Seeking the Goddess - Sorrel Darkfire and the broken heart
May 31, 2021 8:29:52 GMT
Igrainne (RETIRED), Merla, the Daughter of Summer, and 2 more like this
Post by stephena on May 31, 2021 8:29:52 GMT
Chapter two - Seeking the Goddess
Slipping the coins into the concealed pocket at the base of her quiver, she set the trigger on the old finger slicer - a particularly brutal take on the mousetrap fashioned and then patented by her father combining a cigar cutter, a powerful spring and three fishing hooks which had kept more pockets safe in Baldur’s Gate than four squads of the town guard.
Although safe is a relative term. If you preferred not having severed fingers and a cup or two of blood in the pocket when you went to grab your wallet, or if you were so taken with thoughts of a new alchemical formula that you forgot to disarm it or… well, there were reasons her father still ran a pawn shop and DarkFire Wardrobe Security had yet to attract significant venture capital. Even in a town where people paid hard currency for unidentified flesh coloured goo at surprisingly expensive taverns and were prepared to finance small bands of poorly prepared teenagers who had ‘heard about this amazing dungeon that’s got like loads of money and everything and if you pay for a wizard we’ll cut you in for 10% of the take.’
She stayed in the shadows of the alley and watched the bustle of the city, feeling its rhythm, sensing its anxiety and its excitement and trying not to let her mind wander as exhaustion seeped into her bones as the adrenaline of the past 12 hours seeped out.
Out of the corner of eye she saw a fighter, a cleric, a wizard and a rogue picking their way through the streets with dust on their backpacks and the daffy grins that screamed ‘rob us in our sleep’ to any self respecting guild operators. If she knew her team kit though, these weren’t home owners. Which meant they were on their way to a tavern. Probably The Tavern. And tavern’s meant bedrooms and bedrooms meant… she shook herself awake, focused on the wizards excessively patterned robes and pushed her way through the small party of three assassins closing in on the party.
“Not today boys,” she whispered, as her dagger sliced down the lead assassin’s right forearm, cutting the muscle from the bone and forcing him to drop the poisoned dart he was about to load into the primitive blowpipe. His colleagues looked startled and froze long enough for her to sweep number two’s left leg and spin an elbow into the third’s temple. For a second she was terrified she’d hit him too hard, but she saw him struggle to his feet as she vanished into the surging citizenry, cursing her idiotic showing off. You want to announce your arrival to every hired killer in the city, that was close to the perfect way, she told herself. Keep the hood and head down and don’t start anything.
Finally the Bleedin’ Obvious Four turned into a decent looking inn - the Three Headed Dragon. Sorrel slipped around the side into the stable yard and strode confidently through the servants entrance with a cheerful nod to a puzzled cook hauling a side of some kind of animal towards the ferocious warmth of the kitchens.
She looked carefully into the main tap room, scanning for irate assassins or any familiar faces and once she came up clean headed to the bar and slipped the slim redhead behind the counter a handful of coins. The redhead met her eyes with just a hint of a challenge and Sorrel felt her stomach lurch. There was more than a little touch of Sana about this woman, Sorrel realised with a jolt - the line of her jaw, the freckles on her cheek, the mischief in her smile.
She felt a strange wave of sorrow and desire sweep through her heart and wanted to flee there and then until, like a snake caught in the looping coils of a charmer’s writhing tune until the defanged killer becomes a plaything for laughing gods, she heard her own voice speaking almost against her own will. So be it, she thought, I will follow this doom and see what joke the fates have to play.
“I’m looking for a room,” she began. The redhead was just about to point towards the front desk when Sorrel took her hand and added another coin to it. She kept her fingers resting lightly on the girl’s wrist and smiled. “I don’t think I caught your name?”
“Shaleena,” the girl twinkled, closing her hand around the money.
“Pretty name Shaleena,” Sorrel nodded. “I need a room but I get so itchy and bored with a place very quickly. Do you know what I’d love, Shaleena?”
Shaleena shook her head.
“I’m here for a week. I would love to have a different room every night. Just to get a feel for the place.”
Shaleena seemed puzzled.
“I find it’s the best way to really get a feel for an inn. And I bet the landlord isn’t up to the paperwork. Busy man?”
Shaleena nodded. “So you’d like me to show you around, recommend the rooms and just make sure the right ones come free, because you don’t want any visitors to know exactly which room you’re staying in. You’re not my first cautious guest.”
Sorrel raised an eyebrow. “Cute and smart… they are not paying you enough,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out a gold coin. “I figure the paperwork is going to be a bitch. Let me cross your palm and see if you can foretell my fortune.”
Shaleena took the coin, her eyes never leaving Sorrels. “I see a future of constant change,” her smile was crooked, amused. “Nightly change. Let me get you signed in. I don’t think I caught your name? I’ll need it for the register…”
Sorrel paused, her foot on the threshold, then fell. “Sorrel. Sorrel Darkfire. But for the register I’m Al-Avar Gilthas.” She reached into her pocket again but Shaleena stopped her with touch.
“You don’t need to pay me Sorrel,” she said softly. “I will keep you safe.”
Slipping the coins into the concealed pocket at the base of her quiver, she set the trigger on the old finger slicer - a particularly brutal take on the mousetrap fashioned and then patented by her father combining a cigar cutter, a powerful spring and three fishing hooks which had kept more pockets safe in Baldur’s Gate than four squads of the town guard.
Although safe is a relative term. If you preferred not having severed fingers and a cup or two of blood in the pocket when you went to grab your wallet, or if you were so taken with thoughts of a new alchemical formula that you forgot to disarm it or… well, there were reasons her father still ran a pawn shop and DarkFire Wardrobe Security had yet to attract significant venture capital. Even in a town where people paid hard currency for unidentified flesh coloured goo at surprisingly expensive taverns and were prepared to finance small bands of poorly prepared teenagers who had ‘heard about this amazing dungeon that’s got like loads of money and everything and if you pay for a wizard we’ll cut you in for 10% of the take.’
She stayed in the shadows of the alley and watched the bustle of the city, feeling its rhythm, sensing its anxiety and its excitement and trying not to let her mind wander as exhaustion seeped into her bones as the adrenaline of the past 12 hours seeped out.
Out of the corner of eye she saw a fighter, a cleric, a wizard and a rogue picking their way through the streets with dust on their backpacks and the daffy grins that screamed ‘rob us in our sleep’ to any self respecting guild operators. If she knew her team kit though, these weren’t home owners. Which meant they were on their way to a tavern. Probably The Tavern. And tavern’s meant bedrooms and bedrooms meant… she shook herself awake, focused on the wizards excessively patterned robes and pushed her way through the small party of three assassins closing in on the party.
“Not today boys,” she whispered, as her dagger sliced down the lead assassin’s right forearm, cutting the muscle from the bone and forcing him to drop the poisoned dart he was about to load into the primitive blowpipe. His colleagues looked startled and froze long enough for her to sweep number two’s left leg and spin an elbow into the third’s temple. For a second she was terrified she’d hit him too hard, but she saw him struggle to his feet as she vanished into the surging citizenry, cursing her idiotic showing off. You want to announce your arrival to every hired killer in the city, that was close to the perfect way, she told herself. Keep the hood and head down and don’t start anything.
Finally the Bleedin’ Obvious Four turned into a decent looking inn - the Three Headed Dragon. Sorrel slipped around the side into the stable yard and strode confidently through the servants entrance with a cheerful nod to a puzzled cook hauling a side of some kind of animal towards the ferocious warmth of the kitchens.
She looked carefully into the main tap room, scanning for irate assassins or any familiar faces and once she came up clean headed to the bar and slipped the slim redhead behind the counter a handful of coins. The redhead met her eyes with just a hint of a challenge and Sorrel felt her stomach lurch. There was more than a little touch of Sana about this woman, Sorrel realised with a jolt - the line of her jaw, the freckles on her cheek, the mischief in her smile.
She felt a strange wave of sorrow and desire sweep through her heart and wanted to flee there and then until, like a snake caught in the looping coils of a charmer’s writhing tune until the defanged killer becomes a plaything for laughing gods, she heard her own voice speaking almost against her own will. So be it, she thought, I will follow this doom and see what joke the fates have to play.
“I’m looking for a room,” she began. The redhead was just about to point towards the front desk when Sorrel took her hand and added another coin to it. She kept her fingers resting lightly on the girl’s wrist and smiled. “I don’t think I caught your name?”
“Shaleena,” the girl twinkled, closing her hand around the money.
“Pretty name Shaleena,” Sorrel nodded. “I need a room but I get so itchy and bored with a place very quickly. Do you know what I’d love, Shaleena?”
Shaleena shook her head.
“I’m here for a week. I would love to have a different room every night. Just to get a feel for the place.”
Shaleena seemed puzzled.
“I find it’s the best way to really get a feel for an inn. And I bet the landlord isn’t up to the paperwork. Busy man?”
Shaleena nodded. “So you’d like me to show you around, recommend the rooms and just make sure the right ones come free, because you don’t want any visitors to know exactly which room you’re staying in. You’re not my first cautious guest.”
Sorrel raised an eyebrow. “Cute and smart… they are not paying you enough,” she reached into her pocket and pulled out a gold coin. “I figure the paperwork is going to be a bitch. Let me cross your palm and see if you can foretell my fortune.”
Shaleena took the coin, her eyes never leaving Sorrels. “I see a future of constant change,” her smile was crooked, amused. “Nightly change. Let me get you signed in. I don’t think I caught your name? I’ll need it for the register…”
Sorrel paused, her foot on the threshold, then fell. “Sorrel. Sorrel Darkfire. But for the register I’m Al-Avar Gilthas.” She reached into her pocket again but Shaleena stopped her with touch.
“You don’t need to pay me Sorrel,” she said softly. “I will keep you safe.”