:: EPISODE 2 ::

A Gnoll Lot of Trouble

Savaran spotted Daria the instant he entered the hole-in-the-wall fleabag of a joint just outside the bigger turd-bucket of a town called Last. There she was. Sitting there. Without a damn care in the world. All smug and yucking it up with three other lowlifes, shots of something lined up on the table for their pleasure.

His blood boiled up and throbbed in his temple upon seeing her acting so nonchalant. The fact she appeared well fed and unweathered by the elements, unlike him and Traven, only stoked the embers of his rage. Not even the rain soaking through his clothes could dampen the fire of incredulity within him.

One step. He contemplated how properly to deal with her.

Two steps. He thought about punching her in the face.

Three steps. Changed his mind. That was too good for her after the hell she'd put him through.

Four steps. Better yet, he'd punch her in the face then make her eat the business end of his sword.

Five steps. Nope. Still too good for her.

Six steps. Some caked-on slop hitching a ride on his boots sloughed off, more exhausted of the journey than he was.

Seven steps. He'd put that boot straight up inside her, then punch her, then make her swallow his steel.

Eight steps. Three more to the table. Three more chances to think about what he'd do to her.

Nine steps. He'd...

She turned around with this casual calm that would have annoyed anyone. An arm draped over the back of her chair, Daria stared him down while delivering a welcoming smile that sickened him. "Well hello there, sexy!"

As her grin widened, it caused Savaran's guard against her wiles to slip. "Now you listen-" he started, raising an accusing finger at her.

"Boys?" She waved a hand at her associates, interrupting him. "Get lost. I've got business to attend to."

"You're damn-" he started, only finding himself once more cut short.

"Ah!" She made him hold his thought with that one non-word until the others vacated the table. Once they had, she picked up one of the pre-poured shots and held it up for him like a present. "Teg Rum? I know you like it. Ordered it specially for you."

"Don't think-"

"Drink first." She shaved his complaint off one more time, holding the drink up in as inviting a fashion as she could. Her finger tip caressed the lip of the glass. "Then we'll talk."

Savaran growled to himself, took the drink, and downed it in one smooth gulp. The familiar burning chased its way down his throat. It had indeed been a long time since he had the opportunity, or the finances, to partake of such a spicey treat. Slamming the empty glass on the table, he tried once more to get a word in edge-wise. "If you-"

"Why are you still standing?" She motioned to one of the other, now empty chairs. "At least sit."

Exasperated, he did so. "I've got a bone to pick with you." He was actually surprised that she let him get the words out. "What do-"

"Oh, before you say what you've got to say, here." She opened a pack stashed under the table and tossed not one, but two, three, four, five, six, then seven pouches on the table. They all clanged and jingled in turn with the sounds of money contained inside as they came to rest before him.

Eyeing the bags, Savaran scooped up one and turned it over in his hands. "What's this?"

"What's that?" She laughed. "It's your cut from the book we stole from the wizard, silly!"

"Lich," he groaned.

"Whatever. What's there is all yours. And the boy wonder's, of course."

Cracking open the drawstrings, Savaran beheld the myriad of small golden coins within. They shone brightly to his eyes, even in the dim light. He pulled one of them out and tested it between his teeth. The gold sure seemed real enough. "You think this makes up for what you did?" He snarled at her, placing the coin back.

"What I did?"

"Yeah, what you did," he reminded her. "Turning us in to Constable One Nut? Pocketing two thousand more gold?"

Daria leaned in to him, pushing another shot over. "See, that's where you're wrong."

"I'm wrong?" Out of reflex, he grabbed and swigged the second shot, wincing as the burn compounded the fire from the first.

"Yeah. I didn't keep the gold from turning you in."

"No?" Savaran's eyebrow cocked.

"No. What I did was do you a favor." She pulled out a wooden tube with bronze caps at both ends. The kind Savaran had seen many times during his tenure as a general. One a royal messenger would use for important documents. "What I did was found Karis for you."

"Karis?"

She handed him the container. "Yep. Didn't find him in Nalhaven, did you?"

"No," Savaran groaned, remembering that failure too.

"And that's because he's in Shon." She motioned for him to open the letter.

Which Savaran did. Pulling out the parchment inside, he read the note, sealed with Queen Jadalin Westspire's stamp. It explicitly told Karis that he was to go to Shon to collect payment for his job well done. The "job" had not been explicitly spelled out. It only mentioned helping her rid the palace of rodents and pests. But then, Savaran never assumed she'd be so stupid as to put a detail that could link her to the king's murder into such and indelible admission.

"How did you get this?" He swiped another shot from the table without it even being offered and downed it. The burn was now triply effective.

"How'd I get it? Nearly two-thousand gold! That's how!"

"So, the gold that you got from turning us in?" The former general crossed his arms, a mix of emotions causing him to both hedge his anger and keep it simmering at the same time.

"Yep. You didn't think I would pay for it myself. Did you?"

Savaran rolled his eyes and groaned. "If you'd have told me, I'd have let you take it out of mine and Traven's share. Clearing our names is more important than gold right now."

"Your share and the prince's wasn't enough. And you know it."

"Daria, you are a no good, rotten snake. Couldn't you have at least run this plan by me first?"

"And how would that have worked?" Her head shook. "You were going to let yourself be captured?"

"I did at Ridgeway," he reminded her.

"Johva would have smelled through the deception in a heartbeat. You and I both know that. That's why I slipped you the lock pick." She took a minute to consider his disheveled appearance. "Damn. You look terrible."

"I feel worse."

"Aw," she placed a hand high up on his thigh. "I can help you unwind." She winked, then looked about. "Where's Prince Third Wheel, anyway?"

Savaran grabbed another shot and threw it down. "Outside."

"Outside? In this downpour?"

"Boy's a pain in my ass. Told him to wait in the stable and lie low."

"You know," she scolded, "you could be nicer to him."

"Whoa!" Hands up, Savaran looked for an explanation. "Where's that coming from?"

"I'm just saying. He did a pretty good job those two nights we were holding off the undead."

Savaran smiled. "He did. Been teaching him how to use a sword too."

"Oh?" Head cocked to the side, Daria considered the news. "How's that going?"

Another shot was in Savaran. He wasn't about to pass up the free liquor. Not after not having any for such a long time. "Well, he's got Johva's sword now."

"Yeah, heard about what happened with the escape. That was a terrible mess. What you did?" She shook her head. "Horrible. Reward's up another one hundred gold now for each of you two. So Traven's got Johva's vorpal blade, huh?"

"Yep."

"And he's still got both his arms and legs?"

"Yep."

"And you too? You must be teaching him well." Then she took a peek between his thighs. "Unless you're missing something else."

"Yeah, and nope." Savaran remembered some close calls during their training, however. "Well, the boy's got a lot to learn. I've told him, that sword doesn't come out unless I say so."

"Really? That bad?"

"Seriously," one more shot down Savaran's throat, the last one sitting on the table. "What happened to a king teaching his sons to be warriors? Now all they do is teach them how to talk and politick with nobles. The boy's more of a danger to himself than others most of the time."

"Job security for us."

"Sometimes I think we're a dying breed. Becoming obsolete. You know?"

With a smile, the woman he'd come here seeking to get revenge on sought to assuage him. "Don't worry. The Inglorious Brotherhood will always-"

"Wait," Now it was Savaran's turn to cut her off. "What did you just say?"

"Don't worry?" Daria asked.

"No," Savaran corrected. "After that. 'Inglorious Brotherhood'?" He'd heard that name. Some ass wipe down in Krell a week ago had referred to him and Traven by that name, right before trying to take a shot at them.

"Has a great ring to it, doesn't it? Thought it up myself."

Savaran shook his head. "Daria, what in the Three Hells have you done?"

"What? I gave you and the prince a name. Well, and me too, I guess. And a damn good name. After all, I was there at the wizard's castle too."

"Lich." Savaran's irritation was fuming again. And no amount of liquor could squelch it.

"Been dropping the name here and there as I made my way to this crap hole to wait for you. Which, by the way, took you long enough. Got a motto for us too. 'No job too big. No job to small. The Inglorious Brotherhood will take them all.'"

"By the... Daria! We're not a band of mercenaries!" Fist slamming on the table, Savaran half rose.

"Yes you are," she motioned to the pouches of gold sitting on the table. "See? Mercenaries get paid."

"No, we're not." Savaran reaffirmed his denial of her claims. "I only went along with you because you threatened to turn me in if I didn't. And then you turned me in any way!"

"To get the money to buy information about where Karis was," Daria corrected him in defense of herself.

"You keep saying that. Like it makes it okay?"

"I honestly thought you'd be happier."

"You want to know what would make me happy?" Again his fist was into the table. "If you would just get out of my life."

"Oh, sweetheart. Darling." There was a tsk tsk tone to Daria's voice. "You don't want me out of your life."

"Believe me, yes I do." Savaran pointed to the coins in the pouches on the table. "And with that amount of money? I don't need anything from you ever again."

"Not even our wonderful sex life?"

"Nope."

Daria pouted. "You mean, you'd rather pay for it that get it for free from me?"

"Daria," the ex-general locked onto her eyes. "Not only would I rather pay for it, but I'd rather pay for it and get a disease that would make my dick fall off, then get it for free from you ever again."

"Ever again?"

He nodded with an emphatic declaration. "Ever again."