Chapter 1: Bad luck with a good hand.

Ancient cobblestones clacked under short and unhurried footsteps with great reverence, likewise were the townsfolk that caught sight of the figure that trotted their way with the lack of worries of a man that owns this place.

“Good afternoon, Mister Ledebur!” - they all say, some waving their hats like dunces, others a quiet fright in the eyes. Both good. Both good. The sun shines fiercely through the fog, the air smells like warmth. Such a great day to be the boss. But then again, there’s hardly a bad day for that. Some would perhaps disagree, people who would lecture on all the woes of kings and chiefs, drab fellas who knew nothing but civilized life since the most tender age. For other folk, whose flesh remembers prowling the streets like a hungry dog and the cold dampness of the cobble in the foggy nights, no issue would be taken with such a sentiment.

“Leo, my boy! Good afternoon!” - Shouted I. A great distance stood between me and him, the busy sounds of urban life filled the air. A dark-green skinned fella came running towards my position.

“Hey Boss! Been waiting for you, this Razor’s guy, been here since midday almost. I’ve been trying to tell him ‘the boss got a rhythm, he aint getting around these parts till halfnoon’, fella wouldn’t listen. Keep insisting on me to do something to hurry the deal up, I’m right about to tear this guy’s ear off, boss!” - Came rushing out of him, in a hurry of gesticulations and annoyed expressions.

“Ha! You're a good boy Leo! Great job on restraining yourself, we cannot go out tearing ears, Haggia wants all the mangling of her men to herself” - I replied, a small crack of smugness in a sea of anger said I got the effect I wanted. - “Has he said anything about the Razor’s terms on our little joint venture?”.

“Not a word, boss. Not about what we get from it, not about what they want from us, apart from the muscle, that is. If you ask me this is all a waste of time for us, this whole thing smells like a shit deal with a band that isn’t even all that anymore.” - Said the large orc with a deep grunting tone.

“A good thing I haven’t asked you, then. I’m a rather generous man, you know that, I’d rather hear their lot out before making my mind. Show me the way, my good Leo!” - Poor Leo, I thought while we both walked our way into an empty tenement building and down damp tortuous basement corridors to the secret meeting room. He had good instincts when it comes to combat, but for the finer art of extortion the boy was utterly hopeless. A deal with a gang past their prime is a banquet! And one that climbs our mouth to be devoured, no less.

Ah, dear Haggia, old friend, what made you turn your eyes back to these imperial lands? Have you grown tired of the big city, the crown of the continent? Or have you found yourself on the wrong side of your so-called partners? To what circumstance do I own the pleasure of finally getting the chance to bleed you dry?

A tall horned figure waited stone-faced in the sparsely furnished underground chamber. A slender robed silhouette showing grace, a gashing scar over the nose showing disgrace.

”Greetings, good fellow! My warm welcome to our shabby little town.” - With a long bow and taking off my hat in a grand gesture. The man seemed visibly annoyed as I put it back on with great care and leisure. That was a great sign.

”Mister Ledebur, sir. I’m Mallakath at the orders of Miss Haggia. Thank you for your time-” - He rushed.

“Leo, be a good chap and bring us the refreshments, would you? We have a lot of business to discuss, the two of us.” - I cutted in.

”Sir, there is really no need.” - started the impatient man.

“Boss, I don’t think it is a good idea to leave you two alone” - Said the other.

”Nonsense, the two of you. I refuse to begin an important talk in such a brisk manner. We are civilized, are we not? I don’t wish for Miss Haggia to have a poor opinion on my hospitality, move along now, Leo.”- Said I, with my greatest tone of relaxed indifference to their protest.

“A good thing I haven’t asked you, then. I’m a rather generous man, you know that, I’d rather hear their lot out before making my mind. Show me the way, my good Leo!” - Poor Leo, I thought while we both walked our way into an empty tenement building and down damp tortuous basement corridors to the secret meeting room. He had good instincts when it comes to combat, but for the finer art of extortion the boy was utterly hopeless. A deal with a gang past their prime is a banquet! And one that climbs our mouth to be devoured, no less.

Ah, dear Haggia, old friend, what made you turn your eyes back to these imperial lands? Have you grown tired of the big city, the crown of the continent? Or have you found yourself on the wrong side of your so-called partners? To what circumstance do I own the pleasure of finally getting the chance to bleed you dry?

A tall horned figure waited stone-faced in the sparsely furnished underground chamber. A slender robed silhouette showing grace, a gashing scar over the nose showing disgrace.

”Greetings, good fellow! My warm welcome to our shabby little town.” - With a long bow and taking off my hat in a grand gesture. The man seemed visibly annoyed as I put it back on with great care and leisure. That was a great sign.

”Mister Ledebur, sir. I’m Mallakath at the orders of Miss Haggia. Thank you for your time-” - He rushed.

“Leo, be a good chap and bring us the refreshments, would you? We have a lot of business to discuss, the two of us.” - I cutted in.

”Sir, there is really no need.” - started the impatient man.

“Boss, I don’t think it is a good idea to leave you two alone” - Said the other.

”Nonsense, the two of you. I refuse to begin an important talk in such a brisk manner. We are civilized, are we not? I don’t wish for Miss Haggia to have a poor opinion on my hospitality, move along now, Leo.”- Said I, with my greatest tone of relaxed indifference to their protest.

Leodt didn’t budge for a moment. He stared at me, his back against the wall right beside the entrance. His golden yellow eyes were piercing with suspicion. He was rather naive sometimes, Haggia The Razor wouldn’t do it, not like this, her style of assassination wasn’t so thoughtless. There was no point in doing it, either. Slowly the man disappeared through the doorway.

”Sir, if you don’t mind, I’m rather pressed for time.” - Tried again Mallakath, apologetic.

”I do quite mind.” - By the looks of it I’m not the main customer for this time’s dealings. A shame really, I was quite looking forward to a good haggle with the old harpy, looks like I’ll get all I want today with little pushback. - “But then again, I suppose you’re in a more delicate situation than our lot. Very well, state your business, lad”.

A moment of indignation passed through the man before he spoke, I think The Razor will hear of this little provocation of mine. If I cannot toy with her today, that ought to suffice.

“Lady Haggia proposes to split between us the landbound routes to the empire, her price is free passage and safe haven to the city and surroundings, and armaments.”

“Armaments?”- I let out a genuine laugh - “Haggia had a good idea in appealing to my dwarven pride, but the both of us know that those are the least profitable routes you people run.” - And what only I know is how they are perfect for a more profitable trade than elven narcotics. Something’s not right here, why am I being handed exactly what I want so easily, is The Razor that desperate?

”A two thirds split, if it means we can leave here today with a deal.” - He responded briskly. In light of such terms I had no other option but to reticently agree. Though I don’t like this one bit, the most rotten of luck has a habit of showing up when I am dealt a winning hand.

When Leo came back it was all already said and done. The man bolted out of the room like wind in a stormy night, little concern did he have for proper farewells, especially towards the board of cheeses and meats the servant had brought in at Leo’s command. I, on the other hand, didn’t have the heart to neglect such a fine arrangement of scrumptiousness. Most of all now, I had quite a few things to gnaw on.

“Leodt, take a seat.” - I commanded as I sat on the chair across the main table of the room. Puzzled, he complied.

“What the hell happened, boss?”.

“I’m not quite sure myself.” - I pouted between two pieces of cured meat - "Seems we’ve just been handed the effective monopoly of everything but the Hallen river.” - even I had a good amount of incredulity about what I was saying - “Have I been missing something? Leo, is there any news I haven’t heard yet?”

With one hand he took out the faded red bandana he wore, the other one scratched the olive green scalp underneath thin remembrances of hair. “Don’t think so, boss. Some punks got out of line here and there, but that’s about it, business as usual. For us, for sure. For their crew, don’t look too different either.” - He shrugged.

“That is what bothers me, this isn’t the kind of win one gets without at least a couple hundred people dead…” - The thought hung in the air like a thick fog. I felt the vague pains of sobriety begin to wake again from their slumber. A glass of ale would be needed to send my maladies back to sleep.

I poured myself a tall glass of golden brown nectar and drank it with solace. Life felt like coming back to my body. “Leodt, gather our main people, have then get things ready to set up our operation all the way up till Hallenfay.” - I said while filling the glass again. - “We'll be moving inventory north too this time around, the Razor needs blades it seems."

“Certainly, boss. How much are we dealing with here?” - He asked.

“Well, bloody about as many as we can get our hands on, you know how the Razor is, my boy.” - I responded.

As I pondered about the day’s exchange I stared longly at the healing liquid in my glass. I saw the whole of the continent in the bubbles of its curative foam, at least the parts of it that I cared to remember. Center to it was the Empire, right above it lay a tiny bubble, glistening with riches. Hallenfay, the first of the free cities, home of the Blackhounds. I could even see a face reflected in it, it was paler and distorted by the curvature, but it could clearly be seen a set of stern eyes framed by a cadaverous elven visage that knew no emotion, sharp pointy ears cutting through long strands of brittle black hair. That was Haggia the Razor, one of the finest mob bosses that place has seen. Until rather recently, she’s been falling out of favor with the Lord of Hallenfay. Apparently the underworld slave trade is too embarassing for his highness’ dinner guests.

That thought made a new territory emerge from the alcoholic froth. Westwards, beyond the river valley the Hallen cut across the known lands. The Peninsular Kingdom of Asalle. Absolutely a trade partner with the kind of silver to bend a young merchant city-state like Hallenfay to their whims. And equally so the kind of people that would kill people like Haggia without a second thought. That’s the reason the Razor is so interested in the scenic views of our little imperial province.

But why ask for weapons? What is Haggia’s idea here? My gut feeling is either try a coup in Hallenfay or move to someone else’s turn and muscle them out. For both cases her problem isn’t the amount of weapons, it’s the amount of people willing to die holding them that she’s short on.

A big gulp punctuated the end of my little meditation. It felt bitter with the taste of unsolved questions that can get you killed.

Chapter 2: Dishonest Mistakes.

Back in the open, the streets were a tad empty now. As usual the best part of my afternoon was spent with the people-work needed to keep the whole machine running, grunts that needed to be put in place, lines that needed to be drawn. If we are going to do this, the fellas need to be wise on not stepping on the toes of any of the blackhounds, we don’t need another war so soon.

It was right before sundown, that odd hour of the day where civilian life has mostly died down already, and all the drunkards and lowlifes have yet to come out to play. I always thought this time suited the city the best. Rose-red light scattered through the clouds and the fog and lighted the moody ramparts of Syndrille. Crooked excuses for buildings propped up from the ground in maddened arrangements without clear logic, like none who erected them meant to actually stay long in this hole. Most of them were invaders. An eclectic patchwork of architectures showed themselves underneath the relentless assault of humidity and mold, ruins built on top of ruins telling in silence the history of a long procession of incursions and sieges.

Syndrille, the city of curses, they called her. Capital of the hurt and the disenfranchised. Home of drifters and scoundrels. A special place in my heart was reserved for this town. I’ve learned to love it before I ever owned it, the only mother we knew, me and my brother. Her cold maternal embrace of hard stone molded me like a smith forging a fine blade.

This place was the perfect nest for the Curse Rats, first amongst the scoundrels, most cunning amongst the brigands, most treacherous amongst the hoodlums. And atop such a gang, such a band of villains only one man reigned uncontested. One with the proper grit and scorn to be king amongst the knaves. He was-

“Adhamh!” - Came wavering in the wind in a warm voice.

“Maya, good evening, dear.” - I responded respectfully to the old frail woman. The old dwarven widow walked down the street in a slow wobble that comes with bones that have seen their fair share of wear.

“Oh Adhamh dear, Thank the Builder! I’ve been looking all over for you.” - There was a shakiness to Maya’s voice that made me uneasy. Copper colored eyes stained with age looked into mine with unsettling anguish.

“What happened old pal?” - I said worriedly - “I haven’t seen you like this since old man Otto died. Has Ursulla go in with a bad crowd again?”

“No, no. The girls are alright, Adhamh. Ursulla is not even in town anymore, went to the big city a fortnight ago. She’s at the academy now.” - An anvil dropped from my chest after hearing that, a smidge of satisfaction took its place, though. That little lass is gonna be a witch now? By the Gods, I remember when she used to be small as a pebble.

“That’s great to hear, but then what’s bothering you, Maya?”

“The taxman came over this morning again. Oh Adhamh, It’s the fifth time this month. He’s been saying all sorts of things, I never know what to say to him, I have no silver to pay taxes, you know that, but he just won’t listen.“ - She said with water springing from her eyes.

“The taxman? One of the county’s fellas? I thought you were not supposed to pay taxes, what with the old man dying in the war and all.” - Taxes? What is the Count shaking money out of old war-widows for? - “What did the man say he would do, Maya? What did this guy look like?”

“They were humans, there were about three of them. Said I had until noon to come up with 65 silver coins from all the taxes since the end of the war. They had Count’s own crest, right on the breast of the cuirass. They said they’d come back to my home right about now.” - She said in a hurry. - “I’m scared to go back home, Adhamh.” That sounds like the Count’s people alright. I thought the both of us had an agreement. Blasted humans, they smell silver in the air and turn to wild boars.

As swiftly as I could I gathered a couple of the fellas to accompany me to Maya’s place, Nilce and Kraz would have to do for muscle today. The Niederite siblings weren’t the most intimidating of the crew, two rather young scrawny horned things, really. But put either of them with a short sword in front of an opponent and I ain’t betting on the other guy to make it out alive. Hell, put them behind them and I’m gonna make the Bookie go home on his underlinen.

I came around the bend on the dirt road and sure enough, there they were. Three men stood in the last of twilight before a classic looking townhouse built on churchstone. The facade of the building was younger, Imperial styled square based columns rose up three stories high, giving support to an assortment of balconies with different lengths. All around was empty darkness, either wooded areas or empty remnants of collapsed buildings that were yet to be erected again. Alone the construction stood atop a rise on the terrain.

From my breast pocket I grabbed my trusty flask, it was in times like these that this old thing always came in handy. A short slug of Thrask to get the fingers firm as they would need to be. “Good evening Gentlemen!” - I exclaimed as I approached. From this close I could tell something was off about this lot. Sure enough His Grace’s crest shone silvery on their chest, but the Count’s men didn’t have the habit of working evenings. I have a successful career that would attest to that fact. Plus, their behaviour was telling, too alert and too aware. These men have seen combat. War veterans, perhaps?

“Move along, dwarf.” - The first one growled.

“Oh, sorry to bother. But I do believe you’re the gentlemen I am looking for, I came on demand of my aunt Maya, I’m a scribe at His Grace’s service, you see. “ - I’ve always had a flair for lying - “I’m sure we can all get into an understanding.”

“Sure, if you cough up the silver.” - one said - “If you don’t want to get out of here coughing up red.” - another completed.

“Lads, I don’t think that’s proper conduct under His Grace’s servi-” - My impression of meekness was interrupted by a gauntlet rising in a brisk movement, shaped like a fist. The cold strike of metal knocked my hat off as I saw a wicked smile of thrill light up the man’s face. Oh, Now I got what was going on here.

As I bounced from the hit I saw my assailant’s beginning to mouth something, some sly remark certainly, perhaps even a good one. But my curiosity wasn’t large enough to postpone the proper riposte. I presented the man with the palm of my left hand and the rest took place on its own accord. The large bubble of yellowish-brown vitriol erupted from it like a bad skin condition. It jumped out, as if it had a life of its own, and embraced the man with the eagerness of a pet left home alone all day. From one moment to the next the thug was turned into a malformed mess of chemical burns and sudden regrets.

“Markus!” - one of the other men gasped, hands ready to draw on their swords.

“Let’s calm down fellas, there’s no need for you two to end up like your friend here.” - There was no need for the first guy to end up like that either. Bloody Crux. I never know what I’ll get with this thing, sometimes it comes a trickle, sometimes a flood. I wonder how real mages do it. As the guy squirmed in pain on the ground I could see the places where the steel was dissolving into the flesh. Gnarly stuff.

“I’m gonna be honest with you folks” - I start saying to keep my mind out of the sight in front of me -”I don’t really work for the Count. And neither do the three of you, I gather.”

“I know who you are.” - one started - “Heads up, Alvar. This dwarf is Adhamh The Gambler.” - His voice had a dryness to it that betrayed his experience. These men have seen how ugly fighting a mage can get, and have seen how to kill one as well, no doubt.

Swords came unsheathed, filling the dead air with the sound of a sharp shriek. Two other blades, however, had the finesse of going unannounced in the silence. In the space of a heartbeat, cold steel made its way into the warmth of living flesh, none of which was mine. Another heartbeat, another swift set of movements with no sound to accompany them, except for the muffled thud of swords dropping on soft dirt after a delay that seemed like a lifetime in comparison.

“That’s the tendons on both arms, boss. They’re harmless now.” - Said a hooded dark figure. As the two put away their weapons, it continued -”By the Gods, what did you do to the poor fella boss? That looks nasty!” - He exclaimed loudly into the night.

“Thank you, Kraz. Nilce.” - I said to them cordially - ” A little miscalculation on my part. Finicky thing this whole magic business. “

“Doesn’t seem like you botched it too bad though, the fella’s still squirming around. The boys can fix him up before interrogation.” - Said Nilce in a considerate tone.

“Well kids. Guess we can drag these amateurs back to base, and wrap it up for the day. Good work, you two, as usual.” - I ended, in my usual supportive tone. Then I turned to the one of the supposed taxmen that knew my name -”You’re in good luck fellas. You’ll get to have a whole night’s sleep before we’ll get all we want to know out of you. I advise you to think long and… wait a moment, are you there?” - A distinct lack of response came out of the man, along with a distinct surplus of blood.

“Oh no.” - went Nilce - “I did again, I nicked an artery again! I’m so sorry boss, I’m such a klutz!” - Earnest embarrassment came out of her voice.

“Shit… Well, I can’t point fingers at you, sweety, the two of us screwed up a bit. What a mess. That wasn’t our best ambush, that’s for sure.” - I guess one could only do so much for an on-the-spot job like this one. At least one less widow would go to sleep worried tonight.

Chapter 3: Irony and Peril

“I had it checked. These are official crests issued on the County’s authority.” - I rasped in the solemn atmosphere. -” What’s the big idea, going after an old lady for money?! What are you lot doing next, shaking kids down for loose change?”

“That was a little mishap, I told the new recruits to go find the Count some coin. Everything after that was their own initiative.” - He hushed back -” The vaults are low on silver, I got to do something.”

In the distance a ceremonial chime rang heavily in the air. At the pulpit the priest began the next set of liturgies.

“That’s my part of town. I take care of those matters for you people, in my own way, in my own time. I thought we were on the same page on that.” - I gnarled back at Baron Ettalia. - “I suggest you get a tight grip on things from this point onwards. Money won't be tight for much longer.”

“Oh? You mean we’re on business? That little project with our mutual acquaintance?” - He seemed interested.

“Yes, I’m in the midst of sorting it out. But my crew will need space to breathe, lots of it. Another blunder like this week’s clown show and the whole operation can collapse on top of us.” - I warned.

“Yes, yes. No more clowns. No more shows. “ - He said flippantly - “ You’re a drag even when you’re the bearer of good news …” - With a lethargic and detached expression the Baron stood up, his fine satine robes flowing exuberantly with the movement. His hands clasped together, but between them he didn’t hold a drop of faith. The church hall below us was filled with the thundering sound of a few hundred bodies suddenly rising in unison from their seats. I staggered to my feet with the heavy heart of those that come before the cross with vulgar worries.

Oh Holy Cross of the Afflicted, I confide in thee my torments, the main one standing to my side before you. A Niederite he is, rather short for such a race. Though time has grown a fair number of rings in his horns, it has failed to chisel away the thick layer of presumptuousness and folly that covers the young. Give me strength and endurance to not strike him down, and refrain from remolding the imbecile features of his visage with the furor of a smith that shapes scrap metal to a shape of better use. And grant the Baron the wisdom to not force my hands to enact such a reform, grant him as well the good judgment to shed the human slag from his entourage, so he can be freed from the human vice of silverlust.

The ceremonial chime rang once more. We all took back our seats. At the tribune business came back into discussion.

“I take it that the Count hasn't heard of this mishap then?” - I inquired.

“How could he? The old fart hasn't been to town in the last month, almost.” - The Baron said absent-mindedly - “ Courting favor with his good friend the Duke of Vallafe, and tasting all the luxuries of the big city in the process. Why did you think I was strapped for coins?”

“This doesn’t sit right with me. If the Count discovers our scheme, that’s bound to find its way to the Duke’s ears. His Vagueness is not a Warlock I care for having as an enemy, or as a so-called partner either.” - A sudden tinge of irony suddenly came to me, as chance would have it I may end up with the same fate as my good friend Haggia. With the exception that Vanis the Vague was a foe one cannot simply run away from.

A short cackle came out of the Baron, echoing across the empty air of the hall. The priest hardly faltered in the conduct of the rites. - “What funny worries for such a serious criminal like yourself.” - He chattered - ” The Count paying any attention to what happens in his domain is a very funny joke. The Arch-Warlock of Vallafe only figuring out the two of us meddling in his trade behind his back because of that helpless whelp …” - He paused himself for another small chuckle - “You should’ve been a comedian, Ledebur. This drab place needs talent like yours.”

A flare of rage took over me. I felt red hot blood pour over my face and took mold in my ears and cheeks. Was it not for my reverence for the priest and the faith, and the sacrilege that was interrupting the weekly mass, I would have grabbed a hold of the Great Cross and made an offering out of this insolent rat-bearing snob. The Crusade would briefly be reborn in this sole Dwarf, the Crux’s most fervent.

I didn’t have the opportunity however. In a fluid and carefree motion he moved to leave in the middle of the mass. He lingered for a moment by the exit, between the two guards to each side of the threshold.

“I have more interesting things to do that indulge in the faith of the populace today. As for you, Gambler, you’ll have my interest again when you have the product in your hands, at last. ” - He uttered before vanishing behind the curtains of the passage, both guards soon to follow him. An undertone of threat lingered in the air for the rest of the mass after he left, underneath the stink of deep arrogance.

Midday had come and with it the end of my pocket flask. The Thrask has been very quick to dry these days, I blame this weather we’re having, what with all the black clouds over there in the horizon. I made my way to the gang’s meeting place, as lunch in a friendly place would sure get my mind out of my troubles.

The canteen was welcoming as always. It was a warm, ample place with tall walls of dark wood flanking structural columns of time-weathered marble, patterned in a manner that suggested this had been some kind of temple in long forgotten times. The pewter flourishes all around, those were my own touch to the place, baseboards and cornices running all around, sconces and chandeliers with exuberant tree-like motifs. About two dozen fine wood round tables dotted the place, arranged between the two leveled floorplan. In the far end of the room there was a long bar counter, of fine stained oak, made to serve all the kinds of liquor that a fine criminal could want.

The air was filled with the scent of assorted meats and foreign spices. The interior was sharply lit by the thin side windows, an uncharacteristically clear sky spewed bright light in the sun-chosen portions of the scene. In one of these isles of brightness there stood a female figure of refined beauty, shining in the light like a well cut gem.

“Good Morning, Nilce! Didn’t expect to see you here today!” - I hollered from across the room. As I approached her I noticed two other figures of importance in the scene, a fine bottle of liquor atop the table next to her, and face down on that same table a man with one of his hands holding a goblet upright. Laboriously he slid his face upwards, chin still glued to the table, showing a stupefied smile and dazed eyes. - “Hi… Boss…” - Came out of Kraz.

My two most trusted assassins, the Niederite siblings Nilce and Kraz, kept on a generous retainer for all my murdering needs, which were sparse but critical. Such an arrangement had the two of them in the enviable position of being a young-adult with a good chunk of coins and the often free time to indulge fully in all the vices that such an age craves for.

Nilce had a love for fashion, beauty and all the vain things that could make a young lady’s eyes glitter. The nightlife of the town often was caught in the spell of her long chestnut colored hair flown lustrously in smooth curls, some of them caught in the coils of her short horns, and the rare charm of her face, with round features shaped in a skin the color of clear sky framing plump lips of deep blue. She had a penchant for fine clothing of foreign taste, human cutted dresses with elven fabrics, and jewelry with stones from about half the continent.

Kraz didn’t share such a sentiment for elven confections, besides liquor, that is. The boy was an enthusiast of all sorts of different brews and spirits. Of which he had a habit of sharing with all sorts of performer and musician types, artists and poets with deep and complicated feelings. Many tavern tables in Syndrille bear the engravings of his horns, curved forwards in elegant parabolic curves and honed diligently in art of plunging head first into hard surfaces under the effect of different alcoholic concoctions. We were kindred spirits of sorts, despite the boy never quite having acquired a taste for proper Dwarven Thrask.

I grabbed a goblet for myself and reached for the bottle, it was one of those elven brews that tasted like perfume. By the weight of it, still about three quarters full. - “You have a long way to go if you want to be a proper alcoholic, my boy.” - I chirped to him as I poured myself a much needed cup. - “ Leo is in the kitchen, isn’t he, Darling?” - I asked Nilce.

“Yup. He was saying he’s kinda bored with most of the crew out there in the field, then he dragged us out here and bolted to the kitchen. Said the two of us would have the honor of tasting his renowned recipe of Hunter’s stew.” - She said with the careful tone of someone that is doing her best to not accidentally skip over an important part of the story.

“Well, the two of you are in for something one of a kind, I can say that much.” - I tried jovially - “Though I doubt he’s managed to get his hands on dragon meat in this town, so perhaps the two of you might survive.” - I punctuated deviously. A shocked and amused expression shot from Nilce’s eyes, piercing the vibrant red of her eyeshadow.

After another drink and a bit of idle chat with the siblings I got into the kitchen to talk with the cook. The orcish figure was labouring intensely in front of the old soot stained wood stove. The man seemed to have a mission to use all the cookware in the kitchen. Bowls, pots and pans, all lay haphazardly arranged in all the surfaces that stood above the floor.

“Hey boss!” - He said looking over his shoulder, naturally he hasn’t been surprised even in the middle of such an involved activity. - “Didn’t expect to see you today, caught wind of the special menu?” - He jested.

“I could taste the herbs in the air all the way from the main greenway.” - I joked back at him. - “Actually, I came because I got a quick task for you, Leo. I hope the stew can take care of itself for a little while.”

A sudden change came to Leodt’s whole posture. Break time jollyness gave way to the workday sobriety of a man who knew there was a job to be done. A meticulously precise hand took the kitchen cloth on its shoulder and wiped the sweat from his forehead in a firm and efficient movement. Instinct told him that eyesight could not risk any impairment.

“Open the cellar. I’ll be recruiting the two of our guests.”

Chapter 4: An Offer he will not refuse

The air was a gelid dry mass filled with the whisper of long forgotten souls. The underground area of the cantina was a long marble casket from ages long lost to the short memory of mortals. The curses of old sepulchres whispered into the mind, quieter than silence itself, making the eyes see dreadful shapes flickering just outside the tiny isle the torchlight made before being devoured by the gaping darkness. Even for dwarven eyes, born for the dark lands beneath the land, this ancient burial place conjured opaque blackness.

The somber space had not spent its centuries undisturbed. Nothing was so sacred in a town like this. The ancient space had been made use for a whole assortment of purposes, some folks at some point figured that the chilling grasp of death was just jolly for keeping the barrels of ale nice and cold as they need to be, atop that masterful insight they made the choice of building the cantina above. All that was way before my time. My addition to the place was converting the far end into cell space for people we found worthwhile to interrogate before decommissioning. The walls were quite sizable blocks of marble, sound had a good deal of trouble escaping the confines of this tomb.

That was the place I was walking towards now. Three sets of steps echoed sharply in the pale white stone before dying into a frail whimper in the distance. Alongside me came Leodt, holding the torch, and Nilce, who insisted on coming along. I didn’t have the heart to reject her earnest concern.

We came to the first of the occupied cells. With eyes like daggers Leodt stared at me before the barred cast iron door, do not second guess me, orc-kin, my eyes said back to his. After a moment he pulled the key from inside his shirt and fitted it into the keyhole, ready to turn.

I paused for a quick moment to dust off my hat, a quick shake to show off again the sharp contrasting black and white checkered pattern of the piece, then I had my hands smooth out the strands of my beard. At the same instant the silvery glint of a pocket mirror shone in front of me. Behind it was Nilce, stooping lightly towards me with the accessory in both hands.

“Thank you, dear.” - I said softly. I highly valued first impressions, and it seemed that my underlings have figured it out too by now.

The piece she handed me was a silvery contraption that opened in two half shells pivoted at a hinge, finely fitted. An intricate dwarven craft without a doubt. The outer shell had marvelous flourishes in floral motifs, deep and neat engraved linework that only our kind cared to make. The inner mirror was equally impressive. The reflection showed neat and clean, the lack of distortions betraying the meticulous flatness of the surface. No scratches on it either, certainly coated with a harder metal, though I’m ashamed to say I’m not dwarf enough to tell which.

In the speckless reflection of the mirror stared back at me a face shaped like rock. Cavernous steel-grey eyes sat below monolithic black eyebrows, between them a sharp nose angled midway though, below them a thick and short black mass of coiled hairs from side to side. I took a short time to groom myself to satisfaction.

Heralded by the loud sound of metal pivoting on metal I entered the cell. As the flickering light of the lighted wall torch pierced the empty darkness, a figure took shape, hurdled against the far wall of the cell.

“Huh, came to burn me again, dwarf?” - The figure spoke in a tortured broken cadence. The light made strange dances on the contorted features of its red blotched face.

“Markus, wasn’t it? The fellas tell me you’re quite a fighter. They couldn’t take much out of you.” - I started.

“You were of good help there.” - his tone dripped with vitriol and disdain - “The pain won't stop. When you know that, torture feels like a passtime.”

“I brought some Thrask with me. It’s strong enough stuff to numb the pain, even yours I’d imagine.” - I said as I poured two cups for the both of us.

“Ha, you torture me, now you drink with me? What kind of game is this, dwarf?” His questions were punctuated with a maddened cough.

“I wanted to share a drink with my fellow veterans from the crusade.” - said, the air stood still for a moment. - “I know you’ve met with a mage in the battlefield before. I knew the moment I saw the three of you that night. You’ve fought… them.”

“Witchblades …” - He mumbled with a sadistic tone - “ I’ve seen them alright. Them and the Psycho Lunatics on our side. The ones in black armor that the church locks you up now for mentioning they ever existed. But you’re different from both of them.” - He paused -“ How did you come to be, freak?”

“Quite simple. I drank my way into my abilities.” - I extended the cup to the prisoner. A feeble hand reached for it before being stopped dead still by the pull of the tensioned chain that shackled it to the wall, rattling iron against iron. He drank the fluid in one fell movement. His distorted face remained completely absent from the common reaction regular folk have to the drink.

“You try to humour me dwarf? With your jokes and your pretense of comradery. Fellow veteran of the crusade, you say? We are not alike. I was in the butchery of the west. Got caught between the Asalline freaks and the shock troops on our own side.”

“Between the hammer and the anvil, huh?”

“Damn right we were. All of us, good for little dumb kids caught up in someone else’s war. Meat for the slaughter. Not like the trained lot, like you.”

“I wasn’t a mage back when I was in the war.” - I began as I poured a new cup for myself. - “ No, much like you I was just another kid, an orphan picked up from the streets to fight and die for the cause. Me and my brother. I fought for it, and he died for it. The tail end of the whole party, when the war was about as good as lost. No training, no magic. Just charge at the enemy and get blown out by hellfire.” - down went another cup of Thrask - “They didn’t even give us proper equipment. I was handed a short sword!”

The man convulsed into a crooked cackle that boomed all across the underground area. - “HAHAHA! They gave a short sword to a dwarf! Hey, you! Green-skin!” - He motioned to Leodt at the door - “Get a load of this! Have you heard something like it?! Shorty with a short sword!” - The laughter waned into a sickened cough. - “That sounds like the Crusade's Intendance, alright. You tell good jokes dwarf, I’ll give you this much.”

“I hoped you would be willing to give me something other than that.” - I said. For a moment the two of us sat at the cold cell, eyes locked in one another. - “Knowing how to spot a mage is a rare expertise nowadays. Knowing how to fight them, even more so.”

“You wish us to join your mooks, dwarf? Me and old Alvar over there?” - His voice seemed clearer than before, either by the allure of the proposal or the effect of the liquor. “I didn’t imagine you to be so naive. Give me a reason to actually work for you and not stab you in the back at the first opportunity?”

This was one of those moments. The disfigured man has been right on one thing this whole time: This was a game for me. Right now I was not Mr. Ledebur, the Boss of the Curse Rats, or anything of the sort. In my hand I felt the familiar weight of the dice of the world, and I was Adhamh, The Gambler. Luck has never failed me, not when it mattered. Tempt them, tempt them right, tempt them well. See through the air from behind the dark stupor of erratic sorcery and into the darkness of the heart of men. My mind’s eye pierced through the grand primary desires. Greed, lust and vices unbounded. Great oceans of depravity and wickedness with abyssal depths. Below lies the bedrock, unwavering solid stones of self-preservation and animal survival instincts. Deeper, deeper. In the bowels of the abstract mass, a pure crystal, pristine. It was made of the most earnest childlike wonder, the most untainted of sentiments.

The dice rolled atop the fabric of the real. I didn’t care to see what numbers came out. I felt in my bones I was a winner. - “I’ll have you hurt people. A whole lot of them.” - A gleam of pure delight showed itself. The darkness almost retreated into the nothingness it came from.

Chapter 5: Brews of another kind

“Kysh, I can’t just wack a guy like that, I don’t care how much he owes you.”- an exotic mixture of beverages interrupted me mid-sentence. -”Or how much I owe you, either.”

“I can’t believe it. And here I thought you were a proper criminal!” - Came hissing out between the alchemist’s sparse set of teeth.

“I am, there are rules to this line of work, damn it! I am not a haphazard venom mixing lunatic like yourself!”

“Really now? That’s not what I heard from that new fella of yours.”

“That was an accident! I expected some fireworks or something. It never did that kind of stuff!”

“First time? Huh… That’s interesting information, actually. I assumed that by this point it would already settle down to something definitive. Hold on, I think I’ll take note of this.” - The half-elf staggered to a dark dusty room at the back of the bar, coming back with a large letterbound tome of assorted pieces of paper, in my head I liked to call it the big book of Adhamh.

“It’s been a while since I saw this thing, you’re still at it? After all this time?”

“I swore to document in detail experiment 307 until it had reached conclusion. Experiment 307 will reach a conclusion on the expiration of the subject. You’re still alive, so experiment 307 is still marked as ongoing.” - He blurted out in the mechanical rhythm of someone who had been compelled to recite such guidelines.

“You’re still feeling fine, I’d imagine? No other symptoms apart from the usual ones?” - He continued, his eyes locked on the paper while he scribbled something between disparate isles of notes.

“Still the usual… Thirst.” - The same old routine took place again, he poured another glass of that thin brown concoction that he dared call liquor. It had the usual taste of soot and heartburn. I guess that’s another pair of coins that I would owe the great alchemist Kyshmondat. Not that it would matter, anyway. I’d paid the man quite enough with that book of his, all the metals in the world would not be as valuable to him as the little journal of my life that he has put together.

That was one thing I could respect about the old timer. Behind the decrepit niederite horns, gnawed by the weight of hundreds of rings, and the maddened half-purple shine of elven eyes, there was a man that had great regard for his craft.

“Any other questions… Doctor?” - I teased.

“Quit it! Don’t compare me with those freaks.” - He quipped - “Yes, I was meaning to ask you, did you got us some Ether yet?”

I grabbed that idiot by the tip of his whispy grey beard so fast his neck almost snapped and barked at his face. - “That’s sensitive information, gravelhead.” - Panic shaped the wrinkles of that elderly face. Thankfully there were no strangers around. The main hall of the distillery had only a couple of the regular halfwits that helped the old man around with the different vats and bottles of dubious and dangerous liquids.

“Sorry, it’s my first time being a criminal, you see?” - A shit-eating grin adorned his face apologetically. In a quieter tone he continued “But did you get the stuff? I know you told me the Imperials would be first in the line, but I have a few things that really could use it around here. I told you, haven't I?”

“You’re certain that this thing would work? The ether would stabilize this whole magic thing I got?” - I let go of the man.

“I am quite confident about it. It is quite a powerful reagent. The late great Aendur The Arcane used to call it powdered magic. Actually, I do believe the word Essence was still the common nomenclature at his time, it’s been a while since I last read the corpus of his work.”

“And you believe what the Asalline filth has written in his little books?”

“Why wouldn’t I? Their lot won the war, didn't they? Besides, the man was still one of the finest flowers the tree of Valmhor had made to bloom.”

“Not one that cared for the race of either one of us, though. Are you sure this kind of garbage doesn’t work just in humans? What if in dwarfs it would melt the skin right off my flesh or something?”

“If it did, the archives of the Witch Queen would definitely have made notice of it. Dwarf, I know my line of work, for the gods! I’ve worked extensively with it before settling in town, haven’t I told you that?”

“Did you? I don’t particularly remember, I was too distracted by your whole ‘deserting both sides of the war’ antics. Still amazes me that one would be so reckless to do it twice. And live to tell the tale.”

“But enough about the past, I was wondering because it should be arriving sometime soon by my reckoning, isn’t it? Unless my old colleagues up north had given you a hard bargain, I’d imagine.”

“No, quite the opposite. I didn’t expect that it would be easier to get the merchandise into the Duchy than across it.” When The Razor bargained for free passage in the Misty Basin, I didn’t expect to have her hound dogs sniffing around this place within a week. They’re looking for something. I don’t think they’re wise to this new business of mine, but there is something they’re after for certain.

“You can expect to have your new toy here in about a couple of days, old man. Then you’ll be able to play with it to your heart’s content.”

“Well, there's where we run on another problem I need you for. The guy.”

“What guy?”

“The guy I need you to wack for me! Bastard stole my glassware! Haven’t you noticed how slow things are around here? I can’t do much of anything right now.”

Why steal glass out of everything? Doesn’t particularly sell for much in the black market.

“Seens awfully drastic to kill a guy for stealing stuff that isn’t even that valuable.”

“Isn’t that valuable, you say? That’s top of the line alchemy equipment, in my hands it’s worth its weight in silver! It’s been my life’s work to gather all that together! I demand blood for this transgression, dwarf, blood!”

It is also worth just as much in the hands of an alchemist with less traitorous inclinations, I’d imagine. This isn’t looking good. Could this be what Haggia’s been aiming for with her deal? Sneak into town and make a grab for so old lunatic’s lab, find some willing mage somewhere to operate it, brew the concoctions of your best liking. Explosives, vile poisons, invigorants. The stockpiles of those have dwindled since the war ended. Could work, I could come up with a plan like that if the situation called for it. The young sovereignty of Hallenfay is still a place with far more silver than Wizards, low tricks like those would go a long way. But not without consequence.

“What do you know of this guy, Kysh? Say I go after him, what does he look like? Is he a new face around here?”

“Hardly, some no name orc fella, blonde short hair, fat as a hog. Goes by the name of Glodo. Wasn’t from the neighborhood, used to ride his way here from the main greenway.”

“From the city center?”

“Maybe, or from the other side of town, I never cared to ask.”

What if this has nothing to do with Haggia? It could just as easily be Baron Ettalia’s doing. The man has contacts in the Capital, it wouldn't be hard for him to find a suitable alchemist. Explosives, vile poisons, Invigorants. We have been running out of those around these parts as well. I would know, I smuggle them. If the Baron manages to have this local industry of ours running, I’m out of a job. And the bastard has a very strong argument for the Imperials to help him dispose of the Count and take its place, which I’d believe is his main motivation. Dreadful! Another dreadful possibility!

“Kysh, my good old friend. From the kindness of my heart, I have decided that such an evil could not be allowed to roam the streets of our community unpunished.”

“Are you saying what I think you are, dwarf?”

“There will be blood for your woes.”