It is said that, for good or ill, the City of a Thousand Sins irrevocably inscribes itself upon the hearts and minds of all who pass through its ancient gates. To some, it is the jewel of the western nations; a fertile garden of prosperity, bearing promises of opportunity, wealth and power. To others, it is the very heart of darkness; a miserable battleground where the downtrodden forage, scrape and even murder for bitter crumbs cast off by the more fortunate. For me, it was a place of rejuvenation and a promise of new beginnings. I had lived nearly two centuries in a lightless, loveless world, where death filled my waking hours and haunted my every dream. So when I arrived in Thal Doren, determined to begin anew, I naively acknowledged only the splendors of this city, fulfilled by wonders beyond anything I had ever imagined. In the short time I dwelled within Thal Doren’s walls, I discovered kindness, and friendship and even love. And, I truly believed that I had finally found a place to call home. But for one such as I, darkness is seemingly never far away . . . and in the blink of an eye, Thal Doren revealed to me its true nature . . . a city beholden to malice, greed, wickedness and horror. And I found myself, once again, the merciless instrument of death’s hand. Blood flowed in rivers of my anger and vengeance, and when it was over . . . when my rage was sated and justice fulfilled, Thal Doren was no longer my home.

– Shiretha Tzylxariette

Well . . . that definitely wasn't expected.

Already exhausted after eleven city blocks of effort, Hisix trudged alongside his drow companion, doing his best to match her quickened pace. As he ran, he also fought a private battle with his own unrelenting urge to deluge Shiretha with the dozens of questions his hyperactive brain demanded answers to . . . questions surrounding their baffling meeting with a smug, fairly intoxicated halfling named Herbedin Flek, and the curious packet of old papers that had somehow transformed their pleasant, casual evening into a chaotic dash through the mean streets of the stinking Belge. It was supposed to have been a simple purchase, after all . . . quick and easy. Go in, pay for the ring, take the ring, and leave. But if tonight had proven anything to Hisix, it was that here, in the Verdanti city-state of Thal Doren, nothing was ever simple, quick or easy.

In all fairness, they weren't actually running, per se – at least Shiretha wasn't. But Hisix was pretty confident that even if a crazed, fire-breathing dragon had been chasing them at that very moment, he couldn't motivate his legs to move any faster than they were already going . . . at least not without the aid of a well-chosen spell or two. And, until Hisix had a better understanding of what they were doing, and why they were doing it at such a breakneck pace, he wasn't willing to waste even one of the limited number of precious spells he had at his disposal.

Where in the hell was Shiretha taking them?

While the gnome's deductive mind labored to fill in blanks and connect all the puzzling snippets he had garnered in just the last hour or so, his keen eyes attempted to maintain a vigil, darting between buildings, alleyways, side streets and the narrow, rutted, cart road they found themselves scurrying along. This was, after all, the heart of the Belge . . . one of the most hostile and potentially dangerous slums in all of Thal Doren. Hisix knew that failing to remain attentive to one's surroundings in the dark, dismal thoroughfares of the Belge could quickly result in joining the lengthy list of casualties the notorious harbor district had become all too famous for of late. Yet, despite his efforts to focus on safeguarding the two of them from lurking gangs of ruffians and muggers, Hisix found his attention slipping back to Shiretha, over and over again.

Utterly shrouded within the shadows of her enchanted cloak, the gnome had no visual frame of reference to gauge where his companion's mindset actually was at that moment. But he was pretty sure she wasn't contemplating the joyful mysteries of unicorns, rainbows and pixie dust. And considering she hadn't uttered a single word since they departed Flek's house, he could only assume she was sorting through her own jumble of concerns and questions regarding this unanticipated and highly uncomfortable situation they now found themselves smack-ass in the middle of.

Hisix understood all too well that until Shiretha processed her thoughts, to her own satisfaction, there would be no discussion and no answers thrown his way . . . and that, ultimately, she would be the one to initiate any conversation on the topic. But that wouldn't happen until she was absolutely ready to do so.

Hisix was more than a little annoyed that he hadn't been given the opportunity to look over Flek's documents. Were they letters? Lists? Bills of sale? He barely snuck a glimpse at the top sheet before Shiretha elevated it beyond his significantly shorter field of vision. And the bits he could make out in those scant couple of moments revealed very little . . . for there was, as far as he could tell, practically nothing written there – just a scribble that looked like it might have been someone's signature. However, from the moment Shiretha started digging through the papers, her entire demeanor changed, and every ensuing action became overly intentional and careful . . . up to and including the very instant she stuffed the entire bundle into her satchel and announced to Hisix that it was time to go . . . much to their host's unmistakable relief.

And what did Flek mean by this requires closure . . . ? What required closure!? In fact, Hisix had asked that exact question . . . twice . . . but apparently, neither Flek nor Shiretha had felt obligated to respond. Since then, Shiretha had withdrawn somewhere into the recesses of her own thoughts. And Hisix knew that wherever she had gone, there currently wasn't ample room for the both of them. And so, he faithfully scurried alongside his companion, biding his time, and trying very hard to not puke up the partially digested lump of mystery meat he had eaten for dinner, not so many hours ago.

Yup . . . way more than a little annoyed.

They continued down the cart road which ran parallel to Dockers Row and eventually widened as it curved northward. As they hurried along the seemingly deserted street, the only sounds were the endless clomping of the gnome's hard boots upon the weathered stone, accompanied by his short, gasping breaths for much needed air . . . and the occasional wheeze or nauseous belch, thrown in for good measure. Shiretha, on the other hand, was as silent and graceful as an evening mist drifting through a hollow. If Hisix hadn't been with her, Shiretha's presence could have gone unnoticed by even the canniest of observers. But this was the Belge. And for those who plied their trade from the misfortunes of others, the sounds of a lone quarry, scurrying along in the unfriendly Thal Doren night was an unmistakable signal that a payday was looming. And the ill-gotten spoils, whatever they might be, were earmarked for those who responded quickest . . . attending to their victims without mercy or hesitation, before disappearing back into the night, lest they themselves become someone's prey.

Hisix continued to monitor his surroundings, searching the uncertain shadows for unseen villains, and secretly hoping for some menial confrontation that might let him remain in one place long enough to recover his wind and his legs. Hisix was getting wearier by the moment and breathing in and out at a far more rapid pace than he could recall ever doing at any time in his life. And, if he ever got the chance to do it again, he would probably opt out. Even without the accompanying nausea, running was definitely not a Hisix thing. The gnome was not built for speed, or stealth, or running or even walking at a considerably accelerated clip for any substantial length of time. There was a reason he chose a profession where his mind, rather than his body, determined his competency, skill and success. But admittedly, for as brilliant as he was, on this occasion, he was going to have to trudge along and let Shiretha guide him through whatever it was they had suddenly become entangled in. Even if that included running like a crazy person to wherever she had decided they were going.

Hisix understood and fully accepted there was a considerable number of details he did not know about his companion. And considering they had been together a little more than two years out of her nearly two centuries of life, it really wasn't all that surprising she had a past . . . or pasts he wasn't privy to. Up until this evening, he hadn't actually cared about that because, in the end, it was none of his business. It still wouldn't be, except for the fact that now, Hisix had been sucked into whatever this thing was. And this thing – as explained to them by Herbedin Flek – involved a notorious psychopathic Geyaṁ Panja street boss named Selibus Ratcher – the very same one whose goons Shiretha had carved up earlier in the day. But what did the bundle of crumpled papers have to do with Ratcher? . . . therein lay the mystery. They might not hold all the answers, but they were solidly at the crux of the matter. Hisix believed he would learn what was happening soon enough, but for the first time in this relationship, he found himself on the other side of the coin . . . the exact place he often kept Shiretha . . . and he was beginning to feel like a giant ass for doing so, because he certainly wasn't enjoying even a single second of it.

One thing was clear. Hisix had been played. Flek had practically admitted that Hisix and Shiretha were little more than patsies in a larger scheme . . . that a story had been contrived and facts had been twisted so that Ratcher would believe his three orcs were murdered without provocation, and his crappy, roach infested tavern summarily sacked . . . leaving the kenja no choice but to retaliate and make examples of them both. Although he claimed to be just the messenger, Hisix fully believed that Flek, and possibly others within the Geyaṁ Panja, had taken advantage of the disastrous exchange in the Old Basement to advance their own personal agendas. Despite his best efforts to the contrary, Selibus Ratcher now operated under the assumption that Hisix and Shiretha were the instigators and perpetrators of his crew's demise . . . which, of course was only minimally correct. Flek had made it clear that Ratcher would be coming for them, and that, if the kenja kept true to his modus operandi, it would certainly be sooner than later.

Hisix plainly understood that they were being used as tools, in order to invoke a deadly confrontation with the street boss. But why them? Surely Flek didn't believe he and Shiretha could survive any effort on Ratcher's part to end their lives. Despite the fact that Hisix was a competent wizard and Shiretha was . . . well, whatever Shiretha was with that very lethal sword of hers . . . they were still just two people, on their own, in a city neither of them knew particularly well. Ratcher likely had dozens, if not dozens of dozens, of underlings at his disposal. And many of them were undoubtedly as capable as he and Shiretha were in their own chosen fields . . . which unquestionably included impressive skill sets like murder, torture, death and destruction . . . and other similar talents any Geyaṁ Panja crime boss worth his salt might find useful.

And then there was the ring Hisix thought he so cleverly stumbled upon . . . which ended up being nothing more than a dangling carrot to get them in front of Flek . . . well, to get Shiretha there. Any moron could have figured out Hisix wasn't vital to any of this . . . not really. Whatever this was, it was about Shiretha and the papers. Still, when all was said and done, he did end up with a fabulous ring. Which definitely wasn't just a giant pile of nothing.

In fact, the ring itself was a truly exceptional item. Possibly unique. And, while Hisix had quickly managed to determine some of its minor arcane properties, there remained several more powerful ones that the item's creator had ingeniously concealed beneath numerous layers of wards and enchantments. Just the thought of plucking the well-guarded secrets from the ring made Hisix as giddy as a child. He had intended on spending most of the next few days doing little more than unraveling the item's hidden abilities. But now, that investigation would have to wait indefinitely. Admittedly, not being butchered by Selibus Ratcher was a slightly more pressing matter.

Reaching into his pocket as he ran, Hisix withdrew the enchanted piece of jewelry and slipped it onto his left index finger, causing the amber stone to assume the form of a single basilisk eye. The realistic looking eyeball moved around of its own volition, flitting about as if it were seeking for something. The entire item glowed very dimly, with an almost imperceptible golden hue that would be nearly impossible to spot at any real distance, unless it was surrounded by total blackness. The halfling had sold him the ring for two hundred jurcoras. While the price he paid was certainly well below its actual value, it pretty much drained him of every coin he had left. However, given ample opportunity, Hisix was confident he would prove to himself (and more importantly, to Shiretha), that the acquisition was well worth the temporary state of poverty the deal had left them in.

With a grand total of one jurcora, three severans and four coppers between them, he and Shiretha were going to have to come up with a way to raise some significant coin . . . and it would need to be accomplished fairly soon. Their hotel room was only covered for one more night, but after that, they were out on the streets. And if Ratcher's people were truly hunting them, it probably wasn't a good idea to stay there, anyway. Of course, with their few remaining coins, they could easily afford several weeks rent in any number of common rooms or hostels, right here in the Belge . . . which might actually prove a smart option, if they needed to lay low for a while. But good idea or no, Hisix wasn't foolish enough to ever bring that up. Shiretha just had a huge heap of crap dropped on top of her, and suggesting they stay in the stinking Belge might just be enough to hurl her over the edge.

Shiretha halted a mere second before Hisix noticed the fast-moving shapes break from the alleyway ahead, racing directly toward them. Hisix counted five figures, probably human; four men and a woman, all armed with swords, clubs or crossbows. From this short distance, Hisix could easily see that none of these individuals wore armor or carried any weapons of any great value or quality. Which meant that this attack had nothing to do with Flek and his papers . . . these were simply one of any number of countless gangs of muggers who preyed on those senseless enough to wander the Belge at night. Hisix almost felt sorry for these people, whose lives had seemingly been forced into an existence where victimizing others was one's best hope for survival. He also knew that Shiretha would harbor no such sentiments as she slaughtered them where they stood.

One of the approaching figures whistled and two more exited a tiny abandoned-looking shanty to Hisix's left, picking a more hesitant approach, intending to move around behind the gnome. If he had missed anyone, he was certain that Shiretha had not. Gnomes saw extraordinarily well in the dark. Drow saw considerably better.

It's a safe assumption that no one wants to be on the receiving end of a crossbow bolt. And yet, suddenly, two had been expertly loosed at Hisix, dead on. Fortunately, he had spotted the pair of crossbowmen in ample time to prepare a wind ward; a simple hex that whirled the air immediately surrounding him like a miniature cyclone, for a brief handful of seconds. It didn't last long, but it was enough to neutralize both deadly missiles, sending them skittering off in random directions somewhere into the darkness. It also allowed time for Shiretha, who was practically invisible under the Thal Doren night sky, to charge into the line of the five in front and do what Shiretha did best . . . which was to make people question their most recent life choices, right before she ended them. It was likely that none of the thugs had any idea the drow had been there with the gnome all along. And when she entered their ranks, they died one by one, quickly and efficiently, with only one of the muggers issuing any kind of scream, as his innards rolled out from the massive slice across his stomach that nearly severed him in two.

Knowing Shiretha would head off to the larger group, Hisix had already spun around to face the smaller number of assailants. They were now bearing down on him, weapons drawn, fully confident that the seven of them would quickly and easily cut down this latest victim and relieve him of all his worldly possessions.

They never got within ten yards of the gnome.

Hisix released a jagged bolt of electrical energy, hurling it, full force, into the closest mugger; a large man with a long, ragged beard, carrying some sort of sledgehammer. The sizzling bolt slammed into the burly man's chest, tearing it open . . . burning leather, flesh and bone before jumping to the smaller man behind him, causing the second target no less damage or agony. For the next ten to fifteen seconds, the streak of lightning arced back and forth between the two ruffians, continuing on, long after either man had stopped breathing, until they were little more than burning lumps of charred flesh and heat-shattered bones.

Hisix sighed and scratched his head as he saw the last of the five bandits fall to Shiretha's deadly dance. It was senseless really. Seven people dead. Not good people, mind you . . . but had they ever been given a choice to be anything else?

As silent and quick as the dark, Shiretha trotted up beside Hisix, just as a southern breeze carried the rancid smell of burning flesh their way. Shiretha pulled back her hood, and her lovely face came clearly into view. Hisix saw, though, that her expression was one of anguish or sadness. "I'm sorry," she said, gently tracing her long slender fingers against the side of his face.

"Sorry? About what? I don't understand . . ."

"Yes, you do. About Flek. And Ratcher." She grimaced, "I have a lot to tell you, but this is obviously not the best place to do that. We need . . ."

Hisix lifted a hand to interrupt Shiretha. "Before we move on, or start a long discussion, I am loathe to point out that we should probably take whatever little coin these thugs have on them. We are fairly close to broke. And, as tasteless as robbing the dead sounds . . . especially those two guys still smoldering there . . . we really shouldn't pass up the opportunity to . . . "

Shiretha shook her head and let her eyes settle on the gory remains of her handiwork. "Leave them be. We don't need anything these people have on them. Let the Belge scavengers take it all, and maybe they can get a decent meal for a change."

"Shiretha, I don't think you have a grasp of what little coin we have left . . ."

The drow snapped her gaze and attention back to Hisix. "Stop. Listen to me. I have plenty of gold. We have plenty of gold. Come on. It's just across town. But it's far, far away from this horrible, stinking Belge."

Hisix finger brushed the curls of brown hair from his eyes, in order to view his companion better. "What in the world are you talking about? What gold? Shiretha . . . where are we going?"

Shiretha screwed up her face as if anticipating that her answer was certain to cause her some level of discomfort. "To my . . . um . . . house. That's where the vault is . . . which should be sufficiently stuffed with more jurcoras than either of us could possibly spend, even if we remained in Thal Doren for a decade. Maybe even two decades."

Not much surprised Hisix. Not anymore. But he couldn't have predicted the words Shiretha just spoke, no matter how many scenarios he ran in his head. "Wait. You have gold? And a vault? and a house!? Here in Thal Doren? Wait . . ."

She shrugged. "It's more of a mansion, really. "Shiretha smirked, almost grinning, amused that she had actually astonished the brilliant gnome who usually had everything figured out, well before he was ever told about it. "But yes. I have a house. And a vault. Well . . . technically, vaults. Now, whether or not the money is still there is a question we can't sufficiently answer until we take a look for ourselves. I haven't been back to the place in eight years. And, while I have no reason to think the money won't be there . . . it definitely is a possibility that, in all the time I've been away, the house could have been robbed. This is Thal Doren, after all."

Shiretha didn't bother to replace her hood. Instead, she shook her head, letting her silvery-white lengths of hair fall away from her face. "Catch your breath yet?"

Hisix placed his hands on his hips and tossed Shiretha's casual revelation around in his brain. He now had far more questions than he did when they left Flek's place. Still, he knew it would be better to wait and hit her with all his queries at once . . . after they had safely arrived at her . . . mansion. Apparently.

Shiretha reached out and cupped a slender hand on either side off Hisix's face. Leaning down, she gently placed a kiss upon the top of his brow . . . followed by a genuine smile of affection. Then, turning on her heels, she darted off to the north, not bothering to look back to see if Hisix was still with her.

The gnome shook his head and grinned . . . and this time, he harbored no reservations in using magic to keep up with her. Mouthing the short incantation, Hisix cast his spell and took off after Shiretha at a dead run.