A Sellsword, A Cutpurse, and a Very Sordid Tale!

[Data]

Rowan hesitated only a moment as she looked down at the man at her feet. Ivan would be likely to hand her over if they paid him, and her network of freed slaves would be powerless against crazed armed men. At least Dresh would be able to defend himself, if the Order took offence to the killing of their priest and helping her. She took off after him and was silently thanking him from setting a mild pace, so she didn't have to jog to keep up with his much longer legs. She kept track of the turns they made, even in her distracted state. She didn't want to be lost in a part of town she didn't know if things took a turn for the worse. Even if Dresh had helped her and was willing to help her further, she couldn't trust anyone. When they stopped, Rowan frowned at the symbol etched on the door and wondered why it seemed so familiar. She ducked around Dresh when he turned to look at her. "Don't look surprised, love," she said and flashed him a grin.

Inside Rowan plopped down onto the first available bench not bothering to wait from Dresh. "I don't suppose I could have ale?" He'd offered her a safe place to sleep and was assuming this was the place. "I am guessing by the speech earlier and that determined look in your eye, you are not willing to drop the matter are ya' love?" she started with a sigh and ran her fingers through. "I also assuming by the look out at the door that this area is safe enough for you." She looked at Dresh and hesitated. "I will tell you what I can, but know that this puts me at risk. I do not trust you, and I have not reason too yet. You, also, do not trust me, so do not argue this point." She paused taking a sipf of the ale that had been set before her. "They called you Immortal because you are the spawn of the Gods, or most likely the Demons in your case since that zealot tried to kill you. You are immortal in a sense since you're sire must have been a true Immortal, but not literally an Immortal to my knowledge. Those men were priests of the Order of Costas the followers of the Gods in Shaemil. They were controlled by the Gods, so I'm supposin' that's how they knew you." She looked him over, "This surprises me, though. You do not seem as evil as you should be with a Demon for a sire, and also doesn't explain why you're a sell sword in no man's land. If you were from Shaemil, you'd be trying to over throw the Order and determined to bring the country to war and if you won then you'd be leading the invasion force on Boren. If you were from Boren, it would be you leading their forces here. You implied earlier that it was Demon spawn leading the war, causing the omens."

She paused and looked away with sigh, "As for me, I don't owe the coin or my body. I'm not whore. I told you before Sheamil didn't get their bastard. They need their Voice for the people to follow and have faith for this war. Against what others have said, I know you are not a dunce, and you can understand what all this should mean."

She looked back to him with her heart racing in fear. Even though she had stated otherwise, something made her want to trust him. Maybe she was tired of having no true allies, and if Dresh was an Immortal, maybe he, more than anyone else could understand the dire situation that she had been placed into. "I've placed my life in your hands, more than I care to, but I fear I've no allies. I'm a thief among other things, also made a few enemies with my other hobbies. I think have the flesh dealers and merchants would be happy to hand me over to the Shae," she stated with a rueful chuckle. "Know that with your killing, you could be in danger now. I wouldn't blame you in the slightest if you threw me out on my ass. I'm not asking for charity, but even still I could use a safe place to rest for tonight, until I can disappear into the city tomorrow." Rowan closed her mouth and gave the man a half smile. She knew she'd said far too much, in front of strangers, and knew that her life right now depended on what Dresh said next.

[Zadkiel]

Dresh listened with rapt attention as he removed his cloak and over-shirt, exposing underneath a well muscled body with large arms that were hidden underneath the long-sleeved shirt and cloak, with equally broad and toned shoulders born witness, a well trimmed pocket of chest hair visible over the rim of the undershirt that barely kept his modesty and concealed either the pressence, or lack-of, muscle undertone behind it. As she kept on talking and enlightening him about the situation, at least from her point of view, he leaned up against a wooden beam that supported the small side-room they were in, located at the very front of his more reclusive hideout, compared to the others scattered across the city. His hazel green eyes kept a lock on her as she talked, and canted his head at her when she finished, his husky voice chimming in again as his right hand idly rested on the inlaid hilt of his sword, though there was no glint of malice or hunger in his eyes. "Partially right, however you're a bit off the the guess, sugar Ro', dear. See, Immortal is also used as a Boren religion rank, specifically for defenders of their zealotry and doctrine, one's that have proven time and time again they cannot be bested by mortal hands. We're given this title not because of what flows in our blood, but what flows underneath our boots when we spoil the soil with our enemy's demise. Before you try to reach for one of your hidden blades -- don't act like I doubt a woman can hide a blade in plain sight of a less than modest collection of clothing, like yourself displays -- I'm what Boren would call "Desheda", or a rebelious traitor. As to my Pa or Ma bein' tainted by some demon's corruption, I heavily doubt it. I never knew the folks, but the big dogs in Boren keep such a tight lock-down on those ordeals." He paused as he canted his head in the other direction at her, regarding her physical appearance, clothing, and body language again, seeing if there was anything he missed about her.
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After futher examining her, he simply shrugged idly. "I reckon I can keep ya' 'round, for a bit. My little urchins, as I call 'em, like to refer to this place as the Wolf's Den, due to the fact it's marked by the wolf's head on the door. Old Boren thing, meant to scare away angels and demons; don't ask me how or why, 'cause I dunno'. Right now, you're probably safe for a few days in here. Believe it or not, there's a magical ward at the very mouth of the entrance to this sectioned off area of the docks that is triggered by anything mortal or immortal -- battle tested and proven, mind ya'. Normally I charge a hefty price for someone to lay-low in my den," he said with a sultry lick of his lips as he eyed her over again. "However, for such a darlin' piece of work like ya's self, I think I can find the kindess in my heart to let it go. 'Sides, I'm sure there'll be plenty of other ordeals in the near future that'll present as adequete payment, with the notion of interest included somewhere." His tone reverted back to the husky, masculine, voice that built up with his physical build to easily give off the impression he was a soldier, even if he didn't have a uniform of an army to serve in. There was a long pause, before he finally laughed, possibly interrupting Rowan if she was talking. "The Voice of Shaemil, turnin' to one of Boren's occultic guardians of their religious order. I'm sorry, but the irony is just a bit heavy, eh? So, what's your stake in this anyways, doll?"

[Data]

As he explained what the Immortal title meant to Boren, Rowan tried to keep from tensing and dashing for the door. Dresh was previously a zealot of Boren and that didn't bode well with a woman hell bent on not getting caught up with the religious war that the true Immortals were so determined to destroy the world of men with. She did almost go for one of her daggers, though didn't when he advised against it. Dresh was two times her size, and in close quarters in a place that he had the advantage, Roe would have lost in a heartbeat. "Well I know what the term means for Shaemil, and all of that is only second hand through my mother who was a priestess for the Order of Costas at one time in her life. If you're a religious traitor, it would explain why they'd be more than willing to attempt to cut you down."

She stood though when he started talking about and shook her head. "I don't think so, love. I need a night in your little immortal free haven, but no more than a night. I've survived this lone on my own, love, and don't take charity, no matter who ya' are. So I will pay my fair share for board for a night," she stated with her hands on her hips. She watched him eye her over like she was a simple whore and nearly pulled one of her daggers, but she kept her temper in check. It's not that she was adverse to the idea of Dresh, but she would never trade her body as payment. Her mother's last wish still stood intact, and even if it meant dying at the hands of the Shae or Boren, she wouldn't break that. She had her hand on one of those not-so-well-hidden daggers as soon as he all but called her the Voice. "One thing you must understand is that I still do not trust you, and the only reason I am here is because those I could go to would be so easily slaughtered by these zealots. And I will not allow that to happen when I worked so hard to save them."

Her eyes flashed with rage as she turned away and walked the length of the small room. "My take take on this, love," she sneered, "Is that I have an army of crazy loons after my ass, wanting to give my body to the Gods, so I can die to have their bastard who will be forced to lead a war they have nothing to do with. I'd be the temporary Voice with no rights and no choice, so I'd take care how you throw around that title because I doubt that you could hardly know what that means." Her quickly flared anger deflated just as quickly, and she forced her clenched fists to relax. "I wouldn't expect a hulking man such as yourself to understand. Just understand that to be caught alive by the Gods for me would be a fate worse than death, and it would mean that my mother would have sacrificed everything for naught." She paced the length of the room to stand before him and had to crane her neck to look up at him, "Now, love. As long as you're still willing to offer a bed for the night, I would much appreciate a chance to stitch my leg and a chance to drown myself in a keg of ale." With a grin and a wink, she slipped past him and toward the door that she was guessing lead to the main area of the building, "Come on, love. I've a guess you owe me a drink at the very least."