It was always a surprise as to what kind of bawdy and raucous distraction Thrain Krull would stage as the conclusion to the monthly meeting of the Thieves' Guild, traditionally held in the spacious cellar of a local wine merchant. As an impeccably shrewd guildmaster, Thrain assured maximum attendance with his "Afters," as they were commonly called among guildmembers. Rarely was the performance specifically advertised in advance, and as a result rumors ran rampant about the possibilities, though there was a strict injunction that these activities not be discussed outside of the guild.
Odds were generally in favor of a strong sexual component, Thrain being notorious for his voracious and varied carnal appetites. Once in a while there would be a musical number, or a talented magic-user, but speculation about the spectacle largely centered on extravagant and occasionally aberrant sex acts.
Hearsay held that Thrain was in some way sexually handicapped, though the exact story changed versions depending on the teller. Some said his genitals were deformed. Some said he had been cursed or spelled by a scorned lover. There was even an often-guffawed theory about a childhood illness.
Despite any deformity, actual or imaginary, he was widely regarded by men and women of most races as being unusually attractive. Over six feet tall, Thrain had a broad-shouldered, lithe and lean build that spoke of his physical abilities. He had a thick, mane-like mass of red hair, infinitely expressive eyes that were almost golden in color, high cheekbones, and a pencil-thin mustache a shade darker than his mane.
However, as handsome, clever and powerful men are prone to do, Thrain had expertly parlayed this mystery to his advantage. The mystique surrounding his sexuality augmented his significance and social standing as guildmaster.
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Three heavy, long wooden tables had been arranged lengthwise down the windowless room, perpendicular to the raised platform at one end. Their benches bore a fantastical and secretive collection of humans, elves, dwarves, gnomes and halflings. Five massive chandeliers suspended from chains above spread a mixture of magickal and real-flame light throughout the subterranean meeting room. A well-endowed crew of serving wenches brought a variety of drinks to the tables while matters of thievery were discussed and voted upon. Though by rights such a crowded and enclosed place should have smelled worse, the air in the room had the pleasant odour of leaf-smoke and savory winespices.
Thrain sat in his usual place, a large but not ornate wooden chair up on the dais at the front of the room. This evening, everyone noted the plush couch off to his left which hinted at impending debauchery with its satiny black fabric and suggestively-curved brass accents. Beside the couch, less noticeable, was a small table. On the table lay a plain leather pouch and a silver-chased tray holding a glass filled with a sparkling iridescent liquid.
When the mundane business had all been addressed, Thrain's eyes roved the gathering of thieves at the three long tables in front of him, and came to rest on an emerald gem.
The gem was the half-elven thief Oriana Yu. Almost six feet tall, her slender and statuesque figure was swathed in a nearly luminescent green garment. The sleeveless dress drew attention to her olive-toned skin, and an intricate gold band clasped her left arm. Her long raven-dark hair was brushed down simply and neatly, and the pointed tips of her elfin ears peeked through the curtain of surrounding black. A twisted golden cord was sashed about her narrow waist.
"You look lovely this evening, Oriana," said Thrain and beckoned with his hand for her to approach his chair, presumably so he could admire her at closer range.
Though it was unthinkable, for the briefest of moments Oriana thought about declining his invitation, but realized immediately how stupid it would be to refuse the attention of the guildmaster under any circumstances. She rose from her seat and made her way to Thrain's chair on the dais. She stood in front of him, at a respectful distance, knowing that the crowd was riveted on the scene.
Thrain held out one of his hands to her, and she tentatively took it, feeling a shiver of something at the base of her spine. He gently pulled her a little closer, but then held out her hand as if he were truly appreciating her attire, and deftly guided her to turn and face away from him so that the thieves below could partake of the view.
"Lovely," he reiterated with her back toward him, and the crowd emitted echoing murmurs of admiration. Oriana could not suppress a flush in her cheeks at the excess of attention.
She felt him stand up from the chair behind her. "Come have a seat with me," he said, not waiting for her answer, but slipping his arm easily about her waist and directing her toward the couch. The crowd persisted in its mutterings, which were growing slightly louder in anticipation.
As soon as Oriana was seated on the couch, she understood that she herself was meant to be the evening's entertainment. She usually excused herself for Afters, preferring to return home to enjoy the tangible company of her half-dragon lover rather than devote herself to voyeurism and vicariousness. But she was by no means a prude, and did not disparage others for indulging in alternate amusements.
He sensed the commencement of her decision-making process. "Don't think too hard just yet," Thrain laughed, "when I haven't presented you with the particulars."
She smiled, a very small smile, and bowed her head just a little. She looked at him with seriousness in her clear hazel eyes and told him, "I'm listening."
Thrain reached for the pouch on the table, picked it up and placed it in her lap. The weight and feeling of it suggested coins.
"Look inside," he enjoined, and waited for her to unlace the strings and glance at the contents. There were gold coins, lots of them, and the glint of a good number of precious jewels besides.
"You have my word that no harm will be done to you," he began.
Oriana was hardly foolish, and took his statement to mean that no physical harm would be intentionally inflicted. She saw that there could be incidental injuries, not all of which might be limited to the physical.
Her greatest concern was for her reputation among the guildmembers. Though unquestionably attractive, she wasn't very highly regarded at any rate. Being half-elven, she had been enured to racial biases since early childhood. As she was also a magic-user, many considered her not to be a true thief. Oriana had reason to believe that whatever was going to happen on the stage might actually improve her standing in the guild, notoriety being far preferable to anonymity.
"I'm still listening," she said.
Thrain smiled, and continued to lay out the terms. "In exchange for the pouch you are holding, you'll exchange pleasures with a volunteer and myself."
Oriana imagined herself being subjected to the carnal affections of a horrid-looking gnome with buck teeth and a hunched back who had sat across the table from her earlier during the meeting. He had made a show of groping the serving wenches and leering unabashedly in Oriana's direction.
Unable to stomach the prospect of pleasure with a grotesque partner, she was about to decline as politely as she could manage. Just as she was about to open her mouth to begin, Thrain started talking again.
"I, and you, have the liberty of refusing any volunteer without giving a reason and asking for another." He seemed to have read her mind.
"And all you have to do is enjoy yourself," Thrain concluded with calculated nonchalance, as if his proposal had been about something far less shocking.
Oriana considered in silence for a few minutes. While she was not swayed by Thrain's conclusion, the meatier parts of his offer seemed to hold some merit. His promise of no intentional physical harm, the right of refusal, and the size of the purse were respectable.
"I accept," she said, though it was impossible for her to dispel all doubts.
"We'll need a volunteer," Thrain told the audience.
"Me!" came an anxious gurgling cry immediately from one of the tables. It was the gnome. He'd climbed up on the table and was pointing at himself with two gnarled thumbs.
"No, thank you, Master Hobblegood," Thrain said kindly. The gnome in his drunken clumsiness got down from the table, and Oriana suppressed the urge to breathe a visible sigh of relief. It had been thoughtful and shrewd of Thrain to refuse the gnome and save her the mild inconvenience.
"Next?"
"I volunteer," said a female voice, soft, seductive and strong. A beautiful elven woman, not quite as tall as Oriana, stood up from the bench on which she sat and stood in the aisle between the tables, hand on her hip, where Thrain could get a good look at her.
The woman was a shapely, fair-haired, fair-skinned elf who wore a dark cloak over her brown leather side-laced leggings and flimsy white slip of a shirt.
"Nienna! How unexpected!" Thrain declared approvingly. He looked to Oriana, obviously waiting for her acceptance. The crowd appeared to collectively hold a hopeful breath.
Oriana had a bristle of suspicion that this was not necessarily an unexpected offer, that it could have easily been previously arranged. She gave her answer regardless of suspicion or previous planning.
"No, thank you," she said. "I'm flattered," she added, wanting to ensure that she had not inadvertently offended the woman. Though she was able to assess the other woman objectively as being attractive, Oriana had in point of fact never in her forty elven years found another woman sexually desirable.
The elf woman Nienna did not appear to be manifestly insulted, and resumed her seat much more gracefully than the gnome had.
Before a disappointed Thrain had a chance to ask for the next volunteer, another male voice called out, "I'll do it."
Both Oriana and Thrain looked hard to see who it was. The voice was considerably clearer and soberer than the gnome's.
Oriana felt both relief and worry upon recognizing her housemate and fellow thief, Devlin Creede. They'd left the house separately earlier, and were generally more prone to fits of intense rivalry than friendship. She'd recently perpetrated an ultra gutsy stunt by slipping a love potion into his orange juice at breakfast several weeks ago. And when he'd fallen instantly amorous, she had sweetly and slyly asked for all of his money. Of course he gave it to her without the slightest hesitation, being under the influence of the potion. The effects lasted a while, several weeks in fact. At the sanctimonious insistences of their party's clerics, Oriana had relented and reversed the situation, and returned a fuming Devlin his money.
