|Saraneth by anarkeith|
"So, what's with the girlie I seen shadowing your boys?"
"She's my good luck charm, she is."
"Bit young. Next you'll be escorting young boys about."
"That's not what I've had her about for."
"Do tell. Good luck?"
"Other night, an officer of the watch, Len d'Garlim it was — well-to-do family the d'Garlim — was off duty with a few mates and in his cups pretty deep."
"Rolling officers will lead to trouble. And even in his cups, d'Garlim knows his work."
"That's the curious bit, see?"
"Don't. What's the catch?"
"The girlie looks d'Garlim in the eye and says, 'Backwash Alley leads to Cartwright, you should flee.' And ol' Len turns to his boys and waves them into Crook's Bush."
"Crook's Bush is a dead end. What did he go there for? He'd know it from Backwash."
"My thoughts exactly, friend."
"So you cornered them in a nice dark hole?"
"That we did."
"He was drunk."
"Not that drunk."
"He got his cleaver out then, I bet."
"You'd win that bet, though I'd never have bet against it."
"So, how'd you take him?"
"She looks at him again, all funny-like, and says, 'Piercing their heavy armor will take mighty strokes. Swing with care and force."
"And he does it? Your lads aren't exactly ironclads."
"Not a bit of metal on my boys other than pointy stuff. So while he's winding up to kill a troll, we poke him full of holes. He's not wearing nothing but his fancy blue officer's coat with brass buttons, and he goes down right quick. Fair bit of gold on him and his boys too."
"Swift. She's a sorceress, eh?"
"Magic costs dear, what'd you have to pay her?"
"That's the funny bit. All she wanted was d'Garlim's coat."
"Oh, that's trouble. How's a girl going to explain that?"
"I've no idea. And she took off after that business. No idea where she went."
"She'll turn up dead, most like. Or in the stocks."
"Most like. But I'll hire her again in a minute if I see her. She's good luck enough for me to buy you a drink."
"You never bought me a drink in my life, and you won't start now."
"Here's a piece of gold says I will."
"Let me see that, you scoundrel. This one of the Midge's fakes?"
"No such thing. That's d'Garlim gold right there. But say it soft. As you said, rolling officers can lead to trouble."
Saraneth, an Illusionist of Sorts
Saraneth is a specialist in illusion and deceit. Her parents were thralls of a mindflayer who quickly recognized the girl's intelligence and decided she'd make a better apprentice than a slave. Eventually the mindflayer was hunted down by a band of adventurers willing to brave the sewers and crypts beneath the city. The girl was "rescued" and turned over to an order of monks who put her to work in their scriptorium. She quickly grew bored there, and her moral sense — informed by the mindflayer's "parenting" — led her to embark on a career of underhanded pursuits and elaborate deceptions.
In Her Own Words
Dreams, bad dreams, are the kinds of things where you can never hit your assailant, or get away. You thrash, you run. None of it works. I should know, I spend most of my waking hours planting bad dreams in other people’s heads. That’s where the real damage gets done. Only yesterday it was me that was living a bad dream...