If asked, Selora would proclaim that she isn’t easily impressed, but as the city’s walls came into view, her eyes began sparkling. “Wow…”

Marbleton. A sprawling city, filled with towering buildings of sanded marble and gilded statues. It stood as a gem amongst the rough terrain, and a common tourist spot for the wealthy.

Passing through the large, wooden gate, the town square opened up to them. A large fountain of stone with expertly sculpted doves intertwining the water spout stood center in the circular area, opening into the town’s large proper.

Shops and family residences filled the roads, packed tight on all sides, creating a maze of alleys and backroads. The main roads, however, kept a straightforward path through the markets, webbing out through Marbleton’s northern and western gates.

Guards walked around in pairs, marching in steel plate, holding halberds, pointed rigid towards the sky. Their surcoats were a bright blue with gold trimming, a pair of golden doves circling a white circle on each of their chests. Wearing conical helms, their faces were in plain sight, humanizing the guardsmen while showing the wide range of ages and expressions present amongst them.

Standing above all of this, however, was the Duke of Marbleton’s estate. Tucked away in the back of the upper-districts, where scholars and nobles chipped away at their days, the Duke’s estate stood tall amongst even the College and other assortment of estates and noble quarters. Even taller than the Duke’s estate was a large, spiraling tower. The Citadel: the headquarters of Marbleton’s Prime of Law, and main office of governance and bureaucracy for the shining city.

“I never knew human cities could be this pretty,” Selora said, the adventurers striding through the market streets, the elf’s gaze longing for the wonders out on display.

Talon shrugged, “You’ve seen one, you’ve seen them all. It’s just what happens when money filters through. Now keep your ears pricked for talk of mages.”

Farther down the road a gaggle of citizens gathered around a raised stage. A man dressed in drab, brown robes waved his arms toward the crowd in dramatic patterns.

Torden pointed, gathering the party’s combined interest. “Whad’ya s’pose dat noise is?”

“Looks like a local problem.” Dismissing the man and his amassing crowd, Talon tried to walk past, stopping as he saw his two companions no longer following him. “Are you that curious? For everything it’s worth, it’s probably some prophet shouting about a coming evil, or some such nonsense. You tend to get those types in bigger cities.”

A smirk crept over Selora’s face, “Well, only one way to find out. Come on, let’s go check it out.”

Talon sighed, but went along, following just behind his two companions as they strolled to the edges of the gathering crowd.

The man in brown robes was loud, his raspy voice carrying through the air as panicked shrieking. “-they think to stomp on us, these brutish newcomers! With their bloody pikes and red banners, they consider themselves above us commoners. But I say nay, this is our town, not theirs!” Each word was accompanied by some swing of his arm, each motion emphasizing his speech.

A majority of the crowd mumbled agreements, others simply nodding. A sparse few shook their heads, exasperated.

Selora leaned in towards Talon, whispering. “This doesn’t sound like any kind of prophet; more like a call to arms.”

“Yeah, it’s not what I was expecting.” Talon’s eyes flickered as a hint of red fluttered in his peripheral, accompanied by the clanking of plated armour. “Though, maybe I’m the prophet, as I just spotted some trouble incoming.”

A group of soldiers, clad in steel and crimson, pushed through the crowd, stopping at the base of the stage where the disheveled man in brown stood. From the mass of dull red and glistening metal stepped a grizzled man, hair turned white from age, his face covered in faded scars. “Alright, alright, break it up! You lot have disturbed traffic long enough for today. Either return to your homes, or get back to your business.”

Stepping to the edge of the stage, the man in brown wasted no time, “This is exactly what I’m trying to tell all of you! These guards stomp around without a care about us, the people. Looking down their noses at us, they plan to take everything you own. Your money, your home, your children!”

The grizzled warrior signaled to his men, two of which detached from the group of eight to restrain and carry the man away. “That’s enough! I said to disperse. Don’t make me say it a third time.”

Grumbling, the crowd broke apart, trickling away one by one, until only the adventurers remained, the mad orator shouting obscenities as he was dragged away.

With a derisive snort, the grizzled guard turned towards the adventurers. “By your clothing, I’m guessing that you’re outsiders. And by your weapons, I’d say mercenaries, or adventurers.”

“Well, you know your crowds, at least.” Selora huffed, crossing arms over chest.

Clicking his tongue, the grizzled guard began to turn away.

“Hey!” Talon called out. “What was with that old man? He seemed pretty adamant about you guys being, well, problematic.”

The guard waved Talon off, “Don’t listen to the geezer. He’s just set in his ways, and doesn’t like the fact that our company’s been hired as extra guards.”

Talon’s eyes sharpened, “I didn’t think there was such a high crime rate to need extra guards.”

With a sigh and a shrug, the Guard Captain reiterated. “My company takes care of major disputes and deals with the assignments and organization of the old guard. So, it’s not that there’s more crime or anything, the guards just needed better organization; that’s what the Prime of Law said, anyway. Now, if you’re done wasting my time, enjoy your stay in Marbleton. Try not to cause any trouble while you’re here.”

Sticking out her tongue, Selora’s rested knuckled fists upon her hips. “Geez. Guards are the same everywhere you go, I guess.”

“Get used to it,” Talon said, glaring after the group of shuffling armour, watching close as they turned a corner, disappearing from his sight. “Though I will admit, mercenaries like them are usually a lot worse than the town’s native staff of sentries. And I highly doubt they’d be useful in ‘organization.’ No, we’d best be careful while we’re here, no telling what trouble they could cause us.”

“If ya lot are done talkin’, let’s go find us a place ta eat.” With stomach growling, Torden began his march through the streets, his taller companions following after him, letting the dwarf take the lead...

Until they realized he had no idea where he was going, and Talon had to retake the head.

* * *

To Evrich, Captain of Marbleton’s old guard – a title he wore with a petty sort of pride – the sight of the city’s towering walls was always a welcome one. The yawning gates, imposing sentries of iron-banded oak, greeted his company as they cantered into town. Through the courtyard, past the immaculate fountain of sculpted stone, down the main road, taking a left into the center of that half of the city, stood Marbleton’s barracks.

Two stories high, the stone building stood steadfast as a shield between the inner and outer districts, sheening windows reflecting sunlight in scattering rays.

To the garrison’s side sat a sizeable stable where his men unloaded, the new recruits taking markedly more time to unsaddle and brush down their horses. A stableboy was on hand to deal with such things, but the Captain thought it prudent that each guardsman be well acquainted with the horses available to them; it also helped in wearing down the new recruits, the less energy to harass the townsfolk. And thus, it was as Evrich finished rubbing down his own steed that a young woman, dressed in the regular garb of a guardsman, strut into the stables.

Lilyana, one of the last entered into the old guard, stood rigid, her short, auburn curls framing soft features scrunched in discomfort. She was tall for a woman, lean muscle hidden beneath layers of armour and cloth, her leather-bound hand resting atop the handle of her sheathed sword, a slight tremble from tightly-wound digits. “Captain?”

“Private.” Not prone to questioning her own ability or authority, Lilyana’s awkward, yet defensive stance told Evrich enough for him to guess at what she was to tell him, her words only confirming his suspicions.

“The Prime of Law, Sara Hawse, is here, Sir. She awaits you in your office. Said to fetch you immediately when you arrived.”

“Thank you, Private. And how long have I kept our dear mistress waiting?” Voice dripping with venom, Evrich made no attempt to hide his disdain for Marbleton’s ultimate judge of law from his men, enjoying the sense of control he got as he felt tensions in the stable rise.

Hesitating for only a moment, Lilyana shrugged. “Less than an hour, if I were to guess. I did not see her arrive, was simply told by Lieutenant Sigurd to retrieve you as quickly as I could.”

Nodding, Evrich finally allowed the stableboy to take the reins of his horse for feeding. “I suppose I will be on my way then.”

Lilyana’s shoulders dropped slightly as she relaxed, her message delivered.

Evrich smiled, “Curious thing, though, that she would know the approximate time that I would arrive, even though we weren’t slated to return for another three whole days. That spellslinger of hers must be watching us all through a crystal ball or some such device, don’t you think?”

For a moment, everyone in the stables halted, taking in the joke as though it were an indubitable fact. And it was with that suspicion that Evrich left his people, strutting out and around the building, towards the barracks’ main entrance.

The chattering of the city bustling about inched into range as Evrich distanced himself from the comfort of the stables, leaving the cacophony of open streets behind the thick oaken boards and closely-laden bricks of the barracks. A slight draft carried the noise inside, but it was distant, and muffled, and even this slight buzzing dissipated with a few mere steps into the bowels of the guard house.

Down a short hall, the building opened up, a moderate-sized lounge acting as a hub for five branching paths, leading down more hallways lined with doors, each entryway leading into a shared bunkroom for Evrich’s men.

The central path was bare of any extraneous doors, the torch and banner-strewn hall leading to the Captain’s office. A pair of heavy doors stood at the end, guarded by a guard on either side, both from the old guard: Evrich’s men. Nodding to each of them, Evrich pushed open the doors, well-oiled hinges swinging in on a whisper of scraping metal.

Its decorations were minimal, a few shelves lining the walls, filled with reports and the occasional trinket. A painted portrait of Marbleton’s Duke, Arthur Giles hung upon the west wall, between shelves. A large window in the back let in light from the sun, though it only opened to a series of interconnected alleyways, the architect having clearly not been in talks with the city planner when the building foundations had been laid.

Evrich’s mahogany desk sat a few meters in front of the window, the backboard depicting, in heavy detail, the goddess of life, Lei’Vania. Resting upon her side, looking inward, one arm reaching slightly towards the sky, the deity’s depiction was covered by the flowing silk of Sara Hawse’s dress.

“Good afternoon, Captain.” Her voice slid out smooth, sweet as syrup, slender body slithering towards him, pushing away from the fine desk. Gliding across the breadth of the room in seconds, willowy fingers pushing aside hair of woodland brown, the Prime of Law stood proud before the captain.

In deference to her rank, second only to the Duke himself, Evrich bowed his head. “Mistress Hawse. To what do I owe this unexpected visit?”

Chuckling, the sound a spine-chilling prickle of honey-sweetened deception, Sara Hawse traced her fingers gently across Evrich’s surcoat, following the path of the doves woven on his chest. “I got word that you would be returning soon, and wanted to so desperately see you.” Full lips quivered against the last words.

Evrich scowled. “I do wonder how you heard of my arrival, but I’ll let that slide for now. And as I have said before, Mistress, the implications of your actions are not lost upon me. And you understand that, given our positions, keeping our feelings out of the picture would be for the best, in keeping things amicable between us.”

Her smile curled, becoming cruel, nails scraping against the blue-and-gold of his surcoat as her hand pulled away. “Oh, my dear Evrich, if only you would loosen up, you would enjoy life so much more. But very well, I suspected you would give your usual answer. So, down to business, as usual.” Pacing the perimeter of the room, the Prime of Law stopped before the Duke’s portrait. “You have filed several more complaints to the Citadel, and I wish to address them.”

Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Evrich crossed the room, sitting behind his desk. Even within the steel plating of his armour, the cotton-stuffed cushions felt like clouds caressing his back, helping to loosen his muscles. With a sigh, he broke the silence. “Which complaints specifically are you referring to?”

Without turning, she spoke, her temperament once again even. “You have raised concerns about disappearing townsfolk, a lacking of resources to hire more guards under your authority, and you have also completely ignored my request to stop sending in reports on my regiment of sellswords.”

Letting the silence settle, Evrich picked up his letter opener, examining the delicate blade gifted to him by one of his privates. Gently placing it back down, he made sure to announce his displeasure with a scowl. “From the sounds of it, you aren’t going to answer any of my inquiries or requests, and are simply going to once again request my silence.”

“You’re partly correct. I must, once again, ask that you stop questioning my decisions on Marbleton’s security, though I understand that not only is it your main concern, but your job to worry about the city’s safety. Thus, I doubt you will heed my words on that front.” Turning, graceful as a dancer, Sara Hawse stared Evrich down with an emotion he had never seen from her before: conviction. “I wish to inform you that your concerns about the noted ‘disappearances’ are no more than the Duke’s decision to move the homeless into the inner district, where he has had a shelter prepared for them, and for the more troublesome criminals of our fine city to be moved into the dungeons beneath the Citadel.”

Evrich froze, bewilderment crossing his features. The Citadel, central hub of Marbleton’s government, had a dungeon? “What do you mean? Why would the Citadel have a dungeon? And why would you move ‘the more troublesome criminals’ so close to yourself, and the Duke himself?”

The Prime of Law’s lips lifted up into a genuine, kind smile, and Evrich, a hardened warrior, felt a chill run through his body.

“The Archmage requested the dungeons be built so that he could keep a closer eye on them. Truly a noble man he is.”

Having seen his ragged robes, the tattered cloth a mix of fresh black and faded grays, Evrich doubted that from the bottom of his heart.

Twirling, Sara Hawse turned her back to Marbleton’s captain, “I have answered your questions, and given you what I can. Please try to reduce how many forms you submit to the Citadel, and if you ever wish to request something more personal, you may send your letter directly to me.” Winking over her shoulder, she stepped towards the front of his office, knocking on the door with a quick rasp of her knuckles. Moments later, the guards just outside the office opened the doors for her, and the Prime of Law let herself out.

The doors closed once again, and Evrich was left with his thoughts, in a room that suddenly felt like not his own.

* * *

“What about this one?” Selora pointed towards a comfortable-looking inn, The Flying Bear scrawled on the sign, under a depiction of a bear in freefall. “It’s got an interesting name.”

“Well, the only way to get business in a big town like this is to stand out.” Talon pushed the door open, introducing them to a familiar scent of sweat, alcohol, and honey-soaked meat.

The establishment was finely furnished, filled with enough tables and chairs to seat roughly sixty people, giving just enough space between the furniture for someone to squeeze through. The adventurers walked up to the bar, where eight stools sat perfectly spaced apart, a burly man and a luscious woman hunched together behind the counter, conversing in hushed voices.

As they each took a stool, Torden needing a moment to clamber up to the top of the raised seat, the two staff members took notice, breaking off their conversation. Waving off the woman, the burly man stepped up to the counter. “Welcome! Welcome! What can I get for you three?”

“Rum, if ya got any,” Torden started.

Producing a wooden mug from under the counter, he poured a substantial amount of booze into it before sliding it smoothly across the bar’s lacquered top, flashing a quick smile. “Anything I can get for you two?”

Humming, Selora took a moment to think before answering. “Got any coffee prepared?”

“If you do, I’ll take a swig,” Talon added.

“Yeah, I think we got some left. Give me one moment to go check.” The large man wandered off to the back room, through a door just behind the bar, appearing a minute later with two glasses, each filled near the brim with the rich, brown liquid. “Here you go.”

Selora smiled as she took in the satisfying aroma. “Ah, that smells just as good as I’ve heard.”

Talon nodded his thanks.

The bartender eyed Talon for a moment longer than what might be considered polite, measuring up the deadly air that stirred around the roguish figure. Glancing around the establishment, he leaned forward, whispering. “You lot wouldn’t happen to be adventurers, would you?”

Talon nodded, his words slithering out in a similar level to the bartender’s. “We are. Got a job that needs taking care of?”

Biting his lower lip, the bartender nodded. “I do, yeah. But not here. If you’ll hear me out, I’ll let you three take one of the rooms upstairs for a night… free of charge.”

The adventurers turned towards one another, eyeing each other, coming to a silent understanding. Talon turned back to the large man, slow and deliberate in his movements. “Deal.”

Producing a key from one of his pockets, the bartender slid them across the counter with exaggerated care, Talon sliding them beneath his fingers before anyone could see. “Go up the stairs, and head for the last room on the left. I’ll meet y’all up there to discuss details. After supper, of course.”

“Of course.” Pocketing the key, Talon returned to nursing his coffee.

* * *

After finishing his drink, Talon spent the rest of the day’s light asking around town for information about the black-robed mage. His findings were sparse.

Everyone he asked either fidgeted and avoided the question, or were simply dumbfounded by his line of questioning. Something he’d taken notice of was that the closer he got to the upper-districts, the more fidgety the people got. A sign that not only had the mage passed through the area, but that he’d made his actions more noticeable as he headed deeper into Marbleton.

After hours of asking around, gaining no useful information, the sun set and the streets emptied. Talon’s expression was, as usual, somber. His frustration, however, was threatening to boil out; his fists were clenched tight, his lips pressed into a thin line. Trying to calm himself, he forced his body to relax, releasing his fists and letting his jaw loosen. By the time he’d made his way back to the Flying Bear, Selora and Torden had already returned from their day of interviewing. They’d found no more than he had, as he had expected.

Enjoying a hearty dinner downstairs, they made their way upstairs with full stomachs. Having finished their meals quickly compared to most of the other patrons, they had to wait for a good hour before the bartender slipped into their room, checking around the hall before shutting the door behind himself.

Licking his lips, and pacing the room, the bartender hesitated.

Scratching his chin, observing the man in silence for a moment, Talon broke the ice. “I’m getting that you might need a moment, but we’d like to go to bed sometime tonight. So, if you could hurry this up, that’d be very much appreciated.”

The bartender scowled, not taking kindly to the dangerous man’s approach, but he hurried nonetheless. “Okay, so look. There’s, uh… there’s been a… problem, lately. A town problem, specifically. Do you know anything about the… brutes that recently started supervising the city guard?”

Selora clicked her tongue. “We had a run in with them, yes. Seems they’ve stepped on more than a few toes during their time here.”

With a harrumph, the bartender regained some semblance of his confidence. “If that were the limits of it, we’d be blessed. But unfortunately they’ve stirred up a hornet’s nest, and some people haven’t taken too kindly to it.”

“Can’t blame ‘em. Hate bugs meself.” Everyone turned towards Torden, staring at the dwarf in silence as he drained his rum-filled waterskin before returning to their conversation.

Shaking his head, Talon pushed ahead. “I’m guessing the point you’re trying to get to, is that you want us to deal with the new guards.”

“Violently, I hope,” Selora chimed in.

“Well, uh, hopefully not.” The bartender swallowed hard. “I just, uh… okay, look. Ever since those brutes took over, people have started disappearing. It started with the homeless, and then the thugs and mercenaries; y’know, the types people tend not to miss much. But then there weren’t enough of the unmissed to take, and people started disappearing from the streets at night. People wandering back home after a good run of drinks, kids running last-minute errands for their parents, and even the occasional guard – the old guard, of course – started up and vanishing.”

“Quick question,” Talon didn’t wait for any kind of go-ahead. “How is it that you noticed people went missing at the beginning, when others didn’t?”

The bartender scowled. “I said that no one missed them. Kind of hard not to notice when the beggars stop begging. Besides, as the proud owner of a… somewhat-successful establishment, it’s my business to notice these things.”

The lack of stuttering, and the sudden burst of confidence put Talon off, but he made a point not to mention the burly man’s sudden change in tone.

Following a subdued yawn, Selora cut in. “So, what’s the job? You said that there would hopefully be no violence involved, so I’m guessing right now you just want us to track down where these missing people have been whisked away to, right?”

“Discreetly, if possible.” The bartender began to fidget about. From his pocket, he produced a small bag of jingling coins. “Six silver pieces, as an upfront cost. I’ll give you twice this amount once the job is done, if that’s acceptable for your services.”

Talon opened his mouth to object, but Selora beat him to the punch. “That’ll do for now.”

The rogue glared over his shoulder towards the knife-eared girl, the girl ignoring his caustic gesture.

“Of course, if any strenuous complications come up, we’ll be expecting adequate recompense,” Talon said.

Selora’s face scrunched up, and she cleared her throat to grab Talon’s attention.

The two adventurers eyed one another for a moment, their stares only broken due to the bartender’s stuttering.

“Uh, w-well yes, of… of course. That, um, that makes sense.” Handing Selora the bag of silver, the bartender slowly began to back away towards the door. “I’ll let you lot rest now, and you can begin your search tomorrow.”

“Will do.” Selora nodded, waving the burly man off as he slipped away into the hall.

Talon slowly turned towards Selora, his nostrils flaring. “You really don’t know how to haggle, do you?”

Pocketing the coins, Selora turned from Talon. “I don’t have the luxury of being choosey. I’ll take care of it, don’t worry. Won’t get in the way of your mission, but I’m also not here to get that done for you.”

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Talon sat down on one of the beds. “Fine, yeah, whatever.” Too tired to lecture her on the finer details of business, Talon stripped off his cloak and weapons. Kicking off his boots and slipping under the bed’s covers, he rested his hand atop his dagger, hidden beneath his pillow.

Walking over to the table in the center of the room, Selora clicked off the glass-encased lantern that illuminated the room. She glanced over at Torden, peacefully snoring in his chair. Deciding not to wake him, she moved to her own bed, unstringing her bow, and leaning the weapon against the wall. She fell quickly into the world of dreams, sleeping peacefully enough through the night.

She awoke the next morning to a sharp pain in her side.