Scoundrel's Answer

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.

"Help you?" His curious words rose as he approached, on shaky feet.

"Can't stop," This time it was Merideth who spoke, as her lips left Amarinth's breast. Strands of saliva still connected her own lush lips to the tip of the other woman's pert nipple, then she suddenly moved up. Lips captured lips as the two half elves kissed fervently, as if seeking to devour each other.

Alan stared for a moment, then swallowed nervously. He looked back to Garthur and the unconscious Faringalia.

The dwarf sat back slowly, and shook his head, "It's the best I can do, she won't die, but she won't be much help from hear on out. We'll need to get her out." Only then did Garthur's gaze turn to the two women writhing upon the bed. His bushy brows rose.

"They say they can't stop... they're asking for help, but I don't know what to do."

The clank of Garthur's armor as he gained his feet and approached did little to drown out the rising moans and squelch of fingers moving faster and faster. Amarinth arched upward, crushing her breasts against the other woman's, and her cry of climax was hardly muted by Merideth's lips. The dour dwarf frowned as he watched the scene, and he gripped the symbol hung about his neck. After a moment, he just shook his head sadly.

"It's a curse, and a strong one at that. I can't remove it with what I have prepared."

"We can't leave them here, they're old friends." And yet he was having increasing difficulty tearing his eyes away from the two half elves. Their half blooded lineage did much to keep them young looking after all these years.

The two on the bed rolled over, then Amarinth scooted up along Merideth's body. She turned around as she moved to straddle Merideth's head, then lowered her slick, swollen folds to press down upon questing lips and tongue. Her blue eyes drifted to Alan, and she pleaded out, "Please, Alan... help us." No sooner had the words escaped her, however, than her head descended toward Merideth's thighs. Hands spread over that slick, oiled flesh, parting them to reveal Merideth's tight slit, only to begin to trace lips and tongue over her flesh.

Garthur's armored elbow in his side broke Alan's staring gaze. The old rogue looked about to his dwarven friend, who seemed to have come to a decision.

"Go on ahead, boy. Vick and Daph have probably circled around the other side by now... you catch up as you can and finish this."

"What about you? And Faringalia? And Merideth and Amarinth for that matter?"

"Leave 'em to me. I've got an idea... I'll get the three of 'em out and to safety, but your wife needs you."

Alan nodded, then turned his gaze back to the two blondes. His eyes met Merideth's as she peered up from under Amarinth's shapely rear. Her sharp nails dug into the flesh of Amarinth's ass as her tongue lapped hungrily. Her eyes though, her eyes were terrified, pleading.

With that last sight, Alan moved back toward the door. He shot a glance to Faringalia as he passed, but the gnome was still out of it. Just as he reached to open the door, Garthur called after him.

"Alan boy, take care. Whoever it is that's pulling Devron's strings has access to strong magic."

The old rogue looked back to his once companions as they writhed on the bed, then he nodded. With that, he slipped out into the hallway once more.

It was quieter now, though the sound of combat still drifted from where Vick and Daphne probably were. The two were so destructive, it was not difficult to tell their positions. With his own blade drawn, Alan began to move down the hall. He didn't move as quietly as he must, but there was little need for it. He nudged open chambers as he passed, but room after room seemed empty. It didn't take much longer to reach the corner to the last corridor.

As Alan peeked about the corner, he came face to face with two powerfully built fellows just coming around the corner, weapons drawn. Beyond them, he could see a splatter of blood at the opposite corner down the hall, and the flash of Vick's sword as it cut through an unseen target. The other two were close, but not close enough to help in that moment.

The two men he was faced with were an immediate threat, but fortunately seemed more shocked than he at the sudden encounter. Perhaps they had been fleeing the two psychopaths with blades down the hall. Whatever the case, they were faces that he didn't recognize, and thus must be Devron's lackeys. Or false-Devron, as Alan was increasingly convinced of.

Immediately he drove his own blade forward into the midsection of the first of the fellows, piercing up through his abdomen. The man grunted and staggered back, sliding off the blade and clutching the wound. The next man brought his blade down in a slash that cut shallowly across Alan's chest. Searing pain bloomed up from the cut, but a combination of his enchanted leathers and a quick duck backward kept the blade from sinking too deeply.

For the second time that night, he'd been caught. He was clearly getting too old for this. But here, faced with two men who had likely been abusing his wife not hours before, a rage overtook Alan. As the man who had wounded Alan began to recover, the old thief rammed his own blade upward in the wake of that sword's back swing, slamming his shorter sword up through flesh. His other hand reached to catch the sword that fell from the man's suddenly limp hands, and immediately swing it toward the first who had tasted Alan's blade, catching him just as he began his own approach.

With a blade in each hand, Alan knew the result of both thrusts more from the expression on Vick's face as the larger man finally came into view. Without looking to the two he'd just dispatched, the old thief yanked both swords from their respective victims and strolled down the hall, the pitter-patter of dripping blood marking his progress.

"Where's Garthur?"

Alan's gaze drifted to a blood drenched Daphne as the elven woman rounded the corner, then back to Vick.

"Faringalia was severely wounded, and we found more friendlies. He's escorting them out."

Vick looked Alan over and frowned, "Damn, and you need your own wound tended to. These friendlies, were they old associates of yours?"

Alan nodded, even as his eyes drifted back to Daphne. The elven woman was staring at the blood which now seeped down his leathers with a disconcerting, hungry gaze. As she licked her tongue across her fangs, he forcibly averted his own gaze. "Yeah, and they were in rough shape."

"Damned Devron. He'll pay for this."

Suspicions over whether this was all really the fault of his former lieutenant were set aside, and Alan pointed toward the last door in the hall with his 'borrowed' sword. They had to move quickly before Daphne lost control. "Let's get moving then. You first, Vick."

The fat, armored Count turned without a word, and unceremoniously kicked the door off of its hinges. The door crashed open to reveal what was once the Guild-master's quarters. The room beyond was lavish, with a few black rat portraits, and fine furnishings. A desk sat nearby, largely empty, and across the room was a grand, four post bed.

Upon the bed sat Elizabeth Tinsley. She was radiant despite the horrors she had endured, serene despite the situation. Her blonde hair was an unkempt mess, but still glimmered about her features as if it were some shining halo. Her emerald eyes glistened with tears, and her lips were somewhat swollen, from acts Alan would rather not think of. She was nude, her full breasts rising and falling with quick breaths, her fair skin still showing signs of bruising where she had been held down. Immediately she rose and ran toward Alan, arms outstretched.

Vick stepped aside to allow her past. A smile broke across the fat man's features as Alan wrapped his arms about his love, lifting her and spinning her about. Elizabeth scattered kisses over Alan's features, pressing her body to his.

"Alan! Alan... I knew you'd come." She near sobbed the words, "I'm so sorry, I should have fought harder-"

"Shh my love, shh. You're safe now, safe with me." The old rogue gazed into his wife's eyes with adoration. His hands slipped down to circle her waist. The feel of her warm skin against his quenched the embers of his previous rage. All of it, all of the bloodshed and uncertainty washed away now he had her in his arms again. Even the sting of his latest wound was merely an afterthought to the rush of holding her once more.

"Alan," Daphne chimed up, "She's unguarded."

The words immediately put him and Vick on guard once more. She should have had at least one person watching her. Vick readied his blade, and Alan shifted Elizabeth to one arm, dropping his borrowed sword as he did.

A quick sweep of the room found nothing out of place, though a memory jogged Alan's mind. He pointed to one panel with his sword. "Daphne, secret door."

The elven woman moved hurriedly toward where Alan had indicated, and after a few pushes, the panel popped free, revealing a darkened passage. The scent of old decay immediately filled the room, but the blood thirsty elf hardly seemed impacted. She thrust her head through the passage, and then withdrew it again.

"There's a dead man in there. Been dead for quite some time if I'm not mistaken."

Alan frowned at the news, but it wasn't unexpected. "No one knows about that passage but the guild master himself. That'll be Devron."

"There's all sorts of papers and records in there too."

Alan nodded as he hugged Elizabeth close to his side. "Gather them up, we can sort through them later. There might be a clue as to who was behind all of this."

The elven woman darted back into the passage, while Vick turned back to Alan, "There's something I don't like about this all. Where's the shape-shifter?"

The question weighed heavily on Alan's mind, but before he could form a proper response, Elizabeth's warm lips pressed to his neck.

"Love, I'm cold."

Almost as if waking from a daze, Alan swept his cloak off, and draped the bloodstained fabric about his wife's nude form. She met his gaze, and a doting smile touched her lips.

"Sorry, are you well enough to walk?" His doting eyes lingered on hers, and they may as well have been alone in the world.

"I am, come, let's get your wound tended to." Her fingers traced over the bloody cut that still stung at his chest.

The old rogue nodded, then looked back to Vick "Will you be able to help Daphne wrap things up here?"

"Certainly. And I'd wager my men are already setting up containment outside."

It hadn't been part of the original plan, but Alan had to admit that now things were settling out it would be helpful. He squeezed his wife's shoulders, then kissed her brow, "Come now Lizzy. Let's get you looked to as well."

"I'll be fine, I promise." Indeed, for all of the ordeal she must have been through, she looked well enough. Certainly better than the sorry shape the battles had left him in.

Any doubts he might have had to her well being were dismissed when her lips caught his. Warm lips against his, she kissed him with a rare intensity, beyond her normal gentle nature. When the kiss was broken, she tugged at his arm. Alan turned and walked with her, leaving Vick and Daphne to the cleanup.

The once safe-house was a terrible sight, and the old rogue felt somewhat ashamed of the carnage they had wrought. Even though it had been to rescue her, Alan fully expected her to say something, to chide him for his lack of control, but not a word was said. Instead, she simply leaned into his side, resting her head on his shoulder.

He would have preferred if she had said something. It would've let him know she was still her old self.

When they arrived outside, the guard had indeed moved in. Several uniformed men had blocked off the area, and just down near the street, Garthur was resting on the edge of a wagon. Within the wagon, Merideth and Amarinth were still within each others' arms, though someone had the decency to wrap them in a blanket for now. Faringalia still lay unconscious on a stretcher.

A few paces away, Tannon was settled against a building wall, another guard standing near. Both waved to Alan and Elizabeth, seeming content on remaining where they were. At least things were quiet out there. Aside from the presence of the guard, one might never know the bloodbath that had taken place within.