Altan was getting really tired of being knocked out. It was insulting, really. Back home he almost always won fights, and he prided himself on it. Then again, he thought as he came around, back home there aren't dragons and evil kings and monsters. Wherever he was was dimly lit, and the air surrounding him was heavy and damp. A torch on the wall flickered silently, casting a shifting glow over stone walls and ground. No windows adorned the walls, and the room was empty except for a shut wooden door, the bed of hay beneath him, and...
Altan jolted upwards with a start, away from the woman who sat across from him on a low stool. It was her, the one with the leather mask that knocked Griffin and him out. She still had it on and was just sitting there... watching. Normally Altan would welcome the attention from such gorgeous specimen but it just left him feeling unnerved. Still, she does have a nice body... his eyes flickered momentarily southward. But that's besides the point! Did she kidnap me? Why? Where am I? A quick glance around the room confirmed that both his armor and his sword were confiscated. He sat a little straighter, and tilted his chin up, looking down his nose at her.
"Who are you?" Fake it till you make it.
She continued to stare at him, unmoving, silent. Altan held her gaze beneath the sockets of the mask, pushing back in an unspoken challenge. The silence dragged its jagged claws through Altans chest until finally she shifted, assuming a more relaxed posture and crossing her legs leisurely. A sultry voice reached him and even before she pulled the mask off, Altan knew who it was.
"What, you don't recognize me?" She purred, a delicate hand pulling back the leather mask, "With all that staring, I thought I'd be the the only thought in that pretty little head of yours by now." She examined her nails.
"I know you, you're the woman from the bar-"
"You do!" She challenged, her eyes snapping towards him. She leaned forward, elbows propped on her knees, "what's my name?"
Altan opened him mouth, then shut it. He hesitated, and when it was clear he'd never even asked, she made a small hmph sound. She went back to examining her nails and Altan was secretly relieved to have that creepy milky white blind eye off of him. He cleared his throat awkwardly, and she arched an eyebrow at him.
"My name is Bridget."
"Right. Um. So, Bridget... where are we?"
"The sewers," she shrugged.
Altan blinked. "What? Why?"
She laughed, standing and crossing the room to Altan, a hand resting on her hip. "Well, would you have preferred I left you up there in that mess? You're lucky it was me you two ran into. Your friend is... something else... but you'd both be dead by now. You know, it's odd a traveller would be running around in the Black Guards armor..."
"We were trying to kill Centurion..."
Bridget's eyebrow quirked in surprise. Altan swallowed dryly realizing how pathetic that sounded. His eyed followed as she produced a roll of bandage and began to sensually roll up his sleeve, revealing a gash he didn't even realize was there. "We didn't think there was supposed to be a rebellion, but then well, you know..."
She smiled thinly at him, tenderly wrapping his arm. "Yes, well, there's really not. But having a band of merciless guards guided by a tyrant isn't exactly good for business, you know?"
Altan could smell hints of lavender and dirt with her proximity. "Business?"
"For us criminal types." She elaborated, stepping back, her fingers lingering for only a moment. "This is my show, after all, and I'd like to keep it that way. Can't have some pesky cult interfering with the criminal underground, now can we? Can't steal if there's no one left to steal from."
"Your show?"
"Well I'm the gorgeous mastermind of this merry band of riffraffs, obviously." She smirked, leaning so close Altan could feel her puffs of breath on his nose. She tapped at the corner of her blind eye. "This lil' girl ensures that."
She returned to the stool with swaying hips, and both her words and actions had Altans head spinning. She sat and took pity on him with a grin, fingers curling up under her pointed chin.
"For example, I know that you're not an Acracnian... Oh-don't look so surprised! See with a few choice magic words, I can see more or less through this eye. But I see the true nature of people. I read them like a book. It's allows me to maintain the position I've blackmailed my way into," she winked. "A spell of my own creation... impressive, no?"
"You know I'm a human?"
"...More or less..." She commented vaguely, "and it doesn't take magic to see you don't realize who your friend is. But hey, that's not my
problem, and I can't go revealing all my secrets, can I? It's called leverage, boy. You're lucky you're cute, otherwise you'd be dead where you stand." She finished, walking towards the door.
"But wait!" Altan called after her, jumping up, more than a little peeved. "Then at the bar, was that just an act? You weren't really gonna sleep with me, were you? You were just taking advantage of me."
She paused in the doorway, looking at him keenly. "Please, I'm not that easy. Besides, I thought taking advantage of others was your speciality...?"
And with that the thick wooden door shut behind her.
The statement struck a chord in Altan and he sat down heavily on the scratchy hay bedding, lips pursed. Damn her. Now what? He picked at a piece of straw trying to think about something else. Like, how was he supposed to get out of here? Bridget hadn't come off as malicious, but Altan got the impression wandering out into a sewer system home to criminals wasn't a great idea. Had they beaten the guards? Bridget didn't seem very stressed, though maybe it was ruse. And what about Griffin? Did she save him too? His mind flashed back to her cryptic words about him, and then further back to one of his first nights in this insane place. When they were running from the assassins.
"...Secondly, don't trust anybody. Ever. Trust will get you killed here."
        "Then why should I trust you?"
        "You shouldn't."
       The contradiction made Altans head hurt more than it already did, so he thought about something else. Like the Queen. He mulled her over in his head for several long minutes (plenty of those on her figure) before he was finally able to put his finger on why she seemed so familiar. After that weird dream vision thing Altan had after being thrown off the waterfall, he and Griffin had make contact and there was that whole invasive meshing of memories. The memory was from Griffins past, not his. He remembered the pale slender hand extending, fingers beckoning. Clearly Griffin had encountered her before, though Altan didn't have the first idea about it. There was a lot about Griffin he didn't know about. At first, Altan didn't give any craps about who he was or what he'd been through. But it seemed like every single person they'd come across was in on some secret about him, and it was getting on Altans nerves.
       Altan had spent so long immersed in his thoughts he barely registered the door swinging open again. It was the screech of rusty hinges that pulled him back, and he lifted his head expecting to see Bridget returning. Instead, he was met with an all too familiar pair of glowing eyes. It may have just been the darkness of the room, but as he met Griffins gaze he thought they looked a little dimmer than normal. Was he tired?
        "There you are." Griffin sighed in relief, sliding into the room. He was holding a bundle of cloth in his arms, which he promptly dumped onto the ground. "Are you injured?"
         "I'm fine..."
          Griffin paused, looking at him. His eyes darted over Altans face for a moment before he exhaled, crossing his arms. "Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I'm not entirely pleased with myself either. But presently, we need to get out of here; we're safer but most certainly not safe. I managed to acquire our swords and some cloaks, but thats it. We'll have to hunt on the way and-"
         "Well how I see it is right now we have potential allies, a place to stay, and just two seconds to rest. Whats the saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend?" He challenged, "You make no sense!"
         "Altan, these people are not trustworthy. Have you perhaps considered why a band of criminals deemed us worth their time of day? They double cross and blackmail people for a living. They saved our skin this time around and for that I am eternally grateful, but we cannot afford to stay." In a shocking display of vulnerability, Altan noted how Griffin's eyes shifted nervously around the room and how he danced from foot to foot.
         Altan snorted, "You're one to talk about trust."
        Griffin frowned, offering a sword and cloak to Altan. "I beg you, please do not start this discussion right now."
        "Whatever."
       Altan reluctantly put on the cloak and grabbed the sword, following Griffin as he led them quickly yet stealthy out the door and into the musty sewers. Periodic torches light their way, the only sounds in the expansive tunnels their soft footsteps and gentle rhythmic drips of water. Goop and slime of all sorts coated the walls, and the occasional cobweb dangled from the ceiling. It smelled, well, like shit, and Altan made an effort to breath through his mouth. They passed a few doors set into the flat walls, but other than that the grimy stone was barren. So it was expected that the cluster of wanted posters pinned to a wall drew Altans attention.
       Altan glanced at the mess of deteriorating posters as they snuck by, scanning them with relative disinterest. He advanced a few steps before stopping dead in his tracks. Turned. Walked back. And ripped a poster from the grimy bricks.

WANTED - DEAD OR ALIVE BY ORDER
OF HIS MAJESTY, KING CENTURION.
REWARD OF 1 MILLION GOLD TALONS
AND PERMANENT LORDSHIP.

EX-PRINCE GRIFFIN ANDREW TEABERRY