“I swear to all the Gods Below, if someone shoves me one more time…” Skrakch hissed, nearly tumbling straight onto his back as some overly burly Orc bumped into him.

As he waded through the crowd of customers, the increasingly irritated Ratling regretting taking the Merchant’s Alley route to the brothel. He should’ve known when the first overgrown Human had stepped on the end of his tail.

The human, who’d been dressed in simple farmhand’s clothes, had turned to apologize until he’d seen what he’d stepped on. His apology quickly withered away to be replaced by a look of disgust. Brushing off his clothes as if he’d been touched by something filthy, the man had hurried past him, no doubt cursing his rotten luck to have accidentally come into contact with an Iskrin servant.

Skrakch had rolled his eyes. Never mind the fact that he was clearly better dressed and far better looking that some stupid errand boy. Hells, he was much better looking than even your average Brown Ratling. But no, the first thing that most folks in Dray’Mel thought when they saw a Brown Ratling was disgust following quickly by the thought of “well, it’s just a servant”. He’d heard it enough in his short life.

Although admittedly, and the Albino Prince was a shining example, the Iskrin race weren’t known for their intelligence. They were, to most, little more than simple feral creatures. But to confuse his superior umber coat with his brethren’s was the height of folly. Not to mention his non-servant attire! But, Skrakch was all too well aware of how little the average human noticed.

Heavens forbid they actually take in his leather armour, or his bandolier of potions that was strapped to his chest! Perhaps if they did, they’d realised that he was a formidable creature and they’d be less inclined so show their disgust so openly. His claws had taught enough of them that pissing off something so openly inclined to violence was never a good idea.

Thankfully, Skrakch managed to navigate the crowd of shouting merchants and dawdling shoppers. Right at the end of Merchant’s Alley, on the corner, was the brothel. Or perhaps, it was a simple perfume shop. The Denmother certainly put in "some" effort to make it appear as such, even hanging a perfume shaped label over the entrance to "The Madame's Boutique."

From the outside, it looked like most of the other buildings in the Slums. Rundown and in serious need of renovation. The smeared window was filled with various glass bottles containing different coloured perfumes and colognes. Occasionally, one of the workers would try to do something creative with them, perhaps arranged them in some kind of order, but that obviously wasn’t the case now. The bottles were placed haphazardly onto the rickety-looking wooden shelves.

A glanced through the filthy window revealed a small shop floor with a wooden counter at one end. The shelving was stocked with more bottles and, in one corner, sat a battered old armchair covered in crimson fabric where the Denmother herself often sat. There were a couple of her workers dressed in simple smocks, intent on servicing a customer’s scent-based needs with a smile.

Skrakch wondered if the average shopper noticed that it was largely male clientele that passed through the store. It wasn’t exactly a secret that the true nature of the business was a brothel after all. He knew that the more ‘reputable’ merchants down the alley took a dim view of it. It had been the Denmother’s idea to present as a legitimate business in order to keep the peace.

He walked through the door and a twee little jingle rang out as he knocked the bell. A rather bored looking attendant who had been fiddling with some of the bottles quickly perked up and plastered on a fake smile until, that was, she realized who it was. She sighed heavily and nodded him through a thick velvet crimson curtain.

Passing by all the sickly sweet bottles of perfume, Skrakch tried to resist his urge to sniff the air. He knew that the mixture of strong scents would assault his delicate nose and no doubt send him into one of his sneezing fits. He pushed his way through the curtain and headed down a set of stairs. The change was like night and day.

Instead of the storage area of a genteel perfume shop as one would expect, Skrakch stepped into a basement area that looked more like a palatial lounge. The walls were painted a deep crimson with matching curtains draped across them. Gold tassels and accoutrements hung from them to complete the look. There were various numbered doors leading off from this lounge area and there was an arrangement of couches in the middle of it that gave off the impression of some kind of waiting room. Next to the entrance was a scandily clad female Demon standing by a lectern with an open book laid out on it. She looked up as Skrakch strode in and rolled her eyes expressively. Wordlessly, she pointed one finger, her silver painted nail shining under the low lighting, in the direction of the only door that wasn’t numbered.

Skrakch nodded his things and strode towards the door. He couldn’t help but sneer at the sight of some of the patrons waiting on the couches. Humans really were pathetic sometimes. He approached the door and walked in, not bothering to knock.

Not for the first time in his life, he found himself in the Denmother’s office. It was the least business-like office that he’d ever seen. It closely resembled the sort of lounge that he imaging some sweet old lady would have. It was carpeted in dusky pink with matching painted walls. There were various paintings of sunsets and vistas framed in gold painted frames. Atop a large oak desk which was covered in a white lace tablecloth there was a delicate looking china tea set painted with golden swirls and rose buds. One of the cups was currently filled with a rose-scented tea. To his right was a huge bookshelf made of wooden cubes. Each separate cube held a different coloured wool ball.

Behind the desk was a wicker chair padded with pink cushions decorated with embroidered roses. The old woman sitting in the chair looked completely harmless, like a kindly grandmother. Her wrinkled hands were almost claw-like as her fingers with their pearly pink painted nails rapidly knitted a blue woolly jumper. The thick glasses she wore magnified her cornflower blue eyes. As she heard him open the door, she blinked at him owlishly.

Anyone would be forgiven for thinking that she was simply a sweet old lady. Skrakch still remembered the time he’d watched as some drunken idiotic lout had tried to put his sword into one of the working girls. The man had barely managed to clear his sheath before the Denmother was in front of him. She’d simply pointed one of her gnarled fingers and croaked out a single Abyssian word.

Oh how the fool had laughed when he’d pulled his sword free! He hadn’t even noticed the Hell Portal that was slowly opening below him. His eyes were on the working girl when he dropped straight through it, too quickly to even scream or shout out. The other Succubi had crowded into the room to watch the sight. Amongst the tittering of them all, Skrakch had been sure to keep on his best behaviour from then on.

“Ma! What a delight to see you, as always!” Skrakch said smoothly, dipping his head in respect. “I came as soon as I saw that Imp of yours, I hope I didn’t make you wait too long.”

The Denmother let out a soft cackle as she continued to work on her knitting.

“Oh I’m sure starting a war between two races can be considered a decent enough excuse for being a tad late,” She said smoothly, not missing a beat.

It had always freaked Skrakch out that she did that. Although he had a feeling he really didn’t want to know how and where she got her information so quickly.

She leant forward in her chair, placing her knitting down on the desk and regarded Skrakch for a moment.

“I have need of your expertise,” She continued, a pensive look on her face. “And it needs to remain strictly private. One of my girls has gone missing and I need someone to track her down and in return, I’m willing to wipe your tab here.”

Grinning to himself, Skrakch puffed out his furry chest.

“Well you’ve come to the right person Ma! Tracking down one of your girls shouldn’t be difficult. I’ll have her back by tomorrow,” He said confidently. “So who am I looking for?”

The look on the Denmother’s face turned from pensive to concerned. If she felt comforted by his dramatic proclamation then she certainly didn’t show it.

“It’s Survix,” She said. She looked down at her knitting and suddenly, it was like she’d aged ten years. “I believe she’s been taken by a Shade.”

“A shade?” Skrakch raised an eyebrow. He’d managed to build up quite the tab over the past few months. Dealing with a Shade was an easy enough task that was nowhere near the value of his debt. The Denmother was an astute business owner. There was no way that she would so willingly lose money. Which meant, Skrakch inwardly sighed, that there had to be some kind of catch…

“What would a shade want with Survix?” He asked curiously. “Shades can only possess mortal and she’s a Succubus. You’re sure it’s a Shade?”

The Denmother nodded slowly. She opened her mouth and closed it again, it appeared whatever she was about to say, she’d picked her words carefully.

“Well read as usual Skrakch. That is indeed true. Demons aren’t able to be possessed…normally. But there has been talk amongst my girls about various people going missing in the district. People who should be capable of fighting off a mere Shade.”

“I’m waiting for the catch here,” Skrakch admitted.

“Well the reason it’s you that I’ve reached out to specifically, it because of your connection to Winifred. I’m sure you’re more than aware that it takes a Chosen…to hunt a Chosen,” The Denmother continued, giving him a significant look.

For the briefest second, Skrakch stared at the old coot in utter confusion before the penny dropped. His eyes widened and he could feel every single hair on him spike up.

“Oh Hells no Ma!” He spluttered. “I’ll pay my debt off some other way. I’m not dealing with a Chosen Shade!”

The Denmother let out a sigh. She leaned forward in her chair, across the desk and poked Skrach’s furry chest with one gnarled finger.

“I’m afraid that you don’t have a choice my dear.”

She said it lightly enough but Skrakch was no fool. He saw the idiot that had caused such a kerfuffle disappearing through the Hell portal again in his mind’s eye. She had a point. Taking stock of his situation, Skrakch turned on a very sickly smile.

“Well, how could I ever refuse you Ma? I’ll have this taken care of in no time.”