A little note before I post: This version of the main character will be very...different from his usual portrayal. So, with that out of the way...
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“The gods are pissing on the roof again,” said Snick. He wiped dribbles of rain from the dingy bar and glared upwards. “Bastards couldn’t hold it until I got the new shingles nailed on.”
Thunder cracked like a whip across my eardrums, and I grimaced. Another beautiful evening in the City of Coin. So many coins, and so many hands ready to take them. It was a town where thieves ruled the night and merchants could really make a killing. The perfect place for a guy like me.
“Another one, Mister A?”
“Yes.” I raised my glass and Snick topped it up with a double measure of cheap Westgate whiskey. I held it up to the light, admiring its deep amber glow, and took a slug. It burned a hole straight down my gullet. Great stuff. Really made you feel alive.
I’d spent many a night sitting at this counter, breathing in the air of smoke and desperation, knocking my drinks back one by one until I fell off the stool or found an expensive dame to take me home. That was exactly what I had in mind as I sat there that night. Until she walked in.
I saw her feet first, neatly encased in tiny black slippers with blue dragons embroidered on the toes. Wealthy dame, wearing the finest Athkatla had to offer. My eyes traveled up the sapphire silk skirts, the jewel-encrusted bodice, the sleek mink stole partially covered by a thick rain-spotted cloak. She put back her hood, revealing long golden fairy-princess curls and eyes as blue as the summer sky. Snick stared, his jaw hanging open, looking as if he’d just seen a goddess. He wasn’t far off.
Of all the bars in all of Faerun, she had to walk into this one. Mirielle Coltrane, the Bhaalspawn mage with a heart of gold and the bank account to match. Some folks called her the Savior of the Sword Coast, and some called her the Destroyer of Saradush. Me, I called her, “Sis.”
“Hello, Sis,” I said, motioning to Snick for another double whiskey on the rocks. “What brings you to this wretched dump?”
She flashed me that winsome little-girl smile. “Can’t a girl come by to say hello to her big brother?”
“No.” I turned back to my drink. “Looking good, Sis. I haven’t seen you since the wedding. What’s it been, five years?”
“I’ve been busy.”
“So I heard. Business must be good, too good to speak to your relatives.”
She glanced at the door. “I don’t have time for this. I need to talk to you, Sarevok. And Imoen, too, if she’s around.”
“Sit down, take a load off. She’ll turn up soon.”
“I need to talk to you alone.” She put a soft hand on my arm, and for a moment I felt infinitely privileged. “Please, Sarevok, I think they’re after me.”
Someone two tables away dropped a glass on the dusty floor, and Mirielle flinched. I’d never seen her flinch before, and we’d been through a lot worse than broken glass. I quit messing with her and began to pay attention. “Who?”
A tear rolled down her porcelain cheek, and she caught her breath in a painful sob. “The ones who killed my husband…”
