The relative silence of the upper level did little to calm the thoughts whirling through Alan's mind. A week previous, he'd been a changed man. Legitimate in business, kinder of heart than in his youth, loyal to his beautiful young wife. Had it really been only a day since she'd vanished? He was back to his old tricks, his old feelings, his old wants. It was as if a raging beast had been unleashed in his heart, and he would tear through anything in his way, gorging himself on anything in his way. A guilty, sidelong glance was given to the elven woman who walked beside him.
Daphne had grown calm as they ascended to that third floor landing. There was no sign of the recent confession on her features. Her features bore a certain peace about them, but it was no doubt the simple serenity of an animal concentrating on distant prey. He wondered if a monster like her could really have emotions at all, let alone those she'd expressed just moments before.
The lack of alarm when they reached the top floor made him uneasy. Those walls, those same wood paneled walls he remembered from his dreams stretched out before him. Two halls off of the landing, and he knew they were joined by a cross hallway further within, from his own memory of the safe house's layout. And yet something seemed off, he couldn't quite put his finger on it.
To make matters wore, Alan's shoulder was throbbing again. A dull, rough ache from where the dwarf's healing prayers had hastily mended his flesh earlier. It wasn't enough to stay his movements, but it certainly was something that kept creeping back into his attention. The old rogue glanced forward toward Garthur, rubbing his shoulder as he did.
"I think your healing magic is getting weaker over the year, old friend."
"Har! The Stone Father's blessings never get weak, it's you that's getting old, boy."
Vick raised one gauntleted hand. "Quiet."
The group came to a halt, and sure enough the sound of rushing feet broke the silence. It seemed they were coming down from each hall. Alan frowned "This is a bad place, they'll have cover, we won't."
"Right, into the halls to meet them on equal ground. Daphne, with me, Garthur and Faringalia, go with Alan."
Alan frowned, but by then it was too late. Daphne hurried to catch up with Vick, and the two dashed around the corner into the far hall. Alan cast his gaze back to the other two, then motioned for Garthur to follow. "Faringalia, you take up the rear."
"Yes sir, already on it," as if following the rest took some initiative.
Alan shook his head, he had better things to worry about at that old point. The rogue hurried toward the remaining corridor, followed by Garthur. At the far end of the hall, already two of Devron's thugs rounded the corner. The old rogue was partially disturbed by how few faces were familiar amongst those they had fought, but also somewhat relieved. It meant that perhaps quite a bit of the old guild would have been loyal to him, but what had happened to them over the past few years? If Tannon's fate told anything, it did not bode well for the rest.
The former guild-master drew his blade as the two thugs came into view, yet already Garthur's hammer Jhernyr whipped by his shoulder, and flew end over end, striking one of the onrushing fellows in the face. The results were spectacular and gruesome, and caused his fellow to stumble and hesitate, horror painted across his face. That was no good, as it delayed his progress into Alan's own blade. With sword in one hand, Alan drew one of his daggers, and threw it as he ran.
The thrown blade lodged in the wood near to the remaining thug's neck, missing him by mere fractions of an inch. It was enough to startle him into action, and he continued his own charge. As blade met blade, Jhernyr whistled back into Garthur's hand, only to be caught with a jingling of that mailed gauntlet.
The two men in the lead made short work of the remaining thug, and when the fellow tried to turn and flee, Alan's sword found a resting place in his back. Their advance, however, had left a few side doors between themselves and the little gnome woman. As Faringalia hurried to catch up with her companions, a short, sinister looking man popped out of a door behind her, and raised a stocky wooden crossbow. The clack of the crossbow sending a bolt into the gnome's back was the only warning any of them had, and with a pained shriek, the gnome woman collapsed.
Alan and Garthur whirled about as one. The rogue whipped his hand out to yank his dagger from the wall, and he threw it in the same motion. Garthur's magic hammer once more whirled through the air, and the impact from both thrown weapons sent the crossbowman tumbling back in a bloody mess.
"Faringalia!" Alan rushed to the gnome's side, followed by his dwarven friend.
"Nnhn," It was a pitiful sound, but it showed she wasn't dead yet. The fragile gnome's eyes fluttered open, and she gazed up at the two.
Garthur slid to his knees and began to work on extracting the bolt, only to hesitate "We need to get her out of the hall."
Alan nodded to a nearby door, and moved to yank it open. The two men dragged the fallen gnome into the dark chamber beyond, and as the dwarf-lord got back to work on her, Alan finally cast his glance out over the room they'd ducked into.
They were not alone.
Soft, needful pants and the sound of slick flesh sliding over slick flesh rose from a bed where two women writhed against one another. Tanned, toned bodies ground against one another, glistening with some manner of oil that covered them from head to toe. Both women were blonde, their hair falling in unkempt locks, dark with their perspiration.
The two undulating forms never stopped, though surely they must have been aware of the intrusion. Hands roamed each others' bodies, and long, smooth legs pressed between slick thighs. There was the hint of pointed ears peeking out from blonde hair on both accounts, though not as pronounced as Daphne's. It was only when the top woman drew her face away from the other that recognition finally dawned on Alan. Lips left the other woman's, dragging down along that oiled flesh to capture one peaked, dark nipple, leaving the lower woman's face in clear view.
An attractive half elven woman, her face was locked in an expression of rapture. Her full, moist lips parted to draw quick breaths. Her pale blue eyes were glassy, unfocused, and when the other woman caught her nipple and tugged with her teeth, the woman Alan gazed upon arched her neck with a wanton whimper. And although he had never seen her in quite such a state, he clearly recognized her.
"Amarinth," the name left his lips before he was fully aware of settling on it. Then that must mean the other was, "Merideth."
Each name caused its respective owner to flinch, but they didn't stop their movements. Amarinth raked her nails along Merideth's back, while Merideth suckled upon her pert nipple. A hand descended between Amarinth's thighs, before dextrous fingers pressed into the woman's slit.
The two had often been mistaken for sisters, though they weren't. They weren't even that close, but in the old days the two had served as the 'conscience' of the guild. It was a thieves' guild to be sure, but any time the guild's path strayed into darkness, the two would be the most vocal opponents. When Alan had left, he'd believed the two would keep Devron from at least the worst of temptations.
"Alan," Amarinth moaned his name out as Merideth's fingers plunged deeply and quickly between her thighs. Her legs lifted to wrap about the other woman's waist, ankles crossed behind Merideth's back. "Help us," the words were pleading, completely at odds with the act going on before him.
