Robin bit into a warm, fresh-baked roll, dotted with a small tab of butter. His eyes closed in bliss. There were very few things that could match that taste, in this or any other world.

He savoured the roll like he savoured the morning. This was the last bit of breathing room he’d have before things kicked into high gear in the effort against Basgar and Gis. He’d only managed to beg this much time off because he’d told Lantha he needed to ‘meditate on some new spells he had been studying in the hopes of mastering them before the action kicked off’.

It wasn’t entirely a lie, either. He didn’t have new spells, per se, but he did have a character sheet and a sizeable mass of experience gathered up over the course of recent events. The confrontation with Cor’Leon’s men after the man himself had fled had added an especially nice chunk. High-stakes trickery, fooling the loyal supporters of a crime lordling? Apparently very lucrative in the experience department!

Robin had taken his time, burrowing down into every available tooltip and menu. There were a lot more available now that he had actually taken his first class. The peculiarities were particularly interesting. He’d mentally flagged a couple as high priority for the next chance he got.

Sadly, ‘The Mirrors’ Revenge’ would have to wait. It required more skill or had higher prerequisites. Whatever the case, though he had managed to find an entry for it, it was effectively greyed out for him. The Queen of Air and Darkness’s words, however, reassured him that it would not remain that way forever.

Still, Robin had some priorities to see to. The first thing he did was to double-check that his Expression was maxed out. The skill was key to performance and thus to successfully completing his quest. Then he raised his Melee Combat skill, just in case. The next few days could get quite hairy.

ROBIN PARKER Heritage: Shadeling, Paragon Profession: Bard (Apprentice) Tier: 1, Conditional (Effective Level: 3) Spell Points: 3 Bardsong: 5 uses Experience: 750 Properties

Free Ranks Available: 1 Physical Mental Social Strength: 11 Intelligence: 17 Charisma: 15 Dexterity: 14 Cunning: 20 Manipulation: 13 Fortitude: 11 Resilience: 14 Poise: 16 Proficiencies

Free Ranks Available: 1 Physical (9/9) Mental (9/9) Social (9/9) Athletics: 2 Arcane Lore: 4 Animism: 1 Brawl: 1 Bureaucracy: 1 Deception: 6 Dodge: 4 Concentration: 5 Empathy: 3 Melee Combat: 4 Crafting: 5 Expression: 6 Pilot: 4 Healing: 3 Gossip: 3 Ranged Combat: 5 Insight: 5 Intimidation: 3 Sleight of Hand: 3 Learning: 4 Persuasion: 3 Stealth: 5 Natural Wisdom: 3 Socialise: 3 Survival: 3 Perception: 5 Streetwise: 4 Peculiarities Blessing of Rhyth Tongue of the Fallen Tower Mark of the Trickster Chronicle of Infinite Visions Mask of Myriad Faces Perks

Wayfaring Stranger Shard of the Shattered Manymind Mark of Fairy's Favour Spells

Cantrips* (*no SP cost)

Tier 1 (1SP each)

Tier 2 (3SP each) Lesser Phantasm* Visual Phantasm* Assume Quality (Special) Cutting Words* Healing Note Legerdemain* Whispers from Beyond

Robin poked at a few more things, but he was figuring out that he was a bit stuck until he got through the performance quest bottleneck. He could still raise his skills, but the really interesting choices of spells or peculiarities all depended on him finishing that quest.

Well, first deal with Basgar and Gis, then clear the quest. Then with any luck, he’d be on his way to Noviel, adventure, and hopefully more answers about Rhyth.

Lantha stuck her head through the door.

‘Are you ready? I want to go over the plans once more before we meet with the others.’

Robin rose. He’d already accomplished three missions for Lantha, and two more that had been of his own devising. Basgar and Gis were going to have several small problems cropping up in a few days, even if the big one the resistance was working on went pear-shaped.

‘Be right there.’

Robin reached out and grabbed one more roll to slather with butter. He didn’t need to eat but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t.

Delicious was still delicious.

***

Robin stared at the warehouse, the same one they had passed the other day, checking to see which of the faction leaders would take the bait and reveal themselves as the traitor. Now they were back and planned to ransack the place.

Provided they could get enough guards out of the way to make it feasible.

Basgar kept his supplies in five large warehouses (and one outright converted townhouse) spread evenly and discreetly around the town. Partially this was to present a smaller target, partially it was due to the petty tyrant trying to conceal from the townsfolk just how much food he had extorted, stolen, and cheated them out of.

But doing things this way also split his forces, and there was quite a distance between each supply dump. If someone were to attack one of them, it would be a while before reinforcements could be sourced from any existing location or even from the local watch.

And Lantha fully intended to exploit that fact.

Robin and four others were designated as ‘bait’. They would each make an attempt at a small theft, with the idea of getting noticed and drawing off a sizeable chunk of the warehouse guards. Robin had his illusions. Some of the others had teams of people. All of them could look like a credible threat. They would allow the guards to chase them off, drop hints that they were heading to hit the next warehouse, and generally cat-and-mouse the guards from each warehouse, running them all around in a big circle.

While the guards were distracted and undermanned, the actual strike force would hit, subdue the guards, and empty the place of supplies. There were plenty of willing townsfolk to supply ready hands, wagons, and a surprising number of extra-dimensional storage spaces.

As far as Robin could see, it was a nightmare of logistics, approaching impossible levels, but Lantha didn’t seem concerned. There was magic, he supposed, to speed things along, and it wasn’t his problem anyway.

His problem was baiting the guards and not getting caught.

Right now he was waiting, concealed, in a small alleyway not far from the warehouse. Lantha would be concealed with a group on the other side of the building. Grathilde, Fiamah, Ora-Jean, and Avanus were leading the other teams. The town bell would ring soon; everyone was coordinating off of that sound.

Dong ding ding dong.

The bell rang out the quarter hour. That was Robin’s cue. He had fifteen minutes to get in, get the guards’ attention, and lead them off on their little wild goose chase.

Slipping in was easy. The place needed light, so there were windows. Robin had made sure to pile several of the boxes, barrels, and general detritus around the edge of the warehouse into a makeshift ladder for ease of access.

Smash. Grab. Ooh, is that a packet of dried apples? Yes, please.

Robin took a bite and was chewing away when the guard came around the corner and spotted him. He swallowed quickly.

‘Run! It’s the guards!’

A flurry of movement in the shadows should be plenty to convince the guard they were facing a whole gang of thieves here. Thank you, [Visual Phantasm] and [Chronicle of Infinite Visions]! The way that casting illusions with this setup was just an act of will was fantastic. Made it really easy to hide what he was up to. Which was probably the while point.

The guard shouted for backup. Robin made sure he got a good view of an illusory young man jumping out the window with an illusory crate of food. Then he hopped up to the window himself.

Better make this personal, just to be certain they would follow.

Before Robin got the chance, however, the guard got his own hit in first.

‘I’m going to twist you into a pretzel and throw your bones to the pigeons, traitor,’ he sneered.

‘So you’re a fan of Lord Basgar then,’ Robin replied.

‘His Lordship is leading us to greatness!’

Oh good. No need to feel guilty about this at all, then.

‘I’d say I could see how you might think that way, but honestly, looking at you, I can’t see how you manage to think at all. It must be a miracle of the gods’ s own making.’

The [Cutting Words] landed. The man purpled, staggered, and leapt after Robin.

Fortunately, Robin was well placed to slip out the window before his pursuer could get close. A torrent of invective followed him, as well as more threats of bodily harm, and exhortations for other guards to come and ‘teach some little rat a lesson in manners’.

Ha. Good luck with that one.

Robin hopped down and sent a couple of illusory thieves with satchels and boxes of food flitting ahead of him. Got to keep the ruse up as long as possible.

His friend burst through the remains of the window, screaming.

‘I’m going to kill you! I’m going to rip off your head and—’

‘You don’t look like the sort who can find his own head to rip off, much less anyone else’s,’ Robin shot back over his shoulder as he took off at a moderate run.

The guard frothed at the mouth and actually slipped as he was clambering down the boxes, left entirely uncoordinated in his rage. He smacked the ground with a wet thwack. Robin winced. Leave it to him to taunt the guard that managed to kill himself before they could establish pursuit.

He rallied, though. The man clambered to his feet. Two other guards had made it out the window by this point. Robin took off faster as the man he’d insulted nearly to death lumbered after him, a juggernaut amassing momentum.

The guy was a lot faster than he looked. Faster than he had any right to be by the laws of physics as Robin knew them. Must be some kind of skill or spell. He’d have to be careful. He kept forgetting that he couldn’t make the same assumptions he was used to making.

There were probably kittens with vorpal claws in one of these alleyways capable of literally ripping him to shreds.

So Robin ran, trying to put some distance between himself and his pursuer. It wasn’t easy. The man was gaining quickly, and Robin’s need to concentrate on keeping his illusions flickering in and out of sight slowed him down.

Lunkhead—as Robin had decided to call him in a split-second decision of questionable creativity levels—was gaining. Robin needed to dip out of sight for a few moments. Maybe catch his breath from a rooftop or something and direct the chase along just via his illusions.

It would certainly be safer.

He also needed to watch where he was going. Most of the streets around here were relatively empty, but one wrong turn and he could get caught in a pedestrian sprawl. And he needed to lead these moods by the nose, not allow himself to be herded.

Robin tried to dodge around a corner.

‘Oh no you don’t!’ Lunkhead roared. ‘[Mark of the Hunter]!’

Robin felt a tearing pain in his back, like a tiger was writing its name across his skin in blood and torn flesh. He stumbled, then lost his footing, slamming into a wall and ricocheting off it to windmill wildly down the street.

What the cock kind of spell was this? It burned. Robin could feel the mark.

He’d had to help brand calves on his grandfather’s farm every year. Thankfully, there were never that many. But the smell of burning hair and the sizzle as those red-hot irons hit flesh—it’s not something you ever forget.

Robin had even more sympathy for them now. His back felt like it was on fire. How long was this thing going to last? And was it going to hurt like this the whole time?

‘Run as much as you want, little man!’ Lunkhead shouted at him. ‘You can’t get away from me! Not with my mark in your flesh!’

Charming. Robin grimaced. Focus. He had to focus. He was leading them away, just as he should. Now he simply needed to not get caught.

Simple.

Then he made the mistake of looking over his shoulder and not at where he was running. Robin’s foot caught on the uneven cobblestones and his momentum was more than his balance could handle.

He tripped, tumbling arse over teakettle across the stones. The rough rock tore and abraded his skin, and would have done quite the number on his clothing were it more reality and less illusion. He didn’t stop tumbling until he rapped sharply up against the stone foundations of a nearby warehouse.

Robin rolled over, groaning from the impact. He glanced behind him.

Fuck.

The guards were still bearing down on him, and fast!