It’s an impressive piece of craftsmanship, I have to admit. I don’t really like heavy armour myself, my leather gear’s always served me well enough for my own craft, but I can still admire beautiful handiwork when I see it. It’s almost as much of a privilege just to look at it as having Kesla actually ask me to help her put it on, even if she does have to guide me through the process for more than one part of it.

I’ve heard about her father’s suit of lamellar armour, she described how spectacular he looked on the few occasions she saw him wearing it, not least the last time they were together, and seeing it now, I can believe her. Certainly it looks immensely impressive on her, having apparently been refitted during its repair at Merphin’s in order to fit her comparatively diminutive frame, in fact it’s a genuine thing of beauty. It’s almost a shame to wear it into battle.

When she first dug it out of the duffel bag Garnon delivered earlier, I asked her flat out how the hell she actually managed to get hold of it in the first place, if she’d had to abandon her father’s body all those years ago. Her answer was just the kind of cryptic dodge I would’ve expected. “Wasn’t easy.”

When the last piece is strapped in place and everything is fitted and adjusted just right, I step back and give Kesla some room to test it out. She tries a few stretches first, bending one way and another, testing her reach and mobility in the heavy gear, and to my watchful eye I don’t see any real difference. Then she takes a few steps, moving around our little clearing while exercising a few different actions, first walking, then jogging, then trying a few squats and jumping up and down a few times. Finally she shakes everything out one last time, letting a deep breath go, and the big, goofy grin she’s wearing is one I don’t see too often.

“That good, is it?”

“It’s been a while since I’ve worn this much armour, but I gotta admit, Janna’s got a gift. This wears better than I ever could have hoped.” She raises her hands, working her fingers in the gauntlets in front of her face, and her smile grows even broader, which I wouldn’t have thought was possible. “I mean I can definitely tell I’m wearing armour, ain’t exactly light, but it don’t feel anything like the kinda weight I expected.” She turns to me. “What d’you think?”

“You look bloody fantastic, but y’know me. I don’t go in for all that heavy shit. I like something that’s good for sneakin’.” I pass her Hefdred, and she sets about strapping the sword-belt around her waist. “That ain’t exactly quiet.”

“Maybe not.” Kesla draws the bastard sword and immediately holds it out in front of her, testing her flex by taking up a two-handed grip. “But then I’m not a very sneaky person, am I?”

Backing up to give her room to try a few practice swings with her sword, I give a noncommittal shrug. “I dunno, I seen you pull off your fair share of sneakiness in my time. You ain’t Thieves Guild material, but you do got a knack. That is not conducive, though.”

It’s true, the armour may look incredible, but it’s certainly noisy. It clatters about a bit, and even if it is still quieter than most full-plate I’ve encountered it definitely ain’t built for stealth. People would definitely hear her coming.

Similarly, it’s not exactly subtle. This ain’t the first armour I seen Kesla wear, she’s always believed in being prepared, so until now she’s used a set of armour which was, to be generous, pretty piecemeal. A mixture of leather and mail with some pieces of proper steel plate applied to the most vital places, definitely function over form, enough to serve in a heavy fight but still a stretch from top-notch. Her father’s armour is a major step up in quality, but it’s also pretty eye-catching.

The main body of the suit is a very impressive cuirass made of small but sturdy lame plates that has some give but is clearly tough in spite of it, with overlapping strips of lames forming substantial faulds and culet protecting her from the waist down. More of these strips form substantial pauldrons over her shoulders and upper arms for strong protective without cutting down on her movement, with solid pieces flaring up on either side of her collarbone to deflect strikes to her neck. More articulated pieces have been strapped over her shins, knees, wrists and elbows to form greaves and vambraces, while more flexible patches of lame-mail protect what’s left. Her articulated sabatons and gauntlets look formidable but are built to offer easy mobility, although they’re also going to be the biggest culprits when it comes to making noise.

Every inch of metal in the suit has been enamelled, making it pretty eye-catching but also cutting right down on subtlety. Mostly it’s a rich, mid-sky blue that’s very pleasing to the eye, but it’s broken in places with diagonal fields and trim picked out in a more intense shade of burnt orange. I haven’t seen this particular colour scheme for a long time, but I recognise it instantly – they’re the official colours of the Rundao army, something that’s simply striking out here in the wild, but I can’t help thinking that breaking this out in more civilised climes could cause a bit of uproar for her in the Occupation. Something tells me this was probably intentional.

It's impossible to talk her down though, that much is clear. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this upbeat, she’s genuinely excited as she prances about with a genuine spring in her step, constantly stretching and shifting as she gets to know the armour. That big grin is not going away.

“Well you certainly look the part. Reckon you’re gonna have half of ‘em running away from you soon as they see you.”

“That’s maybe part of the plan, but no matter what we might be planning for, we’re going into a serious scrap. I wanna be able to hold up when shit goes down.” She thrusts Hefdred forward savagely, then draws back and gives it a pretty scary looking flourish over her head before swinging it in a wide arc around her. I’m not even close when she does it, but it’s such a terrifying display that I still flinch back.

“You don’t think Shayline’s plan’s gonna go down how it’s s’posed to, then?”

Kesla looks at me for a moment, thoughtful now. “Couldn’t say, but how many times has anything we’ve done gone down exactly how we intended it to?”

“Yeah, fair enough.” I look down at the remains of her gear, the few bits and pieces left over. Stooping, I pick up the helmet. “Ready to try this?”

“Sure.” She sheathes her sword again and takes the helmet from me, making a few little adjustments before flipping it on. The final transformation is pretty instantaneous, the moment she puts it on she goes from being my best friend in a fancy suit to a faceless metallic creature of warfare. It’s a fairly simple helmet, but looks pretty damn effective, a solid bowl of steel protecting her skull with wide bands guarding her cheeks and nose which also cast her eyes into deep shadow and add to the intimidation factor. A cowl of lames protects her neck, as well as making her look even more bulky and powerful than she already is.

She stands there for a few moments, and while I can’t really see her eyes now I think she’s still watching me, drinking in my subtle discomfort. Then she starts turning her head from side to side, rolls her neck a few times, again checking her mobility. Finally she grins. I think. I can’t quite tell with the helmet on. “Oh yeah, this is great.”

While that’s not really the term I’d use, I repeat my former sentiment. “Sure.” Stooping again, I pore over the selection of additional weapons Kesla picked up from Merphin’s before we left. Two heavier, longer-shafted battleaxes than the twinned pair she usually carries, each with a pronounced bearded blade perfectly designed for catching and tearing away an opponent’s weapon or shield, and a mace. I pick up the latter, needing both hands to heft it. Yeah, this is definitely not my kind of thing.

Kesla easily catches it when I toss it to her, instantly turning the movement into a first experimental swing, before starting to go through some practice motions. It’s certainly an exceptionally well-made weapon, as everything else they make in Merphin’s is, a long shaft designed for two-handed wielding, but she’s strong enough that, as with the bastard sword, she can swing it with one. The head is a heavy chunk of steel with flared, angular flanges with nasty edges and spikes I can only imagine are intended to inflict really nasty damage when it hits someone. This is a heavy-duty weapon, intended for use against real armour, and thoroughly lacking in finesse.

“Lovely.” I say it half to myself as she finishes, but she nods all the same, and I think she’s grinning again. I pick up one of the axes and toss it to her, and she starts going through some dual-wielding drills with both weapons. It’s a really scary display, altogether. I’ve known Kesla for a while now, she’s the best friend I ever had and I love her more than anyone else I’ve ever known, I’d give my life for her if it came to it. Even so, there’s times I’m reminded just how lethal she can be and they’re bloody terrifying.

After a few minutes she gives it up, finally walking back and presenting me with the mace and axe. She ain’t even breathing hard. It takes me a moment to scrape my words together again. “Right. Guess that’s sorted, then. You sure you want me to strap all this shit on you now? You ain’t gonna need it for a bit yet.”

“I wanna get used to the weight again before I need to do anything more’n stand round and look intimidating. It’s been a while. I need to be ready when the time comes.” Even so, she still reaches up and removes the helmet again, blinking a little as the light finds her eyes again. “Reckon it’ll serve, anyway.”

This time I gotta laugh a little. “No shit. You’re like a bona fide berserker in this gear, Kesla. Most half-arse fighters’d piss ‘emselves coming face-to-face with something like this. You might win the fight before it starts wearing all this shit.”

“Like I said, that’s part of the plan.” She looks past me now, cocking a brow.

Turning, I find Shayline standing a little short of us, a complicated look on her face. The way she’s inspecting Kesla suggests she might’ve been here for a little while already, and a little part of me curses my lack of attention. She licks her lips, frowning a little as she takes a few more hesitant steps forward.

It takes me a moment to realise exactly what she’s seeing when she looks at Kesla now, then I remember that she’s all ready for the fight. She’s greased her hair back again, ostensibly to keep it from falling in her eyes when she’s fighting, but she’s also used the excess to paint her face the way she does too. There’s a wide black stripe across her eyes now, from ear to ear, making her eyes two bright spots in the midst of the darkness, but I’ve seen it often enough I guess I forgot just how intense it can look, which is kinda the point.

“Um … you’re not exactly filling me with confidence right now.” Shayline sighs after a moment. “About showing restraint, I mean. Between that enthusiastic display and … well, this.” She gestures to Kesla in general, but I imagine she means the armour in particular. “You look like you’re expecting trouble.”

As I return with the remains of her gear and give the pauldrons on her left a little knuckle tap, she drops to one knee so I don’t have to stretch while I start strapping everything to her back. “I’m mostly just going in as backup, second wave if you will. If you can get us in without any trouble, beautiful. This’ll just be decoration. Although it’s liable to come in handy for taking Ashsong down if he don’t wanna come quiet.”

“You really think you can take him? I’ve seen what he’s capable of. That bastard scares me all on his own, never mind his friend.” She shudders, her face tight now. “And there’s no reason to think the Creep won’t step in too if we really look like we might be a threat to their little endeavour. I don’t even like to think about what … they might be capable of.”

“We’ve faced serious mages before. Once with Gael, a few times without. Gods know she made the last one considerably easier to take down between us. And we’ll have Master Clearwood on our side too, along with your friend Garnon. They clearly got some talent. Altogether we got a decent chance.”

I give Kesla a last slap on the shoulder when I’m done and she rises again, and when I step back she tries her mobility out one last time, stretching and squatting in place a few times until she’s satisfied. Finally she tucks her helmet under her arm and cocks her head back to our camp. “Shall we?”

She stalks off before either of us can answer, and there’s a complicated moment when Shayline turns to me after watching her go, giving me a complicated look. There’s something so strange about that oddly dark gaze of hers, I’m used to meeting half-orcs who share their parents’ gold or amber eyes. Gael’s already suggested to me that the other half in her blood is elf, and I can definitely believe it, something about the fluidity of her movements, her effortless, unconscious grace. Never mind the dead giveaway of her ears.

For a moment it’s like she wants to ask something, I can see the thought forming, the question on her lips, but she stops short, frowning. I’m kinda glad she just shakes her head and follows Kesla, leaving me to my own devices. I let go a little sigh, then take a moment to readjust my gear, working to get comfortable.

I swear the river’s ruined it somehow. I dunno. My leather armour was made for me back in Untermer before I left, it’s perfectly tailored to my frame so it should fit like a glove, but now it just don’t feel right. Or maybe I’m just imagining it. Maybe my discomfort’s just some formless dark sense of what lies ahead. I admit I ain’t much more confident about this than Shayline.

In theory it’s a sound plan, but in the end it depends on so many things going just right. And no proper, complex plan we ever made has ever really worked out perfect in the past, not once. It’s always pretty high stakes in our line of work, but this time round it just feels like a whole different level of life and death. If we screw the pooch this time it ain’t just us that winds up dead, a whole lot worse shit could come outta this.

Rolling my shoulders and tugging my collar, I growl a little as I head back to the others. Camp’s largely been struck by now, everything that needs to be packed away, while the others seem to be pretty much done with their own gearing up. As I arrive Krakka’s adjusting his own suit of armour, but the look on his face couldn’t be further from Kesla’s when she got to try out her new set.

“Seriously boss, it doesn’t make sense for me to hold. If the initial break-in goes wrong they could need my help pretty quickly. If I’m back in the rear with you then –”

“That’s why Garnon’s hanging back with us, so we can jump in the thick if we got to.” Kesla gives him a quick look over. “You’re another heavy hitter, we need to keep you in reserve. Y’know you don’t usually pull your punches.”

Krakka’s frown deepens as he gives her a good, hard glare, but he doesn’t rise to the bait in that little irony. Truth be told he looks almost as intimidating as Kesla right now, all decked out in his formal clerical gear, a pretty beautiful suit of laminar plate armour with a polished black lacquer finish that’s really striking to the eyes. There are bright spots in the armour, too, the crescent moon of Serena picked out in various places in gleaming silver that glows uncommonly bright in the fading light of approaching dusk, as though the blazing power of his beloved goddess is already coursing through him.

“You’re louder’n her in that stuff, too.” I add as I arrive, fighting the urge to adjust everything one more time in the hope that it settles right at last.

He gives me a similarly harsh stare for good measure, but I just smile back. “This are some of the biggest risks we’ve ever taken, so forgive me for being wary. It’s far more difficult to bring corpses back to life than heal folk while they’re still breathing.”

“That as may be,” Kesla admits “The surest way for the first wave to sneak in without a hitch is if they can be quick and quiet. Otherwise we might as well just port straight into that mess hall in the middle of dinner and start swinging.”

So far Gael’s been noticeably silent on the subject, standing by with staff in hand, strikingly different without their ubiquitous white and silver robes to identify her Silver Order credentials. Of course, she knows the drill, she’s never argued against Kesla’s request that they lose the robes before a stealth mission like this one, instead opting for a more anonymous hooded short mantle cloak of thick black wool. Underneath they’re wearing their own leather armour, a suit of tough matt grey and black pieces that make them look far more ready for a fight than their normal attire. They got their sword belted on their hip again, but after last time I reckon they’re hoping they won’t need it much as I am.

“You look good.” I say quietly as I glide up beside them.

“I’m scared out of my bloody mind.” They’re gripping their staff tight with both hands, and while they’re wearing their ubiquitous gloves with the fingertips cut away I’ve no doubt her knuckles are whiter than ever. “You saw Ashsong. He’s like nothing we’ve ever faced before. Once he got hold of me it was all over. All right, so I was still a little rattled after the guardhouse, but I held my ground against Garnon. Now his friend might be something worse? That scares me more than anything.”

“So you trust I’ll back you up.” I lean in to give them a little nudge. “Like in the guardhouse. I got you, you got me. Like always.”

They look back at me, a smile touching their lips, but it’s still shaky. “Thank you.”

Striking a proper grin, I give ‘em another nudge. “Don’t mention it.”

This time their smile’s stronger, and we just lean into each other, comfortable and companionable, while the others make their remaining preparations. Kesla inspects us all one at a time, thoughtful, a cool professional now, and the seriousness of what we’re about to do starts to land. I straighten up again and Gael does the same.

Finally Driver 8 lumbers up behind us with both his greatsword and his huge battleaxe in his hands, while his cloak’s been folded up and stuffed into Yeslee’s bag along with everything else we don’t absolutely need to hand. The four bandits all give him a wary look as he approaches, although Shayline seems more resigned that anything else to see him all tooled up. Kesla, for her part, simply ignores that look altogether.

“So that’s everything, yeah?” She gives us one last look, and when there’s no answer simply takes it as confirmation. She turns to Shayline again. “All right then, your turn.”

Nodding, Shayline turns to Garnon, who reaches into their satchel and rummages for a moment before pulling out another one of those weird stones. For the first time I get a proper look and it’s almost like if a big bird’s egg got painted with honey then dusted fine with shiny rock particles in shades of purple and bronze. It’s real exotic now I can see it close, and looks impossibly fragile, but he's handling it like it’s a perfectly solid piece of stone, no delicacy at all in his touch.

“You’re sure about this?” Gael wonders as they look at the egg with similar wariness. “You said you got these from Ashsong to begin with. How can we really know they wouldn’t be able to pick up on us using this one?”

“He said they’re shielded, that there’s no magic that could pick up on their movement.” Garnon shrugs. “He seemed very proud of that, it was quite smug.”

“Yeah, sounds about right.” Shayline mutters.

“So what do we do?” Kesla looks surprisingly chilled out about this.

“Just gather round. It’s actually incredibly simple.”

For a few moments nobody moves, which is no great surprised. I’m not at all comfortable with this, and I don’t see why any of the others would be either. This is the same creepy warlock bollocks that’s been causing us so much difficulty this past week, and now we’re gonna use it ourselves? I hate this plan.

Finally Kesla sighs and steps up to stand by Garnon, reaching out to touch his shoulder. Then Shayline touches Kesla’s, and the rest of us slowly follow suit. Gael gives me a nervous look as they join the others, and I look up at Big Man, who remains blithely neutral. Finally I step up too, taking hold of Gael’s staff as it’s offered, then hold my other paw out for the golem. A moment later I feel the cold, surprisingly smooth ceramic of his hand through my glove, and curl my fingers around one of his.

There’s a flash as a crunching sounds from the centre of the group that I feel deep inside my soul, and suddenly the whole world seems to open up around us. It’s distinctly different from Gael’s portal spell, though, there’s none of that strange, unpleasant warping sensation through my body. It’s just an emptiness under me I seem to drop into, and I can just about feel everyone else coming with me in this same, impossibly alien moment. Far as I can tell we drop maybe three feet, but it’s impossible to tell because suddenly everything’s dark despite that flash, then, meeting relatively solid rock underfoot, we’re suddenly somewhere else entirely.

Blinking in confusion, it becomes instantly clear to me why those new arrivals always seem so disoriented after they land from one of these, it’s impossibly jarring, like there’s something horribly wrong with the world and it’s just happened to you personally. It might be one of the worst sensations I’ve ever experienced in my life, despite the fact that I feel no debilitating effects at all.

“Oh gods … I think I prefer porting.” Gael looks as uncomfortable as I am as they lift their hand from Krakka’s shoulder, and the tengu’s blinking rapidly as he starts to take in his surroundings. From what I can see the sensation seems to have wrung about the same reaction from the entire party, even Shayline and Garnon look discomfited. The dragonhalf wizard shakes their hands vigorously, seeming desperate to get rid of any lingering traces of dust from the egg’s destruction.

“I agree …” Kesla grunts after a moment “Let’s not do that again.” She looks around herself. “Are we where we should be?”

For the first time I take my own look at our surroundings, and I’m instantly lost. We’re in a high spot, I can tell that much just from the wind hitting us from what feels like the east, with a jagged, broken ridge on our right and a high peak soaring over us on the left. Right in front of us there’s a narrow gap that looks down on a deep valley, and it immediately becomes clear we’re on the side of a mountain in the midst of a wild and craggy range. I landed less than two feet from what looks like a three hundred foot drop. “Oh fuck me …”

Gael grabs hold of me as I stumble back, keeps me from falling on my arse in my haste to get away from that drop. “Careful, Art. Minerva … are you all right?”

“I’m good, I’m good, I’m good …” I keep repeating it under my breath as I straighten up, taking a good deep breath and finally risking a step up to that terrifying drop again. It’s an impressive view, all told, and as I look out into the darkening space beyond I can see we’ve actually landed right on the money.

Across the valley is a particularly tall, monstrously jagged mountain rises, looking like a genuine widow-maker for anyone foolish enough to attempt to climb it, clawing high enough that the first snows of the coming winter are encroaching its lower faces. Maybe two hundred feet up the nearest face, reached by narrow, winding tracks, half carved into the solid rock and half built out of it, is one of the most foreboding man-made structures I’ve ever seen.

Heldereth fortress is a beast, but a surprisingly subtle one when I’m able to take it in. The way the fortifications have been built, it would definitely be possible for an ignorant passer-by to miss it making their own way through the mountains, the stone likely hewn from the very mountains around aiding it in blending in with its surroundings. The walls are steep, almost sheer but with enough of a slope to appear almost natural at a glance, while the ramparts, fashioned with crenelations to an educated eye, could still be mistaken for jagged ridges by a more casual onlooker. From the valley floor the whole structure would blend in with the jumbled structure of the mountain it’s built into, the only reason I can make it out so clearly is because of my overlooking elevation across the way. From here I can see the perilous approach through tight, twisty tracks and a particularly intimidating gatehouse jutting from a naturally convenient ridge. There are three watchtowers overlooking the valley, but they’ve been fashioned in such a way they seem more like jagged spires rising out of natural outcroppings.

The effect is enhanced by the lack of firelight that could be seen from the valley floor. There are narrow windows here and there for sentries to watch and likely archers to fire on attackers, but they seem to be built in order to keep any interior light from being seen from below too. I’ve got a better view from here, able to look down over the walls into the fortifications, seeing torches and braziers being lit in deference to the coming night within the courtyards. The keep looms over the rest of the structure, but like everything else it’s built to merge with the rockface, and pushed far enough back into the belly of the mountain itself it almost vanishes without a trace too.

“Wow.” I manage to mutter under my breath.

“I second that.” I hear Kesla moving up behind me, looking out over my shoulder. “Now that is a fortress.”

“We’re seriously planning on breaking into that? You really reckon the Order’s payin’ us enough for this?”

Kesla drops her heavy armoured hand on my shoulder and turns to me, grinning now. “You really wanna run back to Hocknar with your tail between your legs after what we just been through? After surviving the Viper?”

That gets me frowning, and it’s all I can do not to bristle at the implied challenge in her words. “Y’already know the answer to that one, boss.”

She gives a little squeeze, a jot tighter than she had to maybe, then lets go. “Good lad.” She drops into a crouch and takes the fortress in, growing thoughtful again. “You’re right though. This is gonna be … interesting.”

“Your idea of interesting can be a little scary sometimes, I don’t mind tellin’ you.”

Kesla grins again at that. “You ready?”

“Enough.” I give my collar another yank and decide it’s more likely just my nerves than anything wrong with the suit itself. In all probability it’s gonna just go away the moment it all kicks off again. “See you in there, I guess.”

“Good hunting.” she sighs, giving me one last look that seems a little regretful. She’s hoping this won’t be the last time we see each other alive, I think. I got the exact same feeling.

“Yeah, boss. Good hunting.” I tip her a salute and turn away again, moving back to join the rest. Gael’s checking through their gear one last time, looking restless but keeping it reined in well enough, and Shayline’s downright stern now, gripping the hilt of her sword tight enough I can hear the creaking of her glove leather. “Okay, we’re set. You two ready to go?”

Gael fastens the flap on their components bag again and looks up, gives a tight nod, while Shayline just licks her lips. Given what’s about to go down I can’t say I’m particularly surprised. “I’m trusting you. All of you. No killing unless you have no other choice.”

Putting my hand to my heart, I raise the other. “I swear. I won’t draw ‘less I got to.”

“All right.” Shayline takes a deep breath, puts out her hands, and sets her jaw as she turns to Gael. “You’re sure you know where you’re going?”

“As long as you hold it clear in your mind, I can’t miss.” Gael takes hold of one of her hands. “Trust me, I do this for a living.”

Shayline frowns again, but while I think she wants to snap a retort she holds back. I take her other hand and breathe deep, preparing myself for the next part. “Just please try and make the trip a gentle one, yeah?”

Gael gives me a look, not wanting to rise to the bait, and they mutter that strange sensory word again before my insides turn over again as we jump.

The landing’s as jarring as before, but I’m ready for the resulting discomfort this time, figuring that, given the possibility we could be dropping right into the thick of trouble, I might need to fight right away if it comes to it. So I resist the urge to double over and as my gorge rises I try my damnedest to keep the bile down. It probably gives me a real sour expression but I ain’t too fussed about appearances right now, and it makes me tense as hell. Gael pulls their hand from mine the second we land with an admonishing hiss, telling me I’m squeezing it so hard. Shayline seems less fussed, but I let hers go all the same.

We’re in a dark room, crates and sacks and various other supplies surrounding us. There’s no visible light in the room, but my nightvision’s strong enough I can see what’s around us all the same, and I hold my breath for a few moments, just listening, internally fighting the nausea. The others are similarly wary, and I can see the discomfort on Shayline’s face, she’s clearly no more a fan of teleportation than I am. Gael seems unaffected, but they’re tense all the same, more just the nervousness I would’ve expected from them.

I hear nothing, and all I smell is food all around us, no living bodies nearby, so we seem to be alone. I let the breath out slowly, and the tension starts to ease, but only as much as I’ll allow under the circumstances. “Okay … I think we’re good.”

“All right …” Shayline breathes “So we’re in. For what it’s worth.”

Elf and orc blood mean my companions can see as well as I can in here, there’s no need for light. Gael lets out a sigh, looks down at their components bag. After a little quiet rummaging they find what they’re looking for, a smaller crystal than the one they usually use, which got lost in the river. Their frown is understandable. “I miss the white one.”

“Well you’ll just have to make do.” Shayline mutters under her breath, quiet enough it might’ve been mostly to herself. They’re still tense and unhappy, clearly, but no matter how this plays out she’s gonna have to do things she doesn’t want to. Looking to Gael, I can see they’re sharing these thoughts, so they keep any intended response to themselves.

“Right,” I interject “So we’re in. Now what?”

“This way.” Shayline cocks her head for us to follow and starts to move out of this little corner. We track round the side of what seems to be a large storeroom, the walls hewn from solid rock so we’re likely in the mountain itself now, meaning we’ve ported exactly where we intended to. We keep our movements careful and light, making as little sound as possible, and I’m impressed enough with Gael as they manage to maintain their stealth, but Shayline could’ve made a proud asset to the Thieves Guild if she wanted to. We reach the door without incident, and I wave the others off before approaching it alone.

Listening close, I hold my breath and stay still as I try to pick up the slightest sound. There’s nothing close, but I can hear more indistinct noises further away, from the hum and crackle of burning torches to voices somewhere above, just normal conversation but too muffled to understand words.

Okay … moment of truth. The door isn’t fully closed, it’s open a crack, so there’s no need to try it first. I raise my paws with utmost care and wriggle my fingertips into the crack, taking a deep breath before I start pulling. Nothing creaks, the hinges oiled enough the door moves without making any undue noise. I don’t breathe out yet, though, pausing soon as It’s open enough for me to slide through sideways, just enough to peer out, keeping low.

The corridor’s empty in both directions, a simple passage lit with flickering torches, doors like this one arranged along one wall all the way down, presumably more storerooms like this. Finally able to breathe out, I slide the rest of the way through and come out in a crouch, moving with slow, deliberate purpose as I turn a circle and check my surroundings again. Listening the whole time I take another sniff. Just burning pitch and dust. Nobody close.

Pushing the door open the rest of the way, I stand up again as the others cautiously step through. Gael sighs as they drop back against the wall, clearly relieved the first stage of our plan seems to have worked out okay, but Shayline’s still frowning as she looks round.

“Nobody here.” I whisper “Not really the brightest way to run security, you ask me. I’d keep someone down here too, looking out for just this kinda thing.”

“Give them time.” Shayline mutters “They’ll know by now that I left with the others, and we took Clearwood. They’ll be stepping up security any time now. We may have just beaten them to the punch.”

“Well then that’s good, means we’re ahead of the curve.”

“Not by much. We can’t afford to waste a moment, we need to move fast.”

“Sure thing. Just let me do my thing, then.” I reach for two of my medium knives and then check myself at the last before drawing them, remembering what we’re about here. I hiss a reproach to myself and instead reach to that familiar spot in my back where my favourites would usually be, and for a moment feel a pang that I won’t find ‘em anymore. It’s short-lived once I get down to business, pulling my non-lethal solutions free instead.

I almost never use these, there’s rarely any call for us to pull our punches, but Shayline’s insistence made this seem like the right time. So I draw out my batons, two simple eighteen inch truncheons in hard dark wood with tightly wound leather grips, and slip the thongs around my wrists. Stepping away from the others, I give them a few practice swings, rock my head from side to side, limber up. “All right, which way?”

Shayline gives me a long, cool glance and I just stare right back, daring her to object now. She holds her tongue and instead grits her teeth as she points to the right. I nod. “Stay behind me, and keep quiet.”

The whole way I keep my ears open and every ten steps I take a fresh sniff of the air, waiting the whole time for something new to present itself, but our luck continues to hold. I don’t pick up on anything new until I’m ten feet short of the corner, a familiar enough scent of musky sweat and battered old leather and dirty cloth. Human, singular, close. I hold one of my batons out as a ward to the others and trust they’re complying cuz I certainly don’t hear anything behind me, slowing my own pace to creep up to the very edge of the corner.

It's a little brighter beyond, opening out into a broader hallway with higher ceiling, a staircase leading up halfway down on the right, further passages cutting out beyond. There’s a man stood across from the stairs, simple leather armour, battleaxe propped at his side within easy reach, but he’s just slouched against the wall with his arms folded, head back. Seems alert enough, mind, his position good enough to catch anyone coming from any direction with plenty of warning. If I move out now he’d spot me in a second, stealthy or not, and the twenty feet between us is too great to cover in a rush before he’s ready enough for an attack, or he could just do the smart thing and shout.

Leaning back round, I think for a moment. Shayline’s watching me, unreadable, while Gael’s still tense, gripping their staff tight with wide eyes locked on mine. I point to my friend, beckon her close, and signal to take a look – just the tiniest peek – past me, fast. They nod, swallowing hard, and creep up, then lean carefully to crane past. Quick glance and then they pull back, just like I asked. They grimace.

“Shit.” they barely breathe, looking at the two of us in turn. “That looks tricky.”

Nodding, I slump back against the wall. “I can’t just charge him, he’ll spot me long before I reach him. Even if I can take him down in a pinch there’s no way he don’t let everybody close know we’re here first. Doesn’t look like an idiot, first thing he’ll do is shout his head off.”

“Well we can’t go back, there’s no other way upstairs from here. Whether we go left or right we have to secure this junction.” Shayline grimaces. “I was wrong, looks like they’re thinking ahead already.”

“Hold on.” Gael nibbles their tongue a little as they flip their components bag open again and it’s too cute. A quick little search turns out what looks like a small comb, carved from a slender piece of ebony, and what I realise is a single cigarette paper. “I have an idea.”

“Gael, what are you going to –”

“Just be ready to run.” They fix me with a stare so full of purpose I don’t even think to argue. Taking a deep breath I drop into a crouch as I turn back to the corner while they crouch behind me, weaving the paper between the comb’s teeth before raising it all to their lips.

While I expect a thin, buzzing note to sound, the makeshift instrument doesn’t produce any sound at all as they blow into it. Instead, as I chance a glimpse into the hallway, I see something … well, no other word seems to fit other than manifest. Suddenly there’s a body at the far end of hallway making slow progress in our direction, towards the sentry.

He spots it almost immediately, pushing away from the wall as he straightens, and his hand goes to the axe as he focuses on it … then he freezes. I wouldn’t blame him. Gods, Gael, where the hell did you ever see something like that before? The apparition seems solid enough to pass muster in torchlight, a shambling, vaguely humanoid form of sickly grey-white that seems to be made of wrinkles and rot, pale flesh sloughing from its limbs as it staggers forward. A mouth opens as it approaches, far too wide to be normal, and there’s an awful lot of teeth in there, while the otherwise featureless head has two deep-set glowing red eyes that just aren’t where they should be. It reaches out one spindly, overlong hand and doesn’t scream, it just lets out a low, breathy gasp that carries far too well.

For a few worrying moments I find myself unable to move either, a little too convinced by this display, but then I snap back and just stop thinking about it. I whip out fast, covering the ground quickly. I left my boots off before we came, and my bare paws cross the flagstones without so much as a whisper, but I keep low even though he’s facing away from me now.

Poor bastard doesn’t have a chance. He’s still transfixed on Gael’s ghoulish illusion as I whip in behind him and swing hard with the baton in my left that swats his feet out from under him. He doesn’t even manage to gasp as he topples and I don’t hesitate with my counter, bringing the right-hand baton down with a hefty crack across his skull as he crashes down. He doesn’t know what hits him.

Keeping low, I freeze in place as I whip my left hand back and let the club drop from my fingers to dangle from my wrist while I hold the palm up to check the others before they can move out to join me. I start listening again, letting a slow count of ten pass in my head as I search for the slightest hint that anyone nearby picked up on that. Thankfully Gael’s ghastly creation’s already dissolving into thin air, so that won’t distract me anymore.

Nothing. Took him down clean and nobody’s any the wiser. I let the breath I been holding go and straighten up again. After a few moments Gael and Shayline join me, moving quiet as they can all the way. The half-orc inspects the fallen guard at my feet, then turns to me.

“Out like a candle, but he’ll live.” I breathe back at her “Ain’t my first time at this.”

Those unsettling dark eyes narrow at me, but she holds her tongue. Gael’s putting the comb back in her bag, grinning from ear to ear, and I can’t help smiling a little myself. “I don’t wanna know where you got the idea for that thing, but it was a sweet trick. Well done.”

My words raise a little bit of a blush, but the grin stays. I simply turn to look up the stairs. “This way?”

Shayline’s still looking at the fallen guard, lying at her feet like a broken doll. He’s bleeding, but the wound looks much worse than it probably is, I didn’t hit him that hard and I was pretty precise about where I hit him too. But it looks bad, scalp wounds tend to bleed a lot. She may have heard me, but she ain’t really there right now.

Stepping up beside her, I give her arm a tight squeeze, painful enough to snap her out of it. “I said he’ll live, but we don’t have time for this. Help me move him and then you can show me where we’re going next. Okay?”

“Okay!” Shayline hisses sharply, louder than I’d like but it doesn’t carry too much. Even so I give her a hard glare to remind her of the situation and it seems to hit home. Her jaw’s tight and the tendons in her neck stand out some, but she’s with us again. “Okay. I get it. Just … please be careful.”

“We made a promise, and we’re trying to keep it.” I release her arm, and while she rubs the sore spot I go to the unconscious guard’s feet and pick them up. “Now, if you’ll help me?”

Scowling, she stoops and grabs him under his arms before starting to lift. Gael stands by while we pick the body up, listening for any more sign we might’ve been caught, but there’s still nothing. As we manhandle our heavy, cumbersome load, I have to wonder how much longer we can keep that up for …