The Temptation of Gheeran

"I didn't notice you were gone until I was almost two corners ahead," he apologized.

"No matter. You know what? I've changed my mind," I said, my voice trembling. All I wanted now was to be away from the constantly jostling, pressing masses, away from their ceaseless chattering. My heart raced and I noticed I was shaking when I held out my hand. He took it and pulled me along. Not wanting to look like a total fool, holding hands with a Guardsman, I slid my hand from his grasp and grabbed his elbow instead, and almost like a pair entwined in a strange, sideways dance, he began to steer me around obstacles in the road.

Eventually I smelled the acrid stench of a tannery and heard several hammers ring off anvils. We were deep in the Craftsmen's Quarter by now, and the Toothless Godling was a small inn mostly frequented by travelling artisans and crafters, at least it appeared to be on the outside. The Thieves' Guild had a sizeable stake in it as well. Locksmiths were craftsmen as well, after all.

The roads became even worse and we had to slow down. Storm Harbour may be the biggest city in these parts, but even the largest city couldn't afford paving all their alleys and byways. Or maybe people took the cobbles and used them for their own ends. After a few more minutes, we rounded a corner, Thaion slowed and I could smell the inn, that particular scent of people, food and spilled ale wafting from its open windows.

"Here we are," he said, clapping my shoulder.

Away from the clogged main streets, I felt much better, but still far from my best. "Which way is the door?" I asked.

"Oh, sorry. Here," he said, placing my hand on the handle.

"Thank you."

"Don't mention it. Glad I could help. Will you be all right from here?"

He had me there. I shrugged. "Guys like me fall on their feet. Don't see why it should be different this time."

"Good bye then," he said and left. I pulled the door open and entered the taproom. By now it was around noon and many locals were having lunch here. Whatever was on the stove, it smelled delicious, and I realized how hungry I was. I threaded my way through the crowded place, ending up at the bar. The shaking had subsided, but I still felt like I was balancing on marbles. Far too many jostles, far too many people around me. Suddenly quite exhausted, I groped around for a stool and took a seat, the hard, unpadded wood an island of stability under my bum. A moment later, something warm and wet bumped into my hand. Carefully, I felt around, only for a large, slobbery tongue to lave my fingertips.

"Umm, what's that at my hand?" I asked no one in particular. Someone snickered nearby.

"Back off, Muffins, stop molesting my customers!" The thing next to me gave a small bark, then the wet sensation disappeared. Oh, just a dog.

"Hey there, stranger. What'll it be?" The voice was female and friendly, quite a nice surprise.

"What happened to Torgun?" I asked her.

"Oh, him? They found him in the harbour, gutted like a pig. Some say he rattled his bone-box at the wrong people and some cross-traders took offence."

I smiled thinly as she went on in the Cant. "Others say he took garnish from the Law and ratted out some buggers hiding in the sewers. Oh, and Muffins? He's my bouncer. Say hello, boy,"

The dog gave a good-natured "woof", then placed his head into my lap. I wasn't an expert on canines since we drow preferred lizards or, in the case of our priestesses, giant spiders as pets, but he was a big, drooling mass of thick fur with big, floppy ears, a slender, long nose and quite a lot of teeth.

"Good riddance," I smirked. "You're quite the pleasant surprise."

"The same goes for you," she purred, leaning in. Her breath was warm on my cheek. Soft lips and a noticeable underbite, two pointy tusks, brushed my skin. She smelled like herbs and smoke, an interesting combination.

"Wait—are you—" I began. She cut me off with a finger to my lips. "Name's Zejka and I run this place now that uncle has kicked the bucket. Gotta problem with that?"

Interesting. Zejka had to be Orc, or at least half-Orc, if she was related to the late Torgun. That meant large, curvy, green skin and black or brown eyes, with hair to match.

"No problem at all. But Muffins? Really?" I had to ask.

Zejka laughed, a full-bodied, sensual sound that made me smile. "Yeah, I know it sounds stupid, but his fur looks like freshly-baked cupcake dough. So yummy."

Nodding I went for my purse. Placing two coins on the counter, I turned on my most dazzling smile.

"I'd like a room for the next few weeks and whatever you're cookin'. Will that be enough?" I pushed the coins across the counter. The wood was thoroughly scrubbed, only the barest of hint of knotholes and grain under a thin greasy layer of lacquer and polish. My hand brushed hers. Her fingers, strong yet supple, peeled mine off the coins and squeezed them.

"With that kinda money, you're very welcome here," Zejka cooed. I shot her a grin. But before we could go on, I heard soft steps approach. A moment later, a body entered my perception from behind.

"Ah, Gheeran. Still trying to lay everything?" I turned in my seat and grinned viciously as I heard Rokun inhale sharply. Our last meeting had been almost a decade ago, but then, I had still had eyes. Hearing Rokun's surprise gave me quite a rush. Normally, he was as cool and unflappable as you could be and not be dead.

"I'd say 'nice to see ya', but..." I began, my grin widening.

"By Desire's floppy tits, what happened to you?" Rokun asked.

"Oh, I intend to tell you. But why don't we take this upstairs?"

"Zejka, honey. A bottle of that fantastic elven white you got, two glasses and whatever Gheeran had ordered."

"Your tab or his?" the woman behind the counter wanted to know.

"You got coin?" Rokun asked me.

"I just gave her some. And I promised you last time the next one would be on me. My tab," I offered.

"I'm not arguing," Rokun said. "Which room?"

A metallic scraping, then something cool bumped my fingertips before Zejka's fingers tapped mine.

"Room three. Has its own back door. Fine?" Zejka said, her hand still not moving. I slid the key towards my other hand, pocketed it and squeezed her hand back.

"Very thoughtful. Thank you."

* * * *

"You look horrible," Rokun remarked, handing me my glass, freshly refilled. I took it and leaned back until my head gently bumped into the unevenly plastered wall. At least the bed appeared to be comfy and there was no discernible movement in the straw-filled mattress. Much better than what I have seen here in the past. The wine was also a nice surprise. Refreshingly sour, yes, but without the acidic aftertaste many whites had.

"Lack of sleep," I said.

"That's not what I mean. Your face—"

"Don't go soft on me now, friend. Don't tell me a few scars are unnerving you," I said with a fierce grin, poking my finger into what remained of my left eye socket.

"It must be getting to you, despite your brave act," he observed. "You're even thinner than usual, you're pale and you're shaking."

"Told ya, lack of sleep. And I'm not wasting my nights polishing my stalagmite." I drained my glass in one long go. Good stuff.

"Got someone who does that for ya, eh?" We both shared a chuckle at that. I shook my head and held out the glass for a refill. The food, a thick stew with meat, veggies and potatoes swimming in molten cheese broth, had vanished while I told him of what had happened to me, and we were polishing off the second bottle.

"I wish. That halfling girl this morning was the closest I had gotten in the last two months. I think the days of Gheeran, ladies' man, are finally over." I said bitterly. Something Marigold had said kept coming back at me, and the more I thought about it, the angrier I became.

"I have never seen a blind man before, let alone had sex with one. Are you mad?"

Was that all I was to her? A curiosity? A black, somewhat frayed feather in her cap? I snarled and took a swig from the wine, trying to get rid of the bile in my mouth.

"Well, keeping the past behind us always helps," Rokun said.

I could picture his grim little smile. If you were to look for "stoic" in a phrase book, his finely chiselled, hawk-nosed face would look back at you. Calm grey eyes, hair somewhere between silver and snow white, pale lips, slightly pointed ears. Your typical half-elf. No matter how grim the circumstances, how nefarious the deed, his calm exterior would never change. The little grim smile was all the emotion he allowed himself to show, and there were enough people who had taken it into their grave.

"Good advice, as always." I admitted, draining the rest of the glass, again urging for a refill. The wine warmed me up and the shaking subsided. "And that's mainly what I'm here for. Advice. What the fuck am I supposed to do, Rokun? I nearly died out there today. I've never felt so ... helpless."

"Well, what you need is a cane," Rokun began after a moment.

"A cane? Look, I'm blind and all, but—"

He cut me off with his hand on my thigh.

"Let me finish. I know some beggars, war veterans who hit it pretty bad after the last raid. Remember that one where they lighted up the grain silos? Poor suckers got their faces melted off. Anyway, they are quicker and more dexterous walking with a cane than you can ever hope with that trinket of yours. Also, people will make room when they hear you coming."

I shuddered. The memory of being caught in that maelstrom of people, without any beacon for orientation, came back. The stuff of nightmares, as if mine weren't disturbing enough already.

"That's the point. What kind of assassin announces his arrival with a frickin' cane?"

"The one no one would expect. No one would think the blind man clicking up to them could be any danger. You pull out your hidden dagger and that's that. Once you're close in, that ring works, doesn't it?"

I slipped my foot out of my boot and concentrated. I could make out Rokun, sitting relaxed on the only chair in the room, both feet on the bed. Trying to hide my grin, I planted my toes right into his crotch, caressing him. His hand clasped around my ankle and shoved, hard.

"You know I don't do it with men," he snapped, a distinct note of disgust in his voice.

"You have no right to complain until you've tried at least once," I smirked.

"Who says I haven't," he spat.

"If you have, why wasn't I involved?"

"This isn't about me, you know. You asked to see me and here I am, trying my best to help you. Can we stay focussed on that for at least a moment?" Rokun moved in his seat and I heard the bottle gurgle.

* * * *

After lunch, Rokun had disappeared for about two hours, leaving me to settle in. Not that I had much to do, but a quick nap made me feel almost whole again. When he returned, he introduced me to the dwarf Harok, one of the war veterans he'd spoken about earlier.

"Now ye're like a helpless babe," Harok chuckled. I wrinkled my nose in disgust. He smelled worse than any dwarf I had the misfortune of meeting. Unwashed wasn't new, but underneath that baseline of sourness I could make out something much viler, the stench of decay. And then there was the eye-watering bite of stone water. Compared to him, Zentam, my erstwhile battle companion, smelled like a spring meadow.

I made sure to keep downwind from him as we entered the Godling's back yard. Rokun handed me a long, slender cane and I used my fingers to explore the object. It was just over four feet long and made from three pieces of oak wood. The main shaft could be split in two for easier storage, and one end had a small wooden ball, mounted to a spinning disc, attached to it. The handle was wrapped in leather and felt very nice in my hand, almost... Wait. I snaked my fingers across the thing. Yes, this was almost like a sword hilt! Grinning, I noted a button inserted into the pommel of the handle.

"Are ye listening ta me, elf?" the dwarven beggar snapped.

"I doubt it," Rokum smirked. "He has the attention span of a drunk kobold and a one-track mind. Maybe he's thinking about how to lay you."

Two releases clicked open when I pressed the button. With a soft hiss, the handle came loose and I pulled it away from the cane, noting the distinct sound of metal sliding on wood. A quick check with my free hand confirmed my suspicion. The handle ended in a slim, triangular blade, not unlike the duelling swords many nobles loved to ineffectively wave around. The weapon was built like a rapier, just not quite as long, more like in between a dagger and short sword, but it made the perfect nasty surprise.

"I think we start with walking first," Rokun whispered, handing me the rest of the cane I had dropped. I felt his hand brush mine and everything went dark. Well, not much darker than it already was, but the bubble of perception I'd started taking for granted vanished.

"You little—" I spat, whirling around and whipping the cane through the air. The thing clattered against the nearest wall, without hitting any insolent half-elves on the way.

"As with anything, you need to learn the hard way first," Rokun explained. "Once you have the basics ingrained into your very essence, then you can think about cheating reality. Now, find Harok. And mind the puddle."

"And how am I supposed to do that? I can't see!" I snapped.

"I know." His patient tone drove me up the walls. "Harok can't see either, but he managed to make his way here no problem. Plus, he told you already. You haven't been paying attention."

Sighing in defeat, I again listened to the dwarf's long-winded explanation of walking with a cane. Leave the cane-holding hand in front of your stomach and lead with the rolling ball on the floor, exploring the space where your next step would land. We were in the back yard of the Toothless Godling, but to me, it was more like a whole new continent. I felt utterly helpless as I got lost time and time again, splattering through the huge puddle in the middle of the yard, hitting the supports which held the inn's second story or just veering off-course. At the end of my first afternoon, I felt angry and frustrated, convinced that this would never work out. To add insult to injury, Rokun refused to hand me back my ring.

* * * *

Weeks later, I got the hang of feeling ahead of each step with my cane and things became a bit easier. At first, Harok had me thoroughly explore the Godling's back yard, tasking me with finding odds and ends he dropped while he was counting the time. When I managed to find those items reasonably fast, he took me out into the back alleys surrounding the inn. And something wondrous happened. Once I stopped being afraid of each new step, walking, exploring and memorizing the convoluted tangle of streets, back yards, alleyways and plazas became much easier.

Once he felt I was sufficiently secure, Harok took me along on his routes. As a blind beggar, he didn't have too many options when it came to making money, but he persevered somehow. The first long way I learned was the one to Temple Run, the wide avenue near the city center lined with places of worship to Justice, Mercy, Plenty, Death and all the other deities the humans worshiped. Once a week, Harok told me the priests of Mercy would give alms to the needy. There were shops and inns he visited where he could get some food on the cheap, but to my horror, his favourite place to get food was the Fish Market near the harbour. I was mortified for two reasons. First, the smell. Like an oily blanket, the stench of fish guts hung heavy in the air. No matter how brisk the wind, like rotting mouths the large smoke houses easily managed to foul the air and Harok told me they regularly dumped huge amounts of fish guts straight into the harbour. The second was the harbour itself. I may have gotten comfortable walking through narrow streets, but Harok's way to the Fish Market led straight through a good stretch of the Harbor, over crowded piers along the stinking basin. Hadn't it been for nimble passer-bys, I might have found out just how interesting that harbour water really was. Harok knew some people doing jobs in the fish trade, from fishermen to gutters to haulers who once were with the Guard like he was, and they supplied him with all kinds of fish-related goodies. What they got in return still eludes me.

Part Two: Summer

One morning, it had to be in my third month in Storm Harbour, I had just finished breakfast and was pampering Muffins with some leftovers, Harok slapped his meaty hand on my shoulder.

"Good news! The Guard has their annual veteran meeting and I'm invited."

I nudged his ribs with my elbow. "Did they invite a necromancer too? If you're in, all the fallen should be too,"

"Watch yer tongue, elf. I may be blind, but I don't need eyes to choke you with it. Ready for a walk?"

"Sure. Just let me get my gear." I fondled Muffins between the ears one last time, then got up.

"What are you two up to now?" Zejka asked, swooping in to collect my breakfast cutlery.

"Man stuff, wench," Harok huffed.

"Don't you get Gheeran in any trouble, you hear?" the innkeep warned

"Zejka, sweetheart. I'm a big boy," I said. By now I knew the taproom of the Toothless Godling well enough to traverse it safely, even without my cane. As long as Muffins didn't decide to sleep in the middle of the floor or some patron forgot to push his stool under the table, I was fine.

"And Harok is trouble for three." Zejka stomped back behind the bar, dumping the crockery into a tub as she went. "Just be careful, that's all I ask."

A few moments later, I had my weapons and enchanted arm guards on me and returned back to the taproom, wrapped in my cloak. "Ready."

"Good. The sooner we're there, the more we can drink," Harok said, rubbing his hands together. Then I heard him make his way to the Godling's front door.

"We're taking Carpenter's Walk up to the small market and then a bit of Trident Way. You think you can manage that?" he asked once we were outside. I nodded. Carpenter's Walk was notoriously crowded with long wagons carrying everything from tree trunks to planks to finished furniture and the draft horses would be tired and bad-tempered, but I liked the smell of freshly cut wood and sawdust. The small market was open all week, one of the places where those living in the Craftsman's Quarter could get fresh food. The monotonous "tock, tock" of our canes gave the walk something soothing, and before I knew it, I already smelled Carpenter's Walk, that aroma of sawdust, wood and horse manure. We were close to Midsummer's Eve and Storm Harbour was steaming under the unrelenting sun. There was the occasional breeze off the ocean, but by the time it reached into the Quarter, it was heavy with the stink of too many people and hardly refreshing.

We ran the gauntlet of overhanging cargo our canes couldn't detect, bustling loaders not paying attention and bad-tempered horses trying to get a kick out of kicking us.

"I wish I had me axe," Harok grumbled once we reached the end of Carpenter's Walk. "I wouldn't mind a bit of fresh horse. Beats the stale bread Mercy's giving out lately."

"You're not allowed to keep your weapon?" I asked him, incredulous.

"Nah. All me gear was property o'the city. Once they kicked me outta the Guard, they kept the armor and the axe. And I had no coin to buy a new one. Besides, when ya gotta choose between food, drink, wenches and weapons, a weapon comes up pretty late:"

I shuddered at the thought of stinking Harok writhing on top of a prostitute. I was truly glad that Zejka allowed me to use the Godling's bath without charging extra, if only to keep me from chasing away customers by being unwashed. I got yanked out of my musings when I bumped into Harok. The dwarf had suddenly stopped.