Burning Today Options

[Olen]

Some of you probably remember my last piece, Yesterday's Shadow and that it had a rather unsatisfying ending. I spent the summer rectifying this and now have a sizeable sequel/ completion to it which is itself now finished. It would probably be better to read Yesterday's Shadow before this as it would make more sense, however you should get by without it. If anyone wants I'll put a synopsis here, though Yesterday's Shadow isn't very long so you could just read it here (enough plugs yet?)

Anyway without further ado:

Burning Today

Prologue

Dervas wore boots while he worked. Shoes didn't last long in the decaying mixture of blood, vomit, drink and drugs which floored The Black Guar. The dark man had finally passed out and for the first time Dervas dared look at him. A worn man with a broken soul. Who are you? The Black Guar didn't get passing trade – the mixture of pushers, heavies and racketeers who made up most of his patronage didn't appreciate strangers. In the first hour the man, who now lay face down on the table, had knocked two out cold and broken another's arm. They left him alone after that and he them. Dervas wiped the remains of a line of sugar off the bar and nodded to the bouncer who went to move the man to his room.

Someone knocked at the door. Dervas ignored it. They knocked again, for longer this time. He cursed and went to tell whoever it was where to go. It was late an he didn't need any more trade. He pushed open the door, a curse dancing on his tongue. A sack crashed to the ground, gold clinked within. A Breton in black clothes stood in the doorway.

“What's his tab?” There was no need to ask whose.

“Sixty.”

The Breton showed no surprise, and counted out the gold. “Listen,” his tone offered pain if Dervas didn't, “You keep giving that guy drinks, drugs, whores, whatever he asks for okay? For him happy hour doesn't end, tabs never have to be paid. Push as much as you can into him. Don't worry - I'll be round a couple of nights a week to pay you. That sack,” he kicked disdainfully at the one he'd just dropped, “Contains a thousand drakes, payment enough I'd say. If he asks don't tell him, just give him more drink. Understand?”

Dervas nodded, his mouth was dry.

The man disappeared into the night.

Dervas walked back into the bar. He looked towards the dark man's room. Who are you? he thought again, And what have I gotten into?

[Olen]

3. Finding the Scent

The Watcher's Club screamed criminal hangout. It was halfway decent, for Firewatch, but the district wasn't. It squatted between two dark warehouses full of goods waiting for the docks, warm light spilled from its windows onto the early evening street. I pushed open the door. The murmur of conversation stopped. Every eye turned to look. I cursed inwardly, but didn't break step on my way to the bar. The barkeep was a dunmer, as were all the patrons, he glowered at me as he smeared grime round a glass with a greasy rag.

"A jug of shein," I said putting a coin on the bar.

"That's forty gold for your sort," he said, still polishing the glass.

The bar was still quiet, only a score of patrons, so I decided I wasn't in the mood to play it that way, "Oh well," I said, rather loudly, "I don't really want any of your horsepiss. Do you know what I really want? I want a word with Dalam."

A chair scraped behind me. Otherwise the silence was complete.

"What makes you think I know anyone by that name?" asked the barman.

"Because that fetcher is Camonna Tong scum and they seem to want to drink your filth."

The barman didn't answer, his gaze went over my shoulder. I followed it, behind me a dark elf stood up. When they'd called him Big Dalam they hadn't been lying.

He walked towards me slowly. About two inches from me he stopped, clearly he was used to people finding his size threatening. I resisted the urge to elbow him in the bread basket.

"Last week you went to see Ceril at the cult. Why?" I asked.

"None of your business, n'wah," he answered.

"I didn't think the stories were true," I said in mock surprise, "Your mother really did sleep with a guar. Was she one?"

"You're going to pay for that human." He was every bit as stupid and proud as I'd hoped.

"Care to take this outside?"

He turned to the door are strode out. I unhooked my sword from my belt but left the knife there and followed.

Outside he turned to me, "I'm going to gut you fetcher and dump the body in the docks."

I smiled at him and dropped my sword to the ground, "Fists only?"

"Fine by me." He laughed and put his massive forearms up.

I did the same and for a moment we circled, the snow had compacted to ice on the cobbles. It was as slippery as hell. He moved forward, testing the water, trying my defence. I didn't bother. He telegraphed his punch too much and I stepped inside the haymaker. He was fast and it caught me on the back of the head. I felt a ring on his finger tear my skin but ignored it. My hand was already at my belt pulling out the knife and before he'd recovered his balance I'd jabbed it left handed into his thigh. He yelped and bent forward only to meet my right elbow going upward. With a clack of teeth it connected with his jaw.

He was out before he hit the ground. No one had come to watch the fight, but that didn't mean they wouldn't. I could feel blood running from the back of my head but I ignored the urge to check it and dragged Dalam down an alley beside the tavern and into the shade of a warehouse yard. I breathed heavily as I propped him behind a pile of crates and tied his hands with his shirt. A combination of the punch and the effort of moving his bulk had brought back some of the sickness. Soon he would feel worse though. The thought was a warm one.

I'd placed the knife well well away from any arteries so it didn't bleed, much, as I pulled it out. Certainly not life threateningly. I took a clod of damp snow and threw it in his face then smacked him with my open palm. His eyes fluttered open. For a moment he sat dazed, then the swearing started.

"You filthy n'wah. I'll flay the cheating hide from your corpse you-" I put the tip of my knife in his mouth and he was silent.

"Don't bother struggling," I said. He did anyway. The knots would only tighten. "Now you're going to be civil. Why were you talking to Ceril?" I pulled my knife free.

"You piece of dirt. I'm going to-" I punched him. Hard.

"Tell me," I put the point of my knife against his breast, just hard enough for a bit of blood to well up.

He was silent.

I dragged the knife a little bit along his breastbone. It grated like a broken skate on rough ice.

"Okay," he gasped whitely, "Okay. You win. Damn." I thought he might be sick but to his credit he held it, "Someone asked me to. A breton, suspicious type. He wore black. I don't know who he worked for..."

"You suspect," he was frightened and easy to read.

"I had him followed. He went to Dervas's place then we lost him. Magic probably."

"You sure."

"Yes, yes. That's all I know."

"Good," my fist lashed out. He hardly knew it was coming before he was out. Someone would hear him shout when he came round, in the mean time I had my next name. And another I knew.

I walked back past the side of The Watcher's Club, it was near full dark so I took a lamp which sat in the windowsill. The cut on my head twinged. It was shallow and had scabbed fine, but not before soaking a good bit of blood into my shirt and jacket. Still I doubted Dervas would mind.

This post has been edited by Olen: Mar 21 2010, 02:04 PM