The Fang, The Mage, & The Dog

The tavern reeked of blood, spilled ale, and fear as Luenor stood casually next to the fat, whimpering man shaking in the debris around the bar. His trousers were soaked, nearly torn off at the thighs by all of his shaking. 

"Your gang," Luenor said in a calm, measured tone, "will now fall under Alfrenzo." 

The leader nodded so vigorously Dion was convinced he might snap his neck. His triple chin jiggled violently as he bobbed in panic.

"What was your name again?" Luenor said, somewhat amused. 

"P-Purlo, sir…" the man stammered. 

"Well, Purlo," Luenor dropped a coin pouch beside him, "get your little pack back on its feet. Bring them to the warehouse on Serpent Street by noon tomorrow. If you do not show up I will assume your brains are just as soft as your belly and find someone smarter." 

Purlo saluted with his stubby, shaking arms—still a little gesturing between reverence and desperation. Luenor had just walked away when he poked the man's massive belly with a light jab of his finger, making the pudgy boss squeal in surprise.

Under a luminous full moon, the streets of Carrowhelm were glistening in pale silver. Luenor had a sigh that scrunched his face in disgust. "The drinks in that tavern were horrendous. Who mixes lemon gin with orc ale?"

Hunter chuckled. "You were drinking painkiller and piss, my lord."

Luenor gagged and kicked a stone. "I swear it was out to kill me!"

They turned a corner while their boots clopped on cobblestones and came upon a strange waddling sound. A creature came trotting toward them; a stubby-legged dog with two different colored eyes and a cloud-like tail. It looked a little bit like a pug, if a pug was bred in arcane laboratories by mad sorcerers.

The dog stopped at Luenor's feet and began sniffing him.

"Uh... hello?" Luenor blinked, taking a step back.

But the dog wavering tail clung close to Luenor and affectionately leaned against him.

Hunter squinted, "That thing seems familiar."

"I think it likes me," Luenor said as he squatted to pet it brushing against the dog's glowing collar rune.

Then a shout interrupted their moment.

"Tofu!"

Both men turned. A woman running towards them in a rich red corset-type coat, a short fur section of skirt and golden stitching on her boots. Her breasts jiggled as she hurried over, and Luenor, after everything, saw something else for a moment.

She cradled the dog in her arms. "There you are you little hellraiser!"

Tofu let out a whimper that seemed like an objection to separation.

"Your dog?" Luenor asked.

"Yes. He goes off wandering whenever he detects magic. Silly clingy thing," said the woman as she brushed back her dark curls.

That's when her smile ended. Her eyes narrowed, a predator spotting its prey as they fixed on Hunter.

"You are a Grand Knight," she said slowly.

Hunter didn't respond except to quietly nod. "And you... are Linlin."

The air turned brittled with tension.

Behind her, four men in cloaks froze; all recognized Hunter's title and rank. The hands slowly drifted toward weapons but one glare from Linlin kept them still.

"What's a Grand Knight doing here, so far from Tara?" she asked coolly.

Before Hunter could answer her question, Luenor stepped in front of him. "We're not here to fight. You have one of ours - Arwin."

Linlin's eyebrow twitched.

"I am also curious about the skyshard blades," Luenor said, "and I would just as soon talk about it over wine rather than blood."

Linlin tilted her head. "Quite the odd and nerve-filled boy," she said suddenly reached out and pinched Luenor's cheek.

He flinched. "Could you please not do that?"

She smiled and turned, lifting her head slightly. "Come on then. I was about to go to my office. You can bring your knight too, of course."

Hunter and Luenor exchanged glances. Luenor nodded at him.

As they walked through the sleeping streets of Carrowhelm, cloaked guards following silently behind, Tofu sat lazily in Linlin's arms, occasionally giving Luenor a side-eyed glance like a loyal hound dog, who had already made his choice.

Inside of Linlin's quarters - an extravagant house turned into a merchant's lair - the difference was staggering. Velvet cushions, perfumed incense, enchanted chandeliers, scrolls in tidy and almost neurotic order. A cat meowed and slinked around the walls, glowing faintly.

"Sit," Linlin offered. "And let's negotiate."