Szeethe, in the form of Alfem, the dead halfling and son of Falem, a bookie who worked in The Broken Valor and partner with Farulazar, the Fiend Fighter, began to make his way through the milling crowd to the table where Falem seemed to do his business. When he was perhaps ten feet away, a sweaty dwarf stomped through an opened door and strode through the crowd. He was bald and bare-chested, wearing only leather trousers and boots. His glistening body was covered in criss-crossing scars, which alone was enough to identify him to most people, but emblazoned on his thick shoulder at his right arm was the unmistakable three-F symbol that removed all doubt. This was the Fiend Fighter himself, fresh from some battle in the pit.

Szeethe thought it strange that he had not noticed the fight, though perhaps it has occurred just prior to his arrival. Or, it could be that the famed dwarven gladiator had been merely training and showed the signs of exertion. In any case, the dwarf’s arrival was something of a boon, as the demonic were-rat’s plans called for a relationship with this reclusive fighter.

He watched as the dwarf sat across from Falem, gaining what insight he could of their relationship before he introduced himself. The Fiend Fighter seemed gruff, but generally in a good mood as he spoke to the halfling. Falem, for his part, was quite jolly, patting the dwarf’s wet shoulder as if he were a pal. That the dwarf did not react badly to the invasion of personal space was proof of his comfortable, and warm, relationship with Falem.

The halfling counted on his fingers with some pleasure before pointing to the dwarf and nodding his head. Triple F nodded in return, before picking up a tankard of dark liquid left for him by a passing wench. He drained the tankard in one long pull, and set it down on the table with some obvious satisfaction before reaching his hand out. Falem smiled and handed him an oil-cloth bag drawn up with twine. It was heavy, obviously filled with coins. Evidently winnings had been good of late.

Fearing the dwarf would soon get up and leave, his pay in hand, Szeethe quickly strode towards the table. When he was a few feet away, Falem looked up, making eye contact with what he seemed to recognize as his son. An odd expression passed over his face, neither wrathful nor pleased. Undaunted, Szeethe continued the last few paces and stopped at the table, midway between halfling and dwarf.

Falem raised his brows. “Alfem?” he asked, “What brings you here? Surely your table needs running.”

Szeethe nodded. “The table has turned a profit for me,” he said.

“And so I ask again, why are you here?” asked Falem again, perplexed.

“I came only to tell you that I have sold the table!” exclaimed Szeethe.

“And why did you do that?” asked the halfling in amazement.

“I have found another, far better business, father,” said Alfem, “And I would like to tell you about it.”

“Son,” began the elder halfling in an admonishing tone, “You know not to disturb me while I am at my business.”

“That I do. If you will do me the honor of supper when you are done?” asked Szeethe.

"Yes, yes," said Falem in a hurry.

Farulazar looked at Szeethe, curiously, but said nothing. Falem caught his gaze and nodded, his expression a mixture of irritation and resignation. “Farulazar,” he began, “Allow me to introduce my son, Alfem.”

Szeethe was briefly surprised at the introduction. He had fully expected Alfem had known the dwarf at least in passing. That Falem had never introduced the two was something of a set back, but one that had some advantages. After all, Farulazar, not having met Falem’s son, would not be able to discern differences between the original and the impostor.

Smiling, Szeethe bowed to the dwarf, whose expression was pleasant but guarded, “I am pleased to meet you.”

“And you,” said the dwarf, somewhat gruffly.

Falem stood, taking Szeethe’s hand, “And now you must go. I will speak with you later, son.”

“Until then,” replied the dark creature, shaking the halfling’s hand.

Szeethe bowed once more to the dwarf and then turned leaving the table. He strode through the crowd and out of The Broken Valor. On the street, he allowed an evil grin as he contemplated his next move. He turned and disappeared into the bustling throng and made his way towards his dark chambers. New plans were unfolding in his mind, plans which he would soon set into motion. As he walked, he considered this great turn in fortune and the blood that would soon flow...

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