The Walls of Anamoor

I was led up the stairs and into a long hallway, the wooden walls of which were adorned with various trophies. I saw guard helmets, as well as jewelry that meant nothing to me and a whole bunch of other crap. I had no context for why any of this shit was important, but apparently it was all cool enough to show off.

Other than trophies, there was a cramped staircase off to one side and several doors down its length, a few bearing names, which I could read, to my surprise. Red Hand, Jitters, Lark, Swipe, and Ward, just to name a few. Kinda cute that they had little door labels for their bedrooms.

“We’re going to check the main hall, see if Bassi is in, otherwise we’ll check her office, yeah?” Whistle said, not really checking to see if I agreed or disagreed with the plan.

I said nothing and simply followed. Why bother if the answer didn’t matter either way?

At the end of the hallway were a set of double doors, which my companion pushed open without ceremony. Beyond the doors was a room that reminded me almost instantly of every stereotypical rogue’s tavern ever. There was a bar, where a man with altogether too many knives was cleaning a mug. Tables were everywhere, haphazardly strewn about, some missing chairs, others sporting too many, with one large round table in the middle where a few thieves appeared to be playing dice.

“Huh, she ain’t here,” Whistle grunted, glancing around the room and quickly scanning it’s ten or so occupants.

He turned to leave, but a guy fiddling with some sort of instrument near the game table called out. “Whistle! Who you got there? Going to introduce us to the lad?”

“Evening, Lark,” my companion said agreeably, giving Lark and the rest of the room a wave. “His name’s Mist. Saved me from a fast and personal encounter with the stones, if you catch my drift. Wastelander too, fresh in town and already dancing like Singer on the rooftops. You lot seen Basilisk around? Figured she should get first dibs on the proper meet and greet.”

“Aye, she’s up in her lair,” a woman at the games table called, giving us a weird wobbly wave in the process. Dang, this lot were really friendly for a group of thieves. I figured someone should have tried to knife me as some sort of test or some shit. Instead they were all smiles and good cheer.

“Cheers, Jitters,” Whistle smiled, giving everyone a wave before pulling me back into the hallway. Jitters huh? Guess that explained why her hands were shaking. Oof, poor woman, I bet they didn’t have meds for that either.

“Isn’t it kind of rude to call someone with a disability by uh… that name?” I asked quietly as we made for the staircase.

With a grunt, he shrugged, “She’s never minded, makes light of it sometimes. Don’t you worry though, when it comes to picking locks, those hands of hers are steady as stone.”

Even more interesting. They were all oddballs, but I found myself liking it more and more. I really hoped this Basilisk chick liked me, because I could see myself being comfortable here with these people. At least, based on first impressions.

“Ah, okay,” I said quietly, realising I probably shouldn’t have questioned things around here so soon.

Whistle stopped halfway up the stairs, turning to look down at me with an expression of consideration. “You’ve got a bit of a heart in there, ain’t you? It’s safe to show that side of yourself in here, but I wouldn’t go letting the outside world know you’re soft, you hear me? You’ll be eaten alive by those without a conscience.”

With an amused snort, I nodded, “Yeah, I’m aware, trust me. Life has taught me that much.”

“Just checking,” he smiled, turning to continue our way up the stairs.

We passed by a second floor that looked to be more bedrooms, but we didn’t stop, heading up to the final and third floor. This one was smaller, and like all three of the floors so far, there was not a window in sight. I was pretty sure this entire place was encased by the surrounding buildings, like a hidden room in a mansion, except it was an entire large house.

“Follow,” Whistle murmured, making his way to a door with a very large and intricate looking lock on it. “Good luck, son.”

Why did he keep calling me kid and son? He looked like he was barely two or three years older than me. Maybe that was his thing? Whatever.

Giving the door a sharp knock, he stepped back and waited. “Come in!” a voice called, warm and feminine.

** If you are not reading this on SH, it has been stolen. My author alias is QuietValerie. Come find me! **

Invitation received, we entered the room, Whistle first, followed silently by me. The room was reasonably spacious and arranged in a T shape, with the door at the bottom of the T. The front section of the room was set up as an office, with a large dark wooden desk taking center stage while two bookcases flanked it. They were overburdened to say the least, with books sure, but with random trinkets too.

Separated from the office area by beautifully painted cloth and wood partitions that depicted a woodland scene, I could just make out a living area beyond, large four poster bed just peeking out from the right arm of the T. I could also see a dresser and makeup desk through a few gaps, all high quality furniture, but not much else was visible besides the heavy stone hearth at the back.

All in all, it had a nice, homey feel to it, lived in and cared for. Which was completely at odds with the woman who sat behind the desk, frowning as she read a letter. She had a strong face, stuck hard in the middle between handsome and pretty, like a sculptor had decided to throw their chisel in the face of artistic tradition and do both at the same time.

Her body continued that pattern of contrast, lithe and womanly, but also strong of frame. I couldn’t see her hips, but from the way her waist swelled towards them, they looked to be wide and strong… well, except not as wide as mine now were. Her shoulders were broad, but also elegantly sloped, and the loose and comfortable linen shirt she wore was open more than enough to see smooth skin wrapped over a prominent collarbone.

Whistle cleared his throat, but otherwise waited. With a sigh, she brushed a lock of her wild, wavy black hair behind an ear and hummed quietly for a moment, a little tune I had no hope of recognising.

Still without glancing up, she finally spoke, her voice rich and soothing, but with a hint of fang to it, if the need arose. “Yes, Whistle? I assume by the fact that you’re in my office that the job went well. Apologies, I’m distracted. Bad news, I’m afraid.”

Wait, she hadn’t realised I was here? I mean, I knew I was quiet, but this was a little strange.

“Uh, yes…” Whistle said, clearly confused by the fact she hadn’t so much as mentioned me. Reaching for a bag at his hip, he fished out a necklace that bore three huge leaf shaped diamonds set into a pendant. It glowed with a strange light, like Singer’s one had. Carefully, the thief placed it on Basilisk’s desk.

When she glanced up at the necklace, it must have brought me into view, because she gave the tiniest little jump, her eyes widening and then promptly impaling me. Oh. My. Sweet. Jesus. That was why she was called Basilisk, that right there.

Vibrant acid green and slitted like a snake’s, her stare was intense and uncomfortable. It was as though she were somehow standing right in my face, a blade to my throat, but her twin shortswords were leaning against her desk, still sheathed. Inside her mouth, open slightly with surprise, were two sets of fangs, that she now ran a tongue over as she surveyed me with wary curiosity.

“What do we have here, hmmm?” she asked, her eyes leaving mine alone for a brief second to scan intently down my body. With the clothing I was wearing, and the body I now had, it felt far stranger than any such inspection ever had before. From a distance, I heard my heartbeat speed up, beginning to thunder in my chest.

“Ah, his name’s Mist,” Whistle supplied helpfully as I remained silent. “Helped me make my escape. He’s just arrived here, from the wastes.”

“Has he now?” she murmured, a beautifully tapered eyebrow making a slow rise up her forehead. “Well, it’s not often someone can enter my office without me noticing, even with someone to open the door. Silent as Mist, in fact, hmm?”

“That’s the general idea, I think,” I said wryly, rolling gently on the balls of my feet for a moment. Had to admit, this body was nice, moved so well. As much as it also confused me to recognise, not having a certain appendage between my legs was a relief as far as walking and running were concerned. “Whistle took it upon himself to give me a thief name, just before.”

That got a smile out of her, and she gave the thief in question a brief glance full of amusement. “Did he now? Tell me, Mist… what are you doing here?”

I shrugged. “Following an opportunity, I guess. I’m kinda drifting right now. Nothing to do, no aims or whatever. I’m not even in this city by choice.”

“And how exactly did you arrive in the city, if not by choice?” she asked curiously, her eyes still doing that thing where they made me feel like I was naked. I couldn’t tell what unsettled me more, the stare, or the fact that I didn’t mind the idea of being seen naked like this. My old body, sure, with its gross overly hairy legs and weird snail trail, but this one? I hadn’t seen it, but I could already tell it was far nicer to look at.

“This is going to sound bizarre, but… I was travelling through a pretty nasty mountain pass in a storm, and then uh… got blown off the edge down into a chasm. Everything went black, then I wound up on a rooftop in Whistle’s path,” I told her truthfully. Sure, I was omitting parts, but she wouldn’t understand me talking about busses and game design slave labour.

“A mountain pass out in the wastes, I’m assuming?” she asked, another inquisitive eyebrow rising in question. She really liked to use those eyebrows.

I found myself frowning as I worked out how to answer that, then with a resigned sigh, I told her, “Honestly, I have no idea if what you lot are calling the wastes is where I came from. We had a different name for the place.”

Resisting the urge to hold my breath, I waited to see if she bought my story. She was silent as she watched me with those bright, piercing and intelligent eyes of hers. Finally, she nodded, “You’re leaving out details, I want you to know that I can see that plain as day, but I can also tell that what you’ve said is the truth, however wild it might sound. I don’t generally make a habit of questioning a new aspirant’s background, but thank you for indulging my… curiosity. I assume, of course, that you’re interested in joining our little band?”

“Uh, yeah. That would be ideal,” I nodded, perhaps a little too quickly. I could tell I was grasping at safety and security right now, rushing into the arms of the first people to offer it, but fuck… what else was I supposed to do? “Although… you should know that I don’t have a lot of experience with uh… stealing shit. In a city, that is.”

“That is something we can teach, and your apparent skill with silent movement should serve you well,” she told me, leaning back in her seat and giving me a warm genuine smile. Well, it was warm until she bared her fangs. “Cross me and mine though, and I will sink my fangs in and twist. Got it?”

“Ah… yeah. Got it,” I agreed quietly, trying not to let her see how strange an effect that threat had elicited within me.