Belltollia is a northern land. It has long stretches of pine forests, hard winters, nonexistant autumns, all-too-quick springs, and short, muggy summers with overlarge mosquitoes and swarms of overlarge mosquitoes gorging on whatever's unlucky enough to be around.. Farming is hard here, but enough varieties of berries find the soil hospitable that the people of the land never lack for wine or honey. And beasts of all sorts find their way down from the mountains when weather gets too harsh, so hunting and meat are a staple of even the poorest Belltollian's diet.

Most of the trade and settlements in Belltollia were around the Mortelpoisson river, known for its dangerous and profitable salmon runs. Dangerous because the quantum salmon of the western hills had this knack of ignoring water friction once they got going, and could get up to speeds that usually ended poorly for whatever or whoever they ran into along the way, and profitable because they were delicious. (If safely harvested, which usually involved a good amount of stealth, a harpoon or bow, and a certain disregard for one's life and limb.)

And on the southernmost bend of the Mortelpoisson river, lay Belltollia's biggest, busiest, (and only,) city. It was called Leville, a place of narrow streets, quaint shops, much-cared-for gardens, and generally small buildings.

As with any city, though, there were exceptions to the architectural trends.

The two that stood out the most loomed over the skyline of the self-named Villeins. One, to the east, was the crumbling ruin of the Cathedral of Nurph, dedicated to the local saint known as the No-Ear Dame.

The second building was the enormous stone jail that occupied its own island in the river west of the city. It had been built on the ruins of an infamous tavern, the Bad Still, and the name had stuck. Once used to hold political prisoners back in the bad old days when the country had been occupied by the church alliance, it was now used mainly as a military garrison. The soldiers there trained hard and provided a modicum of security for the town, when they weren't out gambling, drinking, brawling, and otherwise causing security problems for the town. It had been a while since the army had seen any town problems that weren't related to bored soldiers, but that was okay. The nearest “enemies” of Belltollia were quite a long way off and mostly didn't care about near-endless miles of sparse forests and ruins full of monsters and worse.

At least, they thought the nearest enemies of Belltollia were distant.

The truth of the matter was that an airship full of trouble was hidden just a few miles out of town. And while the people on board weren't precisely enemies of the state at the moment, they were of the opinion that particular status was fluid, and had a high chance of changing before the end of the day.

And all things considered, while the local garrison would have been really interested in the fact that enemies (or at least antagonists) were closer than they thought, they would have also been rather alarmed to know that the early evening mist that was rising up from the river this muggy late-summer night wasn't entirely innocent. In fact, they would have been downright disturbed to know that it was the result of an old and powerful shaman who'd dumped quite a lot of sanity into repeated uses of the 'Call Winds' skill.

Normally she used it for sharp bursts, to ground fliers, knock people over, or liven up boring parties. But in this case, she had put her knowledge of nature and its processes to work, and manipulated both cold air and warm to slowly encourage a nice, thick pea-souper that enveloped the town from the west to the east, making a stable band of the stuff all along the river... and thoroughly covering the two looming structures that were the cathedral and the jail.

“That's done it,” Anne said, peering between the trees with her spyglass. “Between this an' the night, we'll be ready to move in an hour. Assumin' yer modifications work...”

“They will,” Threadbare said.

Airships, for the most part, were noisy. Therefore, they'd needed a way to keep the Cotton Tale quiet, at least for the first part of things.

The solution had come with a combination of Threadbare's Enchanting skill, and Kayin's Assassin tricks. Her Silent Killer skill muted her, and allowed here to better sneak up on targets. Threadbare had taken the essence of that, put it into a collection of spare sheets from the airship's linen closets, and wrapped them around the engines.

They were torn on what to call the enchanted items. Celia favored 'mufflers,' but Threadbare thought that didn't quite fit. They'd agreed to put off any final decisions on the name until later.

“Mist be good enough?” Zuula asked, from her position on top of the Muscle Wizaard's head.

“Aye,” said Stormanorm. “Now that the sun's about down, there's little risk it'll burn away.”

“Good” Zuula said, hopping down and holding out her cloth hand to Threadbare. “De crown, if you please. Gon' get a little rest before de big show happen.”

Threadbare passed it over without hesitation, and looked to the secondary team. Cagna and the Muscle Wizaard were divvying up potions, checking their gear, and talking quietly over near the bow of the ship. Renny, Kayin, and Glub were playing cards.

“Are you ready?” he asked them.

“Oh. Oh!” Kayin said, tossing down her cards. “Yeah. I was losing anyway.”

“That's what you get for trying to beat a Bard. They have all the luck,” Cagna told her.

“Hey man, that's only my secondary job,” Glub said, carefully picking up the cards and putting them back in his pack.

“We're ready,” Cagna said, patting her bandolier of potions. “Right Bastien?”

“Hm? Ooooooh yeaaaaah. I was born ready!”

“No, seriously.”

“Oh. Right. Nah, I'm good. Most of my buffs don't last long, so I don't have much to manage.”

With that he pulled on a long fur coat that the pirates had dug out of storage for him. It wasn't quite a holocaust cloak, but it was big enough to cover most of his muscled mass. Glub and Kayin and Renny nodded to each other, then scampered into Bastien and Cagna's cloaks.

And without another word, the dog woman and the Wrestler clambered down the rope ladders to the forest floor, and headed off to the northeast.

Perhaps half an hour later, Celia cocked her head to the side, then waved a hand at Anne. “They're in position. No problems to report.”

The act of splitting up to handle multiple objectives had necessitated two parties. Much as it pained him, Threadbare couldn't be in Celia's. He had to manage Anne.

Although, looking at her stats on the party status screen, he wasn't sure if it wasn't the other way around.

Anne Bunny

Beastkin (Rabbit) 38 HP 1352

Assassin 18 SAN 312

Bandit 25 STA 1007

Elementalist (Water) 14 MOX 501

Mercenary 25 FOR 804

Pirate 44

Still, as intimidating as she was, she wasn't unstoppable. Her close-call in the hive had proven that.

Threadbare hoped she'd be a valuable member of the team, and was fully preparing to deal with her in case she decided to be a valuable member of another team. Pirates did that sometimes, he had learned.

The next part would be harder. And if it failed, then the Bad Still team would have a lot more work ahead of them very quickly.

So just to be sure, Threadbare sent one last Decree.

“Simple Decree. Be well. Are there any changes to the Oracle's vision?”

Not a minute later he got his reply.

GARON HAS ISSUED A NEW DECREE!

Relax. Your target remains the cathedral. The way will be shown there.

If he'd had proper lungs, Threadbare would have let out a breath in relief. As it was, he contented himself to nodding, hopped up on the railing of the airship, and stared ahead, into the mist. It certainly did look thick enough, so he thought their odds at staying concealed were pretty good. But at the end of the day they were trying to sneak through a town full of people with very large, very sensitive ears.

Not a few seconds after that, he heard a clicking and a clacking, and turned to find Harey hopping up and jogging along the railing to join him.

“Do you think we should get a sock for your pegleg?” Threadbare asked. “It's a little loud for this next part.”

“Bah. I ain't tryin' to sneak,” Harey said, plopping her rump down on the railing, and sitting next to him. “Been killin' bilge rats for levels. Don't suppose ye could spare a mend or two?”

Threadbare nodded, and muttered the words, watching cracks in her porcelain skin disappear like they'd never been.

“Me thanks,” she stared into the mist with her single glass eye. “I'll have to be getting' that from you lot before we part ways. A montage, mayhaps.”

“That would be best,” Threadbare said. “It's rather hard to unlock the Animator job without a lot of magical research or practice with puppetry. Or both.” In the back of his mind, he felt a little relief at her words. If she was making plans for later, it probably meant she wasn't planning betrayal now.

But then, she wasn't the one he had to worry about.

And as the sun finally winked out on the horizon, Anne gave a single nod.

“That'll do. Stormanorm! Fire up them engines.”

This was the moment of truth...

...and Threadbare relaxed again, as the ship vibrated slightly, but the engines stayed silent. The mufflers were doing their work.

They lifted off, and the loudest sound came from the trees they brushed against as they exited the forest canopy. Birds scattered in all directions, but in the combined darkness of dusk and the cloying curtain of mist, he thought that they were unlikely to draw much notice to their location.

Then it was east, across the town to the cathedral. Which Threadbare was really, truly hoping would be the end of it.

It was the place where Anne was supposed to hand over her captive. It was also the place Chase had seen in her visions, after Threadbare had sent a decree back asking Garon to check on it.

But they couldn't just walk up to it. Anne's contact had been specific on this point; the Cathedral was said to be haunted, and forbidden to all, any handoff would have to happen under the cover of darkness, and with great delicacy.

The team had to assume that the Phantom had the entire city in his pocket. And that any hint of shenanigans would draw repercussions quickly. And so the plan had been forged around the knowledge they were dealing with a powerful and clever individual on his own turf.

The first part would be the meeting at the cathedral ruins. Anne would have to be there, of course, along with Celia. Threadbare, Zuula, Thomasi, and Missus Fluffbear would be along for that particular event.

The second team was in position over at the Bad Still. Cagna, the Muscle Wizaard, Kayin, Renny, and Glub would wait and watch for the garrison. In the event they were roused, they'd distract and slow down the soldiers to buy the other teams time to escape. Threadbare really didn't want another mess like Queen's Ford had been. If all went well, they'd get out of here without any innocents harmed, and team two would be helpful there.

The third team would take the airship up a few thousand feet and wait to extract the other teams and lend support as needed. The rest of the crew were on that team, and Madeline had joined them as well. Partly because dragons did very well in the air, but also to make sure the airship didn't go anywhere inconvenient 'unexpectedly.'

It was very much a gamble, to split the parties so. But they simply didn't have the manpower or the resources to keep everyone together. Not without risking disaster, or collateral damage.

Silently the ship drifted through the night, engines low and sails down. They slid through the mist like a knife through loose snow, barely disturbing the stuff. Zuula had done a good job; even at this height, the stuff was thick.

“Two points south,” Anne whispered.

“Two points south, aye,” Stormanorm muttered back, and the ship eased slightly, dodging a high steeple as it swung past in the fog.

“Back one north,” Anne said, pacing out to the edge of the bow, peering into the fog... and seeing through it.

Her level thirty-five Pirate skill had been a thing called Fogcutter. No fog, mist, cloud, or even inclement weather could stop her sight. It was a small thing, but it had paid many, many dividends over her raiding years, and they had been glad to work it into their plans.

And when she swore and pulled out the spyglass, Threadbare and the others got ready for trouble.

“There be a light high in the ruins,” Anne said. “Some bunny's placed a lantern, looks like.”

“They know we're coming? Or perhaps it's been there every night, waiting for us,” Thomasi said, pulling his goatee. “I don't see that this changes our plans.”

“It doesn't,” said Threadbare. “It's very likely he had his own Clerics and Oracles divine when we would arrive. We shall just have to see this through, and hope we can find a peaceful solution.”

Anne and Zuula snorted simultaneously, then glowered at each other.

It seemed like it took an eternity, to cross the pool of fog that covered the city. But it wasn't a large city, as they went, and the tension made up the bulk of the anxious time. Threadbare peered over the railing, trying to see what he can, but the best he got were round balls of light that had to be streetlamps glowing through the mist. Occasionally he heard a snippet of conversation from below, but for the most part the streets were empty. The night, the chill, and the mist had driven most of the residents indoors.

Finally, it loomed out of the darkness, old and burned and crumbled but standing high nonetheless, its two stout towers not unlike the ears on a rabbit's head, straight up and listening for danger. And sure enough, a light glistened at the top of the northernmost tower.

“Take us up,” Anne said. “Fifty feet above that there light, slow as she rolls.”

“Aye captain,” Stormanorm whispered.

The airship slowed and turned, raising as if on a wire. Threadbare felt a small surge of pride for how they'd managed to repair the engines. This was a far call from the shaking, shuddering flight that had been the bulk of his experience on the Cotton Tale before Celia had arrived to take matters in hand.

Once they were settled, Anne led the way down the ropes, swinging with the ease of a Pirate born. Threadbare took a second to mumble “Swinger,” before he went, and got a skill up for his trouble. The rest picked their way down with varying degrees of skill and caution.

And no sooner had they all gathered on the top floor of the broken tower, when a hatch groaned open from underneath. Anne moved like a flicker of lightning, pressing a pistol to the head that emerged...

...and then snorting, and pulling her gun back as they saw who it was. Jean, the actress, spy, and former prisoner was once more back with her captors and uncertain allies.

“Ah, tis ye,” Anne sneered, as Jean raised a hand in surrender. “Yer no threat. Barely a nuisance.”

“I am not here as a threat. My punishment is to be your guide,” Jean said, lowering her head, her ears hanging low.

“I'm glad you survived,” Threadbare said, and Jean raised her head, then her lantern, peering at the forms spreading out around the roof.

“Celia?” she gasped, almost dropping the light. “You should not 'ave come!”

“This man tried to kidnap me, DID kidnap my bear, and stole one of my best friends away. I'm going to make sure he never tries that again,” Celia said, folding her arms.

“He knows. He knows that you are here as a trap for him.” Jean covered her eyes. “Gaston got here first.”

“I'm a little curious as to how you beat us here. We were on an airship, after all,” Thomasi asked, peering nervously down at the ground far below.

“The Phantom arranges supply caches at every major town. We only had to sneak into Queen's Ford, and use the waystones hidden there to return here.”

Threadbare shared a look with Celia. “He's had two days to prepare.”

“Dis be a trap?” Zuula asked, perking up and pulling out her spear.

“I do not know,” confessed Jean. “I have been ordered to take you to the catacombs. After that, I am released from his service.”

“The catacombs?” Fluffbear squeaked. “Oooh, do we get to beat up undead?”

“It is the place where he has made his lair,” Jean said. “It is a dungeon.”

“Even better!” Zuula said. “Fighting AND treasure. Been too long. Need some sensible violence,here.”

“We know the secrets of dungeons well,” Threadbare said. “But I imagine he does, too. He knows Cylvania's history and he still went in there to face us.”

“Doesn't sound like we're for havin' a choice,” Anne said. “And the original contract still stands. I'll collect me payment, regardless.”

“He told me to assure you he would have the payment ready in full,” Jean nodded. Then her face grew long, as she stared again at Celia. “You are certain you wish to do this? I have been told nothing. I have been kept in a cell until tonight.”

“I am. Even if he told you you were free to go after this, I don't trust him to not do something horrible to you later. I need to meet this Phantom, and figure out how much and how hard I need to kick his rump,” Celia finished.

“Then follow me, and may the gods have mercy on your soul.”

Jean led them down the tower, through ruined rooms, and past holes in the wall that roiled with wafting mist. In places the stairs were still intact, and where they weren't, she had set ladders and tied off ropes to help with the descent.

It was an old place, built to withstand a siege, sturdy stone molded around metal struts. It reminded Threadbare a bit of the last ruin he'd had cause to explore. Sadly he didn't have enough reagents along to pull the same trick twice.

It didn't take long to leave the tower, and then it was a short trip across the courtyard to a hole in the ground, a rough tunnel where the cellars had crumbled down from damage and erosion. And there in the darkest corner of the cellars, flanked by enormous barrels that had once held enough wine to fill a small house, was a door into a plain and dusty hallway.

“The Catacombs lie just beyond,” Jean said, bowing her head. She tied the lantern to the belt of her trousers, and drew a rapier. “And though I do not blame you if you forbid me, I would welcome the chance to come with you.”

“Jean...” Celia said, moving over to her and reaching up to take her free hand. “This isn't your fight.”

“It isn't, but you are right. If I flee here, I will live my life wondering if he will come for me. At least here I may have the chance to save you.”

Celia gazed up at her for a long moment, glass eyes shining in the swaying lanternlight.

“We'll talk after this,” she said, giving her hand a squeeze, then drawing her own small sword. “All right. Everyone ready?”

Threadbare was about to say 'yes,' when a very unexpected message flashed before him.

GARON HAS ISSUED A NEW DECREE!

Watch out! Help! All free RAGs to the castle! Stop the assault!