I feel good about this, Kalin thought, as he listened to his plot begin to take shape from down in the cellar of the inn.

“FEEEAAAAARRRRR MEEEEEEEE MOOOOOORRRTTAAAALLLLSSS!!!!!!!”

Okay, maybe not so good. Kalin winced. He had worried Drakthareon might overplay his part, but the [Sanctified Bloodthirster] had sworn he’d play it cool as the grave.

Still, there was a good chance it would still work out fine. As long as the bandits in the inn above hadn’t ever met a regular [Bloodthirster].

Of course, they could be overdramatic too, I suppose.

All Drak had to do was get defeated by Sam, who would play the part of a wandering [Lich Hunter] who had tracked the foul beast through the sewers. They had dressed her in Drak’s billowing black robe, and as long as the bandits bought her story, she should be able to slip out of town to get word out. The various specialties of [Hunter] classes were usually solitary traveling types, and even bandits wouldn’t mess with one who tracked powerful undead.

According to Drak’s…culinary intuition, the [Bandit Lord] whose flesh he’d tasted had planned to take over Krinth for as long as he could before an army could be sent, at which point he’d flee with enough coin and trade goods to start a hoard. Kalin still had his tome at his side, but it would be days before he could use it to send his report to the Order. It was a good backup plan though, even if it would involve hiding out in the sewers for a few days.

He looked around the dusty stone room full of barrels. At least he’d have plenty to drink.

Kal had wanted to go out himself, but eventually he’d had to admit that, despite his dashing good looks underneath the grime, his overall appearance was not too good right now.

The rips and tears in his robe from the bandit’s dagger had only grown, spreading wide into what was left of the fabric after the explosion. It was beginning to get inappropriate, to be honest, and even bandits would probably realize something strange was going on.

This plan depended on the bandits above thinking someone was doing them a favor, not coming to steal their skin.

After a half-hour spent {Meditating}, he’d easily had enough mana to cast {Minor Cleanse} on himself as well as Sam, and he also felt significantly improved physically. He could have cleaned Drak up too, but he figured the smell would help sell the part.

“AAAGGGGHHHH A GRIEVOUS WOUND! I CANNOT BEEELLIIIIEEEEVVVVEEEE YOOOOUUUU HAAAVE DOOOOONE THIIIIS! YOUUUU WILLL PAY, PUNY—AAAAGGCCH”

Not that Drak had needed the help, apparently.

Kal listened as the gurgling sounds of death continued. His body was pressed against the stone just on the sewer-side of the cellar, behind the barrels of whiskey. In the light cast on the staircase from above, he could just make out the shadow of a chaotic struggle taking place. Drak should come tumbling down the stairs right about…

Something came tumbling down the cellar stairs, but Kalin was pretty sure it wasn’t Drak. It sounded too…fleshy. Not enough

He stepped quickly over to check, wishing suddenly for a dagger or something in case it was one of the bandits. It was hard to see in the dim light of the cellar, and he didn’t want to draw attention by using {Magelight}, so he cautiously knelt until he could make out features.

He cursed as he saw the lack of bones sticking out, then made out the [Tanner]’s short brown hair and realized it was Sam. He was glad not to have to strange a bandit with his bare hands, but what exactly had happened up there that Sam had been the one thrown back down?

“Somebody get Clarise, and some meat! This guy’s fading fast! And somebody go make sure that damn [Tanner] is dead,” a raspy voice called from above. As Sam stirred and groaned, Kalin dragged her into the shadows near the sewer entrance. He didn’t have time to get her all the way in, so he left her feet sticking out into the light from the stairs to the inn above as a grumbling bandit made their way down.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Always get stuck with ‘finishing off’ duty, don’t I? All day, slitting throats. Might as well have been a fecking [Butcher] and lived in society where I could—”

Kal saw the bandit stop in confusion as he reached the cellar floor and didn’t see anything. Then the bandit spotted the feet sticking out and made his way over, still mumbling to himself. Sam groaned again, and the bandit sighed as he loosened a long dagger from his belt. “Looks like it’s you and me again, Stabby.” He twirled the blade deftly around his fingers then stopped and brought it up to his lips, kissing the flat of the shining steel blade. “Hey, how’d you like to get acquainted with the boss up there sometime, Stabby? Neck-wise, I mean. Get a peek around the inside, as it were, you know?” His voice lowered to a whisper as he grabbed Sam’s leg. “I’m talking about murder, Stabby. Betrayal. You and me, together, getting out of this—”

The bandit froze as Kalin stepped out from his hiding place behind a cask of whiskey with his hands raised.

Before the bandit could do anything, Kal said in low, urgent tones, “I’ll pay you 10 gold to say she’s dead!”

The bandit stopped, then spoke in a nasally voice.

“Nah.” He turned his head to call up the stairs and Kal pounced, sending a {Shockwave} of force into the bandit’s stomach.

Why did people have to make things so difficult? Not that Kal had 10 gold, of course, but still. He would’ve figured something out.

“Oof!” The bandit gasped for breath and swung his dagger in a wide arc. Kal jumped back, knocking into the cask of whiskey with a loud thunk.

“Caspian, what’s going on down there? She dead?”

Just then a loud, extravagant groan of pain came from above.

“Blazes! Where the hell is Clarise? And finish up down there, Caspian!”

Caspian swung clumsily, and Kalin didn’t even need to cast to disarm the man. His attempt to pry the bandit’s fingers open immediately resulted in the dagger clattering to the stone ground, and the bandit shaking out his hand in pain. For a moment he and the man just stood there staring at each other.

They both dove for the blade, and Kalin got there first.

Caspian stared for a moment in dismay and then let his arms drop, standing up tall with a proud look in his eyes.

“Go on then,” he said calmly. “Do it!” Caspian thrust his chin upward and stared into the dark shadows of the cellar.

“I’m not going to kill you,” Kalin hissed. Caspian slowly lowered his chin, and frowned. “Then why were you fighting me?”

Kalin wasn’t sure what he’d done in a previous life to deserve his current one, but it must have been bad.

“I didn’t—you attacked me, buddy.” Kalin struggled to keep his voice down.

Caspian sniffed hautily, and Kalin had a chilling premonition of the bandit talking to Drakthareon. They would probably get along like malt and hops…

“You can’t join our group,” Kalin said quickly, trying to keep the frantic edge out of his voice. “Not that it’s really a group, but I’ve already got an aloof vampire hanging around, and I can’t afford—”

Caspian looked at him with great confusion. “What are you talking about?” He looked between Sam and Kalin. “Who said anything about joining your group? Do you even have a group?”

Kalin flushed. “I, err. Not really, but…I don’t know, it just seemed like things were heading that—”

“I’m not joining anything, buddy.” Caspian said, ice and venom coating his words. “I already got stuck with one group of fecking idiots, and I’m not about to join another.” He stared at Kal like he’d issued a challenge.

“Okay…then now I’ll just…” Kal wasn’t quite sure where to go from here. “Bind you up, if…that’s alright?” Caspian looked down at the knife in Kalin’s hand held between them and raised an eyebrow.

“Right,” Kalin said, nodding. He didn’t think he was doing this quite right. It all felt very awkward. He conjured up a simple {Binding} cantrip and started to tie the unmoving bandit’s hands behind his back. Halfway through, he stopped.

“Unless…” he moved back around to face Caspian, and words came more easily this time. “Listen, if you promise to go up there and just tell them she’s dead, I’ll…let you go.” He fished around in his ruined robe for his Sigil of Office. The bandit’s eyes went wide when he saw. “Cleric’s honor.”

Calling himself a Cleric did strongly imply that he was a full [Dragon-Mage], but it wasn’t technically a lie. There had been Clerics of the Order in the past who were just mages, right?

“Plus, I won’t have to tie you up and leave you in the sewer.” Kalin nodded back toward the green sludgy tunnel.

“Very well,” Caspian said in that same strangely aristocratic tone.

Caspian drew in a breath, looking Kalin in the eye as he called up. “She’s…dead!” He pronounced it with an air of extreme finality, like he’d just accomplished his life’s goal of killing an innocent [Tanner].

“Then get the feck back up here, idiot!”

“Thanks,” Kalin whispered. Then he thought of something, and just before Caspian left Kalin grabbed his arm. “Wait! If you can, please make sure they don’t kill Drak, alright? He’s the…person who came up with Sam.”

“Oh, the Bloodthirster, you mean?” Caspian laughed quietly. “I don’t think you need to worry about him.” With that, the bandit jogged up the stairs.

Kalin wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. And he was beginning to think that the group up there wasn’t your regular run of the mill wagon-raiding gang of bandits either…