Rickard flipped through the letters with a hurried vigour, his expression grim. After hearing about a thief caught stealing documents from the guard barracks the day before, he tracked down Scarlett and Rolt, his hunch confirmed as she handed him the stack of tampered envelopes.

The ex-soldier read with flared nostrils, each letter building up his rage, one offense at a time. There was no indication to the order of which they’d been written, but he was slowly piecing it together. Detailed letters from the Prime of Law, as well as the Duke’s Archmage, made it clear that the decay of the old guard was neither Evrich’s idea, nor within his authority to fully stop.

Eventually, he set the stack of papers down, reluctant to consider the full meaning of them. Pinching the bridge of his nose, he looked over at Scarlett and Rolt, whom sat together, waiting. “I’m going to be honest. I was hoping against hope that all the recent troubles had just been coincidence, and that Marbleton’s government hadn’t fallen to such a state, but you’ve confirmed it for me.

“So, while I spread word around to look for your friend, I have another request. It’s one that I have no leverage on, and ask in the simple hope that you’ll accept: please, confront Duke Giles on my behalf, and find out what’s caused this radical change in his behavior.”

“No.” Scarlett replied immediately. “Look, this place’s problems aren’t ours, and while I understand how terrible these things can get when left unchecked, I don’t work for free.” She didn’t look away, bowing her head to the side a moment later. “Sorry.”

Rickard sighed. “It’s fine. You did what was paid for, and it was selfish of me to ask anything more of you.” Not one to sulk, he shrugged. “Nothing to be done about it. I’ll just have to-” Before he could finish, Rolt stepped forward, leaving Rickard in an awkward silence.

Quickly, Rolt pointed over his shoulder at Scarlett, then shifted his finger towards the letters she’d acquired, finally pointing towards himself.

“Uh…” Rickard stammered, glancing between the indicated items. He almost jumped as Scarlett groaned, a little louder, and more dramatic than was necessary.

“He’s saying that ‘since he hasn’t done anything to earn the information you’re going to provide, he’ll do the job’.” She shook her head, exasperated. “You know, you’re way too nice for this line of work.”

Rolt shrugged, thinking little of his companion’s assessment.

Taken aback, Rickard was conspicuously quiet for a few moments before stating his concern. “While I appreciate the offer, you’re not the most reliable person when it comes to… negotiation.”

Without hesitation, Rolt turned towards Scarlett and rubbed his index and thumb together. The redhead groaned again. “Fine, I get it! We’ll head out tonight, forty minutes before the guards change their shifts.”

Rickard’s eyes bounced back-and-forth between the two adventurers.

Seeing his confusion, Scarlett explained: “The big guy’s going to pay me, to help you. Like I said, he’s too nice.”

“I see.” Rickard looked over Rolt, nodding. “Well, thank you.”

Rolt tilted his head; a sign of understanding, Rickard thought.

* * *

Based on Rickard’s information, Duke Giles’s private chambers lay on the top floor of his estate, near the center of town, deep in the upper-district.

Guards patrolled the city in pairs, marching back and forth along their assigned routes. Furthermore, they were set up in a way that certain streets were almost always occupied, having patrols enter as another left. Seen as one of the strictest cities in Udrela, Marbleton’s rate of crime was kept incredibly low, with punishments executed without delay and without mercy, often at the perfunctory decision of the Prime of Law. The upper-district, however, applied even stricter rules, with unauthorized persons imprisoned or executed on sight.

Even as daylight faded, and the first moon began cresting over the city walls, this didn’t change. What did change was the guards’ ability to see, and Scarlett knew how to exploit this. Once night fell, one in each pair of guards lit a torch, carrying it in their off-hand so their sword was still easily within reach. The advantage of the torch was an increase in visibility; the disadvantages, were that it made it incredibly easy to spot the one holding it, as well as blinding them to anything past the flame.

From the darkness of a cramped alley, Scarlett licked her lips, eyes squinting in concentration.

A large wall of marble, resembling the walls that protected Marbleton from outside threats, circled the upper-district, separating it from the rest of the city. The only ways in and out of the upper-district were two sets of heavy, double doors: one entered from the south end of town, the other from the north. To make things more difficult, there were no buildings within a hundred meters of the wall, and all greenery was kept cut down, leaving that stretch of land flat, and without cover.

Given enough time, Scarlett had no doubt she could scale the wall, it being a good bit shorter than the outer walls, but not without abandoning Rolt in the lower-district. For as much as she didn’t mind going in alone, if something that required brute force came along, she’d rather have her giant of a companion next to her.

With that said, they’d need a distraction.

A small guardhouse, nestled against the edge of the flattened land. Next to it, some stables, a pair of horses snuffling, whinnying, and kicking against their wooden confines.

Perfect, Scarlett thought.

Before rounding around to the stables, Scarlett whispered to Rolt, “Rush the door the moment the guards leave. I want that door open by the time I make my way back around.”

Rolt cracked his neck before cracking a toothy smile, nodding.

Skirting around the perimeter, slinking through alleyways and behind waist-high fences of piled stone, Scarlett slipped over to the guardhouse, and into the stables.

Two mares muddled inside, snorting at her approach, secured to their posts by knotted ropes. Stacked against the back wall was a small pile of hay, settled beside a broom, brushes, and buckets. Tiptoeing over to the horses, Scarlett pushed at the posts, testing their grip on the dirt; one gave way while the other stayed stock still.

The horses quieted down, eyeing the redhead.

Crouching down to the loose post, Scarlett slipped her hands under the grips that kept the rope from sliding up over the post, and heaved. Slowly it slid out, eventually popping free, the pressure leaving indents in the redhead’s fingers. Hissing, Scarlett moved over to the other post and untied the rope, fumbling at it with her still-stinging fingers. Slinking over to the pile of hay, she took out a piece of flint alongside a strip of metal around a centimeter thick.

“Okay, let’s see if I still remember how to do this.” Preferring to stay in the busy streets of larger cities, or on the deck of a rocking ship, Scarlett rarely had a need to start a fire. Thus, it took several tries of striking the flint against steel before sparks began to appear. Within moments, a small flame flickered into being, beginning to consume the dry straw. Behind the adventurer, the horses continued whinnying.

She waited for a few moments and, unsatisfied with the flame’s growth, threw the broom and brushes into the fire. The flames expanded, consuming the straw in moments, spreading fast to the wooden structure around it. Soon, it would be a raging inferno.

Scarlett turned to see the horses pushing themselves against the exit, crying out as they made their way out into the open and fled. Scarlett followed, slipping past the noisy animals before slinking back into the shadows.

In the distance, she heard the rising voices of guardsmen, shouting out to one another as they rushed, scrambling to put out the fire. Scarlett ran, abandoning stealth in favour of speed. Hopping over fences and dashing through alleys, she hesitated only for a moment as she reached where she’d left Rolt, sprinting out into the open towards the gate that would take them into the upper-district. The guardhouse burned like a pyre now, guards trying to both put out the fire while chasing down their horses.

Smirking to herself, Scarlett slipped through the narrow opening of the rusted gate, hinges grinding behind her as Rolt pushed his entire weight against the door, shutting it. “Good work, big guy.” Scarlett smiled, turning around and patting her friend on the shoulder, Rolt grunting. “Right. Now, let’s head towards the good ol’ Duke’s place.”

Rolt tapped her on the shoulder, pointing between the two of them and then at the gate they’d just passed through, shrugging.

“Oh, right. Hm… Well, we’ll worry about that when the time comes to worry about it.”

Rolt sighed, and the adventurers made their way towards the Duke’s manor.

They skulked through empty streets filled with high-end shops, eventually leading into the residential area, where expensive estates were separated by iron-wrought fences. The Citadel, hidden away in the northern end of the district, became larger as they neared the center, eventually coming upon the Duke’s manor.

Crafted from the shimmering marble that the town was known for, the building stood two stories tall, four superficial spires at each corner of the property. Half-a-dozen guards in red surcoats patrolled the premises, warding off any potential thieves that might have the idea of sneaking in.

More than mere thieves, Scarlett and Rolt were professionals, and refused to be put off by such low-level protection. Leading them around the perimeter, Scarlett made sure the two were well out of the sentries’ line of sight, hurrying to the eastern side of the manor, crouch-running up to the spike-tipped fence of black iron.

“Lift me over.”

At the redhead’s instructions, Rolt crouched down, cupping his hands together, Scarlett placing her foot safely within his grasp. Whispering, she counted down from three. As she finished, Rolt lifted her into the air, Scarlett subsequently kicking off his hands and shoulders, launching herself over the fencing.

Slipping her fingers between the spikes, Scarlett swung over the fencing, landing safely on the other side, now crouched within the boundaries of the Duke’s property. She glanced over her shoulder, watching with amusement as Rolt wrapped his hands around the spikes and hauled himself over the fence, the sharp edges digging into his calloused palms yet never cutting them. With both adventurers safely over the barrier, Scarlett waved for her companion to follow her as she headed for a line of bushes.

Ducking behind the shrubbery, Rolt having to lay almost completely flat, the two waited until a lone patrol turned his back to them. Scarlett tapped Rolt’s shoulder twice, the warrior rising from the shadows like a spectre. With surprising speed, Rolt smashed his fists into either side of the guard’s head, the shock of crumpling steel cracking bone, spilled blood running in rivulets from the crushed helmet. They hid the body behind the bushes, moving to the manor’s side.

Using one of her daggers, Scarlett popped open the latch on a small window, slipping through with ease. She motioned towards Rolt, twirling a finger in a circular pattern. “Circle around and look for a back door. If one exists, I’ll see about opening it from inside.”

The giant of a man disappeared around the corner into the darkness.

Scarlett took in her surroundings, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. She could barely hold back her disgust. Put simply, the place was a mess.

Stacks of crusty books, covered in piles of discarded laundry, and rotting half-eaten food, littered the room. The red velvet couch and guest chairs served as makeshift counters, housing the foul smells and unwashed items that now invaded Scarlett’s senses. She covered her face with her palm, hoping to stave off the odour and taste of foul air.

Taking tentative steps, she approached one of the many stacks of books littering the room, sheathing her dagger before picking up a leather-bound journal, its deep brown long faded. A streak of dried crimson stained the edges of its binding, the scentless blemish cracking beneath the redhead’s touch. Whether it was blood, or wine, Scarlett wasn’t sure.

Flipping through the crusty journal, she found entries from a wizard in the field, reporting on the local sightings of a terrifying creature. The journal continued with the magic-user’s travels, following the trails of his ‘cursed beast,’ describing how it sustained itself on the flesh of living creatures, having terrorized the people in the area for months. The last bit of the wizard’s writing claimed that he would dispose of the beast. It ended with several blank pages left to spare.

“Probably blood,” Scarlett whispered, throwing the journal onto a different stack of books, continuing to dig through the old, weathered pages. They varied greatly in age, authors, and even value, some easily worth hundreds of gold pieces given their fine print and wonderfully-decorated covers, and others seemingly nothing more than the scribblings of madmen bound in bundles of musty parchment.

The single connection between them all was the reference of the horrific beast. Its name, mentioned exclusively in those journals penned by someone known as Archmage William, was scratched out in heavy ink. Someone had tried very hard to keep the creature nameless. Though the portrayal of the beast’s physical form differed from work to work, several things stayed the same: its sudden appearance in each area, to the tough but fleshy exterior, its carnivorous eating habits, the beast’s frightening ability to “recruit” certain humans, and its singular eye. Whatever this creature was, Marbleton’s Duke had a strange fascination with it.

As she began to sink into her thoughts, a light tapping brought Scarlett back into the real world, her ears twitching as she picked up on the familiar rhythm. Knock knock knock… knock… knock knock. Smiling, she followed the rhythmic tapping, finding a door with a simple latch keeping it locked. Turning the small dial, she swung open the door to see Rolt standing just outside, his muscular body blocking most of the moonlight from entering the manor.

Before Scarlett could say anything, Rolt pointed down to where he was standing, mimicking a guard standing at attention, then smacking his fist into his open palm before pointing over to a tree, where Scarlett could just barely make out the unmoving form of another guard.

Scarlett gave Rolt a thumbs-up with a smile plastered on her face as she backed away. “Let’s head upstairs.”

Rolt nodded, beginning the awkward process of squeezing through the cramped door frame.

After several seconds of repressing her giggling, Scarlett took her position as the lead, tiptoeing up the long stairway tucked away at the front of the house.

Through the open living space, the two passed by every manner of painting, sculpture and tapestry they could identify, and several neither recognized. Clearly, along with his obsession for a flesh-eating monster, the Duke was really into art. Expensive art, specifically. Scarlett’s lips pulled into a scowl as she scanned the wanton waste of wealth surrounding her.

Reaching the second floor, Scarlett raised her hand, halting Rolt as she peeked around the corner. Staring down the hall, she watched for any sudden movement, catching nothing but the dull rays of moonlight through a square window at the end of the corridor. Clear, the two intruders passed the bend.

Down the hall were three doors, two on the right and one on the left. “Wait here until I give you the signal to move,” Scarlett whispered, moving forward, a single dagger drawn as she slowly inched open the first door.

Peeking in, she could see the barest outline of a wooden tub, large and circular, shoved to the back of the room. An iron chamber pot sat closer to the door, filled to the brim with waste. Swallowing back her retching, she closed the door to the bathroom, heading for the room farther down the hall, where a nearby window illuminated the inside as she pushed on the door.

The Duke’s personal library greeted them. Each shelf was tightly packed, books pressed in flat rows, organized by shape and color. Atop the Duke’s desk sat uneven stacks of old journals, chaotic compared to the clean organization of the shelves.

As interesting as it would be to dig through all the material, they had more pressing matters to attend to. Scarlett backed away, closing the door to the tiny library.

Stepping up to the third door, she motioned Rolt over, pushing at the door. The knob turned smooth in her hand. She reeled as stale, fetid air assaulted her senses, eyes watering as she pushed through. Moldy, half-eaten meals sat around the room, flies buzzing around the old food.

On the edge of his massive bed, unblinking, the Duke of Marbleton sat. Rocking to an inaudible rhythm, hands clasped so tight his knuckles turned white, Arthur Giles muttered to himself. Atop the bed lay a woman, throat sliced open, splattered blood staining the pillow and sheets around her mummified corpse.

The Duke stood at half the height of a normal man, yet carrying twice as much fat. His twirling moustache and thick goatee were speckled by crumbs, standing out against the graying brown hair. The Duke’s clothes, wrinkled and stained, sagged against his sweating body, the simple buttoned shirt and straw-strung breeches contrasting against his elaborate hair. Blue and white stripes stretched across the portly man’s width, yellow and brown spots staining his lower half, adding to the collage of smells. The Duke’s eyes, so gray and so drab, strained against his sockets, threatening to pop out at any moment, pupils mere dots against the bloodshot canvas of his eyes.

Scarlett and Rolt stepped into the bedroom, closing the door behind them, a large window lighting up the room. Silk curtains lined the large bed, drawn back to reveal the oversized mattress covered in several layers of expensive sheets, pulled by the clawed digits of the murdered woman. Getting closer, they saw the Duke’s hands were stained red, skin cracked and peeling beneath the blood.

Scarlett scowled as she stepped forward. “Hey.” Her voice was soft, lips trembling.

Duke Giles didn’t respond, continuing to mutter.

“Hey!” She raised her voice into a sharp bark, but still the Duke refused to respond.

Crouching down, the redhead focused in on the Duke’s crazed mutterings, his wet slurring a disgusting smack of incoherence. “Come to me. Come to me. Come to me.” Over and over the Duke repeated the mantra, his voice cracking and changing pitch with each repetition, sometimes so mangled that the words barely resembled human speech.

A chill ran down her spine, Scarlett shooting back up to her feet. It wasn’t the words themselves that started spinning alarms in her head, but something behind the words, like a gnawing presence pushing out, as though psychic tendrils were trying to capture her mind within their twisted grasp.

Her skin tingling, teeth aching, Scarlett reached out, her hand hovering over the Duke’s shoulder. She gasped as Rolt took hold of her arm and pulled it away, shaking his head. She rarely ignored Rolt’s warnings, his instincts sharper than most, but they needed whatever information the Duke had, and needed to shake him out of his trance. “Don’t worry, big guy. I got this.”

Holding her gaze for a few moments longer, Rolt finally released her arm, taking several steps back, hand reaching instinctively for his sword.

Pulling in a deep breath to steel herself, Scarlett reached out. “Listen up, pork-brains, we need-”

Scarlett’s hand gripped the Duke’s shoulder, and he screamed, pupils dilating against the agonized shrieking tearing through the air. He clawed at the sides of his head, dead skin peeling up beneath dirty fingernails, the man thrashing, tartar spraying from his yellowed teeth.

Scarlett reared back, catching the near inaudible sound of steel against leather as Rolt unsheathed his sword. “Hold on a minute, we still need answers!”

The floor rumbled under their feet, clunking footsteps charging up the stairs from below.

Biting her lip, Scarlett growled. Twisting, she ran towards the rays of moonlight seeping in. “Through the window!” Drawing her dagger, she pried at the window, the frame unmoving against the lithe blade.

Rolt charged, grabbing Scarlett in his arms as his shoulder crashed through the window, the sound of shattering glass chiming like a bell in the silence.

Sword held firmly in his hand, Scarlett wrapped around his opposite arm, Rolt landed on his feet, powerful legs taking the brunt of the impact. The yelling of guardsmen surrounded them, screams of horror booming from the Duke’s room. Rolt bolted for the manor’s fence, bounding across the open courtyard with sword in hand.

Rolt raced around the corner, building up speed as he closed in on the iron fence. With one mighty leap, he crossed the spear-topped barrier, spinning his body midair to clear it, landing hard on his side. Scarlett rolled from his arm, Rolt’s body cushioning the blow for her. Crawling to their feet, the pair heard the distinct sound of a dozen bows being drawn in unison.

“Halt!” A high-pitched voice cracked as it commanded, the speaker standing between a retinue of guards, twelve with bows, six others wielding sword and shield. “You have entered the upper-district without proper authorization, trespassed on private property, and worst of all, have been caught red-handed attempting to assassinate Duke Arthur Giles. Any further resistance will be met with immediate, and lethal force.”

Cursing under her breath, Scarlett’s dagger slipped from her fingers, aching from the iron grip she’d kept during Rolt’s mad dash.