Kinky adventurers Ch. 01: Pt. 01-04

Turning up Boar Street, they entered the artisan's district. Here, it was much quieter with far fewer people bustling about. A few, lonely silversmiths, carpenters, and clothiers walked the narrow, shaded streets to their workshops. Alleyways branched off in all directions, offering ample opportunity for ambush. Spotting the large, wooden sign engraved with needle, spool and thread announcing the clothier's guild establishment a few hundred feet ahead, Sixto felt it couldn't have approached more slowly.

Yet no one impeded their progress. The narrow building--one of many row houses along Boar Street--was made of wooden slats, painted white. The large, wooden sign hung over a smallish, green door. There were windows on either side, but heavy curtains obscured what lay beyond.

All of the guilds are notoriously protective of their trade secrets, Sixto thought derisively. As if everyone in the world is desperately trying to figure out what they know.

"I suppose we just knock," Ash said in her mild drawl. When Sixto didn't move, she took one step forward, extended her white lace covered arm and wrapped thrice sharply on the door.

The sound echoed loudly in the quiet, morning air. Nervously, Sixto looked up and down the street, half expecting to see a pack of assassins emerge from their hiding places to cut him down before he could hand over the godsdamned box concealed in his leather shoulder bag.

Instead, metal clanks and clacks issued from the other side of the door as a series of locks were disengaged. This took several seconds.

Ash looked at Sixto with a raised eyebrow. "A little heavy on the security, aren't they?" she said out of the corner of her mouth.

Finally, the green door creaked open slightly. In the opening appeared a green-skinned, nearly bald head--long, wispy hairs flowing back and out of sight.

A goblin? Now it was Sixto's turn to glance at Ash with a raised eyebrow. Ash, however, hardly skipped a beat.

"We're here to speak with Master Clothier Helga Thimblethread," she said. "Is she in?"

The little green creature, dressed in a rather dapper black jacket, vest, and trousers, cleared its throat before responding. "Master Thimblethread isn't in. She hasn't yet returned from a business trip north to Falconloft." Ash and Sixto exchanged a look. "Can I deliver a message for her?"

"We have a package for her," Ash continued. "We were expecting payment in exchange for delivery. I don't suppose we could leave it with you?"

"Oh, umm, hrm... I don't have authority to pay anyone," the goblin responded, chuckling awkwardly. "I can take the package from you if you'd like, though."

"No, thanks," Sixto replied, dryly. He wasn't about to give the goods without getting paid. He hadn't slogged through the heat for days and days for nothing, and he didn't trust guild artisans as far as he could throw them (even small ones like this goblin, whom he could probably throw pretty far). "Any idea when she will return?"

Again, the goblin looked uncomfortable with the question and hemmed and hawed a bit before replying. "I'm afraid I don't know. The Master Clothier was supposed to be back by now. Now that I think of it, she was supposed to be back several days ago. It isn't like her to be late like this, and we haven't had any word from her." The goblin stopped rambling and silence ensued. After a moment the goblin shrugged apologetically.

"Very well," Ash said at length, sounding resigned. "Is there a contact in Falconloft we could speak to? Someone Helga was meeting with?"

"She had business with the Dye Master Muriel Vridanska," the goblin said in its raspy voice. "Other than that, the Master Clothier keeps her business to herself. You understand."

Another silence ensued. Sixto couldn't think of anything to say. Any way he sliced it, this was bad news. Very bad news.

Si: Is this guy telling the truth? Or are they just trying to throw us off the scent?

I: You're welcome to make an insight check if you'd like.

Si: Hmm... 19!

I: Nice! They seem to be telling you everything they know. If they're trying to deceive you, they're doing a really good job of it.

"Thank you, little master," Ash said with sardonic grace, bowing to the goblin peering behind the door. Then she turned to go. Sixto stood there a minute longer, then followed Ash after the door shut in his face.

The two stood in the street in the cool, early morning stillness. They were quiet for a moment, each gathering their thoughts. Sixto acutely felt the weight of the little box in his bag. He had no idea what was in it, but there were people in this very city looking for it. And willing to kill to get their hands on it.

This sucks, he thought. Though at least I can no longer complain that this job is boring.

"Well," Sixto said at length, looking his tiefling compatriot in the eye. "What the fuck do we do now?"

*********************************

"I'm going out," Ilya announced as she got up from the bed for the first time in hours.

"You're what?" Kit had been sitting at the small desk by the window of their room at the Hearthstone in a heavy mood for longer than she cared to admit. Not that she had been keeping track. Ash and Sixto had left some minutes before, leaving Kit to keep an eye on the nearly catatonic Ilya. Now, abruptly, she wanted to leave the inn.

"I'm going out for a walk," Ilya clarified. "I need to stretch my legs."

"You're not going anywhere," Kit replied. "It's not safe out there."

Ilya looked over at Kit with the stubborn anger of a child who has just been told 'no.' She held the gaze for a moment, then looked away and headed for the door to the hall. "I'm going to go crazy if I stay in this room any longer. I need to feel the air on my face and get out of this... cell." She gestured vaguely with her hand in the direction of the door, "Out in the city."

Kit stood and moved to intercept. "Ilya," she said, trying to sound reasonable and persuasive, "the plan was to stay inside. The last time we were out in the city the syndicate attacked us. They tried to kill you."

"They wanted the box," Ilya retorted, feeling the anger rise in her chest. "If I don't have the box, they'll have no reason to bother me." Even as she said it, however, the reasoning felt shaky.

"We're talking about the syndicate here, Ilya. Do you have any idea how dangerous these people are? Or what they're willing to do to get what they want?"

Ilya didn't know. All she knew of the syndicate, or whatever they were called, she had learned last night, when a friendly seeming man had savagely pulled her head back and laid a blade against her throat. For some reason, though, Ilya wasn't afraid.

She was angry.

A latent fury at being controlled, used, manipulated, tossed around, burned hot inside her. The thought of people willing to harm her for their own gain, or even well-meaning people like Kit trying to control her for her own protection, unleashed a deeply buried rage that she didn't fully understand, but had come to fear and respect. If she didn't get it under control she felt she would explode, and that wasn't pretty.

The last time she exploded, she really hurt someone. He had provoked her, but even so she sincerely hoped he would heal. The thought of the damage she had done, both to him and to his father's barn, made her queasy. Her adoptive family had told her in no uncertain terms that they would not defend her, and that if she didn't skip town things might get ugly.

She had taken the hint.

Now, with the events of last night on her mind--particularly the moment she had again lost control and nearly boiled a man's brain like an egg--she felt she needed to get a grip, to regain control of her feelings. Expelling a deep breath, Ilya brought herself back to the present moment. She placed her hand on the door latch to ground herself.

"Kit," she began, her voice calm but earnest. "I know you're trying to keep me safe, and you're probably right about these people being dangerous. But I can't stay in this room any longer. There are things swirling inside me right now that I don't understand, but if I don't get them under control bad things will happen. To you. To me." Ilya paused and looked Kit in the eye, almost begging her to understand. "I just need a breath of fresh air. I promise I'll come right back."

Kit looked at her friend with concern for a long moment. She didn't understand what Ilya was talking about, but she had seen what Ilya had done to that street vendor, and the way it had affected her. Something about the encounter with the fortune teller had shifted something inside of her, Kit was sure.

In short, Kit knew something was going on with her friend, but she didn't know how to help.

E: What is Ilya hiding from me? Do I get a sense of what it is?

I: I take it you're revealing as much as you want to at the moment, Seb?

Sb: Yeah, that's right.

I: Ok, then. Make an insight check, Emma. At disadvantage. And Sebastian, make a deception check.

Sb: Oh, great. Deception. Ilya's so good at that.

E: I rolled a 10. Thank your lucky stars, Seb--my other roll was a 22!

Sb: Phew! I got a 14, which is actually kinda high for me.

I: Kit's not sure, Em. She doesn't have that much to go on and would need more to figure it out.

E: Fair enough.

The least I can do, then, is get out of her way, Kit thought.

"Ok. What you're saying doesn't make sense, and I still think it's unsafe for you to be out there, but I trust you. If you say you really need to clear your head, then you do." Ilya's expression softened with gratitude.

"Thanks for understanding, Kit."

"But you're not going alone. If either of us had been alone last night, it would have ended very differently. I'm going with you."

Now Ilya's expression fell somewhat. Without saying anything, Kit sensed Ilya needed time alone. "No, I don't want to put you in danger. I can make myself look different, you can't."

"You can what?"

Closing her eyes, Ilya steadied her emotions enough to touch the roiling waters within her without losing herself in them. Muttering two key words to focus her mind on the flavor of energy she needed, Ilya drew magic from the stream. It felt like something in between drinking and breathing in. The color this time was a deep blue, with a tinge of forest green. That's the best she could do to describe it.

What Kit saw was Ilya suddenly change appearance before her eyes. Before her stood a thin, human woman with long, straight brown hair, a thin, severe face, and a flat chest. She wore a shawl over a white and blue striped blouse and long, brown skirt that came to her ankles. Hands clasped in front of her, this woman looked nothing like Ilya.

Kit's eyebrows shot up, her mouth frozen in a silent 'wow.' She knew Ilya was talented and had magical abilities she didn't understand, but tricks like this never ceased to amaze her. Ilya smiled bashfully and curtsied.

"See?" she said. "I'll be alright. They won't know it's me. And I promise," she added, her voice apologetic, "I'll be right back."

Kit sighed and gave Ilya a lopsided smile. "Alright," she relented. "Do what you need to. Just be safe, ok? Be careful. They're looking for us."

"Of course. I'll be right back." And with that she slipped out the door into the upper story hallway of the inn.

As soon as the door latched closed behind her, Kit knew in her gut that her friend was making a big mistake.

*********************************

Ilya wandered aimlessly for some time. It felt good to get lost in the labyrinthine streets of a city she knew nothing about. The anonymity was refreshing and helped her clear her head and heart of emotions and a spiral of dark, disjointed thoughts.

Si: You do know this escapade isn't helping our cause and only puts your character at risk, Sebastian.

Y: Says the guy who went after a stag while the rest of us were just trying to get to Tristanfell.

Si: Yeah, but look what that got us: Kit and Emma tied up naked!

Sb: I'm aware, Silus. But this is honestly what Ilya would do. She's gotta clear her head somehow. She might seem like the nice, accommodating, obedient type on the surface, but deep down she resents being controlled and has her own shit to figure out.

I: I, for one, applaud the authenticity of the role playing going on here.

E: So do I!

Sb: Thanks, you guys.

Si: Can't say anything to that.

As traumatic as the attack had been, Ilya had to admit to herself that it was the exchange with the fortune teller that was bothering her the most.

What is it about what that woman said that's getting to me? Ilya wondered, for once having little trouble keeping her face dour and pensive as part of her illusion. This sober, chaste female was one Ilya often chose when she needed to change her appearance. It worked well because the two of them could hardly be more different without having to change her gender (the illusion didn't change her voice) or her size by much (the illusion couldn't add mass to her body, either).

Was it the implication that trauma from my past is about to be revealed? This thought worried Ilya perhaps more than any. Truth be told, she knew almost nothing about her childhood, and there were plenty of questions about herself she couldn't answer. Prior to being adopted along with her brother (how old was she when this had happened?) Ilya's memory was vague and hazy at best. She recalled living in a dark, wood and stone structure with few windows and a large, dark basement. Her adoptive parents--straightforward, no-nonsense farmers--had informed her this was an orphanage she and her brother had run away from, and that they should be grateful to have been taken in at all.

Ilya supposed this was true--things could have gone worse. But she couldn't help the sense that the small farming community she grew up in wished the Clay's hadn't taken her in, and that her adoptive parents felt the same way.

Thing is, strange things often happened around Ilya, whether she willed them to or not. They weren't always sinister or violent, but they honestly didn't have to be to rouse the fear and suspicion of people who didn't want anything to do with things they couldn't understand.

If she was being honest, Ilya didn't particularly want much to do with the river of energy flowing through her, either. And it had taken her a long time to understand it enough to make friends with it. Well, they were mostly friends. Sometimes it simply erupted, as if it were a caged animal and Ilya was simply a door through the iron bars that could be forced open if enough pressure was applied, or if it was carelessly left unlocked.

A series of unfortunate, unexplainable events involving Ilya and the village children and adolescents culminated in the burning of farmer Vildain's barn and the serious wounding of his son. The patience of the townsfolk reached a breaking point and Ilya was sent into informal exile.

So you can understand, perhaps, Ilya's trepidation when a sober-faced fortune teller informed her that past secrets and trauma were about to resurface. But if anything, the prediction of liberation from captivity or control was more ominous, though here Ilya couldn't say why. She just knew in her gut that she would rather not find out, but that fate wasn't going to let her stay ignorant much longer.

"Would you like to buy any jewelry, young lady?"

Ilya had been so lost in her thoughts that the voice startled her.

"I don't mean no harm, young lady, I'm just peddling my wares."

Before her stooped an elderly dwarvish woman with a wrinkled face and long, gray hair pulled back in a bun. She wore an apron with numerous pockets and cloth loops, in and on which hung all manner of jewelry and trinkets. None of it looked particularly valuable. Nor did the peddler look particularly wealthy.

"These complement your blouse nicely," she said in a kindly voice, holding up a pair of silver-looking earrings with small, blue stones set in them. Immediately wary of a scam, Ilya thought they were probably burnished pewter. Still, the woman looked like she hadn't had a customer in some time. Fishing around in her coin purse (and taking care not to ruin the illusion) Ilya discovered she had only a few silver and a handful of copper pieces. Coming up with sufficient 'gold' to fool the Kra'koa chieftain and buy Kit's sexy tits from captivity had depleted her reserves.

"I'm sorry, I really don't have any money," Ilya offered, sounding apologetic.

"Oh, that's alright, dear. I don't charge high prices." Putting the earrings back, she took a solid metal necklace from a pocket in her apron. This was no chain with a pendant on the end--it was a solid circle of what looked like honest to goodness silver. It was open, and the two halves of the circle of metal moved upon a tiny hinge. At the front end of one side a large amethyst was set in a beautiful colored metal.

Is that rose gold? Ilya wondered. How did this woman get her hands on something this valuable?

"This would complement your eyes perfectly, my dear."

"Oh, I promise you I don't have enough for that," Ilya said, and this time truly meant it. "That looks well made and very valuable."

"It is. It is," the aged dwarf assured her. "But for you I'll part with it for less than others. Try it on, at least. Young ladies like yourself deserve to wear such beauty." She straightened up and offered it to Ilya, a sweet smile on her face. Unwilling to say no without even giving it a try, Ilya took the circlet.

It is beautiful, Ilya thought to herself. I'll try it on, inform her I couldn't possibly afford it, and move along.

The item was slender, but felt strong and firm in Ilya's hands.

Sb: Do I have any idea what this is? Have I seen anything like it before? Is it magical?

I: Make an arcana check for me.

Sb: Hmm... believe it or not, arcana is not Ilya's strong suit. [Rolls]. 5.

I: You have no clue. You've never seen anything like it before, and have no idea if it's magical.

Pulling it over her head, Ilya set the hinge at the back of her neck and clicked the two halves together at her throat.

In that instant, three things happened.

First, the amethyst briefly flared a bright purple color. Ilya hardly noticed this, however, because at the same time a horrible sensation came over her with a shocking suddenness. If channeling the magic flowing within her body felt like drinking from a stream or inhaling deeply, this felt like suddenly going blind or deaf, as if someone had pulled a heavy sack over her head. She felt like she could hardly breathe.

The stream of potential that had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember was gone. She was cut off entirely from the Source.

In a panic, Ilya pulled at the circlet but it would not open. Her terror-filled eyes searched for the peddler's, but what she found there was a nasty, vicious grin.

"Is something the matter, child?" she asked, a dark laughter dancing in her eyes.

Before Ilya could gather her wits, her gaze--cast downward toward the gem at her throat--took in her form. Instead of the prim, reserved, modest young lady, Ilya saw a half-laced leather bralette, an exposed, trim belly, and low-slung skirt that went halfway to her knees.

The illusion was gone, too. Which meant everyone could see who she really was.

Panic rising, Ilya whirled around, half expecting to see armed thugs leaping at her. What she saw instead was darkness. The inside of a burlap bag, that is.

The bag smelled of coffee beans. She felt someone's hands pull drawstrings tight and felt claustrophobia swirl alongside her panic, now completely out of control. Letting go of the circlet, Ilya clawed at the bag, but it wouldn't come off. She felt someone--multiple individuals?--simultaneously grab both her forearms and twist them behind her back. She began to scream, but a heavy, gloved hand clamped itself over her mouth.