Plague in Neverwinter pt 2

Zara wasn't sure how long she hid in that barrel; past the point her fingers and legs began to buzz, beyond the moment she began to go numb.  She managed to hold still when her limbs woke up and began to cramp, muffling a surprised cry of pain with her fist.  Outside her tiny wooden sanctuary, she could hear the zombies shuffling around, bumping into things.  The temptation to just stand up, to give in, was hard to resist.  Zara flexed her legs experimentally, pushing up and nearly laughed.  She wasn't entirely sure she would be able to get out of her barrel.  After a moment of intense pain, she pushed herself partway up to peek out.

Sure enough, the undead still shuffled around the doorway, dead gaze unblinking as they searched the darkness.  Zara shivered, slipping back down despite her body's protest.  They would just stay there, she realized, following their last order until that horrible man came back, or they found her.  And they could wait longer than she could.  If Darn were here, he would have some great plan, she thought.  All she could think of was fighting her way free,  and that was ridiculous.  She needed an idea.

A sword, padded armor, her holy symbol, some rocks in the bottom of the barrel . . . not much to work with.  There were only two prayers at her disposal, one to light her way and another to heal.  Useless.  Zara shut her eyes, focused.  I just need to get to that door, she thought.  If the zombies could go someplace else or look the other way, it shouldn't take long to escape.  The idea came to her all at once.  It wasn't much of a plan, but it was something, she thought, pushing herself up again.  

Zara reached down and scooped up a handful of the little rocks, then loosened the short sword, ready to pull it if need be.  Her legs protested the movement, doubt blossoming as she wondered how quickly she could make it to the door.  "No choice," she told herself quietly, tossing one of the stones out into the warehouse.  It clattered against some crates, falling to the floor.  Several of the undead turned to look that way, their paths veering toward the sound.  She waited a moment to let them stumble past, then threw another.  It's working, she thought excitedly as more of the undead went off to investigate the noise.

There was only one left at the door, a haggard thing, entrails dragging along behind it like a leashed pet.  It seemed not to notice the sound, or that it was now alone.  Zara watched it for a moment, counting its unsteady paces.  As the zombie passed her, she pulled herself from the barrel, feet landing softly on the dirt packed floor.  When she let go of the edge, she nearly fell.  Zara held her breath, steadying, and then began to make her way toward the exit.

Her wobbly gait nearly matched the shuffling zombie.  It was an effort to put one foot before the other, but Zara refused to stop.  Nearly to the door, she lost her caution and sped up, eager to escape this place.  The zombie pivoted in his path, looking at her with a leering grin.  His milky white eyes seemed to shine as he moved toward her in lurching steps.  "By the dawn,"Zara hissed, trying to force herself to move faster.  Her hand nearly brushed the handle when the thing caught up to her.  She tried to move aside, but she was too slow; the undead wrapped its arms around her, pulling her close like a long lost lover, mouth agape.  

Fear froze Zara in place, arms pinned against its chest, mind screaming though her mouth stayed silent.  Somewhere in the midst of her panic, she prayed.  Lathander, Tyr, Torm, Mystra . . . any god that would answer.  The zombie went for the soft flesh of her neck, dull teeth catching on her padded armor.  The scrape of those cold teeth woke something in her, an answer to prayer, an instinct - her divine powers ignited, sending the sweet light of healing into the dead thing on her.  It jerked back in surprise, letting go, but it was too late.  

The zombie fell, spasming as the dark power that drove it evaporated in the face of light.  Zara did not wait to see what else might happen.  She pushed open the door and fled as fast as she could.  Outside, the sun shone high overhead, but the it did little to calm her.  She sought sanctuary in a nearby abandoned house, ducking inside.  Motivated by terror, Zara shoved a shelf and desk in front of the door before she collapsed, panting on the floor.    



Darn looked over at Margaret as she scribbled away in her notebook.  Earlier, she'd shown him the story she was writing of their little adventure.  It annoyed him to need to stare at the cramped squiggles, but his comments seemed to please her.  He did not mind being ignored but every time he got up to go do something, she would huff, displeased.  Finally, he stood, stretching.  "I need to get some supplies, Margaret."  The old woman glanced up with a little frown, "Already?"  Darn nodded, "Unless you like boiled shoes?"  That made her crack a small smile.  "I can't say I've had the pleasure."  "Mmm, lucky.  Trust me, it's not the best.  I'll run down to the Board and see what we can get.  Any requests?"

The old woman shook her head, then stopped.  "Perhaps some candied rose petals?"  He gave her a broad grin, "Some sweets for the sweet, then."  Margaret giggled, waving to him girlishly as he left.  Once out of her sight he sighed.  It would be so good to get out of this house for a bit.  Darn pulled on his boots and coat, and grabbed some money from the old woman's safe in the cellar.  Before he could get to the tavern, he still had that body to contend with.  It had grown stiff through the day, and he struggled with the dead weight, dragging it down the alley.

There was a nice drop off to the lake just a little ways further, the same place Darn tossed poor Owen before.  He left the body floating in the water without so much as a glance back.  The fool would still be alive if he'd been satisfied to take a few things and go, but some people were just too greedy.  He dusted off his hands and went on to the tavern.  It was easy to find, lit inside and out as if for a feast day.  Some of the nobles believed they would all die in this plague and intended to celebrate until the very end.  

A large bald man stood at the door, a leather sap tucked into his belt.  Darn nodded to him, flashing a gold coin.  The man grinned widely, front teeth a gaping hole.  "Welcome t'the Board," he grunted, opening the door.  The scene inside made him smile.  Buxom wenches with trays of beer and wine, men betting, laughing, playing cards . . . he waved to one of the girls, ordering a beer when she came over.  Margaret would not mind if he stayed a bit, he thought.  "You here to watch the fight?" One of the men asked casually, as he rolled a smoke.  "Who's it going to be?"  The man shrugged, "Some mercenary and one of Talgrith's boys.  Does it matter?"  Darn gave a wide grin, "Only if you're betting."  

The noble laughed, "True, true.  I don't intend to though.  What's the point?  Can't take gold with you in the end . . ."  The elf shrugged and walked away, seeing the wench with his beer.  He needed to find something . . . cards, dice . . . he looked around, watching for an opening.  He didn't have far to go.  Two drunks sat tossing dice at one table, a pile of coin between them.  Three women, nobles or servants, it was impossible to tell, stood around offering advice to them on their bets, rewarded with free drinks and sloppy kisses.  

He sidled up to the table, beer in hand.  "Mind if I watch?"  One of them men rolled a bloodshot glance his way, "W-why not?"  He grinned, one side of his mouth slow to catch up to the other.  Darn smiled back, "Thanks!"  He grabbed a stool and sat down, offering one of the women a slight smile when she rolled her eyes.  She looked vaguely familiar to him.  He watched without much comment for a few tosses to see how they played.  It was a simple game, roll to 21 or hold . . . the closest won but you always lose if you go over.  And neither seemed to be cheating, either to drunk or to honest to try.  

"Mind if I try a hand?" he asked at last, setting 3 gold on the table.  "Ssssure," slurred one.  He was further gone than his companion, "Call m-mee Durg," he said, holding out a hand.  Darn shook it with a grin.  The other nodded, "Happy t'take your money.  Y'can call me True."  "True?"  The elf raised an eyebrow.  "S'my ma's little joke.  And y'have a name?"  "Dale," Darn said with another grin, "My mother's little joke."  They both laughed at that and settled in.  The oddly familiar woman sat herself on his lap with a smile.  "Kiss for luck?" she asked.  Darn gave her a slow smile, hand creeping up her leg.  She slapped it away, smile never faltering.  

"I guess I have enough to spare," he told her, aiming a kiss for her plump, red lips.  She turned and let it land on her cheek, as he'd hoped she would.  He took a quick sip of his beer to wash the flavor or powder and perfume out of his mouth.  She tittered, squirming on his lap to get comfortable.  Darn was tempted to dump her onto the floor; she was distracting.  Instead he just smiled and pinched her ass.  "So what's your name, lady?"  "La'tia," she said, the last bit at a higher pitch as he pinched her.  "Oh?  So I should call you Lady La'tia," he asked.  She laughed again, "Oh I'm no lady.  Docks born, but my mom had a bit of coin."  Darn looked at her closely, the resemblance coming to him.  

"La'tia, La'tia . . . such a pretty name.  Like Tia," he said quietly, as if talking to himself.  "Tia was my mother," the girl smiled.  "Oh, and she was a beauty like yourself?"  The girl giggled, pretending to be embarrassed by the compliment.  "I wouldn't say that.  I'm one of a kind."  Darn kept smiling, trying to decide if it would be more fitting to fuck her or no.  Not that it was appealing exactly.  For now he decided to ignore her and focus on the game.

Darn let chance choose the winner for the next few rolls, waiting to see how Durg and True took a loss.  When the dice finally favored him and he won back more than he bet, both men took it with humor.  "Buy us a round, eh Dale?" Durg said and Darn did just that, spending his earnings on some Alurlyath for his new 'friends' and the girls.  He planned on switching the dice as the night went on, but for now he was enjoying himself.

Durg and True seemed to have a good idea which nobles fled Neverwinter and which stayed.  He let them ramble on about the people they knew in Blacklake, keeping a mental tally.  The number of empty estates just begging for a quick hand were mind boggling.  Not that he would need to do any quiet work if his gambit with Margaret paid off.  Still, it always paid to have a back up plan.  He slipped La'tia a few coins as they went to keep her quiet, but not enough to keep her interested.  They hadn't been playing long when she sighted better prey and slid off his lap.  

"Where do you think you're going little bunny?" he asked, waggling his eyebrows.  She looked at him over her shoulder, smile icy.  "I see a friend," and then off she pranced.  Darn gave an affected sigh, annoyed and at the same time pleased she was gone for the moment.  "Look s'like your luck went off t'find someone else," True joked, drooping eyes tracking her through the crowded tavern.  The elf made a face, "Ah poor me!  Now I will lose all my gold to you . . . again!"  True grabbed the ass of the nearest girl with a laugh, "Jus' have t'learn to hold on, Dale."  Darn nodded agreement, scooping his coin into his purse and standing.  "Need to drain my serpent, and maybe look for another bit of luck.  I'll be back though."  The men nodded, Durg standing as well, "I n-need to sh-ah check my bet downch-tairs."  He took a few stumbling steps before one of the girls got under his arm, giggling.  

Darn shook his head as he walked off thinking it was going to be a good night for his purse.  He wouldn't take them for everything, just a bit tonight, maybe a small loss another night, then another win . . . milk it through this damned plague.  If he bankrupted them this evening he'd have to find new partners on his next trip over and that didn't appeal.  You never knew how someone would take a loss, and he preferred to avoid fights and the attention they brought.  

As he stepped around the side of the tavern, nearly to the neat little outhouse around back, something got Darn's attention.  A sound, movement at his periphery, something . . . out of place.  He slipped his hand to the hilt of his dagger and continued on, keeping up the pretense of a relaxed shuffle.  When the thin blade came up against his back, Darn was ready for it, stepping to the side and grabbing at his attacker.  He jerked them forward, close enough to see in the dim streetlight.  

"You," Darn said, voice thick with disappointment, letting go as fast he'd grabbed her.  The woman in front of him rubbed her arm, lips forming a pout.  "I saw you gambling and thought I would say hello."  "I don't have time for you tonight, Dalila," Darn told her, walking away.  She stepped in front of him, grabbing his hip.  "You were flirting with that twit La'tia."  Jealousy lit in her eyes, as if she had some claim.  Darn sighed again, prying her hand off him.  "I need to piss;" he reached for his pants, counting on her to move.  Thank Cyric she did, stepping out of his way.  

Dalila followed him, talking in a quiet, almost sultry tone.  "Everyone's had her," she went on.  "Experience, huh? Bonus."  Darn grinned at the little hiss Dalila made.  "I'm better anyway, besides, she doesn't have any real use."  "And you do," Darn asked, opening the door to the toilet.  "I'm good.  Better than good at . . . a lot of things," she told him.  "Sure you are," the elf replied, shutting the door on her.  She huffed just outside, though he missed her comment.  She was still there when he came out.

"Whatever you're working, I can help," Dalila said, stepping close again.  "If you try walking like that, people will think you're humping my leg."  She frowned and backed up a step, hooking her arm with his.  Darn disentangled himself again, grabbing her by the shoulder.  "I'm not working anything I need help on, girl."  Dalila looked away, a hurt expression on her face.  When she turned back, it was all business and lust, like the other face was a different woman entirely.  

"Moire says there is a lot of opportunity here.  Empty houses, desperate people.  A lot could go missing and no one would ever notice," Dalila said.  Darn shrugged, "She's probably right, but I'm not here for a job.  Just . . . staying with a friend til things settle."  "A friend?"  The jealousy was back, the little smile she wore almost a grimace.  "Margaret.  She's a beauty.  Rich, sweet, smart . . ."  The look on her face stopped him.  Darn didn't have it in him to be cruel, but it would be better for Dalila to find someone else to bother.  She looked away, "An elf," she asked in a small voice.

"Human," Darn answered, letting go of her.  "But you said . . ."  She stopped, lip trembling.  "I say a lot of things," the elf told her, turning to walk away.  "Why am I not good enough?" Dalila whispered.  He didn't think he was supposed to hear.  Darn stopped, looking over his shoulder, "Margaret can't have little half-bloods, Dalila.  And it's not like that anyway.  I meant it when I said friend."  She looked like she wanted to say something, but instead she darted away, disappearing into the shadows at a run.  Darn sighed heavily.

Suddenly he didn't feel much like dicing or women.  He shut his eyes, rubbing them, images of a laughing face, red hair curling across her cheeks flitted through the darkness.  Darn ignored them.  When he went back in, Durg and True were nowhere to be seen, and it was just as well.  He gave one of the serving wenches a hollow grin and told her what he needed, tobacco and bread, candied rose petals and some fruit.  He added a bottle of Topaz in for the hell of it and left as soon as she brought him his order.  "If you see Durg or True, tell them I'll catch 'em next time," he told her, passing the girl a few silver.  

On the way back, Darn found himself taking an odd turn or two and wound up only a street away from Lathander's temple.  They were still singing, a soft hymn, sad and full of longing.  He stood there, eyes closing as the music filled him.  Was she singing right now, he wondered, one sweet voice lost in the chorus?  In his mind he saw himself walking up the steps and going in.  She would be dressed in white, standing with the clerics, and her eyes would land on him.  She would run to his arms, and he would kiss her, tell her I lo . . . I . . .

Darn opened his eyes, rubbing at them fiercely.  He glanced up at the dome, gleaming above the nearby rooftops and shook his head.  She left, he reminded himself.  All these years, she could have come back and didn't.  Why would tonight be different?  Besides, it could ruin things with Margaret.  He'd spent too much time getting set up to let any . . . thing get in the way of that.  At the rate he was going, the old woman would leave him money or more when she died, and it really was a perfect place to weather this crisis.  He set off down the road, back toward the estate.  He didn't even notice when he started to hum the temple song, voice low and soft as he walked.