The Lonely Mark was a soldier-only establishment, meant specifically for those in the Etzori army looking for a night of discreet company. With Lisirra’s siege, and the sack on Rhakros, a fair number of the populace now held some sort of military position, or had fleeting moments of doing so.
This showed, the moment one walked through into the foyer. The walls were lined with weapons. Decor of sculpted visages of prominent military minds displayed on pedestals near the doors, which at night had two rather large bruisers to check whether someone was legit or not. There were, on occasion, exceptions however. Llyr was an exception, until he’d joined the force southward and now he was considered as legitimate as any Etzori Mark even if he didn’t plan to return to the ranks after Rhakros.
He nodded, with familiarity, to the bouncers who opened the doors and allowed him a rather grand passage. It was too much, he thought, but then most of the soldiers came to the place with a few buddies so it was likely mostly automatic behavior.
Music greeted him. Four people, two women and two men, sang on a small platform while one strummed on a what looked to be a tiny guitar. He surveyed the common room. It was lit up in gentle greens and blues, never red. Much of The Lonely Mark was meant to soothe, not stimulate. As the proprietor had told him on his first visit: it’s a place of healing.
Sometimes that healing included pleasures of the flesh though. He heard the bubbled tea brewing in a glass vat behind the counter, and smelled the sweet smoke that he could only ever find in this place. Everything about the place, from taste to music to scents, was thinly sweet but not in a cloying way. There were enough herbal scents to ground it down in a pleasant blend.
Immediately, Llyr felt tension in his shoulders peel off. He stepped to the side and sat down on a padded bench. A hostess drifted over, a tray of dirty dishes and glasses held against her side with the crook of her elbow. She had pale brown hair twisted up in braids and an apron stained with a busy night’s work. At her ears were slight points, the only hint of her mixed-blood. Across her round cheeks were a spattered dusting of freckles.
“Misser L,” she greeted him. “Been a bit. Youse looking purdy,” it was a jest as Llyr could feel his cheek still swelling and the sting of his cut lip. “Did yeh need anyt’ing?”
“Evening, Pattie. I need a room. Hot water,” he told her. “And company.”
“Any par'icular body you wantin’?”
Llyr lowly hummed. He glanced aside, looked at some older men who were resting on lounge couches with a few attendants to them. They looked like commanders if he ever saw any. He looked back at the hostess. “The usual.”
She smiled, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Instead she nodded, then walked away to settle his requests. In no time at all, she returned without the tray and a keyring instead.
He followed up the stairs, to the second-floor and then one more, to the third. They reached a gilded door and she knocked, waited a pause, then opened it with a key. She smiled again and said, “You need anyt’ing more, you know 'he bell.”
Llyr muttered thanks, then slipped inside the moderate-sized bedroom. It wasn’t the bed that interested him, but the polished stone tub filled with hot perfumed water. He undressed, belt hung up on a hook nearby, and then slipped into the water with a heavy sigh.
From beside the four-poster bed, a side door opened. Emmalee walked through, light on the feet, and a satin rob barely tied around their slender form. Black hair twisted up in a bun with a hair pin that had enough metal decorations that it glinted against the room’s candlelight.
“Did you get into another fight?” greeted Emmalee.
“This time, the fight came to me.” Llyr dipped under to rinse his hair, then returned. He leaned against the side, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“Did you want me to join the bath?”
“No, sit here.” He gestured to the space beside the tub. “And tell me what you have to offer tonight.”
Emmalee nodded. The Etzori whore brought a simple wooden chair over and said, “I got some new offerings since last you were here. There’s the usual, o’ course, but also I managed to acquire a rather spicy set of letters between a Tower minister and his mistress.”
Llyr quirked a brow. He glanced over, then said, “But it’s anonymous?”
“Nothing is anonymous. Nothing but my clients, and he ain’t one. So, a name will cost yeh lots.”
“What else?”
“Few traded stories from the soldiers about things that happened in Rhakros. Some discussions on the matters to the north of the city. We’ve go-”
“What about the gangs?” asked Llyr.
Emmalee hesitated, then twirled a strand of hair around their finger. “That’s complicated… and expensive.”
“This place is protected from the gangers though, isn’t it?” Llyr had learned early on that The Lonely Mark, having a client-base made up entirely of military law enforcement, kept detached from the underground influence out of the establishment. Least compared to the other brothels.
“As much as it can be. Don’t mean I want to give something that might mean my life away for free.”
“I wasn’t saying to do that,” replied Llyr. He rubbed the blood away from his face. “I’d like to know who is running things right now. That isn’t much to ask for, is it?”
A short laugh escaped Emmalee. They crossed their legs. “Oh no, that’s a right fair question, sure. If it had an answer. It used to, but after the South Lord kicked it last arc… and now the North Lord disappeared, rumored also dead… well, it’s been tumultuous for them underground sorts to say the least. Those who’re aiming to take the crowns will be recruiting fresh hot blood with the soldiers on the return from Rhakros. Fates know there is more than a few of them keen to take the power, now.”
“South Lord, North Lord,” he murmured, then he said, “Tell me about them. As much as you know.”
Llyr washed while he listened to the stories about the gangsters in the south and north side of Etzos. Vorund to the south. To the north, some feathery bloke who called himself Prince. How aggrandizing, or perhaps it was a highly ironic choice. Llyr suspected the former, given what Emmalee had to tell him about it all. Much of it seemed to be gossip, some obvious rumors, but among them were other comments struck far closer to the sound of truth.
He left the tub after the water had gone cold, and dried himself off. Before he would settle into bed, he took to stretching his body. He felt a few cracks in his joints from the fury of the fight earlier.
Emmalee joined him, as requested, to help him bend even further in certain directions. Llyr sighed, happily, as his transmutation spark shook further awake from the sensation of his limbs being tested to go farther than natural to him. It felt nice to twist and bend and stretch. Meanwhile, the whore continued to speak about the state of the underground in the outer perimeter.
“…and no one has really heard of those closest to either of them. Though some are saying the hound has sniffed his way back to the southside, seen with the army too,” mentioned Emmalee as they pulled Llyr further into the backbend.
Llyr hummed while he felt his spine stretch and his joints pleasantly pop. He waved a hand. Emmalee let go. He flipped onto his knees, then grabbed onto the whore and dragged Emmalee down to lay on the floor under him. He wryly smiled. “I’m tired of stories...”
This showed, the moment one walked through into the foyer. The walls were lined with weapons. Decor of sculpted visages of prominent military minds displayed on pedestals near the doors, which at night had two rather large bruisers to check whether someone was legit or not. There were, on occasion, exceptions however. Llyr was an exception, until he’d joined the force southward and now he was considered as legitimate as any Etzori Mark even if he didn’t plan to return to the ranks after Rhakros.
He nodded, with familiarity, to the bouncers who opened the doors and allowed him a rather grand passage. It was too much, he thought, but then most of the soldiers came to the place with a few buddies so it was likely mostly automatic behavior.
Music greeted him. Four people, two women and two men, sang on a small platform while one strummed on a what looked to be a tiny guitar. He surveyed the common room. It was lit up in gentle greens and blues, never red. Much of The Lonely Mark was meant to soothe, not stimulate. As the proprietor had told him on his first visit: it’s a place of healing.
Sometimes that healing included pleasures of the flesh though. He heard the bubbled tea brewing in a glass vat behind the counter, and smelled the sweet smoke that he could only ever find in this place. Everything about the place, from taste to music to scents, was thinly sweet but not in a cloying way. There were enough herbal scents to ground it down in a pleasant blend.
Immediately, Llyr felt tension in his shoulders peel off. He stepped to the side and sat down on a padded bench. A hostess drifted over, a tray of dirty dishes and glasses held against her side with the crook of her elbow. She had pale brown hair twisted up in braids and an apron stained with a busy night’s work. At her ears were slight points, the only hint of her mixed-blood. Across her round cheeks were a spattered dusting of freckles.
“Misser L,” she greeted him. “Been a bit. Youse looking purdy,” it was a jest as Llyr could feel his cheek still swelling and the sting of his cut lip. “Did yeh need anyt’ing?”
“Evening, Pattie. I need a room. Hot water,” he told her. “And company.”
“Any par'icular body you wantin’?”
Llyr lowly hummed. He glanced aside, looked at some older men who were resting on lounge couches with a few attendants to them. They looked like commanders if he ever saw any. He looked back at the hostess. “The usual.”
She smiled, as if she wanted to say something but couldn’t. Instead she nodded, then walked away to settle his requests. In no time at all, she returned without the tray and a keyring instead.
He followed up the stairs, to the second-floor and then one more, to the third. They reached a gilded door and she knocked, waited a pause, then opened it with a key. She smiled again and said, “You need anyt’ing more, you know 'he bell.”
Llyr muttered thanks, then slipped inside the moderate-sized bedroom. It wasn’t the bed that interested him, but the polished stone tub filled with hot perfumed water. He undressed, belt hung up on a hook nearby, and then slipped into the water with a heavy sigh.
From beside the four-poster bed, a side door opened. Emmalee walked through, light on the feet, and a satin rob barely tied around their slender form. Black hair twisted up in a bun with a hair pin that had enough metal decorations that it glinted against the room’s candlelight.
“Did you get into another fight?” greeted Emmalee.
“This time, the fight came to me.” Llyr dipped under to rinse his hair, then returned. He leaned against the side, closed his eyes, and sighed.
“Did you want me to join the bath?”
“No, sit here.” He gestured to the space beside the tub. “And tell me what you have to offer tonight.”
Emmalee nodded. The Etzori whore brought a simple wooden chair over and said, “I got some new offerings since last you were here. There’s the usual, o’ course, but also I managed to acquire a rather spicy set of letters between a Tower minister and his mistress.”
Llyr quirked a brow. He glanced over, then said, “But it’s anonymous?”
“Nothing is anonymous. Nothing but my clients, and he ain’t one. So, a name will cost yeh lots.”
“What else?”
“Few traded stories from the soldiers about things that happened in Rhakros. Some discussions on the matters to the north of the city. We’ve go-”
“What about the gangs?” asked Llyr.
Emmalee hesitated, then twirled a strand of hair around their finger. “That’s complicated… and expensive.”
“This place is protected from the gangers though, isn’t it?” Llyr had learned early on that The Lonely Mark, having a client-base made up entirely of military law enforcement, kept detached from the underground influence out of the establishment. Least compared to the other brothels.
“As much as it can be. Don’t mean I want to give something that might mean my life away for free.”
“I wasn’t saying to do that,” replied Llyr. He rubbed the blood away from his face. “I’d like to know who is running things right now. That isn’t much to ask for, is it?”
A short laugh escaped Emmalee. They crossed their legs. “Oh no, that’s a right fair question, sure. If it had an answer. It used to, but after the South Lord kicked it last arc… and now the North Lord disappeared, rumored also dead… well, it’s been tumultuous for them underground sorts to say the least. Those who’re aiming to take the crowns will be recruiting fresh hot blood with the soldiers on the return from Rhakros. Fates know there is more than a few of them keen to take the power, now.”
“South Lord, North Lord,” he murmured, then he said, “Tell me about them. As much as you know.”
Llyr washed while he listened to the stories about the gangsters in the south and north side of Etzos. Vorund to the south. To the north, some feathery bloke who called himself Prince. How aggrandizing, or perhaps it was a highly ironic choice. Llyr suspected the former, given what Emmalee had to tell him about it all. Much of it seemed to be gossip, some obvious rumors, but among them were other comments struck far closer to the sound of truth.
He left the tub after the water had gone cold, and dried himself off. Before he would settle into bed, he took to stretching his body. He felt a few cracks in his joints from the fury of the fight earlier.
Emmalee joined him, as requested, to help him bend even further in certain directions. Llyr sighed, happily, as his transmutation spark shook further awake from the sensation of his limbs being tested to go farther than natural to him. It felt nice to twist and bend and stretch. Meanwhile, the whore continued to speak about the state of the underground in the outer perimeter.
“…and no one has really heard of those closest to either of them. Though some are saying the hound has sniffed his way back to the southside, seen with the army too,” mentioned Emmalee as they pulled Llyr further into the backbend.
Llyr hummed while he felt his spine stretch and his joints pleasantly pop. He waved a hand. Emmalee let go. He flipped onto his knees, then grabbed onto the whore and dragged Emmalee down to lay on the floor under him. He wryly smiled. “I’m tired of stories...”
