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                We were both coming down off a multi-day bender, so his assumption I meant some sort of digestible wasn’t surprising. I pushed up onto my elbows and grabbed a tobacco stick from a pile nearby. After lighting it and taking a deep inhale, I clarified.

                "No, what you consider a just kill. How do you justify what’s a monster, and what’s not? Those men, they weren’t goblins or zombies.

                "Oh." He rolled over onto his back, rubbing his eyes. "Monsters on the inside, Tor. Evil is, as evil does."

                Davros had always maintained a very black and white notion of good and evil. I suppose it was easier for him. He’d been doing this for a long longer. I was the wet behind the ears cub, as far hunting went.  That said, I had attacked it with a zeal that impressed the others. I had to be on guard though, do my best to hide the rush, the thrill I felt when we were in the thick of it.  I didn’t want them to see my inner monster and turn on me next.

                "That’s something you need to figure out for yourself. It’ll come, in time, just follow my lead. In the meantime, sleep well, knowing you’re doing good." He added, his hands idly roaming over his waking form, scratching an itch here and there. He glanced around the room, smacking his lips as if he trying to recall the night before.

                "Right. Do good, and be good." I nodded and took a swig of whatever was left in my glass as I let the words roll around in my alcohol fogged brain. It had become a mantra of sorts since dragging myself out of the shit hole that was rock bottom.

                "Do good, to become good. If I can’t be good, at least learn how to fake it – so they don’t murder you next.’

                When I was deep in the fray, the voice was quiet. I think the violence confused the desire for blood verses my desire to do good. It wanted me to rain down death, but for my own gain, not out of some sense of redemption or righteousness. It didn’t want to encourage my good acts, so it shut up.

                It was hard to imagine though, the amount of good I would have to do, to tip the scales in my favour. I had so much blood on my hands.

                I took another long haul of tobacco and downed the rest of my drink.

                "The dreamweed must be wearing off if you’re asking questions like that, Tor."

                He was right. My thoughts were fairly clear. Clear enough that I began the mental ritual of bracing myself for the voice.

                Deep and seductive, the voice finally came. It promised power, both in the form of magical potential and to physical control over the masses. Wealth beyond measure was another of his favorites. Though, that one really didn’t hold any appeal. I never let it know that though. As always, the clearer my head became, the louder he got. All I had to do was let go, give in to him and it would all be mine. Thankfully I knew better. Fear, loathing and shear will were on my side. I would never be his tool, his pawn, again.

                I tried to change the subject, before the voice got to loud, or I got too introspective.

              "Oy, get to business before I leave you "n find someone younger, finer and with a bigger cock." I said, nudging him roughly with my elbow.

               Thankfully, the dusky skinned half elf was a bigger lech than I appeared to be. He was more than willing to share his home, alcohol and smoke with me whenever we were in town. I’m sure my visits cost him more than a whore would. But, there were things I would let him do, things that I would do, that most self respecting and affordably priced whores would do.

               I felt around over the side of the bed and was rewarded with a half empty bottle of Elven brandy. Between that, and the manhandling Davros was about to deliver, the voice would soon fade to a whisper. Nothing, short of him choking me out, would ever fully silence it. Not unless I could tip that cosmic scale and be free of this fiend.

The idea of returning to Teziir was only a loose notion. Somehow, the thought of returning to the start of things, to the start of me, seemed fitting.

Then again, maybe I’ve been spending too much time in shitty taverns, listening to even shittier minstrels caterwaul about the heroic condition.

Me? I’m absolutely faking it. Going through the motions. Playing the part because that’s all I know how to do. Trudging along because that’s what the tales say they did.

But, part of me wants to buy into this shite; my journey of penance, my walk of shame.

It should be poetic, symbolic. For example, this break in the rain, must be because the gods are smiling on me. That same crap the minstrels eat up.

But, what in the Nines do I know?  I'm no bard.

I’m just a drunkard. A whore. A failed adventurer and a disappointment to my god. Abandoned by my friends and alone in the world.

Well, not completely alone.

The voice, that disgusting piece of an archfiend I carry around in me. He was currently booming in my head, mocking my attempt at penance.

"Torment, my dear, there is no need for you to walk. People love you. Bend them with your charms. If you tried, I have no doubt you could even convince one of these lesser beings to carry you there on their backs."

There wasn’t much I could do about him now. I wasn’t about to make the week-long journey, alone and on foot, blind drunk.

I’ve tried my best to listen to anything but his voice; the wind, the trees, the birds. Yiralea had tried to teach me to be more in tune with Nature. I wish I had paid more attention to my old Elven friend.

Scornubel, the caravan city. It was supposed to be just a pit stop, but, a lack of funds, unseasonably bad weather and word of bugbear raids put a crimp in my plans.

There was nothing I could do about the weather, or the raids. Not alone, at least. But, there was always something I could do about coin and drink. A city like this would have plenty of inns and by gods I really needed a ruddy drink.

Illmater might have seen fit to somehow take away most of my power, which I do admit is not something I’ve heard of before. I’m no priest. My Ma, gods protect her soul, said my magical aptitude was in my blood...I was born with it.

It hurts my head when I try to suss it out. I suppose I should just be thankful he didn’t see fit to curse my cunt too. Now that would have been funny. But, he doesn’t have much of a sense of humor I’m guessing, god of suffering, after all.

The weather was nasty when I arrived, soaked head to toe and clumps of mud caked to my britches up to my knees. I must have been a sight. No surprise it took a few tried to find an inn that didn't toss me out on sight.

Being a sopping mess is bad enough, but a Tiefling sopping mess might as well be a crime.

The first two inns were apparently too high class to rent to the likes of me. Worried, I suppose, that I'd set up business in their establishment.

It pissed me off to no end that they would go right to whoring as an assumption of me. Like that’s the only way "hellspawn’ of above average looks could make some coin.

Of course, my silent outrage makes me a complete hypocrite. If nothing better presents itself in a couple of days, I’m as sure as Sune's tits I'll be whoring my ass out again.

With only enough coin for a few nights lodging, I was grateful that the innkeeper of the Dusty Hoof didn’t turn me away. The place wasn’t a complete shithole, but I wasn’t itchin to take up permanent residence here either.

It took well into the evening to get myself cleaned up and rested enough to leave my room. I took up court in the common room. Tieflings, sexy ones who show ample cleavage, can be sure of one of two reactions. One, the superstitious folk who shy away and mutter to their gods under their breath.  Or group two, the cocksure lads lookin for a novelty fuck.

That night I found plenty of the later present, and while I had no intentions of spreading my legs just yet, I was more than thankful for the free drinks that came with their attempts.

The voice was sure to return soon. I had been sober too long in getting here. I wasn’t about to stumble around blind drunk along the banks of the Chionthar River for a week.

The randy young bucks would have to wait. I wanted, nay needed, the drink and conversation first. Not that I cared about their crass lines or equally pathetic sweet whispers. No. I needed to find out about work. Drinking and fucking were all well and good, but I needed to be slaying monsters. I needed that rush, better than ale, better than sex. Well, most sex. Point being, slaying shuts the voice up.

Shuts him up real good. He hates when I’m fighting the food fight. He worries all my time spent as a do gooder might actually add up to me being truly good, and then he will have lost.  Every time I kill a "monster’ it’s like an actual strike against him.

Too much evil in me right now for that though, too much innocent blood on my hands. But, I’m not going to tell him that, though some days it does feel like he is winning. For now, I will just have to be content with being a monster that kills other, worse, monsters.

As the familiar, and pleasant, warmth of alcohol began to dull my senses it struck me how much this common room reminded me of the one at the Black Eye. These places all looked and smelled the same. Rickety tables with uneven legs. Questionable stains on the thread bare flat cushions. The sad sack regulars half asleep at the bar, their faces frozen in apathetic resignation.

What struck me as familiar was the feeling of, acceptance. Mild that it was. Maybe they were all just horny drunkards. But, for whatever the reason, I felt a small measure of ease for the first time since being scorned by my god and my friends.

Perhaps my journey was to start here instead.

It didn’t take much in the way of talking, or drinking, to get the dirt on Scornubel. The clientele at the Hoof was very friendly. For example, the very enthusiastic red haired Half Elf lad named Rabin. He near wet himself in excitement when he realized there was a Tiefling at the inn that evening. A female Tiefling that would give him the time of day and didn’t, at least outwardly, seem evil.

It was such an honor to be on so many mens" to do lists.

Rabin, despite being over excited to the point of extreme clumsiness, did have a refined wit that I found refreshingly amusing.

He said if I was looking for excitement, other than the kind in his pants, that I could look into the rumors of dragon cultists and odd Kobold behavior. His joke almost made me forget this clumsiness.

Dragons and cultists. Two words that never mix well. I had dealt with cultists in Neverwinter a few years back. Dragon cultist more specifically, in the year just past.

Even with the full array of my feminine charms applied, I couldn’t get anything else out Rabin. He seemed far more interested in a tumble than the sort of exchange I was looking for. Showing extreme disappointment, I left his table and moved on to other possible sources.

Rabin had been generous with his ale, and the full weight of all he had plied me with hit me when I stood. Much to my amusement, and relief, there was a distant muffled buzz in the back of my brain. Mamnon. As best I could tell, he was pitching a fit that I wouldn’t take Rabin back to my room, seduce him and then take all his coin. At this level of inebriation, it was hard exactly what he was saying. But, that was the point.

I stumbled out back to the pisspot and did my best to squat without falling into the adjacent dungpile.  Times like this, only like this really, I wished I was equipped differently. Or that I had a servant to hold me up and wipe me. Lots of servants for my every whim.

That was one of the bigger disadvantages of my liquid vice, it leads to the others. Greed. Sloth. Lust was already a given. I wasn’t always a lovable whore when drinking. Someday I was a real monster.

I have no doubt that if I was carrying around a piece of Ilmater in me, instead, I'd be getting a lecture on the plethora of more suitable ways to endure my crap life other than trying to erase my pain with drink. Though, I think goodly god lectures in my head everyday would likely have the same outcome as that smooth-tongued devil in my ear.

Yes, these are the thoughts I dwell on when I’m alone, drunk and trying to have a peaceful piss.

No sooner had I stumbled back into the common room, I was accosted by a pair of dark haired young men. Once my eyes readjusted to the light, and were fully focused, I was able to get a look at them. Either I was seeing double or they were twins. They looked a little older than me, though I couldn’t tell for sure.

I tried to wave them off. I needed to sit. Either to keep my attention or steady me, one grabbed me by the arm.

"You don’t want to be manhandling me, friend." I said with clearly sarcastic emphasis on the last word. I was about to use a spec of magic to get my point across, but apparently, my alien gold eyes caused him to let go without hesitation.

He gave me an apologetic look.

The other one quickly spoke, and almost brushed his sibling aside. "If you're done entertaining that boy and his mommy's money, you might sit a moment and have a drink with real men."

Across the room I could see Rabin, at a different table now. He appeared to be unsuccessfully chatting up a Wood Elf that had just arrived with her party.

The more talkative twin, still brasher than his brother, was looking to a table and a waitress was already setting drinks there. I recognized the orange tint of the liquor. It was one of my favorites. That earned them a few moments of my time.

"No Evermead?" I cooed mockingly as I lifted the small glass to my lips. I knocked it back without hesitation.

The eldest smirked, "Perhaps when we know each other better. But, where are my manners? My name is Barrett, and this is my brother, Iriin." He continued to drone on about their family, it’s status in Scornubel. The boring things.

I nodded, trying to give at least an impression of caring – having no real inkling if I successful or not. I waved my free hand dismissively and then upturned the empty glass on the table.

They may have been twins, but there was something about Iriin that was far more attractive than Barrett. Perhaps it was because he barely spoke and was currently motioning to the barmaid for another round.

"Well then, if I may be so bold as to get to the point, I’d like to contract your services for my brother." He said as if there was no way I could take offense.

I snorted and rolled my eyes in his direction.

"I warn you, friend, you had better be putting a price on his head, because that’s my trade. I’m no common bedwarmer and if you’re truly insinuating that, we are going to have a storm giant sized problem.

Iriin's earthy brown eyes flashed with worry as his head spun from watching me, to his brother.

Barrett chuckled mildly, almost insincere. "We wouldn’t want that. Please, no offense was meant." He smiled wide, but his eyes were full of lies. "It is just, from watching you work the room, I had assumed..."

I cut him off. "You assumed wrong. I’m looking for information not a tumble.

"Perhaps we could make a trade of that sort. You see..."

I cut Barrett off again. "Natch. I already don’t care. You’ve not only insulted me, but bored me as well." I stood up, begging Ilmater that my legs would hold.

Iriin looked slightly disappointed, but still said nothing. Maybe he was mute. He didn't appear to be simple.

As I turned and took a step away from the table I stumbled slightly. It was Iriin who moved to catch me and as he did, he pressed his mouth against my ear. Clearly not mute, he whispered, "Wellborn Trade Agency. Legitimate work, if you were serious. I can put in a word."

As I resumed my attempt to find my footing, I leaned against the quiet brother.  Perhaps more than was required.

His hold on me was firm, yet gentle. He had the rich scent of leather about him. I half wished I had listened closer to Barrett. The family might have been trade people or craftsmen.

Silence was apparently not a curse in his case, but a virtue.

Barrett had only watched my actions from afar and mixed in his own predisposed notions to come up with what he thought I had to be up to that evening. Iriin, however, must have been listening to my conversations, forming a more accurate account without bias. A rare occurrence indeed.

I whispered back, making sure my tongue grazed the sensitive flesh if his ear lightly. "Ditch your brother. Room three, five minutes. Bring coin and I’ll change my mind."

With an over embellished flourish, that almost had me arse over end, I bowed to the twins and took my leave of them.

Mission accomplished. A line on honest paying work, a free head of ale induced fog and the promise of a lover for the night. I couldn’t want for more.

For the immediate moment, at least. There was still the matter of disentangling an archfiend from my soul, a god to gain forgiveness from and half a dozen life debts to make good on. But, one thing at a time.

Despite still feeling the lingering effects of the night before, I dragged myself out of bed at the crack of dawn and tried my best to make myself presentable. Iriin had left sometime in the early hours of the day.  I thanked my earlier self for having the good sense and discipline to wash my traveling clothes before socializing. I’d never look respectable. not with the red skin and horns. But, at least I was clean and smelled of lye and sage, not stale smoke and sex.

Sinking down onto the side of the lumpy straw bed, I rubbed the sleep from my eyes. I couldn’t help but smile as I thought back to just a few hours ago. Hopefully, Iriin would find his way back to my bed tonight. I would like a chance to enjoy his company without having drank a troll’s share of ale and sherry. Hopefully, he had made good on his word and sent word to contact at the trade agency. Showing up without an introduction would be...embarrassing.

I had enough ale still in my system to keep Mammon at bay for awhile and I wanted to get to the agency before he resurfaced. The last thing I needed was that foul fiend in the background during my chat with the owners.

The Trading company was easy enough to find, three impressively large warehouses stood out. There were smaller buildings, offices I assumed. I hadn’t expected something of this size. On the upside, they looked like they’d pay well. Downside, the bigger the company, the more the rules normally.

I watched from the street for awhile, trying to gauge the goings on of the compound. I didn’t want to walk in blind. The only movement I caught sight of was an incredibly slim, fair haired Elf. He was tending to a dozen or so horses in a very large corral. I made a mental note to check him out later. If I got hired, that is. I had no idea how much weight Irrin’s word would carry with these folks.

I Ignored the looks of the passers by, outside the compound. It wasn’t a crime to stand on the road and stare at a place of business. Despite their turned noses and the "shouldas’ and "oughtas’ running through their small minds, it wasn’t a crime to look like I did. I got the same looks from a few workers as I entered the gates and strode onto their turf like I owned the place. The looks didn’t bother me anymore, but I hadn’t yet learned to ignore them.

In truth, I had no idea of what to expect. I had just sort of falling into working with Davros and the Broken Skulls. No introductions. No interview. It just happened. That was the only "job’ I had ever had. This, working for a caravan company, was far more civilized and organized I imagined. Rules. Schedules. Duties.  I hadn’t had that sort of regimented sort of life since I was a child.

I cleared my throat and pushed those images away. Apparently, I didn’t need an archfiend, to put unsettling images in my mind. I was good enough at that on my own.  Illmater save me.

My thoughts were shattered, thankfully, when a scrawny lad with perfectly combed dirty blond hair nearly bowled me over. He had come barreling down the front steps of what I assumed to be the main office. I spun slightly and ended up hopping a few steps on one foot before I regained my balance.

"Oy!" I called out, watching him dash off and out of the compound.

It all happened so fast, and he was gone before I could get a good look at him. Had he been crying?

I turned back to the office and started up the steps, wondering what in the Nine Hells had caused that ruckus.