Culling Out the Rotten, Late Night Drinking

Cheery laughs filled the slums of the Throne City as the sun sunk below the horizon line. One by one, the lowlives of the undercity made their way to their preferred tavern or pub, making the air vibrate with their loud and unapologetic screams, insults and drunken joy. A pungent smell permeated the area, an acid mixture of metallic blood, intoxicating ale and gag-inducing vomit that would never truly leave those roads. There was no room for air circulation - the people were trapped between narrow spaces and cut off by the surrounding wall of the city, doomed to adapt to the stench of the undercity.

The architecture of the slums reflected how the Throne considered its poor inhabitants: worthy of no second look. The old houses were almost unrecognizable, aside from the sturdy stone foundations and first floors. Before the country begun facing any housing problems, these run-down building were once indistinguishable from the rest of the Throne City; when the council first forced families to share the living spaces, the upper areas were modified to create more sleeping areas for the unfortunate. Soon after, people began building passageways between the floors of neighboring buildings out of cheap wood - the council, of course, did not intervene. In less than a decade, an entire residential area tripled its residents as more places were ravaged by the ongoing war. The survivors were welcomed by the Throne City with smiles and open arms, only to be tossed on the growing pile that had become known as the "undercity" by the middle and the upper class.

These streets were rarely inspected by the city guards; although those who lived in the run-down houses were seen as no more than swindlers, crooks or simply bums, there was a silent agreement between them and the garrison - whatever you do, keep your business on your turf and nobody gets hurt. Naturally, the dimly-lit alleys would often be filled by fights between alcoholics, happy to take their frustration out on each other in the most gruesome ways possible. In the more peaceful corners you could find many gamblers deeply engaged in various games; some dirty crumpled playing cards were passed between equally dirty hands in one area, while others played with wooden, stone or (rarely) ivory dices. Above all, the shaky wooden passageways creaked under the pressure, threatening to fall at any moment, although such events were fortunately uncommon.

While most people would steer clear of entering the slums - especially at nighttime - in order to avoid unnecessary conflicts, there were a few people who would take delight in throwing punches. They would seek those spontaneous brawls and help themselves, the regulars happy to oblige them, always open to the idea of smacking one more face. Shandis reminisced about his past, his soft fingers tracing the outlines of hits and the brownish hue of dried blood on the walls of the buildings. "...Heeeeeeh, Master has a troubled past, hmmm?~" the cheeky voice of his attendant teased him. "You really are something, Kipsu." came the dry answer. He would never grow comfortable with her special talents. She had always said that she could not read minds, but Shandis knew a thing or two about unusual traits and innate spells - a mind reader would be nothing unusual for him, not by a very long shot. "To each their own, after all," he thought. "Awww, you're no fun, Master!" she giggled, walking next to him. "You are a hundred- no, a thousand times more interesting than any random bastard we could find around here!" Shandis just shook his head. "You would be surprized, Kipsu. You would be surprized."

The two kept walking ahead, Shandis with confidence and purpose, Kipsu trailing behind him. Some turned their heads as the pair passed them by, aprehensive stares that turned back to their business as soon as the young Master made eye contact with them. A cold hunger lingered in those stares, a hunger that almost yelled "give me a reason to jump on you"; the shadows of the undercity could feel weakness and fear, always ready to pick on easy targets. Shandis showed neither as he stepped onward. He knew where he was heading, and he was determined to get there, no matter how many vagabonds and dregs would get in his way.

"So, Master, tell me where we are going! Or at least what are we going to do!... Or who we're looking for... Or anything at all, really! You've kept your mouth shut aaaaall this time! Why the secrecy?" The pair had been walking for half an hour, steadily getting deeper and deeper into the cavernous rooms of the undercity as they made their way towards a tavern. Shandis looked slowly around himself, hoping to catch some unseen enemy. The jagged cloaks of the passersby, the tired hands of beggars. The glint of steel on a smaller alley, some goons working for a criminal organization. Behind every pair of eyes, a possible listener. The Master forced a smile, the same strained smile he'd always give her when she asked him those questions, a genuine sadness punctuating the curl of his lips. "I'm sorry, girl. It's the protocol. I cannot tell you anything, at least not for now." He suddenly stopped in front of a sign. Kipsu, not quick enough to react, slammed her forehead against Shandis. "Ouch. Why did we stop?" "Why indeed. We've arrived at our destination, my little attendant."

Kipsu's mouse-like ears twitched as she read the washed-out inscription that could still be seen on the wooden planks. "The... The Lousy Prince? Is this not considered treason? How could the Crown allow for such disrespect-" Shandis lowered a hand on her hair and began rubbing as he always did when he had to explain her something. "Well, you see, this little establishment was build a long time ago. A long, long time ago - somewhere after the fall of Old Medeea, actually. The first king of Vahlaasas had a son who was... let's say he was unfit to rule an emerging kingdom. Eventually he was dethroned by Astol Salahii in a duel; Astol crowned himself king afterwards, marking the beginning of the current lineage. Basic politic history, Kipsu. Do you need me to teach you this stuff again?" "No, no, I'm fine!" the little kirfolk girl squeaked. "Let's... let's just keep going with our mission. No history, just work. Please." "Well then," he said as he stepped inside. "Follow me. And don't stare at the barman, please." "Wait for me! And stop messing up my hair!"

The bar was pretty quiet and empty. Old wooden tables and chair were placed neatly, showing that the owner was, at the very least, a person concerned with order. They surely weren't concerned with anything else, though - the wood was almost grey and the furniture was badly chipped, weird trash could be found sitting around in a corner, some mugs were so damaged they were almost leaking their content. Some patrons were sipping some questionable-looking ale, its alcoholic smell piercing Kipsu's nostrils. Shady eyes watched the pair stroll towards the bar, knifes danced under tables. The Master walked with a sure step, his attendant following him and not even sneaking a glance at the others. Shandis simply took a seat in front of the bar, tip-tapping his fingernails on the old counter. The girl followed him, taking a seat next to him. "Fahrjii, are you still here and did you finally die? Give me a glass of that rotten beer of yours!" he yelled. An old figure made its way from the backroom to the bar, holding a mug filled almost to the brim. Kipsu squealed at the stench of the drink. Shandis just laughed. "Long time no see, you dusty arse!"

"Shandis. Got a lotta nerve, showing yourself here." A small, scarred face greeted the two with an ugly smile. He measured the young girl, then nodded for himself after a moment. "And you got yourself a fine slice, you old dog," the man harked out a laugh that sounded more like flint scrapping against a chunk of pyrite, small sparks flying as the laugh echoed inside the room. Shandis grimaced. "She is more of an apprentice, you dumb fool." He relaxed his face ever so slightly. "But I'm happy to see you too." He took a gulp of the rancid ale as he kept talking: "I wish we could talk some more over a cup of this slimy crap you call ale, but that will have to wait. I'm working right now." "Oho, so young Sparky here is suddenly too good for us commonfolk, eh? With your fancy little job, yes?" A knife flickered in front of Shandis's face before getting impaled into the planks of the bar, missing his left thumb by a hairstrand's width. "Huh. Your precision is as shit as the day I last saw you," he scoffed calmly.

"I'm not playing, Shan. Thank whatever gods you worship nowadays that the others aren't here right now." The man grunted, preparing to go back into the kitchen. "Wait," said Shandis, raising his hand, "if you tell me one little thing I'll be out of your hair. All I have to do is look out for this fellow," he leaned towards Fahrjii and whispered, "somebody called the Shark. Tell me how to find them and I'll be gone." Fahrjii stopped for a moment, then whispered back to the young man: "Fih Jah-Kseeh Var'Gah. And please, don't trash this place up. It's already shit."

Kipsu watched the exchange unfold from the side. She knew, of course, that the current Master of Combat was not a typical person to say the least, but the last few days have shown her so many hidden parts of his self, so many pieces of his mysterious past. The girl waited quietly for the old... acquaintances to finish their talk, not hearing their last few lines. As the old man made his way back, Shandis turned his head slightly towards her. Her ears perked up, sensing that their job was finally about to start. "The jagged-looking man. Don't look directly at him. The left corner of the room, close to the door, sharp teeth. Danger level... probably body to sword range, mundane level." "Hmm hmm hmm," murmured the girl, "about time, I was getting bored already~ Wish me luck, Master!"

Her target was drinking his beverage away from the other patrons as the kirfolk girl walked to him. He raised his head, meeting her lingering gaze, her coy upturn of the lips, her shadow of a blush... He couldn't help but lower his guard ever so slightly, against his better judgement. "Scram, girl. I'm waiting for somebody," he snarled, gesturing with his hand toward her. "Oh, I'm sorry, mister, it's just... you seemed so lonely sitting all by yourself..." Kipsu slowly approached him without breaking eye contact. "But if you're waiting for your lady to come... Well, it'd be better to leave, riiight?" She raised her hand, her nails floating above his old coat, leaning ever so slightly against his figure. "Something tells me you're waiting for no lady though... Isn't that right? Meeting a man in this bar... You look so scared, too..." Her hand softly gripped his chin. The man could not move, his very body betraying him. Beads of sweat gathered above his thick eyebrows, the redness of his cheeks replaced by a ghastly white.

"Hmmmm?~ Did I step on creaky floor right now? You are scared, you are scared of who is coming, someone so scary you're about to die thinking about him... No, he is surely not here to help you, is he?..." Kipsu stared into the man's eyes, not trembling, not blinking, a cold demeanor permeating her every word. "You did something bad, huh? Or... maybe you did nothing bad at all... or maybe you failed to do something for this person... Yes, that's it." She scanned his face, reacting to his every involuntary flinch, every spasm betraying more and more of his thoughts. His breath was ragged, panicked, he felt cold and nauseous, he could not avert his eyes, he could not push the girl off him. His strength, his very soul was wavering, leaving his chest, legs and arms. "Please... stop, please..." he mustered. "Stop? Stop what? I am not doing anything to you, mister. I'm just a pretty young lady who thought you needed some company. Look at you, almost pissing yourself out of fear. Of course you'd be terrified. If I was the one asking for your help, I would've slit your throat here and now. Who would be stupid enough to hire your incompetent ass for anything, huh?" "No, no, please understand! The King's Guard already knew I was coming!... I barely escaped... if it weren't for my abilities, I would've been caught in an instant! Please, have mercy! Tell Lord Saklo to give me another chance, please, I beg you!"

Kipsu raised her thumb up slightly, signaling Shandis that her work was done. "Hmph. We'll see about that." Forming seals with her other hand, she conjured magic bindings that shined with the light of the sun, casting them upon the criminal. The bindings etched themselves into his skin, burning like coals on his skin, leaving glowing runic imprints as they bound with his body. He screamed. "Good job talking, scum. We'll continue our conversation in a more secure place." She lifted him from his seat. He struggled to move, but the bindings were sapping away at his mana reservoir, leaving his body weakened. "Don't struggle. Play nice and you'll be free to go," said the girl.

"Well done, girl." Shandis patted her on the head, grabbing their target's limp body and putting him on his back, carrying the man like backpack. "There's enough time for celebrations back home. Let's get out of here first. Follow me." The Master grabbed his attendant's hand and, with yellow bright sparkles of energy flowing from his body, he left the bar, sprinting down the alleys and roads out of the slums; Kipsu held his hand with a desperate grip, hanging on for dear life; the criminal passed out from motion sickness, his body already on the verge of giving up ever since Kipsu's interrogation. Everybody moved out of their way as they flashed down the road, a lightning in human form - there wasn't a single man or woman in the entire city who did not know about the Master of Combat, and they knew better than to simply cross him. After ten minutes, they were out of the undercity; in less than half an hour, they were back at their home, safe and sound.