Chapter Seventeen: Venali Craceran

The dreams were fuzzy. Something about Megan…

I woke before dawn, gave sleeping Eric a soft kiss on the cheek, and because, you know, I’m that person now, snuck out of the room.

Last night had been… a lot. Not just the almost getting killed part but the whole total emotional collapse thing after. I replayed the events in my head, cringing. I tried to piece together a better outcome, but the options that didn’t involve me getting strangled to death were slim. Maybe ice spikes would’ve worked. At least then, I’d still have that fantastic scroll for whatever nonsense I inevitably got into next.

And Eric… gods above. Somebody give that man a million GP and a statue in the town square. I wanted to die all over again. He and the other boys were headed out at noon on a mercenary contract, and there I was, messing up his last quiet night until the Festival.

I crept back into the suite, moving carefully in the pre-dawn shadows. My stealth skills were flawless—until they weren’t.

“Fuck,” I hissed as my foot landed on a poorly placed boot just inside the doorway. I stumbled, caught myself, and knocked a vase off the cabinet. How the hells has Leoleth managed to be a slob when she can just keep stuff in her storage necklace?

From her half-open door, a groggy voice groaned, “I thought you were supposed to be fucking sneaky.”

Leoleth emerged from her room, disheveled and half-awake. Her hair was a chaotic mess, sticking out in wild directions, and her blurry, annoyed eyes made her look less like the graceful frost elf she was and more like a grumpy cat. Oh, and she was completely naked.

That’s my roomie, Leoleth.

Her body was mesmerizing in a way that I’d long stopped finding attractive, but it was still hard to look away. She was all sharp contrasts. She was frightfully thin but somehow strong, with lean, wiry muscles and broad shoulders. Little pockets of softness balanced her out: her hips, her face, her, well, other places. Just enough to tilt her from androgynous to femme fatale.

And then there was her skin, as flawless as it was pale, a subtle blue, glowing faintly in the dim light. Not a single hair on her entire body, and her nipples and… other bits… were the same dark blue as her eyes and lips.

Modesty? Never heard of it. She just stood there in all her otherworldly, alien beauty, glowing like a goddess while scratching her butt.

I couldn’t blame her for the in-room nudity. It was early summer, and Leoleth hated the heat—frost elf problems.

I moved to the small sofa in the sitting room and flopped down, trying to gather enough energy to face whatever fresh hell the day had in store.

“You smell like Eric,” Leoleth said, her voice sharp and accusing. “Did you fuck him?”

I looked up, startled.

She stood there with her arms folded, glaring at me; it was freaky looking up at an angry, naked frost elf. “You said he was just a friend.”

“I didn’t fuck anybody,” I groaned, rubbing my temples. “I had a rough night and took a bath in his room.” Then I felt my patience snap. “And even if I did hook up with Eric, what business is it of yours anyway?”

She huffed, still glaring at me like I’d kicked a puppy. “He’s soft and delicate. You’re not.”

“I could be delicate,” I shot back, craning my neck to meet her icy stare.

Her expression turned downright nasty. With a dramatic twirl, she stomped back into her room. Wait… was she…angry? Leoleth had a full spectrum of moods, but I couldn’t remember ever seeing actual anger in the mix.

“Seriously,” I called, getting up and following her. “What is it about Eric?”

She was standing just inside her doorway, waiting to ambush me. “He’s stupid,” she said flatly.

I blinked. “He’s not stupid.”

“Yes, he is.” She sighed, leaning to glare at me, her piercing blue eyes locking onto mine.

I leaned back instinctively. “Okay, fine. How’s he stupid?”

“He’s human,” she said as if that explained everything.

“I’m half-human. Does that make me, like, half stupid?” I asked, suddenly aware of how much mileage the word stupid was getting in this conversation.

“He thinks like a human,” she said, as if stating an immutable law of the universe.

Oh. That hit closer to home than I’d expected. She had a point. I’d had a similar talk with Gem before. I hooked up with him and Gem early on, fooling around. But it was the three of us. Gem was gone now, but Eric had stayed.

“Yeah,” I admitted. “The human thing.” Biology, the differences in races, was hard to grasp. Humans, it was like cliché in this world. Among my group of friends, Eric and Heather were the only ones. I needed to watch that shit.

Leoleth folded her arms, her tone softening. “He’s pretty, and I like having him around.”

“Okay,” I said. “For the record, we were firmly in the friend zone last night. I was a wreck when I got to his room.”

“Did you get naked?”

“Yes. He helped me undress for the bath.”

“And you didn’t do any of the sex stuff?”

“He kissed my forehead. That’s it. I got snot on his chest hair, but unless that’s a kink I don’t know about, it was probably the least sexy moment of my life.”

She tilted her head, looking up at the ceiling as though piecing the scene together in her mind.

“Good,” she finally declared.

“How is any of that good?”

“He took care of you,” she said matter-of-factly. “Had a chance to make a move, and he didn’t.” She smiled at me the same way Mr. Barney in ninth-grade geometry did when I finally figured out congruent proofs.

“And neither did I,” I added, feeling an odd and entirely unwarranted sense of pride.

“I love you,” she said flatly, leaving the room. “But you are completely clueless.”

Then she did the unexpected; she spun around, arcing her back and pushing out her hips. “If you feel you need to fuck somebody, fuck me. I’m not stupid.”

“I’m not going to fuck you.” I sighed.

With that, she strutted across the living room into the bathroom, shutting the door behind her usual dramatic flourish.

Note to self: Stop saying fuck so much.

I sat back on the sofa and watched Leoleth get herself ready for the day. She chatted, bombarding me with a steady monologue of Leoleth thoughts, full of tangents and half-formed musings. But the actual conversation between us had ended. And, annoyingly, it made sense.

All that stuff about Eric: she was right. I needed to keep things uncomplicated to maintain a friendship. But that was one thing. The other part she’d said stuck with me in a much more profound way.

He’s human. He’s going to think like a human.

Gem had said the same thing once. I’d brushed it off at the time, convinced I was still the old Regan. But the truth was, I wasn’t. I keep forgetting that. I wasn’t human. Well, I wasn’t entirely.

Something in me had changed when I came out of character creation. I’d thought about it before, trying to piece things together when I felt confused.

I embraced life now with a recklessness I had never dared to in the old days. I pushed myself in ways the old me wouldn’t have dreamed possible. These things were new, yes. But some parts of who I was back on Earth didn’t make the trip.

The problem was that nobody handed me an itemized list after Character Creation, saying, Here’s what’s different now. I didn’t realize what was missing until I went looking for it. Honestly, I just assumed I was a shorter, cuter version of myself.

Take the strange lack of remorse when I killed the bad guys. It reflected something I lost but didn’t know it was missing at first.

Was there more?

My brain was stuck in full ADHD mode while Leoleth finished getting ready.

I set aside my existential horrors for the time being. Compartmentalization wasn’t exactly my forte. And…probably not the healthiest approach to trauma or stress, anyways. Still, I’d been thinking a lot about mental health here in Murder World. There’s so much death, so many things that grab you, strangle you and force you to reconsider your life choices. How does anyone deal with it?

Back home, we had an entire pharmaceutical empire and an army of real and fake therapists ready to tackle every issue, from Anxiety to Zoophobia. But here? What, do they just zap the bad wiring with magic? Or toss back a potion and call it a day? That would be amazing—chug a potion, and bam, no more psychopathy. Practical and neat.

Once Leoleth was finally ready, we headed down to the pub. She, of course, was dressed to the nines in one of her signature blue dresses—just a bit too fancy for a breakfast, but hey, she owned it.

Meanwhile, I stuck to my usual NPC uniform: beige tunic, brown leather pants, and boots. Functional, sure, but meh. I really needed to rethink my wardrobe. I couldn’t help picturing what my action figure would look like on the shelf, and honestly, Mos Espa Padmé™ would be outselling me in seconds.

“Push it back,” Heather’s voice whispered in my mind. Not exactly a TED Talk-worthy piece of advice for handling negative thoughts, but it was what I had. I couldn’t spend the whole day spiraling over my existence, sanity, and questionable fashion sense. Priorities.

We settled into a quiet breakfast in the pub: porridge and coffee, the city’s go-to staples. The tension between us? Completely gone. That’s the thing about Leoleth: she says what she feels, gets it out there, and moves on. No drama, no emotional baggage. The girl lives entirely in the moment, and honestly? It’s refreshing.

We’d been sharing the suite for… what, a month now? Wow, had it been that long? She wasn’t kidding—it had been fun. Neither of us wanted to be alone, and honestly, we actually enjoyed each other’s company. Turns out, having a shared sense of humor and a murderous streak makes for an unexpectedly solid bestie dynamic. Life goals achieved.

I told Leoleth about Aymon’s invite, but she didn’t seem interested. So, after polishing off our hearty breakfast, I set off for The Hanging Judge on my own.

It was, as always, another glorious summer day in the city. Birds and Bird-People were chirping, the sun shone valiantly through the smog, and I only got harassed three times by lecherous creeps. As I strolled, I couldn’t help but reflect on the day I first arrived.

My fresh little eyes had only seen the good stuff back then. The filth had sparkled, the lowlifes had seemed rakishly intriguing, and the city seemed to be on its best behavior, eager to impress the new guest. But a month in? The shine was fading. The smog seemed thicker, the creeps had lost their charm, and the city’s first-impression energy had worn off like the fleeting resolve of my Uncle Bill’s sobriety.

Still, I loved it. I couldn’t help myself. I’d already rolled around in the muck enough to blend in with the rest of them, though whether that was a good thing? The jury’s still out. Gem’s warning about getting too comfortable played on repeat in my head. This city mouse couldn’t stay forever, but the thought of hitting the road with nothing but a bedroll and a Huckleberry Finn’s pluckiness? Terrifying.

The Hanging Judge was nestled in a shadowy alley south of the Capital District. I hadn’t ventured up to the Capital yet—that gleaming hub of government and high society was still on my to-do list. For now, I was more focused on the ladder's lower rungs. This little elf needed to stay small and keep out of the spotlight.

Hopping down the steps into the alley, I couldn’t help but smile at the sound of my boots echoing off the rough, crumbling stone. When I finally rounded the corner to the pub, I was greeted by the quintessential fantasy world street vendor parked right out front.

Dude was selling tentacles.

Because why the fuck not.

Long tentacles, short tentacles, blue tentacles, spotted tentacles. There was a little something for every tentacle enthusiast with every imaginable texture and shape imaginable. And they were all laid out like some bizarre sea monster buffet. I couldn’t decide if it was impressive or deeply concerning. Many of them were still moving. Good times.

The Hanging Judge itself wasn’t much better. By the time I arrived, it was practically deserted. That was never a good look for a pub at noon. I guess the tentacle guy was monopolizing the lunch crowd. Aymon was already there, sitting at a small table by the front window, which, naturally, was obscured by, you guessed it, tentacles.

“Thanks for coming.”

“You’re not gonna try to convince me to join The Union, are you?

“We could say that ship has sailed.” He shrugged, gesturing to the waitress. He had a plate of half-eaten meat and potatoes and a mug of something in front of him. She came and dropped off two more mugs.

He pushed the plate forward a few inches, placing it into the communal space of the table. It took me some time on Nya to realize this was a friendly invitation to share the meal.

He was dressed less flashily than I was used to seeing him, with a white shirt and maroon vest. However, all the bling was still there. He gave the waitress a wink and dropped a silver coin on the counter.

“I admit,” he said after taking another bite of meat. “We don’t do what I advertised, and I am sorry that I floated that in front of you and Leoleth like that.”

“So, it’s not a rogue guild with a heart of gold?”

“No, it’s a commercial enterprise with interests around the city.”

“How long would you have strung a couple of country bumkins like us along?”

“Until you got sick of us and up and quit.”

“Charming.” I took a sip of my drink and a bite of the greasy meat on the plate. “Now that we have that out of the way, why did you want to see me?”

“Well,” he said. “We are a business like I said. We don’t hire thieves or assassins or anything like that. We are looking for talent, and you fit the bill for something.”

“What kind of talent.”

“Someone quick on her feet, wants to learn the city, is willing to put in two to three hours of work a day, and has the discipline not to peek into the box, bag, and or envelope she is delivering.”

“Delivery girl.”

“More like a courier.”

“Why me?”

“Like I said, you fit the bill. Plus, this may be a big city, but the community that we operate in is pretty small. It’s good to find outsiders to do this kind of work; that way, you’re not dragging baggage while working.”

“So, does the Union offer a courier service for bad guys then?”

“Let me explain what we actually do.” Aymon took a sip and paused to gather his thoughts. “We provide logistical support for organizations. We help move goods, arrange transportation, shipping, communication, and even banking services for people marginalized by mainstream society.”

“Marginalized?”

“I like using that word. Makes me sound charitable.”

“Yeah.”

“There’s just under a hundred and fifty different gangs and other crews operating in the city. They don’t all get along, and there is always conflict over territory and resources. Part of what we do is provide safe communication between allies and rivals by being a neutral third party. We also move goods through hostile territories with assured protection because no one wants to be removed as clients.”

“And you want to recruit me to help with that part of the business?”

“Yep. You’re nimble and intelligent, and I know you are working on your skills because we have been watching you since you left the tailor shop.”

“Seriously?”

“It was obvious you were angry. We just wanted to ensure you didn’t come back to bite us.” He grinned. “Instead, you hunkered down and started working. Love it.”

“So, how would all of this work?”

“You pick up an assignment from one of our fronts, receive the quest, and off you go.”

“Seems simple enough.”

“It’s not completely safe,” Aymon said. “I just have tell you that.”

“What are the risks?”

“You are dealing with criminals; not all are top-shelf quality people. Or smart people, or sane people. You get it?”

“What’s the pay?”

“Varies from job to job. It slides from five to twenty GP, mostly based on distance and urgency. You will be compensated accordingly if you encounter trouble from either the pick-up or drop-off parties. All monies are paid through the quest system, so you get an instant payout.”

“Will I have access to the Union’s resources if I start working for you?”

“That’s the golden question.” Aymon held up his cup and toasted to the air. “Yes, I will ensure you have access to the whole catalog of services at cost. Nothing’s free.”

I smiled while I pondered things over. Aymon was a sleaze, but then again, I was stealing shit, so who was I to judge. I also figured if it were the will of the Union to eliminate me, they would do it. Instead, a practical-minded dude like him sees me as a potential asset. But really, was I buying that he wanted to hire a green wannabe like me to work for him?

I did like the idea of being paid to explore the city, and using the quest system would mean that I could move through town using my mapping abilities, which would become increasingly accurate as I took on jobs.

“Just moving messages and packages?”

“Yes.” He said. “Strictly speaking, it’s not even illegal. You’re just walking around town. But discretion is important.”

Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.

“Okay,” I said. “Let’s give it a try. I have a storage ring; will that be okay to transport goods?”

“Like I said,” Aymon reiterated with a stern look. “It’s in your best interests to not to look in the packages and envelopes. Otherwise, yes, I would recommend you use a device since there are plenty of pickpockets in this city.” He nodded at me and winked. He was a creep, but he was a charming creep.

We wrapped up lunch, chatting about the city and what the Union did. It turns out they were the third-party logistics provider for the city’s underworld: money laundering, crime scene cleanup, sigil cracking, and all the other niche services people needed but lacked the know-how or stomach to handle themselves. Aymon even gave me a list of three fences I could use to offload my wares. Efficient and thoughtful.

The system was simple. A cartographer was operating out of the Hub District, about eight blocks from my room at The Jester. They’d hand me a quest. The best part? Every job came with XP rewards and gold, so I’d level up while learning the city and padding my pockets. Win-win.

I bounced back across town, The Rockford Files Theme playing in my head as I went. There was a weird sense of satisfaction in my mind. It was a job. It was a real job. Like, someone was paying me to do something. I wasn’t stealing shit. I was making money from people stealing shit. Always moving forward.

The door rang an hour later when I entered Darkdigger’s Cartography and said hello to the almost pleasant dwarf behind the counter.

“And who are ye?” He asked, glaring at me over his half-moon spectacles.

“Regan.” I smiled my sweetest, which was damn sweet. “And you must be Mister Darkdigger?”

“Tha’ I am.” He was leaning over a map and carefully drawing lines on it with a quill. “And wha’ brings you in here?”

“Work,” I said. “Aymon just brought me on.”

“Righ’ then.” He said with a grunt, bending behind the counter. “This i’ for you then lass.” He handed me a small, folded piece of paper. “Best time ya can make, but be careful.”

“Careful?” I asked, glancing at it. There was an address that I didn’t recognize, of course.

“Always be careful.” He said, returning to his work.

NEW QUEST:

DELIVERY GIRL

Take a trip to Commerce City, pick up a pouch from Wailkack Shipping Services, and deliver it to Titan Sybo at his office in the Entertainment District.

To complete the quest, you must:

1. Collect the pouch.

2. Deliver the pouch.

Rewards:

1. You will receive XP.

2. You will receive 8GP.

Was it going to be worth it? Didn’t rightly know. My map lined up the location of Wailkack, and it looked like a twenty-five-minute walk down the southernmost boulevard to the office in the southern part of the Hub District. I wouldn’t have the location of Titan Sybo until I retrieved the package that needed to be delivered, so I just started walking.

I made my way down Commerce Boulevard, which led, as one might guess, into Commerce City, which was the port and warehouse district. While the boulevard was well-lit and lined with respectable businesses, the side streets seemed to get narrower and darker the further south I went. The makeup of the foot traffic also shifted down a few socioeconomic levels. There were plenty of seedy-looking characters and more than enough people who seemed like they wanted to rob me as I walked by. Most people living in the area were dwarves, but I saw many humans mixed in, though not many elves or other races.

Unlike back home, I encountered my very first street children here. These were kids who were either homeless or sent out to beg and steal. Walking by, I spotted clusters on the corners of alleys, with shadowy adults lingering just out of sight, peering between buildings like puppet masters. It seemed like kids were the go-to workforce for everything, from petty theft to lookout duty for the city’s criminal underbelly.

I got bumped into more than a few times as I strolled, their tiny hands darting for purses or daggers. Fortunately, I kept my valuables safely stashed in storage, carrying only decoy gear to bait and frustrate would-be thieves. It turned into a jolly little tug-of-war between me and Fagin’s minions, my pickpocket skills keeping my decoys right where they belonged. Honestly, it was almost fun. Almost. I tried not to let my mind go to the dark places when I looked at their faces.

“The Union is definitely looking better these days.” Wailkack leered at me. He was a gnome who sat on a high thrown-like chair in the middle of an office manned by humans, elves, and dwarves who bustled around as he screeched out orders at them.

He wore a brown and green tunic with the extra-large collar I had seen many gnomes wear. Unlike the kindly Kettlebottom that I met a lifetime or so ago, Wailkack molested me with his eyes as soon as I entered the busy office.

“Just here to help with your delivery needs.” I looked up at him in his elevated seat. “You have a package for me to take to The Entertainment district?”

“Oh yes,” he griped, reaching down into a small cabinet built into the arm of his chair. “Titus Sybo.” He muttered the name as he dug through the items inside. “Here.” He handed me a small leather pouch weighing about three pounds.

“Thank you kindly,” I slipped the pouch into my storage space, smiled, and nodded to the gnome.

“Don’t lose that.” He grumbled miserably.

I spun around and left the building.

QUEST UPDATE:

DELIVERY GIRL

You have collected the pouch from Wailkack.

To complete the quest, you must:

1. Deliver the pouch.

Rewards:

1. You will receive XP.

2. You will receive 8GP.

The map was updated with a marker almost on the opposite side of the city. I sighed and put one little elf foot in front of the other.

The spokes to the north of Central Boulevard radiated through the Entertainment District, comprised of concert halls and large stage venues adjacent to the Capital District, and then further north housed smaller theaters and then finally, amphitheaters, arenas, and a massive one-hundred-thousand-seat coliseum. Supporting businesses and residential buildings dotted the blocks between the venues. It had a mix of middle and lower-class people and more than a smattering of vagabonds and street kids.

My feet were aching, and I was sweating in my stupid NPC outfit when I finally reached the office of Sybo Events. Or rather, the manager’s office on top of an enclosed fighting pit called Sybo Arena.

It was nestled in a small doorway between a brothel and a pub and occupied the basement of the building. The entire building looked cheap and run down on the outside, but then again, so did half of the buildings in this part of town. I was starting to wonder what these people considered entertainment.

The office was quite nice and seemed more like an upscale lounge than a functional business space. There was a bar at one side and about ten or so café tables with chairs stacked neatly for sweeping. The walls were paneled in rich dark wood, and soft lighting gave the room a sophisticated gentleman’s club feel. A small stage was set up along one wall, large enough for a band to set up, and a large open window at the end allowed the occupants an excellent view of the pit.

A man sat in a large booth in a corner of the room next to the viewing area. He was accompanied by a burly-looking bodyguard, a cat person who was naked from the waist up, his gray fur radiating out from the top of his torso and around his shoulders. A second man in a simple shirt and jacket stood behind the bar, reading a book.

“Mr. Sybo?” I asked after gingerly entering the room. The door was open, so yeah, come in. The guard stiffened up at my approach, claws detracting menacingly.

The man sitting at the booth held his hand up at the posted guard and smiled. The table was covered in papers, envelopes, and gold pouches, and a large ledger was open in front of him, along with a plate of crumbs pushed off to the side.

“Right here.” He said, looking up with a grin. He was a handsome guy. I’ll give you that. And my body did the expected vaginal summersaults I had grown to expect since getting into this weird ass world. My first impression was retired pirate, but the hot Johny Dep kind, not the Long John Silver kind.

He was in his mid-forties, maybe? His face, which seemed to embody the persona of a retired swashbuckler, was framed in shoulder-length salt-and-pepper hair. It seemed hardened by weather or fierceness but now was softened a bit by all the office work. His high cheekbones and prominent nose lend an air of hidden sophistication, like a nobleman on the run. He had a short, trimmed beard that matched his hair's salt and pepper seasoning.

A thin scar ran down his left cheek. That little detail also caused a blip on my loin radar. I had a thing for cocky boys already. Now mix that cocky with a bit of sexy battle damage? Oh, the mistakes a girl can make…

He was wearing the Nya equivalent of a business suit: a silk shirt, navy waistcoat, and a narrow, matching ribbon tied neatly at his throat. A rack on the wall beside the booth had a tricorn hat and dark gray coat hanging on the hooks.

“My friends call me Titus.” He waved me forward, closing the ledger and setting his quill back in the ink well.

“From Wailkack,” I said as I approached the booth. I pulled the pouch out of my storage and set it gently on the table.

“Ah, poor Wailkack,” he sighed, looking at the pouch. “The gnome has some habits.” He shook his head and smiled. “And those get expensive.”

QUEST COMPLETE:

DELIVERY GIRL

You have collected the pouch from Wailkack and delivered it to Titus Sybo.

Rewards:

1. 21 XP.

2. 8 GP

“Thank you, sir,” I said, trying not to get sucked into what I believed was going to be a long conversation. “And, um, have a nice day?”

“You have someplace else you need to fly off to?” he asked as he pulled the pouch over to his side of the table.

“Well, I just spent the last three hours or so hauling it three-quarters of the way across the city for eight GP and a handful of experience.” I gave him a sour expression that I hoped would end the conversation. “And now I need to get back home and try and salvage my day.”

“Kind of hurts the hourly rate, I guess,” Sybo said. “Maltz,” he said to the cat guy. “Get the carriage ready, will you?”

“Of Coursssse, ssssir.” The cat dude hissed. I think they mostly hiss; they sound pissed off all the time to me. I don’t know any cat guys, so what the did I know. He turned abruptly and walked out of the room with inhuman grace.

“Not necessary,” I said, hands up and stepping back.

“Of course it isn’t,” Sybo said. “But I like to think I can do a nice thing occasionally.”

“I’m sure you can,” I said. The idea of a ride home seemed nice, but there was no way I would let him know where I lived. I glanced around the room.

“But how about we have a drink instead.” It seemed like a safe compromise: one drink, smile, leave, and don’t do anything stupid.

“Smashing.” He clapped his hands. “Ramin!” he barked enthusiastically at the man at the bar. “Two…” He looked at me.

“Whiskey”

“Two Whiskeys!” There was a low verbal acknowledgment from the guy named Ramin behind me.

“Please have a seat.” Sybo gestured to the bench across from him. I slipped in, keeping my hands in my lap. “Titus.” He said with his hand out across the table.

“Luna,” I said, taking his. He took it. His hands were soft but large and strong. Most notably, they are scarred, with lots of minor nicks and cuts all over them. He's a fighter, at least he used to be.

“Yeah,” he said, looking down at his hand as though he had read my mind. “Lots of rough stuff in the old days. The scars pretty much give it away.” He held my hand, examining it. It was tiny in his. “Not much on yours, though.” He brushed the faint scar from my fight on the road with his thumb and raised his eyebrow.

I had the distinct impression that I was in the layer of a predator. His eyes went up from my hand to mine. They were dark, almost black, with a scary intensity. But…fuck me, wait, not that.

“Okay…” I half whispered as I pulled my hand away. Just a little too much for this little half-elf. My cheeks started burning.

“Sorry,” he said, a look of self-admonishment on his face. “I tend to get a little too intense. It’s one of my own bad habits that has gotten me into trouble more than once.”

“It’s okay,” My face was still hot, and my stomach was still churning—nothing like excusing away a man who oversteps by practically apologizing to him. I struggled to find another line of conversation as quickly as I could.

“What are Wailkack’s bad habits?”

“He has a thing for tall blondes.”

“Don’t we all?”

“Yeah, but if you’re a gnome that likes tall blondes, you need to be either extremely charming or have a sack of gold on hand.”

“Um, yeah, I met the guy.”

Sybo picked up the pouch and shook it. “Expensive habit.”

“So, you’re, like, a pimp then?”

Sybo sighed. “That’s a crude term.”

“But is it accurate?”

“Ramin?” Sybo plastered a fake hurt look on his face. “It’s two glasses of whiskey. How long does that take?”

“Sorry, boss,” Ramin said as he appeared behind me. He was holding a bottle with a triumphant grin. “Had to find the right bottle for the occasion.”

“What’s the occasion?” I asked as he set two empty shot glasses in front of me and poured.

“New friends, of course,” Ramin declared cheerfully.

He picked up one of the glasses and slid it over to Sybo. “Venali Craceran,” he announced proudly. “One of only three elven distilleries in the empire. It’s made from the sap of the Great Olojor tree and is known as the drink of fellowship and goodwill.”

“You’re the best, Ramin,” Sybo said, raising his glass. “To simple friendship.”

“All the best friendships are,” I replied, tapping my glass to his.

We drank, and it hit like a plush wrecking ball. It was sweet like maple syrup kissed with sage. The flavors lingered, earthy and bright, while the aroma curled warmly through my nostrils. The alcohol’s effects were instantaneous, leaving me slightly relaxed and just south of buzzed.

But there was something else, a subtle undercurrent I couldn’t quite put my finger on. It made sitting across from Titus feel… good. Like this moment. This connection? It was something worth savoring.

“Don’t worry,” Titus said, setting his glass down with a soft chuckle. “The warm, fuzzy feeling you’ve got for me won’t last more than a few moments. But it’s damn good stuff, isn’t it?”

“That it is.” I realized, almost absently, that I’d started calling him Titus in my head. It felt natural like maybe this new friendship of ours wasn’t such a bad idea after all.

“Back to what you asked about that crude term: Pimp.”

“Sorry,” I said. I did feel bad about calling him that. Or was that the drink?

“That’s the drink. You’re not sorry, but I would like to explain briefly.”

“Okay, go ahead then.”

“I own the brothel, the pub, and all the businesses on this block. Once a week, a tall blonde woman who works for me takes my carriage to Wailkack’s home, and they spend the evening together. No one is forced to do anything. I just own the business and facilitate this transaction.”

“For a cut?”

“Not exactly.” Titus tilted his head, a look of fake pain on his face. “The thing is, gnomes are miserly as all hells, so he never wants to pay outright for her services.”

“But you do collect payment for him.”

“No. I pay for my courtesan to see him. More than the going rate, by the way. And he places a large bet on the longshot in my next apex match.”

“How often does he win?”

He shrugged and gave me a nice-looking, scoundrelly look. The scar on his cheek deepened as he did, reminding me that he had things going on that might not be the healthiest for me.

“A long shot is a long shot for a reason.”

I looked out of the open window at the arena. “Anyone die down there?” I admit I was curious about the sport.

“Yes. But people die all the time.”

“But that’s sport, not real fighting.”

“The vast majority of fights are for show.” He said, with a bit of a grimace. “But when gold is involved, people will pay to see almost anything.”

He grabbed the bottle and poured another drink for each of us. “I’ve seen some shit. I’ve done some shit. I’ve ended lives on my sword and lost friends for much less than those people earn down there.”

“But to fight to the death for coin?”

“It’s a way that some people care for their families.” He sipped his glass. “Some fighters just don’t give a shit about anything. We run two nights a week and have a death match about once a month, so it’s not the cornerstone of my business.”

“What is the cornerstone of your business.”

“I like to think I’m a banker who dabbles in entertainment.”

“Explain,” I said, taking a sip myself.

“My businesses move a lot of coin in and out daily,” he said with a shrug and final sip of his glass. “I have investors happy to see moderate returns in exchange for turning their questionable GP into legitimate taxable income.”

“So, this is all for show then?”

“No. It’s fun. I love running an arena and all my businesses, and I just learned that since all of this runs on tight margins, it’s good to keep a secondary stream coming in.”

“It sounds like you have a good thing going here,” I said, finishing my drink in a final shot. I was getting a definite buzz now and all kinds of questionable feelings about this guy.

“You know a lot about me but are not exactly forthcoming.”

“You haven’t asked.”

“Okay,” I’m sure you gave me a fake name.”

“There's no such thing as a fake name, just the wrong person wearing it.”

He laughed. “My real name is Titus Sybo, and your real name is?”

“Regan Moon.”

“I’m also guessing that you are doing okay for yourself.”

“What do you say that?”

“Because for a courier, eight GP is a pretty good haul. A frugal person could live for a week on that in the city. You’re complaining about making a week’s pay in three hours.”

“Maybe I’m just lazy.”

“Or maybe you’re just used to making much more money.”

“I’m new in town. I took the job so I could learn the city.”

“And an urban elf,” he said with a big smile. “Or half-urban elf, excuse me. Can’t help but explore a city when she gets to it.”

“Urban elf, huh?”

“Ironstone doesn’t have many of those, even though it’s a large city, so you stand out.”

“It’s the hair, isn’t it?”

“So how does a pretty half-urban elf think eight GP is not worth her time?”

“You tell me.” I sounded tough, but I couldn’t help but blush. He thinks I’m pretty!

“You earn a lot of GP doing something you don’t tell casual company about.”

“I did some mercenary work. I picked up some gold that way. And yes, I wanted to explore the city, and Aymon had a decent job lined up for me that could help with that.”

The conversation was going rapid-fire, and I was rolling along with it. What was up with that? The drink. He was interrogating me. I needed to hit the brakes, but I had no idea how I could do that.

“I know a cut-purse when I see one.”

Okay, screeching tires. He hit the brakes for me. I took a deep breath. Maybe it worked both ways, and this is what drinking that stuff does. I took a deep breath. I mean, he’s a criminal. He’s naturally gonna assume that I would be too. The problem is, he could read it all over me. Cute and adorable ain’t cutting it with a guy like Titus Sybo.

“And you have a problem with that?” I said finally, slowing things down.

“Not in the least,” he said. “Just don’t steal anything from my patrons.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Here,” he tapped his finger on the tabletop. “Fifth Beldrin, when you come visit and see a spectacle of sport as my guest.”

I had to wrack my brain around what the Fifth Beldrin was. It was, like, the last day of the week. Yay, learning!

“What makes you think I’m going to do that?”

“I have no idea where you come from and what you’ve seen or done,” Titus said. “But everybody needs a break. There are no death matches, so have some good food and drinks and enjoy the sports. It’s our last fight night until after the Festival of Renewal. I’ll even arrange for transportation.”

“You keep trying to learn where I live.”

“I could find out where you live if I wanted to, so you may as well let my driver take care of you.”

“Is this like a date?”

“It can be.”

“I’m not sure.”

“Then bring a friend. Just enjoy my hospitality. I seldom meet new people who aren’t neck-deep in it, so let me indulge a new friend.”

“So, we're friends now?”

“Of course.”

I let out a sigh and finished my drink. All warm and fuzzy. I wanted to explore the city and see the sights, and at some point, I would have to sit through a pit fight and see what that was about.

“Let my carriage take you where you want, and I’ll see you in a few days.”

Maltz was loitering by the carriage when I stepped onto the street after saying goodbye. He gave me a look. Was it a sneer? A smile? Honestly, with that face, who could tell? I climbed into the carriage and told the driver to take me to one of Aymon's recommended fences. I picked the last name on the list, but let’s be honest, I was planning to visit all of them.

As we rattled along the cobblestones, my mind replayed the last hour. The whole thing felt surreal. I felt as if I’d stumbled into the wrong play and somehow landed the lead role. Titus Sybo was a walking danger zone: smart, sexy, and seasoned. He’d sized me up like a wolf eyeballing a sheep. He had thumbs in a lot of nasty pies, too. He already fessed up to money laundering, but I imagine he did everything that gangsters were famous for.

After about a half hour of my mind playing virtual whack-a-mole, the carriage came to a final stop in front of a dingy-looking tool shop. I hopped out and waved at Malz, the scary cat guy. He sneered. Yeah, it was a sneer. He didn’t like me. That’s okay; he’d grow to love me someday.

Leoleth and I had been keeping busy. In the last four weeks, she’d leveled up her pickpocketing to Level 2, and I’d managed to push mine to Level 3. We’d raked in a massive haul of random junk. And a lot of coins with a split of six hundred GP each. It was a windfall, sure, but we both agreed it was a risky operation. We'd scale it back once we got her skills on par with mine. There is no need to tempt fate any more than we already have.

Sleight of hand was coming along nicely, mainly from playing games in pubs, with the added benefit of many free drinks and meals. Not that Leoleth had ever paid for a drink in her life.

Lockpicking? That was just a sheer grind; there was no easy way to get past it. Every day was just practice, practice, practice. I was up to Level 3; she was still lagging at 2. We weren’t using those skills to steal anything just yet, but oh, the plans we had.

I hit up all three fences to unload our haul, dumping piles of small items, weapons, potions, and jewelry on their counters. The payouts weren’t spectacular, but I got about one hundred and fifty percent of the cash value in-store credit at each spot.

That meant acquiring much of the equipment we needed: tools, health potions, and, for me, that meant daggers, lots of daggers. Let’s face it: a girl can’t have too many stabby things.

The highlight of my day was the third fence, Sy’me, an Eagle Kin—fun fact: all the animal races tack “kin” onto the end of their species name. Yet, for some reason, I wasn’t an Ape Kin. Sy’me explained it to me in a voice straight out of a Hogwarts lecture. His shop specialized in oddities, rare artifacts, and animal parts. It was a real treasure trove of weirdness.

When I asked about the cost of a strangler star tooth, he practically laid an egg right there. It turns out that those things are a nightmare to acquire unless you’re an idiot like me. I sold him an entire mouthful and doubled my personal wealth in one deal.

I decided not to share that particular windfall with Leoleth. That catch was all me. With my newfound riches, I bought a diamond storage ring. Primarily, it’d serve as a decoy, but hey, it was shiny. And with a fancy party on the horizon, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have a little bling to show off.

I returned to The Crying Jester with a spring in my step. The day had gone my way.