FLHTH Session 17 - Campaign Story: Tándir

That Which Occured Upon Our Return to Folkestone's Landing

Onesday, Second Hand of Coldeven, EE239

Tándir of Great Harbor

Folkestone's Landing, Wirost

Trelbar's Curio Shop hadn't changed the slightest since I had last stepped off the street and through it's door. It was still crammed with an eclectic selection of odds and ends; weapons, a weathered and ancient looking suit of armor from Axsyn only knew where, a life sized wooden statue of a kobold chieftan carrying a spear, piles of clothing and general trade goods piled on table tops and filling shelves to overflowing. Anything and everything seemed represented in his small shop and I would lay even odds on any particular item having been stolen from its rightful owner. Trelbar was the most respected fence in Folkestone Landing, known for his incredible honesty in his business dealings, a quality that I respected deeply.

Trelbar himself had changed considerably, on the other hand. His bearded face was thinner, his belly, large enough for several men the last time I had seen him, was much more modest, even respectable. He still wore the same flashy attire typical of merchants in the Soul Market, but he looked a good deal more healthy and fit. I was impressed.

"Trelbar," I said as Saafiyah and I stepped through the doorway.

Trelbar seemed to leap from his stool behind his cluttered counter, throwing down a sheaf of papers. "Ah! Tándir of Great Harbor!" he effused as he moved around the end of the counter and approached. "My friend, is it truly you?"

I was taken aback. Always friendly but reserved, Trelbar none the less wrapped his arms around me without warning and pulled me close in a warm embrace.

Saafiyah watched on with interest at my side as I extricated myself from the shopkeep's grasp.

"I did not know if you would return from your travels," Trelbar said. "I am pleased that you have."

"Thank you," I said, straightening my linen tunic. "This is Saafiyah," I said, introducing my adopted daughter and apprentice to the fence. "You may remember her bringing you a statuette of Axsyn one time."

Trelbar frowned briefly as he took in the young girl at my side. "Yes, I do believe I recall such an incident. I also recall having to disappoint a very loyal and valued customer when I informed him the statuette was no long available. You caused me much trouble, young lady."

I rested a hand on Saafiyah's shoulder before she had a chance to respond. She remained silent, much, I'm sure, to her chagrin.

"You look well, Trelbar."

"Ah! Yes!" he exclaimed, taking a step back and spreading his arms, displaying his much less portly physique before leaning in close and whispering, "I acquired myself a pretty slave girl, my friend, and she is good for more than merely cleaning and cooking. You should look into buying one for yourself."

I felt Saafiyah tense beneath my hand on her shoulder at the mention of Trelbar's acquisition. I squeezed her shoulder, hoping that she would not have an outburst and insult my trading partner.

"I am pleased for you, Trelbar," I said, refusing to get caught up in such a conversation with Saafiyah present. "There is the matter of our business arrangement, which is the purpose of my visit today."

Trelbar frowned once again. "Of course, my friend." He moved back through the narrow aisles to take up his spot on the stool behind the counter. "Of course, the amount of coins we're talking about I do not keep on hand, but easily attainable."

I cocked my head to the side. "Just how much are we talking about, Trelbar?"

He looked up at the ceiling for a moment, lost in thought, before speaking again. "I would need to look at the ledger again to be sure, but less my twenty percent I would hazard a guess of around 60 dwarfs. Give or take."

The sum was staggering, equivalent to nearly six thousand gold Dragons. That was many lifetimes worth of labor for the average commoner.

"You will of course need to meet me at the bank. I cannot be responsible for carrying that kind of coin through the streets. Tomorrow, shall we say? In the afternoon? I will send Ceara to your apartment when I am able to met you there, if it is your apartment where you will be staying?"

"That would be fine, Trelbar," I answered.

"There is one other matter which I would like to discuss with you, my friend," he said quickly as I began to turn to leave. I stopped and turned to face him again. "A business proposition of sorts. Quite lucrative, perhaps, and one that might benefit from a man of your... skills."

Intrigued, I approached his counter and listened.

FLHTH Session 16 - Campaign Story: Tándir

Wherein Justice is Delivered to Firion the Skinner

Fivesday, Hand of Noyja (Readying), EE239

Tándir of Great Harbor

Liekland, Isle of Tymath

I had intended for Firion the Skinner to suffer doubly what he had inflicted on Bastion, my friend and agent, three cycles prior. I had intended to leave Saafiyah behind for this one job. She, of course, made that impossible.

I had trained the girl. Then adopted her as my own child. And now I had decided to apprentice her.

I watched the young girl from across the crowded great hall of Dapper Bard's Tavern in the small coastal city of Liekland on the Isle of Tymath. She moved with the grace of flowing water, relaxed. To the trained eye it might seem unnatural, the way her feet moved across the old hard packed dirt floor, barely leaving any trace of her passing, almost as if she floated just off the surface of the ground. Despite her age she blended into the crowd easily, moving between long tables filled with boisterous men relaxing after a day working the wharf or celebrating the day's catch. The Dapper Bard was a working class tavern, and despite the name probably had never had the luxury of hosting a bard of any quality. The innkeep and two barmaids, however, were becoming visibly upset with the young girl insistent on hawking her gaudy, overpriced and obviously fake jewelry. "This ruby, only for a gold piece, good sir," she would whisper in one ear. Rebuffed, she would flit to another table, to another prospective mark with a new spiel, offering, "This fine black pearl gemstone from a master cutter of Tyyst, just 5 gold pieces!"

I sat and drank from the mug of ale in front of me, picking at the questionable veal piled on a plate beside it. Saafiyah never left my sight, but I kept my attention on the meal before me, occasionally engaging the man seated next to me in a brief exchange of conversation so as not to arouse any undue suspicion. Firion, we had learned over the course of two hands of observation, was both perceptive and suspicious. Given the violence that we knew him to be capable of, as well as the streak of cruelty that ran through every bone in his body, Saafiyah was taking a great risk. I believed her to be ready, but watched closely nonetheless, ready to run interference if necessary or draw steel if worse came to worse.

Rebuffed once again by one of the dockworkers with a shove of annoyance she flitted easily back across the great hall, settling back down beside Firion as he laughed, drank and ate. Unlike her previous propositions she extended her hand, revealing the palm full of guady jewelry and low quality gemstones. "Please sir, just a gold piece, you can have any you want." I couldn't hear her but it was not difficult to read her lips. I saw Firion tense at her approach, his body coiling with anger at having had his meal interrupted by some pitiful guttersnipe hawking her wares. For a moment I thought he was going to stand and my hand went to the short sword at my waist, ready to spring to my feet as well. Then he stopped, his eyes fixated on the girl's hand.

The speed with which his hand flashed out and wrapped around Saafiyah's wrist was startling. Her fingers closed around her treasure instinctively. It was hard to tell whether Saafiyah was acting or truly in pain as she sank down to her knees as his grip tightened, his fingers digging harshly into the soft tissue of her wrist until her fingers loosened and fell open. He plucked a garnet, the only gemstone of any real value, from her open palm and laughed at her as she begged and pleaded for the man not to hurt her. His prize in hand he released his grip on her hand and pushed her away hard enough to send her to the floor. I suppressed the smile that threatened to cross my lips just as she suppressed her natural instincts to stay on her feet, choosing instead to let gravity leave her with a jarred and numb rump.

The disturbance raised the ire of one of the serving wenches beyond it's limit and a handful of beats later the portly older woman was marching Saafiyah out the front door by the scruff of her neck, threatening to call for the city watch if the girl returned and harassed their patrons any further. I remained silent, tension dissapating some, continuing to pick at my meal and take the occasional drink of my ale. Firion held up the garnet between his fingers, turning it between his thumb and forefinger, inspecting it better in the light cast from the overhead candelbras. He said something to his compatriots at the table and laughed heartily. It had been his good luck that the girl had not known the value of what she had been selling, and not fearing any kind of reprisal from a child he had simply taken for free what she had offered for a mere gold piece. I could almost see the pleasure coursing through him at the thought of visiting a jeweler the following day and the 150 or more gold Dragons that would be added to his coin purse.

Minutes passed as the light layer of laphis taint that had been applied to the garnet, and subsequently transferred to the torturer's fingers, was slowly absorbed into the skin and eventually the bloodstream.  Within ten minutes it was obvious he was feeling the effects, his boisterous antics becoming more and more subdued. He finally stood, wavering as if intoxicated, turning around and nearly stumbling across the table behind him. He looked ill, green in the gills as the sailors and dockmen might say. He held his stomach with one hand as if sick to his stomach.

He made it halfway to the tavern's door before he expelled his food and drink onto the dirt at his feet in a disgusting, wet pile of filth. His knees went out from under him and he fell forward, his head bouncing off the ground with a distinct "thunk".

I showed the expected interest in such a disturbance as other men circled around him to check on his condition. Dead, came the verdict of several of the men. I watched as plates throughout the great hall were pushed away from those eating, followed soon after by drinks. I followed suit as well before standing and making my way through the crowd congregating around the remains of Firion the Skinner and stepping outside onto the street that ran parallel with the waterfront. I started on my way back to the inn we had chosen to make accomodations at and Saafiyah slipped from the shadows several streets down, joining me at my side.

"You feel fine?" I asked, concerned about the effectiveness of the dusting of powder that had protected the girl's hand from absorbing the laphis taint as Firion's had.

I do," she said. She spit on the ground as we walked. "Krugrapi."

FLHTH Session 15 - Campaign Story: Tándir

That Which Occured in A Folkestone's Landing Alley

Foursday, Third Hand of Fireseek, EE239

Tándir of Great Harbor

Folkestone's Landing, Wirost

I sat in the study of our home, contemplating the information that had just come to me by way of Trelbar. It had taken three years but I finally knew not only whom had tortured my friend and agent, Bastion, but also where the man had made his way to during my long absence from Folkestone's Landing.

Firion "the Skinner", formerly of Folkestone's Landing, was now residing in the city of Liekland on the Isle of Tymath. The Skinner was now front and centre. This time Saafiyah, no matter what she said, was going to remain tucked away at whatever inn we took up residence in in Liekland. I had gotten all the gruesome details of the torture that Bastion had been subjected to, and I planned on doubling it for the man who had hard won the nickname he'd been given. There was no way that I was going to expose Saafiyah to that. None.

"Can you find someone for me?"

I was staring at a map of the Mystshrouds, the sounds of the Soul Market faintly reaching me. I saw Saafiyah watching me from the study doorway with her intense, serious expression. Now thirteen cycles she was even prettier, a stunningly gorgeous girl. But that expression, I knew better than to ignore.

"Who?"

"Chadli Blackwood."

"Who's Chadli Blackwood?" I asked.

"He killed my mother."

That made me pause. She'd never told me about her parents. In three cycles, she'd never spoken once about her past before I had picked her up by the scruff of the neck that first time. "Why?" I asked; a question already knew the answer to. I think I'd known it ever since I'd first seen her handle a bow at eleven cycles old, the intense focused commitment unforgettable.

Saafiyah had two sides. One side, the side she was showing at that moment, was a stone-cold professional, a killer. Like no one else I'd ever met, Saafiyah had the ability to kill, expertly, with ease. While she was far more insistent than I'd ever been in making sure the target deserved to die, she was exceptionally cold-blooded when it came time to take them out. With her it was almost an evangelical calling, something seared into her soul from her childhood; a need to rid the world of monsters. Human monsters, but monsters nonetheless.

In fact, if I wasn't so sure she was ferociously in love with me, looking up to me as something of a father figure, I'd have been a bit concerned for my own life. I was no angel.

Despite her dedication and determination, Saafiyah had a second side. That side I loved, too. At thirteen cycles Saafiyah had grown. Subtle curves were beginning to emerge and the last vestiges of childhood had left her face, leaving behind a sculpted beauty with thick burgandy hair and magnetic olive-green eyes. Despite the physical changes she had retained the soft, marvellously playful side; sneaky, boisterous, forceful and, when she wanted, seductive personality. She could twist me around her little finger effortlessly, make me laugh or cry with frustration and, far too frequently, drive me to despair with her intransigence. The world was going to conform to Saafiyah Teracina of Folkestone's Landing come hell or high water. And I loved every little bit of her so much it hurt.

"Are you sure you want to find him?" I asked carefully.

She nodded, her thick burgandy pony tail bobbing. "I'm ready. It's time."

"Okay. I'll find him. I'll need more information than his name, though. I'll need details."

"I know," she smiled, an enigmatic smile. "Thanks."

"Who is Chadli Blackwood? What can you tell me about him?" I asked.

By the time Saafiyah had told me just a small portion of her story my heart hurt, wishing she could have had a normal childhood. Her father had been a slaver, her mother a slave. He had become smitten with the woman and had stolen her away many years ago, betraying the slaver's guild in the process, a decision that would have fateful consequences for him as well. Saafiyah was born out of their love for each other and all had seemed well, their tracks covered, for seven cycles after her birth until the slavers had come for the mother. Her father had not been home at the time to protect his wife and she had been dragged out into the street and hamstrung, a common punishment for runaway slaves. Hamstrung slaves being of little to no value or usefulness, she had been sold on into the hands of the fighting pits of Folkestone's Landing. Her death had served as entertainment for a small crowd.

Chadli Blackwood was the man who had hamstrung her mother in the street, the man for whom her father had worked years before. He had not literally killed her mother but had set the stage for her death.

A cycle later, at the age of eight, the slaver's guild caught up with Saafiyah's father.

I understood much more about the girl that afternoon than I had in the three years she had been at my side.

She walked around the heavy desk that filled my study, sat in my lap as if she were still a child, kissed my cheek gently and hugged me, whispering, "Thank you, father." I sighed. Saafiyah knew I'd do anything for her. It hurt loving her.

Two hands later I found Chadli Blackwood.

"No, no, no!"

Her dark burgundy ponytail whipped around as she looked over her shoulder at me, olive-green eyes flashing with indignation.

"What?"

"I told you it was too risky. You missed his heart," I said with no small measure of annoyance.

Saafiyah turned and looked down. "Really?"

Chadli Blackwood lay on the ground at her feet, a spreading dark red blood stain on his chest contrasting sharply with his frayed and scruffy open neck linen tunic. His eyes were wide open, pupils dilated and glossy with shock, hands twitching at his side as if trying to move, the effects of the stryghumine that had coated the blade of Saafiyah's dagger.  The sweet, spicy scent of rum smelled strong, the result of a broken jug he'd dropped at his side. Rum scent battled with a dank mouldy odour in the still night air, the result of a recent passing thunderstorm. Chadli was probably shocked at what this young girl had just done to him; having a dagger thrown into the chest looked like it hurt. I had no doubt he was surprised, too. His mouth moved as if he was trying to say something, no sound emerging.

Saafiyah straddled the immobilized man's waist and drew the dagger from his chest. I could see the fear in his eyes as she looked down at him.

"Líadan Linhau sends her regards, slaver," she spoke quietly.

The bloodied point of the dagger entered Chadli's throat ever so slowly, parting flesh and muscle. It sliced cleanly through the slaver's windpipe, and if possible the man's eyes grew even wider at the realization that his next breath would never come. Inexorably, she continued applying pressure, his body beginning to instinctively convulse in panic beneath her lithe form. Finally, mercifully, the angle of the dagger brought it's tip to the base of the man's brainstem. The movements of his body stopped, eyes glazing over in death. Blood seeped out around the sides of the blade as his watery brown eyes became vacant. A dark stain spread at the crotch of his brown breeches as muscles relaxed in death.

"There!" She gave a short nod, satisfied with her work. Then under her breath she muttered, "Krugrapi."

Glancing around I was relieved to see the dark alley leading to the waterfront was still deserted. Carts loaded with goods passed regularly at the mouth of the alley, torches providing flashes of illumination on the wet street. One lone covered sconce mounted to a wall next to a door cast a weak yellowish light in the alley creating soft shadows and highlighting cracks in the cobblestone walkway being invaded by weeds. I was pissed. We'd been here for almost ninety beats; far too long. Why the hell didn't Saafiyah ever listen to me?

"Come on," I said, reaching out to her, frowning.

She withdrew the dagger from the dead slaver's throat, blood bubbled out of the wound. She smiled and rose off his body, her delicate hand slipping into mine.

"Dagger," I clarified.

With a grin, she let my hand go and passed me her dagger, careful to avoid touching the poison coated blade. I wished she'd do more of that; do what I'd taught her. I ran the blade through a piece of folded canvas several times, removing any remaining residue of the stryghumine from the weapon. I folded the canvas again and slipped it into one of the pockets of my cloak before handing the dagger back to Saafiyah. Reaching out I offered my hand again. The girl slipped her hand into mine, still so small even at thirteen cycles old.

"Sorry?" she offered with a smile, eyebrows arched, pretty eyes turned up to me glittering in the night.

Sorry my ass.

I checked the street both was as we exited the alley together, emerging from the shadows. The occasional cart rolled along the road, the waterfront district never sleeping. We wouldn't be noticed or, if seen, not remembered; just a father and his daughter.

"Are you going to talk to me, Tándir?"

With a tug of her hand we turned onto Sailor's Row, a straight shot from the waterfront to the Soul Market.

"Are you angry with me?" Saafiyah asked in an inquisitive voice, seemingly not intimidated by my silence in the least.

I was angry. Her actions had been unprofessional in the extreme. Striding towards the Soul Market, Saafiyah skipping every third step to keep up, I tried to calm my anger. She seemed to think this was a game. It wasn't.

"What's the big deal?" Saafiyah asked. "He's dead, isn't he?"

"I told you, let him pass and then take him from behind," I explained, though why I was explaining I didn't know. "You've got to start listening to me, Saafiyah."

"I heard you, father," she said. "But I thought I'd practice the heart shot. You said it was hard." After a brief pause she added, "You were right! It's much harder in real life!"

I almost let out the smile trying to escape despite my displeasure. Just in case, I turned my face away from her and scanned our surroundings again; still dark, still alone, only the stars above providing the barest amount of light that reflected back off the slick wet road. When a measure of control returned, I stopped, turned to her and frowned. "If you're not going to listen to me, that's it. Next time you'll stay behind."

With a firm tug on her hand we resumed walking. Saafiyah started muttering under her breath, something she did a lot when she disagreed with me, which, Ishneflex help me, she did a lot. I heard her mutter, "You told me to practice," followed by, "I always listen to you," and, after a brief pause, "and you didn't say anything about not making a heart shot, either."

It was very hard to maintain my frown as we passed from the waterfront to into the Soul Market. I shook my head at her recalcitrance. She was the single most aggravating and frustrating female I'd ever known, and not by a bit, but by a Tyystian mile.

In the three years since Saafiyah had entered my life, I'd never understood how she did it. I'd never figured out how she could get under my skin and drive me so damn nuts I'd want to kill; just kill; anyone in sight would do. And then lightning-fast she'd do something that would demolish my anger and my defenses, completely lay waste to my detached and analytical self; like now.

She stopped in front of our apartment, almost in the same spot we had first met three cycles ago. "Sorry?" she said again, olive-green eyes glistening beautifully and a soft enigmatic smile forming on her lips.

Seeing the smile it hit me. "You missed his heart on purpose, didn't you?" I asked softly. "You wanted to punish him."

She didn't reply. The smile remained as she turned, tossing her hair over her shoulder, and opened the door to the apartment building.

I loved Saafiyah so much, at times it hurt. She had truly become my daughter, perhaps not by blood but still my daughter. I loved that enigmatic smile of hers, too. It always made an appearance when she was satisfied, usually when she got something she'd wanted that I'd not been in favour of. I loved that enigmatic smile so much it made my heart ache and pride blossom at her willfulness.

I gave up, following her into the apartment building.