In the city of Resk, located in the land of ruins, a man hid. He, Kullen, hid in the corner of the tavern, the torch lights illuminating the spilled ale and broken chairs. Kullen shielded himself with a turned table as the drunk and meaty men fought.
As those drunk and unfortunately armed men fought, a lithe figure flitted between them, avoiding lusty hands and countering with her own nimble fingers. But only coin that dropped from the brawling men like their spilled ale interested the tavern wench.
She had caused the brawl that Kullen saw coming from leagues away. The dark blond wench had entertained the men since he began frequenting the Armed Wench tavern. And yet, he still came, knowing the dangers, as much to glimpse her as to fill his stomach with cheap food.
Kullen ducked as a cup flew over his head. That made the third time he'd done so. He needed to find a way out. On his hands and knees, he crawled, taking pains to draw no attention to himself.
One of the brawling men had dominated the others, standing over them with bloody fists and dressed in only a loincloth. Bare-chested, muscular, and triumphant, he eyed the wench, ready to take his prize.
The wench, Joslie, like Kullen was on hands and knees, looking for more coin rather than escaping. Her attire covered little more than the man who loomed over her. Joslie made a tempting figure.
Kullen would use the man's distraction to make his own escape. Kullen should have known better, for Joslie desperately searched the tavern for aid. Then she set her bright green eyes upon him. Kullen promptly turned away, already regretting his choice to leave the safety of the tavern's dark corner.
Kullen saw the door and rose to his feet to make a dash for the door. Too late, for Joslie got to him faster. She threw herself to him, pressing her slim body to his and entrapping him with her arms.
Joslie peered up at him with those green eyes. "Kullen, you brave soul, protect me from this brute."
Curse it all! The wench had taken their brief eye contact as an offer of protection. Kullen of all people was no protector.
As a man of the Wurksi shrublands, Kullen looked the part of a man few would trifle with. Tall and of tanned skin, he donned lean muscle in contrast to the bulky frames of those that visited the magical smuggling city of Resk. That frame, bonded with hard dark eyes that naturally viewed the world with what others thought of as menace, forever placed him in danger.
Joslie squeezed herself tighter to him. With only a silver chain holding the fabric covering her chest and rings holding up the slip of cloth around her thighs, Kullen could not help but grow excited. Her thighs cradled between his and the moisture of her breath on his chest highlighted their closeness.
The brute Joslie spoke of was far from pleased. Like a slow storm, he came to them. "Give me the girl." He did not growl. He did so natively.
"She is not mine to give," Kullen said.
Curse it all again! Kullen had spoken truth before thinking. Throwing Joslie's body from him and into the man was the right action. Joslie, as if reading his mind, wrapped herself tighter around him and turned her blond head to the man in challenge. She only made things worse.
This time, the brute did growl. "Then take her, I will!"
He rushed them, bearish arms outstretched. Kullen acted on a brew of fear and instinct.
Kullen took his staff in hand and directed it to the brute. Joslie had released him enough to do that much at least. The staff had ancient runes carved all along its smooth-oaken length and almost matched Joslie's height.
Kullen let a power take him and forced it through his staff, causing the runes to glow gently. But then, the runes shone a bright purple. The power, the magic that had gotten him banished from his homeland of Wursk, took him in a flood.
Never before had Kullen felt such power. He had to release it or risk bursting into blood and light.
The brute had halted. Like most men in living in the ruins of Resk, he traded in forbidden magics and knew a spell when he saw one.
In those eyes, the brute battled between lust, pride, and common sense. Common sense won, but victory came too late for the brute. Kullen released the spell, his staff completely illuminated in purple energy. The spell released toward the brute, viciously impacting his bare midsection, doubling him over, and sending him away and into the tavern wall.
The man yet lived, barely.
If the brute died and others discovered Kullen's involvement, the city of Resk would protect him no longer. It could lead to Kullen's banishment for magic twice in a lifetime.
Joslie had released Kullen to spring at the man and retrieve his coin then skipped back to Kullen on strappy sandaled feet. "I knew it! You use magic."
"I use no magic troublesome wench, magic uses me. Is that why you called out to me?"
"No." She handed Kullen the stolen coin. To that, Kullen had no objection.
Kullen weighed the coin; the brute had come into some good trade. "In a city of brutes like this you should take more care of yourself."
Joslie showed him her own spoils and gestured to the slippery tavern floor, its wood soaked with blood and ale. "I do."
Kullen conceded her point and went for the door before any more trouble could find him.
Joslie's feminine arm hugged his. "How about some company?"
He stared down at her, down into those inviting green eyes and promising smile. Joslie walked with him out into Resk's streets, knowing his answer.
He should have said no and saved himself the future grief.
***
The streets of Resk held only vice be it morning or night. Its source of income centered on the smuggling of magical goods for trade with the kingdom of wizards. The trade provided great wealth for the men and women of the old city. Wealth wasted on yet more vice.
Gambling, whoring, brawls, all favored pastimes for the misbegotten wretches that called Resk home.
Joslie pulled herself onto his arm again, a habit of hers it seemed. "Tell me, Kullen. What is a man like you doing in a place like this?"
"Is my foreignness so obvious?"
"Not your looks, this city has more residents from the steppes than most. It is how you speak that gives you away. Your voice is cultured, even polite. You also didn't join in the brawl for me like the others."
"My mistake. But my people are hardly cultured. I am an oddity in that regard." Kullen felt her behind, feeling boldness course through him as it always did after using magic.
Deftly, Joslie swayed those smooth hips away from his groping paws. The pleasant movement of those fine hips made the rejection sting less.
Joslie carried on as if Kullen had not just tried to fondle her in the street. "Why have you come to this city?"
"You know that magic uses me. I am a shaman. For that sin, my people banished me. I hope to find a place here among people who survive off magic."
"People fear what they do not understand. I am sorry your people have treated you so."
Kullen shrugged and his arm rubbed against her chest as he did so. "People also fear what they do understand too. They are usually right. If I am fortunate, and I rarely am, I can find a way to banish my ability for magic."
At his words, Joslie released his arm to look at him with stunned eyes. "How could you cut out your own heart! Your magic is a part of you!"
"It is not my magic. As I said, magic uses me. My control is weak. What control I do have is but an illusion."
"Controlled or not, that magic saved me from that brute."
"It has also doomed others. That is the way of magic."
Joslie green eyes pooled with turmoil. It warmed him to hear another defend his shamanism. That warmth wouldn't change the bitter cold of truth. Magic came with danger, death, and despair.
Opportunistic eyes watched them from the shadows, or rather, they watched Joslie. Kullen took her arm to hurry them on their way.
They continued along the cracked stone path and passed the grimy walls of the once majestic city. In Resk, nearly every man had lived like kings and the servants of their servants had homes with plenty of space for the criminal inhabitants. Only a few fools or well-prepared groups lived in the large palace homes. For only few would risk the shades that lurked in the walls, waiting to catch humans alone and unprotected. It was why many they passed on the streets traveled with others.
Foulness hit Kullen's senses and Joslie stiffened. Turning to the source of foulness, Kullen saw a dog. No, not a dog. A hound. And a foul one.
Kullen heard of such beasts. Hunters of magic. The death of fleeing wizards. One of the many beasts of night.
"Let us go, Kullen."
They left it swiftly, taking care not to run and inflame the beast's hunting instincts. Much magic rested in the city of Resk. The foul hound could be searching for some other prey, some other source of magic to feast on.
Kullen should have known better.
Joslie'd decorated her perfumed home with magical protections. Kullen saw expert runes painted on the cold walls. Trinkets hung with the thick curtains at the window, jingling lightly at the gentle push of wind.
Joslie lit the room and it let him see her bed clearly. It reminded Kullen what was going to happen. What he hoped would happen.
Joslie smiled, knowing he had not forgot. He got on the bed, ignoring its firmness. He wasn't here to sleep.
With a simple sway of her hips and gesture of her shoulders, Joslie's clothes fell away from her and pooled on the floor as if removed by invisible hands. The rings and jewels of her clothes rang out as they hit the ground.
The flickering of the torchlight showed off her body to pleasing effect only leaving teasing shadows hugging her fine curves. With the practiced ease of a tavern wench she softly joined him on the bed, barely shifting the weight of it.
In his distraction, Kullen forgot to remove his own clothes. She cared not. The same nimble hands that stole coin without the notice of the brutes curled up his tunic. She kissed up his chest as she did so.
