Lich's Labour Lost, Part 2

    LICH'S LABOUR LOST, PART 2


    The inside of the Dancing Goat could not have been more different from the Smiling Satyr. Whereas the Satyr had been an establishment of quiet, respectable, dignified rest, the Dancing Goat was...
    Senka pursed her imaginary-lips. It was a bawdy-house, no doubt about it.

    Devoid of people, the Dancing Goat would look like any other tavern, high wooden rafters, simple, unvarnished but sturdy oak tables and solid stools.  Simple ropes dangled from the ceiling, lanterns swaying gently from them. The floor was mostly wooden-planks, with rushes strewn about carelessly to wipe the muck from traveller’s boots. It was a coarse, earthy place, and it reminded her powerfully of the simple village Inn she had grown up in, all those centuries ago.

    But it wasn't empty. Not by a long shot.  It was heaving with a riotous crowd of people, the air thick with tabac smoke, the stench of spilled ale, sweat and everyday grime. A group of Female dancers in flimsy shifts, copper and bronze bangles around their ankles, skipped lightly from table to table, dancing in time to a minstrel’s raucous tune. People kept hold of their mugs, thumping them down in time to the music, or perhaps to catch an unwary dancer’s foot. The air was thick with the hubbub of chatter, laughter, and calls for more ale and song.

    Occasionally, a tipsy patron would rise from his stool and wave some coins at the dancers, inviting them over. With a deft hand they would sweep up an empty or near-empty mug, finish the dregs, take the coins from the patron’s hand, drop them in the mug, flashing the man their considerable bosoms as they leant down, provoking lecherous grins and much laughter from the patron’s friends.
    Then they would skip and tumble back to the bar at the back, passing the mug filled with coins along to the barman, where the coins would disappear and the mug would reappear foaming with suds. Swaying to and fro and giving a fair showing of their slender legs and heaving bosom, they would return the mug and continue their wild prancing.

    Sophisticated, this place was not. She wondered how she was ever going to find a decent therapist in a place like this. In her time, the legend of the Mulhorandi therapists had been that they were scholars, quiet, thoughtful, introspective men and women who knew the secrets of the humanoid mind. She doubted much mind came into a place like this.

    She pushed her way through the throng of people, making her way to the bar, where several men struggled to keep the ale flowing to all the empty mugs shoved their way.  Senka was surprised to see a half-orc man in a thick leather vest watching over it all, his arms folded, his eyes watching every transaction, making sure every mug was paid for. She wondered if this was the owner. Clearly Silverymoon was a very liberal town if a man of his...parentage could rise to own his own tavern.

    “What can I do you for? We don’t give out mugs, but you can have a cup of somethin’.”

    “I’m not looking for drink. I’m looking for a man. Therapist. Scholar. I was told someone of that nature could be found here.”
    She shouted across the throng, people jostling her.

    She felt deeply uncomfortable in this environment. One man lecherously made a grab for her arse. It was well for him that she had made her illusory form so realistic. He would not have found grabbing a lich’s rear to his liking. As it was, she was sore tempted to burn the whole place down. It was all...too much. She could feel it all through her spell; the sweat, the heat, the throng of humanity.  So different from the endlessly cold, endlessly quiet barrow she had spent so many long years in.

    “Therawha? Oh, you must be wantin’ Master Mund. He’s upstairs in one of the uh private booths.” The Barman winked. Senka frowned. She was going to trust her problem with a man who rutted with common whores? She must have truly sunken far if she was seriously considering this. But she had come this far, it would be foolish to return after making this much of an effort.

    “I see. Will he be out soon? Or Should I just go up and haul him out myself?” She seethed. The Barkeep chuckled. “Oh, don’t be worryin’ miss, he don’t avail himself of noneuvathat. He just likes to work in quiet, and we rent a cheap, soundproof room for him.  Though plenty of the girls here owe him for...helping out with their problems and the like.”

    “Whatever. What’s his room number? I need to speak with him.”
    “He don’t like to be distu-“
    Rapidly losing patience with the man, she slapped down a handful of silver and copper coins. Hopefully he wouldn’t question the provenance. “Room. Number?”
    “Number 4, Ma’am. Pleasure doin’ business.” The barman chuckled.

    Stomping up the creaky wooden stairs, she found herself feeling strangely exerted. How in-depth had she made this spell anyway? Realistically she shouldn’t be feeling tired, since she had no muscles to exert. But walking and shouting and rushing about like this exerted the human-form she wore, and on some deeper level she –felt- the sensations. Her lungs burned, but she pushed on anyway. It was all imagination, after all.

    She rapped firmly on the door with a number 4 carved into it. “Therapist? I am Sally Ryde. I have come seeking an audience with you. Are you within?”
    “Go away. No callers. I’m uh...busy.”

    From within she could hear muffled girlish laughter. So. He –was- entertaining common whores. So much for simply wanting to rent a quiet space.

    Without thinking, and consumed by a sudden burst of anger, she wordlessly cast a Knock Spell, and flung the door open. “I will not wait on a man who cavorts with common whores!” She shouted furiously.

    The sight that greeted her made her blink twice. Were her eyes now faulty? This was...absurd.
    Sitting in the corner of the room, a large, bulky woman was playing with blocks, her hair in curls, wearing what appeared to be a little girl’s party dress.  Despite obviously being in her thirties, the woman had an impish look of glee on her face as she played with the blocks, other children’s toys and books strewn about.
    In the opposite corner, an owlish young man sat in a high-backed chair, spectacles on the bridge of his nose.  He turned to look at her with obvious irritation.

    “Damnit! Can a man get no privacy? You’re interrupting our quiet time.”
    She goggled. What.... She must have stood in the open doorway for several seconds, struck aghast by the incongruity.
    Then. Rage. Pure, overwhelming, undiluted rage and disgust. She gathered breath in her throat(again, the spell seemed to be influencing her ability to act) to shout and pour scorn on the man before her, but the child-woman beat her to it.
    “WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!” The woman burst into surprisingly girlish tears, her whole body quivering with the effort. “Make the noise go away!” She shouted.

    Dumbfounded, Senka found her rage turning just as quickly to confusion. “What-“
    “Close the door, if you’re staying. The draft and noise is disturbing my patient. Otherwise, hop off, will you?”
    Senka closed the door behind her, and instantly the room fell into a silence, the hubbub beyond shut off effectively.
    The man sighed with relief, relaxing back into his chair. “Thank you.”
    The child-woman cooed, sighing, and returned back to her blocks.
    “WHAT-“
    “Ssssh!” The man hushed her. “Lower your voice if you’re going to talk in here.”
    With great effort, the Lich restrained her mounting desire to flay this man flesh from bone, and leave Silverymoon a smouldering crater. “What on earth is going on here?”
    “Delilah here is re-experiencing her childhood. She’s one of the tavern’s best prostitutes, and she comes to me at this time to fully regress into a child-like state. Its immensely satisfying for her. The noise upsets her, reminds her of the bustle of business and the adult world.” He explained reluctantly.
    “And how do you do accomplish that?”
    “Simple suggestive hypnosis. No magic needed or involved. When the hour is up she will re-awaken fully in her adult persona, and feel much refreshed for the mental holiday.” He sighed irritated, before continuing his retort.

    “Now will you tell me who on Toril you are, how you opened the door that Thorgar assured me  personally he’d paid a considerable sum to be enspelled against Opening enchantments and simple brute force,  and what it is you want?”

    Senka’s shoulders slumped, as if a heavy burden had been lifted.  Well. These things certainly sounded like something a Therapist would say and do.  Perhaps this hadn’t been a wasted trip after all. She glanced around, finding a simple stool; she pulled it up and sat down on it. For some reason she felt she needed to sit for this next part.  She cleared her throat, and began to talk.

    ================================================================================================================

    Sir Morrin of the Knights in Silver strode into the Dancing Goat with a cocky swagger. A tall, proud man with a thick black beard and leering brown eyes, Morrin was the very model of a confident human warrior, who had won his place in the Knights through sheer martial ability alone.

    His friend and brother-in-arms, Olofire Gladomain, had declined his invitation to come wenching this evening, saying he had other fruits to pick tonight.  Morrin had shrugged. Wenching alone could be boring without a pal to boast with and get drunk after, but it also meant more time for him to indulge all his little fancies.
    He grinned. He had quite the appetite tonight, after a whole day tromping around town chasing some ridiculous report of heavy magic use.

    Apparently the wards on the town had detected someone using enough magic to set half the city on fire, walking around and even crossing the Moonbridge. It sounded like bored, jumpy wizard nonsense to him.  Anyone expending that much power would be glowing like a watch-beacon for certain. Since Silverymoon wasn’t on fire, and he hadn’t seen anyone blazing like a noonday sun, he could only conclude it had been a false alarm.

    “Good evening, Sir Morrin! Your usual?” The barkeep greeted him gruffly. The greeting was friendly, but he knew the staff resented him coming here. They didn’t like him lording over them, using his position of power to extort their compliance with his requests. He grinned. Good. So long as they obeyed and respected his power, he didn’t give two shits what a bunch of ale-chuggers thought about him.
    “I think I’ll have double my usual tonight. Are Menna and Rox free?” He sighed in anticipation. Truly, there was nothing like a good hard ride to take the edge of a day keeping this miserable shit-pit safe.

    The Barkeep sighed. “Again, Sir Morrin? Menna still hasn’t recovered from the last time. “
    “Stow it, boy.  She’s a whore, ain’t she? She should keep her mouth full, and you should keep your mouth shut.” He barked.  “Now, go make sure the rooms prepared. All the usual toys too.” He chuckled.

    He stuffed a pouch of copper coins into the barman’s hands, before stomping up the creaky stairs, his chainmail and greaves clinking as he went.

    “Make sure to send up some wine, and some cloth. I don’t like to spill any blood but you never know.” He chuckled again evilly. “Unless you have any virgins you been stowing I don’t know about.”

    The Barman shuddered, and prayed to Sune and Tymora to protect the two whores who’d have to endure this man tonight.
    ====================END OF PART TWO=======================================