“Gods, Vish, what the hell have you done this time?” Gabriel whimpered.

“Created a Grade A distraction, that’s for sure,” the mind-mapper said, as smugly as circumstances would allow.

“Unleashing a crazed carnivorous beast,” Gabriel started shouting, “whilst, yes, technically serving as a distraction, might just literally come back to bite us!”

It was at this point that Gabriel noticed he had forgotten this was inside voice time. The group in the booth were staring at the pair of them, disbelief, and perhaps fear, plain in their eyes.

“What the hell have you done to Lichter?” the man in purple, Wiesse, said, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

Gabriel made an executive decision. It was one that he would be hard pressed to explain when reflecting on matters later. He drew his sword, and pointed it at Wiesse.

“Weapons stay sheathed, gentlemen! Oh, and lady, sorry, ma’am, I didn’t mean to-” he shook his head to clear it, “Weapons stay sheathed. Screamer’s cousin is coming with us!”

Wiesse’s shocked anger broke briefly as a wave of confusion contorted his face, “Is that some kind of… local slang?” he was addressing the small, rodentish man at his side.

“What?” Gabriel chose to ignore the bizarre taunt, “Come on, it’s time to go,” he said, tapping the oiled barbarian on the shoulder.

“Alrighty then,” the bronzed beefcake said, rising from his chair to a height that rivalled Gabriel’s, but was backed with some actual bodily substance.

“Oh, and if you guys feel like assisting at any point, now would be the time,” Gabriel snapped over his shoulder.

Lydia blinked a few times, “Sorry, I was just, I’ll admit it, sort of impressed. Where’s this Gabriel been hiding?”

“Behind very expensive hired muscle,” he said through his teeth.

“Point taken,” Lydia got up lazily and placed her hand on the pommel of her sword, “You heard him, testosterone man is coming with us. You can object if you want, but I wouldn’t advise it.”

For some reason, this just seemed to piss everyone off.

The trickster replaced the coin in his hand with a dagger, and the woman, as if to complete her already heavily pastoral look, raised a pitchfork at Lydia. Figo was just behind with a nocked arrow, and Bling a bit after that with a small collection of knives. The redhead pulled six of the blades out and lay them on the table, taking her time to casually select two and redeposit the others.

“Wait, you’re here for him?” Wiesse checked.

“That’s right, and there’s nothing you can do to stop us,” Gabriel hoped that retort sounded bold. It felt kind of bold.

Gabriel was pointing his sword at Wiesse, the farmer girl was pointing her pitchfork at Lydia, Figo and the rogue were facing off against one another. The bartender was pointing a crossbow at anyone and everyone.

Hang on, what was that last bit?

“You louts get the hell out of my pub right now, or one of you is going to have his head pinned to the wall!”

Gabriel had a sneaking suspicion that his head was the most inviting of the bunch. Wiesse also looked a little unsure of himself. At least they were on the same page here.

“Alright, we’re going outside now, slowly and carefully. You would be wise not to follow,” Gabriel backed up carefully, sword pointed at Wiesse, his other hand on the shoulder of Screamer’s cousin.

Could he smell lavender?

Figo rushed to the door and held it open for them as they sidled out on to the street, one at a time. Vish was outside first.

“That,” Gabriel said with some surprise, “actually went pretty smoothly.”

“It looks like they’re following, Gabriel,” Figo informed them.

“Don’t hold the door open for them!”

“Right, sorry! Force of habit,” he let the door swing shut, just in time to whack the farmer girl squarely on the nose, “Oh goodness, I am so sorry!”

The woman shoved the door right back at Figo, sending him sprawling onto his backside in the muddy street.

A few extra weapons appeared in hands.

Gabriel groaned. Matters appeared to be escalating at an alarming rate.

The two groups fanned out in the street, sizing one another up. Lydia was the first to pick up on the obvious disparity between them.

“Seems like you’re down an enormous crocodile. Your odds don’t look great,” she informed the rival gang casually.

The man in purple was frowning, “Have you only got one arm? She’s only got one arm,” he added for his comrades’ sake, “Listen, miss,” he wore a sardonic smile, “there appears to be a misunderstanding here. Why don’t you just run along before things get ugly.”

Lydia punched the suave imbecile squarely in the face, sending him skidding a building’s length. She was above him before he even knew what had hit him, ready to impale him with her bastard sword.

“Don’t stab Wiesse,” the greasy barbarian said, “He doesn’t like being stabbed! He said so!”

Lydia looked from one man to the other, “Wait, I’m confused, aren’t we supposed to be rescuing you?”

“Hmm, I’ve heard about this,” Gabriel said, nodding at his own wisdom, “He’s been in captivity too long. The poor sod is brainwashed.”

The butch man’s eyes went wide, “Is he?” he was looking at Wiesse.

“He might also just be really stupid,” Gabriel concluded.

“Listen, you’re not going anywhere until you fix Lichter!” the man in the black coat shouted over their squabbling.

Vish became aware of a lot of unwanted attention, “First off, it would take years of therapy to fix that lizard. Secondly, he’s fiiine.”

Lichter chose that moment to exit the pub. He didn’t leave via the door, mind, he made a whole new one right next to it. The crocodile was breathing heavily, his eyes bloodshot and flitting chaotically. He was dragging an unconscious man by the head in one hand. A young woman was dangling from his mighty jaws, kicking and punching uselessly at Lichter’s chest and shoulders.

There was a cry from behind the kkyrunnig. A mob was starting to form, headed up by the bartender himself. Every patron who could still stand had started to arm themselves with whatever they could find, and they were ready for a good old-fashioned lynching.

“I thought we were aiming for a low profile?” the man in black bellowed to his wine-stained friend, who was slithering back out of Lydia’s reach.

Wiesse nodded to his friend and colleague, “Good point. Scram!”

With no other instructions to go on, Tinto’s group of misfits bolted in entirely different directions, with the farmer girl, the small rogue and the one in the black coat going one way, and Wiesse and the greased up barbarian going in the totally opposite direction.

Lichter’s head went from side to side, his limited vision working against the croc-man. On impulse, he chucked the pair he was carrying back inside the pub, bowling over half a dozen members of the crucifixion party, and charged on all-fucking-fours, like a puppy chasing a carriage, in the same direction as Wiesse.

No quicker on the uptake, Gabriel stood like a donkey between two haystacks, unable to make a decision. It was only when the enraged patrons of the pub started to regain their feet, their bloodlust still evident, that he made up his mind. He looked after the crocodile man, retreating at speed into the heart of Jandrir. He pointed at the kkyrunnig’s scaly, wagging arse.

“Vish, Lydia, take care of that thing! Bling, get Screamer’s cousin. Figo and I will keep the others off of your back!”

“Why do I have to-” Vish ducked as a chair was thrown out into the street, falling short, but making its point, “Shit! Run away!”

They broke off at a headlong sprint, hoping they were running into less danger than they were running from.

---

“What the hell is with those guys?” Wiesse said between wheezing breaths, his wine-stained tunic sticking to his back.

“They seemed nice,” Troit said sincerely.

Wiesse was trying to scowl at his muscular friend, but gravity was really working against him at this point. He rested his hands on his knees and dry-heaved like a cat coughing up a furball.

“I am seriously out of shape.”

“You should eat more of the veggies I offer,” Troit sulked, folding his arms.

“Not the time, Troit. Are they still coming after us?” the actor, turned mercenary, asked.

Troit peeked around the corner of the alley they had tucked themselves into.

“Yep!”

“Oh goody. Can you see the others?”

Troit shook his head, his glossy locks trailing as he did, “Nope. Lichter was with us, but he must have seen something interesting.”

Wiesse looked like he was trying to tug the skin off of his face, “Aah, we’re going to have to find him, aren’t we?”

“He can handle himself,” Troit said cheerfully.

“It’s not him I’m worried about. Come on, before there’s nothing of Jandrir left to salvage.”

Wiesse turned the corner back into the street and bounced off of the giant warrior-woman’s chest. For the second time that day, he ended up at her feet, half submerged in mud.

“You might have mentioned they were this close,” Wiesse sighed.

Troit was smiling at the warrior, “Hi! Have you seen a giant crocodile man about?”

Lydia was shaking her head; luckily, her tolerance for daft questions was growing daily, “Don’t you worry about that. I’m going to take you back to Screamer.”

Lydia sheathed her sword and made a grab at the slow-minded warrior’s wrist. Her gauntleted hand slid straight off.

“Huh, oily,” she observed.

“Thanks! It’s my own concoction. Oh, hey, your friends are here!”

Bling had skipped up alongside Lydia, apparently completely unaware that they were running for their lives, and Vish had dropped to a slow walk about a street back. He stopped short of the group, close enough to listen, far enough away to avoid a stabbing. He had one hand on his chest, counting heartbeats.

“There is zero traction,” Lydia said, trying several more times to find some part of Troit that was grabbable, fascination battling with annoyance.

“Say, why do they call him Screamer, anyway?”

Vish and Lydia frowned at the same time.

“We were sort of hoping you could tell us,” Vish called from over Lydia’s shoulder.

“Oh… Why?”

“Because,” Vish cocked his head, “You’re his cousin?”

Troit slapped his forehead, “Oh, yes, that’s right, you said! Sorry, no clue.”

Lydia was frowning so hard that her eyebrows met at her nose, “Hey, Vish, can you tell if there’s actually anything in there?” she was tapping Troit on the forehead.

“Hey, leave Troit alone. He’s plenty smart,” Wiesse said, brushing dirt from his tunic, “just in very niche ways, that’s all.”

“Thanks, Wiesse!”

“Any time.”

The two groups stared at each other expectantly.

“This is fast becoming a very awkward rescue,” Vish observed.

“That’s why I tend to take dead or alive contracts,” Lydia grunted.

Wiesse jumped back with a start. He had completely misconstrued Lydia’s complaint.

“You’re part of the mercenary guild!” the actor realised.

“What gave it away?” Lydia said wryly.

“In which case… Sorry to do this, but,” Wiesse filled his lungs, “Lichter, get them!”

Lydia span on her heel as the giant croc-man leapt over Vish’s head, leaving the mind-mapper momentarily eclipsed in shadow. Lichter was gunning straight for her, his teeth and claws bared.

The sight might have been comical, if it were not for the sheer size of the kkyrunnig. Lichter’s body moved without an ounce of grace. His torso and tail wriggled like hair caught in a drain, and his arms wind-milled wildly, like he was trying to take flight. However, when a ton of amphibian carnivore throws itself at you, deftly or not, it’s sort of hard to ignore.

Lydia had fended off a number of combatants in her overly exciting lifetime, and was no stranger to quick thinking and sharp reflexes. If you stab at her, she parries, if you swing an axe, she dodges. Throw a giant crocodile at her, however, and you will witness a rare, and entirely uncharacteristic, brain fart. Still, Lydia would never be accused of being a deer in a fireball; she wasn’t about to completely ruin her excellent run by going ahead and freezing. A threat was coming her way, and she meant to address it.

Lydia figured she’d try punching it.

It was hard to say at this point whether it was pain or just the pure bloody audacity of the act which did it, but when Lydia’s fist connected with the croc-man’s snout, it gave crazed kkyrunnig pause.

The amphibian’s nose scrunched in on itself like a concertina fan and Lichter went cross-eyed as he stared in sheer awe at his nose folding back on itself. Consequently, Lichter entirely forgot to do all of that munching and gnashing that he had intended to do. Still, at this point in his trajectory, Lichter was basically a ballista bolt.

Lydia felt a pang of empathy with her scores of former victims, when she experienced, for the first time, the deeply unpleasant sensation of having something much larger and heavier than you smack you halfway to the aether.

The pair were launched down the road at ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ speed. From Wiesse’s perspective, it was as though the brawling duo had disappeared before his very eyes. He briefly worried that the force of the impact might have evaporated the combatants, and was somewhat relieved to hear curses and growls from thirty paces behind him.

Vish had a lopsided grimace of distaste, “Whelp, looks like the day is yours. Been a pleasure.”

The mind-mapper didn’t even manage to spin on his heels and start walking away, Bling kept him in place with a knife to his throat. She was communicating exclusively in snarls.

“Did you not just see that?” Vish pointed to where Lydia and Lichter had given up trying to regain their footing and were actually just wrestling in the mud now.

Bling’s response lacked the required number of consonants to be considered language, but it was something like, “Eiiaa!”

“And you still want to get involved?”

“Ssss,” she hissed.

Vish folded his arms, “For your sake, or for the sake of your idiot brother?”

Bling had that pained look that accompanied any attempt at introspection.

The redhead quickly grew frustrated at the complexity of the thought process, and eventually entirely forgot what she, or they, had been thinking about to begin with. One thing had stuck, though - catch the muscly man.

From Troit’s point of view, one moment the eccentric redhead was doing animal impressions to her berobed friend, and the next she was springing at him like a child welcoming her father home after a long campaign. Only, Bling, youthful innocence or no, was still a full-grown woman, and a full-grown woman that carried so much metal that she rattled like a healthy coin purse.

Troit wasn’t floored by the initial impact, but as Bling wrapped her limbs around him, he slowly began to sink under her weight. Her billowing cloaks caught and tugged at his arms, preventing him from using them for stability. He was pulled down gradually, gently, like a candle, melting from the bottom up.

“Troit? Throw her off, Troit. Come on, man, it’s getting embarrassing now,” Wiesse said, looking piteously at his butch friend.

“I’m trying! She’s,” Troit grunted, “very persistent!”

Every time Troit pulled an arm free, some bit or another shot from out of Bling’s fabrics and tucked the escaping limb back in.

“Yeah, I got stuck like that for a full day once after I, you know what, it doesn’t matter what I did,” Vish reminisced, “Anyway, I strongly recommend trying to get as comfortable as possible, and not wriggling too much. She’s not exactly picky about what she stuffs into her pockets; sharp and rusty is not a great combo. Plus, her elbows are just weirdly pointy”

Wiesse put his hands on his hips, “How do you plan on actually getting him away from here?”

“Me? I don’t plan on doing anything. This falls firmly into the realm of good Lydia, there,” Vish said, waving in the general direction of carnage.

“Hmm, I wonder how they’re getting on?” Wiesse said, turning with the mind-mapper to observe the bout.

It was hard to really say who was winning. Neither had regained their feet yet, with the other tackling them or thumping them before they had a chance to stand. Lichter had managed to prevent Lydia from drawing her bastard sword, which may just have been tipping things in his favour. Sure, he had a hatchet sticking out of his side, but that didn’t seem to bother him much.

As they watched, Lydia dropped an elbow onto the croc-man’s head, and used the kkyrunnig to lever herself upright. She kicked the croc squarely in the temple, but he just headbutted back, toppling the warrior once again.

Vish wondered which one would likely be the bookie’s favourite. The kkyrunnig was bigger and stronger, and was basically made of armour, but he had zero finesse. Lichter was basically his own worst enemy. Actually, he was entirely his own worst enemy. At one point he almost chewed his own tail off by mistake.

“Eh, probably best not to worry about it,” Vish said, largely to himself, “What will be, will be.”

“You’re probably right,” Wiesse looked awkwardly at his feet and then back at the mind-mapper, “I guess we should also, you know.”

“Know what?”

“Fight.”

“Oh… Why?”

“Well it would be a bit embarrassing if the others came along and we hadn’t at least had a stab at it.”

“I see what you did there.”

“Thanks, I was kind of proud of that one.”

Vish scratched at his beard, “Yeeah, I’m actually totally okay with disappointing people.”

“It doesn’t bother you at all?”

“Nope.”

Wiesse looked at the disheveled man with newfound respect, “I wish I had your resolve. Still, I think I’d best at least try, you know? For propriety’s sake.”

“Oh, yeah, sure. Do what you gotta do.”

Wiesse smiled, “Thanks,” he reached a knife Bling had dropped, “Right then.”

“Woah, woah, you’re gonna fucking stab me?”

“Well, yes… That’s sort of the point.”

“Wow, you are on fire with these puns today,” Vish said.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome. But, yeah, no. Not getting stabbed. Hate to do this to you, buddy, but,” Vish finished the sentence by slapping Ross squarely on the forehead.

“Ow! What the hell was that?” the former actor complained.

“It’s just this thing I can do with unawares creatures that, you know what, it makes more sense if it actually works,” Vish demi-explained.

“Right. Well, seeing as it didn’t,” Wiesse went for the knife again, “If you don’t mind, I’d like to get b- ow! Stop it!”

“Sorry, thought maybe second time’s a charm.”

“Obviously not! Now, can you just behave for a second and let me st-”

This time Wiesse’s sentence was cut short when a gauntlet closed over the top half of his face and wrenched him out of the mud with a ‘slurp’.

Lydia had disentangled herself from the croc-man long enough to scrabble over to the others. She caught Wiesse entirely unawares and, for want of any better weapon, turned him into a human projectile. She spun on the spot and released the actor at Lichter, sending them both back into the filth of Wheelbarrow Way. That was strike three for Wiesse.

“Hey, Lydia, good to see you,” Vish greeted.

Lydia looked like she’d been through hell. There was so much mud on her face and body that she looked like a piebald. Cuts and grazes were everywhere, and her clothing was torn and tattered, with obvious toothmarks giving her cotton shirt the appearance of lace.

The warrior responded with an eloquent, “Hyaaaarrrgh!”

Vish nodded, “I feel ya.”

A little more carefully than she had done so with Wiesse, Lydia lifted Bling off of a panting Troit, and placed her gently on her feet.

“Keep them busy, I’m taking this one out of here,” Lydia instructed.

Bling smiled broadly, and fished for her blades once again.

If Wiesse and Lichter thought the notion of a petite redhead subduing a full-grown man and one of the more bestial iterations of a kkyrunnig amusing, they weren’t going to be laughing for long. Bling herded the pair like a sheep dog, throwing knives at their feet when they stepped out of line, and disorienting them with quick turns and double-backs. Lichter tried to keep track, he really did, but Bling was in and out of his limited field of vision faster than the kkyrunnig could comprehend. He tried to catch her with a few wide tail sweeps, but those only knocked Wiesse onto his arse, for what would be a grand total of five times in one day.

“Come on,” Lydia demanded, launching herself at Troit.

Once again, her metal glove slipped on his immaculately oiled skin.

“Careful there,” Troit said, his hands up in the universal gesture of pacifism.

Lydia was completely out of patience, she lunged again, grabbing the barbarian by his gorgeous, flowing hair.

“I said, come on!”

Something died in Troit then, and was replaced with a demon of pure rage, “Get, your, hands, off,” he upper-cutted her below the ribs, knocking the air from Lydia’s lungs, “of my hair!”

Lydia recoiled, her breath caught in her throat, but she was pissed off, and she was not about to let something like a lack of oxygen prevent her from exacting revenge.

She drew her sword.

Troit drew his… table leg.

Yeah, the odds looked a little different now.

“Um, Lydia,” Vish said, holding up a finger, “pretty sure Screamer is going to want his cousin alive.”

“Then I just have to leave the bit of him that breathes!” Lydia swung her sword low, aiming at Troit’s knees.

Troit saw the slice coming, and jumped over Lydia’s blade dexterously. He sprang forward on the landing, and butted her in the stomach again, this time with the end of his fearsome table leg. It seemed the oily fighter was really enjoying that extra bit of stamina that comes with not having just wrestled a giant crocodile.

Lydia spat blood flecked phlegm like it was nothing, and went on the offensive once more. She lunged twice, both of which were dodged, and then feinted a third. This turned into a back-handed slash. She connected, slicing Troit’s bare chest from liver to tiny nipple. It was a shallow cut, but the psychological impact was not to be underestimated. With each successful attack, Lydia gained a little more control, and Troit grew a little more uncertain.

“You’re really very good!” Troit said, “I’m sort of surprised I’m not dead yet!” he ducked another broad stroke, “This is fun!”

Yeah… Lydia didn’t take too kindly to that.

The warrior dropped her sword and grabbed Troit by the throat, hoisting him off his feet and clobbering him against the side of a building. It looked like it hurt, but it would have hurt a hell of a lot more if the building had been sturdier than the guy it was being hit with. Troit burst through the wall on the third hit, surprising himself, Lydia, and the family within, trying desperately to have a pleasant tea, despite the hubbub outside.

Vish poked his head through the hole, “Sorry about that, folks. You can just carry on eating now. Don’t mind us.”

Lydia pulled Troit back out of the house, cast him to the ground, and retrieved her sword.

“Easy there, Lydia,” Vish said from a safe distance.

“Like I said, I don’t do rescues,” she pointed the tip of her bastard sword at Troit’s throat, “I’ll tell your cousin you died well.”

Then Lichter landed on them both.

At some stage, Bling had grown bored of her tried and tested methods of crowd control, and decided something along the lines of, ‘Hey, why not try riding that absolutely ballistic croc-man?’. The result was an extremely dare-devil form of rodeo, featuring an irate kkyrunnig trying to buckaroo a scrawny girl off its back, tearing apart half a street in the process. It would later become the Kaden Circle national sport.

On this occasion, the bout ended with a desperate Lichter barrel-rolling through the air. He successfully flicked Bling off, who careened straight into Vish, but hadn’t put much thought into his own landing. Lichter swatted Lydia off of her feet and landed neatly with his tail across her stomach, and his muzzle on Troit’s chest. The trio formed a neat ‘H’ in the dirt.

The cluster of bruised and bloodied mercenaries dragged themselves slowly and carefully from the muck. The fight had been knocked from the lot of them. This was just as well, as there was a slightly distraught Gabriel ready to greet them, with Figo, the man in black, the rogue and the farmer girl standing behind him, all looking slightly awkward, and, in some cases, very annoyed.

“Oh good, you’re all still alive,” Gabriel said, genuinely relieved.

“Barely,” Vish grumbled, receiving more than a few dirty looks.

“It would appear…” he bit his lip, having to force the words through his mouth, “we owe a few apologies. Not least of which is to Nail-puller,” Gabriel said, as he held up the picture from before.

It was the same picture, only different. This picture was an exquisite portrait of a bald, bearded gentleman, rendered in excellent detail. It was vivacious. It was daring but delightful in its execution and, quite simply, brilliant. However, it could, could, if the viewer were really skeptical of the artist’s abilities, just about be interpreted as a simple stick figure of a rather muscular man with flowing locks of hair… if viewed upside down.