Chapter 1: You All Brawl At An Inn

Atop the roof of her secluded wagon, an owl enjoyed a leisurely smoke of her pipe while gazing out over the sea. The rings of the planet Ieria started peeking out over the horizon, and the nearby ocean slowly took on a red hue, as did the canopy of the forested hill she’d been camping in.  

The rather large white owl was wearing a brown cloak, hood up. Her pipe was filled with opiates, just like the cart she was sitting on. Her pipe-hand was adorned with a black onyx ring, framed in silver.  She belonged to the race of Owlins, distinguishable from common owls with a slightly different anatomy and a wholly different level of intelligence. 

The quiet of the night was broken by the approach of two figures. She spun her head toward the direction of the sound. One of the figures was much larger than the other.

“So here is where our good doctor does her finest work,” an unfamiliar voice said.  

The Owlin waved away the billowing smoke, revealing a creature that she wouldn’t be liking. She didn’t like the black motifs of his outfit, his cocky half smile, but above all, he was a human. He looked middle-aged and had a prominent widow's peak, and was clean shaven. She slowly removed the pipe from her beak, ready to hurl a choice slur. 

The tall figure was a muscular, pale skinned Goliath in a simple tunic. Strapped to his back was a large two-handed sword, but it looked like wielding it with one hand would be no issue for him. If he was a human, he would be considered their rarest specimen. But as a Goliath, he fit neatly into the mold of this kind. He saw that the Owlin was about to speak. “Hootalin, you’ll want to listen to what he has to offer, this could be good—”

“Pen, why did you lead this...” —Hootalin extended a talon toward the man— “...him here?” Her sullen eyes poorly masked her disappointment in the Goliath. 

The human spoke up in his chipper way. “I myself have been a happy customer of yours. Luckily I never had need of your medical services, but the other one you provide is excellent,” he said with a wink. “You and I have a mutual friend in Pen, he moves things for us, same as he does for you, and we got to talking about the predicament you’re in.”

Hootalin’s eyes narrowed even further. “What predicament?”

“Your competition, of course. A group from out of town has been stealing customers?”

Hootalin took a long drag from her pipe. “Some pricks have been coming into my turf,” she conceded after a pause. 

The human took a step towards the cart. “Pen will tell you that I have some friends that could deal with that problem for you. For a price, of course.” 

“How much?”

“Ah, that’s something we can discuss over a nice ale back in Taran. Rennik is the name, by the way.” He held out his hand. The hand remained ungripped as Hootalin regarded the man coolly. 

Hootalin set her pipe aside. “Why don’t you do something for me.” She hopped off the cart, reached into it and rummaged around, glass clinking as she slid some crates and medical supplies to the side. Eventually she retrieved a hempen bag that she handed to Rennik. “Take a sniff from this.”

Rennik took the bag, and side-eyed Pen, who’d been watching the interaction unfold with folded arms. He gave a nod. Rennik looked back at Hootalin with a smile.

“I was going to buy something for myself, but a free sample? Thank you, doctor.” He pulled out a long, fullered dagger with a wide base, narrowing toward the tip. With it, he carefully extracted some white powder from the bag onto the blade. He snorted it up, and sneezed. 

He looked at the owlin with a blank expression. “Flour?” 

“Just seeing if you would do it. Maybe you’re an informant,” Hootalin said, picking up her pipe again. 

“He isn’t,” Pen said tersely. “It’s getting late, I’d say we cut a deal. Someone cutting into your profit margins is someone cutting into my profit margins.”

“We’ll do some cutting, alright,” Rennik said in between cleaning out his nose. “Our friend is at the Last Leg in town, we’ll want to discuss it with him. So, what do you say, doc?”

“Let’s go to Taran then,” Hootalin sighed. “Just remember, I work well with Pen. I'll listen to your offer because I trust him, but I’ll fly if I don’t like it and then we won’t talk about my business ever again.”

With a “very well” from Rennik, the trio made their way toward the nearby coastal village of Taran, whose lights flickered on one by one in the far distance. 

______________________________________________________________________________________

Like every night, the Last Leg tavern was a lively place, crowded with the intoxicated multiracial members of the Red Sash mercenary company and townsfolk. Ale flowed liberally from the wide oak countertop, where four barkeeps tried to keep up with the orders. 

Near the back of the establishment, three individuals were deeply engrossed in their card game. A rock gnome, whose head just about reached above the gaming table, watched as his foul-smelling and loud goblin opponent showed his hand. The goblin was wearing a very peculiar suit of armor; strips of metal criss crossed each other as if no thought had gone into the design. The gnome plucked at his beard as his eyes involuntarily darted between the goblin’s cards, and the pile of gold next to it.  

“Show ‘em, orc,” the goblin said to the final player at the table.

The imposing, fur-cloak wearing half-orc hooked a thumb into his bandana and ran it from one side to the other, letting in some air. He casually flipped his cards, one by one. 

“Looks like I got you beat, my small friend,” the half-orc said, putting little effort in enunciation. 

The goblin smacked the table. “Godsdammit!” He looked over at the gnome. “Ya gonna sit the next one out too, coward?”

“Just biding my time,” the gnome said, resting his chin on the table. 

They played on for a couple of rounds, until in one of them the pot swelled rapidly. The goblin was standing on his seat in anticipation, and the gnome’s beard plucking intensified — he had a good hand. The half-orc was dealing, swiftly removing one card from the top of the deck and placing the one below it on the table. All according to the rules, except…

“Hey!” the Goblin yelled out. “I saw that, you’re stacking cards!”

The half-orc slowly looked over at the goblin, his hand hovering unmoving over the card he’d just laid down. 

“That’s quite the accusation,” he said.  

The goblin jumped up onto the table, scattering coins and cards everywhere. “You cheating prick, how long have ye been tricking us?” he growled as he approached the half-orc with a raised fist. 

“I’m no cheater, but perhaps you need to take a closer look at our gnome here.” The half-orc leaned over and swiped the gnome’s face-down hand of cards from under his nose. The gnome threw up his arms in disbelief. 

“I’ve seen him sitting around here most nights, and methinks he has a bit too much luck. See, he had another mithral underneath here,” the half-orc said, uncovering a card from underneath another. He held up a card with a silver thunderbolt icon. 

The gnome got up. “This is ridiculous, do you even know who I am?” he said exasperated. 

The goblin positioned himself in front of the half-orc and slapped the cards out of his hand. “You take me for a fool? You’re pulling yer tricks right in front of me. Give me yer winnings, scum.” 

The half-orc rose from his seat so that they were eye-to-eye, grinned at the goblin, and thrust his head forward. The headbutt was sudden, and on-point, sending the goblin tumbling off the table, into his chair, which fell over backwards. A couple of hoots and cheers went up around the table as it looked to the patrons that it was that time in the evening again. The gnome grabbed his coins from the table and took a few steps back. 

The goblin remained on the floor behind his chair for a few seconds, but then jumped back up, holding a gauntlet. “You’re gonna get it now,” he yelled as he strapped the gauntlet to his right hand. He rushed the half-orc and retaliated with a right hook. The half-orc jumped out of the way just in time, as the swing left a bluish glow in its wake.

“Woah now,” the half-orc said, holding up his hands, “let’s not escalate things, eh?” He reached into hip-purse, and extracted some coins. He offered them to the goblin, who’d pulled his fist back like the arrow on a taut bowstring. 

The goblin cocked his head. “Another trick, orc?” 

“Nah, we were just having some fun, yeah? Besides, I like your spirit. Gok, was it?”

The goblin hummed, and without letting his guard down took the money. “I’m a corporal in this company, ye knows what that bloody means?”

The half-orc let out a jovial roar. “I am getting 20 lashes now? You know as well as I we don’t do discipline in the Red Sash. Besides, we got the same rank,” He held out his hand. “There aren’t many who’ve felt my forehead upon theirs and get to tell the tale. The name’s Grunk.”

Gok nursed his sore head and huffed, and took Grunk’s hand. A few boo’s and heckles went up around them as there would be no cheap entertainment anymore. “Don’t think I’m ever going to gamble against you again,” Gok said.

“Listen, I’ll buy you a drink if you’ll hear me out on something—” Grunk started.

“Done fighting? I’m waiting for my refund and apology,” the gnome called over.

Grunk walked over with another couple of coins, and a sly smile. “Of course, Mr…?”

“Ruffstrom, Ruffstrom Darkridge,” the gnome said authoritatively. 

Grunk mulled the name over, pursing his mouth and tapping it with a finger. “Darkridge, Darkridge… Are you that inventor feller?

“That I am.” Ruffstrom pocketed the money. “And not just an inventor feller, I have explored the unexplored, I have founded the Great Gnomish Workshop, and I would have beaten you at cards if it weren’t for your caddish ways. Good day to you.” Ruffstrom turned around.

“Wait,” Grunk said. “Let me buy you and our smelly goblin friend some rounds. I’m looking for folks who can help me out with something. You’ll want to hear this.”

Ruffstrom looked back. “Free drinks?”

“Aye”

Ruffstrom wandered back to the table, where Gok was pressing his hand against the bridge of his nose. Grunk returned with a few pitchers of ale, placing one in front of Ruffstrom and Gok as if he was handling very delicate objects. He sat down and rubbed his hands together.

“So…” Grunk started, but his voice trailed off as the tavern’s front door opened. Spotting who entered, he waved the newcomers overs. 

“Made some new friends, Grunk?” Rennik said. Behind him was Pen, with Hootalin perched on his broad shoulder. 

“These are Corporal Gok, and Ruffstrom Darkridge,” Grunk said, extending a hand to each in turn. “Pen, Hootalin.” He nodded at the duo. “Why don’t you lot grab that table at the back there, I’ll get us some more lubrication.” 

The group walked over to the far end of the tavern, where two long tables with benches stood. One was occupied by a group of humans who looked like they’d seen the bottom of a few too many pitchers.

“I haven’t been completely forthcoming with you,” Rennik said to Hootalin and Pen as they sat down. “What has Grunk told you already?” He looked at Ruffstrom and Gok. 

“I knew it,” Hootalin said before the others could respond. “This hairless monkey brought us here to dick us around.”

Pen sighed. “Gods, Hootalin, will you calm down? I know Rennik and Grunk, at least trust me.” His eyes roved around the tavern. “Is Mara here?”

“That’s what we wanted to talk about.” Grunk returned, fresh pitchers in hand. “Now, that's the final round on me, this is what’s going on.” He distributed the drinks, sat down and leaned in conspiratorially. The rest followed, except for Gok, who instead leaned away with a flinch. 

“Mara has been imprisoned by the higher-ups in Aurorhaven.” Grunk said, his voice low. “I don’t know what she’s done, but the brass seem eager to have a word.“ 

“She does the same as you two,” Pen said. “Why are you still free?” 

“Maybe we take things a little bit further than the others here,” Rennik said, and he turned to Gok and Ruffstrom. “Grunk, Mara and I figured that our mercenary contract leaves us a little light in the old coin purse, so we’ve taken on a few other jobs in North Bravia. The kind of work that might ruffle some feathers. Not those of our owlin friend here, of course.”

“You’re bandits,” Gok said. 

“Entrepreneurs,” Rennik countered. He turned back to Pen. “But no, this isn’t about discipline. She’s done something to really piss off the captains.” 

“And you know Mara, Pen,” Grunk said. “She’s more shifty than one of your flatboats. She’s done something with another crew. Probably not even Red Sash lot. She’s gone behind our back.” His voice got deeper and more tumultuous. A storm was brewing behind Grunk’s airy demeanor. 

“She wasn’t captured by the Red Sash, so this is what I think is going to happen,” Grunk continued. “Whatever she did was unrelated to our company, but she’ll rat us out to save her own sorry Dwarf hide. She’ll rat on us,” — he flicked a finger between himself and Rennik — “she’ll rat on you, Pen. And she knows all about the drug trade that you two have been busy with,” he finished with a finger pointed at Hootalin, who woodenly shook her head.   

“That seems like a problem for you. I haven’t done anything wrong,” Ruffstrom said.

“Same with me,” Gok said.

“Maybe not,” Rennik said, “but the Red Sash has been operating on a fine line for a long time. In other words, Mara might hand the captains enough ammunition to get rid of our little mercenary group. You can say bye bye to your career, Gok.” Rennik flapped his hand as he finished speaking. 

“Again, I have no stake in this,” Ruffstrom said.

“Sorry, you were?” Rennik asked.

Grunk answered before Ruffstrom could. “Ever heard of Ruffstrom Darkridge? You’ll be hard pressed to find a more famous gnome. He goes around the world inventin’ and explorin’.” 

“Hold on, are you joking?” Rennik sounded genuinely surprised. “You’re that Ruffstrom Darkridge?”

“Never heard of you,” Hootalin said.

“I have,” Pen said, prompting an agreeing humf from Gok. 

The loud conversation at the table opposite stopped, and a burly, bald headed human with rolled up sleeves sauntered over to their table. 

“Ain’t that a coincidence, den. Me and me mates were talkin’ ‘bout you,” he stopped at the head of the table next to Ruffstrom, stared him in the eye and planted his knuckles on the wood. The whole table looked quizzically at this encounter. Pen noticed the scowls from the other table. 

“If you want an autograph, I usually charge three copper for it,” Ruffstrom said, locking eyes. 

“Do you enjoy it when your whatchemethingsits rob hard workin’ folk of a job? I’ll take a hundred workin’ men over one of your metal, unthinkin', trash machines,” the man said, stifling a hiccup. 

“They should learn another trade then, something else that Ru- my inventions cannot provide,” Ruffstrom said. 

“You think you’re pretty smart, hey? Better than me and the lads?”

“Tell you what, one copper for an autograph and you pissing off,” Ruffstrom said, already reaching for a pencil in his pocket. 

The man paused, and threw a sudden punch, striking Ruffstrom in the face and knocking him off his chair. Rennik, Grunk, Pen, Gok and Hootalin exchanged glances. 

“Fuck him up, lads!” Ruffstrom’s attacker yelled over his shoulder. His six inebriated friends had already jumped up at the sight of violence, some grabbing glasses off the table.

Hootalin murmured a word while looking at a point by the other table, which suddenly disappeared within a large, black bubble. The edge of it stopped near their own table, and Grunk and Pen’s shoulders disappeared behind the unreflecting, pitch-black surface. 

“What in the hells is this?” Grunk yelled, pressing himself into the table to get away from it.

“Don’t worry, it’s completely harmless,” Hootalin said. “It blocks the vision of anyone inside of it,” — She tapped her temple — “but I can still see them.”  

They heard people knock into each other in the darkness, and the rest of the patrons in the tavern let out surprised cries upon seeing the strange spell. Chaos began to spread throughout the tavern. Pen grabbed Ruffstrom's attacker, shoved him into the darkness, and then jumped after him. This was followed by the sound of an "oomph" and splintering wood. Gok, meanwhile, sprayed an inky substance from the tips of his gauntlet, which came to the ground inside the darkness.

Rennik and Grunk inched away from the mayhem, drinks in hand. Hootalin took flight, and dove into one of the men stumbling out of the darkness with her talons outstretched. He yelped as her claws bore into his arm, and he pushed Hootalin away. The wound was surface level, but still drew blood. He pulled out a knife from his belt and slashed at Hootalin, who hopped just out of reach. 

"Can someone dispel this?" Ruffstrom called out over the ruckus. He was holding a barstool at the ready next to the black dome.

"Hold on." Hootalin dodged another knife-slice. She managed to find an opening to peck at the man's eye. Beak connected with eye socket, and the man dropped his knife, covering his stricken eye with his hand. He turned and ran off into the intrigued onlookers.

Hootalin watched the man disappear into the crowd. I'll remember you, human. She murmured another word and the zone of darkness evaporated. 

Grunk let out a stretched-out whistle as he observed the carnage. The table of the drunken workers was cracked in the middle, their sprawled ringleader as the centerpiece. At the side lay three of his mates groaning on the floor, and covered in the slick ink from Gok’s gauntlet. Another two steadied themselves against a wall and a pillar, having caught strays from Pen's fists.

The fight had ended as fast as it began. The patrons agreed that this one was better than the first, but it still left them unsatisfied, mostly because it was obscured. The rowdy mood incited another fight at the other end of the inn, which rippled across the establishment. 

"That's why I love this place,"Grunk said, watching the third fight of the night unfold.

"Great help you were," Gok spat.

"You had it handled," Grunk said.

"And skillfully so," Rennik chimed in. "I feel confident you can handle the Mara situation."

"And what exactly are you suggesting?" Pen asked. He and the others moved towards the door and away from the full blown tavern brawl. Ruffstrom trailed behind, dropping an empty purse on the ground after closing his own. He looked back at his knocked-out detractors with a grin. 

“We should have gotten rid of her long ago. I couldn’t do it because she’s so good with her hands.” Grunk said. A mug flew past in the awkward silence that followed. “She’s good at giving a beating.” Grunk clarified. Rennik cleared his throat as Gok snickered.

"Shut it, she's a fighter, you know what I mean," Grunk said annoyedly. "We need to break her out of Aurorhaven before she says anything dumb. Talking probably won't even spare her the headsman's axe, but she could get desperate."

"Kill her instead of breaking her out, that would be a lot easier," Hootalin said.

"No," Grunk said resolutely.

"You said it yourself, Grunk, she is a liability," Pen said. 

"But she's still one of us. I want to hear her out anyway." Grunk felt one of the small tusks protruding out of his mouth, but dropped his arm abruptly as he caught himself doing it.

"You speak a lot of doom and gloom for someone who doesn’t seem to have the full picture," Gok said. "I'll take my chances if this Mara lass talks a bunch of crap about the Red Sash."

Ruffstrom took his cue. "But perhaps we could be swayed to help you out." 

"You'll be rewarded, of course. If saving our band of brothers and sisters," – Rennik made a wide circle in the air with his hand, indicating the group of people who were in the process of rebuilding the inn and each other – "isn't enough, we have money and our friendship to offer." 

"I don't care much for a friendship with you. I don't like that this dwarf of yours knows about my business. That needs to be dealt with. And speaking of which,you offered me help with said business," Hootalin said.

"After Mara is out, we'll set that straight right away," Rennik responded.

The door next to them opened, letting in a soft, evening breeze carrying a hint of the sea. In stepped a drow – a dark skinned elf wearing a deep red leather tunic. The drow cast his black eyes about the chaos while standing in the opening, and eventually his eyes fell on Ruffstrom.

"I was hoping for a quiet drink. What did you do now, Ruffstrom?" The drow's voice was smooth and unconcerned, and carried well over the clamor. 

“Ha, Larnala,” Ruffstrom waved at the drow. He gazed at the rest, who silently took stock of this newcomer. “I’d like to introduce you to some people.”

Larnala shrugged, and walked over. “Yeah?” He put his hands in his pockets and stared at the gathering.

Ruffstrom pointed at each individual in turn and told Larnala their names. Without missing a beat, he started telling Larnala about what he’d heard this evening.

“Woa, not so fast,” Grunk interrupted him. “Who is this dark-elf?” 

Larnala waited with a laconic expression on his face. He half-turned his head to Ruffstrom. 

“He’s my drinking buddy. Good company,” Ruffstrom said, and beckoned Grunk over. Grunk crouched down and Ruffstrom whispered: “He’s very dangerous. I think he’s from the Vendish underdark.” 

Grunk looked up thoughtfully at Larnala, who was observing the chaos in the tavern. “Ruffstrom Darkridge seems to think highly of you, drow.” 

“Mr. Darkridge has a big mouth and you probably shouldn’t take too much stock in what comes out of it,” Larnala said. “But, admittedly, he had me hooked before you interrupted him.” 

Grunk stared at Larnala, “Continue, then, Mr. Darkridge. Broad strokes only,” he grumbled after a pause.

Ruffstrom filled Larnala in, who listened without looking at the gnome. Despite this, he seemed attentive. As Ruffstrom was explaining how Mara held detrimental information, a few bruised and bloodied patrons ran past and escaped the tavern. Behind Ruffstrom, a tiefling stood on the bar counter, his tail pushing a tray to the floor as he prepared to dive into a group of people who were in a ball of fists and feet low on the ground. 

“We shouldn’t talk about this here,” Pen boomed over the trashing that was happening around them. “What about we head over to your workshop?” he asked Gok. 

“Aye, and while you’re scheming, I can do a bit of work on my armor,” Gok said while holding his pointed ear to his arm. He then shook his leg and a look of concern came over his face. “Seems like there’s a bit of a malfunction.” He sighed. “I’m useless without this set,” tapping the plates on his left leg. “In here is nothing, but I made sure that isn’t holding me back.”

A pair of eyes followed them as they left the bar.

______________________________________________________________________________________

Taran’s streets were narrow and unkempt, with the group having to watch their step lest they step into trash or drunkards. The timber-framed row houses leaned into the street, their steep roofs almost meeting their opposite counterparts in the middle. A whistle rang out through the street, and a few guards ran past them towards the tavern. The party quickened their pace, navigating the labyrinthian town. Gok’s workshop was recognizable by a wooden sign with thick black paint, hanging over a crooked door: “Goks Workplaes”. It stood on a small square flanked by other shops. 

Gok produced a key and after a few attempts and some door rattling — cursing under his breath — managed to turn the locking mechanism. “Make yourself comfortable, I need to get out me suit,” Gok said, walking to a metal frame at the back of his shop. The workplace looked like a used metal storage, and a slight pungent smell hung about the place. One corner seemed dedicated to finished weaponry and armor, tossed on a heap. Another corner was occupied by a large bellows and a forge, with various blacksmithing tools strewn around it. 

Grunk ran his finger along a piece of dented armor on a worktable, and grimaced as it got caught by a sticky gray splodge. 

“Fascinating place you have here, Mr. Gok,” Ruffstrom said, inspecting a two-pronged piece of rusted metal. 

“That’s a bending fork,” Gok said with a glance. “But I don't have to tell you that.”

“Of course,” Ruffstrom said, setting down the tool. “I use it often myself.”

“Oh? I thought you’d beee…” — Gok stretched to attach his metal plated arm into a hook that dangled from the metal frame — “...usin’ more fancy stuff. Gnome of your stature an’ all.”   

“Ah, you’d be surprised. I use all kinds of equipment for my work,” Ruffstrom said. 

“Oi, Batty!” Gok suddenly screamed out. Everyone stared at the goblin who had fastened one side of his armor to the metal frame with hooks while still in it. “‘Elp me out ‘ere.”

A few metal strips clanked to the floor on the other side of the room, announcing the presence of a small, bat-like creature with a tick, gray, leathery body and stumpy legs and arms. It ignored the visitors, its beady eyes focussing on his master instead. He flapped up onto the metal frame, where it started helping Gok remove his armor. 

Pen shrugged and took a closer look at a tattered map that was pinned to the wall. It was a hand-drawn map showing the peninsula. The top and right edges were frayed, as if torn off from a larger paper. The map contained the countries of Aria in the middle, Bravia on the eastern coastline and a part of the Bulgorid Holdfast in the mountain range at the top of the map. Pen hovered his finger over the map, and after some hesitation placed it on Taran, in North-Bravia. There was one more country on the map: the far away island of Althena, which had been circled with red ink a few times.

 “What’s up with this map?” he asked. 

“Eh? Oh, I found that in an alley nearby. Thought it might look good on the wall there,” Gok said as Batty undid some belts holding bits of armor together. Freeing his arms from their protective cocoon, Gok gripped the frame above him and hoisted himself out of his loose armor and dropped to the floor. As he removed himself from his armor, Rennik, who stood closest to him, started gagging.

As if hit by a flail, he staggered back with watering eyes. “What’s that godsawful smell!?” he spat.

The stench reached the rest too, and a scramble for the exit ensued. Hootalin fluttered up and threw herself out of a window to escape the foul odor. 

“What?” Gok sniffed his armpits. “Eh, it’s not that bad. You’re overreacting.” 

Only Pen stood firm in the face over the overwhelming stench. “You should bathe so now and then,” he said, seemingly unaffected by the smell. 

“Never!” Gok threw up his hands. “I’ll be dead before you catch me in a bathtub. If I wash meself, I lose my tinkering abilities.”

“What are you saying? How’s that?” Pen asked with folded arms. 

“Trust me, water will wash away me gifts.” 

Pen shook his head and wandered back outside, where the rest of the group were huddled together. 

“That little smelly prick almost killed me. I knew he was rank, but this—” Rennik said, spitting again. 

“That armor of his is shielding us from the worst. As long as he stays in it we’ll be fine,” Hootalin said, and spun her head around to peer into the darkened street. “Guards are on the prowl, let’s get out of here.”

“I’m not going back in that hellhole,” Grunk said.

Pen scratched at the back of his neck. “As long as we’re not being followed, I can take you to a smugglers' den in town.”

They waited for Gok to finish up inside, and then set off to Pen’s hideout: a dank, vaulted cellar in a side-alley, seemingly abandoned, with broken barrels and boxes lining the walls. Pen leaned against a pillar and rested his hand on a wall mounted brazier, which gave way a little bit. He gripped the brazier and pulled it back.

“This is considerably better than your place,” Rennik said with a side-eye to Gok. 

“Yeah, well cut the banter and tell us what we need to do with this Mara character,” Gok shot back. “And more importantly, how you’re compensating me.”

“All we really know, is that the bosses are holdin’ Mara somewhere in Aurorhaven,” Grunk rumbled. “And all I know is that if you want to stay snug in the Red Sash, smuggling an’ slinging drugs — like the upstanding mercs we are, we’d better get her out of there before she says something stupid.”

“Do you know how big Aurorhaven is? you need to give us more than that, Grunk,” Pen said.  

“She’s either being held in that big dungeon they got in town, The Bastion, or maybe they got her in that other big building…” — he snapped his fingers a few times as he trailed off — “you know, the one with the towers by the river.”

“The Assembly,” Ruffstrom said.

“That’s the one. We’ll stake those places out, talk to folks in town, see if they know anything.”

Pen crossed his arms while his eyes followed Larnala, who was slowly pacing around the room, inspecting the walls and broken furniture. “How did you find out that Mara had been captured?” 

“Fellow who knows a fellow who Mara recruited told us after it all went down. He thought we were in on it too.” Grunk cracked his knuckles. “I made damn sure I fleeced ‘im for all he knows. Mara’s guy booked it, probably left Bravia by now.” 

Hootalin piped up in her sing-songy way: “I’m not comfortable knowing that there’s a chance that some snitch is besmirching me in front of the Bravian Leadership. With or without you,” she said, looking at Gok and Ruffstrom, “I’m going to head over there and find a way to stop this.” 

“I’ll come with,” Pen said.

“It’s been a while since I got my hands real dirty,” Gok said. “I’ll join ya, but I’m expecting some juicy reward down the line. Going against the bosses is serious business.” 

“Trust me,”  Rennik said, “the bosses don’t need to know, if we do this right. We’ll hide Mara away until it blows over.” 

Larnala tossed away a piece of metal he scooped up from the wet, stone floor and turned to the group. “You wish to infiltrate and exfiltrate a prison without your involvement known to anyone. That requires a deft hand.” He held up the empty palm of his hand, and in one sudden motion rotated it, materializing a large key between his thumb and index finger. Pen narrowed his eyes, and his hand shot to a satchel on his belt. Larnala put the key in between two bricks where the mortar was almost completely gone and turned it, and a piece of wall next to him slowly swung inwards. 

Pen angrily marched at Larnala, who stepped back, and Pen closed the secret door and grabbed the key. 

“You’ll be needing me if you want to be successful,” Larnala said. 

“You think you could have made that point without stealing from me?” Pen gripped the hilt of the longsword on his back. “Pocketed anything else?” 

Larnala held up his hands and looked up at the agitated goliath innocently, who towered over him. “I wouldn’t dare. I’ll join you if you’ll have me, I’ve missed the thrill of an adventure.”

“We’ll want Larnala with us,” Ruffstrom said.

“Ah, so the great Ruffstrom Darkridge will grace us with his presence?” Grunk asked. 

“Well, I’m involved now, and I could be of some use. But like Gok, I’m not doing this entirely for charity.”

“And we don’t pay for a job not done. That is, if it’s coin you’re after? You don’t want something less… mundane?” Grunk asked. 

“Coin is always welcome,” Ruffstrom said curtly. 

“It looks like we have ourselves a party, dedicated to keeping our beloved Red Sash out of trouble, eh?” Rennik said, clapping his hands together. 

“Sure,” Pen said, still casting a suspicious eye on Larnala. The others murmured in tentative agreement. 

“Rennik and I’ll be riding for Aurorhaven now, we’ve been standin’ here waffling for too long. You lot have horses?” Grunk asked.

All of them shook their heads or answered in the negative, except for Hootalin.

“I have my cart. Plenty of space for the rest of you. My horse is a strong beast, he’ll get us there by midday,” she said. 

“Take the ferry over the Daria, it’s faster than going over the bridge by the Fork — it will skip you a few hours,” Rennik advised them. A thought crossed his mind, and he produced a few gold coins that he offered to Hootalin. “Travel expenses, the ferryman will want extra for a horse and cart.” Hootalin picked up the coins, and Rennik turned for the exit. 

“You’ll be in the city some hours before us if you’re going at full pace, where are we meeting up?” Pen asked.

“We’ll be around the big towery building—” Grunk started.

“The Assembly,” Ruffstrom interjected.

“—The Assembly around noon. Best rest up along the way, tomorrow is goin’ to be interesting.”