As I step into the mayor’s office, the weight of the scene settles on my shoulders. The sight of the severed hyena head on the desk is both grisly and mesmerizing, a grotesque display that speaks volumes about the darkness festering in Evercast. Though I’m not entirely disgusted or scared, there’s an undeniable sense of unease gnawing at the edges of my mind. Peyt’s impromptu addition of a flower to the macabre display elicits a soft chuckle from me, a brief respite from the tension that hangs thick in the air. “You always seem to find the beauty in the strangest of places.” I remark, offering her a wry smile. Her irreverent gesture is a stark reminder of her unique perspective of the world, a refreshing contrast to the grim realities surrounding us. But even as I find myself momentarily amused, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m so close to understanding what’s going on here. Before I can dwell on it further however, Captain Mollison’s entrance to the room breaks the spell, his somber expression reflecting the gravity of the situation.

“We need your help,” he implores, his voice heavy with urgency. “The Horned Devil is still out there, and we can’t afford to let him slip through our fingers. I don’t want you guys to leave, but if you’re not helping take care of this problem:” He points to the head on the desk. “Then I will have to do my job and expel you.” His plea resonates within me slightly. Survivor breaks our silence: “Anyone NOT on board?” Tiamus looks as if he’s about to walk out but Navirah places a hand on his shoulder and he slowly nods his head.

“Fine, but the pay better be worth it.” He sighs. “First place I’m starting is the smithy, he sent us on a wild goose chase.” I nod in agreement and speak to the rest of the group:

“I’ll head with the love birds, do you guys want to spend some time talking around town to see if you can figure anything out?” Saemon and Survivor nod, we just kind of assume Peyt will get drug along wherever we go while she’s distracted by flowers or something.

We split up. As we navigate the bustling streets of Evercast, my eyes catch sight of a painting adorning the side of a building. In it, a character vaguely resembling the mayor is depicted in a rather unflattering light, his features twisted into a sneer of disdain. “Looks like someone shares our discontent with the mayor.” I comment dryly, nodding towards the painting. Tiamus grunts, his expression mostly unreadable. But regardless we press forward with our investigation towards the blacksmith. He wastes no time calling out for Aaron, but to our disappointment, there’s no response, only the echo of his voice bouncing off the walls of the empty forge.

“Not home?” Navirah observes, her brow furrowed in mild frustration. Tiamus reflects it with his more sinister and stern face. We wait a few minutes, hoping that he might return while we are here, but it becomes apparent that he’s not coming any time soon. With a resigned sigh, we reluctantly decide to head back to the tavern to regroup with the rest of the party. However, as we pass by Goldbeard Misc., Tiamus stops in his tracks, his gaze fixed on the shop’s entrance with a hint of suspicion. “I want to check it out.” he declares, his voice firm and determined.

I exchange a concerned glance with Navirah understanding the repercussions of us going against the mayor’s wishes. Before we can voice our objections, Tiamus is already striding towards the shop, using a side alleyway to approach a rear door. “Tiamus, wait!” Navirah calls out, her tone urgent while we take a few steps in to follow him. “Let’s at LEAST wait for the others, it’s safer that way.” Thankfully, he hesitates, his brow furrowed in frustration but ultimately acquiescing to reason. With a begrudging nod, he reluctantly agrees to wait for the rest of the group before proceeding any further, instead turning around back towards us. I can’t help but feel a sense of relief, though still mingled with apprehension.

A feeling which suddenly deepens when movement in the shadows catches my eye. Emerging from the dimly lit alleyways and shadowy recesses of the alleyway,hooded figures materialize, ominous intent clouds the air mixing like chemistry with the stench of hygiene neglect. Their movements are sporadic and ticking yet sinister, shrouded in the darkness of tattered cloaks. Not good. In the shadowed alleyway, Navirah shines a bright light from her hand, flickering while we form a protective triangle together. The illumination displays a grim visage, each figure is caked in dirt and filth with unkempt hair which hangs in tangled strands. With makeshift robes, fashioned from tattered scraps of fabric, crudely fashioned from scavenged materials, their hands tremble with aggression. In their eyes burns a feral gleam, reflecting with primal instinct and atypical courage. In the light, streams of blood coming from their eyes reflect Navirah’s light. Tiamus and I draw our weapons instinctively, his daggers plus my staff and shield to counter against their scrap armaments: a thick tree branch, a metal rod, a wooden plank with nails in the end, a guard’s nightstick, and the femur of a large animal. A blood-curdling scream pierces the noon air, heralding the onset of violence and chaos as they charge.

To our immediate right only one brigand stands to hold a small passage away, Tiamus rushes him giving us an escape route, we follow behind after he quickly dispatches the man. The others run after us from behind with unprecedented speed, catching up quickly. I turn to face them defending myself with my shield placed before my face. Two hard CLUNKs braced by my ready form ricochet off my shield. A third makes purchase on my side with a CRACK, right in the ribs. I take a step back holding my side. Reaching into a pouch on my leg I grab out a vial of brownish green swirling liquid and toss it between the group of hobos, once it lands it releases a miniature explosion sending the liquid in the air, covering them in a slippery substance.

I can’t help but exclaim out loud: “IT WORKS!!! I CAN’T BELIEVE IT WO…” my sentence is cut off by my head nearly following the same fate, but my reflexes focus me once again on the fight at hand. What follows can only be described as a bloody massacre. With the men struggling to keep up their momentum to land any blows with the grease covering them, Tiamus makes short work of the untrained brigands with his daggers. Navirah watches closely behind to keep him alert and make sure we don’t fall, while I hold the line. Overall the ordeal is a great display of teamwork that I didn’t know could be possible with the tiefling. Though an underlying ghastly feeling haunts me for a moment, the brown grease now turns a deep black when mixing with the blood spilling at the funnel point. The final defender stands tall, covered in the blood of his fallen allies, he pulls a dusty red-brown rag up over his face and breathes deeply, his eyes go bloodshot and he holds a metal pipe above his head charging through me, my shield is pushed to the side and he runs past, swinging wildly he bashes Tiamus on the chest knocking the wind out of his body, and Navirah across the face. From behind, a well placed THWACK on the back of his head with my quarterstaff knocks him to the ground, lifeless.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

The comotion hidden in an alleyway brought no attention from the busy street, thankfully because our situation would be a precarious one to be caught in. Tiamus rushes over to Navirah’s side, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder and face to take a look at the wounds she sustained, he then looks at me resolute and determined, his hatred clear in his expression. No room for negotiations now “we’re getting the others, and going in. It’s personal now.” I sigh in acceptance and follow the two of them out of the bloodsoaked alleyway.

Our walk is surprisingly short, Survivor and the others are conveniently close by on our way back towards the tavern. Her large frame towering above the dozens of people walking the commercial road.

She waits annoyedly while Saemon talks to some street kids currently bouncing a ball between each other. We walk over just as the kids begin running off, Saemon’s face shows the feeble results with a slight sulk. “Find anything out??” I ask as we approach.

“Everyone has seen him, no one knows anything about him.” Survivor responds, visibly annoyed, her eyes scrunched. Before I can respond Tiamus pushes his goal with force:

“We’re going in to the general shop” he gestures across the street. “There’s more happening there.” Saemon’s eyes go wide with surprise.

“So he DOES care!”

“They made it personal.” he looks over at Navirah, her eye face still bleeding from the attack. Saemon shrugs and looks at Survivor for cooperation.

“Fine, let’s shut it down.” She says, relatively fed up with the recent circumstances. She begins walking through, brushing my shoulder. Oh boy, here we go. With determination the six of us head for the alleyway. Squeezing into the space two by two, the bodies of our previous encounter still lay covered in grease and blood. I begin checking over my various pouches and gadgets placed about my armor. Two vials of different liquids sit on my hip, a green swirling acid, and brown oil. I trace my hands over them in anticipation for what lies ahead. Tiamus makes his way to a large back door with a viewport at its center. He knocks twice and waits, the rest of us sliding to the side out of view. Not long after the wooden piece slides over and a man’s eyes peer through at Tiamus, the man mutters a passphrase: “What color is the river of blood?”

“Depends on how deep I slit your throat.” He can’t but help respond harshly. I roll my eyes at his pompousness and he’s repaid for it by the bouncer who promptly shouts back: “Fuck off.” before sliding the eye slit back closed.

“Enough” Survivor brushes past the group to the front, almost shoving Tiamus out of the way, she grabs out her sword and shield, takes a step back, and rams into the door. *THUD* it comes crashing down with her momentum, opening wide. light from the outside floods into the dark room illuminating the illicit activities inside. A few tables and a dozen chairs are scattered around the room, at each table a pile of red dust sits waiting for consumption. A dozen men sitting around the room in various states of daze begin rousing and grabbing their weapons. Survivor shouts harshly “Party’s over, no more crying dye. Resist and I’ll cut you down.” They all begin laughing and charge her, some with rage in their eyes bloodshot from the drug. Notably and disappointingly 2 men are wearing town guard uniforms. From underneath the door one of the men jumps up shoving it to the side, he tries to hit Survivor with a large mace, but her defenses are too quick. Back outside Peyt begins shifting form, dropping down into a smaller frame, that of a small raptor with bright purple and teal feathers to still show her flamboyant nature. The rest of us appear from behind the opening and send a volley of attacks through the door frame. TIamus lands an arrow into the neck of one of the guards who falls dead immediately, Saemon and Navirah cast their mind altering spells and I throw my stones. Survivor holds the door against a maraud of drug addled crazies, and Peyt slides through their feet biting and clawing at their ankles. A savage scene ensues, as each of them claws to get at the backline assaulting from a distance. Everything happens so fast, over in a blurr.. Survivor is hit a couple times, but with our combined forces we dwindle their numbers down to 2, one guard and a rough looking dwarf man who both drop to their knees in surrender once they see their predicament. Placing their hands behind their heads the dwarf begins pleading first. “Alright alright you’ve got it, we’re done for. Please don’t ki…” his voice turns to a gurgly scream, without warning Peyt, still as a velociraptor has dug her jaws into his throat, blood burbles up rather than rest of his sentence.

“PEYT NO!!!” Survivor yells out over the cries of the living guard shouting for his life frantically.

“I’ll tell you whatever you want please please don’t kill me” His tears are only a prelude to the scent of urine from his pants. Peyt stops in her tracks, her jaws still locked around the man’s throat who drops limp, she lets him go to drop onto the floor and looks up, cocking her head confused.

“DAMMIT PEYT he was surrendering!” Survivor pleads while the other man continues to scream frantically covering her voice making her yell. “Shut him up!!” she points towards the screaming man and Tiamus kicks him in the ribs. His air is whisked away and he stops screaming, now only whimpering and gasping for breath on the floor. Across the room Peyt begins shifting back to her original humanoid lizard form, growing back to her regular size. With raised eyebrow she asks,

“But good meat.”

“He has information that could help us” Survivor retorts.

“It hurts you.” she points to a blue and purple bruise on Survivor’s shoulder where a mace smacked into her moments ago.

“It gave up. We don’t kill unless we have to.” her tone becomes gentle, like a kind mentor to a blood craven lizard woman. Peyt drops her head, disappointed and Survivor returns to the task at hand.

The living man is hyperventilating on the floor, Tiamus raises him up and he screams in pain, “You’re not gonna get much out of him with broken ribs, one second.” Navirah leans down and places a hand on his ribs, bright yellow light shines against the man’s cloak and his breathing regulates. As he begins to calm Survivor speaks:

“Don’t worry…. I’ll let you live. But you best share some valuable information, or the Tiefling may not be as generous.” Tiamus smiles, grabbing out his daggers to begin playing with.

“N-n-n-no I’ll talk. What do you want to know? He cries in response.

“Explain this operation to me.” she gestures towards this hidden room we stand in. Now that I get a decent look at the place a wave of despair washes over me. There are 3 more people that went unnoticed in the conflict, collapsed on the floor; dried blood flowing from their eyes forms pools on the ground beneath their heads, yet shallow breaths signal there’s still life in them. The room smells of iron and mold, only a few rays of light seep in from boarded up windows.

My attention returns to the interrogation, whisked away from the reek of depression in the room by his high pitched, whiny voice explaining their crimes. “Philton sells Crying Dye cultivated by Lisle, what more do you want to know?” he says, almost confused by her demand.

“How much does he pay you to let it happen?” Survivor responds.

“Paying me? Philton isn’t paying me, I’m a town guard.”

“No shit you’re on the city watch, we can see your uniform dumbass. what do you mean he’s not paying you?” She grabs him by the collar ready to knock his teeth out if she doesn’t appreciate another snide remark.

“I’m here on orders from the Mayor.” everyone stops and begins looking at each other in disbelief.

“THAT’S why he wanted us to stay out of this.” I speak out loud while the revelation hits me. Survivor continues:

“So he’s in on it?”

“He started it, Philton isn’t in charge, Mayor Jeffery is.”