Sinner's Refuge (closed for Apollo Wilde)

[dryfter]

How long had it been? How many times had he asked that question? And why did he have to relive that day every time he went to sleep? Was this by desigh? If so, by whose design was it?

He could still feel the rain between his toes as he fled. The sting of flung stones as they struck his small body not nearly as painful as knowing that his own parents were among those doing the casting. Dread and sorrow shadowed his every step as the forest swiftly took him from view.

Cursed child. That is what they had called him, what they still whispered behind his back every time their superstitious gazes fell upon his stark white hair. Hair color that was far more suited for men clutching their canes and yammering around the village fire's in the fall than it was seen on a youth like him. The fact that he had time to reflect on this meant that he had to be dreaming again, though it was strange that he could still taste the terror. Every bush held a venomous monster, every tree hid a fanged demon that only a child could imagine would be more cruel than the villagers that had run him out. Humans had always been a superstitious lot and clearly he had to be sacrificed to return them to the normalcy they all craved. But that didn't mean that there wasn't crueler things out there. How he had managed was nothing short of a miracle, again wondering if it was by the design of someone...or something else.

After all, he had no idea that his strange hair color had been from the great potential for sorcery within him? How could he? His village lacked any kind of spell caster, shaman, or even ranking leader of the Church. What he did have, was a sense that something was guiding him. Even then, with his smallish legs, it had taken a while to arrive at the cave. Somehow he had not attracted the attention of any of the forest's menagerie of deadly creatures. A human child alone would have most certainly have made for an easy meal.

Come closer.

He flinched then, his eyes torn back to the cave and away from the foliage surrounding him yet. He had heard the old folks whispering about what lived in places like this, when they weren't scowling at him and spinning wild tales. If the forest was a deadly place, then this surely had to be twice as dangerous. But he would freeze long before he starved if he stayed out here. Shelter had to be procured. Instinctively he knew this. Then came the battle against starvation. But this cave was clearly occupied.....by something.

Instead he had found nothing. The sound of his own wet feet slapping against hardened stone as he cast his frightened gaze from side to side, expecting rushed movement any second now. Instead....it was quite shallow, coming to and end while the enterence was still viewable. Better yet, there was no evidence of any kind of monster or animal living here. A clean expanse of smooth stone carved into a rocky outcropping in the middle of nowhere. It would be perfect, if only he know how to start a fire.

You seek warmth? I can give that to you. There is much potential in you, boy.

"Who are you?"

It was a simple question from a simple mind. He knew he shouldn't ask, but a child's curiosity is boundless.

A whisper of what could be, child. Take note of your surroundings. You'll find me easily enough.

There was nothing here. Or...nothing that was capable of speech. Then again, was what he heard actually speech? It was more like the words crept insidiously into his head. Still, he knew he wasn't going to be able to do anything as simple as sleep until he figured out what was speaking to him. So explore he did, each and every nook and cranny until in the end he found nothing but a dark and shiny stone in the very back of the cave, barely the size of a marble. It was pretty enough, but he had never been one to notice rocks enough. Still....it was unusual, and unlike any he had seen before.

Yessss.

He flinched slightly before picking it up, rolling it between his fingers as he lifted it closer to view. Black as night, he could almost swear he could see smallish flecks of gold and silver upon its surface, like stars in the night sky. He remembered what happened next very clearly. Almost as if it had a mind of it's own, his hand was brought closer to his face. His mouth opened, but not to speak words to the mysterious voice again, instead the small rock passed by his blunt human teeth....

A second later, and he'd swallowed it.

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A cold sweat. His keen blue eyes opened once more, though now it was years, decades, centuries later. He was pretty certain he'd already lived longer than any human should be capable of. His mind was still unwilling to let go of the dream and he knew what had come next. He had thrown up, retching repeatedly and profusely, until not only his meager breakfast had been lost....but blood had followed. And yet he hadn't died. He had woken up just as he did now. When he did...he knew...it was time to go to work.

The dungeon core demanded it. And now that he had merged with it, his own survival depended on it as well.

Now he let his gaze fall upon the various windows he had conjured around the room. He could watch any floor he wanted, and there was much to see. Adventures continuously assaulted his creation, never ending in their greed and lust for power and prestige. Most of those adventures, but not all, were human. Though other races existed, the fast breeding, short lived humans truly hated anything that was different from themselves. Wars raged nearly constant on the surface world as each world leader sought to strengthen himself at the expense of others. Demi-humans were often enslaved while the more monstrous looking of them were simply slaughtered for amusement and disgust alike.

And so, in time, this place had become known as Sinner's Refuge. A place where the downtrodden disappeared and never returned. Though there was long standing debates as to whether those refugees were victims of the dungeon itself, or if they had found a place to shield themselves from the avarice of the world and the gods themselves that used them as playthings for amusement. An abyss that no human had seen the bottom of yet, and even more hoped never would. A dungeon meant prosperity for whatever country claimed it, and Sinner's Refuge was the second largest dungeon every discovered. A metropolis had been built next door to it over time, with a near constant stream of would-be glory seekers and battle hardened veterans alike lining up to test their mettle and see just how far they could go before the fates turned against them.

But not even the most sagacious of them know just how far the dungeon ran. Even now, his gaze fell upon an idyllic mountain view, a cascading waterfall falling hundreds of feet before exploding into a rainbow mist as it collided with the stillness of an enormous lake. Though he couldn't hear them, he knew the exact number of birds, rodents, and yes even monsters that lurked nearby waiting for prey come approach for a cool drink. That was the 68th floor. Reach it, and you would still have another thirty one to go before encountering the master of the dungeon himself.

Awake now, he immediately went back to work. The early floors were full of orcs, goblins, slimes, and kobolds. All creatures with fast reproductive rates so that they could maintain their numbers with minimum help from him. All they needed were a few females. And what they didn't have of their own respective races....well the adventurers that came knocking would make for an welcome change of pace. From there, the dungeon residents slowly got stronger and more difficult to deal with, but also more difficult to replace. Each death in here served a purpose...and nothing was wasted.

So was it wrong of him to hope that something unusual would approach today? Something to drive away the day's monotony, or at the very least drown out some of his more insistent underlings who had begun insisting that he should be looking for happiness outside of just his work?

 

[Apollo Wilde]

There were all sorts of stories about the dungeon: the typical tales of life changing riches, how one adventuring party ended up becoming heroes (and the paladin of that group? He’s now a king somewhere in the West. No one ever either knew for sure which region or just what his name was, but the fact of the matter still stood that someone became a king after leaving the dungeon), or how one intrepid sorceress found a magical tome that completely changed the face of white magic and now she was a priestess somewhere with her own order.

That sort of thing.

So, then, it could’ve been easily said that it was curiosity about these stories that brought Apis Mellifera to the town on the outskirts of the dungeon - a little dot that was little more than a collection of ramshackle inns, eateries, a brothel, and one especially enterprising brothel (for more coin, you could be taken into the back and sample some of the demi or non-human ladies, or men, whichever was your preference). The assumption would be that the town would be a constant bustling mass, but over time, there had simply been something strange in the air, in the water, perhaps, that simply forbade the town of growing any larger. A last resort, one last chance to turn around, and so the town was named Last Stop. Nothing poetic or romantic - nor was there any of the courageous ‘fighting against the frontier’ air in the name, either.

There had been rumors, too, that Last Stop was haunted, due to its inability to spread out wider. The stories typically blamed the dungeon that was beyond, but as there was no way of verifying it, the stories remained just that. Apis wasn’t particularly interested in the stories, or the town itself. There was nothing inherently special about the place; the same reek of desperation and despair under the childish bravado of bright eyed adventurers who’d seen little of life.

She’d know; she’d been an inhabitant of Last Stop for as long as she could remember. Last Stop wasn’t known for immaculate record keeping of the coming and goings - unless one was talking about the brothel, Eastern Light: they had records of everything. Problem was they were only specific to the brothel: every debt, every apothecary’s visit, every whore that was ‘bought out’ for one reason or the other: they all lay in the massive tomes that the Madam kept. It was because of those tomes that Apis knew her name, her last name, and a hint of her heritage - not entirely human, but human enough to keep her in the good graces of those passing through. One could ignore the longer than normal ears and their slight point because the rest of her was so indistinguishable from the faceless masses that kept Last Stop going. In her years, she’d been a maid, confidante, and now, much to her own sense of pride, a budding apothecary herself. Who ever said that you couldn’t make something out of yourself working in a brothel?

 

[Apollo Wilde]

From the whores, both near human and human, she’d learned how to blend in, how to stand out, how to tell when someone was lying and when someone was trying to short her. Though her home base was Eastern Light, she was ‘adventurous’ enough to ply her medicinal trade through the town, a wandering medicine woman of slight height and nondescript build. Brown skin suggestive of maple syrup with fetching eyes that were, for lack of a better word, brown in light and a shimmering gold in near dark. Dark freckles smattered the bridge of her nose and the planes of her cheekbones. Small but deft hands, scarred but not to the point of crippling, a left arm that was covered with a white bandage. Baggy black pants and the marine blue tunic of her calling, her bamboo cabinet strapped to her back, black rimmed round glasses hanging at the neck of her tunic. Shocks of wild violet hair were wrestled back into two thick twin braids that hung on either side of her face, making her look much younger than she actually was.

And for the most part, she lived a quiet, unmolested life. Doing her rounds, collecting coin, listening to gossip, bartering for herbs she couldn’t find or grow: being completely no one to anyone that was new to the town.

Maybe it was all too good to be true, and maybe that’s how she ended up in her current predicament.

“Come on…come on…!” The light flickered dully from her palms, sparking in and out like striking a flint. Magic had only been a minor part of her training - learned from those passing through who thought it kind to humor the child of a prostitute -, but the rest she’d tried to pick up where she could from books. But compared to all of the combinations of herbs and natural remedies that already existed in the world, it seemed foolish to risk draining her own mana when patience and the right poultice could do the same.

“Why isn’t he responding?! I thought they said you were a healer!” Blue steel shook, then shone in front of her eyes. Jerked up to come to her throat.

Without so much as looking back at the sword’s bearer, she spoke in a flat, even tone: “I am an apothecary. There’s only so much I can do. The fact that I know this little magic to begin with is a god-send. Should you choose to believe in such things.”

The man on the ground, run through by an Orc’s axe, was choking on his own blood. Spat up great clots of it, his eyes distant and panicked. “Why you came this far without a healer is beyond me,” she added, chewing on the corner of her lower lip. “What would’ve you don-GAH!” Her words were cut off as the sword bearer yanked on her left braid, jerking her head back. More of her throat was exposed to the shaking edge, and she could barely make out the man’s reddened face from the corner of her eyes.

“You better heal him, apothecary or whatever, or you’re as good as dead!”

The sword bearer - what was his name? She’d been calling him ‘ass’ in her head for the past few days - was an older man, scarred, and not too long on intelligence. Who else, other than a complete ass, would go charging into a blind alley in a dungeon, draw as much attention to himself and his party as possible, resulting in a hoard of Orcs ambushing them, and then, rather than retreat, try to fight their way out of what was a dead end?

A complete ass.

"Maybe if you hadn't kidnapped me and had been a bit more patient, you would've found an actual healer," she couldn't help but to growl, annoyed that this ass still hung onto her hair, still had his sword at her throat. "And there's not a lot I can do with you pulling my hair."

 

[dryfter]

Piggish eyes scrutinized them in the darkness. Arcane ones that pierced the dark unknowingly had taken notice as well. All was as it should be, another band of glory seekers was well on it's way to being crushed on one of the upper floors. The orcs had claimed their just reward, a heavily scarred brigand looking female screamed and thrashed as they dragged her away, the poor unfortunate barely even acknowledging the corpses of her comrades she was dragged flailing over.

There were three of them left. Though one had little time left. He had, in his arrogance, challenged the chieftain's son. The orcish youth had been looking for accolades and this first great battle would earn him a place amongst his people. Rather than stand and fight, the other two had chosen to quarrel with the man drawing his weapon on his party's only other female. Strangely, the orcs had not seen fit to press their advantage and attack.

And that was when he finally noticed her.
He had never seen hair color like hers, a vibrant hue of purple that did not run naturally amongst humans. And unlike his own skin, pale as moonlight, hers was the exact opposite. It reminded him of the trees he had planted years ago on some of the deeper levels, levels that looked a little less like an actual labyrinth and a little more like their own smallish world. Though not completely out of the realm of possibility, his first thought was that she couldn't be human. It was evident that the orcs surrounding them had thought the same. They had frozen, unsure of what to do when the human male turned on the strange woman. Until one of their number, the father of the axe-wielder who had brought down the injured man....stepped into the clearing. A long, thick club clutched in his hands, with studs and knots covering it's business ends. The stains on the dark wood belying the fact that it had been well used.

The chieftain had arrived.

"Let her go, human. Only a coward hides behind a woman. At least that one there had the courage to face my son in battle."

His Common was flawless, clearly having been taught from someone somewhere. The look on the adventurer's face was enough to make their unknown spectator smile.

"Dungeon Lord! Do you hear me?! Are you watching?!"

The orcs behind him suddenly split into a great hue and cry of whooping and hollering, knowing what was coming. But their chieftain didn't continue right away, instead choosing to level his rheumy gaze upon them both once more. His squinty glare lingering perhaps just a little longer than expected upon her, as if sizing her up, the blade at her throat and his hold on her impossible to miss.

"Defeat me, human....and my men will mourn my death. You will leave here alive as Champion. That's all you humans desire when death seems certain, yes? A chance? Come. Release the woman and avenge your fallen men. Unless of course, you truly do choose to die a coward."

The cries behind him became jeers just as fast. It was almost as if they suspected they were indeed being watched right now. But he had no interest in the pig men. Carefully he watched her every reaction, curious.....fascinated. If only his arcane sight gave him the ability to hear what was going on as well.

"Ah well....it will all be over soon enough as it is. Trusk should win again, and then he'll have to decide what to do with her. Should I intervene? I've not made my presence known in such a long time....."

For now, he was content to watch it end just as he imagined it would, though the swordsman's skills kept him alive much longer than he had anticipated. He couldn't help but wince as Trusk continued to pound away at his limp and lifeless body with the great club he held until the blood splatter reached even her, a splash of crimson staining her clothes.

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"That's enough, Trusk"

The words were cold, emotionless, as countless sets of eyes froze in terror.

An arcane circle, shimmering letters of brilliant white had blinded many of them, orcish eyes accustomed to dark places now struggling to adjust even as he stepped out of it's center. While the monsters of his labyrinth panicked and the wisest of them huddled in fear....the great orc merely nodded, setting down the knotted length of wood to take a knee before the man before him.

To his credit, he looked human enough, and not a day over twenty four. The orc wouldn't be fooled by appearances however, he knew who this was, just as he knew that he was far, far older than appearance suggested.

"Your trying to scare her isn't working. She's not a fragile girl....see?"

With a gesture, he motioned back to the now lone surviving member of the latest dungeon challengers. A soft smile and a curt bow. He was keenly aware of the legends spoken about him in the many human towns. The White Wolf, even now the one thing he couldn't change about his appearance ever....was his hair. It was an ill portent indeed to encounter him....if you were human. Though legends spoke amongst the slave pens that a demi-human might be able to beg for sanctuary, a better life, a safe place to live out the rest of their days.....

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Ew, was her first thought as she was spattered with blood. It narrowly missed her eyes, splashing instead across her cheek.

Well, hell, was her second thought. Kidnapped, forced to heal, and now dragged off by Orcs for, she could only assume for breeding. If she was lucky enough to survive the initial ‘coupling’, to put it mildly, it would be a slim chance that she’d survive the birth. Escape, at this junction, seemed unlikely. But maybe if she allowed herself a bit of patience, some craftiness -

The light, blinding in its purity, made her hiss and look away - temporarily blinded, as she too had been used to the dim light of the dungeon, darkness that only had bits of it bitten away by torchlight.

Blinking away tears from the brightness, she turned to face it. Though she didn’t think of herself as much of a spell caster, there was enough raw magic in the air that even she could feel it thrum in her molars; raise the fine hairs on her arms like static electricity. Magic that was off the charts and defied her meager attempt to figure out what it was she was looking at. Something that the Orcs clearly didn’t fear, because there was no hurried attempts to flee. Through narrowed eyes, she took in the figure, taking a moment for her eyes to fully adjust to the new light.

…I’m dead, was her last thought. And this isn’t how I expected to go.

No one in Last Stop hadn’t heard of the White Wolf - though his name had passed into distant legend, it felt, ages ago. Only those demi-humans in the brothel spoke his name in whispered reverence, praying for the day that he’d come and save them.

“If you’re who I think you are,” where Apis found her voice, she wasn’t entirely sure, “then you’re a massive asshole.”

She hadn’t knelt - if anything, now, as she fished out a lavender handkerchief from a hidden pocket in her tunic - she looked annoyed. Wiping blood from her face and from where it’d spattered on her glasses, she stood at full height. The left braid had come slightly undone, the hair densely curly as to be little more than a voluminous frizz. “Do you know…” She spat on the handkerchief, and wiped again at her face, ensuring that even the memory of blood was gone, “how many beings pray to you to save them? Up there? All the ones that suffer, ones not even far from here! And now you show yourself?! What’s your excuse? I was kidnapped and dragged down here against my will; otherwise I’d never set foot in here.”

Her voice was steady in its anger; not prone to rise or fall with emotion. Weight, too, in her voice: hard-earned skill and knowledge there, along with the exasperation of one who has had to explain the same concept immeasurable times. Deeper, too, than her appearance would give. Though she seemed to be sprite-like in her statute, her voice was husky and strong.

 

[dryfter]

A massive asshole.

His head cocked quizzically to one side as he regarded her words. They certainly hadn't been what he had expected. But then...what had he expected? The more he thought about it, the more amusing it became. She was upset with him? Most who ran into him by chance screamed, ran, fainted....but here she stood! Curious. Very curious!

"You're not afraid of me."

It wasn't a question. Instead he found himself meeting her glare as she used a handkerchief to clean herself of the bloody mess that had dirtied her.

“Do you know….how many beings pray to you to save them? Up there? All the ones that suffer, ones not even far from here! And now you show yourself?! What’s your excuse? I was kidnapped and dragged down here against my will; otherwise I’d never set foot in here.”

"Did I ask for their prayers? Do you truly believe me to be a god?"

Slowly the orcs behind him began to slink away. All but their Chieftain, Trusk. He alone remained, unsure of what was to become of the last remaining female his people had hunted. Instinctively....the orc knew he had made the right decision by not killing her or dragging her off with the other woman to the breeding pens. The one survivor would be enough for now, his men would be kept happy at the expense of her misery.

"Kidnapped and dragged down here against your will. If you'd like I could return you to the surface. I could escort you personally even if that's what you want. Though I'd not enter that shithole you call a town even if you asked me to."

He had never stopped smiling as he conversed, the profanity slipping past his lips as if it were completely natural to him.

"You already know I'm not a god. And thus, I lack the power to save everyone. But I can save the ones within my sight, and my sight remains here."

A snap of his fingers and one of his many windows sprang to life. An idyllic island, its pristine white beaches glistening under a fake sun. A lone mermaid basked in its brightness, careful to keep her tail in the gently rolling surf even as she drew comb through her damp golden hair, pert and uncovered breasts visible to them both.

"Did you know that many believe mermaid blood is the secret to immortality? Have you heard tales of how they've been hunted to near extinction while you exist inside your city walls filled with decayed souls? What if I told you that she is one of many? How hard would they press to obtain just a single drop? And we both know that humans won't just stop at a single drop, will they? And for what? A people who pray to be rescued, but fear to come to the place where such rescue might be obtained? Such folly. Even you just said you'd never set foot in here. Where then would they go?"

"Everything has a price. Every treasure, every gem, every coin. It's all been paid for in blood and death. Most just don't see it that way.....but I do."

He was careful to not get too close. He wasn't the aggressor here, and though she certainly didn't scare easily, he could swear that she had paled just a little at the sight of him. Before calling him an asshole of course.

"I have taken in so many. Summoned others. Even created others myself. Finding a place for you to live out your life safely could be done as well, but only if you wish it."

He couldn't be sure, but she certainly didn't feel like a human to him. Though her initial outburst could be taken as human arrogance, she had none of the aura suggesting bottomless greed, avarice and other such sinful vices about her. The fact that she didn't reek of spilled blood helped too. He wasn't sure why he was offering her sanctuary, but it was undeniable that she'd caught his attention. Something about her......was different.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Wait, what?

He asked if I was afraid of him. For a moment, the impassive look on her face dropped to one of sheer incredulity. One didn’t last long in Last Stop, or generally, anywhere, without knowing how to have a hell of a poker face, regardless of who they were facing. But it seemed about that time that her mind caught up to her gut, and she did, indeed, seem to pale a bit.

White hair. Young face. There’s no way it could be anyone else but the White Wolf. Unless…

She stepped closer, her left hand rubbing her chin curiously. I’ve whipped up a few hair colors in my time. Nothing this good, though. At least not to get it this level. But just because I can’t do it doesn’t mean that someone else can’t. His words, even the display of magic, all went unheeded as she moved closer, mumbling to herself. A stray word, here and there, bubbled up to the surface, though they made no earthly sense.

Did he say something about mermaids? Never seen one outside of a book.

And now, she was toe to toe with him. She was about a foot and a half shorter, so that the top of her head barely graced his collarbones. And with those deft, scarred fingers, she gently wrapped a good portion of his hair around her hand. Against the brown of her skin, his hair was moonlight captured in silk - illuminating her short nails stained with a strange hue of green, red, and yellow. This close, he would be able to smell bitter herbs, a fragrance that clung to her hair, her hands, her clothing.

Her muttering continued as she turned the lock of his hair round and round her fingers - stopping only to flick open her glasses with her right hand, and put them on. Adjusting them up and down her nose, her eyes narrowed, returned to a normal set, then narrowed again as she carefully twisted the hair in her hands.

“No residue, no stripping of the hair. No oils or unguents used here at all. Well kept,” keeping the hair in her hands, she looked up at his face, her eyes curious over the wire rim of her glasses. In the dim light, her eyes were backlit in a pale gold, similar to the distant glow of a dog’s eyes when caught by the light at night.

…Oh…I don’t think this is dye.

The look on her face as realization sunk into her brain, trickled down into her stomach. Rightfully, her knees should’ve been shaking; she should’ve run the opposite direction screaming. Anything other than just…standing there with her hand full of the White Wolf’s hair. Her glasses slid down her nose.

“Uh…”

Too late to back down. And I’d rather be killed dealing with this guy than those Orcs.

“I stand by what I said,” but her voice was much smaller. “Right there in Last Stop, there are poor demi-humans in the brothel that pray every night for you to save them. And you’re right here and you won’t do a thing. And…and..” What was that girl’s name?! The one who’d looked a little guilty when that asshole dragged you off the street? “What of Frida? You just let those orcs take her and she didn’t do anything! It was all that stupid jerk’s fault - the one who I’m wearing, by the way - gross - and his dumb ass friend who he already got killed. Just send her back to the surface!"

 

[dryfter]

She was touching him!

He had no reaction but simple curiosity as she approached. She continued to amaze him, each reaction from her so much different from what he was used to. He could hear Trusk shuffle forward and could guess what his motive was. A simple thought froze him where he stood however, the orc maintaining a steady gaze upon this strange little female. To be honest, he wasn't sure if she was even worth mating with. To his sensitive nose, she smelled funny, reeking of things he didn't understand. And to the chieftain, that meant a potential threat.

She was unarmed. Reaching not for a weapon, but for the broad rimmed glasses hanging from her own thin shirt. Watching her intently, the dungeon lord was treated to a brief yet strangely enticing view of the fabric as it pressed against the proof of her womanhood before the spectacles came loose. A soft thrill ran through him then, almost like he had been caught doing something naughty. And so it had come as quite the shock when she leaned forward, mumbling, as she actually reached out for him.

There was nothing threatening in her advance, and so he stood there, amazed at her audacity as she ran a lock of his white hair between her smallish fingers. From this close even he could discern that she had an...unusual scent. Bitter, cloying, sweet, heavy and light both at the same time. The one thing he was certain of was this was not her normal body odor. No...this was an outside substance of some sort.....or substances.

There had been no alert at her touch. No poison, acid, or any other contamination as she continued her inspection. In fact, she was so close to him, that it was impossible for him to miss her eyes widening slightly as she came to the proper conclusion of just who he really was. For a second, he almost leaned forward to steady her as she seemed to waver slightly, taking a step back before addressing him once more. This time her tone wa softer, as if she had finally realized just how small she was here.

She had been entranced by his hair to the point that she had not even bothered to look at the magical window he had opened for her, nor had she answered his own questions. No matter. If he truly wanted to press the issue, then he could simply take her to that floor rather than show her a distant view of it. A wry smile crossed his lips then even as she repeated her queries from before. This one probably wouldn't have taken it as real anyway without being shown it first hand. A part of him wondered just how she would react to meeting an actual mermaid...not to mention some of his other dungeon dwellers.

“I stand by what I said. Right there in Last Stop, there are poor demi-humans in the brothel that pray every night for you to save them. And you’re right here and you won’t do a thing. And…and...What of Frida? You just let those orcs take her and she didn’t do anything! It was all that stupid jerk’s fault - the one who I’m wearing, by the way - gross - and his dumb ass friend who he already got killed. Just send her back to the surface!"
"Nobody who comes here does so with the intent of not doing anything."

Last Stop. Was that what the humans were calling their city these days? It seemed to change every so often, usually when a new ruler came under power. It was worth noting.

"Orcs die every day in this place. Just as humans and other intrepid adventures do. You claim you were forced to come here, a claim that has been validated. She came of her own volition knowing the risks. As for these people you speak of in the brothels...."

His gaze turned a little more stern then, as he regarded.

"You don't even seem to realize that you ask much, but offer very little. It's almost certain that you're unknowing of what would happen should somehow I end up killed or captured outside of this place. How many people would suffer? A great many, risked to save a few. The balance of things does not tip towards those you claim wish for mercy, but can't bring themselves to claim it themselves. Again, I'm not a god, prayers alone do not reach me."

But how could she? When was the last time he had left the dungeon? She couldn't possibly know what all lay within this place. Even the best of adventuring parties, the ones always returning with riches, artifacts, and slaves to be sold to the greedy slavers, hadn't even managed to reach halfway through his fanciful creation.

"You want Frida released? Frida. Who will most certainly return again to slay more of their kin, just as she has countless times before? There is no innocence there. Only arrogance and greed."

Still...something bothered him. It wasn't the brigand looking woman. He was resolute to leave her to her fate. Something in his own words....

"Prayers do not reach me......"

This time his tone was hushed as he mulled over the words. No amount of thought or foresight would change the fact that he was not the deity that perhaps some of them regarded him to be. Still...one thing couldn't be denied, and it was bothering him. More and more so as he found her fascinating, and yet she was finding fault with him. Just this once....would it really be that bad to please her? Would she care? Or was he just being used as a means to an end in a desperate bid to stay alive. Doubtful. She had to know by now that if he was going to kill her, he would have spent this much time talking before doing so.....

"But you did."

A soft sigh, as he resigned himself. He was torn, but inwardly he knew what he was going to do. The fact always remained that it could be quite boring here at times. This woman was the most excitement he had enjoyed in years. Even as the breath left his lungs the stony background behind them blurred at an alarming rate. He was used to it, but if she'd never experienced teleportation before, she was sure to be ill when they came to their stop.

A split second later and they were back at the dungeon's entrance. Night had fallen upon the surface world. This was good. It meant there were fewer people around to see them emerge from the shadows. Trusk knew his way back, was already on his way to rejoin his people no doubt. Just because he had denied of of her requests didn't mean he had to completely turn his back on her. He could.....but then what would she think? And come to think of it...when did he start caring what she thought of him?

A small, wry smile turned the corners of his lips beneath his cowl.

Interesting indeed.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

Unarmed for any standard weapon, certainly. The bamboo case she wore, was full of various herbs, tinctures, and roots - some of which, of course, were poisons. After all, poison was a matter of dosage.

In most cases, anyway.

“Yeah, but,” even she knew how weak her voice sounded now, “…Frida didn’t really want to kidnap me…” It sounded phony. She didn’t know Frida’s heart any better than she knew the orcs, and she was, in theory, putting her neck out for a complete stranger. But it didn’t seem right. Frida hadn’t gone out of her way to help her, but nor had she gone out of her way to injure her. “Okay, so, it’s not like you know every adventurer’s heart, right? There are some people that come in here because they’re desperate - they need coin, they need some sort of magic to make their lives tolerable. I dunno! I don’t know her that well! But I mean, being raped by orcs,” because let’s not sugarcoat it, “Is a pretty miserable way to live.”

Realization sparked in her eyes.

“That’s it! You said that prayers don’t answer you. And that you’re not a god. But look - you have the opportunity to make a difference in someone’s life, right now! For every prayer that you haven’t answered from the brothel, you can answer one now. You don’t think Frida isn’t praying to any deity that’s out there to be rescued from her fate? Do her a kindness and give her the opportunity to do more.”

Who could argue with that logic? It was pretty sound stuff, if she could say so herself.

Before she could revel in her undoubtedly assured victory, the world around her went blurry around the edges, fading in and out as if rubbing spots from her eyes. And when the world settled again, she was outside of the dungeon and it felt that her stomach was left behind. Until it collided back into her with full force, leaving her doubled over and retching.

“…I don’t remember eating that,” grumbled to herself as she wiped her mouth with the edge of her sleeve. Straightening herself out, she glanced around her, and couldn’t stop her soft gasp of surprise. The air was cool and crisp - familiar. In the distance, she could smell smoke from Last Stop.

“I’m…back,” she gawped, looking around - fumbling for her glasses, then deciding against it. “But what about Frida? I made a great argument and you know it,” she turned to face him, her small hands on her hips. It was near impossible to tell what her figure was beneath her large clothing. “You should do it. And I’ll never bother you again in the dungeon. I didn’t even want to be here.”

 

[dryfter]

Though the color of his hood was a drab gray, the shadows that night afforded him did well to conceal the majority of his face, And so it was that not much but the pearlescent flash of his teeth could be seen as he responded to her latest plea. She was insistent, but she had much to learn. At least she recovered from her illness quickly.

"So you would abandon the many for the few? Toss aside all those prayers in exchange for a bandit woman who aided in your kidnapping and almost got your killed?"

He wasn't mocking her. He needed her to think. What was the greater good here? Just moments ago she was clamoring on behalf of some courtesans at Last Stop's brothels, and with her next breath, she was begging him to spare the very woman who had put her in harm's way to begin with. It didn't matter to him who the leader was, who called the shots. This Frida girl had been complicit, putting pride and profit above anything resembling morals. Just like they always did. Well....at least the ones that always ended up dying on the upper levels.

"It's hard to choose, isn't it? Difficult to know you have multiple lives in your grasp, but still unable to save all of them. "

He was moving then, though making sure she followed. He hadn't been here in eons, but where there was a wall, there had to be a gate. That never changed. Several long minutes, kept boisterous by her arguing, and they were there. He was hardly surprised to see the enormous steel portcullis had been dropped, preventing any entry until morning. Not that he needed permission to enter. He did however, consider asking her permission before touching her before deciding against it. If she was still trying to argue her position, he scarcely noticed, instead scooping her up in his arms with a deftness made all the more impressive considering the strange wooden cabinet looking thing she wore strapped to her back.

A moment later, and they were in flight. Not true flight, but close enough as the air rushed by them both. He found himself amused again at her reactions as his feet touched down upon the stone ramparts some thirty feet above where they been standing moments ago. He set her down just as fast, surmising that when the shock wore off, it was very likely she would put up quite the struggle. Instead, when she turned to face him, she found his face a mere fraction of an inch away from her own. His smile unwavering once more as he held her with his icy blue eyes, a twinkle of mirth lay within.

"Now, pray tell, where exactly are these brothels you spoke of? And the demi humans within whom are said to send me prayers?"

 

[Apollo Wilde]

He has a point.

His words were enough to give her pause. In this instance…what was Frida to her, anyway? The people who ‘deserved’ to live, the ones that stuck their neck out for her, who looked over her after her mother died, the people of Last Stop - those were the ‘many.’ And what was in the dungeon? Generic monsters and heroes, she knew that much. Treasure, and whatever else.

“…I don’t know. I guess Frida had her reasons.” Wavering. “I dunno. If you’re strong enough to run the dungeon, then you can be strong enough to wipe her mind with a spell, deposit her somewhere far outside. I dunno. I just don't think she's all that bad-!”

Her last words were cut off as he scooped her up. She was so surprised she didn’t have time to even think to scream. Some sort of spell, then - because they were zipping along. Her tunic rippled in the wind, billowing so wide at times that she looked like a doll in a circus tent.

The world around them was too dark, too green, to see what was really passing. Not that she was paying attention: she was still mulling over his question.

Would Frida have done the same for you?

Doubtful.

Probably not.

But does that mean that you don’t do the right thing? If you go around doing things only to put people in your debt, then you might as well spend your life doing nothing.

They touched down, and she untangled herself from the grip that she had on him. Maybe it had been a trick of the lamp light, but was that a smile? Did he find all of this amusing?

“Why do you care now?” She rubbed her arms, though the night wasn’t chilly. If she were to act like nothing happened, it would be odd to return home with a blood-splattered tunic. Well, maybe not that odd - if she snuck round the back and got in quiet enough. Her coming and goings in her small room weren’t really paid that much mind to - largely because she was so regular in those comings and goings. “And I don’t think it’s right - leaving Frida to…that,” and she shuddered. “Okay, so,” she backed up a bit, putting space between the two of them. Not that it made that much of a difference; he was still a cloaked figure much taller than her.

“…If I only did the ‘right’ thing, or the ‘just’ thing, expecting that people would always reciprocate it and that was my only reason for doing it, I’d be disappointed. A lot. But I wouldn’t have gotten this far, even lived, really, if it weren’t for people always doing something that they didn’t have to. And I don’t have to do anything for Frida. I probably shouldn’t. But it doesn’t sit right with me. Just like it never sits right with me that there are demi-humans suffering in the brothel. Not the ‘Eastern Light’; there’s two now. Grandma - I mean, the Madame, at the Eastern Light, she doesn’t allow for…rough trade.” Not like there was anything pleasant about prostitution at the best of times, but at least Grandma did her best to maintain some sort of order. Class, at the bare minimum. She taught her girls how to read, and the highest earners rarely even took a man in their beds.

“It’s there - the one with the red light. ‘Amazonia’. It’s just as gross as it sounds. I wish you could just blow the whole place up and take all of the girls out. That’s the place of no hope.” She chewed lightly at her lower lip. Could she say more? What would even be the point? “Save all of them, if that’s what you’re wanting to do.”

 

[dryfter]

So there were two brothels. She had always spoken of them in plural, but at least now he had a number. It also seemed she held this Eastern Light in much higher esteem than the second establishment mentioned. Amazonia. The tone of her voice left him little to guess of just how she thought of that place. A cesspool. Deep inside he wondered how she would react if she ever found out that he looked at this whole city just as she looked at Amazonia.

"Well then. Perhaps we should meet this Grandmother which you speak of."

For one that begged mercy, her bile towards the other brothel came as a surprise to him. Total destruction and the evacuation of all within? Did she think he was going to wage war on the city itself? Such an action would bring the guards down on their heads at the very least. Not that he couldn't handle them, but there was always someone stronger....and the bigger of a threat perceived, the bigger the force to extinguish it.

He let the matter with Frida drop. She was idealistic. In the future he hoped she wouldn't have to witness things like what had happened to the brigand woman. But perhaps even that line of thinking was naive. And who was to say that she'd even set foot in Sinner's Refuge ever again? For a moment he froze up. For the first time confronted with the thought of going back to his daily routines and begging silently for something interesting to happen.

"I don't want to deal with representatives anymore."

He muttered the words more to himself than anyone around them who might have heard. Thick stairs led down from the ramparts atop the walls and soon enough they found themselves walking the dimly lit streets. The red lights of the pleasure district were an easy siren call to follow...and if he were to ever stray, he had her to lead him to where she wanted him.

"You have one thing mistaken, young miss. I'm not here because I want to save them. I'm here because you want me to."

Let her think on that if she wanted to. He remained steadfast in his belief that if they had truly wanted to be saved, they would have braved his home themselves. But he couldn't help but admire this young woman's reckless yet magnanimous spirit. So the words he spoke were not in ridicule, but instead to give her the credit she seemed to be unaware of.

Surprisingly nobody questioned them, perhaps due to the nature of this place. The few drunken carousers they came across all decided they were better off elsewhere when they got too close. One of them even boldly propositioning his guide, promising a fun evening to the exotic looking girl, before sensing that the presence at her side wasn't amused and so he stumbled on his way.

"Bring them to me. Any you want saved. Any who would follow you here. Let's see how many actually believe in prayer."

Moving slowly towards a large cherry tree, its pink blossoms not yet blown away by the coming of summer, he leaned against its rough bark and watched to see what she would do.

 

[Apollo Wilde]

“You don’t need to meet her.” Sharpness had returned to her voice. If she had been moderately protective of Frida, she now was very much intentionally protective. If this wasn’t some dream, then the White Wolf was no one to mess with, and the last thing she wanted was his sniffing around someplace that he shouldn’t.

Though maybe I’m being a bit presumptuous, to think that he’d even want to bother with us.

“Wait, what? What does it matter what I want now?” She’d idly taken the lead without thinking if he were following her or not. Still not sure if she was actually awake and hadn’t, you know, died, back there in the dungeon. “You didn’t care about the people up here until I said something. Why should you care now? Why did you even bring me back here? If it was to absolve yourself of my kidnapping, and if I’m actually alive and this isn’t a dream, then your work here is done, isn’t it?”

A crossing of her arms again as she shifted her weight to one heel. Grinding it down into the worn cobblestone of the street, she pressed a bit too hard and a loose rock kicked up under her foot. With a scowl, she nudged it aside with her toe. “You brought me back, you didn’t bring Frida back, and until I said something, you didn’t know that people prayed to you. What exactly is it that you do with yourself all day? Just sit in the dungeon and watch life pass you by? What’s the point of all of your power, then, if you don’t use it for something, anything?”