The Never I Know

[Sulla]

[Mature Content Warning Further Up]

There’s something in the crackle of a fire that I’ve always found appealing. Watching it blaze and scorch some long dead tree before its uncontrolled lust forces it to burn itself out; the poet in me could spend hours pinning after the right words for it. But poets are shifty, substanceless dreamers with no more weight to them than the strange, meaninglessness that they imagine.

The pragmatist in me found himself attempting to lounge lazily in an office chair, blissfully staring off into the nearby hearth. Religious iconography kept a steady and endless watch from wall to floor. It was a windowless, spartan room, with furnishings as rigid and drab as the client who prattled before me. Religious iconography kept a steady and endless watch from wall to floor.

“Have you heard a word I’ve said” Despite the thick stone walls that surrounded us, I could swear I felt the chill of Salvaran winds brush against me. Turning my head slowly, a smile cheek to cheek, I blinked at him as my eyes adjusted to the dimmer light.

“Unfortunately,” I responded, my grin growing as I watched a vein bulge on his bulbous bald head. “You have need of a witch hunter, as strange as it seems, coming from a man in charge of an entire unit of such men.” He was humorless and grim, and took himself far too seriously. Had he my view, of the pit stained white tunic and glisteningly fetid brow, perhaps he’d lighten up a bit.

“You come highly recommended,” he said, clearing his throat and shuffling through some loose parchments on the desk in between us, though oddly not looking at them. “I need that. I like that -”

“I don’t.” My outburst had caught him off guard; military men rarely gave compliments, and outright denying them was tantamount to keeping a blunt blade at your side - senseless, alarming, and strange. “You can imagine, in my line of work, a reputation is more a detriment than the … lofty service to god and country you are use to. Humility and meagerness make a wonderful cloak, far easier to hide within than the shimmering white armor of pride.”

“Be that as it may,” he began with a voice hinting at the guttural growl more suited to speaking with his soldiers, “I’m in need of a talented individual for this case.”

I leaned in, intrigued more by his shallow, shameless ass-kissing than the words themself. “Have you not some godly man more up to the task? Do you really, really need someone like me?”

In truth, I would never tempt someone not to hire me, but I noticed the only true adornment his barren hall had in it. Banners, signs, symbols, all in simpering reverence for the Church of the Ethereal Sway. I have a contempt for life, but theists, true and unwavering believers, they raise a bile in my throat that no water could cleanse. They quake during storms, mewling and kneeling, instead of taking shelter. They toil and breed in some fruitless attempt to suffer enough in this world so that their long absent gods will return to lead them again. And as I watched the commander nervously fiddle with the stitching on his tunic, sewn in the shape of an all-seeing eye, I could not sheathe a tongue I’d kept still for far too long.

“The civil war has left us in dire need. The godly men I had have gone to meet the Sway with sword in hand and heaviness vanished from their hearts. What I need now is someone of skill to fill the ranks, who can get the job done with the utmost discretion.” Those calloused, bony fingers stopped fretting about his tunic to rest gently on his nose, and we locked eyes for what seemed like forever. He was dreadfully simple, and I could sense his need to intimidate me into silence. “I already have some green recruits on the lookout, scouring this city as we speak.”

“And, I am to assume, they know nothing of this meeting?”

“No one knows of this meeting. No one except you, I, and your handler who helped set it up.”

“And your gods, of course.” I stood then, to pace about the room, allowing the click of my boot to echo off barren stone floor. “I’ll do it,” I finally said, pausing mid-walk to lean down to his level for a handshake. “But I’ll require that journal you were talking about earlier.” He coughed a bit into his arm, and gave me a rather weary look.

“Her mother’s writings? Why would you ever need to peer into such heretical nonsense?”

“You bring different weapons whether you hunt boar or stag, you take different trails, and you look for different signs. Have the book delivered to my room at the inn tonight, and I’ll start the chase tomorrow.” Rising then, we some great inner need to leave the room, I strode to the door and opened it slowly, before turning my head one last time. “Unlike those green recruits, you can count on me. I always finish a job.”

[Sulla]

Knife’s Edge was a city with all the bustle of a funeral home and none of the benefit. The narrow streets were cramped and dingy; the snow upon them stained a reprehensible gray. Buildings imposed themselves around the market’s edges, casting long and winding shadows that made the byzantine maze all the more treacherous to follow. A crowd was gathered up ahead at a few of the less scarce looking merchant stalls. The people dredged about at a slovenly place, their pale faces picturesque in misery. The old and sickly unnumbered the healthy by a wide margin, and the weaker sex seemed to dominate both the shopping and the work. Haggard old woman lumbered about with bundles larger than themselves, tilting from one side to the other with every step. Ragged, barefoot children played in the streets despite the cold, until their elders chided them to complete some meaningless task.

War had not been kind to Salvar, but those that had lived through it would thrive. That was war’s nature.

I could see them, clad in black robes with stray bits of armor scavenged from whatever armory they had left. Tall, bulky, cruel inquisitors made their way through the citizenry, questioning anyone who looked the least bit suspicious; in truth, whoever seemed the least pious. They wore swords and axes at their sides, but held cudgels firmly in their hand to smash upon any fool whose tongue wasn’t quick enough with the answers they needed. I watched a few brilliant splatters of blood seep off into the distance, but I hadn’t taken to the streets to find entertainment.

To my left was the alleyway I had been searching all morning for. I came across some scattered mentions of it in the journal delivered to me, though they were hidden beneath lyrical verse and mired in the allusionary nature of such whimsy. The mother’s writing was part poetry book, part spell tome, and part diary, and all of it held that dreadfully aloof mystery that made my investigation no more difficult, only more vexing. Approaching the unassuming passageway, I spied a beggar sitting cross-legged on the ground. He had but one good hand, but seemed to make some whimpering attempt to play the lute at his side, all the time eyeing the hat in front of him as he hoped for another handout.

“What other songs do you know?” I knelt down to whisper playfully at him in the common tongue. My grasp of the Salvic tongue was meager at best, and there was no way for me - full of stomach and head of hair - to pretend to be one of the sickly, dreary natives.

“Many and more, good sir. I could play a medley for you, if you likes.” His face had lit up like I had dangled a morsel of food in front of it. “Err, if it pleases you, sir.”

I smiled at him, getting in uncomfortably close to watch him squirm a bit. “I’m afraid I’ve little ear for music, but as a traveler here, I can’t help notice how dour the people seem. Is it always like this?” He nodded slowly, inching back to the wall behind him. “Then you should take your gift to the masses over there. It looks as though there’s some trouble, and the soothing string can still even the most savage heart, yes?”

“I’m afraid I’ve been told just to play here, sir.” He kept one leg close to his money, and tightened the grip on his instrument. I didn’t need the gift of empathy to feel his plight. I withdrew ten gold coins from my pocket, letting them slip slowly from my hand into his hat. I could feel his gaze bob with each clink. “...but I’ve never been one for taking orders, sir.” He popped right up, grabbing his equipment, before strolling towards the crowd. I leaned against the entryway to the alley, waving him one last goodbye as he turned and nodded at me at a distance. When he played his first chord, I took my chance and slipped myself into the shadows. The first task was over, I’d paid the gatekeeper. The journal had recommended three gold coins, but I’d rather not be known for getting in. Though my glasses hid my real face from memory, one could never be too careful when it came to being memorable.

As I walked through the slick and narrow passageway, taking winding turns and sharp corners, I was stopped at the deadend of a large, wooden wall. The second test had come. Knocking sharp and rapidly three times, I saw a small slider above me open with a pair of bloodshot eyes peering down a foot above.

“What are gods, if not there?” I whispered so softly, one might mistake it for the sound of a sudden flurry. What little sun the day had shimmered a reflection off my glasses as I stared upwards.

But then I heard a bolt clink and a knob turn, and a small hidden door opened for me.

[Sulla]

Descending down decrepit steps, each creak was like a formal announcement. Billows of smoke wafted up from the depths below and mingled with a tangle of curtains that I had to fight through to finally reach the bottom floor. As I arrived, I was greeted by a whole cavalcade of unfamiliar faces, whose steely eyes refused to stop staring at a newly arrived stranger. Dressed in gray finery and sable fur, I must admit to feeling particularly foolish. Though a rather plain color to match my uninteresting locale, I'd purchased the disguise in hopes of not seeming too ostentatious. Of course, I’d prepared for such an unwelcoming reception. Just out of sight, I caught a lithe figure darting between table and bar. On closer inspection, I spied him to be a comely server, just old enough to be a man, but lacking many of the trappings. He wore a leather apron slick with grease and his blonde hair was cut trim to only an inch or so. As he passed closely by me with tray in hand, I gave him a nod and a wink, and he smiled right back.

And then, all eyes in the room turned back to their conversations, their games, and their drinks.

This fetid hole in the ground was a refuge for godless citizens of Knife’s Edge. Men with facial tattoos that marked them as thieves and rapers played dice together at a table, while whores pranced from one lap to the next in search of a decent night’s wage. Gaunt and wrinkled men of science and philosophy huddled in circles together, arguing their newest thesis or proposition. And everywhere people watched the stairs, worried a raid could occur at any moment to steal away their secret eden away from the prying eyes of religion. The witch mother’s journal told a lot about this bawdy house. No doubt if I was in the business of finding a heretic, it would be the best place to start.

“Hello,” I chimed at the barkeeper, who seemed to slither at an uneven pace between nearly sleeping patrons, “a glass of your finest wine, if you’d be so kind.” I slid a gold piece across the bar, no doubt worth far more than the dregs in a dingy glass I’d be served. But I was an aloof foreigner, naive of the world I entered. No more could be expected of me.

“Where do you hail from?” As he asked, he snatched the coin up and inspected it for authenticity, before satisfying himself of its value. He poured a labelless bottle inside what could pass as a wine glass, before sliding it my way.

“Corone, Radasanth properly.” I sipped gingerly from my libations, careful not to let my face betray the putrid stench, the acidic taste, or my general dislike of alcohol. I had to dance carefully with it, drinking just enough to avoid suspicion, and little enough not to have another incident. “An old sailor friend of my father’s told me of this place, that it might be just what I needed when I was looking for something in Salvar?” I craned my head again towards the server, who was too busy taking an order to notice the advance.

The bartender merely nodded.

“Aye, that can be arranged.” And he was off again, to busy himself with another patron.

Suspicion was rife in the air, and every man who sat in the bar had something to lose if they were too forthcoming with the knowledge I needed. But whores were a different sort. You met them in private and comfort, and they’d do anything for money, especially when you could give them a bit of the unexpected.

[Sulla]

(Mature Content Warning/It gets gay, folks. And a pretty creepy.)

Stripped of his work attire and tussled in satin sheets, I could see why the tavern kept this private room better lit than the rest of it. Out among those unwashed masses, too much light could drive business away or make it more difficult for the covey of thieves that would have picked my pocket as soon as greeted me. But the small and cozy bedroom was rather becoming of the lad I picked. His features were not too strong, and he had the rather womanly habit of covering his mouth whenever he laughed. Besides the top of his head and a patch down below, the hair had been plucked off him with a near obsession, and strange and fragrant lotion now covered his skin to hide the rank smell of grease he earned in his day job. He giggled staring into my eyes and running his hands across my bare chest, and arched his back to allow me to take in the full view.

“You’re ravishing,” I swore to him as I planted a few kisses on the nape of his neck, though before long they turned into gentle bites. I had to restrain myself a bit, I’d not have the best history with whores. “What do they call you?”

“Ivanovich, if it pleases you. Others, if it does.” He words were more moans than substance, and his act had begun before I had time to even realize it. The whore curled himself up a bit into the sheets, snatching at them to cover nothing of interest. “And you, mi’lord?” Hs speech was slurred enough for my liking. Though it took two bottles of the house red, I felt it a worthy investment.

“Dorian,” I whispered in between tugs at his ear, “if it pleases me.” It was a name I’d encountered the last time I hired such services, though it hadn’t been a cover then. I was younger and more foolhardy, and in the wisps of black smoke that trailed off from the oil lamp nearby, I could swear I saw his face in Ivanovich. Well, his face after I was through with it.

From the floor beside the bed he produced a small, clear vial of viscous liquid that he poured on himself. It stank of sickly sweet and saccharine, but my fingers trailed his body with no resistance now. He gave the bottle to me as I spun him on his stomach and looked upon that pristine backside. I threw a few droplets on myself and dumped the rest to seep into him, working it gently, though constantly, deep inside. As I mounted him and heard that ridiculous gasp he gave, I continued to bite him, harder now, from shoulder to back to neck.

I abhorred the pretense of it all. His quivering lacked the elegance and natural beauty I was use to, and the bottles contents had never been my prefered lubricant. Had I the time and the chance to get away, I’d have fucked him raw and saw what kind of man he really was. Each of my bites wouldn’t timidly linger, but puncture and rip. And if he made a single sound I did not find pleasing, fake ecstasy or escaping terror, I’d strangle him so that every pump would match a quickening, then slowing, heartbeat.

But I did not come to him for pleasure.

“How long have you worked here,” I said between thrusts, my voice already starting to sound a bit hoarse. My hands continued the work my teeth had begun, massaging with some great pressure. Sex without pain, after all, was like food without taste.

“Three -.” It was hard to tell if his gasps were genuine now, but I had some hope with the fury I was unleashing. “Three years…mi’lord.” I slowed my pace for a moment, to allow him to catch his breath. Truth be told, I couldn’t last much longer with the image of his lifeless eyes still fresh in my mind.

“They start you young, I see. I’m glad I got to you when I did, young’s not to my taste.” Starting up again, concentrating on anything else, I grabbed his shoulders to push against me with every pump. “This is a great place.” Tense moments came and passed as we continued. I tried to focus on the flickering flame from the oil lamp, to keep myself going ahead for as long as possible.

“How di..did you hear ab..out it, Dorian?” He was panting now, raising himself on all fours like an animal and perfectly postured for me. They trained them well there, but not too well. I told him my lie, of my home, of my sailor friend from my father’s merchant fleet, and his glowing recommendation of the debauchery that took place.

When I finished with the easy part, I pulled out and propped Ivanovich on his back again to work him over with my hands. I had a deft touch, and a cock wasn’t too different from a knife. Both longed for something to sheath in. He gasped in surprise as I paid attention to him for a while. Between each rhythmic writhe, I snatched a gold coin from my pouch on the bed and slid it along the contours of his body. So gilded did he become, that I wondered if I was not preparing his torso for the ferry to the underworld. And he smiled, oh how he smiled. Whores are woefully predictable.

“He did mention one thing to me of some peculiarity,” I said hushed up against his ear, moving my tongue and mouth across his face as I continued to play down below. “He spoke of some witch woman he was desperately enamored with, by the name of Dranealla I believe. He’d wanted me to pass on some words of undying devotion for him, which he thought I’d be rather good at.” I used my second sight to peer into his eyes, and felt the lash of lust against me, and a meager little eagerness for release. He seemed, by all counts, to be in the palm of my hand.

But I felt a twinge of sadness then, and an echo of remorse.

“I’m...I’m afraid…” He words couldn’t come quickly enough, among other things. “She’s dead, my lord. Killed. By the inquisition. Not two months ago.” It was of no surprise to me, I had her journal, after all. But still my eyes widened and my hand stopped.

“Oh, he’ll be very depressed to hear that. And I, disappointing him further, with a message she’ll never receive.”

“She has daughter, who’s here now!” I broke contact with him before I could feel his full wave of desperation. That was a surprising tidbit, and one that truly shocked me, if only for a second. The bar was crowded, but given my skill and how dark things were kept out there, I could dispose of her and the whore both if… “I can take you to her,” he began impatiently, but his voice soothed to a coo. “To deliver your message. Afterwards.”

My shock dissolved and my will resolute once more, I grinned at the man I’d made into a puppet.