Witch Hunt

"And... got it!", announces Alabastra, as she cracks open the crypt lock. The heavy slate doors slide open, daylight spilling into the dusty insides of the tomb. I take only a quick look inside before casting my eyes back to the graveyard we find ourselves in. Sprawling, neat, and layered, the second graveyard I've visited today, and far more austere than the last, adorned with obsidian statues of the Goddess of death. Skeletal hands emerge from the sleeves of her black veil to beckon the departed into the beyond.

Standing outside the family tomb of the... Hosglower dynasty, a name I'm unfamiliar with, the rogue gestures us quickly inside. The interior of the crypt descends into the earth, stairs opening into a wide chamber for the slumbering dead, peaceful in their stone beds evermore. Urns in alcoves carved out of the wall doubtlessly hold cremated ashes, and shelves display books and personal effects, jewelry, ornamental swords, and even children's toys in a ritual of comfort. Black unlit candle holders and unfurled scrolls of scripture are the only signs anyone makes any regular visits here at all.

As we all walk down, Grace is the last behind us. Alabastra looks over her shoulder, and holds out a hand. "Wait up here, Silver Spoon. Might get dangerous. Just make sure nobody comes in behind us."

The socialite grabs her forearm. "But... Vail..."

"Tell us somethin' only you'd know, so he knows you sent us."

Grace thinks for a moment. "I guess... mention how I broke my arm last Heimsfest... Father didn't want me to go to the hospital until after the party was over so I didn't cause a scene, so he took me instead..."

The rogue winces at the anecdote, then nods. "Can do. We'll be out in no time."

With a scraping sound of stone on stone, Tegan closes the crypt door behind us. We're left in darkness, not a problem for myself or the half-elf, but the other two stumble around without sight.

"LUX", Faylie says, as a small light emanates from her hand, outstretched into the chamber.

Alabastra's hands go to her hips, tapping her foot. "Secret entrance... secret entrance... Hmm. Look for scuff marks on the ground, disturbed dust, anything that looks too clean. Fuckers came through recent, so, should still be signs."

We fan out, searching the premises for marks of entry, footsteps, anything... but after several minutes, nobody catches a clue. "You sure this is the right place?", asks Tegan, watching the graves with a paladin's eye.

Mock-offended by the insinuation her information is wrong, Faylie upturns her nose. "He said Hosglower..." She moves to one of the candelabras, igniting the candle with a snap of her fingers. The light in her hand goes out. "Arm's getting tired... I'll light the rest."

Faylie moves from candlestick to candlestick, until the room is awash in a warm orange glow. As she walks to the last to finish her rounds, she stops. "Huh. This candle isn't real."

Alabastra hurries over from the bookshelf she was trying every book from. "That sounds like our ticket to ride." She grabs at the metal pole, attempting to maneuver it around, only to find it stuck in place. She pushes it every which way, but nothing happens.

I think on the interior of the building. The entrance couldn't be built into the walls of this place, or it might run counter to the other graves and crypts here. It would have to be built from the floor. But, then, what could be covering it other than the graves...?

Huh. I move to the sarcophagus that the candelabra sits in front of. There are scratch marks at the side of the lid... scarce are the reasons someone would have to open a coffin again at all, let alone often enough to etch wear and tear into the edges. "At the risk of sounding sacrilegious... Open this coffin, Tegan."

The paladin hems and haws. "Uh. Lemme just..." She paws at the symbol around her neck, and her eyes beam with gold. Immediately her face turns sour, and she backs away from me. Detecting me... "Fuck. I forgot."

My fists squeeze into tight balls. I suppose I still count as undead even with the watch's influence. The sides of my neck grow sore, throat muscles constricting. "I think we'd notice if there were any undead in here, paladin", I hiss at her, reviled by the reminder.

"Right...", she says, cutting the glow away with a fluttering of her lids. She walks back to the sarcophagus, grabbing the sides. With a mighty heave, she throws the lid aside, revealing... an empty tomb. I look to the rogue. "Try again."

Alabastra grows her annoying grin across her face once more. "Sure... if you ask nicely!"

I almost snap at her again for that little comment, but there's honestly no point. I'm starting to tire of the- Ngh. Like someone lit a fire in my synapses, the headache returns once more. "Just- just do it", I say through clenched teeth.

She eyes me suspiciously, narrow mirthless rays cast down. Wordlessly, she tests at the candelabra again, and successfully pulls it backwards. With a click, the bottom of the sarcophagus falls out, revealing a trapdoor down into a dimly lit staircase.

"Huh." Alabastra walks forward, stepping into the sarcophagus. "Well, they always told me I had one foot in the grave, but I-"

"Please stop."

* * *

Even the sewers are nicer.

Not by much, mind. No amount of affluence can excise that smell... But the brickwork is better maintained, there are guard rails separating the walkways from the filth river... there are even lights. Fluorescent bulbs overhead, flickering and giving off nearly less than a torch's, but lights all the same.

We exit out from the tunnel the stairs meet with, crawling through an open portcullis in the wall. The moment we do, Alabastra walks to the railing, head swiveling side to side. It doesn't take long to find signs of our query... the stench of a rotting corpse mixes horridly with the refuse. Flies swarm over congealed blood, and a cold and lifeless disemboweled body sits at just the other side of the river, over a stone bridge.

"Ngh, fuck", Alabastra forces out through a grimace, holding a hand to cover her nostrils. "Anybody got anything for that stench?"

I roll my eyes. If the malodor weren't so assaulting to myself I'd consider letting her fester... but I'd also like this to be over. I reach into my bag, producing some incense in a bowl and a lighter. Covering the smell with an equally strong one should at least assist. I light up the incense, holding the brass bowl out as I fetch a work glove so that I don't burn my own hand.

"Guess that's something...", says the half-elf.

Over the bridge, we get a better look at the corpse, swatting away the teeming insects. It's a human, dressed in the old uniform of a soldier, perhaps early 40s. I'm no expert in forensics, but I'd imagine he's been down here a week or more, at least, judging by the pallor and the bloat.

"Ew, ah, no no no", Faylie yelps, turning away from the sight, head buried into Tegan's breastplate. The knight instinctually rubs the back of the faun's head. I'd never have taken the faun for squeamish, for all her talk about fireballs and her flippant attitude toward violent escalation.

It only takes a moment of appraisal at the body for Alabastra to say what I'm already thinking. "Not our man."

I intone, "The Partisan mentioned that this 'Vail' was chased into the sewers by one of their own. I suppose this is him."

"Lucky for us..." She walks past the corpse, taking a large step over the outstretched legs. "He left a trail." She points to streaks of blood, leading around a corner and down a significant stretch of the waterworks.

We continue on, close enough to the deceased for a moment that the incense does nothing for the stench. I consider myself thankful that I've ironed my stomach against foul influences, or my insides would be without by now.

...Like Faylie. She heaves and retches on to the floor, teary eyed. "Sorry..." She holds her nose, closes her eyes, and sprints past the corpse. Alabastra has to catch her by the forearm to keep her from spilling into the river of sewage.

The rogue pulls her close, both up against the wall. Sighing in relief for a moment, she says, "Not our finest dance, Firefly, but still sweet."

Faylie smiles briefly, then her cheeks putt out. "Yugh. Don't say sweet right now."

Past the body, a trail of smeared crimson leads further on. Even here in the upper city, the underburrows are like another world... any one of these passages might descend down into forgotten caverns, buried sections of the old city, vestibules of forgotten lore, and the burrows of awaiting predators to pounce. These tunnels eventually connect to the cliffside, dig down to meet the lower city's subterranean network, and even run headlong into the beating nexus of the city itself; the source of Bassarin river.

Somewhere under this plateau, beneath the footfalls of the wealthy and powerful, lies the heart of the waterways. A ceaseless fountain of life springing forth eternal rivers that flow out into the city, and beyond. An endless, aqueous flowing tap into another world of infinite fresh oceans. The reason for Marble City's founding, and success. A portal to the elemental plane of water.

The streams running through these sewers, the river that cuts through Nivannen, the tap water in my home that slakes the thirst of my profession; all of it flows from the same source, monitored and controlled here by a convoluted series of piping, aqueducts, and basins to industrialize that most quintessential source. Though how to navigate toward that center from here would be a nightmare of twisting passageways... our current destination is almost certainly more modest.

It isn't long before the bloodstains start to dry up. Or, more likely, washed away bit by bit. That is, until they turn into a side passage, diverting away from the sewers into a rockier tunnel, before connecting again with what looks like an old brick chamber here in the underground. A bloody hand smear points down into a stairwell, like an accidental arrow.

"Creepy... but helpful!" Alabastra leads us down the stairway. Should the fiendling have set up any traps, I'm glad to let the rogue bear the brunt.

Down the stairs we find ourselves in a concrete and brick nook, likely a maintenance space, full of vertical pipes and tubes, smelling of damp mildew. The dark and eerie ambiance croaks with water droplet sounds... and skittering. I tense up.

At first I believe it to be little more than a nuisance. until the tapping on concrete and metal starts to grow louder.

Faylie says, "Is that..."

Tegan tenses her grip around her sword, and draws. "Yep."

From out of the darkness leap several horrid forms bearing mandible and claw. Six dull-pink insects, the size of raccoons, each with six legs along the front. Their backs rise in a bulbous elongated abdomen ending in a stinger, and four angry eyes each stare beady and black at their prey. They move in a swarm.

The knight rushes forward, her shield up to make a wall against the onslaught of ant-like enemies. Alabastra dashes back, knocking her bow and skewering one of the vermin through and through. It squeals in a horrible hiss as it dies. Cards already out, Faylie conjures an un-shouted barrage of raw magical force to assail the bugs, bursting one in a shower of disgusting liquid insides. Tegan's sword buries through the hardened carapace of a third, and it twitches to expiration.

A bug skitters past Tegan and makes a leap for Alabastra. She spins to avoid the sharpened pincers of its front legs, using her bow like a bat to beat it away in a manic escape. I hardly even have a moment to savor her misfortune, as a click-clacking draws my attention just in time to my side as another of the insects is now upon me!

I back up frantically as it scuttles after me. In a panic my hand fumbles around my bag for something - anything that would help. My legs trip behind me, and I land with a hard crack on my tailbone. A sword-sharp point at the end of its spindly leg rears up to pierce through my chest.

With closed eyes I smash the only thing I managed to pull from my bag against the craggy exterior of the awful thing. Glass shatters before me, and I open my eyes to see a lavender liquid sliding off the creature. It stumbles from my accidentally issued Subduant, swaying like it's drunk, tip-taps of its pincers across the concrete.

Tegan cuts it in half. She turns to me, sheathes her sword, and sticks out a hand to lift me up.

I look around at the rest to see the one that had been harrying Alabastra is burned with Faylie's magic. Skittering down the maintenance hall tells us the last has retreated from its mealtime folly.

Brushing myself off, I stand on my own, refusing the outstretched hand of the paladin.

Alabastra says, "Fuckin' aricades." She spits down on one of the insectoid corpses. Now deceased enough to get a proper look at their physiology, they seem halfway between spider and beetle, a foot-and-a-half of vicious killing potential. I've never seen one up close... not an experience I was ever hoping to have.

Strange that aricades would infest upper city sewers such as this. Perhaps this section of the city isn't patrolled often; it would track with how long that body's been left unattended.

At the side of the concrete nook, a blue-painted door is shut closed, but light spills from underneath the cracks. Alabastra walks forward and, bizarrely, raps her knuckles against the metal. When she receives no response, she creaks open the door, peering her head around the corner. Beyond the threshold, it seems to be a supply closet, or perhaps an office.

"Oh shit", she says.

Following after, we step inside to see the near-still form of a fiendling laid out on an old ratty mattress. The figure has dull, ruddy red skin like terracotta, and curved black rams horns that poke at the stained cushion. Dark brown hair cut short half-covers the face, stuck-to with sweat. Notably, the figure looks to be asleep, bandages wrapped all around the torso, in two sets. The bandages around the midsection are stained and bled through, but the set around the ribcage is not... strange.

In the corner of the room, two scimitars stand on their blade tips, pinned to the wall with a pile of dirty clothes. The wrapper remnants of rations, several more aricade corpses, and a canteen at the fiendling's side tell a survivor's story.

Vail, if I'm to make the logical assumption, is clearly on the verge of death, judging by his ragged breaths and infection-wrought fevered shivering. Alabastra steps forward, fishing through her pack. "Alright, let's getcha up, buddy." She pulls out a healing potion.

Something twists within me. I almost... almost grab at her forearm, to tell her to not waste the resources. That saving him is a waste of time.

And then I think about what I just leapt to. Why was that my first response? Ugh, the headache from before returns doubly. Without a word, I dart out of the side room to catch... whatever passes for fresh air in this swamp. Hands on my knees as I try and concentrate to dull the pain, I search my thoughts.

Am I not supposed to be a healer, ostensibly? Yet... my first and foremost priority is seeing this done, isn't it. It's... the logical course of action, I suppose, surely. Why should I care for some unknown fiendling who ran headlong into danger? If anything, he probably deserves it... Right? All that matters is returning to my shop. Returning to my shop, and being free of her.

I shake my head. Regardless, they're unlikely to be swayed from this path until they've tended those wounds. I turn back into the room to see Alabastra using now a second potion, wasteful, pouring over the midsection.

My head flashes, briefly, with the image of Grace in a similar position. Dammit, I almost leave again.

Tegan's eyes glow, and her gauntlets shine much the same, held above the injured man in a torrent of divine healing magic. She pulls away a moment later, and says, "Okay, uh, that's probably the infection taken care of? Unless he had something nastier than sepsis."

"After a week in this place? Entirely possible", Alabastra says.

He's lucky the knight knows what she's doing. Killing infections, poisons, or other invasive maladies is a risky prospect, wholly different from the typical suturing of healing magics. Destroying the infection may have taken yet more blood with it, but I don't doubt he wouldn't survive otherwise.

The wounded fiendling's eyes flutter open, orange like the hellfires his lineage dates back to. I briefly consider if he might have been hearing the same clarion call as the others afflicted with urges, but Nathaniel's files didn't mention fiendlings, and the city would certainly be far more aware if they were likewise cursed. He did mention a half-devil: commonly misconstrued, as I'm led to believe.

And then I recall that Grace said he was a monster hunter. Before I have time to consider if this was a greater folly than I'd thought, he backs away in a panic, already awake, grabbing at his clothes to cover himself. He's livelier than I'd have expected. I suppose slayers are made of sterner stuff.

"You wouldn't dare...", he snarls through rows of pointed teeth. His voice is... strangely high, almost prepubescent, mixed with a gravely attempt to sound deeper, and his accent has a vague western drawl... He's a long way from home.

Alabastra holds up her hands. "Woah, hey, we're friends. We're friendly. In fact, I'd bet we just saved your life."

His eyes dart, ready to bolt despite the near-death. "I don't have friends..."

Turning her nonviolent gesture into a shrug, Alabastra looks back to the rest of us, then the fiendling again. "I think you've got more than you realize. Vail, right? I'm Alabastra, that's Tegan, Faylie, and Oscar."

"How do you know my name...?"

"Grace sent us. She said somethin' about..." She snap-taps her forehead with the edge of her thumb. "Heimsfest... fuck, help me out, Bug?"

Faylie steps forward. "Grace broke her arm and you helped her one time! She was really worried about you, apparently even more than Prudence was..."

At the utterance of Prudence, he shivers in places, looking around, panic glinting in his eye. "And... either of them here?" He starts to move toward the clothes pile, eyes still locked with the half-elf.

"We had Sil- um, Grace wait outside, in the graveyard. She was real worked up about you. Must think you're the cat's pajamas." Alabastra crosses her arms, smiling down at the wounded man. "Are you?"

Vail stares at her, unsure and anticipatory. "... She's not here, then?" Then, he sighs, pulling on his stained undershirt, repaired with patchworks far older than this mishap. "Then at least they won't see me like this."

Alabastra stares at him, a strange sort of smile growing on her face. She seems to have a thought... that she quickly abandons, tossed to the side of the river bank. "Y'know, I think I like you."

Rather reasonably, his response to that is a bewildered shrug. "Wha-?"

"Call it a hunch."

This has quickly grown tiresome. "Alabastra", I snap, "We have him. Let's go."

Vail nods. "Yeah, I agree with your lanky friend. I spent long enough in this sewer. Mister Forsyth hire you then?" As he asks, he pulls an arm through a long, ratty, and slightly burnt trench coat, that flows behind him like a ruined banner. He wears a wide-brimmed hat with holes cut for his horns, and the spurs at the bottom of his boots jangle as he slips them on. He cuts an admittedly intimidating silhouette, despite the shorter stature.

Faylie speaks up, "Um... no, it was Grace... like we said!"

He narrows his eyes, still not seeming to quite believe that it was really the girl who sent us. Then, he picks up his scimitars, considering them for a moment. The light glints off the silver edges, as the room shines back along the dual mirrors. I take a step back to not let my lack-of reflection be caught in the view.

"Are we in danger?", he asks.

Alabastra brushes a hand through the air. "Nah", she says, "Just some aricades. Though, you might wanna watch your back when we get topside. Partisans still lookin' for payback."

A hopeless little snort escapes Vail. "I'd think they had enough..."

"It's never enough for those chuckle-fucks... Best to lay low and hope they get bored."

Tegan adds, "I'd, uh, strongly second that. They're dangerous."

The monster hunter considers, then smiles, exposing a forked tongue between his sharpened teeth. He pushes past us, out into the open maintenance area, moving with the earned poise and confidence of a trained killer. Swinging his swords around, he observes the corpses of the aricades, and on a dime, spins at a returning skittering. Before any of us have time to react, he slides past an approaching bug come back for seconds. His swords cut the thing to three pieces in a dual-armed stroke.

He looks back to us. "So am I." Calmly, he ambles up the stairs, sheathing his swords.

"I like him", Alabastra says, only loud enough for the four of us. "But... be careful."

The paladin only nods. "Don't need to tell me twice."

I say nothing, but maneuver to the back of the knight.

Faylie, meanwhile, seems to miss that memo on safety entirely, bounding past us to tug on the hired thug's coat. Vail stops dead in his tracks, spinning on the heel of a boot. "Um, you wouldn't happen to... know another way out of here, would you?", she asks. "I really don't wanna go back through Corpse Alley."

Vail chuckles, relaxing. "No. None that aren't watched by the Sable Guard, anyways." He climbs back up the stairs, spurs clinging with each step. He says, "So... where do you four factor into this, then?"

"We're just the hired help", says Alabastra. "Grace was real worried."

He looks confused for a moment, gait slowing as he reaches the top of the staircase. "Then you're just... mercenaries?"

Obviously, the insinuation's stirred something within Tegan, as she issues a direct, "No." Then, when we all look to her, she stumbles. "Uh, I mean..."

Alabastra swoops in. "I prefer to think of us as freelancers. 'S'even got free in the name." Self-important meddlers is the most apt description I've found.

"And your pay for this job?", Vail probes at us with... I'd almost call it camaraderie, were he not so jumpy.

"Pro bono. Just a ticket into the upper city."

Vail stops at the threshold back into the sewers proper, turning to face the rogue with squinting eyes. "Nobody works for free..."

Gods do I hate that smile on the rogue's face. That self-assured grin that screams that she hasn't learned a thing. "Well... fitting then... We're just a bunch of nobodies." She shrugs, willfully oblivious to the tension of the fiendling, compressed like a coil. "It was right around the corner, no big deal. Not like we're on a crunch."

Still blocking the exit, the longer Vail stands there, the more he seems ready for anything. I suppose a certain amount of paranoia is warranted... "What's your game?", he asks out of the side of his mouth, eyes shifting back and forth between us, making me hyperaware of my own movements.

"Probably best you don't ask. Trust us, it ain't a thing to do with you or your business."

"Usually when someone says something like that, there's a good chance they're angling to stab the other in the back. So what's it gonna be today, huh?" Upon second consideration, I am starting to like this person.

The rogue smiles. "Oh, that's good. Who taught ya that one?" She walks forward, causing the fiendling to flinch, just-so. "Look, I know trust ain't easy to come by, but if we wanted you dead, we coulda offed you back in that room, told Grace the Partisans got ya, been done with it." She says it so breezily it almost doesn't register as a threat. She pats him on the shoulder. "So... trust us or don't, but I'm gettin' the fuck out of this sewer." Alabastra pushes past him.

Vail looks behind him to the back of the half-elf's longcoat, and mumbles under his breath, "Who the fuck...?" We all follow after.

As we walk, I notice our tagalong still holding his side in pain. He'll need yet more time to rest and heal... though, I'm unsure where he's going to receive that care. Having been fired, it seems likely that his circumstances are only going to worsen. Not that it concerns me.

Faylie breaks the silence, clopping up to walk alongside him. "I like your outfit!"

He shifts, slightly. "Boss said I had to be imposing. Used to be I'd wear something more practical..." He lifts one leg a little higher mid-gait to show off the back of his boot. "But I think I'll keep it. Mostly for the spurs - I like the way they jangle."

Alabastra chuckles, turning to face us as she walks backwards. "Guess you'll get to choose your wardrobe now, at least. Silver linings..."

Vail pulls at the edge of his coat. "I might still get my job back... Mr. Forsyth's not entirely unreasonable."

The smiles falls from the half-elf, biting her lower lip. "Yea... maybe. Doubt it from a Lupine, but... hope it works out for ya." She clears her throat. "But if it doesn't, and you need a place to stay, there's a little parish called Stilton in the waterworks under East Grennard. Can't promise comfort, but they'll take ya in. Could use a monster hunter, really."

Clearly the words don't strike quite where Alabastra wanted them. Vail raises another suspicious brow. "How did you know that?"

"Grace mentioned it!" Faylie speaks up as she fishes through her bag. She produces a clothespin, and snaps it onto the tip of her nose. With a now nasally muffled voice she continues, "Guess you must be one tough cookie, right?"

The former monster hunter only hmms in response to the faun's antics. He looks back to Alabastra. "I'll consider it." 

As we near the exit I light the incense bowl once more, masking the horrid scent of the rotting corpse.

Vail chuckles. "Reminds me of home."

I roll my eyes. "Okay."

He appraises me for a moment, perhaps having forgotten that I could speak. Then he looks passed me as we round the corner, down at the corpse. "Gods, how long have I been down here...?" Vail covers his nostrils, withdrawing within his ratty coat.

"Not sure exactly... at least an extra week on top of what you're thinkin'... Grace was waylaid", Alabastra says, hopping right over the body with the aplomb of a gymnast.

Vail looks up, panicked. "What do you mean?!"

Tegan holds up her hands. "She's fine. Actually, uh, that one back there healed her up." The knight points to me, and I dart my eyes away. Dammit, look at me less.

As we all cross over the other side of the bridge, meeting back with the tunnel into the crypt, Vail says, "Is that so..." He looks me over once more, trying to read me like a book jacket.

Alabastra interjects, "Hey what's the deal with you n' Prudence, then?"

The fiendling turns, orange-red eyes glinting in the dark like sparks. "You're asking too many questions."

She only shrugs. "Ah, well, you know the ol' saying... do unto others..." She stops, having pulled herself up and out of the grave, eyes now locked on the mausoleum exit. "Oh, huh." She vaults over the sarcophagus edge.

We all follow behind, driven curious by the mad half-elf's impulse. Crowded into the chamber, we all see what's interested the rogue so suddenly. She plucks a note card from the inside crease of the door, wedged in as a notice, an awaiting message for we sewer trawlers. The card is written in flowy, fancy handwriting, and only a scant few words are lettered in a hand quick enough to have left a smudge of ink on the side.

'Father's men taking me home. Find me there. - G'.

Alabastra passes the note between all of us, brows knit in concern. As Vail reads the words, he backs away, suspicion rising within him once more. Jumpy one... "This... this had better not be a trick, freelancers."

"'Course not. We'll go together - prove it."

I shoot her a dagger glare. We are most certainly not...

But she's already out the door. Dammit. Dammit. Dammit. Why must the universe conspire to put everyone else's problems in the path of my own? Vail darts after the rogue, clearly intent on showing the way to these Forsyths. I bury my head in my hands, and follow after.

* * *

Even for all the gaudy, ostentatious estates of the heights, the Forsyth's manor is truly amongst the most flagrant displays of wealth I have yet seen. A sprawling garden leads up to a home with a steepled shape, wider than it is long, like a stretched church. Made of clay and marble brick alike, a clock tower is built into the home, denoting it in the skyline as a landmark, and over-plenteous turrets give the roof a shape more like a mountain range. Gold is etched into the metal railing on the second floor balcony, and the home is swaddled in greenery like a babe in the crib; trees and bushes, flowers and vines, a uniform jungle buttressed against the house. Mother nature in facsimile.

As we walk through the garden, constructed of three tiers of penned platforms, decorated with statues and fountains and a great square pool of water to our right, lantern lights switch on as the day begins to fall to night, painting the sky behind the manor in brilliant pinks and oranges. It takes little effort to spot the peculiar scene unfolding afore the front doors.

A fair few armored Sable Guard are standing outside the home, at attention and ready for conflict. Half surrounded in a semi-circle by the guard, Grace is mid-heated conversation with a man in his late 40s, blond hair slicked back and shining, sporting a tan three-piece silk suit that looks like it may cost more than my shop. The man bears a family resemblance to Grace, same honey blond locks, same piercing eyes of blue, though Grace holds a certain softness that is absent in the man; all hard edges and lines. He almost looks elven, only without the pointed ears to match. And the sheer command he conquers drowns us all in his pull.

Alabastra wisecracks to the rest of us, "And there he is... the Chief Embezzler himself." That's quite the sensational accusation. I'm not sure if she's referring to anything in specific, or simply making an assumption. Part of my absent media diet; if this man is infamous, I'd have no way of knowing.

Vail pushes toward her, horns threatening to poke the half-elf in the sternum. "Watch what you're saying - and where you're saying it."

She holds a cocky smile. "I hate to break it to you, but you're not gettin' your job back." When his unamused expression doesn't change, she sighs. "This isn't gonna go how you're thinkin'."

The fiendling turns with a snarl, matching up the stairs and calling out, "Mr. Forsyth!"

The man in the suit turns, a plastered politician's smile over his face, as farcical and threatening as any of a thousand lies that might spill from his lips. While I don't know the man in specific, his Lupine Party is inescapable. A small but rising cohort spun off from the Conservatives, they take opposition power to new heights. The folly of a representative democracy, I suppose; even, or especially, the ugliest parts of the public will be represented.

Beside him, Grace lights up at our approach, especially seeing Vail at the head of the pack.

With a voice filled with smug confidence, Arthur Forsyth says, "Ah, and here he is now. Along with these... mercenaries you hired, Grace?" Grace stares down at her father's feet, gripping one arm and nodding solemnly. He eyes the four of us suspiciously. "Hm. I wasn't expecting them to be... Ah, never mind. You found my daughter, and my waylaid former employee to boot."

Cold and even, Alabastra only says, "Sure did..."

Vail speaks up, "Mr. Forsyth, I know I have no right to ask, but... I would like a second chance."

Councilman Forsyth laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. "Ah, of course. Always begging for table scraps." I flinch. I knew Lupines could be unpleasant, but that was outright blatant. "First... where exactly did you find these mercenaries, young lady?", he asks back to his daughter.

Grace begins to hem and haw, issuing out a meek, "I was... I just went..." She cranes her neck toward us, looking for help.

And the moment she does, the councilman's face drops. He grabs his daughter's chin roughly, turning her face further to the side to peer closer at her neck. There, two twinned pinprick scars stick out against the light of the sunset.

Blood rushes to my ears. I feel like I've been wrung through a spinning wheel, and a cold creeping crawls up my spine. I can only stare in horror, not even having the wherewithal to mask my spiraling guilt. Grace locks eyes with me, and in a flash of memory she's lying half-dead on the floor. I shunt my eyes, and feel an arm lock with mine. In this instant, I cannot even bring myself to care who's.

Murderer murderer murderer...

"What the hells is this?!", Forsyth seethes.

"It's... it's nothing! Just, I was... I was attacked in The Reds-"

"Oh, of course!", he interrupts, yelling in her face now. "The filthy disgusting runoff, what were you thinking, stepping foot out there?! Now it's a hunting ground for vampires and Gods know what other monsters... Do you realize what your antics nearly cost this family?!"

Finally I find the fortitude to beat back the rising self-disgust, straightening my back and putting on an even face. Thankfully, it seems he failed to notice my miniature breakdown. I turn to my left and see it was Tegan who pulled me close in the moment. I wrench my arm free of the knight's grip.

Grace stammers, "Th-th-they saved my life, though...", she points in our direction. In my direction. A half-dozen sets of eyes fall on me, and all I can think to do is stare straight ahead and hope this horrid moment ends.

Alabastra steps forward, a determined fire powering her gait. "Councilor Forsyth? Excuse my ignorance but... do your guard always watch you and your daughter like hawks?" Sticking her neck out again. At least she has the finesse to do so subtly. "Maybe it's a heights thing, I dunno..."

The man glances around, noticing that the Sable Guard do indeed seem to be staring on at this scene with curious eyes. Like his hand was caught in the cookie jar, he finally lets go of his daughter, glancing toward us, as Grace looks like she can breathe again. "And who are you mercenaries, precisely?", he asks.

"Nobody important, Councilman. We'll just settle up with your daughter and get out of your hair."

He looks back and forth between his daughter, the rogue, and then me, again and again, eyes like a grandfather clock. He grinds his jaw in tiny circles. And when he's had enough of chewing us all between his grinding teeth of authority, "Huh", is all he says. Then he looks to Vail. "Upon further reconsideration... come talk in my office, boy. I may just have work for you yet."

Vail lets out a colossal sigh of relief. "Of course, Mr. Forsyth."

Arthur Forsyth reaches forward to pat Vail on the shoulder, and leads the fiendling inside. The hairs on the back of my neck raise, and the others look as suspicious as I feel. Still, once the councilor out of sight, we all let out a sigh of relief.

With abashed posture and downward glances, Grace turns to the rest of us. "Th-thanks. And... S-Sorry about this. I was hoping you wouldn't have to meet him."

"Can't change your blood, Silver. But do remember what we talked about, yea?" She glances to the Sable Guard still gathered outside the home, too far to listen in, but close enough to watch. Grace nods, and Alabastra continues, "Anyways, we got your guy back, though I'm not so sure he was pleased about it."

"That's Vail for you..." Grace steps forward, rifling through her jacket for her checkbook. "You've done more than I could've hoped. Thank you... what do I owe you?"

Tegan speaks up, "Nothing. We said we'd help you and we did. So, uh. That's all?" She nods to herself, to indicate she's reached the end of her sentence if nothing else.

"That hardly seems fair..." She looks to me. "You especially, you saved my life, and-"

"No", I say. "We're even." In truth, I likely still owe her far more... but at this point, it would be a dangerous prospect to settle that score any further. This will have to do.

Alabastra starts to walk forward, but looks to the Sable Guard as they shift slightly in response, and seems to think better of approaching any further. Instead, she bows her head low toward Grace. "This place doesn't deserve you, Silver Spoon. Don't let 'em burn the decent outta ya." The rogue plants her hands in her coat pockets, and turns around, leading us out of the garden.

And then, a few steps down the way, Alabastra stops, and turns around again. She whispers sheepishly with a disarming smile, completely ruining her own exit, "Actually, eh. Maybe if you could just pay our hotel fee tonight...?"