Nowhere to go but up|Darkthrone, New Morilanta

[Darastrix]

The day after Striker's run-in with the mysterious--and, in his opinion, insane--Hand of Evil, he arrived once more at the home of Healer Pala. He would have preferred a higher-class or at least cleaner place, but the fewer who saw the brand before it healed, the better.

Moving the cloth "door" aside, Striker took a step into the small building. "Healer Pala?" Since the day before, he'd gotten his hands on a grey cloak that was in decent condition and wore it closed around his body, hiding the condition of his shirt and the bandages underneath. The man he'd killed for the cloak likely had stolen it from another; his victim's other clothing had been considerably poorer than the cloak he wore and the only other things he'd gained was a few copper bits and a short dagger to stick in the top of one boot.

[Kender Bard]

"I'm here," Pala called out, yawning a bit. She stopped and eyed Striker from head to toe critically. "You look a little better already," she remarked with a half-smile. "All right, let's get those bandages off and see how things look. I hope it healed over. I'm no Efilian, and I don't take delight in breaking bones and searing skin, even if it has to be done."

[Darastrix]

"That makes two of us," Striker muttered as he flipped his cloak back over his shoulders and pulled his shirt out of his pants to open it all the way. The bandages, he left alone. He figured that Pala would be able to see how to get them off better than he could.

[Kender Bard]

Pala unwrapped the bandages carefully but quickly. She made an approved sound. "I can't really make out the word," she said. "You'll never be pretty there again but at least you aren't branded now." She went to get some more of the salve she'd used before, applying considerably less this time, and a fresh change of bandages. "Hand came by and asked how you were doing. I said I didn't know, but it seems you'll be well enough."

[Darastrix]

"I can deal with an ugly scar or two," Striker said. Some people even found them desirable. After all, a scar meant you were someone who survived. His problem now was that he wanted to more than merely survive.

Once the bandages were applied, he closed his shirt over his chest and tucked it back in to help keep it in place. "I don't need pretty. What I need are resources." Striker glanced at Pala; the idea of making her a hostage to force Hand into helping him was swiftly dismissed. He couldn't afford to make more enemies until he'd made some allies. "I don't suppose you'd have any ideas."

[Kender Bard]

"Actually, I might," Pala remarked slyly. She was weighing her options, trying to decide what, if anything, he could offer her... or if perhaps it would be best to not play games.

"Tell me your plight in a bit more detail and I will give you something to point you towards a good killer," she finally said.

[Darastrix]

Striker frowned a bit and took on a thoughtful expression as though simply considering how much he cared to divulge. Below the surface, his mind was racing. The truth of the matter was that the slander he'd been branded with wasn't slander at all. Somehow his father had found out about him and had chosen to throw him to the dogs. Striker imagined that he'd wanted to put on a show of not tolerating such a thing even in his only child and heir.

"My father was trying to curry favour with a wealthier merchant family," he said, reasonably sure that said family were the ones his father had hoped to impress with that little stunt. "A widow with a daughter about my age and a younger son. If things went well, I was going to marry the girl and he'd marry the widow. Things were going well. All I can figure is that the son or one of his allies gave my father some information or got a whore or a slave to say I was amelor so he could stay heir even if our parents married."

He hoped that wasn't the case. The younger man had been a rather good lover.

[Kender Bard]

"The usual," Pala sighed. "It's shit down here on the bottom of things but at least it's a simple life compared to yours. Well. What you once had." She slipped a folded, tattered piece of parchment from a pocket and offered it to him. It contained nothing but an ensignia, plain and simple--a sewing needle against a copper coin. "Go find Loose Ends. It's a tailor shop in the merchant district. Show that to them. And try to hang on to the paper--you won't need it again, but you might be able to squeeze some money out of someone by selling it."

[Darastrix]

Striker took the parchment and frowned at the symbol. He vaguely remembered hearing something about some tailors months back, but it had been of little interest to him at the time. Even now, he couldn't remember what it was.

A needle and a coin.... Obviously, the needle pertained to the overt purpose of Loose Ends. He hoped the coin wasn't a hint at it being expensive. Then again, it was copper, not gold.

"And how much will it cost me in the meantime?" he murmured, tucking it away as he looked at Pala.

[Kender Bard]

Pala glanced him over again. "I don't think you have anything I want," she said simply. "If things pan out... Then remember who gave you a hand in your hour of need." She began tidying her little home. "I know I won't forget you."

[Darastrix]

That could be either a threat or a promise, though with Pala's current means, Striker figured he was safe to assume it was a promise. For the time being, anyway. "I'll keep that in mind," he said. "I don't like to stay in debt for long. If Etaf wills my advancement rather than my disgrace, I dare say you'll hear from me again." With that, Striker turned on his heel and headed out of the little shack and into the city. Before he paid a visit to Loose Ends, there were a few matters he needed to see to.

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