"The king blessed me, and in return, he demanded my service. But when war came, I ran."
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The common room was thick with smoke and shadows, filled with the kind of people who
preferred their business conducted away from prying eyes. Behind the bar stood a woman polishing a pewter mug with practiced efficiency. Her silver hair caught the lamplight like spun moonbeams, and when she looked up, her eyes were the color of fresh blood.
"Well," she said, not bothering to look up from her work, "that was efficient. Though you've made quite a mess of my doorstep."
The wanderer shouldered his pack and looked up at her. "A dark elf running an inn in human lands."
"And yet, I'm less out of place than you are, stranger." she replied curtly.
"Nisheena's the name, and you would be the mysterious stranger who's been asking questions about Baelur in the taverns to the east." She stepped delicately from behind the bar, moving around the scattered tables and patrons who had suddenly found their ales far more interesting than the conversation.
"Word travels fast in the frontier, even when spoken quietly." she said.
"Word travels," he agreed. "Truth is harder to come by."
"Truth is expensive in times like these." Nisheena gestured to the bodies. "These fools belonged to the Urartu faction. Tarkun's boys, though he'll disown them now that they've failed so spectacularly. You've made an enemy before you've even crossed my threshold."
The wanderer shrugged.
"I've had worse introductions."
"I'm sure you have." She studied him with those unsettling crimson eyes, as if trying to read the secrets written in the lines of his weathered face.
"The question is, what brings a man carrying a king's blade to our little cesspit of ambition and betrayal?"
For a moment, something flickered in the wanderer's expression a hint of pain, perhaps, or old regret. But it passed quickly, hidden behind the mask of careful neutrality he had worn for so long it had become second nature.
"Oh, I'm looking for work," he said simply.
Nisheena laughed a sound like silver bells in a poisoned garden.
"Work? Here? My friend, you've come to exactly the right place. Baelur is practically overflowing with opportunities for a man of your . particular talents."
She turned and walked back toward the bar, weaving between tables where patrons had suddenly developed an intense fascination with the bottoms of their tankards.
"Come. The first ale is free for anyone who cleans up the riffraff. We can discuss employment opportunities once you've washed the road dust from your throat."
The wanderer followed, leaving the dead to their vigil beneath Baelur's perpetual twilight. Behind him, the blackstone ruins seemed to lean closer, as if drawn by the scent of fresh blood. In the distance, the cursed forest whispered secrets to the wind, and somewhere in the town's crooked alleys, powerful men planned moves in a game whose stakes reached far beyond the borders of this dying settlement. He had come to Baelur seeking the one destined to kill the king the person the false gods had marked for regicide. But as he crossed the threshold of Nabu's Corner, the wanderer suspected he would find far more than he had bargained for in this place where old curses ran deeper than blood, and every shadow
held the promise of betrayal. The door closed behind him with a sound like a coffin lid, and Baelur welcomed another player to its deadly game