Episode 5: City of Tears (Part 3 of 4)

With that, Locke presses forward, walking towards the final closed door on the third floor. Locke presses his ear to the door to examine any possible sounds that lay behind it. As he focuses, he hears a very loud conversation from the other side.

A man slurs as he sings, "We're rascally scoundrels, eating bacon and eggs – drink up, me laddies, yo-ho! We're Dragons and Black Orcs with big hairy legs – drink up, me laddies, yo-ho! Yo-ho, yo-ho! A bandit's life for me!"

With a sigh, a feminine voice mutters, "You bloomin' idiot. . . That ain't how the song goes!"

Locke chuckles and shakes his head as he sighs, "Sounds like me and Lil. . .”

His desire to see his best friend relighting once again, Locke decides to waste no time as he rushes up the next flight of stairs. He ascends the next staircase and becomes slightly taken aback as he realizes it is a large and very empty room, which appears to be another reception chamber. At its centre stands three bandits chatting to each other in a circle, in front of a single stairway leading upwards. They notice him approach immediately.

"What's this?" One of the bandits – a Dwarf – mutters, "Oh, it's one of you lot. What you doing up here this time of night? Ain't you got no work to be doin'?"

"Maroco and Madoco ordered me to take this ruck sack I have up to Maroco's chambers. It was an order issued to me earlier since I was working in the room with the bag," Locke replies casually.

The Dwarf snorts, his gaze turning to the ruck sack as he asks, "Ruck sack, eh? What exactly would Marco want with a puny little ruck sack?"

"That girl that Ike and his guys captured," Locke begins. "It's hers. I dunno, I think he either wants to rummage through her things, or taunt her by using them in front of her. You know, to break her down a bit."

The Dwarf snorts again, "Hm. . . Girl? Which girl's this?"

"She's got green hair, I think," Locke answers, scratching his head as if trying to pretend to remember. "I'm not sure what else. A Half-Elf, I think? I dunno," Locke continues, sounding casual and calm to try and remain in disguise, "I just heard it's the one who was with some man who Marco and Maddie had to run out on. I guess they've got it in for them, although word on the street is that Marco wants to be with her."

The Dwarf narrows his eyes at Locke before raising his right finger and pointing slightly to him, "You know, slave. . . You sure do talk a lot for a servant."

"I'm just a talkative kinda guy," Locke replies. "Just trying to be cordial."

The Dwarf withdraws his finger as he shakes his head, "Well, if you're gonna go up and see Marco, I'd zip it! Hurry up, and when you're done, get us all a few ales."

"Will do!" Locke pipes up. "I'll bring a few of the wenches with me, eh? Heh heh heh."

The three bandits look to each other with a quizzical look before chuckling, more at Locke than at his jest as they step aside and let him pass – to which Locke mutters under his breathe, "Idiots. . ."

The Dwarf, stifling a laugh, turns again to Locke, "What was that?"

"Inviting," Locke calmly replies. "You're an inviting bunch of fellows. Wish I could have an ale with ya."

One of his human companions then scowls, pointing up the next set of stairs as he yells, "Just get to it, boy!"

Locke nods and runs up the stairs, his large bag bouncing under the weight and momentum of his steps. Locke ascends the final staircase – which somehow seems longer than all the others – knowing all too well that the culprits responsible for this entire charade are just beyond its final steps. Finally making it to the top, he finds himself in yet another large room. It is ornate and decorated, random artifacts and items piled throughout the room. However, on this very rare occasion, treasure is not the first priority on Locke's mind. He looks ahead to see an all two familiar pair of eyes, staring out at him from their place at the end of the room. Their visages are shrouded in darkness as the lantern swinging at the centre of the ceiling does not light far enough into the room; nevertheless, Locke can see their eyes as they both sparkle with the light of mischief.

"Well, well, well, what have we here?" A female voice purrs in a velvety tone. "Oh, this is peculiar. I don't recall scheduling any visitors, do you, Maroco?"

A voice responds, sounding as if he wears a giant grin on his face, "Not at all, sister, yet. . . Ah, what is this? How interesting! I now realize we have a celebrity in our midst."

"Now that you mention it. Ah, yes," a female sighs dreamily as Locke hears footsteps. They echo from beyond the darkness, before the figure of a slender, tall female emerges into the light – the familiar image of Madoco finally appearing to our hero. "Oh, darling, your fashion sense sure has changed since we last met. Unless you're planning to play servant to a very beautiful master – in which case, I'm quite flattered."

"Well, darlin'," Locke retorts, "get rid of your Orc ugly brother over there, and I'll play anything you want."

Madoco giggles, narrowing her eyes in a seductive gaze, "I might just have to do that."

Locke chuckles, "Well, go on then. I'm game if you are. I came for Lilanei, but if you're gonna make me an offer like that, I'd like to take it."

"Mm. . . I don't know. If you couldn't hold on to that little wench of a Half-Elf, I'm not sure you'd be able to handle me."

"I didn't hold on to her because I haven't got eyes for her," Locke answers. "You, on the other hand, well, I must say. . . If I had a woman like you and that moron who took Lil took you, he would've come home with no arms. In fact, he'd have come home in a box."

Her eyes narrow even more as her gaze pierces into Locke's facade, her voice purring, "Oh darling, you do know how to flatter a woman."

"Only the pretty ones," Locke announces. "What do you say? Get rid of him, and I'll sit in his place and you can have my lap."

The corners of her lips curl in a devilish smirk before she slightly turns her head to Maroco and says, "Mm. . . Brother, as you can see, Locke and I need – a moment. How about you give us some quality time alone together? Besides. . . You have a. . . very special delivery to make."

"Ah, yes," Maroco grins devilishly. "I'd best make haste. I can't keep our precious flower waiting."

Locke's eyes narrow as he hears Maroco mention a flower, who he assumes to be Lilanei.

"Well, hang on there," Locke announces. "Before you make your delivery, how about you give us a few minutes alone and then bring that wench out here so she can see me and your sister enjoying our quality time? I know she has a thing for me, and what woman wouldn't? I think seeing your sister and I will let her know I'm not interested, and then she's all yours, Marco!"

Maroco booms with a large chuckle as a chair can be heard dragging along the floor from the dark side of the room, "Ah. . . Locke was it?"

"You're darn right. You remember that name now!"

"Well. . . Locke. Our precious flower made many a mention of you – and she was right! You really are a pompous buffoon."

"Better a pompous buffoon than something that resembles that which comes from a Goblin's nose," Locke retorts. "Obviously, your very, very, very good looking sister didn't get her looks from the same place you did."

Madoco's eyelashes flutter in amusement as Maroco retorts, "Well, say as you may, boy. But I still have something you don't. . . And that is my precious flower."

Locke laughs, "Man, you prune that flower all you want. But, she'll only rise to one man, and that's Locke Kallidin. But I invite you to try."

The man chuckles, sighing, "Well, as much as I would love to stay and chat, Locke, I feel my sister would appreciate it if I were to leave. So, I'm sorry for such a short visit, but I shall take my leave now."

Before Locke can make a move, he sees the figure of the slender man rush to his right where there sits a large window – which he opens and leaps from with great agility. Alone with Madoco, Locke takes a step forward as he widens his arms in a welcoming manner.

"Well then," Locke says with a smirk. "Just you and I, huh? Despite our last encounter being a hostile one, I couldn't help but notice what an attractive young maiden you are, Maddie – if I can call you Maddie. Since our fight, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"Oh darling. . . You left me some very nasty bruises the last time we met – but I'm sure I'm willing to give you another chance. Besides. . . You look so much more gorgeous without that ugly witch hanging on your arm," she purrs again, venom now in her voice.

"I do apologize for the wounds, sweetheart," Locke says smoothly, a large grin on his face. "Let me have a look and I'll tend to them, if you like."

"Hm, I'm not so sure, darling. Don't you think you're going a bit. . . fast?" She grins.

"Oh, so you're more of the 'wine me, dine me, spend lots of gold on me, and then I'll let you in' kind of girls?" Locke asks.

Madoco titters, "Mm, I suppose you could say that. I have been known to squeeze many men dry if I do say so."

"Darling, I'll rob a bank if you let me squeeze you!" Locke replies. "We're just wasting time here when we could be having a good time. What do you say? Come with me, and I'll show you who your lord is – in a good way! I'm sure you'll like it."

"Oh, Locky. . . You do know how to soften me up. Yet," she says, her hands sensually traveling to her belt, fingers grazing the handle of her dagger, "I don't know if you have what it takes to be my man."

"I'm giving you just one more chance," Locke replies. "Let's cut out all this fighting stuff and I'll take you wherever you wanna go. You could be Madoco Kallidin for all you know, but if you're gonna just waste my time and make me fight such a beautiful woman, forget it. I'd rather kiss you – not let my sickle sting you."

Her right hand softly caressing her sheathed dagger, she begins to stroll nonchalantly to Locke, purring, "Well. . . That does intrigue me."

"Take the weapon off," Locke states. "I'll take mine off."

"Oh, you would like that, wouldn't you, darling?" She says as her hands softly grasp the handle and pull it from its sheathe; with a quiet motion she pokes the tip of the blade into her left index finger as she narrows her eyes towards Locke, saying, "Why should I?"

"So I know if I kiss you, you won't let your dagger kiss me back. . . Although," Locke pauses, bringing his curled index finger and thumb up to his chin as he thinks. "I don't know. For all I know, there could be another blade hidden somewhere in that very attractive body. Maybe I shouldn't let you kiss me with that armour on. . . Because if you're just playing with me, drop the act and let's call it quits. I like you; I dunno if you like me. Marco likes Lilanei," Locke drones his arms up in the air. "He gets what he wants, you get what you want, but when do I get what I want? I ran through some of those dumb punks back there who, seriously, you need to train on how to fight. I did all that to see you and this is what I get – a bunch of games."

"Games?" She echoes softly before sheathing her dagger once more. "Oh Locke. . . You play just as many games as I do. Now tell me what exactly it is you want."

"Well. . . If I'm honest," he says as he reaches out and strokes a strand of her long black hair before bringing his arm back to his side, "I want you. Although, I'd also want Lilanei to go free. I mean, you've probably got her in a cage somewhere. Send her back home and I'll stay with you! Dump your brother – you don't want him around; he'll only make things awkward for the two of us. You know, I've had to stand and suffer Lilanei's mindless droning about fighting the good fight. I'm all about good looking women, gold, and good times. I could have the woman – I want the gold and good times too. So let's get rid Morocco, or whatever his name is, get rid of her, and I will be your King."

The woman sighs, her grin turning to a frown as he strokes her hair, as she says, "Locke. . . Oh, you do drone on, don't you? In fact, you quite bore me with all this talk of Lilanei." She now steps forward into Locke's personal space, grabbing him by his leather collar and pulling him slightly forth – her hair near enough to graze his cheeks. "Enough of these frivolities, enough of Maroco, and enough of that witch! Tell me. . . What do you really want?"

Locke grasps Madoco's wrists tightly in his hands and brings them up to his chest level.

"Why, I want you," he quietly replies.

Her lips move in slow deliberate motions as she says, "Then – take – me."

"Hang on!” Locke replies, pulling his head away slightly and looking towards the window. "There could be poison laced on those lips." Locke shakes his head, "No, I still don't know if I should trust you. Beautiful creatures can be the deadly ones, Mrs. Widow."

The right corner of Madoco's lip rises and curls in a tooth revealing smirk as she sighs, "You knew I was deadly from the day we met. Isn't that why you want me so?"

"I want you because of your good looking visage!" Locke answers. "I don't fancy dying to be honest. Let me ask you this. What's made you so sore about Lilanei, anyway? She doesn't hold a candle to you. . . Is it jealously?"

Madoco's eyebrow slightly twitches as she violently takes her wrists away from Locke and steps back a few feet.

"Locke," she softly purrs. "You know how I feel about that witch and yet you continue to mention her. What was this about not playing games? It seems I have a hypocrite in my midst."

"No," Locke says casually as he shrugs. "I guess the complement flew over your pretty head, my vixen. Now seriously, let's stop all this mindless banter and get to the point."

"And that point is?"

"Mm-hm-hm-hm," Locke chuckles as he raises his one eyebrow up and down. "You, me – a meal somewhere. A bottle of wine for you, a pitcher of ale for me. A night together. . . Bliss. I have a room at the Sleepy Sheep Inn. It's rather cold and lonely."

Her eyelashes flutter as she narrows her eyes down at him, "Mm. . . So inviting. But, I must ask, what is the catch, my darling?"

"The catch?" Locke asks. "No catch, but if you're feeling generous, Maroco's spot would be nice."

Madoco once again approaches him her own fingers stroking Locke's braid, "Never mind Maroco. I'll take your generous offer. Besides. . . We won't ever have to see that wretched girl ever again, so we may actually live quite comfortably together if I do say so myself."

"Well then," Locke answers with a smile. "Any poison on those lips?"

"Maybe. . . you should find out."

"Sister, I told you. I ain't dying just yet," Locke answers. "So, yes or no?"

Madoco grins, the tip of her tongue protruding from her lips and tracing their length, "It would appear not, my darling."

"Then, let's paint the town as black as our hearts!" Locke says with a smirk as he steps away from the staircase and motions with his arm towards it. "After you, my dear."

"Mm. . . Why leave when we have the comfort of my chamber just ahead?" She says as she motions to the left where Locke notices a couple of doors.

"Any food?" Locke asks. "Fighting all your sissies does build an appetite."

"No food. . . but perhaps I can satisfy your hunger."

"I can't argue with that!" Locke replies. "Lead the way."

Madoco giggles seductively beneath her breath as she begins to slowly stroll to one of the doors, pushing it so that it swings open with a subtle creak. Locke walks towards the door and stands behind Madoco, his fingers softly tracing the hair on the back of her head.

"Go on, then," Locke announces.

"Mm," Madoco purrs as she steps through the doorway.

As she walks through the doorway and into the room, Locke's hand swiftly reaches for the door handle, which he grabs and promptly slams shut behind her.

"Beg for me!" Locke shouts mockingly through the door as he withdraws his sickle. "Let's make this interesting!"

For a moment the other side of the door is silent. Keeping his hand on the door handle, Locke steps to the side of the door so that he is next to the brick wall, his mind flashing with the image of some projectile flying through the door.

"Locke," comes a voice in a sing-song purr.

Locke says nothing; instead he rushes to the window and looks out of it, wondering which way Maroco could've gone from there. He looks around at the city, trying to figure out where Maroco had gone, but due to the cover of darkness, he sees nothing. Instead, he sheathes his sickle and wanders back over to the door.

He knocks the door and announces, "I hear no begging, sweetheart. I thought you wanted me."

In fact, he hears nothing at all. He opens the door, and as he peers into the well furnished room, his eyes widen as he sees the curtains of the window blowing freely – as the window is now open. Just as the thought occurs to him, he feels a soft breath on his shoulder.

"Oh Locke. . . Soon, it'll be you who's begging for me."