“Where’d they go?” One thug growled, breath heavy from the recent chase.

“They couldn’t have gone far. Search every room, we’ll find them!” Another answered, breath far less laboured than the other. The first ran off, the other tapping his foot against the floor as he grumbled. “Dung-spittin’ dwarf, makin’ me run around like this, wastin’ all our time. When I find him, I swear I’ll–”

The thug’s voice tapered off as they began their search elsewhere, Talon’s ear pushed against the door failing to pick up anything but incoherent noises. Slowing down his breathing, Talon turned towards Torden. The dwarf was strapping on his breastplate, grunting with each tug of leather and buckling of steel. “Whorin’ bastards caught me while I was drinkin’. Nerve o’ ‘em!” Lifting up his beard, Torden slid his gorget on, the neck armour dull and lackluster, spotted with rum and grease.

Flexing and unflexing his fingers, Talon watched in cold silence, glancing around the small storage room that Torden’s gear had been stuffed away into. Compared to the other one, it was bare save for a few open boxes filled with a dozen-or-so weapons, most covered in rust or chipped along the edges. The only weapon of significance was a two-handed battleax leaning against the wall, the blade broad and squarish, intricate engravings all along the shaft and blade. Its owner was obvious, even before Torden strapped the rest of his armour on and grabbed the ax.

With his arms recovered, Torden grinned, slinging the ax over his back, the weapon’s size cartoonish against the squatty man. “Righty ‘en! Guess we best be on our way, eh?” He tapped his thumb against his chest, grinning up at Talon, every word slurred. “Name’s Torden Ironfist, proud warrior o’ da Ironfist clan.”

“I gathered that,” Talon said, “especially when you yelled it out for the whole district to hear.” Pressing his ear back against the door, Talon nodded to himself as silence greeted him. “We need to go now, before they circle back around and find us.”

“Before dat, lad. I would have a name o’ one I’d be fightin’ wit.” Torden rolled his shoulders, the armour plating scraping against itself.

“Talon.”

“Course it is,” Torden muttered.

The door swung open with a metallic screech, Talon cringing against the noise. For the last of competent security, the building’s disrepair made sure that every movement and shift was alerted to with some kind of sound. The boards squeaked as the two slid from the storage room, the door’s ill-fitted latch scraping against its splintered frame, the jostling of Torden’s armour echoing down the barren hall.

No one arrived to apprehend them, however, so the two continued moving. Talon led the way while Torden took rearguard, his armour making him a far more effective meat shield. Talon heard the skittering of rats beneath the floorboards, keeping pace with the two, slowing down as they came to a bend. Peering around the corner, Talon spotted a pair of humans pacing the corridor, throwing doors open and storming the rooms. He held up his hand, motioning for Torden to stop.

The two thugs were heading in the opposite direction, but moving far too slow. The longer they waited, the higher their chances of being discovered. Drawing his dagger, Talon came to a decision. He turned towards Torden. “Stay here,” he whispered. Taking a deep breath, he waited for the thugs to begin moving away before dashing out.

Talon cleared the space with barely a sound, the padded soles of his boots muffling his approach. The creaking of the old floorboards were the only warning the thugs got, screaming alarms as Talon jumped. The two turned at once, the closer of the two gasping, Talon’s dagger sliding into his neck. With his arms around his kill, Talon kicked the second human in the face with both feet, snapping their head back and pushing them away as Talon and the dead thug fell to the ground.

Old and in poor condition, the wooden boards cracked and collapsed from the weight of two full-grown men. Pain arced up Talon’s back as his tailbone crashed through the floor, rats beneath fleeing from the sudden impact. Gritting his teeth, Talon drew one of his throwing knives from his belt, tossing it at the still-reeling hoodlum.

Given the poor angle and the suddenness of the throw, the small projectile missed its mark, scoring the man’s cheek, more annoying than lethal.

“Gah! You bastard,” the thug cried, wiping the trail from their cheek with the back of their hand. Drawing his own dagger, iron and dull-bladed, but with a sharp enough point to impale. He charged at Talon, holding the weapon with both hands as they screamed in rage.

Talon grappled with another throwing knife from his belt, the small hilt catching on his wool tunic. Cursing under his breath, Talon braced himself, pulling his feet in, ready to kick out.

The attacker loomed over him for but a moment before the blood-curdling scream of Torden – along with his hefty ax – threw the man back. Jumping over Talon, weapon held aloft high over his head, Torden swung. Bone crunched and split beneath the squarish blade’s weight, toppling the thug as Torden’s feet hit the ground. Pulling down on the decorated shaft, Torden jerked the thug to his knees, shouldering the bleeding corpse off his blade. “Hah! Didya see me, lad? Like Aggoth ‘imself.” Looking down at Talon, Torden stuck his hand out.

Scowling at the proffered hand, Talon untangled himself from his own kill before grabbing the dwarf’s arm. “Well, you’re efficient, at least.”

With a chorus of grunts and groans, Torden pulled Talon out of the hole. Once Talon was back on his feet, Torden slung his ax back into its holster, wiping his hands clean against his trousers. “A little fun ain’t such a bad ting here and ‘ere before an escape, aye lad?”

Talon regarded Torden with cold eyes, blood still dripping from the dwarf’s ax. “I suppose not. Let’s just get out of here before we’re forced to have anymore fun.” Pushing past the dwarf, Talon picked up his pace to where Torden had to jog to keep up.

* * *

Sunlight greeted them as Talon pushed aside the square board leaning against the building, uncovering the gaping hole he’d sawed earlier. The saw itself, that Talon had “borrowed” from a nearby carpenter, was hidden in a nearby barrel. Out of sight out of mind, Talon thought drily. Stepping into the street, he stretched out his limbs, the overhanging structures of Shadowfen creating a maze of alleyways blanketed in shadow.

Torden followed soon after, climbing over more than stepping through the hole, its bottom curve too high for his more diminutive stature. “Hah! Now ‘ere’s da nice dirt I like. Solid an’ soft.”

“Could smell less like dung and corpses,” Talon grumbled, dusting himself off before turning away from Torden. “Well, good luck with whatever mess you’re stuck in.” Pacing down the alley, Talon sighed as the clanking of armour followed him. “Why?”

Torden grinned, his rattling jaunt leaving prints in the wet mud. “Only way out o’ ‘ere, lad. Little company won’t hurt’cha anyhows.”

Conceding his first point, Talon left the second unremarked upon. Together, the two wound their way around cramped passages, cutting through derelict buildings when they could. Every wall was scoured from age, wood and stone bare save for a few fleeting paint chips still clinging on. Empty interiors squeaked and groaned, cleared of everything valuable, cheap furniture tossed aside or smashed into pieces. Sometimes the pair would come across a stray squatter, always passed out from exhaustion or so inebriated they went unnoticed.

Eyes found them when they finally broke out into the main street, a straight path from the southern and northern gates. People milled about, stalking about for their next prey or handout, the former far more common than the latter. Breathing a sigh of relief, Talon turned once again from Torden.

“There they are!” Someone shouted, stirring the ghostly silence into movement.

Talon didn’t bother looking over his shoulder, sprinting on instinct, Torden huffing and puffing behind him as the dwarf tried to keep up with his stubby legs. There was no ducking and weaving, no subterfuge or disappearing into the shadows. Nothing but a straight run, the adrenaline of the chase, and the beating rhythm of blood pumping through Talon’s head.

Shouts erupted from all around, Talon pushing past the throngs of people who got in his path, Torden barreling through. Commands to stop followed by threats of death followed as they fled, the northern gate closing in with every step.

Huffing and puffing, Talon and Torden passed under the gate, skidding to a stop as they left the shantytown behind. “Gods be damned,” Talon cursed.

Just beyond the gate, leaning against an ax a head longer than Talon was tall, waited a Minotaur. Bulging muscles covered in tufted fur flexed, calloused hands hefting up the massive ax with a lazy swing. “Now, now, Torden. You didn’t really think you could just leave without payin’ off your debts, now did you?” His voice rumbled from the depths of his throat, rough yet elegant.

“Rasfin,” Torden said.

Talon looked down at the dwarf, “You know him.”

“Aye,” Torden nodded, avoiding eye contact with Talon. “I might, eh… owe ‘im some coin.”

“’Some’ is low balling it a bit, don’cha think?” Rasfin huffed, tapping the shaft of his ax against his shoulder, dozens of old scars stretching beneath brown tufts.

Talon eased his posture, the pounding of boots against dirt approaching from behind. “A bit foolish to give coin out to a drunk like him.”

Rasfin nodded, giving a knowing smile. “Yes, a foolish move indeed. That is, if we didn’t collect collateral. The dwarf’s ax is pretty valuable, and would easily make up for what he owes us. Even the interest wouldn’t be an issue.”

“Over me dead body!” Torden bared his ax, miniature compared to Rasfin’s.

“And that’s the problem,” Rasfin snorted, glancing at his men over Talon’s shoulder.

The calm exploded into violence.

Rasfin and Torden charged, roaring their own war cries, one in proclamations of honour, the other incoherent bellows. Ax clashed with ax, Rasfin’s superior size and reach giving him the immediate advantage.

Talon spun in the other direction, loosing two throwing knives as he drew his dagger. He processed the battle as his body moved, moving on instinct. Two humans, one orc, the latter taking charge. One of the humans fell to the ground as a knife impacted against his chest. The second knife struck the orc’s shoulder, slowing the green-and-gray skinned brute for but a moment. The other human overtook the orc in the charge, his cleaver meeting Talon’s dagger, iron screeching against steel.

The orc caught up a moment later, Talon kicking away the human to parry the new attack. His blade bit into the orc’s cudgel, the wooden mace knocking the dagger from Talon’s grasp. Twisting his body with the arc of the orc’s swing, Talon responded with a flurry of blows, the sharpened edges of his gauntlets biting into their toughened hide, leaving the orc reeling.

Talon’s attention split once more as the human thug flanked him.

Kicking backwards, Talon’s boot met the thug’s shin, throwing him off balance. Grabbing the throwing knife stuck in the orc’s shoulder, Talon spun, slicing the thug’s neck, tearing a gash in the orc’s skin at the same time. The human dropped his cleaver, Talon catching it just in time to once again parry the orc’s cudgel. With the full momentum of his spin, Talon’s heavier weapon split the orc’s weighty stick, pulling it free from his hand. From horizontal to overhead, Talon spun his wrist, launching the cleaver straight down into the orc’s unprotected head.

Bone crunched beneath the blow, the orc falling to his knees as blood spilt from the crater in his skull. Talon let the cleaver go, imbedded too deep in the orc’s head to pull free. Turning away from his kills, Talon grimaced.

Rasfin was still alive, and winning. Torden parried and blocked what he could, attacking when he saw an opportunity, but the minotaur’s superior strength and reach made winning an impossibility for the dwarf. Talon considered for a moment retrieving his dagger and legging it, leaving the dwarf to his fate.

This notion, and the opportunity, passed. Rasfin launched his fist into Torden’s face, sending him skidding through the dirt. Torden coughed up blood, struggling to roll onto his side, possibly suffering a concussion.

“Well, seems at least one of you knows how to fight,” Rasfin said. His snout split into a smile, pulling at more scars along his face, his eyes too feral to make the expression pleasant. “No matter. A few brutes are the least of mine, and I’ve been itching for a good fight.” He rolled his shoulders, stepping towards Talon.

“What are the chances this can end peacefully and neither of us has to die?” Talon crouched down, baring the clawed tips of his gauntlets.

Rasfin’s laugh was a hearty one, disturbing nearby wildlife. Birds fled from their perches atop the city’s walls, rabbits in the grass hopping away. “Very, very little.”

“That’s unfortunate,” Talon said, muscles tensing.

“So it is.” Rasfin charged, swinging his two-headed ax in a wide, horizontal sweep. His size belied his speed, powerful muscles carrying the massive weapon through its clean swing. He leveled the blade at Talon’s throat, who made no attempt to dodge.