The black furred middle aged mouse splashed some cool water from a clay basin (not that the water of the city came in any other temperature) onto his face. It had been a long day of clearing out debris and assisting with basic repairs. The city gates stood upright once more, even if the mechanisms holding them in place still required a great deal of work, but still, it represented hard-earned progress.

He smiled, climbing down to the small underground chamber where his son and twin infant daughters lay, asleep, giving each one a gentle kiss on their foreheads, careful not to wake them. He appreciated the soft smiles which appeared on their sleeping faces, hoping that, just maybe, he had helped to guide them to pleasant dreams throughout the night.

He returned to the side of his wife, who shucked off her now filthy work-clothes, having no easier and similarly no less a rewarding day than he, and followed her into the large bed, where she quickly fell into a well earned sleep. The black mouse would have loved nothing more than to join her, to cuddle against her fur for warmth, to hug her tail within his own, and to finally put the long day behind him in preparation for the next. Sadly, there was still work to be done. Important work, and sleep would have to wait.

He tip-toed away, his wife a heavy sleeper, but still not wishing to take any chances. He climbed down below the two bedrooms, down to the small, round storage area, which housed emergency food, extra clothing, tools, and, of course, a well hidden wooden door leading to a narrow underground tunnel.

The passage through the darkness was a short one, leading to the other storage room, the one which he wouldn't dare breathe a word of to anyone, wherein he slipped into his shiny purple robe and donned the ornate painted wooden eye mask of matching color, before finally completing his journey beyond the city walls. From there, it was but a short walk until he encountered his two similarly garbed comrades who had already gathered within a circle of standing stones.

"Progress report?" a round faced woman in an orange robe of otherwise matching style asked. She, too, wore a similar mask, which was the same size as that of the man, and as a result didn't fit nearly so well.

"Our winter lineup is nearly complete, High Seamstress." the third in a green robe said, tenting his paws, smiling beneath his mask. "Boots, toque hats, coats long and short, suitable for all ages, and all masterfully designed to offer exceptional style, comfort and warmth. They won't know what hit them."

"Excellent." she turned to the new arrival. "How are the final designs coming?"

"There were troubles with the thermal underwear, and I feared that it would prove impossible with our current technology, but I've come up with a workaround which shouldn't compromise the quality of the final product." he replied in a low voice.

"Yes, yes!" the mouse in green laughed. "Soon, those oblivious fools will pay dearly! ...in exchange for our well crafted products."

"Um... right." The seamstress said, coughing into her paw. "I trust your propaganda efforts are also going effectively?"

"Indeed. These 'pin ups' are working far better than I had anticipated. They are spreading far and wide, and the citizens can't get enough of the portraits of high fashion. Soon the masses will be driven into a frenzy of clothes lust, and we shall grow more powerful than ever before!" the mouse in the green robe cackled wildly.

This was largely true, but not entirely accurate. These pinups were of tremendously high quality, by mouse artistic standards, and they did a very good job of detailing the clothing designs, with the depictions of the mice wearing them intended to compliment said wearables. The problem was that, instead, the reverse had proved to be true.

The goal was to create an expression on the drawn mice of comfort, confidence and contentment which was derived from the often elaborate attire which they wore. As for the mice depicted within the drawings, the likeness was of high quality but the finer details were left deliberately vague. While mice could (usually) identify one another's gender at a glance, here the pictures were intentionally androgynous, and like most mouse art, it was left of the viewer to fill in the specifics. The intention was that anyone could envision themselves garbed in such finery, and thus find themselves all the more eager to obtain it. The problem was that the expressions were also rather vague. Even in person, it could be quite difficult to tell exactly what another person was thinking or feeling, but this vagueness was amplified by many times within simple line art drawings. Rather than an expression of appreciation for the clothing, more people saw the images depicting a sort of desire for the viewer themselves. The result? It instead came naturally for anyone who stumbled upon these pinups to envision the mouse model as whatever gender and general appearance they had so desired. Combined with the alluring nature of them, which was unquestionably aided by the depiction of the high class dress, these posters gave mice a kind of funny feeling inside, one which they didn't entirely understand, but knew that they had very much liked.

Future mouse historians would look back at these pin-ups as the catalyst of a sort of sexual revolution, before which the creatures had no real sense of lust beyond the instinctive urge to reproduce. Said historians tended to view the period that followed with a mixture of fascination and downright disgust, where this newfound notion of sexuality briefly encompassed nearly every aspect of mouse society, before thankfully dying down to a more practical level, even if never quite vanishing entirely.

The newcomer, the grand fashion designer let out a long, dramatic sigh.

"Is something the matter? I would think that you would be happy. Our influence grows with every buttoned shirt and pleated dress. Each day we discover new methods and technologies, which help us to create blends and dyes far beyond the likes of which our not-so-distant ancestors could have even dreamed possible, and yet, I sense something is amiss?" The high seamstress asked him.

"It's just-it's just that I'm wondering if what we are doing is truly right. All of these lies, the sneaking around. I wonder are we are truly a force of good in this world, or are we just making things worse, as the citizens say." he replied, shaking his head.

The green robed mouse slammed a fist down upon the stone bench at their center. Faintly crumpling one of the many heavily coded paper documents and diagrams set upon it. "Blasphemy!"

The woman in orange raised a paw, motioning for his silence. Due to her superior rank, he complied without hesitation. "Of course you have doubts. We all do sometimes. I myself have often considered leaving this life, and focusing on my day job, perhaps starting a family, abandoning this world of threads, fabrics and leathers for good..."

"High seamstress!" the green robes mouse exclaimed in a shocked voice.

"...but then I remember our true purpose. We are not simply mice creating a product, we are setting the stage, defining society as a whole. History is not written in ink or blood, but in inseams, cross-stitching, and frilly little ribbons! When people look at leaders and heroes, what do they see? The faces? No. They see the clothes, the clothes which define the era. Would the Marquis of Orrenford by looked back on so fondly if it weren't for his famed bowler hat and flowing red scarf? Lillian of the Lilac without her white petticoat and matching parasol? Would Grimlock, the flesh eater be so feared without his terrifying demonic helm and spiked black mail?" the mouse woman paused, "Okay, technically those were made by blacksmiths, but the premise still stands!

"We aren't simply creating items to keep the body warm and the fur clean. We are setting the tone for our entire society! When we push colorful fabrics, spirits brighten, and people become adventurous! With darker more conservative styles, people are cautious and traditional. We bring joy and laughter and tears and misery, because we? We are clothiers. We are above good and evil, crime and justice, knowledge and ignorance. We are an ancient order who weaves the very fabric of history, as we always have, and now? Now, we have a glorious future to shape."

The purple robed mouse remained downcast, avoiding meeting her gaze.

"Still, I can understand your doubts. It's a hard road to walk, and a terrible responsibility to bear, one that not all of us are suited for. Right now, you can return to your home, to your wife and family, and never make another piece of clothing so long as you live. None of us would think any less of you." she said, taking him by the paw. "But I think that you would think less of yourself, wouldn't you? Living out the remainder of your days, seeing the citizens enjoying their beautiful clothing, and knowing you were once a part of that... or, Makers forbid, one day waking up only to find that the current fashions are ugly and unappealing, and knowing that you once had the power to prevent that, yet chose instead to walk away from such responsibilities. We may be scorned and feared, but in the end, we do what no one else can, not because it is easy, but because it is in our blood. I believe it is in yours as well, is it not?"

The purple garbed mouse's lip quivered below his mask as he looked up, tears in his eyes. "Of course it is! I was just a weak willed fool! Please forgive me!" he cried out.

She held him close, allowing the black furred mouse sob into her shoulder, onto the thick quality fabric which she knew both resisted stains and kept the wearer underneath perfectly dry. "There is nothing to forgive, my brother. Now, everything is going according to plan, but there is still much work to be done."

"You know... I had an idea recently." the purple robed mouse sniffled. "It's for a new type of mittens."

"We already have mittens in the works." the green robe said.

"No, not like these. These have an added appendage for a finger, allowing extra manual dexterity, to allow you to handle objects while still remaining warm." the black mouse smiled. "And, most importantly, a long strand of yarn connecting them, which runs through the sleeves, making it virtually impossible to lose one of them!"

The green robed mouse was taken aback, his eyes wide. "That's brilliant! Truly brilliant! This could change the world as we know it!"

"Yes indeed, my comrades. This winter will truly be a season to remember!" the high seamstress said. The three laughed, beginning with chuckles which steadily grew until eventually erupting into full blown wild cackling. The laugh of the triumphant, the sort of behavior which seemed alien to the average good natured folks, but wildly appreciated by villains and madmen of all sorts, the world over. Such behavior did little to alleviate the sinister reputations of such individuals, but it's important to remember that even madmen can have good ideas, once in a while. Say what you will about super villains, but they certainly know how to appreciate the moment.

"Uh... what's going on here?" Aaron asked, looking at the three robed, masked mice, who turned to him in unison, all wearing surprised expressions beneath their masks

"Um... nothing." The woman said. The other two looked away, whistling, doing their best to act aloof.

"It doesn't look like nothing..." Aaron said, eyes narrowed, looking from mouse to mouse.

"Well... what does it look like then?" she asked.

"I honestly have no idea."

"Well then, Is an unidentified something really so much different from nothing?" she replied in a polite tone.

"Um, Yeah... it is. But I think I get your point. Sort of." he said, scratching his head. "I'll just... leave you to whatever this is. You folks have a good night."

"And you as well." she nodded as the larger mouse backed away into the brush.

"Wot was'at all about?" Theos asked him.

Aaron shrugged and shook his head in response. "I have absolutely no idea. We'd better keep moving."

It would probably be a good idea to back things up, just a little bit.

Aaron, Mathias and Rowan were being forced back down the throne room hallway by the two spearmen. The large mouse really wished that he still had his hammer, a single smack of which would have shattered the spears into splinters. Mathias held out his short sword, but was less than confident in his ability to take on multiple armored opponents at once with it. As for the elderly sorcerer, he held no weapons at all, the last of his stones having been destroyed in the battle with the dark lord.

Aaron strongly considered just trying to rush in, as maybe he could have gotten around the spears, and taken the two soldiers down. Far more likely, though, he would have ended up skewered upon them. Beyond them, he could catch faint glimpses of Jerin fighting far too many of the guards, even if she were at her strongest.

He was just about to risk it, to charge in and hope for the best, when a tall and particularly wide figure appeared behind the two guards. They both turned their heads towards it, not quite making it in time, when each of the heads was grabbed by a heavy paw and clunked together, knocking them both to the ground.

"Come. This way." A shrouded mouse woman called through a newly appeared doorway along the wall of the hall.

"We can't just leave her!" Aaron growled, looking beyond the familiar form of Theos, to see Jerin's brief battle with the guards coming to an end.

"There's too many o'em, and no room'ta fight here." the larger mouse said.

"They're right." Mathias says. "We've got to get out of here. It won't do any good for all of us to get caught."

Rowan nodded in agreement.

The passage was a narrow one, going down at a sharp angle before leveling out into the familiar rounded earth passageway. The door behind them closed tight, not allowing a single sliver of light to seep through, and clearly all but invisible from the other side. The party certainly hadn't noticed it on either of their trips through the castle hall to the throne room.

By now it should be apparent that secret passages weren't even remotely uncommon within the city. Some were intended as possible escape routes, but even those generally didn't need to be concealed, and there was no real smuggling or other specific crimes within the city which would necessitate such things. The truth of the matter was that mice just really liked their secret passages. Every other house had one, leading either outside of the city, or to the castle district, or the other side of town, the more well hidden, the better. It was not even remotely uncommon for a group or family of mice to leave their home, for reasons tragic or otherwise, with its own secret passage, only for a new group to arrive, which digs their own completely new and equally well hidden secret tunnel, never finding the previous one. With there being only so much space underground (well, in the shallow underground, at least), it wasn't the least bit uncommon for such tunnels to accidentally connect, occasionally leading to bitter disputes over ownership.

"Okay, we got away. Are you happy?" Aaron grumbled to Mathias.

"No, not at all. Don't worry, I've got no intention of abandoning her, but we've got to be smart about this."

Aaron let out a grunt, looking away from the dark knight..

The tunnel wasn't a long one, and while the sun had completely set by this point, the full moon showered everything in a soft glow. Between the moonlight and the distant street lamps, visibility wasn't really an issue, even if the finer details of their surroundings were somewhat more difficult to recognize. It rarely grew too dark anywhere close to where the Makers lived. Behind them stood the patchwork metal wall around the city, ahead the usual tall grasses and fields which surrounded it.

"You guys jus' can't stay out'a trouble, can ya?" Theos chuckled as the large group stepped out into the open air. "Not that I'm complainin'."

"How is it that you knew that we were in need of aid?" Rowan asked.

"We didn't. We tried to come through the secret passageway in order to complete our mission, but for some reason, there were guards all over the palace." Myriandas, the shrouded mouse said. "We decided to simply wait and see if a better opportunity would come about. That was when your group had unexpectedly arrived."

"Glad ya did." Theos said. "I hate waitin'."

"Wait, your mission? I thought your mission was just getting drunk and picking fights?" Mathias asked.

"Nah, tha's more of a day job." Theos said.

"I guess it's time for a proper introduction." Johanas, the scarred male mouse said, pointing a paw towards Theos. "I'm sure you already know his name, Theos Face-puncher. What you probably don't know is that he's also the rightful king of this nation."

Jerin's three allies just stood frozen for a moment, staring at the rather unkingly looking large mouse, back to the smaller scarred one, repeating this cycle more than a few times until the information could properly sink in.

"Wait... him? I nearly beat up the king?" Aaron asked, shocked.

"Hey now, you didn' 'nearly' beat me a'tall." Theos grumbled.

"The one who calls himself the king is Leon, Theos' younger brother. When their father sadly passed, their mother some months before, Theos was briefly crowned the ruler of this kingdom, but Leon refused to accept it. He plotted in secret, and working with the palace guards, he had our rightful king banished, claiming that he had died." Myriandas stated.

"Oh yeah, I remember hearing about the king before this one. The story was that he tripped over his big feet, smashed his stupid face into the floor and died wetting himself and crying over what a big, dumb idiot he was..." Mathias said. "Um, that's just quoting the original story. I'm sure your face isn't stupid."

"Ah yes, that was the official story. A half truth, but ultimately inaccurate." Johanas nodded. Both Aaron and Mathias had tried to work out within their minds exactly which half of it was true, but both decided that it would be rude to ask, and hardly relevant at the moment.

"Okay, so he's the king... apparently." Aaron said, shaking his head, still not entirely convinced but not wanting to dwell on the matter any longer than he needed to, "Who are you two?"

"Johanas the chopper. Royal chef." the scarred mouse replied. "Well, former royal chef."

"Wait, you're a cook? From all those scars, I figured you must have been some kind of warrior." Mathias said, looking him up and down.

"I am a warrior! Every meal is a battleground, every ingredient an enemy which must be defeated and subdued to my will! As a chef, I was unrivaled in skill. I could cut, prepare and season any ingredient, and I was entirely focused on creating perfect portions, and the finest of cuts." He said, arms folded. "Unfortunately, I tended to focus a little too hard on cutting the ingredients, and not quite hard enough on avoiding cutting myself. I, of course, followed the deposed king into exile. I could never work under that sniveling worm who calls himself a ruler! He criticized my flawless meals to no end! Do you have any idea just how much of my blood, sweat and tears went into every dish that I prepared?"

Mathias decided against asking whether he had meant that last part literally, instead simply nodding in understanding. "I see..." he said. "Oh, and um, sorry for last time. That, uh thing I said about your mother. I didn't mean it."

Johanas' proud expression fell away. He looked to his ragged cloth shoes, sniffled, and shook his head. "Sometimes I think she loved those damn boots more than she loved me..."

The friend of Jerin and Aaron's family was not Johanas' mother, but in fact, his aunt. Her injuries were likewise not caused by a dark lord, but one could be forgiven for making such an assumption. Such injuries weren't entirely uncommon, and it was a subject that few were willing to openly inquire about, safely assuming that the story behind them was a tragic and miserable one. In truth, she was also a chef of the palace, predecessor to Johanas, but was forced to retire after suffering catastrophic and downright baffling injuries after trying to cut a scavenged celery stalk into more manageable portions. Despite the loss of her legs in the process, the meal was otherwise enjoyed by all, and she considered the loss of her limbs to be a worthwhile sacrifice, a symbol of her dedication to her duties.

"Okay..." Aaron said, feeling as though there must be a long, strange story there, but he thankfully found himself not quite curious enough to ask. He looked to the veiled woman. "What about you?"

"Royal accountant. You know that thing where you take a pile of 10 crumbs of food, and split them evenly between two people, into two piles of four? It is called division, and I invented that." Myriandas smiled, proudly. This was true. Before the invention of division, the previous method was simply for each person just to grab as many as they could before the other did.

"I trust you also had misgivings with the current leader?" Rowan asked her.

"Of course! That fool actually plans to switch to a non-edible currency! Can you imagine just how much that would devalue it, and damage our economy?" She growled, her normally calm expression changing to one of uncharacteristic rage.

"Um... no?" Mathias replied.

"Okay, okay, brief economics lesson." Myriandas sighed. This was far from the first time one of the uneducated masses had required such an explanation. "Our money is used for trading and spending, right? That gives it a value of one. It's also for eating, though! That gives another one, for a total value of two. I know what you're thinking: What about all the other possible uses for crumbs? Juggling, throwing at people, holding doors open, carving into sculptures and the like? Those are of course considered, but even all combined have a value of slightly less than one, which is rounded down, so they essentially don't count.

"You know what this means of course: by making money inedible, he will reduce the value of the currency by one! Now, in all fairness, since the values have a slightly sliding scale, and are relative to one another, this would put the combined values of all other uses as a little above one."

Mathias blinks. "So, the value would go from two to... two?"

"Yes! But a lower order of two!" She snarled, black gloved paws balled into fists. "That madman must be stopped!"

Aaron rubbed his eyes and shook his head once again. The more that he learned, the less he felt that he understood the situation. "Okay, let's just back up a minute. I'm still having trouble with you being the king."

"I's true." Theos said, proudly. "I come from a long line'o face punchers, goin' back to the first king."

Despite Aaron's best efforts to stop him, Theos went into the story of the founding of the kingdom. For the sake of the sanity of the readers, it will be stated in clear prose with the many expletives and unnecessarily violent and overly specific details omitted.

In the old days, mice were spiteful and distrustful of one another, seeing everyone else as a sort of competition for the meager resources available. Why should others eat while I'm hungry? They thought, and these bitter thoughts lead to even more bitter battles. It was beneath a rusted out truck that many mice gathered, each wishing to use it as a form of shelter for themselves, and, of course, also seeking to claim ownership of the sacred tome. So far as they were concerned, every other mouse in the world was a potential obstacle to those goals. They stared one another down, and prepared for battle. That was when a great and wise mouse rose up and called out, "Ey, you bunch'a slags! You wanna fight so bad? Den fight me!"

Nobody wishes to be called a slag, of course, much less one of a bunch of them. If one were to be a slag, ideally at least, their individuality would still remain respected. What followed was a series of enraged battle cries as they charged him, ready to fight. And they were punched. Repeatedly. Each and every one of them, man, woman and child. Though bruised and bloodied, they looked to the mouse with blackened eyes, further swollen by tears, and learned the importance of sharing and generosity. While they had still lost, together, they put up a much better fight than they could have alone, and similarly, they realized that it was far better for repeated blows to the face to be split among a large group, rather than having to endure all of them on ones own.

With a newfound appreciation of this spirit of cooperation, a grand new kingdom was formed, one where the population would never forget the importance of punching, head-butting and the occasional flying elbow smash. Until now.

"Wait... that's how the kingdom was established?" Aaron asked.

"O' course. Some'd say it was our finest hour." Theos grinned, imagining what those glorious early days must have been like. Mouse martial arts were in their infancy back then, of course, so it was very much a time of discovery. He often wished that he could have lived in such a time, to have been a proper pioneer of the violent arts.

"So... everyone got punched?" Mathias said.

"Yeah, but you know, twas the ol' days. Folks we're tougher back then."

"What about the babies? Did the babies get punched too?"

Theos was about the respond but instead paused, seemingly in deep thought. After a few moments, he closed his eyes and shook his head, unable to come up with a proper answer. "Tha's not important. Wha's important is that wuss brother o'mine with 'is fancy book learnin' thinks he can turn his back on importan' traditions! If he want'dta be king, he shoulda fought me for it! 'nstead, he snuck around 'n schemed like some kinda tailor! I's unforgivable!"

"I understand, but there is one detail of this which still confuses me." Rowan said. Both Mathias and Aaron were amazed it was just one detail. Clearly his title of 'scholar' wasn't simply for show. "King Soulcrusher, that is to say, Leon, has been in power for quite some time now. Even if you and your allies were banished from the city, you clearly had ways, which you readily used, to return. Why did you wait for such a long while before attempting to reclaim your throne?"

Myriandas and Johanas looked away, clearly embarrassed. Theos cleared his throat. "Well, ya'know, I've been busy. Lot'sa plannin' and trainin' and stuff."

"Mostly drinking." Myriandas said in a disappointed tone.

"Hey, can't fight proper when yer thirsty! 'N, ya know, sometimes ya kinda forget what you were doin' after a few drinks, and it gets late, and ya need'ta sleep, so you start again tomorrow." Theos scratched his chin.

"...and then the cycle just repeats itself." Aaron sighed, embarrassed to admit he's been there before.

"We returned to the tavern, only to find it destroyed, which gave us the opportunity to sneak in past the guards and reclaim the throne." Johanas nodded.

"I ne'er approved of sneakin', but ya know, it's hard punchin armor. I can handle a few, but didn' want my knuckles gettin too banged up before I reached my brother. Be no point if I couldn't punch anymore when I met him." Theos said.

"One more thing. That man in the mask, Smirk, people called him? Isn't he your ally?" Mathias asks.

"The former, court magician, or so we thought. It would appear that he has been playing both sides. Had he told Leon about us, the king would never have simply let us freely wander the city. I suspect that he would have allied with whoever had won in the end, not that he has much choice now. We should consider him an enemy." Myriandas said.

"I never trusted him anyways. Just one look at the guy, and you could tell that he was clearly evil!" Johanas spat.

"Can't judge from 'ppearances." Theos said.

"Yeah, it's true. You all look kind of sinister after all." Mathias replied.

"We do not..." Myriandas said, rolling her eyes, before looking to Johanas, scowling, covered in scars and blades, Theos, looking thoroughly brutish with his wrapped knuckles, filthy belt and light blue tattoos covering his body, and at herself, shrouded all in black. "Okay, maybe a little, but it's not like you guys are any better..." she added, looking to Mathias, with his warm and youthful expression, Rowan in his white robe and kind (albeit milky and runny) eyes, and Aaron with his expression of focus and determination. She could only lower her head and sigh. "I had no idea."

"None of this matters!" Aaron said. "We need to get back there and help my sister!"

"Don't worry, we plan to." Theos said. "I don't like the idea of a buncha guards gangin' up on some kid. I'm takin' my throne back n' help that little one, too."

"We'd better get moving. That passage was well hidden, but the guards are going to notice that we disappeared out of nowhere, and will try to figure out what happened. I'm sure they'll find the door if they look hard enough, and we shouldn't be here when they do." Mathias said, studying his surroundings. The great wall stretched in all directions, and they were conversing just a little bit too close to it for comfort. Traditionally, criminals weren't pursued outside of the city, quite the contrary, in fact. Getting rid of the criminals was the whole point, and if they happened to move on to another village or the like, well, they were now someone else's problem. Still, the group couldn't count on the current king being so forgiving, especially considering the fact that they had fully intended to return.

"Agreed." Johanas agreed. He had grown tired of everyone simply having 'said' things for so long.

"Between our escape and the dark lord attack, I'm sure the city will be on high alert." Aaron said, "The main gate isn't an option, and I'm sure all the known tunnels will be well guarded."

"Wait, what dark lord attack?" Johanas asked. His allies looked similarly confused.

"You know... the one which wrecked the tavern and half the town? The one that attacked because we fought and defeated the dark lord Seraphim? The one which we followed to the car yards and nearly got killed trying to defeat?" Aaron said. The three looked to him with completely blank expressions.

"When di' all this happen?" Theos asked, tilting his oversized head.

"Today! Didn't you notice all the damage?"

"I thought maybe there was jus' a tavern brawl that got outta control." The rightful king shrugged.

"I assumed that the kings poor economic policy had lead the city to squalor, and it was simply a natural product of the reduced property values." Myriandas said.

"I guess I wasn't really paying attention." Johanas said, scratching a tattered ear with a finger.

"Anyways..." Aaron said. "We'll have to find some way over the wall. Leonard is always complaining that the wall over on the opposite side isn't tall or secure enough. Maybe we can find a way in through there."

All in agreement, the six began to walk along the perimeter of the mouse city, in search of a safe path inside. They paid little mind to the strange masked mice, having far more important matters to worry about. The members of the clothiers guild held a similar mentality. They were nearing completion of the legendary 'zipper' technology, which couldn't be interrupted by petty matters such as kidnappings and squabbles over royal succession. They had clothing to create, and the assassins of rival guilds to fight off, after all.