The Smoldering Corpse Bar.
A dimly lit establishment – though the lack of light was largely due to Ignus’ departure – of steady patrons, reasonably good reputation and only slightly watered ale. A place where Hive residents came to drink, to forget, but seldom to brawl.
At the darkest corner table sat a redheaded woman dressed in faded blue leather, staring down into a near empty tankard of ale. Her tail – the only thing marking her a tiefling – hung limp behind her, testament of her mood. She had taken a seat that put her back against the wall and gave her a good view of the bar and the door. From time to time she looked up from her drink, keen dark eyes missing nothing as they scanned the room. Only then did she exhibit the wariness ingrained in every thief and fighter; doubly so in one who was both.
Occasionally, she would snarl irritably at an approaching patron, amused when they hurried off. But the emotion faded, and the next fool who approached raised a flicker of annoyance in its place.
It actually took Annah nearly a dozen incidents to realize why they kept happening, and once it did she was ready to pound her intoxicated head against the table.
Though the leather was worn, the enchantments on her vest held as strong as ever, concealing her. Coupled with the deep shadows she sat in, it was a wonder more people didn’t assume the table empty.
O’ course, Annah mused, with tha’ eye-smartin’ blue washed out, the magic doesn’t have as much against it.
She rarely used the vest for its stealth anymore, confident enough in her ability to hide that she preferred the additional protection of her fighting vest when she expected trouble. The blue vest was simply for every-day use, and if she picked a few pockets now and then to keep in practice, it hardly made her a thief. She’d discarded those habits as well as collecting corpses for the Dustmen when she’d returned to Sigil from the Fortress. She’d even burned her old red vest as a symbol that she’d grown up, that she’d moved on, that she was better than she used to be. That he had changed her.
Four years, ta the day…
Annah gulped down the last of her ale, her gaze involuntarily sliding towards the furnace grill where Ignus once hovered. She shuddered as she remembered the burning man’s insane ramblings of flames and pain. She had seen much, but very little disturbed her the way the twisted mage had.
She could still see Lucilla’s face as she embraced Ignus – the smile, the happiness as the flames engulfed her. She had wondered then, as she wondered now, what could drive a woman to embrace death for the chance to touch her unrequited love.
An’ wha’ makes me any different? Annah thought bitterly. I still come here, payin’ me respects ta a man who might not be dead… A man who didn’t love me…
She glanced at the bar, contemplating a refill, but doubted it would do her any good. She’d already spent more money than she meant to, and getting truly drunk would cost her even more. Sometimes, tiefling metabolism sucked.
Just remember tha’ Grace didn’t get him either, a little voice whispered.
Annah snorted. She wouldn’t sink so low as to feel smug over that he had turned down a succubus. Fall-From-Grace hadn’t done anything to try and snare him, after all, and with the passing of time Annah had come to recognize the fact. Even though the succubus’ subtle interest had made her see red back then.
I wonder wha’ they’re doin’ now? she thought, idly shifting the empty tankard from hand to hand.
And as if her silent words had conjured him, a very familiar someone entered the bar.
Annah jerked in her chair, barely keeping enough wits to set the tankard down before her shaking hands dropped it. Eyes wide, she watched the new patron move further into the room. Desperate for a moment to think, she would have willed the shadows to hide her, but even as she thought of it, her old comrade noticed her.
“Annah!”
Was it wishful thinking, or did his eyes really light up? Was that little bob a sign of excitement or simply surprise? Could he be glad to see her?
“Morte,” she managed, as the levitating skull came to a stop before her. “Didn’t expect to see yeh here.”
“Four years, and that’s all you have to say? Harsh, tiefling, harsh…” Morte turned so exaggeratedly mournful eyes at her that Annah had to smile.
“Yeh like it tha’ way, skull,” she retorted.
Morte grinned. Well, he always grinned, seeing as how he didn’t have lips to cover his teeth with, but he managed to convey the sentiment nonetheless.
“You know it,” he said cheerfully, then sobered. “You came for the anniversary, too?”
Annah nodded, her tail swishing in agitation. “Didn’t seem right not ta come, it didn’t.”
“Been to the Mortuary yet?”
She shook her head. “I’ve been… I think I’ve been waitin’.” Watching her companion for signs of mockery, she added, “Maybe I was waitin’ for yeh.”
Morte made that same little bob – Excitement, definitely excitement – again, apparently very pleased with the suggestion.
“We should get going,” he said. “It’s past peak.”
Annah blinked. She hadn’t been aware of the morning passing. Composing herself, she rose, bringing the empty tankard to the counter and paying her bill before bidding Barkis a polite farewell and following Morte outside.
They entered the Mortuary together, heading to Deionarra’s memorial chamber. It seemed fitting somehow, to honor the woman’s loyalty as they paid their respects to the man she’d loved. She had played a part in the quest, and likely firmed his decision to see it through.
When she was feeling bitter, Annah wondered if that final incarnation had been moved by pity and memory to love the ghost back.
When she was feeling generous, she rather hoped he had. Then they could be together in death as they couldn’t in life. At least then there was a chance he was happy.
Neither Morte nor Annah spoke as they stood before the memorial. Reliving their own memories, trying to ease their own regrets, they bid their silent well-wishes.
Annah glanced at the skull, wondering how it felt to lose someone who you had shared an age with. Even if few of the past incarnations had been friends with him, it must have rocked Morte’s world to no longer have that immortal master.
Not for the first time, she was glad that she had always had her freedom. If she had known slavery first, freedom would have been as frightening as the lack of it was now.
Back at the Smoldering Corpse, Annah found herself asking Morte what he’d done since they’d gone their different ways. She almost wanted to take the words back when his eyes widened, certain that he’d tease her about her interest. Instead, happiness spread across the surprisingly expressive face – happiness that she’d cared enough to ask. Annah suppressed a smile and settled in for a long, detailed and highly exaggerated tale of Morte’s adventures.
“I stayed with Grace for the first year,” he said, surprising her both with the fact and the blunt way he said it. “She let me have the empty room at the Brothel. It was nice, in a way, having a place of my own. But I guess we both got tired of the Ward, because she left a few weeks after I did. Gave the place to Dolora.”
“She wha’?!”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought when I first heard about it. But the chit’s doing fine. Probably the best thing for her constructed little mind.”
Annah raised her eyebrows. “All tha’ trouble and she still hasn’t learned ta feel? I’d hit her if I saw her, I would!”
“Oh, she’s learning, but apparently it’s slow going.” Morte looked thoughtful. “She seems content, though.”
“Yeh go there often?”
“When I’m in the neighborhood.”
“Define neighborhood.”
Morte was looking decidedly uncomfortable. “Anywhere with a portal to Sigil,” he admitted.
Annah smirked. “Kimasxi is still there, then?”
If a skull could blush, Morte would have. “Yes, he mumbled.
“An’ as abusive as ever?”
“Oh yes!” Morte perked up. “I’ve learned near as much from her as I have on all my travels!”
Annah rolled her eyes. “If I didn’t know better, I’d say yeh’re in love with her.” She paused, remembering that few would believe she had loved and died for a man whose name she didn’t even know. “Do I know better?”
If Morte had been levitating and not safely settled on the table, he would have dropped to the ground in pure shock. As it was, he just gaped for a moment.
“Of course you do! Kimasxi is good company, but I’d kill her if I had to put up with her chatter for more than a day at a time!”
Deciding to leave that subject be, Annah asked him to continue his story.
“Like I said, I’ve been traveling. Haven’t seen Dak’kon or Nordom, but I’ve run into Grace a couple of times.” Morte paused, his gaze lowering. “She didn’t take his choice in stride, I’ll tell you that. She’s either the most devoted Sensate I’ve ever met, or she’s looking for trouble.”
Annah frowned. “How so?”
“She’s going places a tanar’ri should have the sense to stay out of. It’s like she wants to experience everything as quickly as possible.”
They were quiet for a while, pondering what Morte had left unsaid; that Grace was only looking for pain, and possibly death.
“What about you?” Morte said, trying to distract himself as much as Annah. “Have you left the Hive? I haven’t seen or heard of you when I’ve been here. I figured you’d take over Pharod’s court.”
Annah scowled at him. “He wasn’t me Da, an’ well yeh know it! I gave up collectin’, I did. I’m a mercenary now.”
“Really? How’s that working out for you?”
“I earn more than I did collectin’ deaders.” She sighed. “But it feels strange, ta fight with berks I donnae know or trust.”
Morte pondered that, allowing the silence to stretch.
“You might want someone to watch you back, then?”
Annah started at the question, woken from her thoughts. “Aye,” she agreed hesitantly, “someone who’s good at fightin’. Someone who’s loyal.”
“Someone who’s good against mages?” Morte offered.
“Someone who can call a whole mob o’ friends ta help him out of a tight spot,” she confirmed, smiling slightly.
“How could I say no to such a flatterer?” Morte floated up from the table, looking at Annah expectantly. “We’d probably find better business in the Wards than in the Hive.”
She stood, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.
“The Clerk’s Ward it is, partner.”
Morte did his little bob – It’s cute, really – again. “Partner,” he echoed happily.
Author's note: I know most people choose to return Annah's feelings in the game, but I've taken the friendship-only route with both her and Grace every time I've played, so that's how I wrote the fic. I'm kind of expecting vicious Nameless One/Annah supporters to flame me...
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