Amal's eyes scanned the room, lingering on the chamber another few moments before silently and swiftly, he slipped back into the shadows and approached Charynrae so they could talk in whispers. He had good ears, but hers were far better, and it was his human hearing that couldn't handle breathing small sounds across the long tunnel. He also knew the numbers one and two in her sign, but she moved so quickly with it, best to talk it out.

"There's two other directions. One to the left and one to the right. I don't know where left leads, but the right goes further down into the mountain I think." He said, stroking his fine chin. He wasn't aware at how close they were, but their body heat made the two of them marginally warming as they conspired. "If we can just get the big one out, we can handle the orcs. You can shoot one and I can take the other by surprise. Do you have magic that might help get the ogre off his ass?"

Once she answered, he would nod. "If we have time, there are barrels and crates out there, and a blanket covering the crates we could take if nothing else. But we will need to move quickly. We can always sneak back in if the elements are too much and steal more. But hopefully we'll be long gone before that happens." He tried not to think about it, but it felt very nice being so close to such a beautiful woman. He had to quell a more carnal thought from his mind to complete the task at hand.

"I'll follow your lead. Give me the signal and we'll move." He said, giving her a wink. Idly he wondered if drow even knew the concept of a wink. If not, he could fill her in later.

Charynrae was making a mental map, envisioning the entire room in her mind based off Amal's description and the quick look she had taken. She could handle the unknown, but it was always better to gather information first. "Of course I do. It will be child's play."

Every drow was a warrior; she was a noble, so she also had to be a tactician. Not that this was a situation that required a particularly refined skill set. It was simple: Lure the ogre to the path on the right. Two orcs left. Amal would take whichever was closer, she would take the other.

She crept up to the passageway, locking her eyes on a specific spot in the right tunnel. "Ul'trin", she whispered, and just like that- voices in the tunnel. The ogre stood, club now in his hand.

"Who goes there?"

She had a moment of fear that the ogre had spotted her, but he turned to the tunnel. The voices stopped briefly. And then there they were again, this time, a little frantic, a little farther. (She wanted it to sound like some people trying to escape. Just like them.) The ogre growled, his grip tightening on his club. "Show yourself!" he bellowed as he stomped off into the right tunnel.

She readied her crossbow.

Wait.

Wait.

Wait.

Go.

Amal rolled into the room, knowing even if he were to attempt to lurk in silently, the orcs face one another and one would always have its peripheral vision on their entrance. Instead, Amal made sure the one who saw him would have only a split second to warn his comrade. It was too quick for the bewildered orc, but not for the cutthroat. Orcs were tough and brutally strong, but Amal was as swift as a zephyr. His dagger planted into the back of the orc's neck just as it had started to turn from its companion's warning.

A crossbow bolt bloomed in the eye of the remaining orc, and Amal whistled quietly at the marksmanship. The two brutes were dead, but the shadow of the ogre still lingered as it strode down the hallway, angrily searching for prey that did not exist.

"Quickly!" He whispered as loudly as he dared, rushing to the barrels and leaving Charynrae to the crates. Amal pried one open, and then another. There were dates and dried, salted meats used for travel, likely meant for whatever army this necromancer was cooking up. Amal grabbed what he could and shoved it in his pack, taking the tarp and wrapping it around his shoulders to serve as a cloak. If Charynrae grabbed the other, they might be able to cut the two and make some more insulated garments.

Pity, he had been looking forward to seeing her in her priestly robes under daylight.

He kicked the door open, sunlight flooding in and making the small torchlight seem bland and gloomy. "Come on, let's get to the treeline so we can make a fire!"

Charynrae was precise, as evidenced by the crossbow bolt in the eye of the orc. Precision was key to many things in the Underdark, at least in her eyes. She sauntered over to the freshly dead orc first to retrieve the bolt, wiping any remaining matter off onto the corpse. She frowned down upon it- though she was good at it, she did not particularly enjoy killing. After that, it was over to the crates. She grabbed the dagger first- the more weapons, the better.

"I aimed for my spell to cause an echo. If all goes as it should, we have more time than you think," she said, her stance and movements projecting calm as she stuffed hardtack into her satchel. "Or he could already be frustrated and coming back this way in a rage." She would have heard if the ogre was that incensed by now, though of course, with them it was always a risk. "I suppose we will know soon enough."

Another crate held a variety of root vegetables and small bags of dried herbs. And, curiously, a bag with a small handful of polished stones, which she also took, of course. It could have been mistaken for a bag of herbs at first glance, though its weight gave away that it was not for culinary purposes.

She followed his movements, grabbing the remaining tarp, turning right into the path Amal had cleared for them... and the sunlight. She had adjusted well enough while it was just in the room, but directly in her eyes? She stood frozen, wide-eyed for a moment. The flash of fear was gone from her face as quickly as it came. "I cannot see," she hissed as she started moving tentatively towards the exit. She had some understanding of blindsight fighting, but she was no expert and this was a door she needed to get to, not a brawl.

Amal laughed, though not loudly. He admired her carefree attitude in such a dangerous situation. He was used to being cavalier in dire circumstances, but as a thief he was also someone who appreciated the act of taking an escape route while it was available to them. Still, he managed to rummage for a few more choice cuts of beef jerky before he took her hand and helped her forward.

"You'll see better at the trees, and night is not far off." He temporized to her. Despite himself, he found her discomfort something he wanted to alleviate. When she was annoyed it reminded him of a pit viper, and somehow that was not off-putting. And truth be told, if he was smart he would simply kill her now, as they had made it out of the caverns and into freedom. But he found he did not do the smart thing, and somehow he felt neither would she.

---

---

Amal whistled appreciatively, and for once it wasn't at Charynrae's backside.

On the small hill at the cusp of a miserable little dell, they had finally spied civilization past a copse of trees. It wasn't a hut or a cabin, or a guard tower to watch over the ruined lands of Vaasa. Instead, it was a massive wall that had dammed a pass between the Galena mountains that had loomed over the horizon for most of their trek. From southwest to northeast, the wall stood like an impenatrable bulwark, and Amal honestly did not know how an army could conceivable assail it.

"It looks a half a mile wide, and sixty feet in height." He breathed, for once putting on a professional air. Amal was quite good at ascertaining the length and breadth of structures, as he had been required to scale them more often than not. His sharp eyes could only see a handful of men, however. Well-armed men, but still. If he had to guess there was less than a thousand to guard the entirety of the vast structure.

The white wind of Vaasa suddenly picked up, ruffling his dark locks and sending another chill down his spine, as if to tell him he and his companion had overstayed their welcome in the inhospitable land. It had been rough going, rationing their food and finding little water to drink save for the brackish or muddied bogs and moors that dotted the landscape. Once they had spotted a troll and had kept hidden, the long-limbed monster loping across the murky, wet landscape to disappear into the gloom. Amal had swore he had seen a dragon in the distance as well, once as he had kept watch, but by the time Charynrae had awakened, it was gone.

He was ready for a warm bed and some food that someone had actually cooked. Even living off scraps on the streets as a boy wasn't as loathesome as trekking through that gods forsaken wilderness.

"You may want to keep yourself cloaked until we find a room," He surmised, his cloak hanging about his shoulders, almost making him look the part of an exiled prince. Amal then shrugged. "Or not, and let them take you as they will. I've gone this far with you, I won't abandon you now."

Charynrae had heard of Vaasa and its empty expanse. It almost felt like home to her; just like the Underdark, it was cold and damp and little would grow. Despite all it lacked, the landscape had its own, strange beauty.

There was still a part of her that was wary of Amal. He had not killed her, but that could simply be because it was helpful to travel with someone when traversing the wilderness. And yet she trusted him more than she would have trusted any companion in the Underdark; utility could not always save you down there.

He was just as accustomed to discomfort as she was, it seemed, not that that was much of a surprise considering what she knew about him. What was a surprise was that he almost seemed to want her around. Truth be told, she was glad for it, not that she would admit it. This was possibly the least lonely she had felt in her entire life.

She squinted at the structure in the distance. “I will take your word for it,” she said. Between the light and the distance she was sure to get a headache if she stared at the wall for too long from here; at least the stone was dark, for pale colours were yet another thing her eyes did not quite like.

With the wisps of silver that peeked out from beneath the hood of her makeshift cloak, she might have simply been an old woman (and indeed by human standards she was). As her companion had discovered, she carefully rebraided her hair every morning. It was fortunate that she needed so little sleep, being a Drow, because some days she took quite some time on her work. Never enough to cut into their travel hours, she was careful of that; there was so little daylight as it was, and they needed it for travel.

“No, I will keep myself cloaked,” she murmured, ensuring her hands were tucked away and her face well hidden. “Just because I can survive out there does not mean it is enjoyable. You can do whatever talking is necessary, I presume.”

Up close, the walls were even more impressive. Amal wondered if djinn had helped create them, despite their northerly aesthetic. The ballista and catapults stations atop the walls looked well maintained, and though the men were spread thin, they seemed well trained and carefully drilled. Voices from their captains and the men returning filtered out from the parapets as the two approached. Luckily for them, the large iron gate was open. It took them a number of minutes walking on open ground to make it, but the shadow of the wall was a comforting weight after being exposed to the elements for nearly a week.

Small bands of adventurers and lowly travelers trickled out of the gate as they approached, and though Amal was curious, the two of them steered clear so Charynrae was not discovered. Amal himself would probably draw an eye or two, and not just for his good looks.

With his keen eyes, he saw the guards questioning travelers every now and then, but Amal got a beat on the flow of the questioning, and with some small guidance to Charynrae with his hand gingerly taking the silhouette of her forearm, they managed to infiltrate a small number of peasants entering the gate, keeping to the middle and staying out of sight. The two entered under the tunnel of the gate, and a darkness cloaked them. Before them, the white of day illuminated the exit into Bloodstone pass, but Amal knew Charynrae likely felt more relaxed now than anytime the past week.

Likely, being the keyword. She was still surrounded by surfacers. And none likely as charming as he.

Closer and closer the light came, the two passing by large doors embedded in the stone, likely leading to more guard quarters. Seconds passed, and Amal then stepped into the light and blinked, taking the hood off his head and gazing about. To the left and right, there were shops and taverns and entertainment hugging the wall, some even carved into it. Men and women gambled and sang and mingled, some looking around aimlessly and others stalking with a purpose. Most were human, but Amal saw no shortage of doughty dwarves, and even a few halflings and surface elves. Beyond the wall was a small plain filled with makeshift shacks and tents, forming a shantytown almost two miles long. The populations were much the same, but many were mercenaries or thrill seekers, Amal guessed. He saw bards stringing their harps and tough men setting fires under cooking pots. Men in wizard robes held up maps and spoke in hushed tones to fighters or armored men with holy symbols. But of course, the largest portion of the men looked to be workers. Squires, curvasceous dancers, repairmen, true cooks, and the like. He grinned when he saw a few skulking figures from his vantage point, his trained eyes knowing the shadows of thieves when he saw them.

"Almost reminds me of home," He said to himself, though he did not doubt Charynrae heard him. He nudged her. "Come, let's see about getting a drink and finding a place to stay. Maybe I can even find some dice. Do you gamble, Lady Char?"

Charynrae was watchful as always, careful to keep her face obscured as her eyes swept the way in front of them. She let Amal guide her; it was unnerving and comforting all at once, to have someone assisting her. Much less a human.

Once they were well inside the town walls she chanced lowering her hood. There were definitely a few second looks, and she could hear murmured words about drow, but no one seemed alarmed. They might not like her, but this was not the type of town where she would be driven out. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught an elf sneering at her, but she ignored it.

She pointed towards the wall, at one of the entities carved right in. “Black Dagger. Inn, tavern, bath house,” she read off the sign. “I would say we start there.” It made sense to keep them all together, at least to her, especially up here.

“Gamble? Not often,” she said. “As you can imagine, it can get… bloody, where I am from, and given its unpredictability, most avoid it. You said you were reminded of home. Where is home for you?”

"Calimport. That is a bloody city too, though gambling does not always end in that. But it can."

Amal spoke with a fond smile on his face, as if to ask 'what can one do?' He gave a shrug and began to walk toward the establishment Charynrae indicated, letting her follow in his wake so he could grab what attention they might garner. It was a good thing she was slight of stature. An orc would be harder to conceal, and even a duergar would have its troubles. Drow were also much more nicer to look at, he decided. More interesting company too, though Amal had heard a strange tale of a Duergar assassin before. He would be interested in sharing a pint with that one, too.

"Calimport is far to the south. Maybe one day you'll see it. I'm sure I won't be as hunted in say, ten years." He said offhanded, and the two stepped into the common room.

It was fairly spacious, with men and women from all over Faerun carousing and conversing, drinking and laughing. To the left was a small section to sit down, but to the right, against the wall they had just walked into, was the bar, and further right was a larger room with more tables. Amal supposed it was a sturdy place, being built under the stone of the great wall guarding Vaasa.

"Excuse me sirs, but we'll need to confiscate your weapons." A broad fellow in a dark surcoast said, brown beard ensconcing his strong jaw. He looked congenial, but there was a hardness behind his eyes that showed he was not unused to forcing the issues. Amal pursed his lips and nodded, relinquishing his daggers and his saber. When he placed them in the hand of the fellow, the bouncer marveled at the make. "Magical?"

"No, but well forged. Keep an eye on them for me. Oh, and my chultan friend is quite shy. He'll hand his over, however." Amal remarked, turning back to give Charynrae a subtle wink. The island of Chult was even further south than Calimshan, and the men there were of even darker skin than Amal. He seriously doubted any Chultan had ever been so far north, not within decades, at least. Charynrae could extend her hand at least, and she would not be incriminated by the man if he thought she was from the steaming jungles in that far off land. Though if her eyes were seen, that was another story.

"Do you serve any arak here?" Amal asked to keep the man moderately distracted.

"Arak?"

"A drink from my homeland."

"I doubt it, stranger." The bouncer remarked, rubbing his thinning head of hair. "But we've got good mead, beer, ale, and a nice stout."

Being hunted, that was something she was well familiar with. “You want to go back?” She certainly had no interest in going home any time soon, but humans were different; it seemed they formed peculiar attachments to most anything.

This was not like many of the inns she had been to on the surface, tiny wooden buildings only marginally better kept than the ramshackle homes that surrounded them. People who had been abandoned by the rest of the world often cared less about who was passing through. She had even been invited to stay in someone’s *home* once, not that she would ever take anyone up on that kind of offer- she could not imagine they could have any kind of good intentions.

Now, Chult- that was a smart cover. Char never would have thought of it herself; she knew of the place in passing, but had never ended up that far away. Travel had to be done carefully as a Drow- as a thief, too, she supposed, but at least that knowledge wouldn’t necessarily follow everywhere, unless one wasn’t a particularly good thief.

It was an awkward task to manage, but she successfully managed to remove all her weapons while still remaining safely hidden inside her cloak. She was not particularly happy to do so; while she had no pressing need to have them, she did not like to be without.

"Yes, why not?" Amal asked casually, once Charynrae stepped past the bouncer and into the corridor. "Or maybe somewhere south from here. The weather is too cold up here. The liquor is too bitter and the women are too clothed." It was difficult to tell if he was joking or not. The thief spoke in a manner that was both candid yet flippant enough to seem too casual to be true. The two found a small corner table, only shared by a dwarf who had fallen asleep after four full mugs. He snored noisily, but at least it proved he was still asleep.

Amal held his hand up, waiting for the barman until he saw, giving the Calimshan man a nod. Amal grinned and set his hand back down.

"It's good to be someplace warm, finally." He confessed, turning back to Charynrae. He rested his fine chin on the palm of his hand, elbow resting on the table. The past week had been rough, even for someone used to harsh living like Amal. But Charynrae seemed tireless throughout it. He was actually impressed. She was wicked, ruthless, relentless, and quite pretty when she decided to show her face. Even now he could see the tip of her well proportioned nose and the silhouette of her heart-shaped face as she turned, glancing about for potential knives from behind.

"You never told me what your plans were for when we reached civilization." He reminded her. Behind Charynrae, he saw the barman point a waitress to head to their table, a comely woman with laugh lines and brown curls cascading down her back. She looked as tired as Amal felt. He only saw the waitress and the barman for a brief glimpse, however, eyes flicking back to the dark elf. "There's really no reason for us to keep traveling together unless there is some profit in it. That or you've grown to like me."

He flashed a grin. "Either way, I would know now how you feel on that score, so I can start thinking about where to go next. Am I having a traveling companion still, or shall we bid goodbye after a drink?"

“I suppose it is just surprising to me because I have no interest in returning to… my home,” Charynrae said. She did not dare speak the word Underdark out loud. It felt like a bad omen. "In fact, I have a vested interest in not returning."

She looked in Amal’s eyes- they were pretty. He was... not so bad. He was a sturdy man. Dependable, and kind, too. Kindness was not something valued in the Underdark. She valued kindness, of a sort, hence her taking leave of the Underdark.

“I had no plans. I do like you, so you have a travelling companion.”

She sipped at the glass of mead that had been left by the waitress. "I suppose that while we are travelling, we can offer our services to anyone in need.” What services they could provide was a matter of discussion.

The waitress came over. "Would you like food, or are you just drinking tonight?" She looked exhausted, and yet she was on her feet. Char grabbed her wrist when she went to clear out the empty glasses. "Will you take some of my energy? You look like you need some."

"Uh, if you are offering, then, yes," said the waitress.

Amal felt a small thrill pass through him, though he hid it well. He had not expected her to say she enjoyed his company. Whenever he mentioned something of that nature, he did it as a sardonic joke. But now that she had met him on that score, he decided it was nice to hear.

If that was the case, then it would hamper a bit of his traveling options, but he found she was worth it. For her skills, as well as her more pleasant aspects. Amal, however, tilted his head as Char lightly accosted the waitress. The thief wondered exactly what his drow companion meant, but before he saw what would happen, he heard the clink of glass behind him. He glanced past his shoulder, his ears open.

"So Davros, been meanin' to catch up with ye." A gruff voice said.

"Aye, been too long. How's the trade?" Another asked, his voice deeper but more mellow.

"Tried to get to Palishuck, but the roads have gotten more perilous."

"Is that a pun? You know invoking the name of the castle isn't smart. I hear it's been stirrin' lately."

"It's not the castle I'm worried about. They say a cult or some bandit group has been attackin' tradesmen goin' to Ironspur up north. Big bounties on the men that done the deed. Dwarves and their friends always pay well..."

That piqued Amal's interest. Gold always did. However, the earlier comment was certainly ominous as well. What castle? Had it been the same one they had escaped from the bowels of a week before? The thief turned his attention back to Charynrae and the waitress, hoping nothing had gone amiss. The drow woman was smart, but he did not know how much surface etiquette she was privy to.

There was nothing audible or visible, but the waitress felt a buzzing sensation from Char’s hand that travelled up her arm to her core. Just like that she looked a little less tired. “You should be able to get through the evening a little easier,” Char said, keeping her voice at a low, masculine rasp to keep up appearances.

“And yes, we would like food. For me, whatever is filling and costs the least. I’m not particularly picky.”

“Well, sirs, I’m happy to put your meals on the house tonight,” said the waitress. “A thank you for whatever magic that was.”

Char turned her attention back to Amal. "You look like you have something to say."

"Meat please, and some cakes." Amal said, his elbow on the table and his dagger in his hand, waving it around in a circle to gesticulate, as one does. Amal was surpised Charynrae had helped the woman. Even if she was a bit nice for a dark elf, it was charity he would not have done himself. However, when she said it was on the house, he supposed he understood why, now. After the waitress walked away, she glanced back at the strange table before disappearing to the back.

There was a general murmur around them, a table with a surface elf, a dwarf, a halfling, and three humans erupted into laughter. Amal was glad for the sound covering his words.

"I hear there is a bounty on bandits a few dozen miles north, at a place called Ironspur." Amal's accent causing his voice to sound both smooth yet clipped. "I say we go there next."

Two hefty northerners, looking for all the world like Luskaners, stumbled past the two new companions. They nearly bumped into the tabletop, and a keen eye could see Amal's hand slip into one of their pockets. Three shiny silver coins were between his four fingers, and he flashed a grin to Charynrae. For the normal eye, it would seem as if he plucked the coins out of nowhere. "I will cover the inn expenses tonight. I decided I would like to sleep in a bed for once. Maybe a bath too."

Amal saw the woman coming back with the drinks, the food likely still cooking. He gave his jackal-like grin again. "But first, let's fill our bellies."

Charynrae could work with her hands well enough, if the braids weaving through her hair were any indication, but not so well to pull off such sleight-of-hand. She supposed there were benefits to being companion to a thief; she was not quite sure she wanted to call him a friend, and in fact the concept was still strange and foreign to her. There had been people she had tolerated more than others in the Underdark, spent more time with, but friendship was not a concept that existed in the dank caverns buried in the earth. Everyone was equally likely to betray you.

That was not true. Family was the worst- although from what she had heard, that was not necessarily much different than surface families. Surface dwellers were marginally less likely to end up dead in such a situation.

“Well, that sounds far better than sleeping in brush again,” she said in approval. “Although I suppose there are worse places we could have had to camp out.

She murmured something akin to a thank you at the appearance of the tankard full of golden liquid in front of her. “Ironspur it is then,” she said before taking a sip, the sweet liquid welcomingly refreshing, especially after days out of civilization. “Do you know much about this Ironspur?”

The chatter around them was exactly as one would expect from a busy tavern- mostly loud talk from people who had had far too much to drink and showed no sign of stopping. No one was too rowdy, at least, although it wouldn’t have been unexpected. It wasn’t long before the waitress was back, carrying a tray piled with dishes and those dishes with food that smelled positively divine after days scrounging for whatever was available. There was plenty of variety- bread, pickled vegetables, cuts of meat, a hearty stew, cakes, and some kind of fruit pottage that Char eyed with suspicion.

Amal had a masterful physique from years of eating lean and climbing rooftops and running from city guards. However, he had to admit that he was looking somewhat emaciated after the last two weeks of being fed either gruel at intermittent intervals, or practically nothing save berries and a few conies while trekking through the Gods forsaken cold of Vaasa. However, when they dropped the food in front of him, he took little time and practically inhaled half of the food, even more actually, since Char seemed to be slightly less hungry than him.

Well, she was actually just smaller than he, which made since. By the way she ate, he felt she was devouring as much, if not more than she normally would be able to. She was still careful not to let her hair slip though, only her nose poking out every now and then. He had remembered what it was like to be a street urchin, running from street to street, searching for a meal, going to bed hungry. But it had been some time in his adult life when he had been this famished, and so he filled his belly until the two of them finished all the food in front of them. Even the strange vegetables and the odd fruit pottage was not safe from Amal's appetite.

Once the rakish thief was done, he leaned back in his chair and stretched, his long arms spread wide as he yawned. "Drink! We need drink! Eh? Oh, a bottle of ale! Two bottles!" The waitress was not there, but she had heard him, as had a quarter of the room even with the accompanying chatter. A few dozen eyes looked their way, but they were focused on Amal and his jackalish grin and not his swathed companion, luckily.

The waitress walked up and plopped the two bottles down, bemused at his manner. Amal improved her mood giving her another bronze coin, and swiped up the bottles in his hand. He winked at Char. "Let us go to the room. I'm sure you'd like to relax while we drink, yes?"

Even with the frightening cold, he was sure he would go crazy not being able to show his face, and he felt like getting close to a warm fire rather than sitting here where men belched and laughed like goats.

Char tried a little bit of everything. She was not impolite. She was partial to the stew and ate most of it, not that Amal seemed to mind- he seemed happy they were fed at all. Which made sense; they had just come from eating next-to-nothing. It was not a thing she had experienced until she had come to the surface; she was of the nobility, and they were always fed.

The fruit pottage Char had been uncertain about turned out to be absolutely divine. She downed the last of her mead, feeling pleasantly vibrant even before Amal’s suggestion of drinking in the room. “Yes, that sounds like a good idea.”

They were led up some stairs to their room, ushered to the last door on the left. There were two beds and while they were not the pinnacle of luxury, they looked like they would be comfortable.

But first things first. Once the door was closed and it was just the two of them, the cloak came off, hung on a stand in the corner. Char stretched her arms high and wide above her head. The spider web that adorned her back, peeking out from under her tunic, shifted as she did. “Oh, this is so much better,” she said, glancing over to Amal as she pulled off her armour.

“Tell me something.”

Amal had already stripped himself of his cloak, though he regretted it immediately. He was still so used to the desert sun, the cold had its claws in this room, and so he lit a fire in the fireplace as swiftly as he could. He had gotten quite good at it now after weeks of practice. Once the kindling had been set alight, he turned and saw Char remove her own cloak. It was hard not to appreciate her form, but he was not that drunk. Plus, she had shown no interest in him as of yet.

Instead, he hefted the bottle of rum he had procured from downstairs, as if he had plucked it out of thin air with a spell. "Tell you something?" He remarked in his curious accent. "We have never been more than four yards from one another for two weeks now. I believe I can speak and you will know what lie I will tell next." He flashed her a devilish grin.

He plopped onto the couch, however, and took a huge draught from his bottle. The three great gulps had eliminated at least a mugs worth of the stuff before he removed it from his lips. "But...I can tell you of the time I stole a moonblade from a pasha's armory?"

He began to weave a small tale of daring, his style sardonic, pragmatic, but with humor as was his way. Amal's tale had begun when he had been approached by a vengeful half-elf who's mother's blade had been stolen in a raid that took her life. The half-elf had hired Amal to retrieve it. The adventure took him to the sewers of Calimport, through a wererat gang, up into the bowels of the pasha's pleasure house, killing the pasha's lieutenant and taking his apparel, and sneaking into the armory before his discovery. He made it out by the skin of his teeth, along with a bejeweled brassiere of the pasha's favorite girl he had managed to scoop up to add insult to injury on his flight.

"The half-elf paid well, and I sold the garment." He said with a shrug. "I lived on borrowed time after that. Pasha Visko took me under his protection for a time, but it was not long until he felt my head would bring a greater price than my fingers, and so I felt to memnom."

At this point, the fire had warmed him, bathing his caramel skin in warm light. He took another swig of the bottle, giving a satisfied gasp.

“Well, certainly, if we actually had something going on, I probably could,” Char said as she slipped off her leggings, revealing the obsidian skin underneath. It was almost unbearably warm to have them on inside. She would boil with them on seated by the fire. They weren’t even particularly warm they were outside, but stacking everything together would only make misery.

Everything she had shed was carefully arranged before she went to settle in across from Amal. She took a drink from her own bottle.

“A moonblade. All right. And later… I… will tell you… all about the bookworms of the Underdark.”

She watched as he wove his story, nodding, gasping, frowning as was appropriate. He was good at entertaining- it was probably good for thieving, she supposed. It seemed the biggest part of thieving was in the distraction.

As he spoke, she was undoing her hair, combing through it with her fingers. She had not been able to be so into it since before the castle. Nothing terrible had happened to it, and she wound it back into a simple braid by the end of his story.

“You… felt to memnom?” She paused. “What does that mean, you felt to memnom? Does that mean something in your mother tongue? Or are you just very drunk? Or perhaps I am very drunk and that is not what you said at all?”