Part 6 - Two Years Later

Rancid breath washed hot across his cheek as the man whispered conspiratorially in his ear. Smoldering brown eyes flashed with interest, lost within the shadowed pools cast from his brow; yet Iblis showed no outward sign of excitement. Slowly, distastefully, he reached up to flick the man's greasy hair from where it brushed his silken sleeve, idly wondering if it would leave a stain. The dwarfish little man rubbed his hands compulsively as he waited for the gold he knew this information would bring; but Iblis merely sat there taking in the tavern around him, the practiced look of resolute boredom on his dark features belying the fire in his eyes, his soul. A drunk snored intermittently in the far corner, rats gnawing hungrily at the leather of his boot heels; while at the table to his left slumped a warm body growing cold around the dagger lodged between its ribs. Soft murmuring and giggles from across the way, where a serving wench sat between two men nuzzling at her neck, both her hands under the table. A drunken brawl near the bar had devolved back into the dice game it began as, minus the man lying with cracked skull beneath their stools, groaning softly. The heady scents of wine and urine kept the patrons from being lulled by the hypnotic creak of worn rope bed frames on the floor above, where any manner of perversity could be had for a price. There was no virtue in the underworld.

Iblis rose from his seat like a panther uncoiling from slumber, dangling a pouch in front of the man before the wretch even saw him reach into his cloak. He snatched at it with a squeak and scampered away, scurrying up the tavern steps and into the night like some inbred cockroach.

He smiled to himself as he smoothed his hands meticulously down the front of his black satin vest. Yes, he thought to himself, anything could be had in such a hive as this, even such a modest vice as information. He should know, he'd spent enough of his life amongst such filth, frittering away his talent and his wealth in a desperate attempt to obliterate the feverish visions of beauty which tormented him. But none of it helped... none of it... not the wine, the women, the drugs... no manner of vice freed him... not until he saw the Goddess, his vision made flesh. And now he'd found her again, Illestra, in the city where he'd first crossed her path... where it all began.

"Ah, Britain..."