Kimasxi Addertongue

I left, going to the next room around the ring, which was empty.

As I approached the next room, a man entered it before I reached the entry. I paused outside, but could hear a loud woman’s voice yell through the open door “ again?! you clueless dung sack!”

I could barely hear the man’s reply. “Yes, mistress…”

“Take this!!” The woman said, followed by the sound of a blow.

“And this!!” She said, followed by the sound of another blow.

“ and don’t come back, you pitiful excuse of a man!!” was yelled.

Another barely heard reply. “Thank you… mistress.”

I heard footsteps approaching the door. The gentleman leaving was unremarkable save in that he had a black eye, as if he'd been struck in the face. He bowed slightly as I approached him. “Greetings, sir.”

Curious, I asked him, “How'd you get the black eye?”

He smirked. “Oh, this? A long story, sir. One you would not be interested in.”

Morte said, “Oooh, no… you've got to tell us, now.”

I concurred. “Yes… please, sir: do tell.”

The man sighed, rolling his eyes. “Very well… but I shan’t be made to divulge the details. Despite my earlier remark upon the tale’s length, I might sum it up in two words: Kimasxi Addertongue.”

“I have heard the name…”

“Ah, you have not yet spoken to her, I see. I will tell you no more of the most delightful treat that is Kimasxi, good sir… instead, I would insist that you speak to her yourself. She is one of the prostitutes here, and Lady Grace’s most fascinating student.” He smiled at me.

I went into the room to meet the object of his affection, wondering if Morte and Dak'kon were sufficient protection. The wild-looking tiefling girl met my gaze with an angry scowl. Her tattooed body was practically naked, covered by only a narrow leather thong, a black cloth brassier and armored shoulder pads that appeared to serve more as decoration rather than actual protection. Her spiked hair — as well as the thin fur that covered her goat-like legs — was brassy white, and numerous silver rings dangled from her ears, nostrils, lips and brow. She wore a leather collar around her throat with the inscription “Kimasxi Addertongue.” To my greeting Kimasxi bared her teeth at me.

“And just what are you looking at, you banged-up sod?” Morte replied for me.

“My friend thought you were attractive, but whoah! was he ever horribly mistaken!” She sneered at Morte, then looked below him, where a body would normally be.

“Sharp tongue… for a stemless deader.” Morte kept at it.

“Like I'd let mine anywhere near if I had one! What, did you hear the word ‘brothel’ and think you could make some jink here, you flea-bitten gutter-whore? Hah! Can’t believe they even let you in the door, what with all those ticks hopping off your shaggy legs!”

“Ticks?! The only annoying insect around here is you!” She suddenly turned to me. “Hey! You here to talk to me, or what?”

“ ‘Or what?’ What else can I do with you?” I asked, amused by her inventive invective.

“What did you have in mind, you sodding jawbox? Go ahead; give me a reason to say ‘no’ to you.”

“What do you usually do for patrons?”

“I'm a practitioner of abuse.” I wondered how literally to take that.

“What’s that mean?”

“I'll show you.” Her hand lashed out to slap my face, but I managed to barely dodge the blow. Kimasxi pouted visibly, then scowled. “Oh, well.”

“I would've thought something half-animal would have faster reflexes.” I noted, willing to match her insults. She gave me a skeptical look.

“You can think? Huh. You know, I would've thought something half-zombie would have slower reflexes.”

“Well you thought wrong… I imagine it happens a lot.”

“You must imagine a lot: imagine you’re not so thrice-damned hideous, imagine women take you seriously… and stop staring at my breasts!” Her last words came as a surprise — because I wasn’t. I was momentarily confused, trying to find some hidden meaning behind her words.

“What are you talking about?”

“Oh, sure; you weren’t looking, huh? You hulking, lecherous corpse… what’s the matter with you? Haven’t you even seen a pair of teats before?” Smiling slightly at my own over-analysis, I replied to her insult.

“Is that what those are? I figured them for some sort of tiny, knobby cancerous growths.” She raised an eyebrow.

“Look, if you can’t identify a pair of breasts as nice as mine, you obviously haven’t spent much time in the company of women…”

“Are you implying that you’re female? Isn’t that stretching the definition?”

Kimasxi looked at a loss for something to say. For an instant, a smile threatened to crack the grimacing mask of her face — then she became more of a basilisk than ever. “All right, what do you want of me?”

I questioned her about the missing items, but she had nothing to add. I did wonder about one thing, though, which I thought Morte might appreciate, although I might later regret it.

“Say… can you teach Morte here to be more abusive?” She raised her eyebrows.

“Now that’s an unusual request. I don’t know, it seems pretty foul-mouthed already…”

Morte broke in. “He! That’s ‘HE seems pretty foul-mouthed,’ Kimasxi ‘Bladderdung'… you scruffy, goat-gammed harlot!”

“You wish you had legs like mine, you pitiful wretch of a bone-box! I can walk, run, dance… what do you do? Bob around wishing you had a pair, goat’s or otherwise!”

The two of them laid into one another, exchanging barbed, blistering insults and clashing with razor-edged tongues…

At last the two stopped their bickering, and eerie silence settled over them as they eyed one another hatefully. Finally, the tiefling made a grudging admission to Morte: “You’re not bad, really. Not bad at all.”

“Better than you, perhaps?” Morte waggled his eyes at her. “Eh? Eh?”

Kimasxi narrowed her eyes at Morte. “Don’t push it, skull.”

“I won’t, tiefling. I will admit I might have learned a thing or two, though…”

Kimasxi turned to me. “So was that all you wanted? I'm not spending any more time near you than I have to.”

It was time to move on. “I feel the same way. Farewell.”

Kimasxi called out as we left the room, “Why don’t you go wander around Baator a bit, you meandering arse.” I very much doubted there was any chance I would end up in Baator.

Annah rejoined us after we left the room, although she was silent and kept giving me venomous looks.

Dolora

I walked over to the center of the structure, where benches and tables were placed around a large tree, wondering if any prostitutes I had missed might not be here.

I immediately noticed three curious beings. The strange, cubic creatures seemed to be as much machine as organic. As I approached one of the things, it silently stared at me with wide, unblinking eyes. Its face hadn’t the slightest trace of emotion on it.

Morte complained, “C’mon, chief! We’re in a building full of some of the sexiest chits this side of the multiverse and you’re stopping to talk to modrons?”

“What can you tell me about them, Morte?” Morte made a noise of utter disgust.

“What’s there to say? Annoying little clock-work pests… they’re always working to impose law and order upon the multiverse. Not good, mind you… just law. Let’s just forget about ‘em and go chat up the ladies, eh?”

“My apologies, Morte, but I'm talking to the modron.” Morte sighed loudly.

“Fine, whatever — but don’t say I didn’t warn you. You probably won’t get anywhere with ‘em though, chief… they’re an odd lot to talk to.”

I greeted the modron. Its voice had a metallic, reverberating quality to it, as if it were more a sound played out on some warped musical instrument than true speech:

“Your greeting is returned.” There was a soft click as the creature blinked. An awkward silence hung in the air between the two of us. Before I could continue, it said, “Identify yourself to us.”

I was tempted to reply Adahn, but did not care to find him popping out of any more corners. Instead, I settled for the truth. “I'm not sure who I am.”

The modron bored on, “We would know why this is so.”

“I don’t know, myself. I just can’t remember.”

“All things should have a name; all things should be identified. We find your answer unsatisfactory, but it shall have to suffice for the present.” The creature paused and blinked at me. “We would identity ourselves as modrons, quadrone type, winged variant, to the subject.”

It was almost as if it considered non-identification to equate to non-existence. I hoped it wouldn’t ignore my questions, as I asked, “What are you doing here?” It replied in the same level tone.

“Our purpose here is observation.”

“What are you observing?”

“We are observing one of the establishment’s staff,” it replied.

“Who are you observing?”

“As previously stated, we are observing one of the establishment’s staff.”

It was very precise in answering my questions. Either that, or it had a more subtle sense of humor than Morte. “Yes, but who exactly are you observing?”

“The object of our scrutiny is named ‘Dolora.’ ”

“Why are you watching her?” It replied with a little speech, adding quite unnecessary elaborations.

“We have not been informed as to the specific purpose or purposes which resulted in our being given our present task. The command of our superior pentadrone is sufficient reason to perform said task; as such, the purpose or purposes are irrelevant to us.”

A woman walked into the area where we were standing. The modron I was talking to, as well as its two companions, immediately swiveled to stare at her. The modron in front of me ignored my next question.

I wondered if this was Dolora. I approached the dark-haired, pale-skinned woman, who had a cultured, refined look about her. As she turned to me, I noted that her eyes — which I had previously thought to be gray — were the color of brushed steel.

Her reply to my greetings confirmed her name. Her voice was soft, calm, and without inflection — it had a certain ‘far-away’ quality, as if somehow not attached to her.

“Greetings… I am called Dolora. May I serve you, somehow?”

“In what ways can you serve me, Dolora?” She blinked her eyes, then touched her hand to her heart, bowing her head slightly.

“I am able to debate any scholarly or academic matter quite proficiently, if that is your wish. I am also well-versed in various games of strategy, should you wish to play something — though I have the materials for few such games, here.” I was interested in testing her.

“Debate, you say?” Dolora nodded.

“That is correct. I am neither a tome nor a tutor; I have no desire to educate my patrons. Should you have a matter to discuss, however… the fifteen factions and their effect on Sigilian politics, the most effective battle stratagems for warring in Acheron, the meaning of existence itself… I would be most pleased to choose a counter-point and engage you in debate.”

I chose a topic and began… the debate lasted a long time as the two of us exchanged points and counter-points, each attempting to methodically undermine the other’s position. As I spoke, a strange feeling began to come over me… a memory, trying to surface…

Memories of a great hall began to form in my mind… a vast place, full of well-dressed elites… a formal ball was taking place. Before me was a small, impeccably dressed fellow who wore a golden medallion; it was emblazoned with a symbol I dimly recalled as the “Sign of One.” The two of us stood in a circle of onlookers who'd gathered to listen to our debate.

“But… but that’s impossible!” the man was saying, looking perplexed.

“Oh, but it is.” I recalled myself replying. “I've made several inarguable points and given you a number of examples. You simply don’t exist.”

“But… you can’t! Were I to accept that, I'd… I'd…”

“Yes. You'd cease to exist.”

And without a flash of light or puff of smoke — with no fanfare of any sort — the man was simply gone.

The onlookers oohed and aahed,” some clapped… I remembered giving a flourishing bow and walking away, a small, satisfied smile upon my lips.

I suddenly realized Dolora was watching me closely. “Are you feeling well? We might finish our discussion at another time, should you like…”

I indicated I was ready to go on. As hard-pressed as I was to beat Dolora’s infallible sense of logic, I eventually won out. She merely nodded in approval.

“You are a most skilled debater; this there is no denying. I do feel, though, that had I time to perform some research, you might not have bested me.” I thanked her, and she replied, “If you would like, we can debate once more upon the same topic… I could argue your position this time, should you desire it.”

I wondered at the cool, deadly attacks she had launched in the debate. “Wait… are you always so ruthless in a debate?” Dolora nodded.

“Mistress Grace instructed me to show no mercy, for another of her students always allows a patron to win after a lengthy debate. It was Mistress Grace’s desire that I provide a different sort of experience for the clientele.”

I had found recently little intellectually challenging in my interactions with others, although I was still often emotionally involved. Dolora’s cool manner provided no hook for my emotions, but I found I had relished the debate. I asked if we could play a game.

“Of course. Is there anything in particular you wish to play?” My condition left me equally willing to play any game.

“No… I don’t really remember any games…”

“Here, then — allow me to show you one.” Dolora brought out a thin, lacquered box, which unfolded into a small board marked with a grid. The contents of the box proved to be a number of polished stone chips… half of them black, half of them white. “This game goes by many names. Shall I explain the rules to you?”

Dolora explained to me the rules of the game — how the chips were moved, how one bested one’s opponent. It seemed, somehow, faintly familiar to me. “The rules are simple, yes? But a great deal of complexity lies within the game, itself. It takes a great deal of time to master. Shall we play?”

As I played, I came to realize that I had done so before. I recalled varies ploys and strategies that had won me previous games, trying every trick I knew to beat her. Suddenly, a strange feeling came over me… a memory, trying to surface…

Memories of a smoke-filled field of battle began to fill my mind… atop a great hill overlooking the fighting I sat, mounted upon a massive, four-legged beast. The braying of horns carried my orders to the troops below.

Even as I watched, my forces divided, fleeing left and right as the foreign army fought its way up the hill to slay the enemy lord — me.

“The fools,” I had thought, lips curling into a wicked smile. “My knights shall charge down the hillside and stop their advance in an instant… and at that very moment my ‘retreating’ footmen will fall in to crush their flanks! Ah, yet another victory soon to be mine…”

I suddenly realized Dolora was again watching me intently. “Are you feeling well? We might take up the game another day, if you so wish…”

I asked to continue. Dolora played excellently, counter-acting all but my most crafty moves, but eventually my feints and calculating maneuvers won over her well-crafted strategies. She nodded approvingly as she began to put the game away.

“You are a fine player, perhaps a master. I commend you for your skill.” I asked if she would answer some questions. Dolora cast her eyes to the floor with a sound that might have been a sad sigh.

“I am willing to serve you as a patron, but have no wish to answer other questions at this time… my apologies, but I fear you shall simply have to bear with that for the time being.”

When I asked if I could help, she looked up from the floor and into my eyes. Once more I was struck by the pale smoothness of skin, the cold depths of her silvery eyes.

“No… no, I fear not. My troubles are a matter of the heart. In time, I think, all things shall be resolved.” She explained that another still held the keys to her heart, and while that was so she was not free to love another. I promised to help her if I could.