“We never did catch your name.” I look between Arrol and Aelwin’s twin sister. “It’d be a shame to just call you by who your sister is.”

“Azur.” She nods, quickly. “My name is Azur.” A quiet voice, much like that of her sister’s.

The fire crackles in its pit, as hunks of meat sit, skewered, roasting above it. Moving from a small structure in a back alley into a bustling inn was quite a shift, from seeing one aspect of the city to a completely different one.

“My apologies that you were unable to stay at the Palace.” Dulwain says, bowing his head. “We are not well suited to accommodate visitors, as the majority of our populace is centered around Glasniv, and the few travelers who exist in this area of the Under are, typically, the Xykyn.”

“It’s no problem, really.” Arrol says, through a bite of a hunk of meat. Aelwin sits at his side, leaning against him. There’s a clear look of interest in her eyes whenever she looks at him, though he doesn’t seem to mind. My mind is more occupied on more important things, certainly.

“I would hope that the young master Rourke would be able to suit your housing needs accordingly.” Dulwain motions to the barkeep with his hand. Rourke, his name, one of the Xykyn, though, seemingly more… friendly. A long-nosed lizard man, he sticks out among the patrons of the bar, though, there doesn’t seem to be distrust or even concern relating to his race.

“How did a Xykyn come about running a business in Glasniv, if you don’t mind our asking?” Arrol says, not stopping his drawn-out glance to the bar.

“Glasniv, as a city, has always been open to members of every race, though we do not oft receive visitors, given the situation. As I had said a moment ago, the only real travelers we receive are Xykyn, and, well, the ones in this region are far friendlier than the ones I suppose any mercenaries would interact with.” Dulwain sighs. “How is it that you people on the surface are so hung up about race? It sounds to me as though even your leaders are more concerned about racial biases than achieving a healthy state. Ah, it befuddles me.” Dulwain shakes his head vigorously.

“Hey, now, we don’t exactly have the greatest example of a leader. Mercenaries, we get it, we work with all kinds of people.” Arrol says, as he reaches for the glass of rum which was poured out for him minutes ago. “Plus, I don’t bend a knee to that asshole anyways, outside of work. I’m from the Glass Forest, look at her.” He thumbs over at me.

“It’s not by choice, believe me.” I say.

“No, you’re both good folk, I believe it. But, good folk only goes so far. Sometimes you need bad folk to take out the worse folk.”

Suddenly, Rourke comes out from behind the bar and walks towards our table. He has a tray of five, no, four glasses in his hand. “Howdy, friends. Dulwain, you haven’t introduced me yet, it’s been a long hour since you came in. What gives? Ordering their drinks for them, paying for the room… Who’re the guests of honor?” His serpentine eyes glance over me and Arrol. Yellow, with black slits giving a contrast, as though he were simply a lizard. However, there’s far more depth to this man’s eyes. Wisdom, even. His mouth, outlined with scales, shows a figure of assorted, jagged teeth. A strong build for somebody who resides in the underground, so he must hunt for protein. His entire persona screams “Sharp,” as if that makes any sense. Scales, teeth, eyes, even the way he dresses. Dulwain nudges me.

“Er, Firae. That’s my name.” I bluster, caught off guard by how long I was examining Rourke in my own head.

“Arrol.” Arrol says, as he takes a long drink from the glass. “How do you source your alcohol?”

Rourke smiles, revealing a mouth of sharp, shining, angular teeth. Brilliantly clean. “We source it from the farms outside of town, naturally! The sugar-shroom farms, as you might see. Refined, fermented into a rum.”

“You’re telling me you can grow mushrooms that can be processed into sugar?” Arrol leans forward, spilling a bit of his drink back onto himself as he does so, his coordination only slightly worse than normal.

“Indeed! I suppose your tour guides might show you around when you have the chance, no? Not common to have faces from, well, where did you say you were from?” He smiles, it comes naturally to him, to use sneaky speech to find out more about people. He doesn’t fleece anybody anymore, but he certainly used to. We’re supposed to keep quiet about where we came from, hopefully Arrol doesn’t—

“The Glass Forest, above. We aren’t from the Under.” Rourke’s face changes from a friendly, albeit menacing grin, into a slight smirk, into a dread-filled frown.

“I see. In that case, let me offer you my deepest condolences.” He sets the tray down. Arrol reaches for a glass, as does Dulwain. Dulwain nods at me, and I follow suit. Aelwin takes the final glass, and Azur stands up and walks into the crowd at the bar. “Should you need anything, let me know. I understand things may be… strange, to you, down here.” He turns away from the table and walks back behind the bar, putting on that devious smile once again as he chats up consumers.

“Unfortunate, but hardly concerning. Rourke is a good friend of the Heiress.” Dulwain says, coolly. “I must take my leave. Aelwin can show you about the city, if you wish to see it. Or, you can explore it on your own. Familiarize yourself, you will be here for a few days, certainly.” Dulwain stands up, leaving just me, Aelwin, and Arrol. He has his arm placed over her shoulder, and they’re talking closely.

“I suppose I’ll take my leave as well.” I say, standing up. I stretch my arms above my head and step outside. The air of the Under is cold, damp. Foreign. Uncomfortable. While the bar, the Dripping Droozy, behind me, bustles with life, the streets are quiet.

A quiet hum emits from a dark figure as I look about the stone paved street.

“Hey, honey.”