No mortal was meant to know such wonder.
Looking in the mirror told him so.
No ordinary mirror could bear his true reflection, of the man that was more than a man. And less than one at the same time. The wounds of the holy spear still burned in his flesh, freshly marred by the Priestess that hunted him and would never stop hunting him. He could grin with some small satisfaction, that revenge would poison the heart of one so devoted to her beloved god of justice. But if she was trying to kill him, she’d better get in line with all the rest. For the Gods looked wrathfully to those that stole their power.
It was a dangerous game, to challenge the very heavens themselves. But it was a game he was born to play, for only a fool would squander gifts such as his. For every enemy could be made an ally and every ally an enemy. Few could harm him, and those that could, wielded power that rivaled his own – it was all part of the territory. His back still ached from the energy blast that had seared his flesh from the Priestess’ weapon. But it was no cause for concern, it wouldn’t scar.
All of those were on the inside.
The time for fighting petty battles of revenge was over and the time was at hand to find the next shard of that ancient looking glass, the Mystic Mirror broken so long ago, shattered and cast into the stars. Yet even a single shard was near limitless in its power to bridge the gap between dream and reality. He’d traced its energies, followed its sigils and at last found the next shard, hidden away in the possession of a certain noble of certain power, a notorious recluse named Dravin Davide, here in this city of trade and commerce.
So Ghanon had made his way to the city, quietly, vanishing in a sea of faces that differed little from his. His flesh was tanned, browned by the sun, with silky brown locks that cascaded down his head in billowed waves. He had a lean build, a body built by money rather than battle, and flowing robes to show he was a man of station, though nothing to brag about. His eyes were of the clearest blue, immaculate reflections that appeared like arctic pools. He looked good, as he usually did as he walked up the brothel steps. It wasn’t like other similar establishments where the red glow of lamps hung on rusted racks.
No, this one shone its soft glow on a brass hook, on a brass lamp, freshly polished and gleaming its address just beneath it. The street was clean and the invalids had found another hovel to call their home for the night, away from the men that discreetly made their way to the place. They knocked, three times, then two more after three seconds of waiting. And soon they were welcomed by a beautiful blonde woman, her silken hair billowing down her shoulders in gorgeous waves.
Ghanon had made his way to the steps much like the others and followed the similar pattern as they had. The door was opened and the woman appeared before him. “Can I help you?” she said, her voice like the soft wail of a violin.
Ghanon gave her a grin and nodded. “Yes, I’d like to know if you have room for one more,” he said. “I was referred. You may know Greghory?” He pulled open his robe and revealed a small row of coinpurses as he untied one and held it at the center of his palm.
The woman stared at him for a while, looking him over, admiring as she held out her hand. “Ah, yes…Greghory,” she smiled.
Ghanon took her hand and kissed the top of it softly, pressing the gold in her palm. He grinned as she moved aside and allowed him entry. And just as he suspected the establishment was just as nice on the inside as it was on the outside. “Do come in, Mr…?” she asked him as she gently took his arm and walked them out of the foyer.
“Lachlan,” Ghanon said. “Dion Lachlann. I’ve come in on business, trade is quite lucrative this way through the Riverlands. I’m looking to expand my connections, if you know what I mean. And like every busy man, I need somewhere to wind down, Ms…”
“You may call me Lady Eve,” she replied. “Please, feel free to wait in the parlor. My girl, Sarah, here will pour you a drink while you are waiting. I think I may have someone who may…catch your interest.”
“Thank you,” Ghanon watched her leave as he took the offered glass and nodded his head to the young Sarah, that couldn’t have been any more than twenty years of age. She smiled shyly and turned away, walking down the same hall Lady Eve disappeared into. He shook his head in amusement and took a seat on the leather, pleated lounge sofa that resided in the parlor.
He looked around, admiring the room, for it was quite comfortable. The walls were died a lovely shade of rose with potted plants on tables around the room. There was a drink set with whiskey and bourbon, the missing glass indicating the one in his hand. He took a sip, admiring the flavor as his eyes surveyed the rest of the room. Across from him was an ottoman, leather and worn with an embroidered rug at the center of the room and to the left was the hallway and to the left of that was the staircase. A man sleeping from opium in the corner hadn’t stirred since he’d walked by.
Yes, this location was just the place he was looking for. For lust? For pleasure? Not precisely, though it certainly was a part of attending a place like this. This kind of establishment was meant for those of particular esteem, those with connections, some that might lead to a certain noble of certain power. Ghanon knew how to play the game, and play it well, that sometimes starting from the bottom of the chain was the only way to work your way up to the goals that you needed. For the man called Dion Lachlan, this was the perfect place to start.
You would never know who might walk in.
