Furtive Truths
Twenty-Fourth Day of the Eighth Month 293 AC
A masterfully painted eye in a fine wooden sign adorned with bronze filigree was the indication that one had arrived at "The Furtive Smile," a recently opened and thus particularly busy establishment of what could be defined as a "Pillow House" in Essosi cities. The eyelashes were both exaggerated but harmonious at the same time, fading in the background of the painting seamlessly, eliciting curiosity on the onlooker.
Dirron stepped back.
Why was I doing this again? Yes, he knew why, of course. But there must have been better ways to do this than heading headfirst into a lair of debauchery. He felt Rygal press harder against his arm, the small child of seven not bothering to hide his terror at all. He had to do something about it.
I'm barely five years older than him, why am I not telling the Inquisition? he thought.
Of course, so that I finally get taken seriously there.
"Are you sure that the guy you saw never,
ever, came back?"
"Y-yes. He was way too fat for me to not notice it. And it happened three days ago. These places are made so that you go there only one night, right?"
Dirron assured the little guy that he was correct. In truth, he had no clue about this whole business, but he was damn tired of not getting taken seriously. At least this kid saw him as somebody bigger than him. He scratched his oversized dewlap with far more strength that would be healthy. Far too long he had been discriminated by being a child of the sins against nature that ocurred in the Old Deep. He had to make do under Glyra's band of orphans until the Scholarum was founded and fortunately accepted him, but even then he had always been "Frog-Face Dirron". He closed his fist tightly and stepped forwards.
I got to do this.
As he stepped closer, a subtle aroma of flower mixed with what seemed fruits and other things he did not quite identify permeated his nose. That only meant that this was not going to be cheap. Fortunately, he was used to not having enough to eat, so he had managed to scrounge some money. As he arrived to the door, the perfume grew slightly stronger as a woman came from the shadowy interior.
"First time, dear?"
At his total lack of any kind of answer she quickly followed up and invited him to enter, obviously used to sort through the kind of guy who was Dirron.
"Don't worry, dear, you will have a
great time in here. I'm Lady Rosebud, please feel like you're at your own home," she said as they walked. She was wearing a simple but elegant dress with a matching degrade of cream and black that accentuated her waist. Dirron was trying, and unbeknownst to him, failing, at not blushing as he accompanied her through a barely illuminated hallway, until finally coming to a finely furnished hall. The frippery was not too ostentatious, opting instead for drawing the onlooker to the many paintings on the wall, all sharing a same motif: beautiful angels and fiends, all of them engaged in acts that ranged from passion, to chivalry and scorn.
What I'm supposed to do now? I don't even know how this works. Fortunately for him, he was saved by an apology coming from the Lady.
"Would you mind waiting here for a moment? I'm afraid that we are being quite
successful today."
"N-no. It's fine," Dirron said as he analyzed the art. He was particularly caught by a depiction of a fiendish lady being helped to her feet by a
spirit of freedom.
"A fine piece I commissioned to a Braavosi artist, don't you think?" He nodded. "But I see you are a cultured young man. You come from the Scholarum, if I'm not mistaken."
Shit. Why can't I lie like a fucking normal person? "Yes. I'm not too advanced, though". He was near casting spells of the third circle, but maybe by downplaying himself he would at least have a chance to defend himself.
"I see. We have
preferential treatment for those who work
so hard to protect us from the perils of beyond. Would you like to accompany me?" She motioned to one of the doors and gave him a delicate smile that seemed to invite him to other things, even more than her eyes.
All right, this is a good opportunity to gather more information.
"Of course."
What information was he even supposed to gather? He was going to disappear here so that she could suck out his magic and summon fiends with it or something.
This time he was directed to a room that looked more like an office than a bedroom… something that confused him a lot. She invited him to take a seat and he obliged, hoping not to antagonize her now.
"So…" she began as she grabbed a teacup and started pouring water into it. It seemed to start gathering heat on its own. "I suppose that you did not come here to make use of our services, or did I commit a very grave mistake?" The way she said almost made him assure her that she was right, but that was her game, wasn't it?
"I need to ask you some questions, Lady Rosebud," he said as he tried to be serious.
Maybe my oversized neck will at least scare her a little bit; fucking squids did a little favor for me.
"Of course. I'll try to answer to the best my ability," she said, as she rested her chin on her hand, her pinky delicately caressing her lips.
"When did you arrive to Sorcerer's Deep?"
"A bit more than a year, but I came and went and decided to settle recently," she answered in a casual tone.
"Do you have any family?" Dirron continued with his improvised flurry of questions.
"Not any more. My father died a long time ago, and my mother suffered a similar fate recently." Her sadness was deliberately faked.
The mark of crazy cultist to who knows which fiendish power.
"And you decided to start this business, then?" he pressed on.
"Yes, life happened to give me a fairly sizable sum of money, so I decided to invest in some honest business to make better this city… and entertain myself," she said as she bit her lower lip.
The fuck was wrong with this woman? Did she eat those she captured?
A harmonious noise much like a bell interrupted his thoughts. It was the kettle indicating that it was ready. Lady Rosebud stood up. "Please, let me pour you a cup of tea…" She came closer, leaned, and suddenly she was sitting sideways on his lap as she poured the tea.
"I'm sure that you didn't come here to hear about my dead father, young man," she said as her head came closer to him, her lips almost touching his forehead. He could faintly feel her breath. And he was turning redder than a badly sunburnt foreigner visiting the Deep.
"Especially if he died a few
thousand years ago." It was then that Dirron noticed the small fangs in her mouth, and something leathery sprouted from her back and covered most of his vision.
He tried to scream, but no sound came out. In fact, he could not hear anything. But a moment of clarity let him
cast without speaking, and so a
spark of raw magic energy hit her right on her face, forcing her back.
As he was racing for the door, it opened. Little Rygal was on the other side, gesturing for him to come. Dirron raced as fast as he could. He crossed the portal and something caught his feet and he fell. He scrambled and turned up. Rygal was upon him, trying to free him. But the little kid's face started to melt away into another one. A sharp row of teeth and a pair of orange catlike eyes stared at him. A
familiar pair of cat eyes.
"Help me, Glyra!"
She chuckled. Dirron looked back. The demonic woman had recovered and had come through the door. He uttered a curse word known only to those native to the Deep and tried to stand up.
"Another of your 'little' pranks, Glyra?" the fiend asked the little gremlin. "Or is this another of your supposed lessons?" she asked with irritation. Dirron had stopped struggling to just stare dumfounded at what was just happening.
"Both of them, actually!" Glyra said as she chuckled in the most irritating way possible.
The demonic woman sighed and turned to Dirron, as if discarding an action that has no chance of fruition, like throwing a rock to the air and hoping it won't fall.
"Boy, I don't know what were you thinking, but if you suspected something about me, then did you really think that the best course of action would be to
charge headfirst into my lair? Live another day and tell the tale. Your friends and family will value that, even if you don't."
"I-I don't have a family" Dirron stuttered almost involuntarily. Maybe it was the shock of a near-death experience, but the situation was so unbelievable that he didn't even care about that at this point.
The woman raised an eyebrow and spoke to the gremlin. "That's the lesson, should I adopt suicidal frog-face here?"
"No, he is supposed to be your friend. You already have children to take care of!"
The lady froze as if she had been just stabbed, but quickly recovered. She showed a deliberately fake smile.
"Just so that you know, Glyra, the next time I find a dretch nest I'm shoving you neck-deep into their filth."
OOC: There are a lot of unfinished plots around. So I wanted to claim this one eventually.