Venos Larque wore a comfortable smile, reclining in a rickety wooden chair, his swords—a two heavy, leaf-bladed short swords—resting easily at his hips, within easy reach. He'd ridden a long way to get to this point. The trek from the nation of Amn to the city of Luskan was not an easy—nor a simple—matter. Subsisting off the charity of allied churches, the warrior of the Order of the Red Falcon made his way north.
Still, though, to the half-elf, who had been raised among humans, had relished the martial training offered by the Church of the Red Knight and the wisdom of worshipping the Lady of Strategy. It had nurtured an understanding of combat, of adversaries—both in and out of combat—and had taught him how to be fully aware of his surroundings. After all, the finest strategists knew every detail of their surroundings.
Now in Luskan, the warrior wasn't entirely sure what he was going to do. He'd been sent this far north in search of recruits, and all along the Sword Coast North knew that some of the finest, hardiest warriors lived in these frozen reaches. He had a mind to travel all the way to Icewind Dale and even, possibly, into the roaming tribes of barbarians that thrived and died by the whim of the tundra. Such hardy warriors would certainly be a boon to the small Citadel of Strategic Militancy, near Baldur's Gate.
But the warm hearth he'd found in Luskan, in the tavern named One-Eyed Jax, was simply too comfortable to leave. Besides, he was finding a great challenge in reading the countless non-verbal tics the patrons of this particular establishment seemed to have. Men and women alike seemed to be shifty, with nervous glances to every patron in the tavern. It seemed he wasn't the only person observing others with intent.
It wasn't until a fabulously-dressed elf marched into the tavern, though, that Venos actually focused a majority of his attention on one thing. He marked the way she moved, the way her eyes quickly took in the patrons of the tavern, and the authority her demeanor conveyed. She took notice of him, as well, and why wouldn't she? He was brand new to Luskan, his shining armor—emblazoned with a lacquered, marred red falcon—was resting right atop the table, and his swords, each with red falcon wings on their hilts, at his sides. Everything about him stood out, thanks to his plate armor and dashing smile.
But rather than a suspicious look, like he'd received most of the night, the elf flashed him a smirk and sauntered over to him, settling into the seat across from him. She removed a heavy wool cloak to reveal a fine velvet blouse, buttoned half-way up, with a thin white shift beneath the black fabric to preserve a hint of modesty. Her pale white skin and black hair contrasted starkly, and gave her an ethereal presence. He found himself immediately attracted to it.
"Welcome to Luskan," the woman said, grinning. She pointed to the falcon on his pauldron. "Interesting."
"Order of the Red Falcon," he said. She gave him a quizzical expression. "Ah, yes. I am quite far away from Baldur's Gate, now, aren't I?"
She smiled at his sly grin, nodding.
"I am Venos Larque, brother of the Citadel of Strategic Militancy. This is from the Order of the Red Falcon."
"Order?" the elf replied.
"We serve the Red Knight, the Lady of Strategy and Grandmistress of the Lanceboard," he explained, his hands emoting as he spoke.
"You are a cleric, or paladin of some sort?" the elf asked, leaning forward—poignantly pressing her upper arms against her breasts. But Venos was not so easily swayed, his eyes locked onto the elf's eyes as he spoke, or lips when she spoke.
"You might call me a paladin, as the Lady grants me small favors, but I am a simple warrior on a simple quest," he said, leaning forward himself, dark grey eyes boring into the elf's golden orbs.
"Which is?" she asked, and he grinned wide enough to expose pearly teeth.
"My business, and mine alone," he said, leaning back again, folding his arms over his strong chest. The elf had seen—had indeed slept with—more muscular men, but he exuded strength despite his slightly smaller stature, and she was certain he could best all but the most skilled fighters and swashbucklers in the City of Sails.
"Perhaps a game, then?" she asked. "In my apartment, I have in my possession a game called
sava
. Are you familiar with it?"
The half-elf arched his brow. "Never heard of it."
"It is a drow creation, akin to your lanceboard, but with a much deeper, more complex strategy to it."
"Which is?" he asked, his voice sounding eager.
"Chaos rules supreme," was all she would give him, causing him to chortle.
"Perhaps when I am possessed of more free time," he responded. "As it stands, I require food and sleep, in that order."
"Food, Jax has aplenty. And sleep, I can see to it that you are well-rested, though you may not sleep overmuch," she said with a grin and a wink, her overt solicitation setting him back in his seat.
"My lady, I thought you a woman of class. And you've not even given me your name! What unruly and depraved world have I landed myself in," he said sarcastically. "Regardless, I must decline this night. Duty, you understand."
"Ah," the elf said, pouting a little and seeming truly disappointed. "As you say, goodsir Larque. I will speak to the Lady of the Tavern and see that you are well-fed, and your room will be on me this night."
"Completely unnecessary," he said, resting his hands on the hilts of his swords. "I will accept your offer of food, but I will find a temple to rest in."
"A cot in Umberlee's temple would pale in comparison to a bed here," she said, arching a brow at him.
"There is no temple to Helm? Tyr? Lathander?"
The elf shook her head negative. "None that are in good condition, at least." The elf shrugged and turned away. "If you change your mind..." she said leadingly, looking over her shoulder as her shapely bottom bounced to and fro, sashaying left and right as she climbed the stairs.
Still, Venos paid no heed to her physical beauty. Not in her presence, at least, for he was strongly attracted to this elf, one of his own kind—in a sense—that generally did not pay him much regard, less still in matters of love. Shrugging off the burgeoning sensations that her saunter evoked in him, he left One-Eyed Jax in a hurry, stepping out into the cold Luskan night. It smelled of frost and sea salt, two things he'd experienced very little of in his lifetime.
Nearing his thirtieth birthday, the warrior had truly experienced very little. Baldur's Gate had potential to be a seedy place, but, by all accounts that he'd read, paled in comparison to Luskan. With all that in mind, he felt as though he was about to experience the true darkness of man in this place. Folk of all stripes seemed to glare at him. They all seemed poor, and eager to take whatever he had. With his fine armor and weapons, that likely spoke highly of his wealth. They'd be sorely mistaken, of course, for he carried hardly a gold coin on his person. Indeed, he was quite confident that his blades would take more from them than they hoped to take from him.
The prospect of sharing a room with the elven woman at One-Eyed Jax seemed more and more appealing the deeper he went into the city, but he did not trust that woman quite enough to remove more than his sword-belt around her. Something about her unsettled him, despite her charming and disarming demeanor. She was shifty, hiding something.
So Venos wandered the avenues of Luskan, always on guard, always watching the shadows. He thought he saw movement within them, but any time he turned his focus fully on any one thing, the supposed activity was not to be seen. It was frustrating to the point of feeling paranoid. His agitation was such that when someone finally
did
speak to him, he nearly brought a sword around in a decapitating blow.
"Woah, lad," the man said, holding his hands up. "New here, aye?"
Venos relaxed at the man's friendly demeanor, but not entirely. He was still tense, and still felt like he was being shadowed. "Aye," he said. "Just arrived."
"No horse, neither," the man said. "I'd know, I run the stables outside of town. Would have had to come right to me or me daughter to lock up yer steed."
"I rode a wagon," Venos replied, shrugging. "I do not carry much in the way of coin. I've never had need for it."
"A monk or some ilk, then?" the man asked.
"Something of that nature," Venos said, nodding. He pointed to the red steed painted onto his left pauldrons. "Church of the Red Knight."
"That's a name I've not heard in many years," the man said. "And even then, only in an old book. Tawdry tale, that one."
"You mistake her for Sune," Venos said, smiling. Sometimes, people mistook the Lady Firehair for his patron, but it was far from a common occurrence. "The Red Knight is a goddess of strategy and military skill. Not erotic entertainment."
"Oh, no, I got the right lass," the man said. "Written by a lad out of Silverymoon, named Mikhail something or other. Story of a barbarian who met a vision of yer lady out in the forest. A good tale, that one. Me wife used to read it afore...ah, intimate moments," he said, giving a coarse chortle and clapping the warrior on the pauldrons.
"I'm sure," Venos said, feeling somewhat uncomfortable.
