It was all very funny up until it actually happened.

A little over two years ago, Caden Law had written in his diary that he wanted to find and take out certain frustrations on an Elven prostitute. Later, he added that he might need two just to get the kinks out. Eventually, it hit him that such an obsession -- even passive and fanciful as it was -- was unhealthy. Then it became a joke and, once in a while, served as an effective deterrent to conversation: 'What're you here for?' someone might ask, and Caden would pleasantly answer, 'I'm looking for an Elven prostitute! I'm sure one exists out there somewhere!' And then he'd get stared at and the other person would very uncomfortably move away.

Hilarious. Really.

Up till the moment Caden actually saw it.

Anebrilith was a city in tatters, but it was still an Elf city in tatters. Caden expected that the people would have some shred of dignity left, some unbroken pride and that haughty air about them that he just loved to hate. But they didn't. All the buildings were run down, and plenty of them were piles of rubble. Some were just missing parts: Doors here, shutters there, anything flammable. There was vandalism scattered about the place. Symbols, sigils, emblems, quotes and even just the names of choice passages. A few memorials caked in mud along walls nobody stopped to look at. And the scenery was just a reflection of the people in it. Caden saw little children running in the muck, not as if they were playing, but as if they were running for their very lives. He saw men sitting broken at their front doors, slough-eyed charicatures of their former selves. The few people that were roaming the streets in anything resembling good help were actually Men, and the occasional Dwarf or Orc. All pirates and slumlords in the most literal sense, most decked out in whatever passed for their ship's uniform.

At the docks, Caden found a tavern that hadn't been gutted. It had furniture swiped straight out of a museum, and priceless art sat crooked and defaced on its walls. Most of the inhabitants were Men, harder looking than Caden would ever be. Coronians in red and stained white, Salvarans in black and blue, maybe a half-dozen Fallien rogues differentiated by both their dusky skin and the style and make of their linens. Scarabrians too, and more. All of them looked like filth to him; the kind of men who would be shot on sight for one past crime or another in most parts of the world. They weren't welcome here either, but they were the ones who had food and drink. And they had women because of it.

This is where Caden finally, finally saw her, and the joke stopped being funny. He stepped into the tavern, just to see what was going on, and there she was. Some nameless beauty, weathered and tarnished and half-naked on the floor. A fresh bruise, shaped in the print of a Man's hand, covered one of her cheeks and eyes. Something was dripping from around her mouth, and there was a Man laughing it up not three feet away from her, and his friends were laughing with him. For a full minute, Caden watched as she sat there. Her eyes were cold and unresponsive. She blinked a few times, audibly swallowed, then wiped her face off with one of her skirts and stood up. One of them tossed her a loaf of stale bread, and another offered meat if she was willing to do something Caden didn't quite hear clearly.

She didn't even stop to think about it. In full view of every single soulless thing in that tavern, she disrobed.

Caden left in short order. He went back outside, over to the edge of the docks. He leaned over those dark, troubled waters, with what looked like dead fish actually swimming in them, and he tried not to vomit as all the implications, realities, and rancid truths finally hit him at once. Elven whores did exist. And there wasn't anything worth laughing about where they were concerned.

"Oy," someone said. They had an accent thick enough to hear from one syllable. "Nice hat." And they weren't speaking Raiaeran either.

"Hat," Caden corrected them. "Capital H."

"Nice threads in gen'ral. Spidersilk, right?"

"You can't have them," Caden sighed, straightening up and looking at his visitor. It was another Man, bigger and taller than him. Pirate, judging by the off white shirt and the green bandana. Had a bona fide cutlass on each hip and a crossbow in hand.

"Oh, c'mon now," he said. The crossbow was already aimed. "No need to make hasty gen'ralizations like that. I could just want ya liver."

"Get in line."

"Real joker, arn'tcha?"

"Wizard, actually."

Which had no effect whatsoever. The pirate grinned. He had big, blocky teeth and a thinly cut goatee to boot. "N'the real question is, what's a Wiza'd doin' out here, a Man no less, unaffiliated. See, I don't recognize ya. And our good friend the Baron makes sure ev'ryone what comes he'e, knows each other-"

"I took the front door," Caden replied. "Incidentally, you might want to watch out for my associate behind you."

"Oldest trick in the book," said the pirate. And then, without looking, he whipped a throwing knife from his sleeve and hurled it over his shoulder. It sank to the hilt in a rotted old wooden beam that somehow hadn't been burned for warmth yet. "Takes more 'an that t'fool the Dread Pirate Granai, bub."

"Noted." Caden wiggled his fingers a bit. The motion wasn't lost on Grannai.

"Fingers," he said. "Thumbs, Wizzy. Oh, don't look so su'prised. I know 'bout 'ow you pricks cast ya spells."

"Good for you," Caden sighed. And then he threw up a Gravity Gambit anyway, the air warping in and out on itself less than an inch from his pinky. Hand up, the sphere grew larger. Grannai fired his bolt and Caden's spell barely caught the tail end of it with the tip less than an inch from the left lense of his glasses. The bolt went wide in reverse, snapping in half as it flew back at Grannai. The pirate threw his first weapon aside and drew both cutlasses with a laugh, rushing forward in the same breath.

Caden drew his sword just in time to bash the first strike away and scare Grannai out of making the second. The pirate lurched back, cagey and grinning like a maniac. Caden grimaced.

"Did you just feel like starting a fight for fun, or what?" he asked.

"Words already out," Grannai replied. "'Bout a Wizard chargin' straight through the gate-lines. Oh, we know all about you, blue-hat."

"Blueraven," Caden corrected. They were on a pier already. No ground to twist beneath Grannai's feet. Any attack would have to be direct. At least there weren't any ships on either immediate side. Not that the prospect of zombie fish was any more appealing than an ambush, and Caden wasn't ruling out snipers. "Your plan needed some work."

"Plan?" Grannai asked. "Fun's never planned!"

And he surged forward, leading left and swinging in right for the follow-up. Caden blocked one, parried against both, missed on his counter and barely managed to avoid the kick that followed. Grannai was twirling his left cutlass so fast it was hard to follow, but that was just a distraction and the right cutlass came swinging for Caden's face. It missed. Caden backpedaled, nearing the end of the pier as he went. Grannai charged after him, pouring on the offense. He wasn't Death Lord-grade, but he knew what he was doing. Keep up the pressure, don't let the Wizard have a chance to get his wits about him for spellcasting. There are plenty of reasons why a plain mob can take out a spellcaster: Pitchforks and torches are bloody well effective if you bring enough of them. Grannai was able to replicate that effect through sheer speed and unpredictability.

Up to the moment that Caden jumped forward and willingly took a hit square to the chest. Grannai's left cutlass stopped twirling, bounced off the breastplate so hard that it left the pirate's hand, and Grannai jumped back in surprise. Caden took a blind thrust for the man's leg and missed, barely dodging the counter with his arm intact. It didn't matter. Caden drew back with his free hand and the wand was already flipping up into his grasp. The Wizard stepped away, Grannai surged back up to his feet-

Blueraven hit him almost point blank with a blast of raw heat and force, followed by a frigid aftershock. It blew Grannai's shirt open and left a burnt patch of ice on his chest and shoulder. The pirate staggered in surprise and pain. Caden lunged in and took Grannai's right arm off in an instant, and the pirate collapsed, screaming. But he wasn't bleeding. The stump didn't even leak. A second or two later, as Caden finished realizing what was going on, Grannai rolled right off the pier and into the water. Caden rushed to see what happened to him, but the only sight that greeted the Wizard was that of bubbles churning up to the surface.

"Huh," he sounded to himself. Waited. Stabbed his sword hilt deep through the pier, just to be safe. Drew it back up, no blood. He then inspected the arm. Which was still twitching slightly. It bore a mark like a very stylized K.