Denlo Hiding in Irritea

The musician has his uses, Denlo supposes, the morning after they met. He doubts that the man can get Denlo out of much trouble, but the human is bold and convincing enough to help with the authorities. If only he could stop with the irritating and troublesome habit of referring to the hulking Elf’ika in private as ‘Not Kravlo’. If the man slipped up and that was overheard, they could have a ton of trouble on their hands. But, until then, he had a bed and a reason for being in the city that should hold up, at least upon the slightest of inspection.

After breaking fast together, Renalt asks Denlo to remain a bit at their table at the bar, away from prying eyes and ears. “Not-Kravlo,” he begins, much to Denlo’s irritation, “We must discuss future plans. After all, this lovely establishment will only house us for so long.”

“We need to get enough money to leave, then leave,” Denlo replies, his voice matter-of-fact.

Renalt cocks his head slightly. “So, this heightened presence of Authority guards, it’s not going away?”

“Not anytime soon, I would guess,” Denlo states.

Renalt looks up into Denlo’s eyes. “And it isn’t localized, is it?” he asks. Denlo get a feeling that the man is pressing for information. To know what is behind the whole effort by the greater governance body to crack down on the cities. Denlo isn’t sure whether the musician suspects anything, but it is best to leave nothing to chance.

“No, it isn’t localized. If the Authority’s this thin in one city, it means they’re in all the cities.”

Renalt chuckles. “Oh, this is thin, is it?”

“Yes,” Denlo says, trying to seem pleasant, “Trust me, when they’re out in force in a city, you know.”

Renalt smiles. “So what is protecting you is that you are unknown. So long as we make no waves, we should be fine.”

Denlo shakes his head. The man means well, but he doesn’t really understand the United Cities. “For a time, certainly. But this dangerous Elf’ika that the guard is searching for would likely only be able to hide among kin. It would stand out too much in among any other group, but kin are varied for several reasons.”

“Yes, but you aren’t in the kinslums. Thank me. Which means you should be safe for a time here.”

“For now, you are right. But Irritea is a part of old West Vyrroletea. It’s more integrated, less rigidly organized. For now, the Authority are likely in every city. But soon, the Authority will have searched and cleared all the cities of Tolfirin. Meaning the rest of the cities will start getting increased guard presences. Then, they will finish searching the joined cities. And when that happens, Irritea and Yrsetra will be flooded with Authority guard. The very reason one like myself might come to this city in the first place would be the reason that this city could never be a long-term solution.”

“What’s your best guess for when that might start happening?”

By the end of the week, Denlo thinks. The regiments in the South would be on the move by week’s end. But he wanted a buffer, just in case they were early. “Five, six days,” he guessed.

“Let’s go with five then,” he agreed. “We leave in the evening in four days. I’ll have more detail when I have more detail. Do have fun making money in the meanwhile, though.” The musician stands up. “Now, I’m heading to the land of the rich here. I would prefer it if you weren’t to die in the meanwhile. You seem marginally useful as an implicit protector, at the least.”

Denlo shakes his head as the human leaves. That bard holds himself strangely, but he’s helped Denlo once. And, if he can get into the Cities without trouble, he’s likely to be able to get out of them, too. In the meanwhile, he just needs to find a new friend in the kinslums. One who would gift money to him after he gifted them his sword. Getting up, Denlo thanks the owner Madam Tolrogimdat for the meal. She looks a tad upset and so he knows better than to stay. Heading out, he turns quickly to avoid the docks. After that one sailor the night prior was so vocal about his distaste of Elfkin, Denlo isn’t planning on risking any sort of conflict. Getting into the kinslums quickly is the best way to avoid conflict. Or at least conflicts that the Authority patrols would care about.

Heading into the town within the town, Denlo begins to look around. Unfortunately, while he is, at least by most people’s conception of race appearance, kin, the heightened Authority presence has all but shut down the slums. Or, at least, the parts of the slums that break the technical law. Denlo looks for hours, but the closest he gets to finding a pawn-styled friend is a man named Fernasso who claims his cousin’s wife works as one in Yrsetra. He offers to take the items off Denlo’s hands, visit his cousin, and then return with the money in a week. Denlo knows better. Even if the man was telling the truth, which Denlo doubted to begin with, if you don’t know exactly how much something is worth, you never go through a middleman. Which of course left Denlo exactly where he had been in the morning: nowhere.

As he headed back to the bar to buy a lunch and figure out another way to earn money, a cart blocks his path. Turning around, a couple thug types stand in his way. Looking behind him, another comes out from the cart. That one speaks. “So, you’re the big kin. We don’t want no trouble, but a friend of ours says you’ve got some valuables on you.”

Denlo looks between the three locals. “I might. Depends, what are you planning on paying with?” Under his cloak, he moves his hands to grasp the hilt of the blade.

“We were thinking you’d give it to us, out of the kindness of your heart,” the leader says. The trio get closer to Denlo.

Denlo shakes his head. Waiting. They just need to take a few more steps “I’m sorry, I know you were counting on it, but I’m all out of kindness in my heart.”

“Well, we’re sorry about that too,” the leader says.

One of the others chimes in, “Not really, now we get to beat you to death, which is fun.” They get close enough. Too bad for them.

Letting the cloth fly off the blade with the swing of his wicked blade, he slides it right through the one who thought beating him to death would be fun. The blade enters the thug’s body around the clavicle and, sliding like a knife through soft cheese, it exits the body just under the armpit. The top begins to slide. Before even giving the other two time to react, Denlo spins the blade around and thrusts it into the leader’s chest. With perfect precision and impossible ease, it slips between the bones of the chest and hits something vital. Glaring at the final combatant as the large man removes the sword from his opponents chest, his arms begin to swing, faster than they should be able. As though his sword wants to strike out. Wants to fight. In the time most take to make a single strike, Denlo slashes lightly across the final thug’s chest, then goes low, removing the thug’s leg from their body about a handswidth from the groin. Dying on the ground, the final thug tries to muster a scream. Denlo stands over them. “Don’t do that,” the Elf’ika says, “You wouldn’t want any more of your friends to suffer for your mistakes now, would you?” Denlo hopes that will work. While he is pretty sure he can handle a lot of what might come with a scream, if a guard happens to hear it there would be too much heat. He isn’t ready to leave yet. He can’t afford that to happen.

Fortunately enough for the young killer, after the thug looks at their bisected compatriot, they decide perhaps calling for others in the area is the wrong option. Quietly, they mutter, “In my pack. Drugs, for the pain.”

Denlo nods and obliges. Taking from the small pocket on the thug’s belt a powder, he offers it forth. The thug, visibly struggling pours the powder into their waterskin and drinks deeply. Then, relaxing, they sigh. They seem at peace. The killer looks at his blade, bloodied. Not ideal. He wipes it on the cloth, then wraps the blade once more to keep it hidden. With his own things and the dying man sorted out, Denlo goes to the other bodies. Moving them from the path is a priority. Out of sight, out of mind and all that. The cart should remain untouched for a day or so. Even longer if he moves it to open the street. Starting with the full-sized body, then the two half-bodies, and finally he takes the dying person and their leg into the back of the cart. Then, carefully as to not disturb the bodies too much, he pulls the cart down the street to a point where it is wider. Half a block down, there is an open area to the side of the road. Denlo pulls the cart into the side area. Then, he realizes something. He needs money. These thugs do this for a living. Perhaps he might be lucky. Perhaps they have the money on them.

Their bodies have nothing of import. He searches them thoroughly and, other than some very shoddily made blades and honestly fairly well crafted armor, they carried nothing. Well, the armor was once well crafted. Currently it is mostly ruined from the whole getting killed process. Moving on to searching the cart, he quickly finds a hatch in the front wall of the cart. Opening it, he finds quite a bit of note. Twenty-seven silver pieces. A little under a hundred coppers. And a necklace with a gem just a tad smaller than the Elf’ika’s massive palm. Quite a haul, if he does say so. Putting the necklace away in one of his pockets, he turns back to the dead. While they don’t have much of use on them, they do have several pockets holding things like stones attached to their belts. Taking a couple of those and emptying them of the non-monetary items, he fills them once more with the money. More than worth the trip.

Then, leaving the cart in the somewhat secluded area, Denlo heads back to the tavern. Entering, he approaches Madam Tolrogimdat, who stands behind the bar still grumpy looking. “Madam, if you don’t mind, might I have a large lunch?” He takes four coppers out from one of the new pockets on his belt. “I’ll be paying. The extra is an apology for whatever I did to make you this grumpy.”

Madam Tolrogimdat looks at the money, then takes it. “It wasn’t you. Not really,” she says, then gestures over to the table. “Go, sit, I’ll be over in a moment.” She doesn’t even take time to see what Denlo does before she heads back to the kitchens, likely to yell at someone.

Denlo heads over to the table. If Renalt returns with some income as well, even though there’s no way it will be as much as his, they should have enough to get supplies and move on. To wherever the bard is intending for them to move on to. He reminds himself, the musician knows what he’s doing. Probably.

Denlo quickly gets this confirmed when Renalt arrives. Sitting down across from him just after Madam Tolrogimdat arrives with the food, he asks, “Dear, Eraglim, might I have your finest meal? I do hunger so, and after you were so kind last night, it is only polite for me to repay the favor.” He pulls from seemingly nowhere a silver coin. The dwarf smiles and takes it and heads back towards the kitchen. “So,” he turns to Denlo, “Not-Kravlo. How went the search for money?”

“I found some,” Denlo admits, “You?”

“I got a little. One twenty five. I know it was only worth one hundred but evidently rich people here can get quite foolish with money, if they believe another rich individual has interest as well.

“A hundred twenty five silver?” Denlo spits out, “That’s a fortune. We can get anything we might need now. How?”

Renalt cocks his head at the large man. “Silver? No, silly. Gold.”