Elias Returns to the Pleasure Den

Elias Black deftly jumped between rooftops as Daruth was being destroyed beneath him.  An inexorable tide of the undead roiled throughout the city, driven by an unknown force.  There seemed to be no end to the creatures, or the bedlam that they could create.  Screams and pleas for help echoed throughout the city.   

 

Despite the wisdom of staying to the rooftops,  there were times when the young thief had no choice but to descend to the streets when rooftops were too distant for even him to jump.  What he wouldn’t give to be able to just grow a pair of wings, as his partner Shax had done.  He shrugged. What cannot be cured must be endured, he thought.  And Elias knew these streets better than almost anyone.   He had grown up in the city avoiding notice, hiding from city guards and bullies and those he had robbed.  He knew the hidden places, the hidden paths.  Even amongst the hordes of the dead, he travelled the streets as but a shadow, unseen and unheard.

 

He stopped and hid behind an overturned cart as he saw a young girl, about 10 years of age standing alone in the street.  She was an Imperial, blonde, and wearing an expensive, frilly blue dress.  None of the ambling dead paid her any heed.  She held her cupped hands out in front of her, towards a boarded-up cottage.  “Come out,” she implored in a light voice.  “I have something to show you.”

 

A woman’s voice screamed out in response.  “Go away!  You promised.  You PROMISED!”

 

Elias gave a silent chuckle and shook his head as he assessed the scene.  There did not appear to be any value in intervening, and no coin to be had.  If the child had survived this long, she clearly did not need the thief’s help.  He slinked away as the woman beseeched the child to leave them in peace.

 

He continued his travels throughout the city unseen, but always with a keen eye for danger.  A few blocks away, he saw an elderly man  in a shop humming a tune as he danced with the corpse of his dead wife.

 

He ducked in an alley as a Takti thug ran screaming down the street as he was chased by the floating, ghostly apparition of a balding Imperial man with a bushy moustache. 

 

He had to stop and double back at one point as a mob had gathered in an intersection.  A man stood atop a crate and was proselytizing to the crowd.  He wore only a filthy loincloth.  His long hair and beard were frazzled and unkempt.  Thick, matted blood stained his beard.  On each wrist was a shackle and a length of chain.  At the end of each length of chain was a dismembered arm.  It appeared as if the limbs had been chewed off.

 

“THE GODS ARE DEAD!” he screamed.  “We are free, brothers and sisters!  The gods above and below are dead.  No more inducements, no more admonitions!  Mankind is truly free!”

 

The crowd roared and cheered.  Curiosity drove Elias to step closer, despite himself.  The man had a madness behind his eyes, to be certain.  But there was also self-assurance, and complete and utter confidence.  He spoke with the fervor of a zealot.

 

The mad prophet raised his arms in the air, his chains rattling as the severed limbs danced at the ends.  “We do not need to fear the gods any longer, my friends!  They are dead!  Dead, I tell you!  Look around if you doubt me.”  He waved an arm to encompass the horrors around them.   He pointed to a woman in the crowd.  

 

“Did you pray to Kempin, or Doeth or Po?  Did they answer you?  No!  They are dead!  And WE. ARE. FREE!  WE. ARE. FREE!”

 

The crowd took up the chant, over and over.  When they calmed, the man smiled.  “I come to you today, brothers and sisters, not as a prophet of any god, but as a prophet of man.  Once this cleansing is done, mankind will finally take dominion of this world.  The demi-humans will be eradicated.  The Age of Mankind Ascendant is upon us!”  

 

The half-elven thief quickly made sure his hood was pulled closely over his head and snuck away as the blood-thirsty crowd started calling for the deaths of elves, dwarves, and other races.

 

He saw other strange sights in his sojourn across the city, but kept a firm grip on his curiosity.  He kept his mind on his objective, rescuing the lovely Fatima.  After what seemed an interminable time, he finally saw his destination ahead.  Farhad’s Pleasure Den was a two-story brick and adobe building.  The whore’s rooms were on the second floor, with each window barred, ostensibly to prevent intruders.  But Elias knew that they were really there to prevent the whores from sneaking away.

 

A mound of undead was piled up against the front door of the whorehouse.  They weren’t moving, and some seemed to be in pieces.  What do you call the undead after you’ve “killed” them? he mused.  Dead-undead?  Inert?  Twice dead?  He shrugged and chuckled to himself.  The absurdity and horror of it all was almost too much.  

 

Looking closer, he saw a huge man hanging halfway through the broken door.  It was Hamid, the bouncer at the whorehouse.  His flesh had been ripped to bloody pieces, and his scalp had been torn from his skull, but there was no mistaking the hulking guard.  A giant scimitar lay atop the pile of the twice dead.  Apparently Hamid had stopped the incursion of the undead, but had paid the ultimate price in the doing.  Elias felt his spirits lift.  Perhaps that meant the whores were safe inside.  

 

Elias quickly scaled the wall outside Fatima’s room.  He had long ago rigged the iron grill on the window so that he could come and go as he pleased.  He quickly and quietly moved the grate aside and dropped into Fatima’s room, as agile and silent as a cat.  He paused in a crouch in the dark room and listened.  He heard raised voices shouting in Aerouni.  They were voices of anger, not fear.  He crossed to the beaded curtain that was the only “door” of the room, and looked down into the common area of the whorehouse.

 

The whoremaster, Farhad, was short and fat.  He was bald on top, save for a few strands of black hair slicked back along his skull. He wore thick, black eyeliner and rouge on his cheeks. His black moustache was long and elaborately curled.  As usual, he wore a long robe, open to expose his hairy gut. 

 

He had his back up against the wall of the bar as six Aerouni women, all whores, formed a semi-circle around him.  He held another whore in front of him, one arm around her waist, and pressed a dagger to her throat.  

 

“Stay back!” he screamed.  “Stay back or I’ll cut her fucking throat right now!”

 

Elias’ heart lifted as he heard a woman answer him.  It was his sweet Fatima.  “If you kill  her, you’ll be dead next, you fat fuck!”  Fatima stepped between two of the women and confronted the whoremaster.  “Let her go, and let us leave, or I promise you, you will die screaming.”  She held a curved dagger in front of his face.

 

Farhad’s face paled.  “How - where did you - you wouldn’t!  It’s not safe out there!  We have to stay here!  I own you bitches!”

 

Elias had heard enough.  The women would likely kill the fat slug, but they might get hurt or killed in the struggle.  Elias could not risk that.  He loaded his crossbow, took careful aim, and fired.  

 

To Fatima, it was as if Farhad’s right eye had suddenly sprouted a feathered crossbow bolt.  The fat man’s face went slack as the bolt penetrated his brain.  His arms fell limp at his side, and he slid down the wall.  His captive screamed and dove away from him.

 

Fatima whipped her head around and up, her raven hair swirling.  She saw Elias on the upper walkway.  He was leaning against a post with a smug smile on his face;  the crossbow pointed towards the ceiling.  The other women looked up as well, and quickly gathered around Fatima.

 

“Ladies,” he said with a slight bow.  “You have no idea how much I enjoyed that.”  He vaulted himself off of the railing, landing nimbly on a table, then hopped down in front of Fatima.

 

Fatima glanced back at the other women, catching them all by eye.  Then she turned back to Elias and smiled.  “Yatim.  My hero.”

 

Elias sauntered up to Fatima, smiling.  “Gather up your belongings, my dear.  I’ve got a safe location for us.”

 

Fatima leaned in close to the young thief, her mouth close to his ear.  “You’ve got something else I want.”

 

“I bet I do.  It’s-- Urk!”  Elias doubled over as Fatima kneed him in the groin.  He clutched his crotch as he fell to the ground.  He looked up at her and squeaked out “Why?”

 

She kicked him in the side as the other whores gathered around him, cursing and kicking him.  

 

“WHY?!?” she screamed.  “Why?!  You selfish piece of shit!”

 

Ellias shielded himself from the kicks as best he could.  “You were my favorite!” he yelled between blows.  “I killed the man who hurt you.  I gave you my healing potion to cure you!”

 

Fatima rolled her eyes.  “Your favorite?  You only healed me so you’d have someone pretty to fuck. If you gave a shit about me, you would have taken me out of this- *kick* - fucking - *kick* -  whorehouse!”  

 

Elias scrambled out of the way and backed towards the stairs.  He raised his crossbow at the whores.  “Back off!  Back the fuck off!”

 

Fatima cocked her head and chuckled.  “What’s the matter, lover?  Did you actually think I cared about you, you fucking half-breed?”  She waved the other girls forward.  They all had daggers, but one had a crossbow of her own, taken from behind the bar.

 

“You disgust me, street rat,” she continued.  “I vomited after every time you crawled on top of me.”  She waved the dagger at him.  “But you can do one thing for me.  Give me everything you’ve got.  Coin, weapons, clothes.  Everything.”

 

Despite everything, Elias laughed.  “I don’t think that’s going to happen.  You bitch.”

 

Fatima chuckled again.  “Really?  How do you figure that?  You’re outnumbered, and we all would enjoy nothing more than castrating you right here.”

 

Elias looked past her and smiled.  “Because I know something you don’t know.”  A growl erupted behind Fatima.  “Nobody in Daruth stays dead this night.”

 

One of the whores screamed as the corpse of Farhad rose up and grabbed her.  At the same time, the shredded corpse of Hamid wrenched itself out of the broken door and began shambling towards them.

 

The women began screaming as Elias dashed up the stairs.  He leaned over the railing, smiled and flipped the women off.

 

“Wait!” Fatima screamed as she dodged the undead whoremaster.  “You have to help us!  Please!  I’ll do anything you want.  We’ll do anything you want!”

 

Elias sneered and shook his head.  “I’ll be sure and send the city guard around to check on you.”

 

He dashed into Fatima’s room and climbed out the window.  As he clung to the wall outside, he heard the women screaming and begging for help.  He spiked the grill shut to make sure they couldn’t use it to escape.  

 

Elias Black didn’t notice any of the horrors around him as he returned back to the Slippery Whip.  His heart was as dark as the night around him.




 

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