Life at the Hostelry has not been the same since the Blood Kings came. A little brown-and-white mouse came in and did an excellent job fixing the broken shelf and several of the chairs and stools, as well as various dings all around. One of the neighbors donated a replacement table, and physically the place looks better than it has since Piper moved in. Spiritually, however . . . .

A few nights ago, Piper heard April and her mother having an argument that left them both in tears. Several of the common room's regular tenants have moved out, and the private rooms have not been rented at all. While the main room remains short a table, the absence has scarcely been noticed, with so few customers that no more than two tables have been in use at once anyway. Durog returned last night, with his sides taped up and one leg in a cast to the thigh. He maneuvers about on crutches somewhat awkwardly, and this morning he sits behind the bar, while April attends to various chores in the kitchen and cellar.

Piper's nose is firmly buried in a large mug of milk as he sits at the bar and thinks to himself. He watches Durog work and then glances down when he thinks the raccoon might be watching him.

The large raccoon, never talkative or friendly, seems even more withdrawn, even sullen, as he sits beside the cashbox, polishing glasses mechanically, eyes occasionally scanning the room without really seeming to see anything. At mid-morning, he and the Gallee are the only occupants of the main room.

The mutt finally pulls his nose out of the mug and licks the sides of his muzzle to clean off any errant drops. "Misseur Durog, may I have a refill?" He places a couple of shekels on the table. He's not really very thirsty, but has been ordering more food and drink than normal in the vain hopes that a few extra shekels from him might help a little.

The innkeeper grunts in response, spinning on the stool and stretching out his arm to take a half-full bottle of milk from a shelf behind the bar. He re-fills the Gallah's mug, emptying the bottle, and tosses it into the trash pail beside him.

After a few moments, the raccoon reaches out to collect the shekels, unlocking the cashbox and tossing them inside.

"Merci beaucoup." Piper weakly laps at his mug and sighs loudly. "Misseur Durog, I am loathe to bring this up but I do not wish to see your business go under. I am occasionally employed by some people who might be able to help you, I would like to ask your permission to come to them for aid … especially if the Temple can do nothing."

As the Gallah starts speaking, Durog continues to polish glasses, racking them before him on a spread towel. The raccoon does not look at Piper for some moments after he finishes, and the canine starts to wonder if the raccoon somehow did not hear him, or did not realize he was speaking to the innkeeper. Then, at last, he says, "What friends?" He still does not look away from his work.

"They call themselves the Shadow Wolves; one of their members told me they were a gang as well – but they are not a gang like the barbares who attacked you. They have found me happy and willing customers and I have never done anything illegal for them during my employ." The Gallah coughs into his fist. "I do not like bringing up the subject of gangs after your previous incident, but I believe I can trust these people to help."

At the mention of their name, Durog's ears flatten against his head, and when Piper coughs after the word "employ", he sets the mug and cloth down carefully onto the bartop. He turns his head at last, locking his gaze onto the Gallah, eyes slightly narrowed. Even after the canine finishes, the raccoon says nothing, just looking at his customer evenly, unmoving.

Piper shrinks down in his chair. "I am not a member of this gang, misseur! I did not even know they were a gang until after I had done work for them and I was told who they were at a party I was invited to." He swallows. "I… I'm sorry. I should not have even brought it up."

The raccoon grunts, and picks up his cloth and mug again, resuming his chore. After a few minutes of silence, he speaks, rather to Piper's surprise. "Don't want more trouble."

"Misseur, I will not mention it again after this… and I hate to say the words but – your business is dying. I do not wish to see my friends and my home forced into closure. Would… would you feel all right to me having my friend Torn-Ear come and speak to you about the matter? I will not go over your head, but I beg you to at least allow him a chance to speak to you and see what he can do to help." The Gallah's fingers dig into the sides of his mug.

A low grumbling sound comes from the innkeeper, and the long silence the canid has come to expect follows his remark. Durog finishes with the mug in his hand, and lifts another from the pile in a bin on a stool beside him, starting on it. He finishes with it, too, sets it down, and reaches for another, then stops. He puts the cloth onto the bar, and looks at Piper, considering the Gallah. "All right."

Piper almost topples from his chair. "Thank you, misseur! I'll finish my drink and go see them today."

The walk through Darkside at midday is uneventful. Few people are about; a couple of toughs eye Piper speculatively at one point, but take no action. He passes a few scruffy children playing in the dirt, but they scatter in fear as the canine approaches. At last he reaches his destination.

The Gallah pauses to sniff at the door to see if any familiar people might be home and then hesitantly raps on the wood with his knuckles.

Familiar scents cling to the door, but none of them seem especially recent. Some moments pass after the knock with no response, then a peephole inset slides open. An eye peers through, frowns, then vanishes. A moment later, the door slides open, revealing a dark, rangy Skreek frowning at him. "Piper?"

"Yes misseur… Bluemoon I think it was?" The Gallah steps back so he can be seen a bit better. "I wish to speak to misseur Torn-Ear about something that I need his help with."

The rat considers Piper briefly, flicking his whiskers from side to side. "Torn-Ear's not in now," he says at last, still standing in the open door.

"Could I wait here? Or is there someone else I could speak to?" Piper wrings his hands. "The inn where I live was attacked by a gang of Kavi called the Blood Kings and now people are too frightened to come there for business. You have brought business to me and I was hoping you could bring business to them as well, or at least help me keep the ruffians away from the innkeeper and his family."

Bluemoon's ears flatten back against his head as Piper speaks, and he looks startled, glancing around the street for other listeners. "Vhai, Piper!" he hisses, nervous, when the dog finishes. "Eh, yeah, come in." He stands aside, whiskers twitching, head turned so he can still look out at the deserted street.

"Merci." The Gallah quietly trots past the Skreek, tugging at his shirt to keep his hands occupied. "I am sorry for barging in here without sending word or warning first."

Inside the warehouse, the huge main room is far less impressive than when the Gallah last visited. Several tables and rickety chairs are scattered about, and a small nest of the same pillows he saw at the party, looking rather the worse for wear, are piled in the far corner. Bluemoon heads for those, flicking his hairless tail from side to side. "Yeah," he grunts in response. "Hey, y'know, you got trouble, kid, don't go spilling it all on the streets 'round here. People're like sharks, they smell blood and all move in for the kill."

"I am sorry, misseur. I am not very good at being secretive, and usually the purebreds are the ones with the tact." The Gallah licks his nose. "Where is Torn-Ear?"

Bluemoon gives him a hard stare, then answers with one firm word. "Learn." He flops into the pile of cushions and gazes up at Piper. "He's out on some business. Probably be back in a hour or three, hard to say for sure."

Piper shifts from foot to foot for a moment and then distracts himself by pulling up a chair. "I will try, misseur. Do you know anything about the Blood Kings?"

"Don't 'try', kid. Do it. You got me? This is important." The Skreek's words sound irritable and impatient.

The Gallah nods. "I do not wish to bring more trouble to the Black Rock, I will mind my words from now on."

"Good." Bluemoon nods curtly, then considers the dog's other question. "Blood Kings, eh?" He rubs at his chin. "'s a Kavi gang, 'bout twenty-five of them. They got a base not far from here. Street thugs, no subtlety, less sense. Temple oughta come put 'em down, would if they had any balls." He snorts.

Piper pulls a candied bug from his pocket from his small supply of Creen bait and munches on it thoughtfully. "They demanded money from Durog, the innkeeper. He didn't pay and they went in and caused a great deal of damage to the inn and to Durog himself. Do you think Torn-Ear can help?"

"Did they, now?" The rat sounds thoughtful. "That's a little more elegant than their usual style." He rubs his nose. "Eh, Torn-Ear might be able to swing something. They puttin' the moves on any other business 'round your place? Where'd you say this guy's inn was?"

"I do not know if other businesses have fallen victim to them, but I've not heard of any other places suffering similar damage." The dog points a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the Inn. "That way, in the spaces between the Bazaar and Darkside."

The rat nods, sinking deeper into his cushions, shoulders hunched. "Hmph." At the far end of the warehouse, the door creaks open, and Bluemoon's ears flatten back, before relaxing as a cheery female voice calls out, "Helloooo! I'm hooome!"

Piper's cheeks flush red at the voice. "Bonjour, belle femme. Is that you, Mam'selle Cynthia?"

A silvery-white Khatta steps through the door, packages swinging from her hands. "Blue, you got company?" she asks as Piper speaks, then mews in pleasure as she recognizes the voice. "Piper! How've you been, sugar?" She picks her way, hips swaying, around the tables towards the pair.

"Times could be better, Madame, but seeing you lightens my heart a great deal. I hope you do not mind me waiting here for Misseur Torn-ear?" The Gallah idly scratches one of his caramel colored ears.

"Aww, of course not, sweetie," Cynthia purrs, completing her approach and leaning down to fondle the Gallah's other ear.She wears a green off-shoulder blouse with a brown leather girdle over it, and light beige leather pants. "It's been ages," she protests with a mew. "I thought you didn't like me anymore. How've you been?"

The Skreek snorts as Cynthia talks, and he levers himself to his feet, ambling towards a table stacked with bottles. He snags one for himself, then asks as an afterthought, "Hey, you guys want a drink?"

"I have been very well and could not hope for better business thanks to you." The Gallah stifles a giggle and blushes even more under the Khatta's touch. "I am here to ask Misseur Torn-Ear for help against a gang that has caused trouble for one of my friends." He shakes his head to the Skreek, remembering the milk he gorged himself on earlier that morning.

"Aww, you poor thing," she mews in sympathy, leaning over further to stroke her fingers down the Gallah's cheek and muzzle, finishing the touch with a little pat on his nose. "Who's been hassling your friends?" she continues, indignant.

Piper's eyes seem to glaze over at the touch and he's on the verge of blissing out completely when the question yanks him back into reality. "The Blood Skulls, Mam'selle. They caused a great deal of damage to the Inn that I stay at and to the innkeeper. I fear that all their customers are too frightened to visit anymore. I do not wish to see my friends go out of business."

"Blood Skulls?" Cynthia mews curiously, frowning as she tries to place the name.

"Kings," Bluemoon corrects for her, striding back to his cushions with a beer in hand.

The Gallah blushes. "My mistake. It is hard to keep track of names I have only heard second hand."

"Oh!" The feline flicks her whiskers in annoyance. "Those bullies!" She stamps one foot. "Someone ought to teach them a lesson." Cynthia smiles at Piper. "You oughtn't have to waste your brain power on trash like them anyway, sugar," she offers reassuringly.

The Skreek takes a pull on his beer, watching the cat and dog. "Someone?" he quotes Cynthia, inquiry and a warning note in his voice, and she glances at him, ears canting back.

"It is my hope that you may be able to help Misseur Durog before he ends up having to close his inn." The Gallah chews on his lip at Bluemoon's tone. "I had to beg him to allow me to come here. I worry that he is either too frightened to ask for help or has resigned himself to being forced to close his inn."

Cynthia smoothes the fur on the top of Piper's head gently. "You poor sweet thing. I'll bet Torn-Ear can find a way to help." She shoots a look to Bluemoon, and the Skreek shrugs diffidently. "And," she continues brightly, "I think Torn-Ear wanted to see you anyway, so it's quite convenient that you stopped by."

"I would be extremely grateful for nay help you could offer, if only bringing a few more customers to Misseur Durog's door." The glare exchanged between the cat and the rat are lost upon him as his eyes glaze over once again under the Khatta's touch.

The rat chuckles. "The kind of business we'd bring, I dunno if he'd want," he mutters, then rolls his eyes as Cynthia glares at him again. "'s'truth!"

"I will leave the decision up to Misseur Durog, although I hope I will not be finding myself having to find a new home anytime soon. Misseur Durog's family has been very kind to me." The Gallah wrings his hands, wondering quietly to himself if the Temple could have done any good.

The cat purrs at Piper, skritching one brown ear. "We'll see what we can do soon's Torn-Ear gets back," she promises. "Hopefully he'll be in a good mood."

An hour or so later, the door flings open, and a tall gray-furred Jupani strides in, his cloak sweeping behind him, a pair of wolves following like twin shadows. "CYN! BLUE!" he bellows. The Khatta leaps to her feet from where she'd been seated, half-reclining in Piper's lap, her tail twitching. The Skreek straightens amongst his cushion, craning his head to look to the door.

The Gallah decides he probably shouldn't be the only one left seated when the wolf sees them and rises up as well. He brushes a few errant strands of cat hair from his clothing and clears his throat.

"How'd it go, sugar?" Cynthia asks, nervous, as Torn-Ear approaches them.

"Bonjour misseur," Piper barks nervously.

The scarred Jupani doesn't answer as he comes up, then he gives a broad wink, his jaw dropping to reveal a huge canine grin. He sweeps the Khatta into his arms, spinning her around in a dance to unheard music, terminating in a dip nearly to the floor. She squeals, pleased, while he assures her, "Cyn, could not have been better. Blue, we're in business!"

The Gallah relaxes considerably, noting the Jupani's good spirits.

Torn-Ear swings the purring Khatta up and sets her lightly onto her feet, then notes the Gallah's presence. "Pipe! How've you been, my man?" he inquires in jovial tones, reaching out to slap the other's shoulder in a friendly fashion.

Piper stumbles a bit at the contact but seems otherwise unhurt. "I have been very well, Misseur Torn-Ear, although I wish I could speak the same of my circumstances. I have come to ask you for help."

The Jupani's smile dims a few degrees but does not fade, and he offers a wink to the Gallah. "Whatever it is, Piper, today I am sure we can make it right. This a private problem? We wanna discuss it in my office?"

"I've already mentioned it to Misseur Bluemoon and Mam'selle Cynthia. It concerns the Blood Kings. They have tried to extort money from the innkeeper of my home and when he refused to pay they made a mess of things. Now people are too frightened to come to him for business." The words gush from the Gallah's lips, sounding a great deal like a child who's held in some secret or story for too long and now feels the need to let it out at once lest he explode.

"Blood Kings, eh?" Torn-Ear nods, considering the dog's words as he folds his arms across his chest. "Tell ya what, let's talk this over in my office anyway, Pipe."

Cynthia mews, "Is it okay if I come with you, sweetie?" Her tone seems nervous, though why isn't clear.

Piper takes a moment to catch his breath. "Of course, misseur. After you."

"Sure thing, babe," the Jupani replies off-hand, then turns to head into the small room off to one side.

The Gallah's tail swishes nervously as he follows after the wolf. "J'espere qu'ils peuvent m'aider," he mumbles to himself.

The office is much easier to move in without the stacked furniture cluttering it when Piper was first here. Torn-Ear settles himself behind a large scarred desk and folds his hands on top of its surface, while Cynthia perches on one corner of it, leaving a few chairs before the desk for the Gallah. "All right," the Jupani begins. "The Blood Kings are movin' in against your innkeeper, and you need 'em to stop?"

Easing himself into a chair, Piper responds with a nod. "Yes misseur, or at least keep them from causing damage again. I told Misseur Durog that I would try and get you to speak with him over the matter."

The feline looks to the Jupani, lowering her eyelashes. "Can we help him, sweetie?" she pleads.

The Jupani leans back, his hands behind his head. "Yeah, I think we can," he says after a few moments. "Need to sort out just how would be best … but yeah, we can take care of this little matter." He nods decisively.

"Could you speak with Misseur Durog about it when you get the chance? I would happily set myself to any task you ask of me in return." The Gallah's tone lowers slightly. "I doubt Misseur Durog has the money to pay you for your help at the moment, but I would be happy to in his place. Just do not tell him that I have."

"Sure thing, Pipe. I'll go down there myself to talk to him tomorrow. You know the way, right, babe?" he asks Cynthia, who nods in answer. "Then that's settled. Now," The Jupani continues, leaning forward again and smiling at the Gallah, "I'm glad you mentioned tasks, 'cause as it happens, I've been wanting to talk to you about a little something you can do for me."

The Gallah pricks his ears up. "Yes misseur?"

Torn-Ear grins. "See, I've got a friend who wants something, and I'm thinkin' you'd be perfect for getting it. You know that silver Creen 's been flying around the Bazaar?"

Piper shrinks down in his chair. "Yes misseur … I do. His name is Argent." A whine creeps into his voice. "You wish for me to catch him, oui?"

The wolf's grin widens. "You got it, m'boy! Think you can handle that?"

"I wish you would ask some other task of me, misseur. Capturing Argent would feel like capturing my friend." The Gallah rubs his nose. "Is there anything else I could do in exchange?"

Tilting back in his chair, Torn-Ear looks nonplussed, and Cynthia looks nervously from one male to the other, shifting on her perch. "As it happens," he says slowly, "that's the only thing I need you for just now. My friend's ready to pay very handsomely to acquire this little animal … and he's a very good friend, catch my drift?" He cants his ears, looking at Piper. "What's this Creen worth to you that you can't help me out on this, Pipe?"

The Gallah looks intently at his feet. "I sound childish … but I have never encountered a myth before. When I first saw it, I coaxed it to me by playing it a song that told it I was a friend and that it could trust me. I had a wild myth, that has eluded the grasp of masters, perch on my shoulder and sing to me as though I were its child." He scrubs at his cheek with a sleeve. "Is this what I must do to get your aid for the Black Rock? It will be as though I am being asked to cut my ears off to help… " He swallows, his voice dropping to a whisper. "But I will do it. Even if Misseur Argent is a myth, he is still an animal. An animal's survival must always fall behind the survival of a person. That was the first rule I learned in my career."

As Piper relates his story, Cynthia watches him, and as he closes, she turns to exchange glances with her leader. The wolf sits with his hands flat against the desktop, his easy smile of earlier gone, replaced by an impassive, unreadable look. As the silence stretches, she mews, "Torn-Ear?" softly.

"I would work without sleep to earn the money that you are being offered for the creature in exchange for its freedom." The Gallah swallows again, choking down a lump in his throat. "And you may take your anger out on me as much as you wish … because I know I sound like such a fool. But if there is any other way, any other task … please let me take it in place of this."

The wolf stands, and shakes his scarred head in response, and his smile returns. "Naw, it ain't like that, Piper. You don't want to do it, you don't gotta do it," he says magnanimously, waving a hand negligently, as if the whole matter were trivial. "We'll take care of your Blood King problem, don't you worry. That's what friends are for, eh?" He grins at the Gallah.

The Gallah falls back against his chair as though the thread holding him up had been cut. "You really mean it, misseur? Oh thank you! Thank you!" Without thinking he springs forward and grasps the wolf's hand, kissing the top of it in the manner he's seen high ranked Gallisian peasants greet the nobles.

"Hey, hey, none of that Gallisian stuff now!" Torn-Ear protests, taken aback, although he doesn't actually sound offended, while Cynthia giggles, her own stance noticeably more relaxed. "And yeah, I mean it," he adds, firmly. "I say it, I mean it."

"I'm sorry misseur, it was just … I thought." the Gallahshakes his head, his tail wags so strongly that it threatens to knock his chair over. "Never mind. I deeply thank you, Misseur Torn-Ear. I'll go and tell Durog that you're coming, and I'll make sure that the finest foods and drinks are waiting for you when you arrive. One day I truly will repay you for all of your kindness."

The Jupani folds his arms across his chest, and gives a chuckle at the dog's exuberance. "Heh, Piper, I'm sure you will."