The heady smell of cigarillo pervaded the common area of the Eency Weency Spider tavern.  Smoke wafted its way past a set of gnarled ratonga teeth to float whimsically upwards.  No sound disturbed the room—only echoes of past crowds resonated among the walls as Spindel sat by himself quietly at the bar.  Looking around, he spied the empty chairs all about and the occupants that often graced them.  He peered at the stage, normally host to many a song or amusing exploit.  It even served as a pulpit for guild meetings, now resting dark and vacant in the silence of the much loved establishment.

It was late.  His Knights were gone for the evening, off chasing their various pursuits. 

It was a good thing, the ratonga thought to himself as he took a sip of his drink.  They were good folk, if a bit rough around the edges.  He couldn’t have hoped for a better group of gamblers, brawlers, misfits and mercenaries come together to serve a single cause.  They were unique people—singly, as well as the team they comprised.  They were special.  They transcended the odds in pure defiance, refuting fate’s dictatorial establishment of the impossible. 

There were some who said it wouldn’t happen.  Ruffians coming together for something other than money and glory?  It was fallacy as much as fantasy!  They said Spindel’s dream was best left to time spent in slumber where delusions were commonplace and never hurt anybody. 

How wrong they were, Spindel thought.  He’d proved it, and those same naysayers were now eating crow each and every day the Vagabond Knights were a reality.  And though he was credited for leading this unlikely band, he knew it amounted to absolutely zilch without the quality his Knights possessed in spades.  He owed them a lot.  He had to do right by them.

Which was why he wasn’t looking forward to tonight’s rendezvous.  It wasn’t often he had to get after one of his Knights for misconduct, but this time the mischievous rogue had gone too far.  He put up with a lot from this individual, knowing her usual antics were all in good—if not exactly clean—fun.  Still, a line had to be drawn between innocent tomfoolery and reckless endangerment that had far-reaching implications for the entire guild.

Spindel placed a hand to his vest, idly probing the item in the breast pocket.  By all accounts, she’d crossed that line the other night, and not by a little.  Sitting there in the quiet, he went over the forthcoming conversation at least a dozen times in his head, and it never ended well. 

No, he wasn’t looking forward to this one bit.

Several sips and another cigarillo later, the door to the tavern opened with a small creak.  The blue skin and white hair of a dark elf poked through the gap, her face openly inquisitive.

“Hello?” she asked.

“Hello, Chi,” Spindel said, pouring himself another glass of the greenish liquid he was drinking.

“Handsome!” Chiani brightened.  “There you are!  Tosta said you wanted to see me?”

“Yes,” Spindel blew a cloud of smoke over his head.  “Take a seat.”

“Okay, but it seems strange,” the rogue shrugged.  Stepping inside, she picked up a nearby stool and made as if to walk out with it.

“Sit down!” Spindel corrected pointedly, rolling his beady eyes at the rogue’s peculiar sense of humor.

“Sure, cap’n,” Chiani said, blinking.  Suddenly curious at the ratonga’s tone of voice, the rogue replaced the stool and slid herself onto it beside him.  “Everything all right, is it?”

Spindel took another long drag from his cigarillo, not looking at her.

“No,” he said quietly.  “Dey’re not.”

Unsure what to do with her hands, Chiani decided to lean one arm against the bar as she faced her obviously discontented leader.

“Is it something I can help with?”

Placing the cigarillo twixt his lips, Spindel reached into his vest to extract the item he held.

“You’re da only one who can,” he said out one side of his mouth, the cigarillo bobbing on the other side as he spoke.  His hand pulled out the head of a crimson rose, all withered and dying in his small, rat-like fingers.  “You mind explaining dis?”

Brow furrowed, Chiani reached out to catch the apparently pivotal item Spindel tossed her way. 

“It’s a rose,” she said with a shrug, her eyes fixed on the flower.

“Look familiar?” Spindel blew another cloud of smoke.

“Well, I’m not a botanist, handsome.  Is it supposed to?”

The ratonga licked his lips, loath to deliver his next statement.

“It’s da rose you left at da militia house barracks two days ago.”

Chiani stopped her inspection of the flower, her eyes blinking as she aimed them up at Spindel carefully.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she muttered evenly.

“Don’t lie to me,” Spindel said, matching her tone.  “You know I know.  Not only dat, but I know you know dat I know, so spare me da song and dance ‘Slip’ry Chi’…”

Her lips pursed together, Chiani’s eyes wandered back to the dying rose in her hand.  The evidence was pretty hard to refute, as were its implications.

“How’d you find out?” she asked quietly.

“Doesn’t matter,” the ratonga answered.  “I got my sources.”

Spindel stared long and hard at the reticent rogue sitting across from him.  The girl continued staring down at the rose, the wheels and cogs in her head cranking away even as they sat there in silence. The ratonga knew she was cooking up some story to tell him, and as long as no explanation was forthcoming, he decided she needed a little prod to loosen her tongue.

“What’s da deal, Chi?” he growled angrily.  “A roll in da sack with da Callers not enough for you?  You gotta to take another inkie to bed?  Hmm?”

“Spindel, I-” the girl whispered.

“Got a problem wif da blue-skins here in Qeynos?” the ratonga pressed harder.  “Sump’n about Freeport inkies dat curls yer toes, does it?  Just can’t get enough of dat Teir’Dal bloodletting mating ritua-”

“It’s not like that, Spin!” Chiani snapped, interrupting his diatribe.

“Den tell me what it’s like, Chi,” Spindel said plainly.  “What’re you doin’ in da Militia barracks?  Huh?  Tell me.”

“It’s none of your business,” she growled. 

“When it comes to da safety and well being of da Knights, you damn well better believe it’s my business!” the ratonga fired back.  “I got intel coming from Freeport saying I got a mole in my ranks, and next thing I know you’re counting sheep wif every inkie dat side of Norrath!  What am I supposed ta think?  What would you do if you were me?”

Having no good answer that helped her case, Chiani glanced peevishly around the room.

“What are you doin’, Chi?” Spindel spoke succinctly.  “Why were you dere?  You owe me da truth, and I want it now.”

Chiani took several deep breaths, first through her nose, then through her mouth as she prepared to answer her leader’s question.

“I was there… to end that guard’s life.”

Spindel blinked.  “An assassin?  Come on, Chi, I seen you lie before.  You can do better’n dat!”

“It’s the truth, Spin,” Chiani said resignedly.  “Believe what you want, I was there to kill that man.”

“What was your plan?  To prick him to death wif rose thorns?”

“No…” the rogue sneered.

“So, start talking,” Spindel folded his arms, granting her leave to explain.

Chiani scowled, taking note of Spindel’s fatal tactical mistake.  The fool ratonga left his drink open to attack, which she swept up and tossed back before he could protest.

“Hey!”

Chiani swallowed the fiery liquid with only minor trouble.  It steeled her senses for the confession she was about to make to the ratonga.

“You want to know?” she asked grimly, slapping the empty glass against the bar top.  “You really want to know what my relationship with that dark elf is?  Fine, I’ll tell you.  I’ll tell you right now, Spin… That orc-squirt murdered the man I loved.”

Spindel’s gaze narrowed at the rogue’s glare.  In those azure eyes, he saw that she was openly and defiantly daring him to question the veracity of what she just said.  Never before had he seen a hint of Teir’Dal conduct in the normally carefree rogue, but sitting there at that moment he had no doubt at all that she intended to flay him alive at the first sign of dissent.  If he was any judge of expression, she wouldn’t have had to lay a finger on him to do it, either—her gaze alone would complete the job in less than five seconds flat.

“Go on,” he said calmly.

“You know me,” she continued.  “You know my habits.  Have you ever once seen me flirt with a dark elf?  Drink with one?  Get close enough to lift his coin purse?”

Spindel blinked thoughtfully.  Come to think of it, he hadn’t.

“Ever wonder why?” she added, tilting her head sharply.

Blowing the last of his smoke, Spindel snuffed out the cigarillo butt rather than respond.

“That bastard’s the one,” Chiani nodded slowly, her eyes never wavering.  “He caught us together—me and Keenin.  I was so stupid, I-… I didn’t want to believe that what we were doing was all that dangerous.  So long as nobody found out.  You have to understand, I loved that human.  Actual love from a Teir’Dal raised in a Thexian culture.  Do you have any idea what that means?”

Spindel twisted his head, the bones of his neck cracking in the noncommittal gesture.

“Keenin was my first,” the girl whispered.  Though her expression remained stoic as she looked at him, a wayward tear escaped her control to run down her cheek.  “When he found us, that son of a gnoll held my head clutched in those blue hands of his.  I couldn’t move.  He made me watch as they slit Keenin’s throat.  I have never allowed myself to love anyone like that again.  Ever!  I can’t!”

“It sounds like deir tactic did its job good enough,” Spindel commented, picking his teeth.  “So, what made you stop?”

“Stop what?” Chiani asked, not comprehending.

“Why didn’t you kill da man who killed yer mate?  Why leave him a rose instead?”

Chiani relaxed her posture, her ire lost in the ratonga’s casual willingness to accept—or at least entertain—her story. 

“I got to thinking about what you said in my errant quest,” she admitted.

“Which part?”

“About how wounds can fester and turn infected if not dealt with properly.  The things that keep old wounds alive even years later after…”

Chiani let her words trail off.  After all, she was speaking to the ratonga who wrote them.

“You asked me to prove to you that I’ve let my old wounds heal,” she continued.  “I went to Freeport to do just that.  I figured once the man was dead, the matter was settled and Keenin’s life would be avenged.  I wanted to deliver his head as solid proof that I was past it, but…”

Spindel leaned forward intently.  “But…?”

“I saw myself actually doing it,” Chiani replied, almost to herself as she stared blankly at the ratonga’s tunic.  “I saw it through your eyes, and tried to imagine what that would mean to you and the other Knights when they saw it.  It scared me, Spindel, it really did.  At that point, I realized that killing that dark elf wasn’t going to say the things I wanted to say.  In fact, it would have said the very opposite.  I discovered the truth about what I’ve been carrying with me all these years, and why the pain still digs into me every time I-…”

Looking up at Spindel, the rogue cut herself off before she said too much.  Deftly, she reclaimed her words, dropping the chain of thought.

“So, I spared him,” she nodded instead.  “I left the rose as an anonymous gift.  I don’t know why.  I guess I figured if I was going to walk away when I had him right at my mercy, I might as well leave something there for him to wonder about.  There was a sense of irony that he would never know who it was who left him that rose.  It just seemed right, at the time.”

A smile slowly spread across Spindel’s lips. 

“I like dat,” he said, nodding.

Wiping her cheek, Chiani gave the ratonga a look of resign.

“Yeah, well now that it’s here in Qeynos,” she held out the dying rose, “I guess the irony’s lost on him forever.”

“Not really,” Spindel said, accepting the flower back, he held it forth.  “Dis isn’t da flower you left.  A little fib on my part.”

“Then how…?”

“My source in da Militia’s very thorough, but she couldn’t get her hands on da flower without dere being some… complications.  So, I picked my own dat looked about two days old.  Figured a rose is a rose, and I needed something to corroborate what little I knew in order to get you to cough up da truth—which ain’t always easy to get from da likes of you, I might add.” Spindel raised an eyebrow.

Chiani rubbed her hands together habitually, neither confirming or denying the ratonga’s less-than-poignant claim.

“All da same, I do believe your story, Chi,” Spindel continued calmly.  “And I do believe you passed your errant quest.”

The rogue paused in wiping her running nose.  “Oh?”

“Aye, you demonstrated da closing of old wounds, not just by sparing dat soldier’s life, but by leaving him dat gift,” Spindel nodded.  “To be honest, dat last part surprised me.  It shows something I didn’t know you had, and dat’s saying something when da wool’s pulled over my eyes.”

Chiani let out a small chuckle, shaking her head.

“You have a long way ta go, Chi,” the ratonga confided, “but you’re on da right path.  And I mean it when I say I’m glad you chose to be one of my Knights.”

“That means a lot, Spin,” the rogue said with a smile.  “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.  Will you just stop calling me ‘handsome?’ I’m a engaged man!”

The girl laughed, transforming once again into the rogue he knew.

“Sorry, no can do, handsome,” she declined regretfully.  “You said the truth was hard to get from me, but I can’t bring myself to lie when it comes to this.  Not wif how cuddwy wuddwy you are, I could just hug you and squeeze you…”

“Pah, get away woman!”

The dark elf’s laughter broke through the quiet room, again heralding the presence of Slip’ry Chi in the Knight’s oft-used hangout.

A touch wiser, perhaps.  But no less errant.

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