Thrace wished she hadn’t come to this disgusting city.

      She’d only come because of Papa’s contact but, now she didn’t even have the tome. She wrinkled her nose as a human man stumbled past her and threw up in the street. Similar carousers sauntered about, looking for another bar or similar distasteful activities. The Outerwalls was a riot of color and fashion, ranging from the conservative, high collared robes favored by Followers of the Tenets to looser, baggier clothing favored by Tendorian commoners.

Her gaze actively avoided the family of three that wandered in her general direction. The two parents, humans, dotted upon their daughter. She was this pretty little thing, wearing a purple dress and prattling on about her lessons that day. The trio was probably heading to a restaurant for an evening meal. She couldn’t help but feel a pang in her heart as their laughter rolled over her.

Take a deep breath. Focus. You’ve wandered the streets for a few hours angry. You’ve wasted precious time.  She groaned inwardly. What was she going to do now?

“Wow! You there!” A knife-eared elf, probably only a few summers older than her, approached. He wore a sailor’s garb from his brown tunic, rainbow sash, and loose pants. His eyes were leering and roamed her from top to bottom, lingering here and there.“Ya lookin’ for any company? Cause, I could provide such services for an, erm, beauty such as yourself.”

“Out of my way, Knife-Ear.” Thrace glared at him and pointedly walked around him as fast she could. The sound of hollering and jeers followed her down the street, probably the sailor’s crew members berating the young Sailor for his failure.

If only I had taken a moment to memorize an invisibility spell! Of course, hindsight was perfect. Too many spells had been cast today. Thrace’s mind only retained three cantrips left and a single casting of “Surge”.

Arcane magic could only be retained in the mortal mind for a limited time. Each wizard - based on her competency, skill, and power - could retain a spell for a certain amount of time and had a limited amount of castings. Whenever either outcome finally came to pass the spell would vanish from the wizard’s mind. The incantation, the somatic forms, the material components required, and even what the spell did would vanish.

      Thus, a good wizard always kept her spell tome handy and studied it daily to ensure it was fresh in their mind.

A wizard could bypass this restriction through different methods. The most common was to simply open her spell tome and use it as a direct guide to casting a spell. But like all shortcuts, there was a cost. All magic came with a cost.

She forced herself to continue walking forward, calmly, when a patrol of Crownsguard marched down the street towards her. Don’t shrink away, don’t flee. Just act normal. They passed by without a word. None of them even glanced at her. Thrace let out a breath she didn’t even know she was holding.

Plus, trying to find a private space to cast would be difficult. She did not trust these shadowed alleyways. Who knew what lurked there? And, casting in public was out of the question. Drawing attention to herself was the least of her troubles. If any Crownsguard saw her casting and asked for a Guild Badge, well. She would certainly end up in a jail cell. That might be the fastest way to get into the Crownsguard Garrison but, what then?

What had she been thinking? Running away from her best chance at getting back Papa’s tome? That man, that “Knight”, had moved like a veteran soldier. Graceful, quick reactions, and competent in even magic. How had he dispelled her magic with a sword swing? How? And for that matter, the Half-Orc hadn’t wanted to hurt her. If he hadn’t been holding himself back, Thrace would be just like Papa - another corpse.

A man such as that, even if he was a Half-Orc, would elevate any chance at getting the tome back. And, he had seemed sorry about giving it away.

Don’t forget he charmed you! Her mind screamed at her. He can’t be trusted! You can’t trust anyone like that. You can’t trust anybody. She shivered as an old memory tried to rise to the surface. Thrace quickly surpressed that particular memory. 

Her eyes landed on a nearby piece of trash - a discarded tankard. Some drunkard’s she imagined. Thrace kicked it hard, sending it rolling down the street.

      It smacked into the shin of an unsuspecting leg, one that belonged to a very large, red-skinned hobgoblin. His black hair was long and worn free. He wore rugged leather with a longsword sheathed at his right hip - a mercenary or an adventurer. One could never tell.

“Ow! Fuckin’ hell!” The Hobgoblin's yellow eyes looked down at the tankard and up to see Thrace watching him. “Did you kick this?”

Thrace didn’t bother to respond. She quickly ducked into a nearby alley. She’d rather take her chances with a lurking terror in the shadows then tangle with a mercenary.

“Oi! Get back here!”

“Nine Hells take me,” she cursed. Thrace broke into a run.

      It was awkward, more of a shamble really. Her rucksack was heavy and she’d never been a runner. She ran blindly, turning randomly and almost bulling into several strangers lurking in these back alleys. Street urchins and one crazy-talker who shrieked when Thrace startled her.

After about five or so minutes, Thrace stumbled out onto a busy street. Gasping loudly, she leaned over with her hands on her knees. Folk stared at her, giving her a wide berth as they passed by. But - she looked behind herself - it looked like she’d lost the Gob.

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Thrace stood up straight and tall, only to find herself facing a gang of six. Four Dwarfs, Benevoran natives by the gemstones interwoven in their beards, and two humans. All male, all wearing similar dark leathers with their hoods up.

Her eyes fell upon their belts. Each of them was laden with an impressive array of daggers and swords. One of the humans had bursting pouches full of what looked to be herbs and other odd bits - a wizard possibly.

One of the dwarfs, with a fiery red beard and dark eyes, looked her up and down a couple of times. He leaned over to one of his compatriots and said, “Hey, Rallin.”

The Dwarf in question, whose hair and beard was pure white, grunted. He was reading a piece of parchment in his hands, squinting hard as if that would help him see the words better.

“Rallin, what was the description of those folk the Crownsguard were looking for?”

“Give me a mo’, Behdraas,” grumbled the older dwarf, Rallin. He reached into his satchel and began to set through it, the rustle of parchment reaching Thrace’s ears. “It’s in here, I promise.”

The other members of this problematic group didn’t stand idle. They began to slowly circle around Thrace, cutting off all of the possible routes for escape. She sighed inwardly. Could this day get any worse?

“What’s this about?” She asked, irritated. “And why the hell are you circling me?”

The ginger spoke up, a bit apologetically. “Sorry ‘bout this, Miss. You see, me and my friends are in the business of finding people.”

Thrace raised an eyebrow. “You’re all bounty hunters. Or stinking adventurers.” Great.

“We’re just honest folk trying to survive, Miss. And, the Crownsguard put out a bounty for two folks, Half- I mean, Uruks. You just happen to fit most of the criteria for the younger, ah, bounty.”

“And you think that gives you the right to just stop someone in the street?” Thrace began to stride forward. Maybe she could bluff her way out and hopefully find an opening. There was no way these men would risk drawing blades among a crowd. “Typical, greedy dwarfs! I don’t have to listen to this nonsense! ”

Two of the dwarfs’ faces darkened with anger at her words. Both looked to be brothers, based on the over-sized noses and dark brown, bushy hair. Those two stepped forward, blocking her way forward before crossing their arms.

The left one spoke to the Ginger, “Behdrass, she’s got a bit of a mouth on her. Does the bounty say she needs to be caught unharmed?”

“Quench your steel, Graddden!” ordered the Ginger. “We don’t even know if this is her! No need to rough up every girl we come across! Rallin, we need confirmation! Now!”

“Got it!” The older dwarf finally found the parchment and handed it to the Ginger. The Ginger, Behdraas, held it up, so he could compare it side by side to Thrace. A drawing.

Shit.

“It’s her alright.” Behdraas jammed the parchment into one of his pockets.  “In the alley, nice and quick. Don’t want anyone to play hero.” Behdraas zoomed in on her. “You, little lady, got some stones on ya. Assisting in impersonating an Eldritch Knight? You and whoever you were working for are crazy.” He nodded to a figure out of sight and behind Thrace. "Pardon me! Sir Knight! We found the one you were looking for!" 

What? She shook her head. Not important. Focus, Thrace.  Behind her, she heard the clink of chainmail and the distinct metal ring of a sword being drawn.

She turned around. 

The loose ring behind her had been opened a bit to allow a human man to enter. He was dressed in a green and bronze tabard that lay above chainmail. The tabard swirled with arcane runes that shimmered with emerald light. He wore leather greaves and boots, all marked in runes as well. Prominently displayed and hanging from his neck was a bronze disk with an emerald carved into a sword. 

An Eldritch Knight. 

The Knight looked her up and down before clicking his tongue. A wave of energy rolled over her from behind. She felt her body shivered as her real skin settled back in. “Dispel Magic”, a third tier spell. Not good.

"Thrace Dalwin," said the Eldritch Knight in a calm voice. "We were planning to let you live. After all, we just wanted your father's tome. But, you've involved yourself with someone we've been hunting for some time." He took a step towards her. "Come with us. We have some questions for you." 

So much for bluffing her way out. Thrace sprinted, away from the Knight, opening both palms as an incantation bubbled at her lips. Flame coalesced in both palms, and she chucked both fire bolts at the Ugly Brothers. The bolts streaked forward, trailing smoke. The two Dwarfs she aimed for didn’t even flinch as they drew their short swords.

The man with the component belt raised both hands and muttered something under his breath. He thrust both hands forward, palms open at the fire bolts. Thrace felt another wave emanate from his hands and sweep over the fire bolts. The moment the flames came into contact with it, they dissipated.

 Luckily, "Dispel Magic" wasn’t a spell that the wizard could just sling about. She had enough time to shoot off one more spell.

Still running at full speed, she muttered the arcane words and swept her arms down and behind her like a bird’s wings taking flight. Her body shimmered green, and she felt the power flow into her legs. Just as the two dwarfs stepped forward, ready for her, she leapt into the air. Her Surge spell enhanced her upward momentum. She shot into the sky, easily clearing the dwarfs and rising higher than even that.

For a brief moment, Thrace soared above the crowded street.

A whistling sound reached her ears. Pain lanced through her shoulder, breaking her concentration. Thrace dropped like a stone, falling fifteen spans. She hit the ground hard.

Her fingers reached behind her shoulder, feeling the shaft of an arrow and the warm gush of fresh blood. Don’t focus on the pain; get up. If you don’t, they’ll catch you.

Thrace got up, stumbling forward and pushing her way through the small crowd. Her impact had drawn quite a few folks. Upon seeing her bleeding, however, they reeled back and didn’t stop her. She dared to look behind her and instantly regretted it. The dwarfs were moving fast, shoving their way through. Two of them darted ahead, weaving their way through the crowd easily. One of the dwarfs vaulted over a stall that was nearly as tall as him.

They were going to catch up. She didn’t have anything in her repertoire that could help her elude escape. Flight was no longer an option - all that was left was to fight. 

Thrace raised a hand, palm open, and wondered, What the hell am I doing? Was she casting a spell? A cantrip? Her mind reached for knowledge it was so certain was there. But all she had left were two cantrips - “Shape Water” and “Shocking Grasp”. They were recently learned; Thrace didn’t know how many castings she was limited to for each. But neither required an open hand. 

Her eyes widened. Damnit, whatever cantrip she'd instinctively tried to cast was gone - she'd cast it too many times. The body always subconciously remembered what the mind had forgotten. 

At least, "Shape Water" and "Shocking Grasp" worked well together. Thrace began to search for any nearby source of water.