“Pulvis et umbra sumus. (We are but dust and shadow.)”

- Horace, The Odes of Horace

The night was full of angry shouting, a fight had spilled out of a bar which was a really charitable description for the rundown hole in the wall that was the ‘Sodden Guardsman’.

A big oarsman swung his right fist and clocked the temple of an older man with but two front teeth left. Blood spurted from his head as he went down. A young woman, hair dyed a garish red, most likely here for professional reasons, wearing a white and green striped dress, used a broken bottle to cut the arm of a fat thug. Gang tattoos marked him as a ‘Gloomskull’. Screeching like a cat whose tail had been stepped on, he backpedaled and drenched the fallen old man with another helping of blood. A drunk-looking sailor pointed and laughed in between drinking from an unmarked bottle he held in his left hand.

Two younger skinny boys punched the barkeeper while another of the Gloomskulls, a dark-skinned man in his late twenties held his arms from behind.

Blood mingled with oil stains from a broken barrel sitting forgotten in a corner of the backyard. The houses that ringed the tiny island of free space were ramshackle agglomerations of wooden planks, animal skins, rags, and the odd metal plate. Two young boys sat on the roof of the smallest building and were drinking from a bottle they had stolen as the fight broke out. The first to drink coughed violently spewing the moonshine onto the fight below. “Hey don’t waste it! I got cut for that, you best ‘preciate this!” Mumbling because of a nasty split and swollen lip the other boy fought for possession of the flask.

Beside the bar leaning against the barrel sat a younger man in clothes that had seen better days and were clearly of quality once. With shaking hands, he gripped a small vial containing a small amount of glowing blue crystal dust before tilting his head snorting it into his nostrils. The finely ground crystal swirled into his nose and a wave of blue light flowed from his nose into his skull, lighting his bones, that visibly glowed through his skin for a short moment.

Glowing bloody mucus drooled from his nose and mouth as he began to tremble and shake more violently his eyes rolled back in his head. Then a smile of pure bliss spread on his face and the shaking stopped.

Inside the bar, a young woman in her late teens shoved the coins lying on the table into her pouch and stood. ‘Idiots, all of them. Why make a ruckus. If you get cut in this flea-infested rat-hole it will be a miracle if the wound does not become infected and kills you.’

She wore practical boots, leather trousers, and an undyed linen blouse with a leather vest. Three daggers hang on her belt, two left one right. Her dark brown hairs were cut short, a pretty face that could have once been beautiful if not for the long scar going from her left temple to her chin, she was thin and had a boyish figure.

“Mellie, everything ok?” Her bodyguard, a fifteen-year-old ‘Apprentice’ as the applicants for the full membership in the Gloomskulls were called looked into the bar, his left cheek showed a nasty bruise.

“Yes, Jack, I got everything. Let's leave this place.” As she ventured outside, stepping over the groaning casualties of the barfight a pouch on her right hip began to vibrate. “Aah shit.”

She checked and the pouch in question was already rimmed with frost. Checking to see if anyone had noticed she jumped back into the bar and gripped a small crystal slate stuffed into a vest-pocked and murmured a command word. The runes inscribed onto the slate lit up one after another as if liquid light ran through them. She felt a bit of fatigue coming on but soon enough the process came to a close and out of the falling crystal dust formed a small bird made of glittering runes. After another moment those runes shifted and a perfectly normal sparrow sat in her hand.

“Hunter, I am at the Sodden Guardsman. Deepstone reacted strongly. Am going to make myself scarce. Good luck!”

Then she dusted herself off, the bird flew deeper into the building and then into and probably through the back wall. She hurried outside waved at her bodyguard and fled into the tangled streets of the Crooks.

A dwarven woman and a bald man looked up as a bird fluttered from the smoky skies and hovered before the one called ‘Hunter’. A young woman's voice, sounding harried, spoke the pre-recorded message.

The man gave a half-smile. “Close, let's hurry. Garreline, take my hand.” The woman complied and gripped his hand with vicelike strength, the links of her chain gloves biting into his flesh. His grin never wavered. Gesturing with his right hand, he spoke a few consonant heavy words and the shadows enveloped them both. As their sight cleared they stood in a narrow alley, the buildings leaned against each other and formed a sort of man-made cavern, a bluestone addict sat against a wall, blood, snot, and a glowing blue liquid trickling from her nose.

The dwarven woman felt the stone hanging at her side, “It’s that way.” Hefting her axe she then hurried down the alley. The hunter followed her at not quite a jog. He whistled and a dagger slid from a sheath on his back to hover beside his left arm.

The walls shook from the downdraft of the departing balloon or Zeppelin as she had heard them being called. A pot shook free from its perch and fell noisily to the floor. The stench of death hung thick in the room. Blankets, most were simple rags laid on top of each other and stiff with grime, covered the floor of the small room that seemed to have served as a bedchamber. A dead woman lay on her side a slight shimmer from her open mouth told a tale of drugs and malnutrition. A small child clung to her legs and sobbed despite being so weakened from exhaustion and starvation that it could no longer cry continuously.

Vanessa did not know what to do, she had felt a strange emanation of void energies, and being a bit bored had followed on a whim. And now she was thoroughly disgusted with both humanity and herself for not simply going on her way.

'Humans.' She thought. Poverty so desolate, that it hurt to even know it was there, luxury and power to cure all ills, satisfy every desire. But only for a relatively few. It was nothing new, but even in the wilds of Ulsolm even seeing her erstwhile kin, subservient to the one that brought about the end of their civilization, scrabbling in the dirt, living a harsh life. It had not have prepared her for what she saw in these slums.

The woman seemed to have overdosed on what was commonly called Blue Crystal. It was ground mana crystal and some additives, meaning ground glass, meal, some put the blood of animals or even people into the mixture. It gave magicians a rush of power and heightened both their mana as well as the power of their spells, but it cost them long-term stability and damaged nerves, leading those stupid or desperate enough to use the more powerful blood crystal for even more of a rush.

She leaned forward and sang a few words, white light glowed from her fingertips, and the small child, boy or girl was difficult to ascertain, sniffled once and then fell into a deep sleep.

She felt a burning sensation traveling through her left arm as she felt a sizeable fragment of deepstone approaching. ‘Not again.’ She thought. The hunters had been persistent and even though she had managed to fool them again and again and thankfully there was no indication they had noticed her hideout, they came closer than she liked. ‘The child will not live through another night of this. I must get it to a healer. And that means I can’t take shortcuts through other planes, even though I would not want that regardless.’

She grabbed the child that was nearly a third of her own slight stature and then went for a flapping leather scrap that could charitably be called a curtain and pulled it aside. Behind her, she heard heavy steps. Then a crash as the door was forced. It was probably not necessary to hit the door a push would have done it.

An axe crashed through the wall she was standing behind, splinters of wood and bits of an iron nail slashed into the husk of the dead drug addict, Vanessa ducked and wove a spellform with her left hand spitting a short syllable. The air around her solidified and hardened into a shield shaped like a faceted jewel. A tall, bald human whistled, and a streak of metal shot for her, which she prudently dodged. With a popping sound, a part of the wall disintegrated and the sooty night air blew through a hole as large as the fist of that damnable dwarfen woman.

Crouching after her dodge she sprang back and backflipped onto the small window sill. The dwarf was nimble for her size and apparent mass and Vanessa had to lean back to avoid contact with the large glinting axe adorned with dwarfen runes which worried her a bit. She was not well versed in their use.

“Oswald, keep her from escaping! I will carve her out of that lovely shield of hers.”

The one spoken too nodded and whistled again, the dagger, because that was the aforementioned streak shot at her again. Then he drew a crystal slate that activated with a hissing sound. Shining runes blew outward through the combatants and the walls seemingly without effect.

Vanessa gritted her teeth as she felt her touch on other dimensions weakening. The axe clashed with her shield and runes lit up, the axe crackled with lightning. She gestured and mist seeped from her fingers. The air turned opaque. “Don't breathe it in!” Oswald jumped back and spoke a short spell wind surged from his right sleeve and pushed back the fog.

Garreline barreled towards Vanessa and hacked at her, both hands deftly switching grips on the shaft of her axe. Mist flowed after each cut and the floor crunched and broke beneath the mighty blows. Shouts of alarm and panic sounded from beneath them.

Vanessa looked apologetically at the small sleeping child then spoke a spell which caused the sleeping form to hover beside her, this cost her another blow to her shield, which was rapidly losing cohesion. Then she gestured and tendrils of fog, half-seen figures rose inside the mist and grabbed for her assailants.

“Fornicating scraps of trash-metal. Impure veins of corund.” Garreline shouted some curses. Where the tendrils and appendages touched her, her skin became pale and she was sweating. Coughing violently after breathing in the caustic mist she fell back. With a swirl of her dark cloak, Vanessa shot through the now completely breached wall and onto the roof of the adjacent building. Gaining momentum she raced away into the night, the child held in her arms.

Coughing and cursing Oswald and Garreline withdrew to the alleys.

“That went well.” Oswald laconically remarked. He was still twitchy but a certain calm had entered his voice.

“Now we know what she is capable of, next time she will be ours for sure.” Garreline spat onto the dirt, a bit of blood mingled in the liquid. Looking annoyed she spoke a word in dwarven and the blood boiled into smoke.

“Then it's back to searching again.” Oswald shrugged. He brushed back his coat to let the dagger sheath itself on his back.

The chapel of Meloris the bringer of order was named, uncreatively enough, Light of Order. It stood inside a small yard situated behind some buildings. It was not normally a very popular destination in the small neighborhood where lived mostly workers from the docks or manufactories. It was reasonably well thought of, and you could find some comfort in the pristine lines of the building, the clean yard surrounding it, or talking to the priestess.

A knock sounded. And it repeated again and again. “Yes, yes! Leave the door in one piece will ya.” An old woman's voice sounded as slow steps neared the large entrance door. Angels of order looked from reliefs to the side and the words ‘Order within, order without’ shone in brass letters on said door. Light gradually shone from beneath the portal as someone pulled back the locking bar.

The door opened and an older priestess attired in her nightclothes stood there while beside her stood a young male acolyte with a lantern.

Before the door stood a small being swathed in a too-large cloak, holding a child which seemed to be near death. A melodic voice spoke and a glint of green light escaped the cloak. “I must apologize for the late intrusion. This child is dying and I cannot help him. I would ask that you take care of it.”

A rattling breath that sounded like it might be the last sounded from the child and the priestess’ eyes turned serious. “Marthelm, take the child to the infirmary I will soon follow. Young lady, what is your name?”

Vanessa handed the child to the young man, boy really, who seemed overwhelmed and very nervous about the situation. Then she dropped a small pouch and vanished into the night beyond the light of the lantern. A whisper reached her ear. “It should be enough to ensure it has a life but I cannot tarry. Farewell.”

The priestess took the pouch, saw that it was well filled with coin and turned to follow her acolyte. She could have sworn that as the small woman spoke she could see the reflecting eyes of a large cat inside the cloak where the face should have been. Shaking her head she turned to the much more difficult undertaking of saving the life of a sick young boy.