Rebellion in the Silver City - Hell's Rebels for PF2 by DM Doctor Evil

Game Master DM DoctorEvil

The moon didn’t see the narrow alleyway. The old, crowded streets of Korvosa’s fishing district had no need of the moon, or the sun for that matter. The second stories overhung the first stories on most buildings, like the guts of aging men overflowing their belts, providing pools of shadow for the refuse, filth, vomit and fishbones to wallow in. During the days the streets bustled with people as well, but at night the dark streets provided passage only for the greedy and the desperate and the foolish. And in the alley, two of those passengers grappled in impatient frenzy.

In two minutes it was over. She fingered a new silver coin as he patted about himself, his belt not yet refastened. Suddenly he looked at her in wounded indignation.

“Where’s my handkerchief?” he asked her.

She could see where this was going. With a quick motion she hid the coin away inside her shirt—she had sown a secret pocket inside her blouse just under the arm. “What handkerchief?”

Angrily now, he fastened his belt and charged at her. “Filthy little thief! Gutter trash! Give it back!”

She set her jaw and looked defiantly back up at him. “I told you I haven’t got your stupid hanky! Why would I even want it?”

“My wife gave me that! You had no right to take it from me!” They looked at each other in silence for a moment, then he grabbed her by the hair and began forcefully sticking his hands up under her blouse.

“Quit it! Quit it you bastard!” she shouted, using both her hands to try and wrench his fist out of her hair. She kicked him hard in the knee and he fell over, dragging her down by the scalp. She fell onto him heavily and knocked the wind from him, and his grip loosened. Quickly she was up, jabbed her heel at his cheek, then turned and ran for her life.

“Thief! Thieeeeeef!” he shrieked into the night as she vanished. No one listened.

Five minutes later she was back in the garden behind the beer hall of Cayden. She pulled the handkerchief out of her sleeve and smiled at it. “Silk.” she said, admiring her trophy. She noted the little hand-stitched monogram in the corner and clicked her tongue. It was badly done — you could barely tell what letters they were supposed to be. And it would make it harder to sell — even if she pulled the stitching out, the holes would be there. But at least it was silk. Another silver for sure.

“F!$+ing whore, what have you been into?” said a friendly voice behind her. She smiled.

“Hey Goo. How many times have you thrown up since I left?”

“I don’t throw up. I vomit. It’s classier.” replied Goo. She was dark-haired and big-breasted and wore a lot of dark lipstick. Tonight she was in red skirts. She was not exactly pretty, but had an instinctive sense of how to work with what she had. And she didn’t care about anything.

“Think I can get a silver for this? It’s silk.”

“I don’t know. Probably. Is it dirty?”

“No, I think it’s pretty new. No ass stains or anything. I think he was going to use it to wipe off his dingle after we did it. F$$~ing hypocrite. I kicked him in the face.”

“Dark. Did he pay you extra for that?” asked Goo, half interested.

“What?… No, I mean, he got mad and came at me, and I had to kick him to get away.”

“Why’d he get mad?”

“Because he couldn’t find his stupid handkerchief. He grabbed me by the hair, the prick. I should have kicked him in the balls. But I hate doing that, even to pricks.”

“How’d you kick him in the face? Was he short?”

“No, he was taller than me actually. We fell over while we were fighting. I got up and kicked him while he was still on the ground. Cayden’s ass Goo, pay attention.”

“Sounds like he got his money’s worth anyway. Let me see it.” She took the handkerchief in hand and sniffed it. “Why do people use silk for handkerchiefs anyway? You can never clean the stains out. And it doesn’t soak up your snot or anything. Linen is way better.”

“Because it’s soft you idiot. You think these rich ass-holes care about stains? They don’t actually use these things, they just flounce them around at parties. Or drop them so other people can pick them up and they can go f$&@ in a closet.”

“I did it in a closet once.” said Goo, looking at the monogram. She gave the handkerchief back. “It had a low ceiling. I kept banging my head. Oh, have you seen this?”

It was a pamphlet. It had been cheaply printed at a local press— the inking was smudged and spotty in several places, but the title was clear enough. ‘A Gazetteer of the Ladies of Dockside, courtesy of The Coachman’s Arms’. The Coachman’s Arms was a local inn, a preferred hostelry for travelers fresh off boats into the harbor, sailors on shore leave and decayed gentleman who’d been thrown out of their apartments for failure to pay rent. A nearby stagecoach post provided the rationale, though the stage only left twice a month. The pamphlet was an index listing the names of dozens of women, perhaps nearly a hundred, each with a short description and commentary attached, and sometimes with monetary values ascribed. The names were apparently in no sort of order. The pamphlet was dated two weeks ago — presumably the list was updated periodically.

Impasha scanned the list and found her name.

“Pasha the Prancing Pony. A pale palomino who likes a good ride, more from inclination than from need. Tall and well-proportioned, comely features, seventeen years but well-versed. Spirited—known to bite. Accommodating when asked nicely, but don’t spare the bridle or the crop. Stables at Cayden’s Garden.”

She wanted to throw up. But instead she laughed and tossed it away. “Whatever. Let’s get high.”

They made their way to the shiver den by the docks. They were known there and could get in without a hassle. The inside smelled like sweat and urine and boiled fish. Four or five bodies were passed out on blankets near the walls, but most people were sitting in a circle of couches under a single oil lantern hanging from a beam.

“It’s Jack!” said Impasha excitedly upon entering and letting her eyes accustom to the interior gloom.

The man in question looked at her and giggled and made a floating gesture of the hand for them to come over to the couches and join the group. Alabaster Jack may have actually been an albino, or he might have simply bleached and mutilated himself to look like one. He was a devotee of Zon-Kuthon, and may even have been some sort of acolyte of their order. He sported one of their holy symbols, but he sported a lot of things. Piercings adorned with silver (never golden) rings bloomed from several bits of his head and face, and presumably ran roughshod over the rest of his body beneath his clothing. He was heavily scarred along his arms and hands. Impasha had seen him on more than one occasion digging at himself with a silver dagger, seemingly just to mortify himself, or out of boredom. He had a curious tic in his speech that made him giggle uncontrollably at the end of his statements. The giggles were brief and mirthless and involuntary, like a cough. It could be unsettling to people that didn’t know him — it was like talking with a hyena. Impasha and Goo found it endearing, and often mimicked the speech style to one another for amusement.

Jack was surrounded on the couch by his coven, as usual. The Vond sisters were identical triplets, just a touch older than Impasha. Blonde and pale, they claimed to be damphirs, the spawn of a vampire and a human. They inevitably dressed in black and favored thigh-high riding boots with spiked heels, and generally added a flavor of sexual depravity to any gathering or conversation. Lina was the clever one — she did most of the talking and was most attentive to Jack’s needs and whims. Mina behaved like a bubbly child, affecting a ridiculous upper class accent and capable of the filthiest flights of fancy. Nina by contrast spoke very little and seemed perpetually bored, like someone who’d just been awakened and wasn’t happy about it. She lived and moved like she was operating a doll, and seemed to draw her only pleasure from watching the pain of others. They always draped themselves on Jack like a collection of needy cats, and he would openly and gigglingly speak of his fulsome appalling orgies with them. When he spoke the sisters would look at each other with silent and knowing smiles, mystically sharing some secret amusement. The tales of the orgies were not bland tales of sensual titillation so much as accounts of near-death experiences — Jack could not come to complete gratification unless he was strangled practically to death, and the process was becoming more fraught and difficult all the time. The sisters had to act in tandem with knowledge and precision to appropriately pander to his erotic needs and keep him clinging to his miserable life, and each instance had to bring a new and imaginative variety to the choking fantasy. The demand upon the creativity of the sisters was truly breathtaking but they seemed to enjoy the challenge, much as some generals enjoy planning a campaign. Except for Nina — she just enjoyed strangling Jack. As his eyes bulged and his pale pink lips turned blue, for a moment she actually felt something akin to excitement herself.

“Pasha! Goo! Heehmmhuhmm!” said Alabaster Jack. “You delicious creatures have saved my evening! I had every intention of blasting myself into incoherence - if you’d come through that door a moment later, I’d have been dead to the world Haahmmmheeehhmmm!”
Impasha and Goo settled on a couch to Jack’s left and Mina immediately left her spot sitting on the floor between Jack’s legs and draped herself over their laps, stiletto heels dangling over one arm of the couch. “You sweet daaaahrling girls! Kiss me sweetly and you shall be instantly forgiven!” She pawed at Goo’s breast with a lazy hand.

“For what?” said Goo. Impasha laughed.

“Why for invading my dreams, you succubus!” said Mina like a tragic actress in a death scene. “You torment me without mercy, daaahrling! I’m beside myself!”

“I’m a professional hon. I don’t kiss for free.” said Goo. Impasha laughed more than grabbed Mina by the corset.

“C’mere you hussy! I’ll do it.” And with a firm yank, Mina’s cold lips were brought up to her own, and they shared a long and vulgar smooch. Mina made a point of squirming and whimpering like she was being assaulted, but never once attempted to break off the kiss. Jack giggled. Lina whistled and clapped. Nina looked bored. Once released, Mina fell back across Goo’s lap and began to fondle herself and moan.

“You’re lucky Mina, I hear Pasha is known to bite.” said Goo.

“Ohhhh, don’t teeeease me like that!” said Mina in a baby voice.

“Pasha, how would you like to earn some money? Hmmmheeeehhmmmmaammm!” said Jack. He looked at Lina, and she looked at him. It was clear this was a spur of the moment impulse.

“Always. Working the street stinks.” said Impasha brashly. “Men are idiots.”

Lina took up the conversation. “We need an actress. For a play. Jack wrote it. He’s so clever! But we need actresses.”

“I don’t know how to act.” said Impasha with a dismissive wave and a firm shake of the head.

“There’s nothing to it!” insisted Lina. “You’d be perfect. Just memorize some lines and move like they tell you. It’s like playing a big game of make-believe. It’s way easier than hustling, and no one will try and stick a knife in you.”

“What would I have to do?” asked Impasha suspiciously.

“Nothing dirty.” assured Lina.

“I thought Jack wrote it?” said Goo. Goo had stuck her thumb into Mina’s mouth, and Mina was now holding her hand and sucking the thumb like a baby.

“No, nothing dirty, it’s not that kind of a play.” insisted Lina. “It’s a play about the liberating reality of pain. We need someone to play the paladin. We need a tall beautiful blonde who realizes her life is empty and pointless. It’s actually very moving.”

“She kills herself. Heeheheehmmmm! Cuts her throat right there on stage and bleeds out! We use a trick dagger of course, you don’t have to actually cut yourself… unless you want to. Huuhmmmheeehhmmmm!” added Jack enthusiastically.

“I don’t know, guys.” said Impasha.

“You get a gold piece up front, and 1 silver after every show.” said Lina. “And you get to wear real plate armor. Come on, doesn’t that sound fun?”

“The breastplate is fitted out for girls! Your boobies get to sit on little iron shelves!” exulted Mina, momentarily disengaging herself from the thumb. “I’m doing ALL the costumes darling! You’ll look splendid! Like a beautiful blonde sex golem!”

Something inside Impasha was growing angry and uncomfortable.

“I can’t be a paladin.” she said simply.

“But it’s just pretend, dear.” said Lina, almost tenderly.

Goo snorted. “Here we go.”

“Shut up Goo.” said Impasha, her anger beginning to bubble out. “Just… you know what, forget it. I’m not doing it. I’d rather suck men off.”

“Mmmmm! Meee tooooo!” exulted Mina with a squirm, wriggling her butt against Impasha’s lap. Impasha roughly pushed Mina, causing the girl to roll onto the floor with a thud. “Quit it, Mina! Why do you always have to be so gross?”

Dragon, the half-orc proprietor of the den, came into the light. “Is there a problem here?” he growled.

Mina looked up at Impasha. Her pale face was a strange mixture of a wounded pout and dog baring its teeth. “Wicked girl!” she hissed.

“No. No problem.” said Impasha. She looked over at Jack and Lina. Jack was sniggering and pulling on a nose ring, stretching the flesh grotesquely. Lina looked angry. Nina looked bored.

“You didn’t have to push her.” said Lina in a low, menacing voice. “I thought we were all friends here.”

Goo came to the rescue. “Relax girls, Impasha just can’t play a paladin. She hates herself too much. It embarrasses her. Maybe she could be a whore in your play? That’s the only role she knows. Come on, let's get high. I’m sick of talking.”

Impasha looked at Goo in shock and horror. Goo didn’t even notice. “Why can’t I be the paladin? I think it’d be hot to wear armor.” said Goo.

Jack shook his head. “Sorry love. You’re too much of a girl next door look Hmmheehoooohmm! Impasha may not feel like a paladin, but she certainly looks the part. Haahhhhmmmmm!”

Mina was crawling back to entangle herself between Jack’s legs again. Once there, she began to kiss his pant leg sullenly. Dragon began pulling out vials of shiver. He sold them for 5 silver apiece, but it was highly adulterated with other substances. He had the good stuff too, but he didn’t sell it to people like Impasha and Goo. Impasha bought a vial but just held onto it as Jack and the others began dosing themselves. After half an hour, once everyone else was insensible, she stuck the vial of narcotic safely into Goo’s cleavage, then got up and left.

It was about 3 in the morning as she made her way back to the orphanage. At seventeen it was unusual for her to still be living there at all, but at this point she only used it as a bed to crash in when she had nowhere else to go. Like tonight. She was mad at Goo and the others. She felt betrayed and hurt. But it was more than that. Whatever it was, it was a hard feeling to shrug off. When she reached the door of the orphanage, she found the door locked. No lights were on. Somehow that was the last straw. The tears came, her face scrunched into a mask of tragedy and her breath heaved out of her in ragged bursts of self-pity and hurt. She pulled out the handkerchief and began wiping her nose and eyes once things started to get really messy. Face paint and dark eye pencil stained the silk along with her tears and her snot. In the end she threw it down into the mud.

She had a secret way in. She climbed onto the rim of a rain barrel and pulled herself up to her second story window, which she always left unlocked. It looked locked from the inside, but the latch was broken, and would fall away with a good pull. The room was small but it was her own. Once inside she pulled off her clothes, wiped off her face with a rag, pulled on a cotton shift and then sat on the bed. She’d have to explain this in the morning, unless she planned to sneak out again the way she came in. But the matron would probably catch her in bed before she woke. She opened a little drawer in the nightstand and pulled out a necklace. It was a cheap tin amulet with the stamped impression of a dancer. In the darkness her fingers moved over it, and she thought of the matron’s words when she had given it to her.

“I know it’s not much, but for some reason, I saw that beautiful dancer and I thought to myself ‘That’s my Pasha.’ But you can be anything you want, dear.”

Impasha put the necklace around her neck and slid into bed. She was too tired to decide who she was just then.