Wicket,

Got to move on now. Good luck, and watch out for those crawly beasties.

- K

I scratched the letters onto the small sheet of parchment and looked it over sombrely. Shaking away my hesitation with a sigh, I folded it neatly and slid it underneath the locked door. He’ll probably still be asleep for another few hours, at least. Hopefully he’ll understand.

Wicket was definitely a talented young lad, very much so. Though perhaps a bit too into his work. I’d never seen one of them pull their journal out in the middle of a battle before, but he did it as if it was second nature.

He’ll make a good Inspector. I'm sure of it.

I shifted my satchel on my shoulder, turned from the door, and walked away. But he doesn't need me anymore. It's time he gets there himself.

A cool breeze sent leaves sliding across the worn cobblestones of the Sirocco city streets. Dew gathered on the grass and eaves of buildings and lazily dripped down, the sun above obscured by dark gray clouds.

I turned down the road, moving towards the local Parish. A modest stone building stood at the far end of the street, with a bell tower reaching towards the heavens. Even at this early hour, members of the congregation headed inside for their morning service.

The heavy wooden doors stood open, allowing the spring breeze to sweep through the building and pull against the wisps of burning incense. Dim light peeked through a modest stained glass window, painting the churchgoers in vibrant hues of yellows and oranges. I took a seat near the back, blending in with the parishioners who bowed their heads in prayer.

The service was one I’d heard many times before, yet my mind wasn't entirely focused on the hymns and liturgy. My calling often led me to seek guidance in such places, but today my purpose was much less spiritual.

As the service drew to a close and the flock of parishioners flowed back into the streets, I caught the gaze of Father Cedric from behind the pulpit. Our paths had crossed before, he was well known as a stern man, with a solemn face that matched the weathered stone of the church.

“Kerich.” he approached, his face neutral. “I didn’t expect to see you so soon. Come, let us speak.”

He led me back through the church, to a small room off the main hall. It held a modest desk and well-worn chairs. Small towers of paper were stacked nearby, and a pair of small bins marked “In” and “Out” sat side by side.

“So. What are you here to report, guardsman?”

Guardsman. such an often wrought euphemism. In the common people, it evokes a sense of security and comfort. That they remain safe and protected behind the city walls.

Fortunately, or unfortunately for me, the priest was one of those who knew the title for what it was.

A farce. A carefully crafted lie the empire boldly tells.

“I’m just passing through, Father,” I replied with a weary smile. “I crossed paths with a junior Inspector that had missed his wagon here, and decided that it would be best for me to escort him to the center.”

“Passing through, wonderful. Then I’ll assume you need a new assignment.” he paused and gestured to one of the chairs. “Sit. This might take a moment.”

I sank into the chair, the wooden joints creaking under my weight. The father did the same, sitting quietly behind the desk. “What can you tell me?”

For a moment the room was silent. Then, Cedric pulled open a drawer and pulled out a sheaf of paper, reading it over.

“Middle aged man, about average height, lived in Notus for most of his life with his mother. An investigation several months ago concluded that he had been involved with a spree of illegal raids of some high-risk dungeons; he disappeared just after the investigation ended.”

“I see…”

“However, he recently made an appearance in Sirocco. he sent two lump sum money orders to Notus. One to his mother, and another to an old work associate. They were intercepted, of course.”

“What dungeons have he raided?”

"Since he made his sudden reappearance, both Whisperwood Crypt and the Sunken Tomb."

I nodded.Both were relatively small, obscure sites, not the usual spots for a seasoned dungeon raider. "Not exactly prime targets for someone looking to get rich quick."

“Which begs the question:” Cedric began. “Where will he strike next? One can only scavenge so much from some previously cleared dungeons.”

“He’ll want to strike a newly bloomed one…” I trailed off, deep in thought.

“Could be,” He agreed. Suddenly, he leaned forwards on his desk, looming over with a dark expression. “Kerich, I have reason to believe that he has an ally in the Sirocco Dungeon Center.”

The revelation hit me like a cold wave. “Father, the inspector I arrived with came with news of a freshly bloomed dungeon. One mere hours from the city.”

Cedric's expression hardened. “Then we have reason to believe that he’ll make for that dungeon soon. The timing is too coincidental. This man, whoever he is... he could be scouting new dungeons the moment they bloom- before the Empire gets word and has time to mobilize."

"Dangerous, indeed," I agreed. "Which means your suspicion of an inside ally is likely correct. Someone in the Dungeon Center, tipping this man off..."

Cedric nodded, his voice quiet. "Keep that information close, Kerich. It won't be easy to root out the traitor."

“Of course.” I paused for a moment, then an idea came to mind. “Father, do you know when the Center may send a subjugation party?”

He pondered the question, his hand rising to his chin. “With news of a new dungeon, especially one so close… They may have already sent one. Likely began staging during our morning service.”

The pieces were slowly coming together in my mind. And I did not like the picture they painted.

“If he has a mole within the Dungeon center, then he would already know when and where they would be. Emperor above, he may even try to insert himself into the party, posing as a member to get inside!”

Cedric's eyes widened. “Then we have no time to lose. Go to the stables by the north gate, tell them that I sent you, and that it's urgent. Then make haste to the dungeon. This man must be stopped.”

I stood from my chair, determined. “It will be done.”

Quickly, I set out from the parish, rushing through the city streets. The North Gate Stables were exactly the sort of establishment I remembered it being: little more than a run down shack clinging to the fringes of the city walls.

I pushed through the thick curtain that acted as a doorway and came face to face with a wiry man.

“Father Cedric sent me,” I said breathlessly. “It’s-”

“Urgent?” The man’s lips twitched in what might’ve been a smile. “Aye, I get his sort. Follow me.” He ducked into the stables, and I followed.

He led me past nervous warhorses towards a far corner. There, tucked away, was an unimpressive brown mare with a sturdy build and a gaze that spoke of long miles and quiet roads.

Perfect.

He handed me a well-oiled saddle, the leather worn but supple. "Supplies are in the bags. She ain't flashy, but she'll get you where you need to go."

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With a curt wave, he stepped back out of the stable and left me alone. As I prepared the mare, my mind raced nervously.

I’d need to stake out the dungeon fast. Who knows what this mysterious outlaw might have planned

----------------------------------------

The mare was indeed as steady as promised. I’d reached the edge of the dungeon blighted lands by almost midday. The clouds above grew darker as I approached, a drizzle of rain steadily falling down and soaking into the ground.

In the distance, Cryptshroud rose.

I dismounted quietly and led the mare along, before spotting a modest encampment through the trees.

Must be the subjugation force. This is what I'm here for.

As I approached, I was able to make out the individual men. Rough veterans and a handful of younger recruits, no more than forty or so in all. Their weapons were pristine, their polished armor glinting in the rain.

“Hold there!” A sudden shout came from my left, making me pause. Two men stepped out of the shadows, swords half drawn. I raised my hands slowly and turned to face them. “What business do you have here?”

“SDC?” I asked, aiming for a weary tone. “I’m with the Guard, I’ve been sent to assist.”

The men exchanged a skeptical glance, but one of them nodded. "Command tent's that way. Sergeant Gorvic is about to lay out the battle plan." One of them grunted, jerking his thumb towards the largest makeshift shelter at the center of the camp.

I walked over, trudging through the mud of the encampment, and entered the command tent, glad to finally be out of the rain. The space inside was dim, the air thick with the scent of woodsmoke and damp leather.

Multiple soldiers stood gathered around a grizzled looking man that sat behind a makeshift desk, poring over a map spread out before him. He looked up as I entered, his one good eye assessing me sharply. Streaks of gold stretched across the scars adorning his face.

“Name and rank.” He barked.

“Kerich, Guardsman, assigned to the Southern Patrol.” I kept my tone respectful. “I’ve been sent to help with your subjugation.”

“I’m Sergeant Gorvic.” The man replied sternly. Then a smirk appeared on his face and he chuckled to himself, in a wheezing sort of way.

“Here I thought I’d seen everything, but one of the empire’s garbage men being sent to help on the front lines? That’s a new one.” He snarked, before surveying the crude map again. I tried not to let the barb get to me, but my eyes narrowed regardless

“What can you say about the dungeon?”

“Well, so far the initial inspection report has been accurate. We’ve been dealing with roving bands of skeletons since we set up shop. But they’ve been easy enough to put down.” He explained.

"Strange business though. Damned thing bloomed faster than a spring weed. Captain wants this shut down quick, the usual spoils confiscated before some fool outlaw gets any ideas."

Sergeant Gorvic stood tall and looked about the room. “Alright, listen up!” He shouted, the men around him standing at attention.

“Here’s the plan. This ain’t your first rodeo, so I’ll keep it simple. We hit Cryptshroud at noon. The undead are slow, but relentless. Keep your formations tight, and watch your flanks.”

A low murmur of acknowledgement rippled through the tent, and with a nod Gorvic dismissed the gathered soldiers. They left the tent, and I followed quietly behind them.

I’ll work with them as long as I can. I need to keep an eye out for the outlaw.

Outside the tent there was a young recruit shivering in the rain, his hands shaking so badly he could barely stand still. His armor rattled with each tremor. I could understand being nervous, especially for a newbie, but this was raw fear.

Further on, I saw a man polish his helmet repeatedly, muttering under his breath in such a way that I couldn’t tell what language he was speaking.

For a moment, a chilling thought struck my mind. Maybe…maybe I was the odd one out. Perhaps their fear was the only sane reaction. It would be natural for anyone to be afraid of the undead, of a place so saturated with corruption.

…Have I truly become so jaded?

Suddenly, I heard a voice. “Guardsman Kerich. May I have a word?”

Quickly I turned to find a man standing directly behind me. He wore a heavy gray coat that fell past his knees. In one hand he held a large briefcase, and the other, clasped against his chest, was his journal. And on his collar, contrasting against his dark coat, he wore an Inspector's pin.

“That would be me.” I replied cautiously. “You must be-”

"Senior Inspector Thorne," the man finished with a curt nod. "At your service."

He turned away and gestured towards Cryptshroud, its towers looming high above the camp "A festering wound on the land, is it not? Something best lanced quickly."

I couldn’t help but notice the way Thorne’s gaze lingered on the ruined castle for a beat too long, an almost hungry glint in his eyes.

“Indeed.” I replied quickly. "Though I wouldn't mind hearing more about the specific dangers we might face within."

Thorne chuckled dryly. "The usual assortment of undead nasties, no doubt. Skeletons, perhaps a few ghouls. The real danger lies in the intensity of the corruption. I’d hazard a guess that a man could spend nary a few hours inside that fetid castle before succumbing.”

My response was cut off as the canvas flap of the command tent billowed out like a wounded lung, and Sergeant Gorvic emerged with a grim look upon his weathered face. A hush fell over the camp as he bellowed an order. "Form ranks! Now!"

The soldiers scrambled to obey, their armor clanging as they jostled for position. Fear hung heavy in the air, a thick fog that even the morning sun couldn't dissipate. My gaze lingered for a time on the young recruit from before, who was now doubled over and dry heaving into his helmet. This wasn't just fear, it was a soul-crushing terror.

"Alright, listen up!" Gorvic's voice cracked the tension. "We're here to excise a festering wound – Cryptshroud! It's a quick operation, in and out. We've got reports of skeletal archers lining the battlements, so keep your heads down!" He swept a calloused hand across the scarred surface of his shield. "We'll push forward under cover of these. Remember your formations!"

"Now, the portcullis. It's heavy, and reinforced. However, Inspector Thorne has volunteered his skills to get it open for us.“ He gestured towards the man, who grinned widely.

“You all know your places.” He raised his voice again, a fire burning in his eyes. “We move in one hour!”

“Squad Four, assemble!” A shout cut through the now-growing chaos of the camp. I glanced over and spotted the source, a heavily armored woman standing tall beside another command tent. Quickly, a group of about fifteen or so soldiers formed ranks in front of her and threw quick salutes.

Throughout the camp I heard multiple similar shouts and groups of soldiers gathering. My gaze swept across the gathering force. Where could the outlaw be? Surely, they were planning on sneaking inside the dungeon amongst the chaos of a sanctioned raid. The sight of a freshly bloomed dungeon should lure him in. With so many soldiers here, he'd need to be cautious, perhaps disguised, or...

A flash of movement, a figure slipping between two tents. I took a step forward but a voice behind me froze me in place.

“Focus on the mission at hand, Guardsman.” Thorne chided. “You are here to help with the assault, are you not?” The inspector’s eyes gleamed. He was searching for something in my response.

“...Of course, Inspector.” I forced my voice to remain steady. But my suspicion was growing.

Was Thorne in league with the outlaw?

----------------------------------------

A crack of thunder booms. Lightning flashes across the darkened sky. Torrents of pouring rain slams against the muddy ground.

The skeletal tide surged forward, a wave of clawing hands and gleaming eye sockets. Arrows arced through the air, raining down on our shielded advance. A grunt, a sickening thud, then a scream as a soldier beside me fell, an arrow protruding from his neck. The dungeon clearly saw us as a threat to summon forth such a force.

I kept low, parrying the clumsily aimed blows of my undead opponents. Their bones were brittle, crumbling with each slash of my sword.

Another shout of pain, and I see another soldier to my left drop lifeless to the muddy ground. A skeletal swordsman stands over him for a moment, before their crimson eyes snap up to face me. I step back, avoiding a sloppy thrust, and counter with a heavy slash through its armor.

I’m given nary a moment's respite before another undead appears behind me, and I’m forced to block a wild overhead chop from its axe. The two of us struggle against one another, but eventually I regain the upper hand. Forcing the creature's weapon away, I firmly plant my blade through its skull, watching as the scarlet flame in its eyes extinguishes.

Suddenly, a flicker of movement above the battlements caught my eye.

Thorne.

He was atop the castle wall, his form stark against the glowing fires within. He wasn't dodging the archers like any sane man would; he stormed forwards with unerring purpose, as if the arrows were mere distractions.

An arrow soared past, missing Thorne by mere inches. But he didn’t flinch. Instead, his face contorted into a wicked grin and began to laugh, a dry, rasping sound that somehow echoed across the battlefield and set my nerves aflame. Another skeleton charged forwards swinging wildly with a mace, but he simply shot his hand forwards. His fingers contorted strangely as he gripped its skull, then ripped it from its spine with a sickening crunch.

He didn’t hold it aloft like some sort of trophy, Instead, they swung the skull around fiercely to parry the blows of another skeleton, before bashing the other’s skull with the one he wielded.

Quickly, he sprinted along the wall and dove down into one of the towers next to the gate. For a moment, despite the din of battle before me. The world felt silent.

Then, the gate began to rise.

“Their defenses have fallen!” Sergeant Gorvic’s voice carries across the field. “Forward, men!”

Gorvic’s men pushed past the crumbling undead forces and poured through the opening.

Thorne’s odd behavior lingered in my mind as I ran alongside the others, but I forced it aside. The outlaw was my priority. Every second he wasn’t caught was another second for him to loot, and worse, escape with some of the dungeon’s treasures.

I took a breath.

Get in, find him, and get out.

Slipping past the soldiers swarming the courtyard, I charged through the entrance of the castle.

The darkness within swallowed me whole.