Chapter Text
Finding an inn willing to house their small merry band was proving more difficult than initially expected. Veldrin supposed he grew comfortable with the ease he could move around and acquire services nowadays back in Baldur’s Gate thanks to his heroic reputation. Currently, they were met with slammed doors, angry words, and sometimes even with threats of violence. The situation certainly brought back memories of his initial wanderings and the cold inhospitality his kind was treated with.
Once or twice, they were mistaken for a traveling circus act. That he could at least laugh off. When a wizard made an inquiry into buying Zillix, since kobold assistants were all the rage now apparently, he had to make sure Leandreth did not hex the man on behalf of her scaly friend. At least his diplomatic skills assured they were not actually attacked. The locals seemed on edge, a nervous energy permeating the city. Everyone was twitchy, aggravated, ready to explode at the smallest provocation.
The fact that even humans, dwarves, halflings, and others, all refugees, got sent away in about the same manner as he and his companions had, did little to appease him. So many souls huddled together with scarcely any belongings to their name, all throughout the city. And Zillix was correct, the conflict barely began, therefore the situation would get markedly worse soon. He just hoped this city council was up to the challenge and handled it better than what happened during the Absolute crisis on Sword Coast.
As they roamed the streets, and the neighborhoods grew increasingly shady, Veldrin noticed another tavern sign, proudly declaring the establishment was called ‘The Singing Ogre’. Fascinating. The sign itself seemed new and well crafted, in stark difference to the rest of the houses and buildings in the area. Cautiously optimistic, the drow paladin ventured forth.
The interior seemed clean and orderly. Solid stone floor and walls were complimented by sturdy looking wooden pillars, windows, and furniture. A cozy bar with several barstools stood on the left, with a carved wooden staircase leading to the floor above. Every single inch of the large room appeared spotless and new. Soothing, gentle light illuminated the large central area, making it look downright cozy. And yet there were no customers.
Considering the impeccably dressed skeletons prowling around, Veldrin could hazard a guess as to why. A single skull, covered in downright obscene number of gems and jewels, hovered above the counter.
“VISITORS! WELCOME, WELCOME. SLAKE YOUR THIRST, FEED YOUR HUNGER, REST YOUR WEARY SOULS. THE SINGING OGRE HAS IT ALL!” A hollow voice echoed through the establishment, the tone a rattle of bones, the chill of a graveyard. “WHATEVER YOUR DESIRES, BE SURE TO CONSULT ONE OF OUR EXPERTLY TRAINED WORKERS,” continued the skull, sounding almost proud. If a howling wind could ever sound proud.
The paladin weighted his options. Bunking in a tavern operated by a bunch of strange undead did seem like a possible future safety concern, on the other hand, it was getting late and they did not find any other solution to their lack of lodgings. On top of that, ater spending so much time near Withers, Veldrin had grown less disturbed by the sight of undead in general. Worst case, he was a holy paladin of Lathander, and he could always smash the floating skull with the Blood of Lathander that never left his side. With a sprinkle of a holy smite on top. Violence was a weapon of last resort within his tenets, but still a very viable one.
“Greetings, good innkeeper. I see I have chosen well. Me and my two companions are seeking rooms, for several nights at bare minimum. Could that be arranged?”
“CERTAINLY! COME IN, COME ALL! ONE OF THE BOYS WILL TAKE YOUR BELONGINGS TO YOUR ROOMS, AND ESCORT YOU THERE.” Once more, Veldrin was surprised to hear a sound akin to the cracking of a gravestone seem excited. Poor sod probably did not get much traffic.
“We travel light, so no need for assistance with our bags, but if you could show us to our rooms, it would certainly be appreciated. Let me get my friends,” he said, and went to fetch the two women.
Zillix was easy enough to find, as the small kobold leaned against the wall of the inn, lazily flicking through one of her books.
“And Lea is where exactly…?” Asked Veldrin.
The wizard did not stop paying attention to the text she was seemingly studying, and with a flick of her hand pointed to a space above the two of them.
“I am scouting!” Said a familiar voice. “You will be happy to know that there don’t seem to be any monsters intent on killing us. In this street at least. I can sense there are some worrying creatures somewhere within a mile from here, however. I am still new to this, but I am quite sure I am picking up some fiends and undead. We better stay alert.”
“Well, the undead are probably accounted for, as you will see for yourself. The fiends are worrisome though; you are correct in that regard. Always fiends, meddling in everything.”
If there were fiends around, they did not seem to be as intent on hounding him or his entourage like in the old days. Between Mizora and Raphael, they barely had any time to themselves, without one or the other breathing down their necks. He did miss the chats from time to time. The devils were entertaining company in their own way, no matter how wicked. Raphael was downright pleasant and helpful, until the whole messy business with the House of Hope. Veldrin did regret sometimes that they were unable to reach a diplomatic solution. The devil was a charmer, for sure.
The young hexblood climbed down from the roof of the inn with practiced ease, her pale pink hair a chaotic mess by the time her feet touch the ground. “What do you mean by the undead being accounted for?” She asked.
“Probably accounted for. There might be other ones that I don’t know about, though I doubt it. Anyway, you will see for yourself soon enough. You two, promise me you won’t attack anyone or anything. If we are lucky, our rooming crisis might be over.”
Zillix perked up at that:” Truly? You were able to find rooms without the innkeeper attempting to shoo us away with a broom?”
“On my honor. Your guardians would have my hide if I were unable to provide you with even the bare necessities. Let’s go. We lost enough time as is.”
With assured step, the paladin returned to the inn, and almost immediately ran into a group of skeletons, all seemingly waiting for him.
“Veldrin…?” Whispered Leandreth, hesitantly.
“It’s fine. They work here. I think.” The drow turned his attention back to the undead. “We are quite exhausted, you can show us to our rooms now, yes?”
One of the skeletons went ahead, beckoning the group toward the staircase, while some of the others attempted to take their backpacks.
“No, no, skeleton, sir, it’s fine,” whined the hexblood, shielding her backpack from their grasping, skeletal hands.
“As I have said, we are traveling light, there is no need for assistance on that front, but we are certainly grateful,” said Veldrin and avoided the undead staff, opting instead to go to the counter, to come to some sort of an agreement about the price with the floating skull.
Only Zillix seemed delighted by the entire situation and almost threw her heavy bag at one of the skeletal butlers. “Marvelous, simply marvelous. I will most definitely have to study them, once I finally get some shut eye.”
Veldrin allowed himself a small smile. Maybe their stay in the city wouldn’t be too bad. Things were looking up.
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Raphael woke up feeling utterly miserable. The few hours of rest hardly improved his condition, and the cold seeped into his bones. Pale, autumn morning greeted him with not a shred of sympathy. To his great disappointment, he remained trapped in his human form, pale, human flesh still firmly in place where beautiful crimson red should have been. Perhaps he was affected by some sort of a curse. A cleric might be able to help.
His neck felt stiff, as the position he slept in clearly was not ideal, on top of all his already existing issues. He had to waste several minutes by massaging his neck and right shoulder gently, before he was able to once again turn his head around, without flinching in pain. Was this how mortals felt in their day-to-day life? It was such a wretched experience, simply being alive.
He did not seem to be in the immediate danger of bleeding out on the street anymore, which was mildly reassuring. Gingerly, he felt around for his injuries, wincing when he touched a sore spot.
Since apparently, he was now able to walk more than three steps, the next priority became finding out where in the hells was he, what year it was, and to find someone he could manipulate in order to get out of this mess. Clothes and food were quickly added to the list, as he shivered and his stomach growled. Mortal bodies were so inefficient.
The former devil rolled his shoulders experimentally, and boldly traversed the street, carefully noting down all he could see. Tragically, there was very little. His initial assumption had been correct. He found himself in some sort of a slum. Poverty and despair hung about the area like a dense cloud.
As a devil, he would have had a marvelously easy time here. He wagered many of the local vagabonds were already on the brink of offering all they had, just to get out of this filthy hole. The approach of two brutish men interrupted his musings. Both wielded messy looking clubs as weapons, and both seemed physically strong. The archetypal goons.
“This is Koz’s street,” said the older of the two men. The man’s nose had been clearly broken in the past, and it did not heal correctly, giving him a menacing appearance. He looked Raphael up and down, gaze cold.
“So, you must pay a fee. Obviously. Since you seem like a fella down on his luck, we will ask only for a measly two gold pieces,” said the younger man. He had quite an impressive red beard, and meaty, sweaty fists.
Two gold pieces. Ha. The irony wasn’t lost on him. Was anything in his possession ever that cheap? And right now, it seemed an unobtainable amount. He barely had clothes, if one could call the rags clinging to him as such.
“Ah, it is a great pleasure to learn of this formidable man. Koz, you said? I agree, someone as impressive as him, in charge of a whole street does sound deserving of a tribute, but as you can see good sirs, I don’t have a copper to my name. Maybe I could meet with this Koz and come to an arrangement? I might not have worldly possessions at the present, but I have other valuables, namely an endless supply of information. Surely, some of what I know might be of use to a lord,” said Raphael, all sweet smiles and honeyed words. Internally, he hoped the men would not come any closer, as their hygiene seemed questionable at best. Were those brutes even capable of understanding his articulate speech? Maybe he should have spoken using simpler words.
“You are a funny man. But rules are simple. Pay up, or else,” said the younger man roughly.
“Clearly, we have a misunderstanding here. I would love to pay, alas my sole possessions are the rags on my person. I find it hard to believe your leader would have much use for them. So, once more I implore you to deal with this like civilized men.”
“If you can’t pay, you can work it off. You look scrawny, but if the women and children manage, so will you.”
The redhead seemed to be the primary speaker of the two thugs, the other not saying a single word since his initial bout of verbosity. What the quiet, older man did however seem to oversee was the physical side of things, because as soon as the young, bearded man stopped speaking, the elder made a grab for Raphael. As out of shape as the former devil was, he simply did not have the agility to dodge the brute.
The man with the broken nose had a crushing hold on Raphael’s biceps and tugged him roughly forward. Anger welled up in the brunette. How dare the lowly, short-lived slime lay hands on him. Him. With a single look, he could have had him ripped to pieces, his soul to howl in agony for countless eons. To be dragged as if he was a potato sack was simply unthinkable. It went against the natural order. A travesty. A perversion. A vision of the man writhing, in torment flared up in his mind, and he attempted to rip the offending appendage from his arm.
Where yesterday there was an uncaring void, today a spark ignited. Figuratively, and literally. Electricity surged from Raphael’s fingertips, and the brute’s body spasmed in pain. In his surprise, he dropped the cambion’s arm.
“Oh, you are one of those magical folks. I am sure Koz can make use of a pet wizard,” said the redhead, and swiftly brought down his club on Raphael’s head.
Time slowed down, as several, very chaotic events happened in rapid succession. A shimmering orb of energy appeared around the assaulted man, effectively blocking the crude weapon’s strike. Raphael’s delight was cut short, when a second later thick fog rolled around the street, reducing visibility in the entire surrounding area.
“What the fuck,” shouted someone, too close for comfort.
Raphael chose to make the very calculated decision of getting as far as his body could manage, in the shortest possible amount of time. His muscles began to protest the moment he started running, but thankfully the surge of adrenaline momentarily muted the worst of the pain. Clumsily, with no way to see, he stumbled in the direction he hoped led somewhere where the thugs would not be able to find him.
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The streets all mixed together, the slum a maze of grey, unremarkable locations. Trash, chaos, rats, cockroaches; all were present in varying quantities. Raphael supported himself against one of the dirty walls, one hand clutching the cold stone, the other gently laying against his stomach. He was barely able to catch his breath without the feeling of wanting to vomit. His body definitely did not appreciate all that running.
As the city steadily woke up from its slumber, more and more people poured out into the streets. A sea of countless bodies made it very unlikely he would be easily spotted, even if the two fools did manage to correctly guess the direction he chose for his grand escape.
Unsteadily, the brunette turned, resting his back against the hard surface of the wall, eyes closed. What wouldn’t he give for some wine and cheese. And a nice, long bath in his personal quarters. Frustration took hold of him, and if he wasn’t already so physically weakened, he very much wanted to kick something. Sighing, the former devil surveyed the place.
An older woman, hair gray with scarcely any color left, watched him, her gaze sharp. Uneasy, Raphael tried to subtly check if this was another trap. Was the hag in league with the thugs from earlier? Information would have to travel fast indeed.
When she moved toward him, Raphael tried to comfort himself with the knowledge that at least now he had some magic at his disposal, no matter how rudimentary. He was not completely toothless. Other possibilities rapidly flickered through his mind. A thief? Very likely, though she would only disappoint herself if she chose him as her prey. Can’t steal from one that has nothing. A … lady of the night? Hells, he hoped not. Even if he felt the urge, which currently was as frozen as the fields of Cania, the woman lacked certain, or well… most of his preferences. All of them, to be honest.
Yes, she was undeniably coming toward him in particular. What joy. He was awake for barely two hours, and already he felt he had enough of socializing for today.
“Hello there, dearie. I couldn’t have helped but notice that you seem a bit out of sorts. Things are rough out here on the streets, I know,” said the woman gently. “Call me Inga.”
Promptly, alarm bells began to ring in Raphael’s mind. He was not born yesterday. Nice people were liars. Manipulators. Utter crooks. Noone was kind to strangers. Well, except some of those mind addled do-gooders of Ilmater, or of other similar deities. By Asmodeus’ horns he hoped he did not stoop as low as to be taken in by one of those. He must look absolutely dreadful, if that is the case. If he ever returned to Hell, he would never be able to live that down. Might as well start frolicking in a forest with unicorns and dryads.
“Your concern is appreciated, but truly, it looks worse than it actually is, my good woman,” he smiled stiffly. “Perhaps you could however help me by clearing up some things for me. You see, I am quite new in these parts, and I might have gotten lost. You wouldn’t happen to know where we are…?”
“Of course, of course. Lyrabar can trick even seasoned dwellers, especially with all the recent additions. The markets are not far from here. And if you continue south, you would arrive to the pier,” the woman helpfully supplied.
Lyrabar. How the hells did he end up in Impiltur. Why Lyrabar specifically? That seemed like such a random location. He weighed the pros and cons of following up that question with asking what year it was. Maybe he could save that one for someone else. Raphael did not want to seem too out of sorts.
“Yes. Many thanks. Well, then. I suppose I will be on my way then.”
The woman eyed him with clear concern. Fantastic. He probably seemed like a helpless kitten to her, or whatever old ladies felt sympathy for.
“You know, we aren’t supposed to really talk about it with outsiders, and I do have some misgivings about their ways, but you do look like you could use the help,” she paused, as if considering something.
Raphael perked up at that. If whatever organization she had in mind used shady methods, then they wouldn’t be linked to someone like Ilmater. Maybe the Zhentarim? Helping the refugees for their own agenda?
Oblivious, the woman continued: “I can lead you to the entrance, but no further, as I no longer support the direction those lads chose to take. In these difficult times, they are unfortunately the only ones that would be able to give you the help you need, if you are low on funds. Or lacking them altogether. Not that I wish to make assumptions,” her eyes flickered to his, guiltily.
His dignity would probably never recover after this, but he grit his teeth and made tentative peace with having to go to what likely amounted to a beggar’s den. Perhaps a front for the local thieves’ guild. That would be acceptable. The worse option was him being led to another trap. He hoped that the likelihood of two instances of being robbed or trafficked within such a short time frame were impossibly low. And honestly, he was too tired and sickly to care by this point.
“I see,” said Raphael. “You do have sharp eyes. And mind. It is as you’ve discerned. I was beset by a misfortunate most grave. Show me then, if you would be so kind, to this miraculous place where they would be willing to help a man, who has nothing to his name.”
The woman’s mouth twitched lightly. “Funny you would say that. On that front, I believe you will feel right at home among them and face no judgement. They do call themselves the Lords of Nothing, after all.”