Wow, thanks for all the posts... looks like Book 2 is off to a good start.
Now let's find out what another of the Bastards has been up to...
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Chapter 74
THE BUCKER’S HOIST
Even in Camar’s Docks district, already a dodgy part of the city, there were slums. Like any city, the bulk of Camar’s population was poor, and they crammed together in unhealthy quantities in dirty, ramshackle buildings situated in close rows upon the already narrow streets. Even under the strict order maintained by the Duke, violence was common in this part of the city, as people with few options took out their frustrations upon each other.
And then there were the slums, areas where even honest thieves feared to tread, let alone the soldiers in gold and red. This was where where the detritus of the city washed up, to live out their wretched lives in squalor, preying upon one another. In these parts of the city, the trade in narcotics, flesh, and sex were among the tamer businesses. The Duke’s men kept a close eye on these districts, but mainly to make sure that their residents’ perfidy remained restricted within.
One of the more notorious of these neighborhoods was the Pike, so called because it was situated on a long stretch of reclaimed land between two filthy canals. This strip of territory was barely a hundred feet across, and yet there were hundreds of rickety buildings crowded onto that spit of land, separated by narrow alleys where the sun’s light almost never reached the street. Once the area had been a bustling mercantile district, but a former ruler of the city had ordered its three main bridges destroyed, to allow ships to pass further up the canals without obstruction. Since then, the place had fallen far.
Sometimes well-heeled folk from the other quarters would make their way to these places, seeking adventure, or access to illicit vices not available elsewhere. Sometimes those people would vanish into the mess of the slums, and never came back. To some, that danger only enhanced the lure.
The short, slender figure that made it way down a dark street colorfully known as the Way of Daggers might have been one of these. Covered in a dark, cowled cloak that completely concealed its form, something about it nevertheless seemed to convey the impression that it did not belong here. Maybe it was just the fact that the cloak was clean, instead of being covered in mud and crap, like everything else in the Pike.
The cloaked figure reached its destination, a dark building that hovered over one of the canals, leaning slightly out over the water as if considering diving in. The place had a sign, but it was so weathered and caked with soot that it was impossible to tell what it had once said.
The stranger opened the door, and for a second the street was transformed. Light, smoke, raucus laughter, and even some noise that might have been music poured out into the alley. Then the cloaked person entered the place, and as the door slammed shut behind it the darkness returned as before.
Inside, the place was a scene of almost uncontrolled chaos. The Bucker’s Hoist was a dive bar that seemed to go out of its way to emphasize the “dive”. About sixty people were crowded into a common room that seemed built for half that many. Smoke hung in the air like a dense fog, and faces drifted in and out of it like apparitions. The “music” came from a performer huddled in a corner, squeezing out notes from an old flute that had clearly missed its prime.
The stranger passed through the narrow corridor that extended between the long bar and the overcrowded tables. Nobody molested the newcomer; within the depths of that cowl, anything could have been lurking. People in the Pike were not averse to taking advantage of the unwary, but they knew enough not to take things at face value.
The cloaked figure reached a door at the end of the room. It was guarded by a hulking brute that looked to have more than a little orc blood in his veins. A few words were exchanged; money changed hands and the door opened.
The inner room was less crowded than the one outside, but no less noisy. There was another bar in here, and women as well, most clad in a manner that left no doubt as to their profession. The patrons were scattered at tables around the perimeter of the place, leaving the center of the room mostly open. Bloodstains covered the floor in that area, suggesting that it was used for other sorts of sport from time to time.
The cloaked stranger looked around for a minute. One of the doxies showed some interest, but it was clear that the figure was not interested. Instead, he started across the room. A lean man in black standing on a narrow staircase along one wall spotted him and moved to intercept.
The stranger did not appear to notice. He moved to the far side of the room, where a deep alcove jutted off the main part of the floor. There were only a few booths in the shadowy recesses of the back, with black curtains that could be drawn forward for privacy.
The cloaked figure headed directly for one of these. Its occupant was a tall, muscled man with a day’s growth of beard covering rugged features. His black hair fell down loosely around his head, but couldn’t fully conceal the fact that one of his ears had been cut down to a mere nub, or that a pair of scars ran along his left cheek. He was clad in a loose tunic of black silk that had been unlaced enough to reveal his hairy chest, and while he bore no obvious weapons, one look was enough to tell that he was a warrior.
He was accompanied in the booth by a pair of women, one blonde, the other red-haired, both buxom and clothed only if one allowed a loose interpretation of the term.
The stranger stood in front of the booth. The man from the staircase took up a position behind the cowled figure, looming a head over him, his hand on the hilt of a short sword.
“Dar?” the stranger asked, in a quiet, dangerous voice.
The warrior looked up. Something dangerous flashed in his eyes. “Yeah. What do you want?”
The cloaked figure stood there, his identity hidden in the shadows of his cowl. The guard started to draw his weapon, but Dar forestalled him with a wave of his hand. “No, I’m here,” he said, smacking the table. He seemed a bit drunk. “I knew you bastards would send somebody; well, I’m here. Go ahead. What do you want?”
The figure reached up and drew back its hood.
“Hey, it’s a girl!” one of the wenches said.
“Hello, Dar,” Allera said.
![:]](http://www.enworld.org/forum/images/smilies/devious.png "Devious :]")
I'm looking very much forward to learning more about the cults, religions, politics and factions of Camar. 
