The crowd at the Frozen Tundra was in an uproar that evening.  All of Graystone was abuzz from the talk and laughter emanating from the ramshackle tavern at the center of the small ancillary town of Qeynos.  Indeed, one might wonder if the queen’s palace itself might be privy to the night’s revelry.  Flickering firelight poured from the establishment’s windows to light the surrounding wood scaffolding.  The wooden planks creaked and groaned under the quiet thump-thump-thump of the guards’ iron-shod boots as they made their nightly rounds.  Occasionally one of them would avail himself of the warmth and illumination inside as they peeked in every so often, just to make sure things didn’t escalate out of control.

What they saw was a mass of bodies—mostly dwarf and barbarian, along with the occasional human and half-elf—all clustered round a single table near the center of the room.  What enthralled them so was anybody’s guess.  Most guards shrugged and went on their way, figuring all was in hand.  And, for the most part, they weren’t wrong.

Had they investigated further by elbowing their way through the crowd, the guards would have discovered the table occupied by two unlikely card players.  On one side sat a black-haired dwarf, his bristling beard streaked with tiny hints of gray.  Across from him, curiously, sat a dark elf female—arms folded and gaze firing an air of cautious assertion the dwarf’s way.

They were playing a hand of King’s Court, and from the looks of things, the dwarf was the underdog with this hand.  All other players had already folded and left the table after seeing the three queens show up above-board on behalf of the dark elf.  Two tens and a deuce shown face-up before her opponent, which frankly didn’t bode well for him.  The only possible way he could beat the dark elf was to have another ten in the hole and draw yet another on top of it, or pull another deuce to make a Full Court.  Even then, his victory hinged on what her hole card might be.

The human dealer turned to the winsome dark elf.

“Three-of-a-kind bets, miss,” he said over the crowd’s clamor.  Those standing nearby shushed each other to hear what she was going to wager.

Chiani didn’t bat an eye.  Her face carefully neutral so as not to give away any tells, she reached for her chips.

“Twenty silver,” she said, tossing in two greens.

A slight stir rippled through the crowd.

“Call,” the dwarf replied, acting in kind.

“Very good,” the dealer said.

Pulling a single card off the deck, he dealt it atop Chiani’s stack, face-up.  It was a six.

“No help for the lady,” the dealer announced before dealing another card to the dwarf.  “Two of staves!”

The crowd stirred loudly.  The dwarf was back in the running.  With two-pair showing, all he needed was a deuce or ten in the hole to beat the dark elf’s three-of-a-kind showing.  With the sudden leveling of the playing field, a new round of interpersonal betting took place among the bar patrons.

“Three-of-a-kind bets,” the dealer spoke politely.

Again the crowd hushed to a murmur as they waited to see what the dark elf was going to do.  Chiani sat there at length, her face still as marble.

“Your bet, miss,” the dealer urged.

Blinking slowly, the dark elf rogue picked up her last red chip and fondled it twixt her fingers a moment in thought.  Around and around the chip twirled as she bided her time in considering her move.  At last, Chiani flicked the red chip into the pot, much to the delight of the audience.

“The lady bets one gold,” the dealer announced.

No sooner had the dark elf’s chip hit the table than the dwarf’s hand immediately rose, throwing in five more.  A collective gasp swept the onlookers with whispers of “Full Court—he’s got the Full Court” spreading like wildfire.

“Raised!  Four gold!” Even the dealer seemed on the edge of his seat—a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

At last, Chiani’s gaze broke from her opponent to look down at the pot sitting in the middle of the table.  Five gold was nothing to scoff at, and so far that evening the dwarf had proved frustratingly adept at hiding his tells.  Dwarves often were.  It was the beards, she reasoned.  Far too easy to conceal one’s thoughts behind one so thick as those they kept. 

Being a smooth-faced elf female, she thought that was hardly fair, but sagely kept her opinion to herself.

Taking in a deep breath through her nose, Chiani counted the chips resting before her.  With no reds left to use, she summed up the rest of her winnings to be just above three gold.  It would cost her if she wanted to stay in the game.

Her eyes narrowing, the dark elf made up her mind.  With deft hands, Chiani shoved the remainder of her chips into the pot.

“There’s three,” she muttered, the dealer nodding expectantly. 

Reaching into her cleavage underneath the tradesman’s blouse she wore, she pulled out a shiny yellow coin that gleamed in the firelight.  Turning it over, she casually inspected both sides before kissing the small disc and tossing it in with a clink.  There it sat atop the comparatively dull pile of clay chips.

“The lady calls,” the dealer said, turning toward the dwarf.

It was done.  Time to sink or swim.  A leer spread across the dwarf’s whiskery face as he reached up and turned over his hole card.

“Ten of swords!” the dealer cried.  “Full Court!  Tens full of twos!”

Chiani stared at the dwarf, her expression cold and emotionless as the quarry outside.  Swallowing, the dark elf reached out toward her own hole card.  Without so much as a twitch on her face to betray her emotions, she lifted the card and quickly flicked it face up onto the pile of chips next to her lucky coin.

“Queen of cups!” the dealer shouted.  “Four-of-a-kind!  The lady takes it!”

The tavern walls reverberated with shouts and cries as the crowd literally exploded into chaos.  The voices of winners and losers alike rang into the night, as the dark elf’s stoic face finally broke out into a wild grin.  As elated as Chiani appeared to all surrounding her, privately the rogue was relieved.  Had she lost, it would have broken her—again.  At last, her rash betting habits finally paid off!

Quickly, the dark elf swept half her winnings into a strongbox she carried with her, leaving the other half still on the table.

“Cash me out,” she yelled over the bedlam.  “Drinks for everyone!”

The clamor rose to even higher levels, rattling the windows in their panes.  The band struck up a joyful tune, and Chiani reached for her lucky coin when a callous dwarvish hand beat her to it.  Hairy knuckles obscuring the gleaming gold, its fingers lifted the piece—turning it back and forth in much the same way the dark elf did when she made her call.

“Interestin’,” said the gruff dwarvish voice as he eyeballed the piece.  “Ain’t never seen a coin like this one afore.  Where’d ye lift it?”

“It’s from Neriak,” Chiani replied cautiously, not at all liking the dwarf’s bold move.  “A collector’s piece—an heirloom, really.”

“Mmm, indeed,” the dwarf mused.  “If’n I had anythin’ left to me name, I’d make ye an offer t’ trade.”

“You… couldn’t afford it anyway.  Sentimental value,” she explained, licking her lips.

His eyes sliding up to the diffident, pointy-eared blue-skin, the dwarf grunted.  Nodding briefly, the stout little man flipped the coin at her.  Chiani caught it deftly before it flew into the crowd.

“Wish I’da known that afore,” the dwarf muttered with a half-chuckle.  “Well, if yer a cheat, yer a damn good one.  Think I’ll take up yer offer o’ ale, instead.  But first, I git to dance with ye!  Then we be square.  Deal?”

A smile spread across Chiani’s face as she slid the coin back into its proper place in her blouse. 

“You got it, handsome,” she said cheerfully.

Taking the dwarf’s hand, the victorious rogue allowed herself to be led to the area affectionately called the ‘dance floor’, which was being generous.  In truth, it was merely a space lacking any unbroken chairs or tables in the rough-and-tumble establishment where folks could flail and jump around in a vague semblance of dancing.  As usual, several patrons were already there performing their antics with little or no consideration for beat or timing. 

Chiani and the dwarf joined in with similar joyous abandon.  The evening was about revelry in every form, including lager, lasses, and letting one’s hair down—a nightly ritual the residents of Graystone were sure to indulge in religiously. 

This suited the dark elf plenty fine, which was why she typically chose the Frozen Tundra in the first place.  No other establishment in Qeynos could quite hold a candle when it came to the sort of decadent fun she fancied, and since the lodging here was at-cost, there was little stopping her from milking it for all it was worth night to night, and on-demand.

The dwarf turned out to be quite the passable dancer, much to Chiani’s surprise.  In her experience, most dwarves couldn’t jig a step if the lives of their own mothers hinged on it.  Yet the deceptively light-footed skill of her former adversary could not be denied.

She mentioned it to him over a couple of ales at the bar once their dance was over.

“Oh, aye, I been known to tap a toe ‘r two,” the dwarf hedged modestly.  “Ain’t got the lolly grace o’ you elvenkind, but that ain’t what we dwarves were built fer.”

“What’s your name?” Chiani asked, her eyes shining almost as bright as her coin.

“Durgan Faybeard, at yer service,” the dwarf raised his ale.

“To Durgan!” the dark elf howled, clanking her stein against his.

“Aye, to me!” Durgan took a long pull of his ale, gasping in satisfaction at the end.  “What be yers?”

“Chiani… but my friends call me ‘Slip’ry Chi.’”

“To Slip’ry Chi!” the dwarf returned, raising his stein again.

“Hear hear!”

Another clang of steins heralded Durgan’s toast, and both elf and dwarf quaffed their ales dry.

“Ye sure yer an elf?” Durgan queried, signaling the bartender for two more pints.  “’Cause ye sure don’t drink like one!”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Chiani asked, feigning offense.

“Yer ruinin’ yer palate with this swill, ain’t ye?  What happens the next time ye sample yer fancy-pants Beaujolais or Chardonnay after this?  Or ain’t ye sophisticated enough fer that sorta drink?”

“Oh, I drink wine!” the rogue protested.  “Just not for the taste!”

The dwarf roared with laughter, smacking the counter top just as the bartender delivered their second round.  “That’s the spirit!  I like that.  Ye got spirit, lass!  To spirited lasses!”

“You mean ‘drunk,’ don’t you?” Chiani asked, snickering.

“Aye, that too!  To drunk lasses!”

“Yay!”

The ale flowed freely that night, as did the revelry.  As often happened under such circumstances, inhibitions began to wane amidst the alcohol and atmosphere, and Chiani was certainly no exception.  Several rounds later, the dark elf’s ears perked up at hearing the band switch to a familiar tune.

“Oh, I adore this song,” the rogue said with a tipsy smile.

“What??” Durgan barked, picking himself up off the bar top.

“I said, I adore this song!”

“Oh…” the dwarf muttered, smacking his lips.

“They used to play it all the time in Freeport when I was little.  Hearing it takes me back to those starry nights in The Sprawl by the campfires.  It was amazing.  All the girls got up together and danced to it for the boys.”

“So, what’s stoppin’ ye?”

“Great idea!  You coming?”

“Do I look like a girl t’ye??  I’ll sit this one out, thanks!”

“C’mon!” Chiani teased.  “It’ll be fun!  You’ll look exquisite!”

“Pass!”

“Okay, suit yourself!” the dark elf shrugged.  “I’ll be the one to teach these ruffians how to really dance…”

Chiani raised her arms over her head, swishing her hips from side to side in time with the music.  Durgan’s eyebrow raised of its own accord as the limber dark elf literally bent over backwards, exposing a healthy portion of her blue midriff his way.

“Ach, ye she-elves!  Always stirrin’ up trouble with yer teasin’ sort o’ libidos!”

“Ha-ha!” the rogue chided, standing up straight again.  “You don’t know the half of it, handsome.”

With a provocative bounce, Chiani began to twirl her arms and gyrate in a manner closely befitting the upbeat music she loved so.  The actual moves were vague to recall at first, but the more she indulged herself, the more her body remembered how the dance went.  She even improvised several times here and there, her rhythmic motions quickly recapturing the attention of bystanders to the point where she again had a formal audience—this time surrounding her near the bar. 

The attention she garnered was nearly as intoxicating as the ale, and she soaked it up just as readily.  The hoots and hollers from the male patrons all about inspired her to take her little production to new heights.  A hop and a leap later, Chiani found herself swinging her arms wide atop the bar itself, much to the bartender’s dismay.  A mass of upturned faces shouted their appreciation, which quickly nullified any objections that might have been made at her brazen spectacle.

By now, the band had already extended the song into two additional encore verses—partly because they knew their listeners would have demanded it, but mostly because they themselves didn’t want Chiani to stop her alluring exhibition. 

Not bad for a starving street whelp, she thought to herself as she played up the melody with a stimulating shimmy that always drove the boys wild.  Several months ago, she was little more than a common thief eking out a meager living on the streets of Freeport.  Back then, Chiani never would have dreamed she’d be where she was right now, doing what she was doing.  Who knew the city of Qeynos had so much to offer?  The entire western region was ripe for the picking, in fact—especially for one of her particular skills.

If the people of this crowd only knew…

As her finale, Chiani slid the length of the bar on her knees.  Coming to a precarious halt at the very edge, she spread her thighs and bent backwards one last time, her now loose white hair brushing the bar top as the band ended the song with a final, definitive chord.

Applause erupted all around.  Laughing out loud amid the cheers, Chiani allowed herself to fall back the rest of the way and literally lie down on the counter, her hands covering her mouth to stifle her giggles.  Life simply didn’t get better than this, she thought.  So elated was she that the dark elf began to feel a strange stirring inside that forced her to fight back tears.

Though exhausted from all that had happened that night, her elation gave her impetus to climb down with the help of a solicitous barbarian’s hand reaching her way from the crowd.  To one side stood Durgan, perhaps the most boisterous of the crowd in his praise of her performance.

With an imperturbable smile, Chiani began to walk toward the dwarf when the same barbarian’s hand tightened its grip on her arm.  Stopping mid-step, the dark elf turned to find the hand’s owner was actually one of the Frozen Tundra’s large, hulking bouncers—a piercing look of intent marring his face.

Blinking curiously, Chiani turned to address the towering man, but her words were interrupted by his abrupt baritone voice.

“Someone wants to see you, miss,” he said pointedly.

Blinking again, the dark elf spread a deliberately flippant smile to her face.  “Oh?  Hasn’t he seen enough of me?”

Appreciative laughter sounded from those near enough to hear her comment.

“Uhm, I don’t… know.” Unsure how to respond, the bouncer fumbled for his words.  “I, er… well, she said it was important.  Wants to see you private-like.  At the back corner table.”

“She?” Chiani laughed, knowing what the back corner table was typically used for.  “Is she at least good-looking?”

The bouncer cleared his throat.  “She’s Teir’Dal.”

The look of merriment across Chiani’s features froze instantly in place.  Though the surrounding noise was jarringly loud, there was no mistaking what the large man just said, nor the look in his eyes as he said it.  A Teir’Dal?  In Graystone?  Asking to see her?  Had the bouncer used the term “blue-skin” commonly reserved for dark elf refugees who establish themselves as contributing citizens of Qeynos, she wouldn’t have blinked.  But the man said “Teir’Dal,” which implied something far less amiable.

Slowly, Chiani’s expression melted into a serious one as she gazed up at the barbarian’s face, her eyes darting back and forth between his eyes.  This was no jape.  One of her own kind was here to see her.

“Lass!” came Durgan’s sodden voice from behind.  Apparently the dwarf had grown impatient, and decided to come to her instead.  “I dunno if it’s you or somethin’ in yer blood that makes all blue-skins so crazy, but ye just made this bankrupt dwarf’s night!”

Looking down, Chiani’s stunned features twisted into a small, hesitant smile for Durgan’s sake.  “Thanks, I-I… I have to run.”

Planting a quick kiss on the dwarf’s forehead, Chiani collected her strongbox and disappeared into the crowd, leaving the abandoned and bewildered dwarf alone next to the barbarian bouncer.

“What was all that about?” Durgan sputtered, looking after her.

“Dunno,” the bouncer shrugged.  “Don’t want to, neither.”

Damn, damn, damn, damn, damn!  They’ve come after her.  Why on Norrath would any sane, rational sentient being chase her clear to Qeynos over something so ridiculous as a half-a-platinum in gems, two diamond necklaces, a naked statue of Bristlebane (fake antique, by her estimation), and a measly, tiny, little can’t-even-see-it “scratch” on the door of his personal vault?  After all, the overseer was enormously wealthy.  Had she not been caught holding the bag, he’d probably have just put it down in his ledger as an expense to petty cash, and recovered it in his next round of cooking the books!

Of course, the obscene limerick she'd left on the study door about his wife and her nocturnal habits when he was out of town probably didn’t help her case any.  And yes, that particular overseer had a reputation for being lethally vindictive over the smallest sleights to his good name, but still!  Qeynos?  That smacked to her as bordering on the psychotic.

Clutching the strongbox in the crook of one arm, Chiani did her best to weave her way to the nearest exit without attracting too much attention.  Ignoring the occasional pat on the back from partisans and well-wishers, the dark elf was about to duck through to the outside when she glanced over to the table the bouncer had mentioned.  Finding the corner ominously empty, the rogue cursed under her breath and twisted the door handle when a wooden pole clacked against the door before her, barring her escape.

The hairs on her neck rose as she realized the assassin was standing right behind her.

“Aw, hell,” she muttered.

Twisting about suddenly, Chiani swung her elbow high in the hopes of catching the assassin off her guard.  The swing missed its mark—a blur of blue skin and white hair whirling past her vision as her accoster deftly dodged the attack.  Without a moment to spare for her life, the rogue brought the strongbox down onto the assassin’s head.  This time her maneuver connected with its target, shattering the precarious container into pieces.  In a flurry of clattering noise, the clay chips inside scattered all around as they fell haphazardly to the floor.

The wooden pole accompanied them with a clatter of its own, once again leaving the exit unimpeded.  In a panicked frenzy to flee, Chiani pulled at the door handle to open it.  Though the latch gave way readily enough, the ensuing crowd of greedy bodies all vying for a share of the fallen chips wouldn’t allow the door to swing wide.  Chiani could only pry it open a couple inches before being pressed against it herself by the mass of barbarians, dwarves and others.

This wasn’t going to work.  Her only hope was to flee up the stairs and duck into one of the rooms and escape out a window.  To that end, Chiani ducked down amongst the throng, crawling on her hands and knees along the cracked floor moldings.  With any luck, the Teir’Dal assassin behind her was knocked out cold and wouldn’t be able to pursue her.

Fat chance, she told herself.

Finally reaching the stairs, Chiani managed to gain her footing and scamper up to the second floor, where matters were considerably quieter.  Rushing up to the nearest door from the landing, the dark elf hurriedly tested its handle.  Locked.  Not looking back, she proceeded to the next door.  Also locked.  Cursing again, the nimble girl practically leaped across the hall to try the doors over there.  Again, they wouldn’t budge.  Just her luck, the innkeeper happened to be feeling security-conscious that night.

Pulling out her lock picks, the flustered rogue selected three of the jagged metal tools and yanked them from the leather-bound kit.  Placing one twixt her teeth, she quickly dropped to one knee before the door, and went to work on the keyhole with the other two.  Assuming the worst—which she made a habit of doing in crises like this—she figured the assassin had only ten to fifteen seconds’ lag time on account of the bustling crowd.  Coupled with the blow to the head, that left her about twenty-five seconds to open this door.  Thirty, tops.  Time was scarce, and the rogue went about her trade with fierce attention to all speed.

“Chiani, wait!” a female’s voice called from the staircase.

The rogue’s manipulation of the lock ceased in mid-jiggle.  It appeared she had a gift for overestimation, though why an assassin would bother telling her to “wait” was beyond her.  A note of striking familiarity rang in her ears as the voice spoke, however.  She couldn’t quite put her finger on it until the voice spoke again.

“What on Norrath do you think you’re doing?” it demanded.

A chill went up her spine.  Now she recognized it.  It was a voice with which Chiani was well acquainted, though not through any measure of nostalgia.  No, this voice was all too familiar because she heard it every day of her life, though never from across the room.

The spare pick still clenched in her teeth, the rogue turned her head slowly to look toward the stairs.  There she spied her “assassin”—a weary, dilapidated dark elf female leaning against the banister for support.  The scuffle downstairs had tousled her once refined white hair, and smudged the bone-colored Ghi outfit she wore that marked her as a monk of some type.

What made the rogue squint was the woman’s face.  Save for the hairstyle, clothes, and the swelling bump on her head, looking at her was like staring into a mirror.  For all she could tell, it was she herself climbing the stairs over there, and the would-be assassin’s gradual approach didn’t make it any less believable.  Looking up, Chiani stared agape at this doppelganger—the lock pick falling limply from her mouth.

“Innoruuk’s bane,” she whispered in awe.

“Hello, Chiani,” the monk said wearily, leaning against her Bo staff.  “I am Shiani, also daughter to Thysta and Kerr’Al Nethrek.”

In response, the kneeling rogue could only gasp her disbelief.

The muffled voices outside grew louder as they approached the closed door.  The rattling of a key rather than picks released the lock, allowing entrance into Chiani’s small, single-room apartment. 

“Here it is,” the rogue said as she unceremoniously stepped in first. 

Soft morning rays from outside filtered in through the windows, lending the room just enough light to navigate by in the early dawn. 

Following her newfound sister through the entrance, Shiani looked around the ascetic place dubiously.  A squalid bedroll lay in one corner next to a modest wooden chest.  A broken partition stood in another corner, laden with discarded articles of clothing strewn about.  Aside from a few open books and the occasional dish of discarded food sitting on the floor, the place was pretty barren.  She didn’t know what she expected to find once she caught up with Chiani in Qeynos, but somehow this scene never crossed her mind.  In a way, it all felt anticlimactic for having traveled halfway across Norrath in search of her sister.

“I know it’s not much,” Chiani offered, guessing her sister’s thoughts by her expression.  “But hey, the price can’t be beat.  No deposit!  Can you believe that?”

In fact, Shiani could easily believe it, but she kept such thoughts to herself. 

“How’s your head?” Chiani asked.

Shiani winced a little as she gently touched the welt on her forehead. 

“Still throbs,” she said dismissively.  “So, what were you saying?”

“Oh, right,” the rogue said, turning to tidy up as she spoke.  “So there I was, standing in the middle of the foyer, bag in hand, about twelve feet from the front door.  A blind barbarian could see what I was up to.”

“As well he should,” Shiani commented as she moved a book from off the only chair in the place so she could sit down.

“Right, well this fathead standing with a torch in the archway asks me who I am as I’m walking out.  So I figure, okay, if he’s stupid enough not to know I was robbing the place, maybe it was worth playing along.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I said I was the overseer’s mistress,” Chiani shrugged, evoking a shake of her sister’s head.  “Hey, it’s the only thing I could think of.  He already knew I just came from the bedroom.”

“How’d that go over?” the monk asked dryly.

“Not awfully well.  As it turned out, the overseer had a thing for kerrans, not inkies.  Something to do with the fur,” Chiani sighed as she approached another set of shelves stocked with a collection of multicolored vials.  “So, to make a long story short, they arrested me, took my bag, and tied me up, which was actually pretty fun ‘til they sent one of their lackeys to fetch the authorities.  I don’t know if you know, but the militia is bad news in Freeport.  Once they get involved, it’s all over.” Selecting one of the vials on the shelf, Chiani picked it up.

“What did you do?”

“The only thing I could do,” Chiani shrugged, holding the vial.  “Before the militia came, I distracted one of the dumber-looking thugs by enticing him with certain, erm… ‘fringe benefits’ for having captured a female prisoner.”

“You did what??” Shiani asked, scandalized.

“Not to worry,” the rogue assured.  “I’d already worked my bonds loose by then.  When he came in close to have his fun, I clobbered him with the statue they took from my bag and ran off as fast as I could.”

"’Clobbered him’, huh?”

“Mm hmm.”

“I see you’re very good at that,” the monk winced.

“I’m so sorry,” Chiani chuckled lightly, holding out the vial.  “Here, drink some of this.”

“What is it?” Shiani asked, cautiously taking the item.

“Milkweed extract.  For your head.  Just sip a quarter of that, s’all you need.”

Sister or no, Shiani remained wary.  Pulling the stopper, she sniffed lightly at the strange chalky liquid inside.  The aroma was acerbic, but not pungent.  Figuring it was somewhat safe, she slowly raised the vial to her lips, tilting it to sample its contents.

“Just to warn you, it tastes like troll urine,” the rogue piped in just as the liquid poured into Shiani’s mouth.

Choking on the vile taste, the monk lurched forward in her seat as she struggled to resist her own gag reflex. 

“Thaaat’s it, good.” Chiani said, deftly retrieving the vial back from her scowling sister.

“It’s exactly like having a grown hedgehog rammed down your throat,” the monk coughed.  “Only not as relaxing.”

“Trust me,” Chiani grinned smugly, replacing the stopper.

“So, that’s how you left Freeport, is it?” Shiani asked, returning to their previous conversation.

“More or less,” the rogue shrugged, returning the vial to the shelf.  “I got cocky, going after that mark.  The overseer put a price on my head so high, I considered turning myself in just to collect on it.  Things got too hot.  Nowhere in Freeport was safe, so I made my hasty exit.”

“Well, hopefully you learned your lesson.”

“Yeah,” Chiani chuckled.  “Never blindly stick to style by sacrificing plausible deniability.”

“I was shooting more toward ‘Hands off what’s not yours,’ actually.”

“Oh, please,” the rogue scoffed, spreading her arms.  “That overseer had dirt on him like I have blue on me naked.  I wasn’t taking anything that wasn’t already stolen goods to begin with.”

“Does that make theft any more right?” Shiani arched an eyebrow.

“I prefer the term ‘redistributing the wealth,’ thank you very much.”

“Ah, so if you’d gotten away with it, you’d have ‘redistributed the wealth’ to the people he wronged.  Is that it?”

“After a heist like that?  Are you kidding me?  Those things would be way too hot to fence.  What part of ‘plausible deniability’ do you not understand?”

“Then why steal them?” Shiani asked, point-blank.

“I-I…” Chiani hesitated.  “I don’t know, it’s… just to do it.  To give someone like that a swift kick in his own arrogance.  I wanted to send a message, that’s all.”

“’That’s all,’ ” the monk echoed.  Turning, she shifted her weight in the chair, the corners of her mouth curling upwards as if amused.  “You broke into a Freeport overseer’s personal vault just so you could make a political statement?  Just to tweak his nose?  That’s all?” Her tongue practically dripped with the question’s absurdity.

“No,” Chiani said caustically, shaking her head.

“Then why else?” Shiani seemed truly intrigued at what the answer would be.

The now quiet rogue swallowed several times, playing as if to think it over when, in fact, she was loath to voice the truth.  She knew that the real answer was just as absurd as her cover story, if not more so. 

“Because I… I wanted to see if I could pull it off,” she said grudgingly, fidgeting with her fingernails.  “I had to know if I was really that good, or if I just thought I was.”

Shiani’s eyes narrowed at the rogue’s answer.  Though the pretense of deep thought was there, Chiani got the feeling that her sister was deliberately holding something back.  Whether it was disgust or explosive outrage, she couldn’t tell, but something was definitely there.  Her finely tuned hustler senses screamed it in the back of her head, but Chiani suppressed the urge to call her on it.  Instead, she stood there quietly waiting for the monk to say something.

“You know…” Shiani spoke with deliberate calm.  “Ever since I was told I had a twin sister, I always imagined to myself who she’d be.  I wondered if she really did look just like me.  I wondered if her likes and dislikes were the same as mine, or if we shared the same taste in food.  There were even times late at night when I’d try and see if I could touch you with my mind using some mysterious spiritual connection we both shared but never knew we had.  I know, kind of stupid…” she shrugged.

Leaning against a wall, Chiani folded her arms as she listened to her sister.

“When I saw you tonight, gambling, drinking and dancing on bar tops,” the monk continued, “I thought to myself, ‘This is the one who inherited the Nethrek birthright when my birth was kept a secret? This is my twin sister who, should anything have happened to her, I was expected to replace in Neriak society?’ If I expected anything, I was concerned there would be trouble with you being too Thexian for me to relate to—that you’d carried the foul burden of our race beyond the fall of Neriak and into the world with you.  But now, I find the most radical opposite in ways that I-…” Looking up at the rogue almost pleadingly, Shiani shook her head.  “What happened to you, Chiani?  Why have you abandoned the simple dignity of our family name and its lineage?  What brought you to this, this… existence?  Please tell me.  I want to help.”

The rogue’s expression had slowly turned into a scowl during the course of her twin’s slipshod reprimand.  Her face hard as it was all during the game of King’s Court earlier that night, Chiani stared down at her sister with cold, hard eyes for several long moments before speaking quietly.

“You can’t load this on me,” she declared sourly.  “It wasn’t my fault our parents chose to keep me and not you.  I didn’t make that decision.  Innoruuk’s sake, I was an infant, same as you.”

Shiani opened her mouth to say something, but her response was waylaid by Chiani’s livid discourse.

“What happened to me, you ask?  Well, let’s see, first my father was killed in the wanton destruction of my home by bitter, spiteful gods I’d sooner see myself skinned alive than worship.  Then I was taken to a devastated town where I grew up surrounded by races that I was taught I had to hate with every fiber of my being.  Failing at that miserably, my human lover was later savagely murdered before my eyes by my own people.  The Thexian world pointed to me as the poster girl for all manner of whores and outcasts.  I was starved, beaten, lied to, and exploited by every male in Freeport who had two coppers to rub together.  Those who didn’t have money attacked me for food, clothes, warmth and a dozen other reasons, but most of all because they could.”

Biting her lip, Shiani looked away.  “Chiani, your past is no-“

“I’m not finished!” the infuriated rogue barked.  “Yes, it’s all true, and I’m sure none of it helped make me into this idealistic role-model you imagined.  But you know what?  None of it amounts to a rotten tooth in a dead horse’s head.  You know why?  Because I chose this!  No one forced me into it.  Not our mother, not the Thexians, the Freeportians or even the gods themselves turned me into what I am.  It was all me.  I paid my dues.  I’m the one who chose this lifestyle and the skills that come with it.  I’m the one who studied and practiced and slaved, and let me tell you something ‘sister…’ ” Chiani’s voice lowered to seething levels as she looked her twin straight in the eye.  “Contrary to what you see, I am very, very good at what I do.  It kept me alive on the streets of Freeport, and I have absolutely no intention of changing now just because it doesn’t pass muster with you or the family crest.”

Shiani stared at her sister, blinking tolerantly.  “Are you finished?”

“That depends on you, honey cakes,” the rogue said, perturbed.  “Look around, because what you see is what you get—with the place and with me.  That’s just the way it is.”

Sighing, the monk took another perfunctory look around the derelict apartment.  Nothing Chiani said made this any easier.  In fact, it complicated things all the more.  This wasn’t right, she thought to herself.  The timing was completely off-kilter.  Judging by her twin’s stubborn resolve, she wondered if a time was ever forthcoming.

“Can I ask you something?” Chiani broke the silence as she observed her sister’s inner struggle. 

“What,” the monk replied, looking down solemnly.

“You had to have known at least some of this, or you wouldn’t have come to Qeynos looking for me.  Am I right?”

“I knew a little, yes,” Shiani nodded.  “Mostly your banishment and what led to it.  I didn’t know about the streets or the reason you left Freeport.  I assumed it was because of what happened in Longshadow.”

Chiani blinked, mentally weighing her question before asking it. 

“Why did you come after me?”

There it was—the question she’d been dreading.  Shiani had hoped to prolong this period so she could get to know her twin better before answering such a question.  Doing so meant revealing things Chiani obviously wasn’t ready to hear, much less undertake.  It would have been so much easier if circumstances were different—if the Shattering had never taken place.  Unfortunately, the gods and fate conspired against any such convenience.  It was time to choose between serving the truth or the greater good.  Plainly it was to be one or the other, but not both. 

Such was life.

Closing her eyes, Shiani made her decision.

“I came here because…” the monk paused, “because… like you, I had little choice.”

“What do you mean?” Chiani asked, perplexed.

Closing her eyes, Shiani placed a hand to her forehead.  “You weren’t the only one affected by the Shattering, you know.  With Neriak gone, the Thexians rallied behind the very same principles that brought us to the brink of extinction.  I believed in it, too.  For a good, long while I fought heart and soul to reclaim what I thought was our due as Teir’Dal until one day… one day I saw something nobody else around me did.”

“What was that?”

“The inevitable end to our work,” the monk shrugged.  “What the gods couldn’t complete with the Shattering, we were well on our way to finishing on our own.  The Thexians are playing a very dangerous game, Chi—more dangerous than they or anyone realize.  In abandoning Norrath, the gods left behind a terrible legacy for their followers.  Thanks to the ways and enduring hatred of Innoruuk’s children, that legacy…”

Closing her mouth, Shiani stopped herself from revealing too much too soon.

“That legacy what?” Chiani asked anxiously.

“Well,” the monk evaded.  “Now that I’ve found you, it’s of no concern.  So long as we’re together in Qeynos, our family’s ‘contribution’ to their cause is safely out of Thexian reach.”

“What contribution?  What cause?” Chiani insisted.

“You know what our people are like,” the monk muttered scathingly.  “What sort of cause would you expect?  What end do you see for Norrath should the Thexians become the ruling class?”

The rogue closed her mouth, her expression somber.

“Anyway,” Shiani continued.  “Now that our house is all but destroyed, there’s no reason for worry.  They have no idea where you and I are, and I intend to keep it that way.”

Looking down at her twin sitting in the chair, Chiani’s eyes narrowed.  She had no doubt that the words spoken were the truth, yet the rogue’s instincts told her the conclusions they drew were intentionally misleading.  Shiani was pretty good at hiding it for a monk, but her erstwhile assurances to Chiani obviously did nothing to alleviate her own fears, whatever they might have been.

Very well, Chiani thought to herself.  She’d play along for now.  Shiani needed time, and that’s exactly what the rogue would give her.

After all, monks weren’t the only ones who knew the priceless value of patience.

To Be Continued

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