With the bottles of Placating Brew secured, Skrakch eagerly made his way back to The Slums. There was only one more piece of the puzzle that he needed before he could start tracking down the Chosen Shade.

The muscle. It would be complete and utter foolishness to try and fight a Chosen without an ace up your sleeve. Preferably an Ace with as much strength and power as possible. It was a good thing that Skrakch was on good terms with at least one such fighter…

As he made his journey back to the familiar streets, he was struggling to think exactly how he’d be able to bribe Winifed into helping him. Sure, she’d been a more than will accomplice on plenty of jobs when the coin had been right. But chasing down a Chosen? Who happened to be a Shade? Well…that was on a whole different level. He had to hope that despite these rather dangerous terms, the former pit fighter still had a price.

It was almost with a sigh of relief when he kicked open the doors to The Plagued Rat. The Ratling took a moment to savour the sights, sounds and even the smells that surrounded him. Sure, the mixture of sweat, cheap meat and stale ale didn’t make for the finest of perfumes, but it was practically the smell of home as far as he was concerned.

It was a stroke of luck, or just perhaps the fact that his companions were so oddly reliable when it came to mead, that both Winifred and Zacharias were sitting at their usual table in the corner. The pair looked as though they were in the midst of a heated argument.

Winifred’s powerful fists were clenched on the stained tabletop, her glare one that could cut through most other folks’ resolve. Zacharias was standing on his seat, as if he could make up for his short stature by towering over the seated fighter. His trademark smirk was nowhere to be seen. Instead he was scowling at Winifred as he pointed a finger dangerously near her face.

Skrakch sauntered over to the table to enjoy the latest show. As he did so, he noticed that two rather unremarkable thugs were eyeing him up from the next table. It wasn’t a weird sight by any means. Most patrons would enter staring contests with each other, desperately to prove who had the most bravado, but few of them dared to stare at the Ratling, knowing he ran with an accomplished thief and pit fighter.

Flashing his sharp incisor teeth in a snarl, the Iskrin felt his fur begin to bristle as one of the goons had the nerve to stand up and actually block his route to the table.

“Oi, them seats is taken you filthy-” The thug started to say as he crossed his thick scarred arms across his barrel-like chest.

Thankfully, Zacharias cut the man off before Skrakch could lunge at the poor idiot’s throat.

“Alright, alright. Sit the fuck back down ya bloody knob. I told you about him. What other bloody Ratling would be in this pub? Fuckin’ brainless wankers.”

Skrakch pushed past the hapless oaf who was stuttered some half-assed apology to the Halfling and took his usual seat at the table.

“The fuck is this, Zacharias?” He demanded. “Since when have you had a thing for picking up strays? Your little lapdogs need more training unless they want their throats cutting,” Skrakch continued, speaking loud enough to make sure the two thugs could hear every word. They shot him mutinous looks but continued with their card game.

Skrakch looked at Winifred, who was halfway through a hefty looking meat pie that was oozing a rather gray looking gravy onto a filthy plate. Anger clouded her face, her clenched jaw was obvious despite her attempt to look neutral.

“Aye, I wanted tae know that too,” She said, glaring at Zacharias. “So what’s going on Wee Man? I think we both deserve tae know about yer new friends.”

“Come on Darling,” Zacharias sat back down and rolled his eyes. “How about you letting it go? So their old boss tried to kill us,” He shrugged. “It happens a lot in our line of work. Get over it.”

Winifred very much looked like she wanted to ‘get over it’ by using the Halfling’s scarred face as a punching bag but, much to Skrakch’s surprise, she managed to keep a lid on her anger and went back to her pie, chewing on the soggy pastry disconsolately.

Zacharias ran his grubby fingers through his unruly hair, combing it down absentmindedly before helping himself to another glassful from the large pitcher of ale in the center of the table.

“The fine blokes you see here represent our newest companions,” He announced with his typical air of theatricality. “As our dear Winnie has already worked out, they used to be part of Sykes’ crew. The poor bastards didn’t know where to turn when we offed him so I made them an offer they couldn’t refuse,” He leaned back in his chair and grinned. “If all goes well, we’re going to get the Dragon’s Blood business flowing again.”

Skrakch stared at the smug Halfling in shock, slowly working his jaw open and closed. Now that he’d mentioned it, the tattoo that one of the thugs was sporting on his chest was awfully familiar. It clicked into place exactly where he’d seen the roaring Dragon’s head before.

“You’re kidding right?” Skrakch asked in disbelief. “You told me yourself that Sykes was the only one in Dray’Mel who knew where Dragon’s Blood comes from. I know you’re not known for your staggering fucking intellect but how exactly are you planning to peddle something you don’t even have?”

“Aye, and messin’ around with the people who tried tae kill us? It’s not just bloody daft, it’s fuckin’ insane,” Winifred chipped in, shaking her head. “You’ve clearly lost yer wee hid. May I remind ye of our most recent acquisition? Don’t ye think we’ve got enough heat surrounding us without falling in with worthless louts who’ll betray ye soon as look at ye?” She demanded angrily, stabbing her knife into her meat pie.

Raising his hands in a placating gesture, Zacharis flashed what he clearly thought was a cheeky grin. With his new scar-ridden face, it looked more like a pained grimace, angry red wounds stretched taut across his cheeks.

“That’s the beauty of it! We take the coin we make from our ‘sales’ and we invest it in a new source of Dragon’s Blood! We’ll be up to our eyeballs in coin.”

“Aye and I’ve told ye and told ye! Dinnae go messin’ with junkies. Aye, they may be desperate for a fix and shower you with whatever coin they have, but what happens if ye cannae find this magical new source? I’ll tell ye what happens, shite hits the fan and every junkie in the city will want ye guts for garters!” Winifired argued.

“So forget the coin, even though we’ll have more than we’d ever need,” Zacharias replied. “Where the fuck does gold get you anyways? Nah, what we need is power. Real fucking power. I’m not talking about some pathetic street vermin whining for his latest fix. I’m talking about those up in the Residential Quarter. The so-called Lords and Ladies who like to ‘indulge’ in something from the dark side of life,” The Halfing continued. “If I don’t get this new source, and let’s be real here Darling, it’s a pretty big fucking ‘if’, you really think all of those richy-riches are going to be crying to the Tomb Makers that they can’t have their illegal drugs? Do me a favour! It’s a foolproof plan I’m telling you. We end up with a shit-ton of coin and even more power or, it goes tits up and we still end up with a shit-ton of coin.”

Winifred stared at Zacharias for a long moment, before letting out a weary sigh. “Yer mental you are. Ye expect us tae become crimelords, and run the Slums? Yah got tae be kidding me, ye thick fuck. That only ends one way, as Sykes could tell ye. Ye know, if I hadn’t bloody splattered his skull inwards!”

Face twisting into an ugly scowl, Zacharias matched eyes with the brawler, neither backing down.

Scoffing to himself at their pointless argument, Skrakch was about to speak up about his own business when a large booming noise blasted through the tavern, followed by a deep rumble that shook the building they were in to its very foundations.

Tankards of ale spilled to the floor as patrons cried out in surprise and fear in equal measure, as the Rogues got to their feet. Before anyone had a chance to move, a deep horn sounded out in the distance, the air reverberating until it suddenly cut off.

“What in the Nine Hells was that?” Zach cursed loudly, the sentiment echoed by plenty of the bars patrons who were loudly questioning and shouting in the confusion.

“That would be the horn that the Tomb-Makers use,” Skrakch answered gravely, his tail going rigid with fear as he eyed the tavern’s doorway. “To signal when the Outer Walls are being attacked.”