Stolen Dreams: Part One - Chapter 1

Chapter 1

Reginald Regulus Ravensclaw, or Rook as he was more commonly known, looked up from his mug of ale and tried once more--unsuccessfully--to catch the eye of the buxom brunette barmaid serving drinks to the surly-looking drow-type in the corner. He'd been trying all night with no luck, and it didn't look as though that was going to change now.

With a mild oath, he drained the rest of his ale and got up, bumping into a slip of a youth who muttered an apology and kept on their way. Rook set his hand to his belt and felt his coin purse missing, but only smirked and held up a much fatter one - rob a merc, they'll rob you back.

Rook paid up his tab, gave the barkeep a curt nod, and retired to his room - only to hear loud moans coming from the pile of blankets on the bed he had rented.

"By the gods, Elvira," he swore, "can't you keep your hand outta your pants for one night?"

A pretty, heart-shaped elven face poked out from under the blankets, crowned by a head of long black hair and sitting atop a lithe dancer's body with creamy skin and small, pert breasts capped by cute pink nipples; drenched in sweat and grinning sheepishly.

"Sorry boss...You know how it is. Pixie blood, not much I can do." Rook just sighed, shaking his head. He'd found Elvira Moonblade eight years ago, not long as their kind went; but long enough to forge a fast friendship.

He'd found her spit roasted between two ogres taking their pleasure with her and, mistaking the situation, slain them both; only to be informed that no; in fact, she had charmed them both for that very purpose.

Understandably irate, the elven sorceress had informed him that he now owed her eight orgasms - for Rook had denied her such. He happily obliged, and the two entered a mutually profitable arrangement wherein both profits and beds were shared. Good all around, if a bit tiring.

Rook pulled himself from his reminiscence and grinned in spite of himself, his yellow slit-pupiled right eye darting around the room. His right eye, along with the upper right portion of his face, was clearly not his originally - a fact he was rather touchy about.

In addition, he had large, slightly serrated triangular teeth with a habit of replacing themselves if lost, and a long prehensile tongue to make any reptile jealous. Combined with longish brown hair matching his brown left eye, tanned skin, and a broad physique honed by plenty of battle, he was an otherwise handsome man - except for the face. Always the face.

Forcing himself from thought yet again by the squishing and squelching of Elvira pleasuring herself again, Rook said roughly, "Oi...get your hand outta there and scoot over. I'll help ya out." With a lascivious grin, Elvira did as instructed, the night going by quickly in a haze of amorous activity.

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When Rook awoke and pulled himself from Elvira's inviting clutches, he pulled on his dragonhide Greatcoat of Massive Capacity and stumbled downstairs for a cup of tea - only to see the surly drow and a rumpled-looking barmaid from the night before.

Seeing as the bartender was nowhere to be found, Rook poured himself a cup of tea from the pot left out for any patrons who might need some. And upon finding the sugar bowl empty, asked the drow "Oi mate...got any extra sugar cubes?"

Without a word, the drow reached into his cloak and withdrew a small leather sack, tossing it to Rook. Upon inspection, it was full of individually wrapped sugar cubes. Nodding his thanks, Rook dropped in two and tucked a third into his cheek. The bittersweet aroma of the grey tea in front of him pervading his nostrils as the scalding liquid washed over his tongue.

Not too long after, Rook heard footsteps and saw Elvira coming down the stairs. Her lithe form was clad only in a simple gown that hugged her small, pert breasts. She offered a smile to Rook and began in a low throaty voice, "You ran out on me, lover. That wasn't ni...."

Her voice trailed off as she saw the drow, her expression a mix of shock, confusion, and anger. "Par'Rezzym Moonblade!? You nine-fingered bastard son of a drider!!! How many decades since you walked out on me, you...you..." Apparently, her fury was too great for words, and Rook began considering places to duck in case things got nasty. The drow, known as Par'Rezzym, looked dangerous - as was Elvira when angry. The barmaid had vanished, leaving the three alone.

The drow spoke in a low, raspy tone, unlike Rook's gravel and sandpaper or Elvira's velvet and silk. "Twenty-eight years to the day, sister...no need to call names." Sister? One was a drow, the other an elf?

Elvira answered Rook's unspoken question as well as correcting his assumption of the dark-skinned elf's heritage. "HALF-sister, you Lolth-cursed spider-kisser!!! And don't you act like it's no big deal!!! I cried for FIVE YEARS over you leaving!!! No note, no 'bye sis, love you' just SNEAKING AWAY LIKE A THIEF IN THE NIGHT!!!!"

Rook began actively backing away. Elvira had that glow about her that preceded her casting something nasty. And judging by the severity of the insults she'd thrown, this tantrum was going to be epic.

Which is why the mercenary was surprised when the drow (dusk elf? If he was half and half) simply stood up and hugged Elvira, murmuring "If I had told you, sister. You would have followed me. You had a future with the clan... I did not."

Rook, feeling largely forgotten, cleared his throat. "Sorry to interrupt the reunion, but...what in the Nine Hells?"

Elvira blushed and coughed, she had indeed forgotten Rook was there. "Ah...this is my half-brother, Rez. Rez, this is my partner Rook."

Rook tipped his shortpipe tophat with crimson velvet hatband, and Rez gave a curt nod in reply.

"So..." Rook said, noting the calloused hands, slim but wiry physique, and twin scabbards adorning Rez the dusk elf. "Looking for work?"

Rook had no sooner said the words "looking for work" than the bartender and the head cook came out from the kitchen. They set down a simple but hearty spread of toast, eggs, sausages, and jam, replaced the teapot with a fresh one, including a pot of coffee as well. With a nod to each of the three and a not-so-subtle motion towards the tip jar, the bartender started wiping down the bar.

Rez looked Rook over, and gave an approving nod before naming his price. "Full share in all treasure, as well as access to healing."

Rook sat and ordered a plate of fried potatoes with vinegar. An order the bartender was all too happy to oblige after Rook dropped two gold dragon coins into the tip jar. A generous tip, by any standards, but also an investment. Bartenders heard things.

Shovelling a bite of vinegar-soaked potatoes into his mouth, Rook nodded and slid a stack of parchment to the Dusk Elf. "Party Charter, knife-ear. Read it, sign it if you agree with the terms, in triplicate please." Unlike most, Rez didn't bristle at the use of "knife-ear" - a mild racial slur towards elves - and Rook almost smiled. Good...he had a thick skin. That was crucial in this business.

The dusk elf perused the document, his eyes sweeping over it quickly, before producing a cartographer's fountain pen and scrawling his signature at the bottom.

Rook retrieved the parchment and tore off the top page and tucked that one away. The second page he tore off and pushed back to Rez. The last parchment in the stack was folded and slid into an envelope before sealing it with a glyph impressed in wax. He handed the envelope to the bartender with instructions on where to mail it as well as another gold dragon for incentive.

Keeping his left eye fixed on Rez while his right eye roved over the room, Rook extended his hand. "Welcome to The Rooks, Master Moonblade." Not a creative name, Rook knew - but those whom they were hired to fight, knew to fear it. A symbol of death... but also cleverness and resourcefulness.

Rez stretched. His joints cracked and popped, before rolling his neck from side to side. "Well then Master Rook...where to?"

Rook thought a moment; they didn't have any contracts currently, though caravan work was always plentiful and roving monsters were never hard to find. "Not sure yet, sweetmeat. I was thinkin' I finish my fried tubers and cup of tea and you two eat something. Then we see what business opportunities present themselves. Sound good?" Rook shoveled forkfuls of vinegar-dipped potato into his mouth.

Rez shrugged and ordered a hearty mutton and mushroom stew in thick brown gravy; remarking that rothe would be preferable, but the beef was a touch expensive, and rothe, being an underground breed, near impossible to procure. When the bartender placed the bowl before him, he dug in heartily.

Elvira ordered a light meal of lembas wafers and dried fruit.

After everyone had finished their meal, the tab was settled. Rook took his cane with a stylized silver pommel of a raven in flight; Rez grabbed his twin blades, and Elvira her Staff of Smiting. Together, the three stepped outside the inn to see what the world would bring.

Rook pulled a black stone figurine carved in the shape of a horse from one of his many pockets, whispering into its ear. He noted with satisfaction that the others were doing the same, each setting theirs down before they grew to full-size - bigger than a warhorse; stone muscles rippling underneath glossy stone coats as the horses snorted and stamped in the morning sun.

Pulling a cavalry saddle out of one of his many pockets - ah, the joys of magic! - Rook belted it onto his stone steed before swinging himself up and over his mount. The mercenary noted the grace with which Elvira alighted, and the surefooted grace Rez used swinging himself onto his steed's back.

As the three set out, Rook produced a short-stemmed oaken pipe set with two wide silver bands where his large, shark-like teeth had bitten through the stem before. Producing also a pouch of pipeweed, he offered some to the drow.

Rez shook his head before producing a long-stemmed adamantine pipe and a five-pound cask of Old Jonathan Stout Original, before tamping down his bowl and lighting it with a tindertwig.

Rook lit his pipe with a snap of his fingers, and fought the urge to laugh as he saw Elvira's face screw up in distaste. She didn't approve of pipeweed OR the use of magic for "frivolous tasks", as she called them. It wasn't that he enjoyed her discomfort, she was just so cute like that.

Taking a deep drag from his pipe, Rook let the smoke out of his nostrils thoughtfully before speaking. "Elvira, any word from your astronomer in Rageford Falls?"

Elvira shook her head with a slight frown. "No, Tobin hasn't sent a hawk for some time now. I'm beginning to worry."

"About what?" Rook scoffed. "Tobin can handle himself." Tobin Gearsworthy was the gnomish astronomer Rook had hired to help him find his homeplane...until then, he adventured wherever his heart and feet took him.

"Yes, Rook, but he's old for a gnome. Things can happen in old age."

Rook simply took another thoughtul puff before noting, "Well, Rageford Falls is due East along this road anyway...might as well stop in for a visit. That all right by you, Rez m'lad?"

Rez simply shrugged. "As long as I get paid."

Rook nodded, and the trio continued onward.

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Their journey was largely uneventful until they sighted a pair of ogres with a sign in crudely written in Common that read: "Toll Booth".

Rez sighed, Elvira groaned, but Rook just grinned. "Hey Rez...ready to earn your day's wages?"

Rez didn't respond, but instead loosening his blades slightly in their sheaths as Elvira began chanting under her breath.

One of the ogres spotted him and started slapping his greatclub against his open palm. "Gots t' pay th' toll, lil' men!" Then his eyes narrowed on Elvira and a cruel sneer spread across his face. "Mayb' we jus' eat you, keep th' pretty elfgirl."

Rook sighed and reached into his coat, pulling out a broadsword. Amateurs.

With a roar, the ogres charged; the one that had spoken wielding a wooden greatclub that was essentially a smallish stripped-down oak tree studded with swords - no doubt from its past victims. The other wielded a massive, crudely fashioned stone axe.

The club-wielder, faltered with a confused look as Rez the dusk elf sank more than a half-dozen bladestrokes deep into his gut; the final one sinking so deep that he had to rip it out with a wet sucking sound as a bit of bloody entrail spilled out.

Rook charged with a bellowing war cry, parrying the second ogre's hasty swipe with a grunt before placing a well-aimed kick into its chest. That forced the great brute to step back as Rook vaulted off of his horse and sank his spring-loaded wrist-blades deep into the ogre's fat neck; sawing viciously as he hit the switches that engaged the barbs. Thick red blood poured out from the now-gaping wound, causing the great smelly beast to drown. Hopping down, Rook wiped his blades and gave Rez a nod.

Elvira pouted. "I didn't even get to use my spells," she whined.

The gurgling speech and wheezing laughter of the first ogre gave everyone pause. "You kill Krag...now Thukk smash you all...." He trailed off in bloody, wheezing laughter.

"Thukk?" said Elvira, spell still prepped. "Who's Thu...oh shit."

Her words came as the sun was blocked out by a massive hill giant...far larger than any hill giant had a right to be. At almost twenty-six feet tall, it was truly a monstrosity. As the trio watched with dawning horror, the giant squinted at them with a look of dull hatred. Its tree-sized arms dragged behind it a club bigger than the ogres combined; and its mouth fell open to reveal brown, rotted teeth the size of tombstones.

Rook squinted at the hulking monstrosity, his old accent slipping through. "'Ey now, yer blockin' the light you bloody bastard."

The giant responded with a bellowing roar, hefting its club with hands the size of washtubs.

"You wot?" Rook yelled back, as eight balls of glowing energy slammed into the giant's chest.

Unfortunately, rather than hurting the beast, it only served to enrage Thukk further.

Rook dropped his broadsword and grabbed his cane sword - for this, precision was needed, not brute force. He was surprised to see thick vines winding their way up the giant's legs and looked over to see Rez concentrating as Elvira prepped another spell.

"Hit him!" the dusk elf shouted.

Thukk tried tearing off the vines to no avail. As soon as one tore, another took its place.

But from the look on Rez's face, it was costing him to hold the spell. That was confirmed when Rez screamed "I can't hold him all day, guys!!!"

Elvira finished her spell and a bundle of lighting bolts slammed into Thukk's chest, singing his furs and charring the skin, but not enough to make him fall.

Rook looked up to see a giant pair of testicles, an idea suddenly striking him. "Hold him a little longer!" He shouted at Rez. Clenching his blade between his teeth, he started climbing Thukk's leg, the stench of unwashed giant threatening to overpower him.

Reaching the apex of the giant's thigh, he stabbed his blade just above the testicles and started sawing back and forth, praying the genitalia bigger than he was wouldn't knock him off. The giant roared in pain, thick red blood pouring out as he ripped at the vines wrapping his legs and rocked as a fresh spell salvo hit him.

Finally reaching the artery he sought, Rook stabbed deep and prayed, as a geyser of blood blasted both him and his sword off of the giant, who looked rather woozy. Dropping his club, Thukk grasped at his thigh, unsuccessfully attempting to staunch the arterial spray of blood. Then Elvira nailed him in the eye with a well-placed fireball, which exploded upon impact. With a groan, the giant swayed back and forth before toppling - right onto Rook.

Continued in Chapter 2...

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