren spoke candidly, then took a sip of his wine. Nash raised his glass in a salute before taking a sip.


    ¡°You know, I heard about your brother after he died. I was at that battle, not his commander, but leadin¡¯ the 127th. Khajiit was full of shit. He didn¡¯t die runnin¡¯. At least not from a fight. Him an¡¯ his retinue was escortin¡¯ munitions to a marksman brigade when he got shot in the back.¡± The words were solemn, serious.


    Darren just nodded, staring down into his drink.


    ¡°I know that.¡± The words were quiet but definitely audible in the silence of the room. Darren looked up to meet Nash¡¯s gaze. Nash shrugged.


    ¡°So about the proposition.¡± Nash discreetly glanced around the room again, confirming their privacy. ¡°It¡¯s gonna have to be discreet. This ain¡¯t¡ª¡± Nash glanced furtively around the room again. ¡°This ain¡¯t somethin¡¯ you can go flashing around and showin¡¯ off to everyone.¡±


    Darren gave the man a level stare. ¡°Get on with it.¡± The words were impatient, commanding. Nash swallowed and obliged.


    ¡°Me and some friends of mine were hopin¡¯ to move some goods through the city¡­¡±


    ~~~


    Darren stared aimlessly off at the priceless painting, too absorbed in his own thoughts to admire the artwork. He took a sip out of his wine glass.


    A slender pair of white-gloved hands slipped over Darren¡¯s shoulders, taking firm grip of them. He didn¡¯t start at all, not protesting or questioning as the hands began to slowly massage his shoulders, relieving a portion of a tension held within his heavyset frame.


    ¡°How much did we make tonight, Victoria?¡± The words were spoken woodenly, devoid of emotion.


    ¡°Seventeen crowns, my lord.¡± Victoria¡¯s proud, sensual voice wafted out into the room as the massage continued. Darren took another sip of his wine.


    ¡°Good. That¡¯s a good amount. Well done, Victoria. Well done.¡± Darren¡¯s voice was tinged with approval this time. The hands stopped roaming, and Victoria strode around Darren¡¯s chair before sitting herself down in the chair next to him, a pleased smile stretched across her face. It was tight for the both of them.


    ¡°You know how I like to please my lord.¡± The words were half-whispered and oozed with sensuality. One of her hands roamed down Darren¡¯s leg. He just shook his head at her antics.


    ¡°Not tonight. I¡¯m not in the mood.¡± The words were stern. Victoria frowned, halting her actions. She paused for a moment, considering, before speaking.


    ¡°How did that business deal go, anyway? Was it another soldier trying to get you to convince your father to support another foolish campaign against the Horse Tribes?¡± Victoria asked the questions delicately. Darren shook his head.


    ¡°He was a smuggler. Illegal weapons, runes.¡± Darren spoke frankly. Victoria¡¯s eyebrows climbed for the ceiling.


    ¡°A smuggler?¡± She said the word incredulously, glancing towards the door and confirming their privacy. ¡°Then we should report him to the council.¡± Darren shook his head.


    ¡°I took his offer.¡± Darren¡¯s voice was mellow, serious. Victoria looked at him, surprise evident in her face.


    ¡°Why?¡± The astonished word shot out of her mouth. Darren turned his head to look Victoria in the eyes.


    ¡°Remember what I told you, Victoria.¡± The words were slightly reproachful. Victoria thought for a second before her eyes flared with understanding.


    ¡°We always win big.¡± Victoria¡¯s words were resolute. Darren nodded solemnly. She turned forwards, shrugged, and then nodded.


    ¡°You¡¯re right.¡± The words were accepting. The conversation died, and the two just sat there, enjoying each other''s company.


    ~~~


    A dark figure stood hidden in the darkness of the arch of the entrance to the private lounge, a familiar Cheshire smile stretched across its face as it watched Darren and Victoria. Dipping its hat, the figure turned and silently walked out of the room.