Martin arrived at the Gate just as dawn broke. It was too early, so no one was thereas yet. He looked at his new ring, evaluating it, though he had done so frequently, but his feeling of pride in his new accomplishment making him look again.

Ring of Minor Fire Resistance

Fire essence ash ring providing resistance to normal fires for a short period, and to normal environmental effects from heat. No protection from magical fires.

He grinned. So what if it did not protect against magical fire, he had felt its worth yesterday. Standing in front of the forge had been no hotter than a comfortable summer’s day. On top of that he was ecstatic over his growth in skills, both new and old.

Name: Martin Race: Human Class: Awakened Smith Level 5 (XP 4800/6000)

Str: 15 Con: 15 Dex: 12 Int: 12 Cha: 12

Skills:

Blacksmithing 10 (Journeyman), Weaponsmithing 10 (Journeyman), Armoursmithing 9 (Apprentice), Smelting 10 (Journeyman), Geology 5 (Apprentice), Hunting 5 (Apprentice), Read/Write 10 (Journeyman). Weapon Skills (Warhammer) 6 (Apprentice), Dodge 2 (Novice), Jeweller 3 (Novice)

Stat points: 0 Skill point: 0 Hit Points: 50/50 Mana Points: 24/24

Rune Skills: Basic Scribe 10 (Apprentice), Etch Leather 5 (Apprentice), Etch Metal 9 (Apprentice), Imbue essence 3 (Novice)

He waited, patiently, knowing it was only his impatience that had led him here so early. He did not have to wait long, it was just past dawn when the four companions gathered at the gate to the Fae realm. They all bore their packs, filled with food and camping gear, their medicinal and healing herbs topped up. Martin wore his new helm, feeling the protective plates falling down his neck and onto his back. The new ring on his finger stood out, it being the only piece jewellery that he wore. The others looked at his new items. Hurnith seemed about to say something then stopped. They waited, expecting Jade to come and tell them what was needed from them.

The sun climbed higher, but Jade did not appear. They sent a runner, wondering what the delay was. He returned with a simple message, “Nothing is expected from you at the moment. Go, investigate and act as you wish.”

Hurnith turned to the others, grinning. “All alone in the big bad world! Where do we go?”

Gwynneth shook her head at his levity, thinking before replying. “We should head for High Pass.” She looked at Martin, wondering how much he remembered of the geography lessons they had learned, “It is a regional capital and hosts many Awakened seeking to counter the Dark. There is even an organised Guild for the Awakened there. They cooperate with the Army and others, working to keep the realms safe.”

Martin nodded, remembering the lessons, and frowning. “But isn’t it deeper with the realms than last time? And look what happened! Can we survive there?”

Hurnith bared his teeth, coming forward to clasp Martin around his shoulders. “Last time was an anomaly. There should have been nothing, yet there were Dark Wolves and whatever creature that spider-man hybrid was. That is why everyone was so amazed at our feats, let alone our survival!”

Kilia stayed silent, not voicing an opinion, simply watching the by play between the others. Gwynneth looked at Hurnith, then the others. “Are we agreed? Do we make for High Pass?” They nodded, and the Gate Attendants, hearing their destination, pulled forth a key from a hook on the wall. Leaning forward, he fitted it into the gate and turned it. The blank stone wall behind it changed, replaced by a sky blue arch that looked onto a platform under an overcast sky. The four took warm coats out of their packs, donned them, and stepped through.

***

The weather through the gate was as cold and miserable as it had looked. Thick clouds covered the sun and the ground squelched as they walked through the mud. A short distance from the gate was a table, an overweight man sitting at it, head bowed, and hands stuffed into the pockets of his thick, oversized jacket. Behind him stood two guards wearing breastplates, the city crest enamelled into it, over simple leather armour. Each bore a halberd, both staring unflinchingly ahead ignoring the weather.

Without looking up the man spoke, “State your business in High Ford.” It was said just above a mumble, flat and dreary, not even bothering to try and imbue any sense of emotion or excitement into the rote phrase.

Ignoring the man’s demeanour, Hurnith walked up to him, a grin on his face. “Four Awakened from the Academy looking to save your asses from the dark!” He said it lightly, clearly jesting, but the two guards tensed, clearly not happy with his statement. The man looked up, his eyes regarding Hurnith.

“From the looks of it, not long out of the Academy! More like we will have to mount an expedition to save your bloody asses when you get yourself into trouble!” He drew four copper pendants from a drawer. “Now, your tokens and entry fee. Since you are powerful Awakened, no doubt you will be happy to pay the 10 gold Rialls fee. Each.”

Martin quailed, that was not just high, it was outrageously high. They had the money, but there was no way that it was the correct amount. He was about to speak up and protest when he saw the guards smirking and the man’s angry expression. He sighed, clearly Hurnith's wod had hurt the group, riling up the locals with his attitude. He could see Hurnith’s expression, and that he had come to the same conclusion as Martin. He opened his mouth to speak, then stopped. No doubt to protest at this point would make things worth. Instead he reached into his pouch, counting out the money.

“There, for me and my compatriots!” He smiled at the man, acting as if nothing was amiss, aware that his behaviour would probably further enrage him. But, now, the man had no excuse to deny them entry so he pulled the money across while pushing the pendants to Hurnith. He said nothing as Hurnith handed a pendant to each of them and they walked past, though Martin was sure he heard one of the guard’s laughing at their rich haul from those they had bested.

The city was far smaller than Comfor. For all its strangeness from the wide variety of beings that walked the streets, Martin felt more at home here than in Comfor. It reminded him of his village. The streets dirt with only a few main thoroughfares laid with cobbles to prevent wagons forming ruts. Most buildings were a single story, made of wood, with shuttered windows, glass being too expensive for most. They kept one hand on their pouches as the children of the street ran around, dodging through the crowds, undoubtedly relieving the less wary of their purses.

***

Cal walked around the market place, his walk uneven, his feet sore from the uneven cobblestones that he felt through the worn soles of his shoes. People glanced at him, then looked away, not wanting to attract the attention of a beggar boy. He grinned at those that looked at them, a gap toothed grin in a dirty face, his dirty, scraggly clothes offputting to most, and those not looking away quickly enough were granted the opportunity to see this dirty apparition approaching, a sight enough to make most find an excuse to look away. A rare few dropped a coin or two into his dirty hands not seeing the amusement he hid in his eyes. It was not their coins he wanted, at least not the ,eagre little ones they graced him with.

He saw a fat lady arguing with a merchant. In his mind she appeared a likely target; expensive rings adorned her fingers and a string of pearls decorated her neck. But nearby stood a thin man, his eyes watching the crowd, not the woman. His hands hung loose at his side, one near the hilt of his sword. Seeing the man’s gaze falling upon him, Cal moved away. He could feel those cold eyes following him. He moved as quickly as he could without appearing suspicious, letting the ebb and flow of the crush of people in the market hide him. Feeling confident that he was no longer being watched, Cal drifted back towards the edge of the crowd, searching for someone distracted and an easy target.

Excitement rippled through the crowd, drawing his attention along with everyone else’s. A thin boy had been grabbed by a beady eyed merchant. The merchant had one hand wrapped around his wrist, the other hand clasped around the boy’s fist, stopping him from dropping a knife. Cursing, Cal recognised that knife, not a fighting one, but one designed to be so sharp as to cut a purse and let its contents drop into the waiting hand of the wielder.

Cal cursed again. Djang would not be happy that one of his boys had been caught. He feared the beatings that would come. But he made use of the opportunity. With people distracted by the entertainment of a thief getting caught, he relieved a few of the onlookers of the contents of their pouches. Cal felt somewhat better, hoping that if his haul was rich enough it would serve to deflect the wrath of Djang away from him.

***

Martin and others got caught in a crush in the market place. Ahead of them a merchant had grabbed hold of one of the many urchins that flooded the market. Most seemed to be watching for entertainment, but Martin also heard the muttering of someone that seemed more sympathetic to the boy talking to someone hiding in the shadow left by an open door.

“Poor sod. In all likelihood just doing it to survive. Now they will cut him and then exile him. Unlucky bastard.”

An answer came from the shadows, the voice high pitched, though whether male or female not distinguishable. “You know something of these street rats? Who runs them? Who guides them? Who needs to pay?”

The man shook his head, “Rumours, only rumours. The say there is one that has organised the street rats, runs them like a gang with heavy punishments for those not meeting their quotas. Nothing concrete, but disturbing.” He stopped speaking, watching the commotion ahead. Whomever it was in the shadows leaned forward, saying something Martin could not catch. With a startled look the man gave Martin a glance, then walked off. A pity, Martin would have liked to ask him some questions.

Ahead, the guards had finally arrived. With them came a man wearing a purple cloak. As he arrived, the crowd bowed their heads. The man did not need much time to deliberate. It was clear the boy was a cut purse and caught in the act. With a nod two men came forward carrying a block, others a makeshift platform. The block was put down, two strong guards coming forward and grabbing the boy. He struggled, a last minute attempt to get away. One of the guard’s grip seemed to slip and with an excited yell the boy started to dart away, only to have the guard quickly slap him, sending him to the ground dazed. The crowd laughed at the guard’s antics as he did a little jig, hauling the boy up by his wrists and dangling him, his feet treading air, as he was carried to the block.

The guard forced him down, holding his hand on the block as it was chained down. Another guard stepped forward; his face hidden by a black hood. In his hand he bore a butcher’s cleaver. A sword was for royalty, an axe for beheading, a cleaver for a thief’s hand. The blade rose and fell. A shriek accompanied by a fountain of blood as the hand fell into the dirt. A mutt shot out, claiming the hand as its own, with it soon being in contention between it and others. In the meantime, a guard pushed a heated blade across the stump, cauterising the wound, another bandaging it. The boy feeling nothing more, unconscious and sensless from shock and pain. The guards made sure he would not die, the penalty was losing a hand, not death, and they would make sure that was all it was.

With the boy passed out and the show over, the crowd evaporated with nothing to hold it together. The guards lifted the boy, their next stop to dump him in a charity hospital. The platform was quickly broken down, the block removed. All that was left were the dogs fighting over bits of hand, and the four companions nauseated at the swift, and brutal, judgement.