The Professionals

Merridias hummed along to the bard’s jaunty tune as he watched the pretty barmaid in the apron and snug-fitting dress dance from table to table.

His mouth quirked up in a smile every time she flipped her silky black hair up over her shoulder. Perspian girls were so very lively, not to mention stunningly attractive. Merridias sighed – he couldn’t believe it had taken him so long to visit this surprisingly hospitable country. He took another sip of the refreshing and fruity beverage that was this particular inn’s specialty. The cool drink offered a welcome respite from the dry desert heat that leaked in from outside. Merridias had downed dozens of bowls of the stuff since travelling to the isolated town of Gota’s Oasis in the arid land of Perspos.

The young elfkin man set the bowl down on his table and straightened the black silk vest he wore over his immaculate white linen shirt. He adjusted the leather straps of the harness that criss-crossed his chest and, when he was comfortable, tilted backwards in his chair and lifted his legs up onto the table. He stared down the length of his finely stitched breeches and past the toes of his black calf-skin boots, watching the young barmaid continue her rounds.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Merridias glanced sidelong at the eyra jill. She was staring up at him with one dainty hand on her hip and an empty serving tray dangling from the brown-furred fingers of the other. Her scowling green eyes regarded him suspiciously and her large, mouse-like ears twitched in what Merridias could only assume was annoyance. He grinned and slowly lifted his booted feet down from off the table. She was Pitlee Grif, the owner of the inn, and the grumpiest little eyra he’d ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“That depends,” he replied. “What’s my tab looking like?

Pitlee threw her head back and gave humorless laugh, flashing a row of tiny, pointed teeth. The sight reminded Merridias that though they may look like child-sized rodents, eyra were in fact more like overgrown – and incredibly sharp-witted – weasels.

“You over-paid for your room and you know it,” said Pitlee. “The silver will last you a while yet, but don’t worry, once you owe more I’ll be happy to let you know.”

Merridias grinned and bowed in his chair. “Perfectly agreeable, dear lady. I’ll have the trade on hand when required.”

Pitlee narrowed her eyes. “You planning on staying long enough for a re-up? I thought you said your business here would be done quickly? What’s the matter? Run into a snag?”

Merridias held up his palms in an exaggerated shrug. “Well to be honest, I’ve set aside my negotiations with the caravaneers for the time being. I didn’t expect to enjoy the Oasis so much! Your folk are truly masters of hospitality. I’m not sure how long I might stay!”

Pitlee didn’t blink.

“Yeah, I hear you’ve been bouncing around like a dune-fly the last five days. The shop-keeps are enjoying the business. Funny though, you always seem to make it back here around the same time Shasta gets to work.”

Merridias chuckled – it was hard to get anything past an eyra.

“Have I? Honestly I didn’t notice, I thought she was here all day – she’s seems like such a hard worker after all.”

Pitlee rolled her eyes. “Right. Well keep in mind that food and drink are the only wares on offer here.”

Merridias bowed in his chair once again – unable to stop a mischievous smile from spreading across his face – as Pitlee spun on her heel and hurried back behind the bar.

He did so enjoy when business and pleasure could intermingle.

The evening wore on into night, and more and more customers, both human and eyra, filtered into the inn’s common room. Merridias nodded to a few familiar faces but didn’t engage with any of the newcomers. Close behind the day-weary arrivals were a fresh wave of barmen and barmaids, so when Merridias spotted Shasta remove her apron and pick up a plate of dates and dried meat from the counter, he waved to get her attention. She smiled and hustled over.

“Sorry good sir, I’m just about to take my evening meal-”

“I know,” said Merridias, he nodded to the chair across from him. “I was hoping you might care to join me. The music is lovely, and the food and drink are divine, but it is rather lonely without some good conversation.”

Shasta hesitated, looking back towards the counter and the ever-watchful Pitlee.

“I’m sure she wouldn’t mind,” said Merridias. “You’re taking a break aren’t you?”

Shasta smiled again and nodded. “I saw the two of you talking,” she said, setting her plate down and taking a seat. “That was a pretty good stare she was giving you.”

Merridias grinned. “Many of my associates back home are eyra, but all of them are males. I don’t have much experience with eyra women I’m afraid.”

“Eyra jills,” Shasta corrected, leaning in to whisper. “They don’t like when you talk about them using human terms.”

“I’m not sure what that means.”

“Pretty much any word with ‘men’ or ‘man’ in it.”

“Ah, well I suppose that makes sense,” Merridias rubbed his chin in mock contemplation. “Although I suspect I’m not the only one she scowls at with such ferocity.”

“No you’re not!” Shasta laughed, taking a bite out of one of her dates. “The Oasis is the only safe path through this part of the country so we see a lot of travellers. It gets rowdy every night and Pitlee’s not very patient.”

“Ah, so she has a temper to match her stature,” Merridias said quietly, and Shasta had to stifle a giggle.

“She warned us about you, you know,” said the girl, leaning in and eying Merridias knowingly. “We don’t see many elfkin here, so the other girls and I were curious. But Pitlee said to be careful around you.”

As she finished, Shasta led Merridias’ eyes to the sheathed rapier that lay on the table beside his wide-brimmed fedora. Merridias’ eyebrows quirked up quizzically.

“Is it unusual for travellers to carry weapons here?”

“Well no, but it’s a very nice-looking sword. And the way you dress – Meralda was saying you look like a Lumish duelist.”

Merridias nodded and reached over to pick up the rapier. He ran his fingers over the intricate cross-guard then pulled it halfway out of its sheath, letting Shasta admire the pristine condition of the blade.

“Honestly, it only looks so nice because I’ve hardly ever used it,” he said with a shrug. “I’m far from an expert swordsman, so it’s really more of a deterrent. I’m no duelist, and certainly not Lumish,” he finished with a chuckle.

 “Actually, there’s a bet going on where you’re from,” said Shasta, sitting back and crossing her arms over her chest. “I have fifteen fingers of iron on Televada, but Pitlee thinks Arvair.”

“Hmm, well sorry to say you’ll both be out some iron,” Merridias sighed apologetically. “If I had a home for the last several years, I suppose I’d say it was Arvair. But I’m afraid my actual homeland is very far to the east.

Shashi frown dramatically and put a hand to her forehead in mock despair.

“Aw, really? What’s it called?”

The corner of Merridias’ mouth quirked up slightly. “You wouldn’t have heard of it.”

As Shasta finished her meal, Merridias regaled her with stories of travelling for the Caravan Haulers of Wayport, seeking fresh trade routes in faraway lands. Shasta listened with wide-eyed curiosity, laughing at his dramatic and witty re-tellings. But before long she had finished with her meal and bid Merridias a good evening as she returned to her duties.

Merridias stood up and bowed as she left, watching her weave her way through the crowd with a wide smile on his face. That had gone well, but clearly she was used to customers taking an interest in her. He sat back down and tapped his temple – he’d have to come up with a better way to get her attention.

At that moment the front door opened with a bang and a line of four large and rough-looking men filed into the common room from outside. Merridias watched them out of the corner of his eye as they craned their necks and looked over the crowd. After a moment one of them called out to the others and pointed towards the end of the bar. Merridias followed his pointed finger to see Shasta loading up a tray, unaware of the newcomers’ presence.

The four men pushed their way through the crowd, making their way quickly towards the oblivious barmaid.

“Interesting,” Merridias muttered, narrowing his eyes thoughtfully. As they passed by his table, Merridias saw that each of them had a sword hanging from their thick belts, and chain-mail poked out from under their heavy shirts. Whoever these men were, he doubted they had good intentions. His smile widened.

This could be his chance.

Merridias pushed his chair out from under the table quietly and rose to his feet. He tucked his rapier back into his belt and popped his wide-brimmed fedora atop his head. Then, taking a deep breath, he pulled his brown travelling cloak a little tighter around his shoulders and strode quickly towards Shasta.

As he maneuvered through the crowd, Merridias saw that Pitlee had noticed the suspicious men as well. He threw her a wink, but she only scowled and ducked under the counter.

The men got to Shasta before he could and he saw the leader – a man with a bald, sunburned head and well-groomed red beard – grab her by the arm. Merridias turned aside before he reached them and leaned up against the bar, watching the scene out of the corner of his eye.

“Stay quiet and come with us,” he heard the man growl.

“Who are you?” Shasta hissed, trying in vain to wrench her arm away. He squeezed harder and Shasta gasped in pain. He leaned in closer and Merridias only barely heard his next words.

“Come with us, now. For your father’s sake.”

Shasta’s eyes went wide and she allowed herself to be pulled along at the rear of the group. As they passed behind Merridias, the elfkin man spun about, reached behind his back, and produced a small but heavy steel dagger. Quick as a flash, he stabbed the tiny blade into the red-bearded man’s wrist. The man released Shasta, jerking his arm away with a surprised yell and Merridias wasted no time in grabbing Shasta’s hand and pulling her behind him, quickly backpedalling away from the thugs towards the rear of the common room.

“This way if you please, miss,” he whispered to Shasta, who was staring at him incredulously.

When they realized what had happened, the other men snarled and ripped their swords from their scabbards, prompting the mass of patrons nearby to scramble back, away from the commotion.

The red-bearded man recovered quickly, moving his hand from his blood-stained wrist and onto the hilt to his sword. He signalled his underlings to form a semi-circle around the retreating pair and Merridias levelled his tiny dagger their way. The floor between them cleared quickly and Merridias stopped backpedalling as Shasta pressed up against the wall behind him. The common room fell silent and the red-bearded man strode forward cautiously, his knuckles white on the hilt of his sword.

“You’re out of your depth here little man,” he said, scowling towards Merridias. “Get back to your table and order another drink.”

Merridias smiled easily, taking a moment to enjoy the tense silence and the dozens of eyes that were fixed squarely on him.

“I’m afraid I’ve had my fill for the evening,” he responded. “Why don’t you run on home and leave the girl alone?”

The thug stopped, well back from Merridias, and drew his weapon slowly and calmly.

“Have it your way. Draw your sword.”

Before Merridias could do anything, another voice rang out from behind the thugs.

“Don’t move!”

All eyes turned to see Pitlee standing up on the bar, levelling a crossbow nearly as big as she was.

“Put your swords away and get out of my inn!” Pitlee snarled at the four men.

Merridias frowned, but only for an instant. It was so like an eyra to butt in on his moment.

“Perhaps you should do as she says,” he said, drawing the thug’s eyes back to him. “You’re terrible kidnappers. Trying to take the girl in the middle of a crowd? Not the best idea. You could have waited until she’d finished her shift and taken her as she left. Or is your business with her urgent and not reliant on keeping her captive? Hmm, maybe you’re not kidnappers after all, just hired thugs sent to retrieve her. Mercenaries perhaps?”

“None of your business what we are,” the red-bearded man growled, his annoyed glare telling Merridias he must have struck near the mark.

“Then whose business are you, exactly, my mercenary friend?”

“Drop’em!” Pitlee yelled again.

The thug snarled in annoyance and his eyes flitted back towards the eyra. The rest of the inn’s patrons looked on in hushed silence and Shasta shuffled nervously behind the Merridias. The elfkin rogue gritted his teeth in preparation.

The red-bearded man broke the silence with a furious roar, grabbing a chair and sending it hurtling back towards Pitlee. The crossbow clicked as one of the chair’s legs struck the innkeeper in the shoulder, sending a bolt streaking into the ceiling.

The red-bearded man turned back towards Merridias and lunged forward, his sword held high in both hands. Merridias’ right arm pumped once and the mercenary stumbled and cried out in pain, reaching a hand down to the small dagger that was now buried deep in the meat of his thigh. He looked back up at Merridias in time to see the dextrous rogue reach behind his back and send another throwing knife spinning his way.

Merridias grunted in satisfaction as the second throwing knife lodged in the man’s bicep and he dropped his sword. But he didn’t have much time to celebrate. The elfkin bit his tongue and flexed his fingers as the other three mercs cried out in rage and charged him with their swords levelled. His arms were nearly a blur as they worked furious circles, pulling knife after knife from the bandoleers hidden under his cloak and sending each blade flying towards his opponents with pinpoint accuracy. Two of the mercs withered under the barrage, stumbling to the ground with knives in their arms and legs, but the last managed to deflect one blade and ignore the bite of another. Merridias winced as the man bore down on him with his sword cocked back to thrust. But, just before the merc got within range, he tripped on the outstretched leg of a woman sitting close to the edge of the crowd and hit the floor face-first.

Merridias smirked and looked back to Shasta.

“Well now, that was exciting-” he finished with a yelp as the red-bearded man climbed back to his feet, wrenching the knife out of his leg and lunging their way. Merridias sidestepped the awkward grab, pulling Shasta along beside him. The other mercs were recovering as well, but before they could get their legs under them again, a gang of local men – emboldened by Merridias’ success – charged out of the crowd and tackled them back to the ground. Merridias took the chance to hustle Shasta across the room and to the front door.

“Merc’s always leave two at the door,” he muttered to himself, drawing another knife as he flung the door open and leapt out into the starlit night – to see four armed men milling about on the road before them.

“Damn.”

“This way!” said Shasta, pulling him along this time, leading the way down the road and away from the mercs.

“That’s her! After them!” Merridias heard behind them. He looked over his shoulder to see the red-bearded man come barreling out of the inn.

The pair turned off the main road and sprinted down an ally, but Merridias could hear the rapid footfalls of the mercenaries not far behind. As they raced between the sand-coloured adobe structures Merridias looked to Shasta, wearing a bewildered frown.

“Would you mind telling me why I’m running for my life?” he asked breathlessly.

“I think those men work for the Satran Merchant’s Guild,” she responded. “They’re after me, I’m sorry!”

Merridias arched an eyebrow.

“What does the Satran Merchant’s guild want with a barmaid!”

“I only work nights for Pitlee, she’s a family friend. During the day I help my father run our family’s caravan house, we own the biggest waystations in the Oasis!”

“That doesn’t explain why men with swords are chasing us!”

Shasta led Merridias around the corner of a small warehouse and pulled a keyring from her belt. She hurried up to a small side-door and slid one of the keys into the lock. The mechanism clicked and she threw the door open, ushered Merridias inside, and slammed it shut behind them. She locked it again just in time - strong fists pounded on the locked portal from the other side.

“It’s – it’s not important,” she said, replacing the keyring on her belt.

“Not important?” said Merridias. “That door won’t hold them long you know.”

As if on cue, the door shuddered under a single heavy blow – the mercs must have already found something heavy enough to bash it in. Shasta clenched her fists and backed away, leading Merridias through rows of stacked crates and several covered wagons to the other side of the building. A series of oil lanterns hung from the ceiling, bathing the warehouse in dim yellow light. Ahead of them, Merridias saw a pair of large bay doors that promised another escape route, but the sound of voices outside quickly dashed that hope. Merridias spun on Shasta.

“If you tell me what’s going on I may be able to come up with a solution that doesn’t get us killed!”

Shasta breathed a heavy sigh and shook her head.

“All right, but you can’t repeat what I’m about to tell you,” she looked up at Merridias, her face deadly serious. Merridias stared back, looking her dead in the eye.

“Why would I?”

“Because my father has been stealing Televadi silver from the Guild.”

Merridias reeled back, fixing Shasta with an incredulous stare.

“Telsilver? And from the Satran Merchant’s Guild? Is he insane?”

Shasta’s eyes fell to the floor.

“The last couple years have been slow,” she whispered. “Trade from the Empire has mostly dried up. Father thought we needed something to fall back on if the worst happened. The Guild accused us of stealing a few months ago, and I didn’t believe it since they didn’t have any proof,” she hung her head. “But lately father has noticed a lot of strangers sneaking around our properties. He got scared, so he told me what he’d done.”

“Does he still have it?” asked Merridias, and Shasta nodded sullenly.

“He only shaved off little bits at a time,” she groaned. “A couple bar’s worth, no more!”

Merridias balked. A couple bars of Televadi silver were worth ten times their weight in gold.

“Where is it, you need to give it back!”

“I can’t, I have two little sisters!” Shasta cried. “If people find out father stole from a customer we’d lose our business. We’d be out on the street!”

A loud crash and a thump told Merridias that the back entrance was down. He rushed to the bay doors and threw open the locking bar.

“No don’t!” Shasta cried.

“Perhaps the ones out front have run around back!” he said.

He swung the door open, only to find two men facing him with their swords drawn.

“I guess not,” Merridias muttered, backing up into the warehouse again. The mercenaries followed him into the dim lamp-light, their sword-tips leading the way. Merridias turned around in time to see the red-bearded man and two others emerge from between the covered wagons. He levelled another throwing knife.

“How many more of those have you got, elf-blood?” the red-bearded man growled.

“Just the one actually,” Merridias said with a shrug. Suddenly his arm leapt forward, launching the knife for the big man’s face, but the mercenary sidestepped the throw neatly.

“That’s unfortunate,” Merridias breathed, drawing his rapier.

The red-bearded began stalking forward and locked his scowling eyes on Shasta.

“Tell us where we can find the telsilver,” he said, “and we might just kill your friend quickly.”

“We didn’t steal from you!” Shasta replied shakily.

“Maybe you did, maybe you didn’t. I’m here to find out for sure. Your old man’s labourers and repairmen don’t know a thing as far as I can tell. That leaves you and him.”

“Where is my father?”

“At your main warehouse with my men, being even more stubborn than you last I heard. Answer my question girl, I’m running out of patience.”

Merridias pulled Shasta behind him.

“Come now, you’re prepared to kill for this?” he said. “The girl told you she had nothing to do with the theft.”

The red-bearded man scoffed. “I do what I’m told. And once I figure out what happened to their telsilver, my employers want me to set an example. So make a choice, girl, give it up now or maybe it won’t be your father we gut. It just might be one of his little brats.”

“No!” Shasta screamed.

“That’s too far,” said Merridias, his face hardening in anger for the first time that evening.

“It’s her choice.”

Merridias glanced back at Shasta. Her face was in her hands and she’d begun to weep quietly.

“You need to tell them where it is, now,” he whispered, holding up his slender sword. “I wasn’t lying when I said I was no good with this thing.”

Shasta regarded him with tearful eyes. He returned the look for a moment, but then turned away, unable to hold her sullen gaze.

“It’s your only option.”

Shasta nodded slowly and reached up, wiping away her tears.

“The telsilver is in our main warehouse,” she quietly. “Under the floorboards in the north-west corner of my father’s office.”

The red-bearded man grinned and exchanged a victorious look with his men. But then, Merridias let out a loud and relieved sigh.

“Well, there it is,” he said with a wide smile, prompting odd looks from both Shasti and the mercenaries. The elfkin rogue dropped the point of his rapier and looked about with his eyes narrowed.

“Liera my dear,” he called, “now would be a very good time.”

No sooner had he finished talking than a small woman wearing tight-fitting clothes and a shallow, feather-lined hood appeared from around the open bay doors.

The same woman whose outstretched foot had saved Merridias back at the inn.

The two mercenaries by the door lunged towards the newcomer, the closer one launching a powerful slash down at her head. But with speed and precision that belied human ability, the woman redirected the blow with the point of two stiffened fingers, then slammed the man in the chest with an open-palmed strike that launched him several feet backwards to sprawl, gasping for breath, on the ground. His partner fared no better – the woman dodged his thrust easily and hit him with a straight-armed jab to the face that splattered blood across the floor and sent him down in a heap. 

“Take them!” The red-bearded man howled, but the words had hardly left his mouth when another pair of knives thudded into his unarmored legs. He bellowed in pain and glared hatefully at Merridias, who shrugged apologetically.

“Duck,” the elfkin rogue said to the bewildered Shasta, pulling her down beside him and covering them both with his cloak as the hooded woman somersaulted over their heads.

Merridias winced at the visceral sounds of fists and feet striking skin and cracking bones, accompanied by many pained grunts and shrieks. But the battle-noise didn’t last long, and when he felt a tap on his shoulder, Merridias threw aside his cloak and stood, pulling Shasta up alongside him.

“Finished already?” he exclaimed.

The hooded woman stared up at him with a bored expression, her arms crossed over her chest and one foot tapping the floor impatiently. The red-bearded man and the other two mercenaries lay writhing on the ground behind her. She snapped her fingers and a half-dozen cloaked and hooded men filed into the warehouse. They began tying and gagging the bruised and bloody mercenaries.

“You’ll pay for this,” the red-bearded man growled, trying fruitlessly to stand up with three holes in his legs and one arm hanging limp at his side. The hooded woman lashed out, quick as a viper, her circle-kick catching him in the jaw and sending him spinning back to the ground.

“I’d be still if I were you,” Merridias scolded, as a pair of hooded men rushed over to bind his hands and feet.

“Do you know who I work for?” the mercenary hissed, spitting blood with each word. “You and your friends are dead!”

Merridias clicked his tongue in disappointment.

“I think not. As powerful as your guild is, I can assure you any attempted retribution against either myself or my associates would be very unwise.”

The red-bearded man eyed him in confusion for a moment before scowling in realization.

“You’re Market operatives! Damned thieves!” he managed to snarl before Merridias’ associates shoved a gag into his mouth.

Merridias raised his eyebrows in mock-ignorance and leaned down towards the bound and beaten man. “Market? Which market do you mean specifically?”

Merridias jumped aside as Shasta stormed forward, landing a heavy kick in the red-bearded man’s ribs. She stomped him a couple more times before spinning and looking to Merridias.

“These are your people?” she asked, regarding the hooded newcomers dubiously.

“Of course,” he replied with a smile, then grunted in pain when the hooded woman stomped on his foot. “More or less.”

“And you all work for the Market?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

Shasta scowled at him, but then shook her head. “Please, can you send some of them to save my father? I can tell them where to go!”

“No need, my dear,” said Merridias with a tip of his hat. He turned to the hooded woman.

“Liera, would you mind?” he said.

Liera rolled her eyes but made for the door, her arms still crossed over her chest.

“And bring the Tel-silver back with you too!” Merridias called after her.

“What?” Shasta grabbed him by the arm and stared at him suspiciously. Merridias offered her a disarming smile.

“My associates and I will take the ill-gotten metal off your hands, and your father will agree to sell his business and all its assets to Hillock’s Haulers out of Wayport.”

Shasta released him in shock and stepped back warily, her eyes wide in disbelief.

“What are you talking about? You said I needed to return the telsilver to the Guild!”

“What telsilver?” asked Merridias innocently, cocking his head to the side.

He watched patiently as the realization finally dawned on the poor girl.

“You… you’re blackmailing us?”

Merridias frowned. “Blackmail is such an ugly word. This is just business. You see my patron has been looking to expand his operations into Perspos for some time now, and this situation was just too tempting for him to pass up.”

Shasta’s balled fists began to shake at her side.

“The mercenaries already know my father stole the telsilver. Unless you plan on killing them they’ll tell the Guild!”

Merridias shook his head firmly. “They’ll be… compensated, and sent back to their employers with the news that your father did not steal from them after all. That is, as long as he agrees to our deal.”

“I can’t believe this,” said Shasta, shaking her head. “You’re no better than them!” She pointed to the bound and beaten thugs.

“Well, that would depend on how you define better.”

“I can’t believe I trusted you, you never even told me your name!”

“I didn’t.”

Shasta’s entire body trembled in anger, her eyes fixing Merridias with an accusatory glare. The elfkin man looked away.

“I am sorry, but your father should have left the thieving to the professionals-”

The sharp retort of Shasta’s hand striking Merridias hard across the face echoed through the quiet warehouse.

“Get out of here,” she hissed. “Get off my family’s property!”

“Come now-”

“Go! Get out!” Shasta screamed, stepping forwards and shoving Merridias back a couple of steps. Merridias sighed and signalled with a wave of his hand. Two of the hooded men stepped forward and took the poor girl by her arms, pulling her back from the elfkin rogue. Her shoulders began to bob with heavy sobs as they hauled her away – she didn’t have the strength to resist.

“My associates will bring you to a secret hideaway of ours,” said Merridias. “You’ll be safe there until this is over.”

“Get out!” Shasta shrieked again.

“Treat her well and keep her safe,” Merridias said to the hooded men. “I have other business to attend to.” With that he turned on his heel and plodded towards the door.

“My patron isn’t heartless, you know,” he called over his shoulder as he went. “He’ll offer your father a fair price. Your family will be fine.”

Shasta didn’t respond, but her wails followed Merridias out of the warehouse and back onto the starlit streets.

When he was out of earshot, Merridias leaned up against the hardened clay wall of a dark and lonely ally-way. He pulled off his fedora and ran a hand through his hair, staring at the ground and trying to swallow the unpleasant lump that was swelling in his throat. He tried to put on his characteristic smirk, but his face was too tight for it to take hold. The elfkin man scowled and beat a fist against the wall. This was the way the world worked, he reminded himself. And he was just doing his job. And after all, either the girl, or her father, or both might have been killed if he hadn’t been there.

Right?

And didn’t he deserve to make progress towards his own dreams? His own desperate desires? Merridias let out a long slow breath as he slouched his shoulders and rolled his head back to look up at the inky blackness of the sky, twinkling with a thousand, thousand stars. He stood like that for some time.

Eventually, the lump in his throat faded, and his face relaxed into a calm, but distant visage. Merridias plopped his wide-brimmed hat back onto his head and, with one last look towards the warehouse and the crying barmaid, disappeared into the Perspian night.