Turns out, this hurts a lot more than I thought it would. Each strike of the needle, as gentle as Kurnev is as he’s wielding his miniature hammer, is like a tiny bee-sting, repeating itself over and over again. Granted, the sudden sharp stab of each individual jab is gone in moments, but my upper arm is growing increasingly hot as the design grows within my skin, and the initial pain is slowly being answered by a growing dull ache under what’s already been laid down. It also doesn’t help that, every once in a while, Kurnev has to wipe away a little ink-darkened blood so he can see what he’s doing, and while he’s as gentle with that as he is with the hammering itself, every time he does it the contact sets fresh flame in what he’s done. Clearly this is going to be tender for a little while after he’s done, but then I expected nothing less.

For my part, I’m trying to be the politest and most well-behaved subject I can, but the pain still makes me forget sometimes. Every once in a while some random spot will hurt a little worse than the others, with no rime or reason behind it, and I’ll tense right up in the chair, hissing and wincing in fresh pain, and it’s all I can do to keep from jerking away and fouling his hand mid-line. Once or twice, mostly when we were just beginning, I even yelped, but I’ve largely got that under control now too. I want him to do the best job he can, I’m well aware just how permanent this is going to be, I’ll have to live with it for the rest of my life … but more than that, having already seen the original art that he’s using as the basis and now seeing it being painstakingly copied onto my own shoulder and upper arm with such impressive skill is genuinely humbling. I want to be worthy of receipt of this masterpiece.

Kurnev, for his part, has been thoroughly indulgent of my every foible this entire time. Every time I wince and tense, he simply shushes me as gently as a mother calming her sleeping child when they’re woken from a bad dream, his voice as soft and soothing as his touch despite the constant jab-jab-jab. And he always smiles this indulgent little half-smile, making it clear he knows full well just how much this hurts and acknowledging I’m doing my best to weather it. Kesla says I’ll get used to this, may even come to crave it a little bit as time goes on, but so far I don’t yet see the attraction in this particular pain.

She’s been noticeably calm and amenable this whole time, which is a little infuriating for me right now, I’m having to try just as hard not to snap at her whenever she acknowledges her own relative comfort compared to what I’m enduring. Normally this backroom seems to be divided up into sections, using long, folding Abharetian-style paper screens to close each workstation off from the others. Given what we’re about right now Novot folded one back between these two stations so both parties can interact with ease, and I can see Kesla as well as she can me as we’re both being turned into living canvases.

Right now she’s stretched out on a padded, leather-topped medical table, which seems to have been repurposed especially for this work, lying chest-down with her chin propped on her folded arms so she can watch everything Kurnev does to me. All the while Novot is pecking away at her now naked upper back, steadily working a piece across the backs of her shoulder blades and down the line of her upper spine, and as far as I can tell she hasn’t noticed once. I’m starting to wonder if she even feels pain.

I’ll admit, in the first few minutes after the screen was folded back and I saw her laid out there, I was a little taken back since this is the first time I’ve seen this much of Kesla. Her skin is beautiful, almost all of her clearly the same velvety smooth, cool smoky brown colour, like rich chocolate or creamy coffee. It’s broken in a surprisingly wide variety of places by strikingly prominent near-white scars, but if anything this simply adds to how inherently gorgeous her skin is. Especially now I can see just how impressively, inherently powerful her broad, tightly-muscled form actually is. In truth I can’t tear my eyes away from her for very long, and I think she’s starting to notice.

It also keeps reminding me of my own relative state of undress too, which isn’t doing anything for my confidence right now. Since it’s just my right arm I was able to keep my bandeau, but I’ve still had to shed my own shirt, and while there’s a small stove burning in the corner of the room keeping things comfortably balmy for us all I’m still well aware of how naked I am too. I don’t have anywhere near as many scars as Kesla does to distract people, while my own muscles are a good deal leaner, my elvish blood making me svelte instead of burly like I’d be if I was just full-blooded orc. I noticed Kesla casting an appreciative eye on my own form as I settled into this strange, overly-elaborate brass and leather-padded reclining chair and I couldn’t help blushing deep. Every time I’ve thought about it since I’ve felt my face flushing again, although under present circumstances it doesn’t make me quite so uncomfortable since I’m hot enough already right now.

As for Gael, they mostly just seem vicariously uncomfortable for the pair of us. This whole time they’ve been perched on the spare stool that Kurnev provided them, hands alternatively tightly laced together or fretfully wringing each other’s fingers. Meanwhile their eyes keep flitting about as if they’re unsure exactly where to look, and their cheeks have held a pretty rose colour virtually the whole time we’ve been in here. I’m starting to wonder if it might not have been a better idea for them to just wait outside with the others. I Know they wanted to take the lead on asking questions but ultimately they’ve just been too distracted.

“You both have exquisite skin, if I may be so bold.” Kurnev admitted when he first settled onto his own wheeled stool at my side.

Kesla gave me a look at that, which just made me blush all the more. “I’m sure you say that to all the young women you have in here, Master Kurnev.”

That had him chuckling for a moment as he gave his hands a good rinse in the little basin set aside on his desk, then dried them on a clean towel before rubbing a strange, slightly sweet-smelling ointment generously across them. Moments later he was very gently working a slather of the same into the section of my skin he intended to use for his art. “Perhaps I do for some, Mistress Shoon, but I never make such a compliment idly. I appreciate your skin in the same way a sculptor judges a particularly fine portion of marble, or a painter a well-made canvas, both judging what they can turn it into with their hands. Your skin, for example, is of a shade and quality we rarely see this far north, even in Untermer. Clearly one of your parents came from the deepest South of Abharet to have made you so strikingly dark.”

“My mother. According to da, she was even darker, said she called it cacao, that she was truly black, so dark that sometimes the light would make it shine blue at times. He said she was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in his whole life.”

“According to … you never got to know her yourself then?” He sighed deep, seemed genuinely crestfallen for a moment. “My apologies.”

Kesla accepted his condolences as gracefully as she’s done everything else so far, and in truth it’s her restraint that’s kept me as cool and calm as I’ve managed since we started this. I can’t get a good look at what Novot’s doing on her back, but at least comparing what I can see him crafting to what I’m able to watch his father is it’s growing clear that he definitely knows what he’s doing, particularly displaying as sure a hand with his own gear. That said, I think if he were a hack Kesla wouldn’t be anywhere near as patient with him as she’s being now.

Since Gael’s been so uncomfortable this whole time that it’s thoroughly derailed their own plans here, Kesla’s largely taken it upon herself to pick up the slack conversation-wise, and I’ve done the best I can to chime in too. The odd, unpredictable stabs of sudden extra pain aren’t that conducive to consistently rational thought, but I’ve managed to hold onto the thread of conversation well enough to interject when I can. With Gael being so significantly discomfited right now I feel a strong need to hold up my end in her stead. So between us we’ve been pressing our own leads while the two men continue their careful, diligent and admirably respectful work.

Kurnev remembers the job we’ve come to talk to him about, although it took some careful, very cautious pressing to get him to admit as much, we really had to ease him into the idea of giving forth about it. Turns out his son went with him for it, given how many subjects there were he needed the extra hands otherwise he wouldn’t have been able to finish it all in one session on his own. So they had both of them in there doing these strange, baffling magical tattoos side by side in a somewhat breezy empty warehouse down on one of the wharfs, with the wizard woman performing her incantations over them the whole time. Apparently he didn’t get a name for her, so we’re still clueless on her identity. Right now the only lead we have is this Vandryss.

“So, just to be clear … they didn’t actually fill you in on exactly what it was gonna be before you arrived on the day, is that right?” Kesla’s voice doesn’t betray the slightest hint of any tension, I’m still finding it quite baffling how she can be so relaxed right now. “With the magic and everything, I mean?”

“No, I’ll admit that did throw me some.” Kurnev sets the hammer and needle down in their set places and picks up the cloth to give my arm another wipe, and I grit my teeth after taking a breath to steady myself in anticipation. “But I’m a professional, as is my boy, and we’d committed, so we just settled in and got on with it. The witchery was … a little baffling, but our part of it was simple enough so we just set to work, and ultimately it turned out just like any other job.”

“You didn’t feel like asking why the magic? What it was all for?”

He takes a careful but firm grip of my arm just above the elbow and gives the latest patch a very gentle wipe and it’s all I can do not to start thrashing as I feel the sheer burn of the supposedly soft, fine material scraping across my increasingly angry skin. As It is I tense hard and growl through my teeth, while my hands grip the leathern arms of the chair hard enough to make the whole thing creak with an almighty sound.

“Like I said before, I’m a professional. Every day I work with people on a very intimate level, as you can clearly see. Some of our customers find themselves in an even greater state of undress than the pair of you, and it makes some of them incredibly uncomfortable. It depends entirely on the individual, but even some of the most stalwart, salty sailors can suddenly turn bashful if they have to drop their drawers to a man they don’t know. We keep things as discreet and respectful as we can at all times, and that includes not asking questions. Even if we do think our clients are particularly unusually weird.”

Kesla falls silent for a moment, while Kurnev sets the cloth aside again and picks up one of the smaller, finer needles, this time eschewing the hammer after dipping it in the little capful of ink as he leans back into the job at hand. He takes a deep breath and holds it as he sets to work again. One of the particularly detailed parts, then – he’s done this a few times in the piece so far, and I suspect there’ll be a few more before we’re done, the artwork was pretty intricate. So he settles in with his nose so close it’s almost touching me, crossing his eyes ever so slightly as he focused tight and starts pricking the pattern directly in by hand. Ouch.

“How’d you get the gig in the first place, if you don’t mind me asking?” Kesla finally ventures, the way she says it making it seem almost like she’s only just thought of it.

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Kurnev pauses just for a single beat before continuing with his work, waiting until he’s done so he can sit back and let his breath out again before finally answering her. “Well of course I do actually, my dear, but since you’re all being so accommodating I’m inclined to answer you anyway.” He sets the needle down and turns to give his hands a little wash-off in the basin, the second time he’s done this since we started. After drying off he re-applies more of the ointment to his hands, but doesn’t immediately pick his tools back up, instead looking at Kesla for a long moment. “Regular customer, as a matter of fact.”

The way Kesla grips the edge of the table for a moment I can tell she wants to push herself a little more upright, her own discipline as she remembers what’s currently being done to her the only thing to stop her in time. As it is she’s perked right up, I don’t know if she’d notice any changes at all in the process now. “Indeed? And who might that be? If I may?”

After several more beats of consideration, Kurnev finally turns again and picks up the longer, heavier needle and hammer once more. “Orcish fellow. Damn big one, too. Rarely seen any others that big, I’ll admit, and they breed them huge where I grew up, so …” He shrugs, then sets to my arm again, slowly but steadily working his way down.

I shoot Kesla a look even though it’s proving to be a particularly sore spot again, and I know my own eyes are twitching some from my tension as hers meet them. “Dresses dark, does he? Unusually quiet for an orc, mayhap?”

“Now that you mention it, yes. He does, and he is.” Kurnev pauses, dips the needle again, then resumes tapping.

“Don’t s’pose you got a name, maybe? Since he’s a customer? Regular one, you said.”

“Not personally, he never really offered one when he started coming in, so we just put him down as The Orc, since he’s the only full-blood we’ve ever had in this place. Rare enough round here as it is, so …” He frowns a little, but I can’t tell if it’s him remembering something and deciding whether or not to mention it or simply concentration over a particularly tricky part that nonetheless requires the big needle. “Drinks down at my local though, I think. Seen him there a few times.”

Another look passes between us, and I turn a little to check Gael out again, realising it’s the first time I’ve checked on them in a while. They’re still sat in place, hands folded again, but now they’ve got their eyes closed and head bowed in that way I’m coming to recognise from when they send or receive a message from someone over the magical airwaves. It’s the second time now, they did this earlier when we were just starting, and they never said anything to me but clearly they got pretty fretful, even getting up for a few moments to stoop close to Kesla’s ear so they could have a whispered conversation. It frustrated me at the time that neither of them saw fit to fill me in about it too, but then I realised that must simply mean it's too sensitive to just blurt out in present company. So I’ve just had to sit and stew on it, eventually pushing it to the back of my mind.

Kesla’s watching them too, I notice, a little frown crossing her brow now, the first real consternation to touch her since we started this. She looks back to me after it goes on for a few more moments, and I can’t help wondering if I really have detected a subtle hint of worry behind her eyes now. She lets out a deep sigh and sets her chin back on her crossed wrists, pondering for a moment before she finally ploughs on again. “Your local, as in a tavern, right?”

“Obviously.” Another dip of the needle, giving me a few moments to breathe again. “The Late Bone, down by the docks. Just round the corner from home, as a matter of fact, makes it pretty convenient if I’m out on the lash since I don’t have far to stumble.” He pauses in mid-swing, fixing me with a particularly firm look as he begins speaking again, then Kesla. “So I’d be grateful if you’re discreet in your dealings there moving forward, since you’ll clearly be heading there next looking for … whatever his name is.”

Another thoughtful silence follows, although with Kurnev setting to again I’m finding it hard to fully benefit from it. It sounds like a potentially tenuous lead, to be honest – as he says, he’s seen a big orc there a few times, he sounds like this Granzun but it’s still not a sure thing it really is him, even given how rare full-blooded orcs might be around here … certainly I can see Kesla looks similarly unconvinced, but maybe a little hopeful despite it. She licks her lips, but takes a few more moments to actually voice her thought.

“What kind of place is it, the Late Bone?”

That makes him frown, and he contemplates for a few moments while he taps out another line, working at my nerves as much as my increasingly grim anticipation. “Well, I mean … it’s your typical wharf bar, really. It can get a bit rowdy after dark, but then it’s the kind of place you get a lot of sailors in. But the girls are clean enough, and while they don’t water the booze they don’t charge an arm and a leg for a dram, either. People don’t get killed there every night, if that’s what you’re asking.” He cocks a brow and regards Kesla rather coolly. “In your profession I would’ve thought you’d frequented plenty of dives, Mistress Shoon.”

He has a point there, and I see Kesla fighting the urge to smile ruefully as she acknowledges it. “So it ain’t a classy place. Gotcha.” She settles her chin and starts to ponder again.

Gael looks up at last, blinking for a few moments as if they’ve forgotten where they are. Then they focus on me, and turn sheepish as they look away quickly. Then they stand up again and return to Kesla’s side, prompting her to look up as they approach. It’s all I can do to keep from growling my frustration at being excluded again, but the pain from the tattoo is starting to ease again, which is enough to sufficiently calm my nerves. So I simply grit my teeth and let my head fall back into the leather cushion of the headrest, working on clearing my mind instead.

“You’re sure?” Gael speaks far louder than I would’ve expected, at normal conversational level even though they’re crouched so close beside Kesla’s ear, but she doesn’t seem to mind as she simply nods her assent. Frowning now, Gael rocks back on their heels now, pursing their lips before they nod back, then starts their incantation before closing their eyes and bowing their head. When I turn to Kesla again she’s watching me too, unreadable again.

I can’t help it anymore, I have to say something. So I fix her as well as I can and mouth: “What is it?”

Kesla raises a single finger in a clear indication to wait, and I feel like screaming. Then the tattoo starts hurting a lot again and I can’t help hissing as I fight the oath that wants to come out, giving the armrests another tight squeeze. Then Gael opens their eyes again and looks to me for a moment, clearly unsure how to proceed now which makes me sure they’ve read the room, at least on a background level. Then she turns back and leans in close to whisper to Kesla again. After a moment’s consideration Kesla nods and then whispers something to them too, then they start to rise.

And they come to me. I’m so completely taken aback my eyes must widen considerably, and this time when I grip the armrests it’s purely out of pure surprise. Gael hesitates for a moment seeing it, and I can’t help grimacing a little seeing it, suddenly feeling like a bit of a prick, so I beckon them in. Breathing a somewhat weary sigh they stop beside me on the opposite side to Kurnev and lean to my own ear now, their breath warm and soft on my skin, surprisingly soothing right now.

“Sorry about that, I really don’t mean to be leaving you out like that, it’s just –“

“Gael, it’s fine. I guess I understand, it’s just a little frustrating, you know? Obviously you can’t tell both of us at once, so what is it?”

“The others … the other group, there’s someone shadowing them. The halfling thief, Darwyn? She’s conferring with the hobgoblin about it, he’s on something called … what was it? Overwatch, I think that was what Tulen said it was …”

“Yeah, cool, you don’t have to give me every single detail, Gael. Just get to the meat of it, please.”

They lean back enough to look at my face, their cheeks colouring again while their expression turns especially sheepish, and I regret what I just said. So I soften my own look and give them an encouraging smile, and I think it wins them over again.

“You’re right, of course you’re right. Um … yeah, so … sorry. Thelgaewynn thinks they’ve seen the main one before, the one she actually saw herself. She thinks it’s the strange one, the one who was in charge of the whole hiring thing, with the gangs. Vandryss.”

That makes me blink, and I turn to regard them now, surprised. “Wow … really?” It takes me a moment to realise I’ve reacted exactly the same way that Kesla just did.

“Yes, that’s right.” Gael seems to ponder for a moment, but doesn’t move away from my ear now as they do it, breathing gently through their nose in subtle little puffs that I feel stirring the shorter hairs behind my ear that I couldn’t tie back with the rest. “Sorry … Thel says she has a plan, but wanted to confer with us before she sets it in stone. They’re going to carry on with what they’re doing, since we’re going to be here for a little while yet, but … she wanted to know if we want them to lead them back towards us, or somewhere else.”

“How many of them are there?”

“Only a few, maybe half a dozen, not including this Vandryss, if it is her. At least it seemed to be that many last time we spoke.”

“I see …” I look across at Kesla, who’s watching me closely now, clearly thinking along the same lines I am right now. “Okay, so … what are we thinking?”

“Well …” Another pause, and this time they look at Kesla too. No help is offered up before they turn back to me again. “I don’t know, Kesla thought perhaps we should go have a look at that tavern next, but …” They frown now, faltering as they leans back a little, pondering again. They’re not convinced, and I’m not sure I am either.

“You think it might be a bit risky right now, don’t you?”

Our eyes meet at that, and I can see the worry in them now. “You might be right, if they’re onto the others they’re probably onto us as well. All right, what do you want to do?”

“Well personally, I’d rather give them the slip, but … I’m not sure we should be running from a fight right now. If they’re not yet aware that we’re actually onto them, then …” They shrug. “Do you think if we got hold of her, she might know where my father is?”

Once again I turn to look at them for a long, loaded moment, and it’s only in the back of my mind that I realise that all of a sudden I’m barely even registering the steady tap-tap-tap of the needle in my arm now. This seems to have my whole focus now, clearly. “I honestly don’t know. For all we know she might be almost as clueless as the rest of them. I mean we’re still not even sure this really is the group that’s responsible for all the disappearances in the first place.” She seems ready to protest that, but I plough on all the same. “Okay, granted they certainly look like they fit the bill, it probably is them. But right now we can’t be sure about anything.” I give them a look now. “Can we?”

“Um …” They still don’t look convinced, although it might simply be that they’re still sorting through what I just said. I have to admit I went on a little bit of a maze of reasoning there. But finally they sigh and nod. “Yes. You’re right. Okay … what do you think we should do?”

Truth be told, I’m still making up my mind about that. Bringing them back here could be problematic, especially since we don’t know if there’s anyone else out there watching us too. Besides, as my mother always taught me a good fighter picks his battlegrounds. We need to choose somewhere that favours us over them. Hmmm … I look to Kesla again, wondering if she’s still thinking along similar lines to me. She probably is, she’s a born fighter so she’d know this even if she hadn’t already grown up having this kind of thinking drummed into her on a daily basis.

“I think we should draw them somewhere we can control, a smart battleground for us, just in case. Then spring a trap on them instead of whatever they’re planning for us. Sound good?”

Gael thinks on it for a long moment, then nods. Not smiling, but … I think they approve. The real test is going to be Kesla, anyway. “We don’t know anywhere like that, though. Do we?”

“Someone local would. Art or Darwyn could probably think of something in a snap.”

Now they smile. “Of course they would.” They ponder for a moment, then lean in one last time, but instead of whispering again this time they kiss me high on my cheek, beside my ear. I’m so surprised I can’t even think how to respond as they breathe: “Thank you.” before starting to move back to Kesla before they’ve even started to rise again. This time they just hustle over in a crouch before settling on their haunches beside her again, and the pair exchange another hushed conversation for what feels like a pretty long time. Or maybe it’s just that all of a sudden I’m feeling the needle again …

Taking another deep breath, I grit my teeth a little against the renewed pain and take another look down at my arm. The tattoo is manifesting quickly now – unless I’m mistaken I think it’s close to finished now. And it looks beautiful. I turn back to look at Kesla again, just as Gael pulls back and she nods to them, then they get to their feet and, after giving me a quick glance and another little smile, head out through the doorway into the front of the shop.

That says enough for me, then. Looks like my idea might just have reached a consensus. Now it’s just down to Art or his ex to find us somewhere we can take the fight to them for once …