The Scoundrel's Luck [Open]

[Emily]

The heavy tree cover that blanketed most of Ama Ancalen in darkness became less pronounced near the coast of the Storm Strait. Taking advantage of the city district, The Sprite's Respite famously boasted beautiful views of the beach from its southern and eastern rooms. Because of this, it was also able to offer something most buildings in the port city couldn't- sunlight. Plush bed-covers of rich blues and reds, elaborate stone and woodwork, and thick cloth rugs suited the discerning taste of classic elven nobility. The elves of Esenral were notorious for their dislike of using animal skins and furs for their materials, leading to creative synthetic weaves involving magic to craft.

A winding staircase connected the bottom floor of The Sprite's Respite, a large dining area and pub, with the second and third floors, entirely guest rooms. It circled a large, ancient tree that made up the central foundation of the inn. On the top floor, as far from the stairs as possible, Alok stood at the window of Elaoril's room. The sun hung low over the water in the distance, flooding the room with a dramatic, red-gold light. A gentle breeze coming off the water caused the shorter strands of the elf's hair to dance in front of his face, but he hardly seemed to notice it. He was taking notes in a small booklet, occasionally taking a moment to look out the window. His eyes saw nothing in the view outside, instead focusing on possibilities and details that were far out of view. After taking a moment, he turned toward the room, notorious in the city for featuring Ama Ancalen's most plush bed, almost too soft to comfortably sleep on. Elaoril was sprawled out on it, clothing and hair as wild as Alok's was calm. Her eyes were closed, her breathing was relaxed, but she was certainly awake.

Alok cleared his throat. "It seems the best we can hope for on foot is a week."

"Mhm," she replied, cracking her eyes open. She remained still, but her eyes traced the intricate woodwork patterns on the ceiling. Those patterns, along with the stonework on the walls, seemed to hold her interest whenever he wanted to talk business. At least until he said something that piqued her interest.

"But that's assuming the weather allows us to put in ideal distance every day. And that Odibrand is the type of client that will resist every tourist trap."

She laughed, propping herself up on her elbows to look across at her brother. "That sounds unlikely."

Alok gave just a wisp of a smile, taking the laugh as a victory. "As such, we should expect the trip to take between 10-12 days. We've prepared supplies surprisingly well, and I think our field rations will last that entire time without stretching them. Have you taken any extra precautions for the trip?"

"I think we should be mostly alright with the normal routine, but I bought a tome with some offensive spells, just in case. Fireballs, gusts of wind. You know, the usual."

"You distract them, and I patch us up when you inevitably fail?" He grinned, jotting down a few more notes in the booklet before placing the quill back into its inkpot and sitting the notebook open-faced on a table near the window. He pushed himself up onto the sill to sit before continuing. "He mentioned potentially bringing more people in. Think that's a good idea?"

"Sure, but I don't know anyone who's in the city."

"Me neither," he sighed. "It would have been useful if he'd bothered to let us know a week ago that nobody else had replied to the ad. If I'd been able to send a letter out on a ship then, Jonik and Beldroth would have come in from Sunhaven. Two support magic users aren't the best mercenary squad to hire on, even as confident as Odibrand seems to be. We need a swordsman or two."

"I feel there's no point in worrying about it," came Elaoril's reply as she sat up at the edge of her bed. "He's probably already blabbed about it across the entire city. The way I see it, we either get paid when the package reaches the capital, or he doesn't make it. If it's the latter, we're certainly not going to be killed, and we'll have been gifted a couple very nice rooms and free food for a fortnight. If it were up to you, we'd have been in the cheapest garbage inn in the city, eating hardtack and drinking water that had been sat aside for our baths."

Alok laughed, attempting to cover it with a hand. What she was saying was true; he was in charge of their finances on most trips. He tended to overcorrect for Elaoril's liberal spending habits. She'd have them living and eating here until they ran out of money if she were in charge. While they were generally good at their jobs, and incredibly good at surviving the various merc jobs that came up along the coast (whether or not their employer survived to pay them), most people weren't interested in a team of only a healer and an illusion mage. Jobs were hard to come by without a sword and shield across your back, or flurries of fire and lightning from each of your fingers.

He didn't know what to make of Odibrand, but the man had given them a job when prospects seemed thin. And while that by itself was enough to endear him to both of them, it was also enough to ignite Alok's suspicion. For someone with such confidence when it came to dangerous courier work, the human had been throwing money around quite frivolously during his time in the city. He'd come upon the twins' radar back in Sunspear long before they approached him about the job posted on the pub's merc board; he spent each night in the brothel, ate and drank the finest of everything. And yet he'd been so incredibly polite when they explained the situation and their expectations for the trip. If he brought anyone else on board... it would be hard for Alok to get a read on motivations. And the job seemed so simple as well. Just an escort from Ama Ancalen to Sylh Allanar, and a caveat to never look in his cargo?

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes with his palms. "Ah well, nothing to be done about it. Shall we go and get dinner?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

[LuckyBlackCat]

On the lower floor, chaos erupted with the force of Mt Obsidian.

At the centre of said chaos, two figures whirled and lunged around chairs and tables upturned in their wake, maniacal laughter and clangs of metal on metal ringing through the room over cheers of gathered drunkards. Other, more sober guests kept their distance, staring on in a mix of bemusement and terror.

"That the best ya got?" Valenya gave her opponent a huge, fanged grin as she hefted her broadsword to block his hammer strike. Wisps of smoke escaped the corners of her mouth. Muscles rippled under patches of deep crimson-brown scales that speckled the tan skin of her shoulders.

It wasn't quite a bar brawl. Calling it such would have made it sound far more uncouth and uncontrolled than it really was. And it wasn't as if either she or the human who'd bragged to his friends that he could take on any opponent meant to seriously harm one another. Well, they might get roughed up a little, but there'd surely be healers nearby. Seriously though, what was any self-respecting dragonkin to do but rise to such a challenge?

"Ha! Famous last words!" the bearded brute of an opponent teased. "Like I'm scared a' you and yer kitchen knife!" He pulled the hammer back, only to stumble off-balance from his tipsiness.

Valenya seized the opportunity. One push at his shin with the side of her foot, and he went down with a thud. "Is that why your stance has more gaps in it than old chainmail?" With a sweep of her wings, she darted to the side, out of his range as he staggered to his feet and swung again. There was little room to properly fly here, but she could at least smoothly maneuver around him...

Or not. As she made to land, one of her scaled, clawed feet caught against a bar stool, sending her veering off-course and the seats toppling into one another with an unholy crash. Flailing her wings and tail for balance, knocking a picture from the wall, she managed to settle on her talons by some miracle - only for a flash of purple light to coalesce into crystals around her legs, freezing her in place before she could resume the sparring session.

"What in the name of the gods do you think you're doing?" An elven security worker strode towards her and her similarly immobilised adversary, a scowl twisting his features, remnants of a violet glow fading from the palm of his raised hand. "Any more of that and you'll both be sleeping under the stars tonight."

A drawn-out grumble escaped Valenya's clenched teeth as she sheathed her blade. The crystalline bindings glowed once more and vanished. Pushing back sweaty hair that frizzed out of its braid and around her horns like a tangle of copper wire, Valenya trudged back to her seat and set it upright, as staff busied themselves tidying the rest of the mess. "A traveller's gotta keep their skills sharp for the road."

Well, this was quite the case of culture shock. Back home, staff and patrons alike would have cheered her on. Still... It had been worth it. It hadn't compared to the sparring matches she'd known, against a certain other opponent, of course. Yet it had kept her distracted, if only for a moment, from her frustration at being no closer to finding him.

A bittersweet smile tugged at her lips. If Eryndor knew about this latest spot of trouble she'd gotten herself into, he'd never let her hear the end of it.

A loud "Ahem" from a barmaid drew her attention. "Don't think that's the only condition of your staying here," the half-elf behind the counter groused, gesturing to a mahogany chair with one of its finely-carved legs snapped almost in two. "You'd better pay up for the damage. Now."

Whoops. Biting back a sigh, Valenya stood and reached for her coin pouch, getting the unpleasant task done with. Her finances had taken quite a blow. Unless she could rent a forge in the city, and a market stall to sell enough wares to cover her losses, she'd have to fall back on her other skillset - and it was only expected, at least in her hometown, for a blacksmith to know how to use the weapons they crafted.

Time to look for some merc jobs.