The Dark Flames – Book 6 - New Beginnings (no spam)

[Mysteria]

There ... Ria dumped the last item, some rough farmer's trousers, on the heap of cloth at the end of her bed and got up. She wasn't really that bad at sewing, but that didn't mean she had to like it. She scowled at the pile like it had personally offended her. A boring hunger in her belly reminded her that she hadn't eaten all day. Food ... at the mere thought of something to eat her water ran together in her mouth.

She wandered over to the window and looked darkly at the locked bar on the outside. Miss Narny had finally gotten the smith to fix it for her and she wore the key on herself at all times. Ria snorted, this was worse than prison. She stomped back to the door and tried the handle although she'd distinctly heard her mistress lock it when she came upstairs after closing down the shop for the day. Of course, the door was still locked ... Well, one could always hope.

"I'm hungry." She told the room. "I'm hungry and I want something to eat." At least she had been able to change back into her beloved, baggy, greyish brown leggings and a light sandybrown blouse. She stomped back to the window and glared at the bars when a movement attracted her attention to the tree behind, the tree she'd used so often to sneak away.

She gaped at the figure sitting on the nearest branch, clearly human. Human ... she could open the lock on the bar! Ria rapped on the window pane, catching the stranger's attention. A man? Or a woman? She wondered briefly why that one was sitting on the tree, but she was desperate to get out. Frantically, she pointed to the bar, the lock, the window and herself.

Yes! Ria threw the panes open, grinning cheerfully at the dark person.

"Um good evening." The unknown woman, was it one? Yes, men didn't have that kind of voice, well, at least not most of those that still had all the right things. Well, she seemed slightly uncomfortable.

"Oh, great! I was beginning to think I'd have to rot all night in here. I'm starving!" She put one of her legs over the window sill and frowned suddenly. "How'd you know Miss Narny locked me up ... again?"

"Well ..." The other woman stared at her, surprise plain on her face. "I didn't know that you were locked in there, I ... " She shrugged.

"You didn't ...? But why'd you climb on that tree then?" She giggled suddenly, don't tell me you were trying to break in! Whatever could you possibly want with an armfull of clothes?" She giggled even more, catching hold of the windowframe so she wouldn't fall down. "No really ... what ..." She gasped for breath. "What are you doing up that tree? Not that I'm not glad of it, but I'd really like to know." She unconsciously straightened her chocolate coloured blouse.

[dragon wench]

Despite the strangeness of her predicament Pagan smiled at the infectious, friendly curiosity of the young woman in front of her.

" Well...actually, now that you mention it, I was hoping to steal some clothes.... Pagan paused, wondering how much to reveal; she decided to disclose half of the the truth.
' You see.... I am hoping to... well attract the attention of a certain man... but I realised at the last moment that I have nothing suitable to wear... Or at least... nothing that really... er... makes me look like a woman...." Pagan felt her face burning and was grateful for the dark. "I know that tailors sometimes make those gowns.....and that quite often garments like that..can have..well built in... ah... well you know... ", Pagan stumbled awkwardly... " They can make a woman look..well...more... ah...rounded... So anyway, I was hoping to find something like that."

The young woman, upon hearing her explanation smirked with good-natured mirth and giggled. " Actually, Miss Narny has just finished a gown like that; I know because she made me put on the final trimming late last night. The problem is, Miss Narny is still moving about and won't go to bed for another few hours... but say that works out well because I'm starving and the pub's kitchen should still be open."

Pagan groaned inwardly, the pub was the last place to which she felt like returning, but it was clear she had little choice. " Okay, look, I'll make you a deal. How about I buy you some dinner if you show me where Miss Narny has stored that gown?" A sudden thought seized her. " You do know how to move undetected don't you?....."

" Of course I do! How else would I have been able to sneak away so much? Or at least... I know enough to sneak out by the back "

With that the two women shimmied down the tree and proceded to the pub. If anything, the pub's patrons were even more drunk than when she had left. Though Pagan was relieved to see that the dwarf had turned into an unconscious lump upon the stone-flagged floor. Loud snores emanated from his comatose form and some type of scroll peeked from beneath his leather jerkin. Unable to resist, Pagan quickly glanced about and grabbed the scroll. It showed... a drawing of some kind.... " Ugh!" muttered Pagan as she threw the item down to the ground.

" Oh.. that's Old Harry Nine Toes ," giggled the apprentice seamstress. Pagan raised a questioning eyebrow.

" The story is that he seduced some ogre woman with a fetish for toes... Well at the height of passion.. she apparently got so excited that she bit off the baby toe on his left foot."

"Er...oh....," replied Pagan..trying to desperately banish from her mind the resulting image.

[Yshania]

Somewhat dejected, Fas slipped down from his seat intending to leave the tavern and to go home and repair his ego…swearing to avenge his embarrassment, and cursing the fool alchemist that had sold him the haftershave. “Travellers!” he spat, kicking a fallen tankard into a spin across the flagstone floor “me break those crippled legs you got!” Dodging his way through the forest of legs, and cursing as he was showered with ale from a careless clash of tankards above his head, he made his way to the door. The door opened as he approached, and a distracted looking woman pushed past him, followed by that little yapping whelp from across the way. Fas stood back and watched as they approached the bar, his face darkening as he was sure he heard mention of…. “Nah!" he muttered "Besides, they were fictional!” The Order of The Dark Flames, the halfling shuddered as he recalled how terrified he had been as a youngster to hear those fireside tales of a bunch of savage women and those poor men they kept as slaves….

The great oak door closed behind him, dulling the din from within, and immediately Fas fell back into the shadows as he heard a familiar voice involved in a threatening conversation. Daring to peek out he noticed Bloodstalker arguing with a cowled figure, Bloodstalkers head and upper torso soaking wet from an apparent dipping in the horse trough. The halfling grinned to himself and waited, hoping that, by the tone of the debate, his drunken sparring partner of old was about to get himself a good kicking. When it became obvious that this was unlikely to happen, Fas growled and reached down to pick up a stone, intent on venting his foul mood one way or another. He loaded his sling and took careful aim before loosing the pebble, clapping his hands together gleefully as the projectile bounced off Bloodtsalker’s ear causing the man to yell out and swing around violently looking for the offender. Satisfied for now, the halfling kept to the shadows and made his way home.

The first thing he did on returning to the warmth of his little cabin was to put the pot of tea on to boil then he lit some incense and a few candles. On the back wall of his crude living quarters hung a heavy curtain, one pull on the cord revealed a tall mirror. The halfling stood before the mirror for some time, gazing at his slumping form and miserable expression. Then he smiled, straightened his back, puffed out his chest, and began his daily ritual

“I’m da man! I’m da man! I’m DA MAN!" he screwed up his face and glared at himself, then winked, impressed at how baaad he could look if he tried, and how the dancing shadows offered by the flickering candles made his expression all the more meaner

“Who needs haftershave when you have looks and charis…char…charm such as this?”

Satisfied with the warmth of self love, he seated himself at his halfling sized table with a cup of tea and began drawing graphic pictures of what he intended to do to those travelling salesmen when he caught up with them…

[Yshania]

Before closing the door on the night, she watched as the last two drunks staggered out into the street singing.

“Here! Watch this!” cried one of them as he dragged a discarded grapefruit crate away from an empty market stall and clumsily climbed on top. One hand on his chest, and the other held high (and wavering to keep balance) he began to tunelessly serenade the night - and his imaginary audience. Adding more and more risque words to a known lament, and with the exaggerated inflection and awkward and mistimed physical emphasis, he caused his companion rolling tears of appreciative laughter.

“Who needs Artemish whatshisname when you have Lumpy Carter?” Lumpy finished proudly, before unceremoniously falling on his rear with a painful thud into the gutter.

Yshania smiled and closed the heavy doors, then she rubbed her hands and turned to survey the destruction she would be clearing up that night. Marianne had even mentioned that she would be buying beeswax from the market! Yshania knew she would ache on the morrow, but she also knew that ale and a tale on her night off would more than help ease those pains. She had been thrilled when Ungmar and Marianne had offered her the evening break. On the basis that she helped prepare the tavern, one of the more junior bar staff would cover her absence. She had almost hugged them! Of course Ungmar had grumbled, but Marianne had promised him that broth would be off the menu by sundown and she would help behind the bar.

Before she began her work, Yshania decided to show her face in the private bar to personally greet their new guests. The air was subdued somewhat, Ungmar trying to amuse their guests, Marianne fussing around them with trays of sandwiches. Yshania noticed disappointedly that the bard was absent, and nodded quietly as Marianne explained that the bard wished for an early night “probably needs his beauty sleep” she winked. Yshania smiled, then taking a glass from the tray, she began to circulate…feeling suddenly underdressed for the occasion, despite the fact that these people must have travelled for days.

[Aegis]

"Where did you say we were going? Henry Ford?" Greg asked, ****ing his head about to look at Sago.

"Why..."

"Ogre Ford, Greg... Not Henry Ford." Sago continued walking.

"Can you get swords there?" Greg continued.

"Haven't we already..."

Sago nodded in response, and Greg's face seemed to lighten up, and his step seemed lighter, with a bit of a spring added into it. Collik shook his head, whether in embaressment or shame, even he wasn't sure. Suddenly, Greg stopped, and his head shot up like a Prarie Dog coming out of it's hole. He looked from left to right, then back to the left again.

"What n-" began Collik, as he caught up to Greg. Greg, though, had thrust his hand back, as if he were motioning Collik and the others to stop and be silent. He misjudged how close Collik was, and the large warrior beaned the smaller man in the nose. Collik swayed for a second, and rolled to the side, laying prone for a few seconds. During this time, Sago knelt beside him, padding him down, claiming to be "checking for injuries". For weeks after, Collik could swear he was missing his pocket watch.

"I hear something..." Greg said, still looking from side to side. The other two that were still conscience strained to hear what Greg supposedly heard. Collik slowly regained conscienceness. "It sounds like.... Like..." Suddenly Greg's face flared into a bright grin, and he raised his arms in triumph. "OGRES!" He finally exclaimed, and took off like a shoot towards where he heard the voices.

Collik pushed himself to his feet, stumbling on his heavy robes, rubbing his nose beneath the shroud of his hat. Erik leaned over to him. "You know, you could see better without the hat..." Hidden by the shadows, Collik's eye twitched.

"Patience..."

"I mean," Erik continued, "You really do look like your hot in there. Besides, don't women wear the same kinds of robes?" Collik's eye began twitching even more. Finally Erik turned to Sago. "Maybe we should follow Greg..."

Sago scratched his chin for second, then finally said. "Yeah... Maybe there's more treasure!" Sago's face brightened as he turned, and began to chase after Greg. Erik followed after a moment.

"So... easy... Just one fireball...."

[Bloodstalker]

BS was absolutly convinced that he had seen better days that this. He'd been dunked in a horse trough, shot from the shadows by an unknown assailent (who he was pretty sure he knew who to pay back later) berated by a woman wearing a symbol of Talos (although, he had heard some wild tales about those women) hit in the head with a door, and knocked on his butt in the middle of his favorite tavern. He made up his mind as he raised up that the first thing he saw was gonna get a long, hard beating.

When he raised to a sitting position, his jaw dropped and his eyes widened. He was staring point blank at the rather nicely proportioned lower half of the afore mentioned female. Maybe things were starting to look up after all.

"Pssst"

BS broke his concentration for a moment to make sure he had actually heard the voice and wasn't losing his mind as well as his dignity.

'You'se gonna get in bad trouble starin' at her likes that"

Oh, the mephit.

BS shook his head, muttering to himself "I got worse problems than that right now"

Then he noticed that she seemed to have her own problems as well. It seemed she was being manhandled by a rather large, mean looking man. Funny, he looked sort of like what fas must have always imagined himself being like.

He perked up at the thought of a fight. He quickly gauged the two, trying to determine who the winner would be if it came to that.He was bigger, and looked meaner, but he had already spoken to her personally, and wasn't sure that was possible. She'd likely slip a blade out and gut him. Of course, that would cause the tavern to close up while they cleaned the blood up....BS was horrified.

He thought a minute and grinned widely. Maybe he could take advantage of the situation, impress the girl, AND get the money to pay off his debts.Maybe even without getting killed.

Standing up, he took a step forward.

[Mysteria]

Once down the tree, Ria stormed off towards the inn, Pagan at her heels. She was so hungry! She stormed by Bloodstalker, he was wet as usual when he had had too much to drink, and past a mean looking man dragging out a woman by the scruff of her neck. Well, that wasn't any of her business, all she wanted was something to stuff into that hole in her belly.

Inside, her rescuer seemed to take an interest in the Old Harry Nice Toes and she couldn't resist telling her about his run-in with an ogre female just for the fun of watching her face. Ria grinned at Pagan, who was clearly upset be the ogre-and-toe story, then tugged at her arm. "Come on, you promised me something to eat, I'm hungry!"

She had dragged the woman across half off the floor before she could disengage herself. "Ungmar, I'm starving! Haven't had a bite to eat all day!"

Ungmar smiled at the redhead. "Let me guess ... you ran into trouble again with your mistress?"

"Me? Nah, how'd you ever think something like this? Oh yes, before you ask, she's paying." Ria jabbed a thumb at Pagan who'd just joined her at the bar.

Ungmar look slightly surprised at Pagan. "That true?"

"Yes, that's right. And while you're at it, get me a serving too, please." She sat down at the stool next to Ria, turning to her as Ungmar went off to fetch them their plates.

"Hm, great, I wonder what they're cooking today. Hmmm." Ria sniffed the air, but the overlaying odour or beer was too strong to smell anything else.

"I hope it's eatable ..."

"Oh, don't worry, it usually is. Anyway, I'd eat anything just right now."

At that, Ungmar returned with two plates of mutton stew, a tankard of ale and two almost clean beer mugs. "There you go ... ah ... ladies."

"Thanks." Ria plunged into her stew with rabid appetite, all conversation forgotten as she munched away happily.

[Aqua-chan]

Aqua-chan.. Did not like the situation. Not one bit. Being held up by her wrist high above her head; that stupid mephit babbling on and on; that man staring at her like that; the woman in the sienna colored blouse rushing by without a second thought...

"The horse is yours, so take it," she quickly offered, careful not to let her panic seep into her voice. She fixed a nonchalant expression on her face: this was Aqua-chan. Nothing fazed her (Or, at least she tried to act so).

Jargoth shook his head. "Not enough," he stated simply.

"Not enough? I have little to offer: I've no gold and I've nothing else of any great value."

The man who she had bumped into before - and got her into this whole mess, by the way - stood and took a step forward in an attempt to appear menacing. It was hard to look that part, however, considering how shrimpy he looked in comparison to Jargoth's height. ( )

"Let her be unless you want me to deal with," he smirked devilishly and crossed his arms.

Jargoth didn't even let loose on the mage's wrist. Aqua-chan snorted loudly at the stranger's ego and openly rolled her eyes. When he took a step forward to try and get his point across again, the woman took the oppertunity to use her one free hand to search her robes for her dagger. She withdrew it and pointed it at, not Jargoth, but at the stranger.

"Stay out of it!" she snapped loudly at him. He looked a little taken back. "Listen, Jargoth, I'm sure we can work something out. You seem to be the nogotiating type; I'll make you an offer."

"You let her go!" Rint screeched as a war cry and attempted to attack the fighter, but a simple side-swipe of his foot rid Jargoth of this problem.

"I'm listening," he edged her on, mainly out of interest.

"Well..." she looked left and right for ideas, "I could work as a... You have to have little things that you don't like doing, right?" He raised an eyebrow. "Well, organizing your pack, dealing with messy documents and things like that, right? I could be a bit of a assistant for a designated length of time."

Brillaint, Aqua-chan. Become his personal slave - You're such a genious. She mentally smacked herself.

"How can I get in on that deal?" the stranger asked. The cleric could have sworn she saw him drool some.

"What say you, Jargoth?" she asked, not too enthusiastic about the entire ordeal.

[dragon wench]

Before placing her fork into the mutton stew, Pagan cautiously sniffed the plate. The rich scent of mutton, rosemary and sage wafted up to greet her and despite any reservations she might have had about the stew's quality, a sudden, sharp pang from her stomach reminded her she had eaten nothing since early that morning. Mouth watering, she dove in and consumed the meal with nearly the same rapidity as her companion.

Less tense, now that she had food in her belly, Pagan slowly took a few sips from her tankard. Wanting to remain alert, she intended to nurse the brew over the course of the next few hours. Frowning, the thief wondered if she should introduce herself to the seamstress, and whether or not she should use her real name. She had employed so many for various assignments that by this point it would scarcely matter. Still, possible choices floated through her mind... "Dragon Wench"..... now where did I get something as strange as that..... "Tashara"... pretty but it really doesn't seem to suit the occasion.... "Drina".... She felt an edged spasm within. Puzzled, she wondered why all of these names appeared to have strange associations for her, and she searched her mind for any possible clues. Her attempts at recognition proved fruitless, however, and with a shrug she returned to her original consideration.

Perhaps it was because she genuinely liked the woman seated next to her, or maybe it was just that she felt vaguely confused by her musings, but with a smile she turned to the seamstress and said, "I am named Pagan." Her companion grinned in return and held out her hand, "Well met, I am Ria. Thank you for the meal by the way. My mistress didn't allow me dinner" .

"Not a problem, you'll be doing me a favour later on anyway. Why didn't your mistress feed you?"

Ria, spoke of her dislike for sewing, despite her apprenticeship to Miss Narny and her tendency to run off to the hills whenever fancy took her. Nodding in understanding Pagan recalled her own fight to pursue her chosen vocation and decided she had been very fortunate to have succeeded.

The two women passed several hours engaged in idle banter, and Ria made a point of introducing her to Ungmar and the half-elven serving wench she met earlier. The woman introduced herself as Yshania, and it seemed she eyed Pagan with lingering curiosity.. or was it suspicion? It was hard to tell. Pagan frowned, suddenly wondering if it had been wise to use her real name.

Twelve booming gongs suddenly peeled through the night. Midnight.... it must be time... Careful to avoid any obvious gestures Pagan silently made eye contact with Ria and inclined her head subtly towards the door.

Ria gulped down the last of her ale and cheerily bade several people in the inn "Goodnight." Melding into the inn's shadows Pagan slipped out after her.

"We need to be as quiet as possible", whispered Pagan redundantly. "Do you know precisely where the gown is?" Ria nodded. Nearly noiselessly they scaled the tree and lightly landed in Ria’s tiny room. Ria motioned to the door and then pointed to Pagan’s tool kit. Hoping it was a simple lock, Pagan lightly fingered the mechanism before applying her tools. Grinning slightly, she found her narrowest picking device and inserted it into the lock; a slight click indicated that the door was now open. “Follow me,” murmured Ria under her breath.” A sudden, rattling series of snorts, coughs and grunts made Pagan start nervously. ”That’s just Miss Narny snoring, she always sounds like that when she’s been nipping into her gin bottle; she probably won’t wake up until morning now.” Pagan nodded, relieved, and she wondered if the people in this sleepy, little town spent most of their lives consuming alcohol. Probably, there seems little else to do…

Ria led her through a series of twisting passages until they came to a sturdy, wooden door. Experimentally Ria tried the handle, but predictably, the door did not budge. Pagan sighed and once more got out her tools; fortunately the lock offered no resistance, and it easily swung open. The gown adorned a dress maker’s dummy, and Pagan stared in shock at the figure’s proportions. ”You mean it will make me look like that!” she hissed. I think I’ve seen watermelons smaller than those!” Ria snickered quietly, and freed the dress from the dummy. She also unlatched the door of a nearby armoire and grabbed what looked to be a pair of odd-looking, spiky shoes and a mysterious bundle. Pagan eyed the shoes warily, a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach.

”You are staying at the inn right? Ria enquired. Pagan inclined her head, let’s take this stuff back there then. The seamstress glanced over her thief’s garb. ”I think you might need help with this stuff.” Sighing, Pagan had to reluctantly agree that this was undoubtedly true, and they headed back along the hallways and climbed down the tree. Outside the inn Pagan stopped, remembering that she had seen a back door earlier. ” We should use the other door, no need to attract attention to ourselves. “

[VoodooDali]

Betty resisted the temptation to be a smart-ass, and told Gwally the truth, or at least, most of it. "I'm a half-elf, and the day they created me, I'm convinced they rolled me a low Wisdom score, and didn't even re-roll... This isn't the first shapeshifting fiasco I've had. I'm afraid when it comes to my magical abilities I'm rather like Samantha's Aunt Clara on Bewitched."

"Bewitched?" Gwally scratched his head.

"Whoops, I forgot, we don't have TV yet in Athkatla. Forget I ever mentioned it."

"Hmmm." Again, Gwally wondered if he was going insane. He resumed brushing Betty while she ate some more apples.

Betty hee-hawed contentedly, and wondered if he was the same guy she'd heard some women talking about a long time ago - with large hands specialized in +5 massage therapy...

"You just hee-hawed." Gwally pointed out.

"So???" Betty turned her head to glare at him. Having a long neck was cool.

"Mules don't hee-haw, donkeys do."

"Well, if I'm a mule then I'm half-donkey - so wouldn't I hee-haw?"

"I don't think so."

"What sound am I supposed to make, then?"

"I dunno. Horses neigh. Donkeys hee-haw. I don't know what mules do."

"That's helpful. Keep brushing."

Gwally brushed her with renewed vigor. "You could make that raspberry sound, I guess. Although I think that only horses make that sound, you know where they neigh like this: Brrrrr."

"I like it better coming from you. Do it again."

"Bbbrrrrrrr." Gwally obliged.

Betty whinnied with delight.

"Betty, I hate to say this, but I don't think mules whinny."

"Hey, quit rainin' on my parade!"

"All right, all right." Gwally put the brushes away and put a new clean bed of hay in the stall.

"Gwally?"

"Yes?"

"Thanks for the veggies and ale, I feel so much better now. I swear when I get my old body back, I'm going on the Atkins Diet."

"The Atkins Diet?" Gwally wondered where she came up with this stuff.

"Yes, haven't you heard? It's all the rage among the elite. You get to eat platefuls of bacon every day without gaining weight!"

"Count me in." Gwally's mouth watered. Perhaps he ought to go into the tavern for a while and grab some grub and check out the scene.

"Betty, I think I ought to go inside and see how the others are doing. You have everything you need?"

"That's fine - I'm beat. It sure is weird sleeping while standing up though, I can't get used to it."

Gwally handed her a parting piece of sugar. Her muzzle was very soft, and again he was dazzled by her large white teeth. As her turned to walk out of the stable, Betty said, "Gwally, what's your favorite color?"

[Chanak]

I am Rak.

There it was again. Zan's brow furrowed deeply, his reddish eyes nearly lost in the dark caverns of a grim scowl...a scowl serious enough to frighten starving dogs away from an easy meal, and malicious enough to cause paint to peel off tavern shutters. This errant thought had been hanging around in the dark recesses of the half-orc's mind as of late, and its unassuming - yet madly irritating - presence upset him a great deal.

Who is Rak? What does he want with me? And why is he in my head? These were the thoughts that plagued the warrior in the aftermath of the random cranial assertions of Rak, whoever the dung heap was. By the Nine Hells, Zan would feel much better if "Rak" had a face that could be smashed, or a leg or arm that could be snapped. Yes, the half-orc had been fervently seeking an outlet for the frustration he felt since these maddening thoughts began to rattle around in his head...and, since "Rak" had no face readily available for pounding, he had settled for substitutes to fill his place. Not the same, but it did help matters somewhat for the scarred mercenary. He also enjoyed it a great deal.

For the most part, Zan minded his own business...unless he had someone to kill, or something to smash. In truth, the half-orc could be downright friendly unless something set him off. True to his father's rather brutish side of the family tree, the hulking warrior possessed a rather destructive, nasty temper that manifested in rather destructive, nasty outbursts of unbridled beastial rage. Unfortunately for the objects of his ire, Zan backed up his savage ferocity with arms as big around as small ale kegs...

At first, Zan responded to Rak's simple statements by seeking out the orges. Perhaps the Ogre Magi were planting these thoughts in his head. He had spitted a few on the end of his blade in the past, and wouldn't put it past those flea-bitten dung heaps to try to inflict some kind of sneaky revenge upon him. So off he went to ogre country...

However, beating the snot out of ogres began to lose its appeal after a time. What bothered Zan the most was the fact that, after rearranging their pockmarked, tusked faces in the most creative fashion possible, they looked no different than they did before the beating. Not only that, but the ogres began giving him a wide berth whenever he was rumored to be in the area. This disappointed Zan a great deal.

At first, he had held the advantage...the ogres, seeing that Zan's seven feet of height made him 2 feet shorter than the average Joe Ogre, gladly accepted beatings from him. Things changed, however, when the lummoxes eventually began to catch on to the fact that Zan was a horrendously strong and skilled warrior. Whereas before, when this was a little-known fact, Zan had his pick of rock-headed oafs to pound into the dirt...now, sadly, they would mumble something about "tending to the halfling in the pot back home" instead of taking him on.

He soothed the feelings of rejection and disappointment by reflecting on the futility of his efforts as an image consultant for the dim-witted brutes. Try as he might, he couldn't make an ogre look any uglier than he already did.

The warrior's wanderings eventually found him in the taverns, draining the good people's stores of ale dry in an attempt to silence "Rak" by drowning. It was there that Zan finally discovered who might actually be behind that aggravating voice in his head.

One night, as he sat drinking the loud-mouthed dwarf next to him into unconsciousness, he distinctly felt eyes burning into his back. As he turned upon on his barrel to face the owner of the offending stare (he was too heavy for even the most sturdy of tavern chairs and stools), he casually backhanded the swaying dwarf across the room, into a group of rowdy human bravos......and found himself looking into the piercing blue orbs of an elf.

Yes, someone in the tavern was responsible. And they were going to pay.

[Aegis]

"'Bout time we got a break from smashing in the carts of merchents..." muttered one massive ogre, who was leaning heavily against a rock, one arm behind it's head, the other holding onto a crude wooden cup.

"Oh yeah. You can say that again." replied his equally large comrade, sitting next to him, who was holding up a piece of paper in front of him, and squitning towards it.

Both sat their, enjoying the warmth of the day, completely oblivious to the heavy rustling sound, and clinking of armour as Greg the warrior came bound out of the bushes, sword drwan, and poised to strike.

"Back foul beasts!" he exclaimed, in his best hero voice. From behind him, Sago and Erik came sauntering out, their own weapons drawn. The ogres glanced over to the three, an unamused look in their face. "We will end you... vile... dis..." Greg stuttered to a halt, and looked confusedly at the ogres, who had still not reacted to the three warriors with anything greater then a yawn. "Whats up?"

Sago scratched his head in confusion, and Erik pulled out a small book from his pack, and began flipping through pages.

"Oh please... Must you typecast us?" said the first ogre, pitting down his wooden cup, which was now evidently full of tea, and standing up, dwarfing the mighty Greg by four full feet. "I mean, we Ogres aren't all about smashing and eating, ya know." As it spoke, it made a few hand gestures, as if trying to emphasive it's point.

"I concur." said the other ogre, standing up, putting his light reading down.

Erik looked up from his book. "Says here that Ogres are typically aggressive beasts, liable to attack anything they see..." The pair of Ogres rolled their eyes.

"You guys... Aren't ogres?" Greg asked. Somewhere, out of sight, Collik was slapping himself in the forehead.

"We're Ogres all right, but that doesn't mean we don't like our breaks..." The first ogre stepped forward, and yanked the book from Erik's hands. "Well, here ya have it. Says here that we're uncivilized creatures, barely able to comprehende what 2+2 is..."

"Seven?" Greg said, after counting on his fingers. The Ogres rolled their eyes again. Finally, Greg shook his head. "Wait a minute! This is just some ploy! You guys are just trying to confuse us, so you can smash our bodies into jelly and feast on us with your barbaric Ogre buddies-" Greg continued on.

The second ogre leaned over to the first. "You don't suppose we should do something... could be fun, ya know." The first shrugged, and grinned.

"-Then do who knows what to the remains of our bodies, commiting all sorts of dispicable-" Greg was cut short by the first ogre releasing a mighty bellow. Greg stood silent, blinking a couple times. "See..." he placed his hands on his hips, and gave his best hero pose. "Now. I suggest you two back away. We have a mighty wizard with us, capable of destroying half the land if he wanted."

"Don't even mention me..."

"In fact, with a blink of an eye, he could liquidfy you both into really squishy puddles of goo!"

"A man can sneak into a home, steal something, get caught, and be imprisoned, and I can't even kill this tard... How is this justice!"

"He probably has some devious idea to detroy you both as we speak!" Greg nodded, proud of his little speech.

The pair of Ogres stood still for a second, looking about. "Yeah... And where is he?"

Greg looked around for a second, before finally seeing the tip of Collik's rediculously wide brimmed hat. Then, bounding over merrily, he brushed aside the bushes hiding him from sight. Collik's eye twitched.

"You are so getting stabbed, tonight..."

"Show them, Collik!" Greg spun dramtically, and pointed at the two Ogres. At somepoint during Greg's speech, both Erik and Sago had slipped off. "Collik?" The two Ogres continued to watch Greg, somewhat amused. Greg finally looked around, only to see Collik high-tailing it away from the scene, Erik and Sago only a few paces ahead of him. Greg looked for a second, then back to the Ogres. "So... Umm... You guys like... Umm... Swords?" Greg grinned sheepishly. before during himself, and hightailing it away.

"I swear." Said the first Ogre. "These adventurers these days are sure getting weirding..."

"Agreed." Said the second. "So unorthadox, and unlike what they should be like..." It glanced to the first. "More tea?"

[dragon wench]

Once again, their way took them to the tavern, but this time they avoided the front door, sneaking round the back instead. Passing the stable, they heard voices inside, muffled by the walls. Pagan tensed, but Ria just shrugged and went on, used to the stable being used for all sorts of supposedly romantic rendez-vous.

"Ah, there's the back stairs ... Crap!" Pagan jumped as Ria, finding her foot landing in something mushy, suddenly raised her voice. "Be quiet!" She hissed while Ria hopped around on one foot, trying to wipe away the dung clinging to her boot. "Yeah, sure, you'd probably like putting your boot into dung." They stared at each other for a moment, then grinned and fled up the stairs barely stifling their laughter.

Pagan's door banged closed after them, shutting off their bursts of laughter. Finally, they calmed themselves somewhat and Pagan locked her door, bolting it and then fixing a device, an intricate mechanism of scre*w*s and gears, on top of the bolt. "Nobody's going to break into my room easily." She explained and Ria nodded having witnessed how easily a door could be unlocked.

"Well, let's get started. Undress."

Pagan shrugged out of her dark clothes while Ria lit the table lamp, illuminating the room in a soft yellow light.

Turning, she found Pagan stripped to her smallclothes and socks, her normal gear a crumbled heap on the bed with a suspicious amount of steel glittering among the folds.

"Good, the rest needs to go too." Ria unfurled the bundle she'd taken in the armoire.

"The rest too ...?" Pagan's voice sounded slightly unsteady.

"Yeah. Or do you think that we don't do a full job if we're ordered a top-class gown? See." She held up something that to Pagan looked like a pair of very flimsy, strangely shaped and rosy handkerchiefs. "Here. Put those on." Ria pushed them into her unresisting hands.

"What is it? They're just like the normal thing, only thinner and smaller. Go on, put them on. I even promise not to look if that makes you more comfortable." She grinned broably then began to laugh madly as a flustered Pagan turned the cloth over and over in her hands.

"They really wear ... this?" She still looked shocked, not to mention acutely flushed, when, a few minutes later, Ria held her up a mirror so that she could see herself.

"Of course they do. See how they cup your ..."

"Yes, yes, I see. So THAT's how the ladies make themselves look ... well, more rounded." She smiled suddenly. "I think I like it......it might work well"

Ria smiled back and drew out the gown. "Ready for the next part?" Lengths of blue cloth flowed down and onto the floor. "It should fit you too. You've got about the same built as the one it was made for."

Ria held it our for the other woman to get into it. "Go on, just pretend it's a simple dress... Er, you know how to put on a dress, don't you? I mean ... ah, eh ... nevermind." She stuttered under Pagan's glare.

Actually, this was a bit like putting on a dress ... but then it wasn't like it at all. "Whuff." Her breath was momentarily forced out of her as Ria deftily laced the dress up her back.

"Hey, don't strangle me."

"It's got to be tight. Don't ask me why but men seem to like women with their bellies all crunshed up and a pair of balloons bobbing over it. There." She laced the last strings together and finally put a finely woven belt around the woman's hips.

"What's that for?" Pagan fingered the lose belt. "It doesn't hold up anything." She took a long stride forward and fell straight into Ria's arms.

"Hey, no so fast!" The seamstress put her upright again. "You got to learn to walk first. Oh, and the belt's just decoration."


"Learn to walk? How's one supposed to walk in half a ton of cloth?"

Her legs felt strangely entangled while her upper body seemed quite ... ah, free. At least there was no mistaking her for a boy now, still, she wondered if this had been a good idea. Indeed, she wondered what foolishness had possessed her to devise this particular plan. Expressively, she rolled her eyes and once more directed her concentration to the situation at hand.

"Are you listening to me?"

"Eh? What?"

"I said, you got to learn to walk in those on top of it." She waved a pair of what had to be shoes in front of her nose then crouched down and found Pagan's left foot under the gown. Her socks were gone in a moment and then she finally stood, slightly swerving, on two very fine spikes.

"You look good, except for the hair, but we don't have to worry about that now. First, you got to be able to walk. Look, I'll show you." She pulled herself on tiptoe and trippled towards the window and back. "Got it? Let's try."

An hour and a good deal of laughter later, Pagan finally managed to cross the small room without tripping up over herself.

[Yshania]

Finally excusing herself from the private party, Yshania headed back to the chores that would earn her an evening's freedom the next night. With a preparatory sigh and a last look around before she started, Yshania headed for the closet to retrieve the broom. This she leant against the bar and picked up a bucket and a damp cloth to wipe the spills and smoking ash from the tables in advance of – she shuddered at the thought of polishing the wood, but knew that it was to buy her a night off.

Ungmar having readied the ale supply and the stables, and Marianne the kitchens and the private quarters, Yshania set to her own tasks. Hours later she slumped into an old and creaky chair, small ale in hand; admiring the results of her hard work; the rediscovered wood grain, and the dancing light off the brass works. She knew that by this time tomorrow mead and wine would dull the sheen on the tables, and the cakes of broth will need scraping off. But for tonight she was satisfied that her work was done, and tomorrow’s cleaning was for tomorrow’s maid. Heading upstairs, she showered before retiring to her small room at the rear of the building and falling into an exhausted slumber.

[Yshania]

In his sparse little room, Fas stood from his violent sketchings and placed his hands on the small of his back, stretching his cramped muscles. A twisted little smile crept slowly across his features as he studied his handy work, how pleased he was that the red was such a vibrant colour – it helped him *really* visualise the outcome of his planned meeting with the travelling alchemist. A sound to the rear of his room distracted him from his murderous musings

“Tiddles!” he whispered excitedly to his kitten as it emerged through a home-made cat flap, then “I hope you didn’t let anyone see you coming in here!” He wagged his finger at the cat, which responded by raising its nose and heading towards its food dish. Fas jumped to pull the shades over his tiny windows before squatting to feed and fuss his furry friend. “I knew you wouldn’t let me down!” The cat just purred a response – but to the food, not to his halfling pet’s secretiveness. Tiddles never could understand why his halfling pet behaved so, or why he insisted on calling him by any other than his true name, but right now little did he care. He had strutted his funky stuff this night and no manic mutterings followed by confused offerings of affection could dampen his feline ego.

Blowing his furry friend a kiss and taking his snuggly bear from its hiding place, Fas made towards his bed. Taking one last glance in his mirror he put out his candles and started to undress. As he began to unbuckle his belt he stopped suddenly, anger rising from his stockinged feet to turn his face crimson in rage. His haftershave was gone! “Damn that thief!!” he squealed before slamming out of his cabin in search of Bloodstalker…

Tiddles finished up his cream, stretched, then settled himself down on the halfling's bed for the night.