Balsam sat on the top floor balcony of his inn turned office-outpost, mulling over the options as his crew set their supplies in order. They had quite the store of Vennam now, hazard pay and all. The multinational coinage being split between four large trunks they hid in their caravans. His men, meanwhile, a crew of loyal pissants now standing around, each nursing their mid-morning hangovers.

His second in command oversaw the packing while Balsam mused, the last stores of the inn’s wine swirling around between his fingers, the crushed herbs of the hair of the dog clearing his mind. ‘Witches, and ones on the run. That’s a bad sign for us,’ he thought, and with them risking the barricade his company had set up,

‘Whatever was chasing them probably wasn't far behind. Witch hunters, Varnile priests, a king's ransom might be set out for the-’

“Boss… BOSS!” His second shouted, as the door slammed open. Jerking Balsam out of his Vennam greed stoked plotting. “It’s done. When are we heading out, boss?” His second paused, sniffing appreciatively. Balsam peered over the balcony, dropping the wineglass to the inn’s floor. He stood, surveying the knots of his folk bandying around the caravans.

“We’re leaving now!” Balsam yelled down at them, grabbing a handful of the herbs and chewing them as he picked up another empty glass. Chucking it through the closest of the inn’s windows, it shattered satisfyingly. ‘Can't be leaving a pretty sight for any scavengers.’ He thought as he headed downstairs.

They headed through the backend of the gorge and aimed south east, following the craggy line that separated the mountain from grassy steppes that lead onto the city. Balsam slapped his second on his broad back as they rode. Hercule was a big man, much taller and smarter than himself, though he’d never admit it. It was the height that pissed him off the most, made people second guess who was in charge.

“Why’re we heading off, boss? You freaked out by that witch?” Hercule asked, a few unwanted ears craned into hear. Balsam ignored the question, hiking his horse up a low ridge. “Should have checked him, boss. Like I said, that armour ain’t seen a day of battle.” Hercule continued, rubbing his beard.

“There were two,” Balsam said sullenly, “And how was I to know anyhow? Witches are s’posed to be all off looking, like grey eyes and sharp teeth. Like the animals that make ‘em so.

“aye… he did look normal, a bit poncy is all.” Hercule nodded

‘A large section of the inner walls had been knocked down, but after those two witches had run through the place, it was trodden into the stream as they passed. Damn shame, that inn was a good hideout too, not too far from the city, easily defensible… ‘Cept from fucking witches of course. It was laughable how easily they managed to get through,’ Balsam thought, ‘Why did they even try and talk their way through the toll. As a matter of fact, why didn’t they just fly through?’ Balsam was fairly sure they did that.

The Hoss, or Dogs of Hoss as some of his recent joiners had started calling themselves, followed behind their leader with tired, bleary eyes. The night of heavy drinking hadn't readied them well for the rushed mornings exit from their camp, dragging them out of bed by their skivvies was a job he left to Hercule.

He waited for Hercule’s reply. “Hm, boss, all 13 accounted for.” It was Y’vette who replied instead, a smile smothered as she waited for the last few men to pass through a blanket of low branches. “Good,” Balsam said, staring her down as she turned back to wrap her arms again around Hercule’s broad, well muscled back, perched neatly on the back of his horse.

They rode to the forest's edge and waited, Balsam hopping off his horse to address his men before they rode into town.

“We’re off today. First, because we’ve run out of booze, and second…” Balsam paused as he remembered the half collapsed remains of the inn’s thatching. “Second, because we’ve got a witch on our hands; Two, actually, and it’s time we got off our asses. Nice as it was of course, we need to spend some of our ‘Nam and get us some more.” Balsam paused as a half hearted “aye aye” came up from the gathered crowd.

“Ride off your hangover’s lads. We’ll buy some hair of the dog down ridgewise.'' That garnered a scattering of more responses, and Balsam nodded, starting off down the shallow stream path towards Khisset Ridge.

Rain splattered the cobblestones as the last of Hoss’s dogs rode into the seaside flank of Khisset Ridge’s east connection. One of their caravans’s wheels had broken free of its axle halfway down the rocky bank leading to the main path most travellers tended to use. Balsam rode on past the rolling wheel his men chased after, taking the other working caravan while the other one was fixed and booking a place for his men to stay, out of the range of prying eyes.

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“Y’vette can arrange the fence,” He had said after he'd found a place. Him and Hercule walked up to the waiting room and they sat chatting in the poorly made rickety wooden chairs laid out for them. He liked the layout, the room was sparse and utilitarian, designed in a way that discouraged long stays and amorous activity. The bed frame was metal, the walls thick enamelled ocean blue and grey and from the deep grooves in the wood panelled floor, Balsam guessed the room had seen quite a few bloody encounters.

He had one of his men pull up a desk from the room below, while he grabbed a few of his unsold spoils. Mercantile measuring bits weighted along one side were placed on the desk, five large olive green bottles joined them, and he fingered the stoppers as he sat again.

Hercule waited sullenly outside the door, not bothering to sit down as he checked the doors sliding speakers panel, the thin ribbon of wood making a squeaking noise each time he checked for Y’vette. The second caravan finally came clattering into the fishermans' hold. Underneath them, the collected Hoss set out to secure the place, locking latches and pulling tarps over the caravans. Most checking for guards and the like while the rest were making a ruckus about the stink of fish guts and oil.

They waited then, but not for long. Hercule heard footsteps, then checked the panel, and opened the door.

The man that followed Y’vette was thin and tall as a whip, and had an absolutely fantastic set of jug ears that fell from his head like the sides of a hood, the lobes of which dangled a jangling of rings that dragged along his shoulders.

“Greetings, Balsam… Always a pleasure” he said reedily, grinning as he pulled up one of the chairs next to him. Y’vette and Hercule also sat, pulling the chairs a respectful distance away so Balsam and the Fence could talk in a semblance of privacy.

“Juniper.” Balsam clapped his hands in delight, “Didn’t know I’d be getting you. We bum rushed an apothecary a while back, two hundred Vennam for each.” He said, pausing as a look of sadistic pleasure bloomed on Juniper's face.

“Poisons?” Juniper asked.

“Dunno,” Balsam shrugged. “They all smell foul, not much else I can ascertain.” He leaned back into the chair waiting for a response.

“May I?” Juniper leaned forward, uncorking one at Balsam’s nod. The room immediately took on a wavy pallour as the vapours from the bottle spread forth. Y’vette audibly gagged, and Balsam had to reach up surreptitiously to open a window.

Juniper breathed in, and smiled. “These aren’t worth two hundred,” Balsam leaned back, the back of his head prickling from the cold night air. “We took a loss trying to get it. One of my men lost, which means a bump in the price.” Balsam scoffed, looking out at the bay as the noxious fumage stung his eyes.

“A man lost means less mouths to feed… Fifty” Juniper said, re-corking the bottle and opening up another. “You should have no use for these, I’d hope.” he added, the stench in the room growing worse.

“One hundred and fifty” Balsam replied, looking back and taking a deep breath before returning to his seat. “Eighty five” Juniper countered, completely unaffected.

Balsam started to reply, but was interrupted by sounds of retching as Y’vette rushed towards the open window. “Fine,” he sighed. Grabbing the bottle from Juniper and recorking it. “Open up the other window,” he ordered to a green-faced Y’vette.

The fresh scent of the sea calmed most of their gullets, “Anything else you want rid off?” Juniper asked, tucking the bottles into a leather briefcase, the olive green glass contrasted a large set of neutral pale pink clay ampules. “Jewels, gold, trinkets. Have some other fence look it over and bring me the Vennam for it.” Balsam said dismissively, Juniper stood and nodded sagely, his long lobed ears flicking as he pulled out a satchel of tobacco, clipping the case’s latches closed in the act. “Smoke? Haggling can be so unpleasant between friends.”

They stood just under the fishers outpost, a veranda outset with stools and a smoking metal fireplace protected them from the rain. It fell in buckets, now a loud pattering on the sloped wood slats, the ends of their smokes shielded behind clammy hands they leaned closer to the fire, watching as the docked boats in the harbour swayed under the downpour.

“So how's business? I see you’re sporting a set of new scars, quite handsome on you.” Juniper said. “Aye, thanks,” Balsam chuckled. “It's been going as well as it could be, I suppose, my boys have been behaving, my face’s been kept from the notice boards.” Juniper nodded, though he looked a little disappointed, “do make sure to come to me though if your lovely face does make itself known, I've managed to make my self friendly with a few of the local guard” Balsam shook his head “no we've a problem, a few Witches broke through the pass I'd set up i'm going back up north for a while I think” he took a few deep drags and watched as fog curled around the mountains base

“Witches? We haven't had reports of witches in Kisset in three years.” Balsam saw he'd caught the man's interest and grinned, “No… Well, you've got two in there now”

“Coming in?” Juniper asked tersely

“Yes, one of them tried to bargain with us beforehand. Nonsense about being poor travellers and how their town of Upper Iscuft was burned to the ground. A real sop story.” Balsam snorted, ashes falling from between his fingers.

“It was,” Juniper said, almost more to himself than in response to Balsam, “What? How do you know that?” Juniper crushed the stump of his cigarette into the concrete and regarded Balsam. “It's up north, far up north, quite isolated. The news about the burning reached me two days ago. "He took another smoke out as he spoke, “The Religare has been given too much freedom by the king.”

Balsam breathed in slowly, “So no reward’ll be posted for them, I suppose.” Juniper smiled genially, “You’re too money hungry. friend. Spend what you've got first. I know a good armourer, discreet too.”

“We could share the reward money, I remember both their faces” Balsam suggested, glancing down at his armour brushing the pits and rust stains. “Now that… Is a thought.” Juniper mused. A grinning Balsam tossed the rest of his smoke into the rain. “Nothing wrong with being greedy. Now, where's this armorour of yours?”