Talk

“Enough, that won’t work,” you said, striding forward. The guard watching the street reached out a hand, which you used to toss him to the ground. “She’s one of the Bound. You aren’t going to get her to talk like that. Now, what’s going on?” you asked.

The nobleman reached for his rapier, but a sharp look convinced him to answer your question, after only minimal blustering about his importance and your lack of rank and, a brief run-through of what the Bound were. It seemed that his wife the Baroness Vanshart, had been kidnapped three days ago by four men wearing the mark of the Bound, slaves trained in combat, who would react to neither pain, nor fear, they were the ultimate soldiers and used only very rarely. Which the Baron didn’t know. All he knew was that his wife was missing and that she’d been taken by someone wearing the same mark as the prostitute before him, as his informants in the city guard had informed him. So he was there to make her tell him where his wife was.

“And why would anyone want to kidnap your wife?” you asked pointedly.

“She’s a very powerful wom—“ the Baron began.

“Don’t bullshit me. I can help you, but if you don’t want my help, then we can go our separate ways,” you said.

“She’s a very…strong-willed person and she’s made a lot of enemies at court. Just recently she had the Marquis of Britta’s son poisoned. A lot of people would pay for her ****, which is why no one besides me is looking too hard for her, but they’d all kill her,” the Baron explained.

“No, they’d pay to have her turned into that,” you explained, waving a hand at the eager whore in the guard’s grip.

A horrified light appeared in the Baron’s eyes. “You know about this, you can help me find her.”

“And what’s in it for me?” you asked.

Before he could list the things he could offer you for your help, the naked whore suddenly moved, knocking the guard holding her to the ground, kicking the Baron in the balls and almost hitting you. The second guard drew his sword, but she knocked him to the ground, disarmed him. A hand lashed out, catching the object you’d hurled at her.