Reyn has nothing but secrets. Everything she is or has ever been becomes another reason to be despised. Born of demons, pursued by justice, and haunted by regret. In the service of the Dragon Empress, Reyn hoped to find vengeance for the life she lo...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)Adult Content Warning ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Reyn left Starra to finish the transaction with the headmistress.
Starra was new to Shan Alee, but for whatever reason, the empress believed she could trust her. With that in mind, Starra had been granted diplomatic authority equal to that of a Diamond Knight. Perhaps necessary, seeing as the empress and the Lord of Citrines both were reluctant to allow Pacifica, the empress' sole Diamond, to return to her duties.
Reyn's thoughts on the matter were confused. On the one hand, she took offense towards any possible slight against Princess Pacifica Romov. On the other, Pacifica had died. A temporary condition, true, but being pulled back into the mortal world from the Beyond hadn't left her in the best of health. And it wasn't as if Pacifica had a dragon bond to restore herself with anymore.
In any case, Starra had matters in hand. Reyn's part in it had merely been to locate Headmistress Ardra and determine if she possessed samples of the oren reagent. It fell to Starra to obtain those samples. Reyn had something else to see to, but it wasn't for Shan Alee or the Dragon Empress. Not entirely.
Reyn needed to know if her old life was over.
The saloon was little different from any other dive in Drok Moran. The interior was cramped, deeper than it was wide. It had three stories, and Reyn could hear carousing going on above in the balconies overlooking the entrance. Concealed from view, a songstress was performing a bawdy tune, accompanied by a violin. A wooden sign hung just outside the open doorway, a message scrawled in bold lettering.
NO FREGS.
Reyn supposed it was less a warning to the goblins residing in Drok Moran and more an advertisement to the local bigots. Mountain goblins usually kept to the undercity, and even if they came to the surface, they wouldn't be caught dead associating with this saloon's clientele. Nadian goblins had higher standards than that.
Few raised their eyes when Reyn walked into the ground floor's common room. They nursed their tankards of ale and tumblers of whisky, eyes locked on their own tables and business. In saloons like the Dancing Wildcat, those who took too much interest in their neighbors didn't often make it home with all their bones intact.
The barkeep was a painfully thin man with a deep, craggy face and a nose that could have been used to chop firewood. By the look of him, someone might have tried it at some point. The bridge of his nose was crooked from a recent break, and the fading bruises on his face showed it had likely happened a week ago. Both sides of his head were shaved, leaving a mohawk of white and wispy hair, and his left eye was covered by a thick eyepatch.
"Name it," the barkeep said as Reyn came up to his counter. He spat into a tankard as he wiped it down.
Reyn managed to keep the disgust off her face. "Looking for company."
