Ceinog left us with Tormed and his crew as soon as he was sure we were settled, but by then I was glad to be rid of him. I mean I’m not that pissed at him now, I see the sense in what he’s done and now we’re actually in it it’s clear enough there’s a real opportunity here. It’s just the way he went about it’s really rubbed me up the wrong way, and I reckon if he’d hung round us beyond the initial meeting I might’ve been tempted to stick it to him more’n I really should’ve. He’s s’posed to be my superior officer, but for better or worse – mostly worse, I’ll admit – he’s also my friend. So it’s better if that don’t get too abused.

Tormed took us into the house itself and … well, that was quite an experience. Once I got a look at that I realised there was a strong, if ultimately still quite subtle difference between what’s happening here and what we saw back in our Barricade days. The body counts, for one, are significantly higher, the bodies scattered with a good deal more brutal intensity, it looks like, and once I started getting a look at how the bodies were actually arranged, noticed something startlingly else different too. Something I was quick to point out to Tormed and his fellow investigators.

Most o’ these poor bastards were set upon before they knew there was any real danger, and likely even those who did have enough time to muster were killed quicker than they could adequately respond, suggesting they were hit all at once. That’s not like the kinds of attacks I remember from Barricade. Well, mostly not.

This idea seemed to ring true with what the investigators were already picking up with their more educated eyes, at least compared to ours. Mostly what I know about reading what’s happened on a battlefield is through my own personal experience, with a little more additional insight gleaned from what I learned from da. But this lot were trained specifically to read these scenes from coming in cold after the fact, and picking up on what clues are available in order to rebuild a relatively complete picture of what probably happened. And from what I can tell, they’re real good at it, too.

Especially Milvolm Faldabri, who seems to be a true prodigy at just taking one look at a complete mess of wreckage and, after a few minutes just picking over it with a particularly sharp eye, knowing exactly what happened. The rest of ‘em are damned sharp, but he is … honestly, it’s kinda spooky. And it makes him a little weird at times, too.

I mean I’ve known men like him before, through my father, forensic experts who know their fields so well it becomes all they really know how to think about, fuelled by a dedication so profoundly focused that it approaches unconditional love. Or maybe more like obsession, cuz he’s pretty nutty. But I can’t help liking him anyway.

A big part o’ that might be down to the fact he’s a tanuki. I’ve known a few of the yokai raccoon-folk before now, they’re a good deal more common in Tektehr than they are in Rundao, I’ve learned, likely since they seem to prefer the cooler climate up there, but he’s definitely the most thoroughly hyperactive I’ve met to date. But despite his overexcitability when he finds a particularly intriguing clue, and a strong propensity to become very easily distracted, he’s clearly dedicated to his work, as well as the people he works with, and I got a whole lot of admiration for that. He’s also easily the most friendly of Tormed’s crew, which has definitely helped to endear him to me.

We met the rest of Tormed’s team in a second estate, just a ten minute walk away, when a messenger ran in and summoned the lieutenant on order of his superiors. Turned out there’d been something a little different about this one, not so much the actual massacre itself but more some additional details that had come up in the interim. Tormed and Faldabri had originally set out with the advance force from their neighbouring barracks, while the rest of his team had been getting their equipment ready with the intention of following along when they were ready. He’d insisted on it, maintaining professional efficiency over rushed haste that might see them making mistakes or leaving some vital piece of equipment behind. But then word came down about this new incident and the rest of the team went straight there instead, shadowing another advance team. And they made some startling discoveries.

When we arrived, we were met just inside the wide open gate by Tormed’s second-in-command, Sergeant Ragrama Starkheart, who took one look at me and the rest o’ my reassigned troopers and just cocked a thoroughly unimpressed brow at her superior and grunted: “The fuck is this shit?”

Once he’d explained the development to her she went along quick enough, but I get the impression she’s still pretty non-plussed about it. She’s definitely the gruffest dwarf I ever met in my life, but even so there don’t seem to be all that much actual hostility in the way she’s acting round us, I’m starting to suspect she’s worked out quick enough it ain’t really up to us. We’re just following orders, same as her, so she’s giving us the smoothest time she can under the circumstances. In truth I reckon she might actually like me, ‘least a little bit.

She’s no bigger’n the average dwarf, pushing four feet in her substantial, steel-shod boots but very broad across her shoulders, made mostly of muscle but maybe starting to soften now. Certainly she’s clearly getting on some – dwarves live for hundreds of years, but she’s showing plenty of ‘em in her face now, deep lines and wrinkles round her eyes and giving her brow permanent furrows, while her hair and beard are more silvered grey now than her natural raven black. Unlike some dwarf women I known she keeps her chin shaved clean, preferring to trim her mutton chops close too, but her hair’s long, worn bound into a surprisingly loose braid that tumbles far down her back while shorter loose locks frame her face. She was likely more striking than conventionally pretty when she was younger, but there’s still a handsomeness that catches the eye, although her gruff nature’s writ large across her face as much as the scars. What few I can see suggest there’s a lot I can’t, convincing me as much as anything else that, ‘least before the Occupation, she must’ve been on the other side of our age-old conflict for a good chunk of her life.

Like Tormed, she’s the only other member of this modest group who prefers to wear full armour, and while hers is similarly impressive it’s also a good deal more workmanlike and simplistic, clearly built for function over form. Her heavy plate’s been through as much as she has, kept in good nick but still battered and scarred from heavy use, while she’s eschewed the swords of her colleagues to instead wear a pair of lethal looking axes strapped across her back. Her only real concession to her townsguard status is as her surcoat, made from better materials but dyed the same distinct colours, with the same insignia embroidered on the chest in thick black thread.

She showed us across the lawn to where the rest of their team were now set up, going over something particularly alarming that had been found pretty comprehensively crushed into the ground by something which had left a substantial dent in the lawn. Something which was now conspicuously gone. But there were a lot of very big footprints scattered all round the noteworthy wreckage that suggest that whatever this thing was most likely got pretty thoroughly stomped to death by something a whole lot bigger. My first thought was maybe an ogre, but … I dunno, there’s something off about those prints that made me wonder, and Faldabri was mindful to agree with me.

The house itself was burning, in more than one place, and it was clear that this now very dead thing which had captured our attention had been ejected from one of the windows directly above, either during a pyrotechnic blast or simply getting hurled out on its own. Either way, the fire and this thing had to be connected, and likely the other deaths too.

Unfortunately, until the fire was put out we couldn’t learn much of anything new about what’d happened here, so we had to wait on the newly-arrived municipal fire brigade to wheel their horse-drawn carts around and start pumping in their water. To begin with they started blasting it through the blown-out windows while the braver members cut their way in through the ground floor with their big axes, but once they established a beachhead they could finally tap into the water mains. Then they had enough water to start running hoses into the house itself and start fighting the fire back on their terms.

Meanwhile the first ones to go in were starting to come out, and while most were just coughing up a storm from the smoke, a lot were throwing up from something a lot more worrying. They were finding a lot more bodies in there, and virtually everything they were finding was in pieces. But way worse than what we’d been finding up until now. Some really twisted shit …

By this point the … thing that we’d found, mangled as it was, started making a little more sense. Despite its condition, Faldabri was starting to piece together an extremely grisly picture of what this thing must once have looked like, although he didn’t like what his deductions were telling him at all. This thing’s a twisted, melded together mishmash of maybe three or four different bodies, made up of flesh and bone and assorted other … unpleasantness, as well as pieces of torn and sundered metal which was most likely once armour or broken blades. Honestly, I can’t think of anything more perverse, and even if some of the manner of the chaos we’ve been seeing feels uncomfortably familiar, this still ain’t like anything I encountered back in my Barricade years.

Eventually we gave up on the messy remnants and continued circling round the house to the gardens, finally settling down on the wide curving steps below the veranda leading down to the lawn itself. That being said, Starkheart had to drag Faldabri away from the leftovers, the furry little guy was still thoroughly engrossed in his examination even though he’d long since learned everything he really needed to. He was despondent about that for a few minutes, but by the time we all finally made ourselves at home on the steps he’d come round like it never happened.

By this point the sun had risen high into the sky and the morning was growing late, while the firefighters seemed like they might finally have been winning their battle. Tormed soon collared three of the idling townsguard and charged ‘em with rustling us up some refreshments for us while we waited, even though at the time I wasn’t sure if me and mine really had the stomach for food after … well … but that didn’t last long, not once the bags of take-out grub and bottles of cool water arrived, and my own hunger won me over just like the others.

So we filled our stomachs and took our weight off our feet while we watched the brigade start to pull out their equipment and people, many of ‘em looking damn pleased to be getting away from the place, I noticed. It didn’t take Faldabri long to brace me about my own past, curious to start separating my own first-hand experiences from the largely apocryphal knowledge he had regarding the Twilight Campaign. Can’t say I was particularly keen to have that conversation, but it seemed pretty pertinent to what we’re doing now so I held forth on as much as I felt I could safely get away with, ‘least what didn’t violate confidentiality. Besides, he's hard to say no to.

Now one o’ the senior brigade members starts making his way over, accompanied by a familiar face, and I start pushing myself up from my makeshift seat as they approach. Tormed shifts moments later, jolted from his own quiet contemplation of the well-shaped, tasteful landscaping of the gardens, and rises with considerably more ease that makes me instantly jealous. After another beat Starkheart follows his example with a lot more huffiness as she forces her far more worn body to comply, and I try not to wince hearing her groan as her back audibly cracks while she straightens it.

“Look lively, Gril.” I mutter, comfortable enough I won’t need to speak louder to grab his attention. He hustles quick enough, springing up a good deal quicker than I did, already stepping to my side while I’m still picking up my swordlbelt to start strapping it back on.

The firefighter’s fairly nondescript, just a big, burly man like the rest of his outfit, human, greying a bit in his sideburns and moustache but still hale and healthy as he strolls over with a somewhat bow-legged gait, carrying his axe low at his side. It’s not until he’s close that I see how tight he’s gripping the shaft, enough to turn his knuckles white, and there’s a haunted look behind his dark eyes as he looks us all over after tipping back his broad-brimmed boiled leather hat. He’s seen some shit in there, clearly. I already got a real good idea what.

His companion is more impressive to look at, much as I would’ve expected. Like Tormed he’s decked out in armour and livery a good deal more expensive than his fellow troops, although in his case the finely crafted plate armour under his well-cut silk surcoat is tinted bloody crimson like our gear. Lieutenant-colonel Odaro Phunvraal is one of Senior Commander Dravru’s more pleasant aides, which is a good thing here, I can trust him to go easier helping me keep our burgeoning interdepartmental cooperation running smoothly than some of his peers. He’s already spotted me, making a beeline my way now as he tucks his helmet under his arm as he smooths his hair down.

Like all the Dark Elves I known in my time, he’s uncomfortable in the bright light of the noonday sun, even as the autumn seems to be cooling with the approach of winter. So he’s wearing his black-lensed glasses in deference to his sensitive eyes, while his pearlescent white skin, bright as polished bone, is genuinely fluorescent in this light. As is his hair, turned into the brightest spun starlight as he arranges it in a casually tousled mop of shoulder length curls that, like always, he stubbornly refuses to tie back. His almost indecently full lips are pursed a little tighter than usual, a clear tension in his jaw giving away his frustration at being up this late, since he’s an unrepentant night-owl who sticks to a strict after dark shift pattern. He’s well out of his comfort zone right now.

Even so, he still manages to muster up a somewhat tight, stiff smile as he reaches us, tipping me a clipped but friendly nod of greeting. “Sergeant Staduva. I can’t say I’m particularly surprised they saw fit to assign you to this.”

“Well I guess I’m suited, under the circumstances.” I try not to talk too much through gritted teeth as I’m reminded this really ain’t my choice. He’s speaking in Soldier’s Private Tongue, letting me know this conversation’s intended to be just for us, so I do the same.

“I know, and I’m sorry. It’s a particularly ugly business.” He lets a heavy sigh go and casts his eye around the rest of the group, who I can see now have managed to scramble back up to their feet too well enough after Gril’s example. “But you’re here now. I take it at least some of this … rings a bell with you?”

“After a fashion.” I growl, shooting a quick look to my second, who just grimaces very subtly. I know Phunvraal served his own time in the Twilight Campaign, a good four centuries before I was even born, so he’s got as sharp an eye for this unpleasantness as I do. But he’s also got more pressing duties to attend to, which is prob’ly why he ain’t taking the lead in this. Although reckon he’s happy enough he don’t have to make that choice in the first place.

Nodding just a little, he takes a deep breath and reaches up, seeming to hold it just a little as he finally slips the lenses from his eyes, one of the spindle-thin arms gripped daintily between thumb and forefinger. He’s got his eyes narrowed tight, but the fact he’s showing his eyes at all is deference enough as he turns to Tormed now, extending his free hand. They’re even paler than his skin, the white irises genuinely shining like little rings of light around the bottomless black dots of his already pinprick tight pupils. “Lieutenant?” he purrs, slipping into Rundao common now.

The senior investigator don’t hesitate at all as he steps forward and gives the offered hand a firm pump. “Lieutenant-colonel. You would be Odaro Phunvraal, yes? One of the first troopers in the city, if I remember correctly. You led the lightning raid on Redarra House personally, I believe, pretty much took the city right then.”

Cocking one of his spider silk-fine brows, our superior’s smile tightens considerably but don’t fade entirely as he holds onto Tormed’s hand for a moment longer. “I won’t deny it, but I hope this doesn’t poison our relationship so early in this enterprise. This is too large a problem for both of our commands for us to get hung up on past … unpleasantness. This current crisis is unsavoury enough.”

“Of course not, sir.” Tormed just summons up a cool smile of his own now, keeping his attention tightly focused on those uncanny eyes. “It was merely an observation, based upon well-informed recollection. I simply had to comment on being in such … illustrious company.” I notice now that Starkheart’s regarding the lieutenant-colonel with a deep frown she ain’t even trying to hide, and she ain’t the only one in their crew, either.

Finally letting go, Phunvraal gives a vague, airy little wave. “Oh please, your own record speaks for itself. It’s enough of a surprise to me that you don’t inhabit a higher rank yourself, given your own achievements in your much more … focused field.” His smile has turned more steely now, something of a predator in it now, and he’s slipping his lenses back into place.

“I am precisely where I need to be. In truth I rather prefer it this way. It can make things much simpler sometimes.”

“Under the circumstances, I suppose I can’t think of a better man for the job. Certainly you’ll have your work cut out with this case, but I assure you you’re in some expert hands here.” Tipping him a much more subtle nod which might be construed as merely perfunctory, Phunvraal turns back to me, which says enough on its own. “Well, the fires are out, and Master Chusk here considers it safe enough now for you to do your work. I can’t say it’s going to be pleasant, but …” He sighs, waving his hand vaguely again. “Anyway, it’s all yours now, as they say. I’m returning to Command, but I will be available for anything you should need, simply inform Captain Ceinog should you run into any obstacles you’re unable to remove on your own. Of course, you have my well-placed faith that that likely won’t be necessary …”

“Yes sir.” I nod with deep respect. “Of course.”

“Very good.” He regards me for a moment longer, and with those shiny, seemingly opaque black lenses I have no idea what he’s actually thinking right now, but it makes me wonder all the same. Then he steps aside, giving the senior firefighter the briefest glance before starting to stalk off back the way we’ve all come. “Carry on, then.”

As he marches off, a handful of the other scattered troopers dotted around breaking off to fall into well-ordered, regimented step behind him, the firefighter, Chusk, frowns as he turns to us, seeming a little lost as he scratches at his jaw. “Um … yeah. Reckon … um … like he said, it’s all yours. Um …” His frown deepens as he closes falters, then just nods before turning away to rejoin his men as go about their work packing up their gear ready for departure.

Our group is silent for a long moment, and when I look back Starkheart’s still frowning after our superior officer with both hands working in and out of tight, white-knuckled fists that speak volumes on their own. I turn to Tormed, already feeling my face warming. Shit … “Lieutenant, I’m sorry about that –”

“No need to apologise, Sergeant.” he breathes in something of a weary sigh while giving a noncommittal shrug. “It’s not my first time doing this. Well … something along these lines, at least. It’s helped me develop a somewhat thicker skin than I’d perhaps like.”

Even so, I can’t help grimacing as I take my own step away, starting to climb the steps now as I inwardly cringe over the impropriety. I’m already starting to like Tormed, so I didn’t enjoy seeing Phunvraal try to belittle him, even in such a passive-aggressive way. He might preach cooperation, but …

“So we’re on the job then, boss?” Gril breathes as he falls right into step beside me. Putting on a brave face for me, I reckon.

“Looks that way.” I take a deep breath as I reach the top, letting my hands settle on my hips as I inspect the back entrance with a more critical eye.

“All right,” Tormed’s at my side before I quite realise it. “I understand this isn’t your first time doing this sort of thing either.”

It’s all I can do not to grimace at the idea, really having to bite back the retort begging to come about how little I really trust Ceinog’s word most o’ the time. So I just shrug as look down at my hands, wondering if I should strip my gloves off now like I did the rest o’ my armour. Honestly, if we are gonna be dealing with anything like we used to back up North then I might not wanna get my hands dirty. “Yeah, well I dunno about that. That was a real different kinda situation we were investigating. But yeah, I s’pose you got a point. And I got … y’know …”

Stolen story; please report.

“An aptitude?” He quirks a brow at me now.

“Maybe. Da taught me some stuff, and a lot o’ what he told me ‘bout his own work sank in. Prob’ly come in handy here.”

“And the rest.” He looks back at the remains of … whatever it was, in the grass.

“Yeah, well I hope that won’t be necessary.” I take a beat to check my gear over now. “Ain’t really dressed for it now.”

When we broke off from the rest o’ the squad, me, Gril and the other three “volunteers” all shed our actual armour, stripping down to our crimson gambesons and padded britches while just retaining our swords and whatever knives we decided not to pack away. Everything else, helms included, we stuffed into canvas duffel bags helpfully provided by Tormed’s people, which were then stowed in the back of their substantial wagon so we could move unburdened. That included our shields and halberds, of course. It’s an interesting feeling, to be able to move about in our work with so much less weight, but I also feel a little exposed now, ‘specially if we’re gonna be going in there.

“You should be all right. It’s not my first time working in tandem with Chusk, he knows what he’s doing. If he says it’s safe enough for us to go in, it should be.” He looks down at my side now, and it ain’t hard to work out what he’s regarding. “But keep that impressive weapon of yours handy, just in case there are any more unpleasant surprises in there.”

Nodding, I turn to join my own people now. Gril’s looking at the back entrance, but the other three are all watching me, regarding me with varying amounts of wariness now. I take a deep breath as I scratch under my unruly mop of hair and start to go over the plan, such as it is, in my head. “Y’all good?” I enquire now, slipping back into our native tongue again.

“Sure thing, boss.” Lance Corporal Vidram Stevezen’s the first to answer, much as I would’ve expected. I ain’t known him any longer’n the rest o’ the squad outside of Gril, but I know full well he’s a deal more seasoned than the others, having already served in a separate Barricade division which means he’s more like us two. As such he garners as much respect from the rest, who ain’t been through the kinds shit we have but heard enough through regular scuttlebutt to know how much better off they are not to carry those internal scars.

Needless to say he recognised the wreckage for what it is, but also ain’t, same as we did. He might say he’s cool with this, but even though he’s a stony blank slate who don’t show his emotions at the best o’ times, I’m picking up enough subtle cues to guess he’s nervous as me to be going inside. There’s a tighter crease than I normally see in his broad, heavy forehead, and he’s rolling his broad, powerful shoulders as he shuffles his feet, clearly unable to keep still now as he quickly avoids my look.

Private Tuthi Storm-Saber mostly just looks quietly pissed off, but ‘least she’s able to hold my gaze without any trouble, and her bright eyes are still amber, meaning the orcish half of her blood ain’t up just yet, which is a good enough sign. That being said, she was definitely the most reluctant to shed her own brigantine armour before we came, so I’m mindful enough to take note of how tight her knuckles keep getting as she works her fists low at her sides. Her thick jaw’s similar clenched, I see, while the tendons in her neck stand out clear too. When she answers back: “Good enough, I reckon. Boss.” it’s barely a growl, her teeth are gritted so tight.

Giving her a longer look than Vid by a long beat, I let a little breath out through my nose and turn to the last o’ my chosen group. Private Udre Berdorsk is the only one who didn’t leave her longarm behind in the wagon, but then I wouldn’t have expected her to, being a cleric of Thorin I know full well she’d feel entirely naked without it. She’s leaning into it now, the long shaft of her heavy, broad-bladed partisan planted firm between her feet as she grips it with both hands tight enough I’m sure some would think she’s desperate for the support. Knowing her well enough by now, I’m uncomfortably aware she’s probably more just worked up about the unholy vibes she’s getting from this whole place right now. I noticed she’s been visibly uncomfortable the whole time we been here, much as she was in the last estate, enough to make her proper twitchy. ‘Least the silvered head of her weapon ain’t started glowing yet.

She takes long enough answering that I prompt her again, trying to keep my voice more softer now, hoping the traces of whatever eldritch nastiness is still hanging round this place ain’t made her too skittish. She’s usually very even tempered for a more highly-educated type stuck in a low military position by circumstance, but I know how sensitive her clerical training made her before she got drafted. Normally I trust her feelings to keep us all alive, but right now I’d rather she was a bit more dull, like the rest of us. “Udre, you with me?”

“Oh …” She blinks her big, strikingly bright green eyes, and licks her full, bow-shaped lips. I’ve long since managed to train myself not to fixate on that unconscious act, but it’s still a hard thing, she’s awful cute. But this ain’t the time, and I gotta be in charge here. “Sorry boss. I’m … yes, I think so. This place is just … well, it’s very … intense.”

“You picking up on anything in particular?” Maybe I can make her sharper senses work for me right now.

That just makes her frown instead. “Oh … I’m not really sure. Not yet. Mostly it’s just … something of a muddle, I’m afraid.”

Shooting a look at Gril, I find him watching her now with a more complicated look on his face. He gives me a sidelong glance for a moment, then just shrugs. Great …

“Right …” Trying not to frown too deep myself, I turn enough for a sidelong glance back at the house, seeing Tormed and his own approaching the open doors now, although they’re clearly their own kind of wary about it. “Well just … I dunno. Keep me posted. Anything particular grabs your attention gimme a heads up, it’d be appreciated.”

Her brows shoot up as she straightens up the rest of the way, tilting her partisan a little aside as she starts to step after me. “Oh … well … of course, boss. You can rely on me.”

“Always.” Stepping away now, I start after the rest of ‘em, trusting the others to follow. I can already see Gril falling into step beside me, looking non-plussed about this whole business but holding his tongue.

“Shall we?” Tormed’s looking back at us, stood right outside the entrance now. The rest of his team are arranged around him, waiting as patiently as they’ve been doing so far, as if this is just another routine job for them. Like they seen it all a thousand times.

“Yeah.” I mutter low, mostly to myself, but keep moving forwards. Looking me over for a moment, he nods and ducks inside, and the others start to follow him through the gaping dark hole where the door once was.

Faldabri’s the first to follow him, and there’s still that excitable spring in his step despite the situation, like he’s excited about what might be waiting for him inside. Like any other yokai he’s more beast than man, really, in this case an oversized raccoon stood on his hind legs and dressed in similar gear to his comrades. His bright brown eyes gleam with a particularly keen intelligence in an endearing black mask that matches the stripes detailing his sleek silvery-grey fur, and he flashes sharp little fangs whenever he speaks, which is often, and with great enthusiasm. He’s also by far the smallest one here, no taller than a halfling, but I know he’ll be a good deal more comfortable in the dark.

Starkheart hangs back for now, stepping aside to allow her fellows to enter ahead of her, and as I approach she looks my way, her face a good deal more complicated than it was before. It still ain’t hostility, I don’t feel any more unwelcome than I did before, but I reckon there might be a warning all the same, ‘least a subtle one. Like she’s watching us all ‘til she can be sure we’re on the level.

The youngest of their crew steps in after the tanuki, taking a moment to adjust the lie of the smaller duffel he’d previously retrieved from the wagon after they arrived with it from the previous place, and gives her a little sidelong glance as he goes. Sardin Nugarno is, from what I can tell, still a rookie here, fresh-faced and keen-footed as he seems determined to look good for his boss. That being said, he’s got a likeable, easy-going air to him that I’m sure goes a long way to endear him with his co-workers, and he was real welcoming to all of us when we were first introduced, which took my somewhat by surprise. If he harbours any reluctance about having us here he’s buried it a good deal deeper than I can pick up on.

He’s human, still in his early twenties and actually quite small, lean and wiry but with a lot of youthful nervous energy jolting through him so he can’t keep still for too long. He wears his shaggy dark brown hair tied back in a short bunch, while his cheeks and jaw are largely clean, maybe a subtle darkening where he might be trying to encourage some beard growth, but so far nothing seems to be taking root. He’s good looking in a shrewd way, but his blue eyes are striking enough to compensate for his thin cheeks and relatively weak chin. He’s dressed in a simple tunic and short jerkin, both in the townsguard colour to suit as uniform, while he wears baggy britches underneath and a pair of somewhat battered old boots that surprised me when I first saw them. I remember he grinned when he saw me looking and said he prefers ‘em, their soles worn good and thin so he can feel the precise texture of the ground. Means he’ll never miss a clue if he accidentally steps on it …

I come up to the doorway around the same time as the other one, and she stops short as she realises it, watching me for a loaded beat. She’s the one who’s been most standoffish, and while in her case it don’t seem like open dislike any more’n I’m getting from Starkheart, reckon she might be a bit more unhappy about this than the others all the same. She frowns at me now, and I it suspect might just be her default expression, but then she looks a good deal more like a warrior than an investigator anyway.

Fulma Jestin is human too, like Sardin but a good deal bigger too. She’s smaller than I am, but she’s still a good six feet tall and holds and moves herself in a way that suggests she really knows how to handle herself. She ain’t too bulky, ‘least what I can make out through her own gear, but while she’s nowhere near as broad and downright swole as most of us she’s prob’ly toned tight as a drum like a proper soldier. She’s definitely well-armed enough for one.

Under more friendly circumstances I might find myself attracted to her, but I don’t know if she’s really my type. She’s striking enough, but there’s a harshness to her features all the same, her cheeks a little too sharp and angular, her nose a prominently hooked blade, while her thick brows are broken by more’n one scar. She keeps her own dark blonde hair brushed back over her head, what’s long on top tucked behind her notched ears while the rest’s cropped close in a tight undercut, and her slightly green grey eyes look like they’re almost permanently narrowed. Even without taking her dress and weapons into account there’s nothing soft about this woman at all.

She’s a little more armoured than Sardin, but only with a boiled buckskin leather cuirass and simple matching pauldrons, worn under a surcoat of light wool in the same colour as her companions, again marked with their distinctive crest on the chest. Her leather britches are a good deal tighter, her boots tall and tightly laced with a significant amount of straps too, while she wears her shirtsleeves tucked into thick leather bracers and fingerless gloves. She’s got a well-maintained longsword hung at her hip, but there are plenty of knives strapped to her too, and I suspect there are even more tucked away where I can’t see. She definitely looks like she could be trouble if she wants to be.

After another beat she blinks and steps back, giving a clipped nod while holding her arm out to gesture towards the door. “After you.” she breathes low in her surprisingly gravelly voice, and it sounds calm enough, at least, no real warning in her tone. But I still feel a little uncomfortable turning my back on her as I duck ahead.

It’s darker inside, but now I’m looking I notice a few lamps set about here and there, simple cast iron cages with little glass windows to let the oil-burning wicks inside shine their light through. Left by the firefighters, I realise, since most of ‘em likely have even worse nightvision than I do. I was born and raised in a place where there ain’t a whole lot o’ sunlight most o’ the time, so like my friends I don’t need the help so bad as most humans.

There don’t seem to be anything actually wrong with this place, ‘least besides the filthy floor from a whole lot o’ dirty boots tramping in and out over and over again, but then this cool, open vestibule mostly seems like a waystation as it is. There’s corridors moving off in three directions, left, right and ahead, all equally gloomy save for the planted lamps, and a staircase cutting up into a tight curve through the wall on the left. No sign of any actual death here, at least, or the now extinguished fire, but there’s a pervading haze in the air all the same, thinning smoke mixed with something … more elusive. Not entirely physical, more a kind of miasma, really.

It definitely stinks in here, there’s no avoiding that. Not just the harsh bite of sooty smoke, but something deeper, more musty, but strangely metallic too. Like blood, but also not. Something else. Whatever it is, I don’t like it at all.

Frowning about again, Tormed considers for a long moment while the rest of the group filter in behind. It’s a reasonable sized antechamber, room enough for all of us, but still feels closer to me than really comfortable. Maybe it’s just the situation itself. Finally he turns to Faldabri, who’s sniffing now, although it don’t seem to dampen his mood anything like as much as I’d have expected. “Mil, what do you think?”

Turning back, the tanuki looks up at him now, having to crane somewhat given their significant height difference. “It’s not clear yet, to be perfectly honest. The air smells complicated in here, I’m not sure I could pick up a clearer direction right now. It’s a shame we don’t have Frem with us right now, he could be helpful.”

“Unfortunately not, he’s busy enough right now, working with Trick. As you should remember, we went over this already.”

“We did?” Faldabri’s brows shoot up in clear surprise. “I must have missed it. Perhaps I was distracted.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Starkheart mutters under her breath, already stepping up to the stairs as she starts looking up into the relative gloom above. “We could just check all directions at once, split up into groups maybe? If they’re right that it’s safe enough now, can’t hurt.”

“I don’t like that idea, not yet.” Tormed’s frown deepens as he looks at me now, his jaw tightening. “I’d be much happier if we relied on strength in numbers for now, at least until we’ve got a sure handle on what we’re actually dealing with here.”

Nodding along, I clear my throat as I step up behind the dwarf. “I’d have to agree with you on that one. We could maybe get away with breaking into two groups, but I don’t like the idea o’ risking more’n that in here. This place just … feels wrong.”

“Yes, it does.” He takes one more look round, then turns back to the tanuki. “All right then, old man. If you had to pick a favourite, from left or right?”

This makes Faldabri frown too, but it ain’t consternation, more simple concentration on an interesting problem. He looks to one passage and then the other, both lit with lamps just inside their openings, and strokes his fuzzy chin for a moment as he ponders each in turn, sniffing deep at both. “Hmmm … honestly, if I had to choose, I’d say left is the more interesting of the two. There’s something a little more complex that I’m picking up down there.”

“All right.” Letting a slightly frustrated little sigh go, Tormed turns back to me. “Go on then, Sergeant. Two groups, you lead one. Your people, your call.”

It takes me a beat to work out quite what he means, but then I nod when I do. Turning back to the remnants of my own squad, I consider for a moment. “Sure … Gril, you go with Tormed and his. Take Tuthi too. I’ll keep Vid and Udre.”

“You’re sure, boss?” Gril’s frowning now. “I’d rather stick with you if you don’t –”

“We’re good, Corporal.” I shut him down, but gently, keeping my voice soft despite making it sound like a real order. Now I turn back to the Lieutenant. “Your turn.”

“Of course.” Tormed looks his own people over now, similarly thoughtful as he considers too. Then he nods. “All right then. Gram, you go with her, take Sardin and Mil with you. That should make it a comfortable even split.”

“What?” The dwarven veteran steps back from the bottom of the stairs now, wheeling on him with a darker look than I’d like on her face. “Sir, I’m not sure if you –”

“Do you have a problem with the Sergeant, Gram?” He gives her a pretty pointed look in response, laying his hands on his hips as he glares down at her.

She blinks, then gives me a quick sidelong glance, still frowning deep. “No, I don’t … that ain’t what I meant … I just don’t like how this –”

“Carry on. Corporal.” He cocks a brow at her now, and something about this seems to bow her a little harder. She don’t quite scowl, but I get the feeling she might want to. But instead she steps back and nods, turning to me now.

“My apologies, Sergeant. No offence meant.”

Shooting a quick glance to Tormed, I find he’s watching me close, like he’s interested in my response, so I take a breath and put a brave face on. Again, I still don’t feel any actual disrespect from the dwarf, it seems more complicated than that. Not her getting saddled, more the separation. It’s interesting. “Course not. None taken.”

“Good.” Tormed looks back towards the left-hand corridor now. “We’ll go this way, then. You take the stairs, check above. If I were you I’d want to have a look at where that thing outside likely came from.”

“Yeah, good call.”

The groups start to coalesce, Faldabri already stepping close as if he’s excited by the prospect of getting to work with me. I catch Udre working hard to stifle a subtle smirk seeing this, and while I’m mindful to admonish her for it I hold my tongue, it’s a good sign to me under the circumstances she’s finally finding some of her old humour. Gril, meanwhile, is still giving me a dark look as he moves away, clearly reluctant to leave my side.

“Sardin, if you would.” Tormed finally presses once we’re all settled into our groups, my own gathered ready at the bottom of the steps. “You too, Fulma.”

The young rookie just frowns for a long beat as he seems to largely miss his superior’s meaning, but the severe woman’s already shifting her duffle off her shoulder to plant at her feet, crouching over it now as she starts to unbuckle the flap at the top. This seems to be indicator enough to jog his own memory. “Oh, yeah … sure, sorry boss.”

Shrugging his own bag loose, he drops it a little more forcefully as he drops to his haunches and follows his colleague’s example. He’s got it open quick enough and starts fishing about inside, producing a fair amount of clanking and clinking before starting to pull things out. I’m a moment working out what the first things he’s breaking out are, but the second batch of items are far too familiar to me from my own experiences in the North to mistake. Flares. Great …

Once he’s done, Sardin buckles the flap back up and then slips the duffel back into his back, taking a moment to make sure it’s comfortably settled before turning to the first batch of items. Two bundles of thin black metal poles, about two feet long, tied together with bailing twine. He takes one o’ the bundles and just threads it through his belt, but the other he quickly unpicks so he can shake the poles loose before handing them out, one to each of us. Now I start to get it.

Udre frowns down at her own as I take hold of the last one offered, taking a moment to check its heft in my hand before giving it an experimental swing. There’s a little bit of give in it since the steel’s so thin, but it seems solid enough to work with. Finally the cleric turns to me. “I don’t understand, what do we –”

“It’s so we don’t have to touch anything we don’t like the look of with our bare hands.” I raise my pole now and give her a gentle poke in the gut. “You probe with it, use it to move things aside, that kind of thing. It’s kinda self-explanatory, really.”

Swatting my rod aside with the back of her hand, Udre continues to inspect her own with a particularly dubious look. “What’s that supposed to mean, though? Anything I don’t like the look of.”

“Use your imagination, Private.” I keep my response gentle, but she still gives me a look in return. Then Sardin’s upright again and handing out the flares, and she has to turn back to him.

I’m a moment taking mine when it’s offered, and I can’t help the tight-lipped frown I make when I finally accept it. Sardin responds with a more sombre look, simply shrugging as he says: “You never know. Hopefully we won’t actually need ‘em, but just in case.”

When I look back at Gril I find him eyeing his own with the same white-knuckled disdain, and have to suck in a steadying breath through my own tightly clenched teeth. Yeah … this ain’t gonna bring back any unpleasant memories at all. I’m sure it won’t. I’m gonna make a bloody point of it.

“All right, so now what?” Vidram’s just carefully stuffing his flare into the side pocket of his gambeson, although I’m sure I can detect the slightest tightening in his jaw now, letting me know he didn’t entirely escape a littler triggering of his own.

Cocking my brow, I look to Tormed, who’s already taking a step towards the left-hand corridor. He pauses just short of it, looking back at us now. “Good luck then, Sergeant. We’ll say an hour, then meet back here, yes?”

“Really?” That has Udre frowning. “How will we know –”

I just give her a little knuckle-tap on the shoulder, pointing out Faldabri, who’s already slipped a pocket-watch from somewhere inside his jerkin, a little steel chain strung underneath, likely from one of the various hidden pockets in its lining. Honestly, he seemed like exactly the type, so it’s no surprise at all.

It looks like relatively rudimentary, in truth, clearly built for practicality over style, so it’s made from simple burnished steel like the chain, the dial dark metal with lighter highlights to pick out the coded numbers. I recognise the make immediately, of course – it’s a Tektehran timepiece, although from one o’ the civil companies rather than military-issue like the one Ceinog uses. Even so, it’s likely still a good deal more accurate than anything they’d be able to get here in Rundao.

When I look back at Tormed he’s checking one of his own, picked out of a pouch under his belt. He nods once, then tucks it away again before giving me one last look, then another nod. I return it before turning away.

“Let’s just get to it, shall we?”

Starkheart don’t need to wait, clearly, she just starts moving immediately, climbing up the stairs with grim determination even though I can hear her start to puff a little under her breath just after the first few steps. Udre’s just frowning my way, but jumps to when Vidram grabs her shoulder and turns her bodily towards the stairs, stopping just short of giving her a little shove too. Faldabri’s already following the dwarf up, so it only takes her a moment to get it into her head to join him.

As the corporal falls into step behind her, I turn to Sardin, who almost seems surprised to find me regarding him now. He pauses for a moment, seeming a little lost like he don’t quite know what to say, but then gestures ahead. “Um … yeah, sorry. After you, Sarge.”

“No, please. After you, lad.” I keep my voice level and friendly, not wanting to make it seem like I don’t actually trust him at my back just yet. He seems a good enough lad, I highly doubt he’s really the type to try and slip a knife in it.

The slightest frown touches his forehead as he hesitates for another beat, but then he just nods, grinning wide. “Sure, if you insist.” He gives his rod a casual but deft little flip so it spins once in the air, then catches it without even looking, already stepping away to start climbing himself.

When I look back the other group’s already mostly filtered away too, but I see Gril’s the last to go, still stood just outside the corridor regarding me now with a wary look on his face. Frowning, I let a frustrated sigh go and just nod back, hoping I’m just being the normal level of paranoid that comes with being a non-commissioned officer. Then I turn back before he can respond and step up, taking a another deep breath before starting my own climb.