Nil weaved from alley to alley, trying to make it to the market as quickly as an inconspicuous cover could allow for. She passed by workers on their way to lunch, listening to them share comments on how nice the weather was, and how much it was much needed for one cobbler’s tomatoes. If she had time to let her mind wander, Nil would have probably assented, at least internally, that it was the best day the town of Shinvers had seen that year. The sun was high in the sky, trickling warmth through lattices lining the rooftops. 

If you lived in Shinvers, or stayed any longer than a stop at the roadside, you would quickly become enamored with the people’s inclination to garden on their rooftops. Especially their practice of maintaining vines growing along the lattice walls, creating an elevated garden, with vines instead of hedges for walls. Shinveners love these gardens so much that an easy way to be ostracized by them would be to allow your vines to become overgrown or poorly trimmed. Not to mention the social execution that would follow if your plants would wither. Especially since any Shinvener would be happy to assist in the lazy afternoons. 

Plenty of nobles and merchantmen made their way to the town on breaks in their busy schedules of mismanaging taxes and workers to take pleasant strolls through the town, eating sweet, fruity breakfasts and hearty pasta dinners. When spouses, parents, or creditors commented on how much lighter their purses were when they returned from these simple trips to the simple towns, they would smile simply, and say: “Shinvers is so lovely, that they charge you for taking up space. Come with me? Well, we could go together, but we would be paying prices like we were at the Capital, and even though it is a lovely little town, wouldn’t you rather go to the Capital?”

Some wealthy visitors might have come to like the town for its quaintness, but what drew them in was the Six-Fingered Hand’s game hall. Dice, cards, boxing, whatever people were willing to bet on, all had their space under the Krinsler Twins brewery, a well structured basement that goes down two floors into the rocky earth. The townspeople were aware that not a drop of ale had been produced behind those closed doors since the Kinslers sold it, but preferred the occupation of the Six-Fingered Hand over some less organized outfit.

While the town may not have acted on the gambling, they certainly could not allow dragging a stranger away in broad daylight. Nil was counting on this, as she checked her posture to have the appearance of being relaxed. Two men had turned left with her three times now. 

The shorter of the two was wearing a large burlap cloak and imitating a deadly cough to conceal the rattling chainmail underneath. His accomplice, a thin dark elf, took no effort to hide his lamellar armor covering his chest and the straight sword at his hip, with a steeled stare on Nil. The dark elf’s shirt had his right sleeve rolled up to the elbow. Lieutenants of the Six-fingers did this to draw attention to the tattoo on the forearm. A closed fist, with an extra thumb. 

Nil assumed that the gang had caught on to her plan, but she had traveled in the usual spoon pattern she took when being pursued. Once she identified that someone was tailing her, she would begin walking away from her destination, and then make the three lefts, before bolting as fast as she could to the right, adapting from there as needed. 

Nil slowed her step briefly and feigned slight surprise at seeing the same cobbler’s store front, to see her pursuers in the reflection of the window, maintaining their distance. Suddenly, she darted under a hole in a wooden fence to an alley, and ran as fast as she could through the tight corridor. She heard a small commotion from the pair behind her. They could not hope to fit through the opening she had created early that morning, before they were awake. 

She had planned her route upon arriving in the town at midnight the night before. In the older quarter of the town, the buildings had small gaps between them. These buildings could be easily spotted by their squat construction, with second floors that typically consisted of a crawl space with few windows, which were ignored as the inhabitants would rather be in their rooftop garden. The market was just ahead of Nil past a small square, on the edge of the newer buildings, that had wider alleys to allow carts to travel through. 

These alleys were too narrow for anyone with an above average build to fit through, and served as little more than drainage ditches and a collection for the odd half eaten fruit. Once she reached the market, she planned to slip into some farmer’s covered wagon, paying if need be, and hiding away until outside town. Despite being accustomed to this routine, her heart was still racing, as the Six fingered hand had a reputation for not treating suspected cheaters well. Not to mention what was done to actual cheaters.

The vines that grew on the rooftops covering the alley allowed very little light through, creating a dark, damp corridor even in the middle of the day. She had scanned the path before the sun was up with a collection of glowing grubs she kept in a thick glass vial. A few missing or loose bricks could have proved fatal in a situation like that. Holding her large, leather satchel close to her body, she carefully sprinted through the alley, following the foot path she had marked for herself. All the while, she was mentally preparing to shoot out of the alley at full speed.

The end of the corridor was bright, with the sun beaming in at an angle to be facing Nil as she left. Her eyes were not ready to see the figure, leaning awkwardly against the wall. They had slid their back down, so as to sit with their knees in front of them. They had not realized how narrow the alleyway truly was, but were too tired to adjust themselves. So they sat with their knees tightly pressed against their chest, tucked away like a forgotten doll. 

Nil barreled into the figure, and the two tumbled into the street.

Nil’s head landed on the cobblestone road, and concussed her. In that moment, she could not piece together what had just happened, but after a brief moment, her attention was brought back to the notion that running as fast as she could away from there was imperative. She got up, holding her head, and saw the living obstacle was laying still on the ground, as if content to lie there until the day was done. Nil turned towards the market, and the whiplash of moving her head so quickly caused her to stumble in place for a moment. She felt a trickle on her forehead, and moved to wipe sweat away. She discovered that she had instead smeared blood across her brow with the back of her hand. 

A cold hand reached out and grabbed Nil’s wrist tightly, and yanked her hard. A different thug than the two pursuing her earlier held her hand high, lifting her off the ground. Her body sagged from the shock and dizziness.

“So this here's the cheating little gnome.” The voice was self satisfied, and catching its breath. Nil, feeling herself come out of the daze and becoming more aware of the tightening grip on her wrist, reached for the misericorde in its special scabbard on her lower back. “Half-gnome,” she spat, trying to pull the dagger from its sheath, but the thug shook her hard and her dizziness came back. 

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The dark elf turned the corner sharply, and noticing that Nil was caught, let his hardened face ease a little, allowing the slightest smile to creep up the edges of his mouth. The one grabbing Nil had finally noticed the dagger on her back, and took it from her, holding it high in his other hand, and lowering her so that her feet were on the ground, to better show that the blade was now tauntingly out of reach for Nil’s short stature. 

“Francis, you fat bastard, finally doing some work around here!” The short, chainmailed thug exclaimed as he was jogging to catch up to the dark elf, who stood towering over Nil. 

Francis, relaxing his grip on Nil, pointed the scabbarded dagger at the pair and was about to speak, when the dark elf interrupted. “Peace, peace, save it for the cheat.” The dark elf took out a handkerchief, and wiped the blood that was smeared on Nil’s forehead, and then held it to where the cut was still bleeding. “Now, girly, you are going to play nice as we act like any other merry group of idiots as we quietly go back to the brewery. Do that, and I’ll let you keep your honor.”

The chainmailed figure chuckled, and interrupted the dark elf, “Ha! Look at her, none of the boys are lonely enough to have her! Hell, there is hardly enough meat to be scrapped for the damn dogs!”  The dark elf bounced his head left and right slightly, assenting with the oaf. 

As the daze from the fall was subsiding, Nil slipped her free hand into her satchel, reaching for a vial. Suddenly, the tight grip on her other hand was released. She didn’t let the opportunity slip, and with her other hand flung the vial she had grabbed into the face of Francis. At least, that was the attention. The vial curved through the air for a brief moment, and crashed on the ground nearby, causing a bright light and loud pop to explode out. Nil turned to run, but tripped on a warm body laying on the street. Curse the day that vagrant was born, Nil thought, as she pushed herself off the body on the ground. However, she noticed that it was not the vagrant still recovering on the floor, but actually Francis laying on the ground, missing his head.

Behind her, she saw that some rags had been cast aside, and a lanky, young man stood with a two-handed sword in his hands, one on the hilt and the other grasping the blade as he pointed it at the face of the thug in chainmail. The dark elf was falling to the ground, a deep slash had been made across his throat, causing his blood to fill the cracks of the cobblestones below.

As Nil turned to fully face the scene, the blade was pushed firmly into the eye of the armored foe. A disgusting sound, followed by a gurgling deathrattle, whispered its way out onto the street, carried off by the wind into oblivion with his comrades.

She wasted no time. She ripped her dagger from the corpse's hand and tore away as fast as she could. The time for subtly was over, three men were dead. She reasoned that her best bet was to reach the closest tree line, cover her tracks, and hide away until she was sure the roads would be clear of patrolling guardsmen looking for a murderer and the Six Fingers,who were more concerned with recovering Nil’s gains. 

The market was on the edge of town with its own dedicated gate, so escape was close by. Although the area was typically well guarded to keep an eye on the bustle of the stalls and shoppers, they would quickly respond to the violence that Nil just managed to avoid. And though the Six Fingers’s higher ups cared more about recovering a cheat’s winnings, their footmen would want blood for their departed drinking buddies. 

As she sprinted toward the market, an alarm sounded. An old bugle let out 3 sharp blasts, unskillfully blown by someone whose concern was clearly not the quality of his playing, but the blood pooling in the street. From the market, guards hurried towards the sound, ignoring Nil entirely. The alarm was sounded mid-shift, so as Nil reached the market, she saw the straggling, crumb covered guards hurrying towards the commotion, putting on their helmets and adjusting their armor as they jogged to danger. Mothers held their children close, young men and women not under obligation to take up arms looked confused and asked one another what was happening, and the older folk let the situation flow past them, shaking their heads. 

Nil continued her mad dash. The market’s crowd was drawn to the edge closest to where the bodies lay, and people were beginning to see the cause of alarm, the decapitated head had been knocked by someone, and was rolling down the street, eyes steadily fixed on some ghastly object invisible to all but itself. The empty stalls and open walkways would soon be rushed once more with people seeking their personal arms or a safe place, fearing the worst. For now, the depopulated bazaar was an open stretch for Nil to swiftly cross. She sent a hand into her bag and felt around the inside. Her hand passed over a lot of pouches, pockets, patches, and purses, everything stitched securely in its place. Doing this check helped calm Nil, as she was just now realizing what she had been party to. 

Three men were dead within what felt like less than a second, and she was spared. She felt resentment. She was fully capable of escaping the thugs on her own. Nil’s stomach turned, she noticed her mouth was dry. Her body unconsciously turned to face behind her, meeting the eyes of the wayward head. Her hand began the checklist in her bag all over again, the cloves of garlic here, the ground petals of Demon Tongues behind the Rosemary, and so on and so on. 

The town gate near the market was still guarded, but the two guards stationed there were not stopping people from leaving. Panic was building. The fear was that some larger force than a single nameless vagrant was attacking the town, so the people were already making plans to flee to caves and hiding spots in the forest. Nil assumed a quick change of pose and tucked her ears into her hair, covering their pointed ends. Whenever she ducked her head, tucked her arms in, and hid at least one of her obvious Gnomish features - and moved quickly- humans could mistake her for a child. She had met others of similar smaller stature that were infuriated whenever they were mistaken for a child (namely dwarves), but Nil was not one to turn down an advantage. 

As she passed through the gate, one of the guards half-turned to her and shouted “Run as fast as you can! The forest, to the left - yourself in leaves!” Just as soon as he shouted that, he hooked his hand into the gate door handle and swung it open. Nil stepped into the small tunnel passage that led outside, and the gate slammed shut behind her, and she could hear more and more Shinveners joining in the panic, demanding to be let out so they could run from whatever dangers they thought were about to rain upon their heads.

Since the guards had instructed her to head to the left, she bolted to the right. The terrain in the forest was hard to navigate, with many creeks and small waterways causing the ground to seemingly fall out from under you as you walked, And so it was perfect for someone trying to hide from as many people as possible. As Nil ran, she made sure to double back on her tracks, and ripped some moss and loose bark from the trees she passed, tucking them into her leather armor to cover her scent. 

When she started to run out of breath, she found a slightly hollowed out log on the forest floor and tucked herself inside. Her back was pressed against the remaining insides of the tree that the decay had not yet done away with, and tucked her legs tightly to her chest. If she heard a noise that was cause for alarm, she would spring out on her feet and make a run for it. Once again, her hand snaked its way in between the leather pouches of her bag. Her fingers already sorely missed it as it passed over the empty pouch, making a note in a long checklist, and she started planning on when she would replace the concoction.

The eyes were green. Not a strong green, really more gray than green. And she had seen them rolling, tumbling, bumbling across the street, attached to a loose bleeding skull. The checklist was stopped. Her index finger struggled to reach a pouch of herbs. She stopped breathing. The world felt like it was about to swallow her, starting with the heart shaped rock in her chest. The rest of her would follow like an old sheet.

The index finger finally felt the tiny, dried leaves of Rosemary. She exhaled. The checklist began again.