I was biding my time while keeping low and crouched. I peeked around the corner.

The other side of the open doorway was a room, at least fifteen by ten feet, carved into the stone with the same melted-wax looking walls.

The room was currently occupied by my target.

This ‘Red Queen,’ this captain of slavers, was sitting towards the open doorway, though her attention currently rested on a thick tome upon an old table. On her face was a scowl, and in her hand was a strange fountain pen.

Her room contained sparse decorations, but decorations nonetheless. On one stone wall, a nine inch nail had been driven in, and from it hung a wooden slab, with several faded papers and rusted knives sticking through them. One of those papers had what looked like an illustration of a pompous man wearing ornate clothing, and judging from a sharp and angular script, a ‘Baron Oren.’

Which raised a question: when had I learned to read the presumably human language? To answer that question with another question: when had I learned to comprehend or speak these different languages? And to finally answer both those questions: magic.

Musings aside, I had doubts.

Even with Illusion, I would appear as a blurred mirage, and her quarters were well-lit enough that I felt certain she would notice. All she would need to do is look up. If she were facing the other way, then I might have been able to pull it off.

But as it was? No, too risky.

That did not mean options were lacking: I could wait and hide until a more promising opportunity presented itself. Hasty thieves were caught thieves–and caught thieves were put in the clo–I found my train of thought broken with a shudder.

But really, this meant I had more time to work with. I doubted the prisoners were going anywhere–they would hold, as abyssal as their situation was.

Of course, actually escaping would be another matter. But with the extra time, I could make preparations. Sabotage weapons, steal supplies… ideas were running now that I considered it. I could definitely make this work.

Perhaps an opportunity would present itself sooner rather than later.

Footsteps echoed down the hallway, rapid, approaching. Someone was running towards us.

My reverie, broken. Shame-faced I realized I had been gawking. Had I been made? I needed to get off the walkway. I scrambled, climbing up the wall as quickly and as quietly as I could.

“Illusion.” I covered myself with [Chameleon].

While still moving, I saw the person, it was a man, I think I recognized him from near the slave-pen, but I was not sure. Under the grime, a lot of the bandits looked the same.

While watching, I continued climbing until I reached the ceiling.

His eyes never touched me. He reached the Red Queen’s chambers, panting, out of breath. It seemed I was safe, for now. Unfortunately I could not see into the room–I had erred on the side of caution. Perhaps I should rectify that.

“Cap!” he said.

He was still short of breath. I imagined bent over, wheezing. But perhaps he was handing off a package, or a letter pertaining to my location. Perhaps they were exchanging relevant information with sign language, or at the very least, with their body language. As I thought about it, I realized that I absolutely needed to see what was happening inside.

I began climbing down from the ceiling, towards the top of the doorway. It was an awkward position, but with my handholds, I found myself supporting myself with my hands near completely, while my core kept my legs tucked against the wall, where my toes found more magically appearing holds wherever they touched.

But I could not think of magic at that time, I needed to take advantage of it. I crawled lower, blood beginning to rush to my head.

Body: 37 (+1)

“What is it now!” the woman barked. I still could not see from where I was, but I imagined she was glaring, her voice laced with irritation.

I climbed lower, another handhold, another torque, another toe rest. My head just cleared the top of the doorway, my hair would have hung lower, potentially exposing me, but days worth of grime and a short cut to begin with kept my hair in place. My eyes cleared the top of the threshold, my face angled away, minimizing exposure, but making it so I stared down my cheeks and–a wave of revulsion hit me, almost flooring me right there, but I held on–muzzle. I was staring down my cheeks and muzzle.

“We–we got a bit of a–an issue?” he hedged, nervous.

I wondered if his boss had a habit of shooting irritants. I doubted it, at least, not actually literally. Perhaps metaphorically though.

“Just spit it out already. Night’s full of Meohrdung already,” she swore with a scalding tone, spittle flying, I failed to recognize the curse though. “Might as well add some more.”

“Uhh, yeah…” he said, wobbling a bit, and possibly almost burping. “So, there I was, running the rounds, checkin’ on the chattel, and got to chattin’ with the artificer.”

“This better be going somewhere,” the woman said, clearly unimpressed.

“Course! He told me there was some other–he said–” that time he did burp “-scuse me. He said there’s another kunny runnin’ around.” He finally finished.

I had gathered that ‘kunny’ was a slang-term for animal humanoids, other than hundeor, which referred to what I had thought of as gnolls.

But more importantly, the only other humanoid that the slaves had spoken with recently was me.

He called me a kunny? I felt offended, and I lacked knowledge of the etymology of the term. And the blood was still running to my head, my ears felt like they might burst, and my eyes were bulging. I might not be able to hold the position that much longer.

But, but even more importantly, that Mothersworn slave had sold me out? Ruined my plans! Mothers–good girls never swear! I almost growled in frustration, but I clamped down on any noise. I could not lose my only advantage here.

“Oi?” the woman asked, finally giving the man the time of day. “Think it came in with the rest o’ the raff?”

“Maybe?” the man asked, failing to provide any meaningful contribution at all, besides stinking up the place. “Just thought you should–”

The woman held up her hand to silence him. She seemed to be thinking out loud.

“It would be too coincidental otherwise. We still don’t know what riled the hundeor into attacking…”

“Tryna edge in on our market, maybe?” he asked, venturing an idea. He was curling in on himself as he finished his thought, and as the woman’s glare sharpened towards him. Her fingers were twitching to a holster on her belt. But when he finished talking, her hand crawled away.

“Don’t be stupid,” the woman scoffed. “Hundeor are barely sapient. Nobody’s tellin’ them what to do. It must have been an infiltration of opportunity. Or a baited attack. Hundeor are stupid enough to fall for that. But how sure are we of what the man said?”

“He seems a decent sort, for a guildie anyways.”

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“So we have an intruder, and some kunny. I doubt there would be a wild one running around following the hundeor–animals tend to be territorial–so it has to be a kunbearn…”

I was unsure what a kunbearn was, but I assumed it was either the full name of kunny, or was some sort of alternate designation. They seemed to be assuming I was here on someone else’s orders. And I almost felt like correcting them. No, I did feel like doing so. But that was only a consideration because of the Mothersworn blood rushing my Motherswearing head!

Body: 38 (+1)

“Who would send one though? Still seems a bit coinciden–ental?” the man burped in the middle. Disgusting. Either his previous burp, or this current one, due to the vagaries of air flow, had finally reached me. It stank. He stank. My nose felt like it physically recoiled, if just a bit.

How was that man still standing? The fumes coming off him were toxic.

“Maybe…” she continued thinking. “It would make more sense… but Southbridge is three days away. Maybe another cartel’s moving in? The Pit Dogs.”

More references I failed to understand, but Southbridge sounded like a destination.

“Could be that creepy alchemist, maybe?” the man offered. The woman was no longer stroking her holster, instead pacing.

“But we have nothing he would want,” she said. “You said the slaves spoke with the kunny? What more can you tell me? I need to know more before calling another alarm.”

Why did she need a justification to call an alarm? Did she lack complete control, did she worry for a mutiny, was she considerate, or was she wanting to give focused relevant instructions and knew that more data was required. If it were me, it would be the last. I figured she might also worry about a mutiny. All it took was a single bullet.

“Couldn’t tell ya,” the man answered, shrugging. That surprised me. Just what sort of conversation had the man had with the artificer? It made little to no sense that he had so little to go on, except, “someone was here.” But then again, he seemed like an idiot, and was drunk.

“And why the gods not?” she swore, venomously. It appeared the woman agreed with me. Perhaps I should consider her more as myself, if a bit more violent. “That shoulda been the first thing you asked!”

“Well–uhhh—” he coughed “-I thought I woulda tell you first–soon’s I heard.”

She spat, “worthless.”

She got up from her seat, a scowl and a glare.

Realizing where this conversation was going, I climbed back up, squirreling to the side in a way I never could have done without the Talent. The wall would have been far too smooth, and I was going from upside down to sideways to right-side up, a difficult maneuver even with handholds and pitons. And here I was, handling it with hardly a thought. The Climbing Talent was nice. Of course, as I thought this, my right forearm burned.

Climbing: 7/9 (+1)

But that was besides the point.

The artificer, the male prisoner, had informed. A foolish decision, as it would only hurt his chances of escape. And a confusing decision at that. Why would he have done that? I told him I would free him. Did he trust his chances with his slavers over me?

“Well?!” she demanded, from a different position than before, closer to the doorway. “You coming?”

“Well… I was hopin’ to grab another drink while I was up here.”

“Godslicking absolute gutter trash!” she shouted at him. “If we have an intruder, you expect me to travel all the way down there, alone? Are you trying to get me assassinated? Besides, this is only because of your cock up. You should have already found this out. So no, no more drinks. Not until this is resolved. You’re coming with me, or by all the cursed gods, I’m gonna find this kunny and shove it head first up your dunghole you’ll have fur comin’ out your throat!”

I did not consent to that. Certainly not. Though I agreed that the idiot should be punished. I wondered what the Red Queen’s version of the closet was.

“I hear it–” the man cried, holding up his arms, “I get it! I’m coming… no more–drinks–till this is over.” He finished mournfully.

“Fool,” the woman spat, before striding out, with the man chasing close behind. Both of them carried their strange pistols. The man muttered under his breath, but I was unable to hear, even with my ears.

While they left, this gave me a bittersweet opportunity.

Having my plans sold out could actually work out for me, at least if I took advantage of it. If not, then it would just be all costs without any gain.

So, as soon as the humans were around the corner, I climbed back down and snuck into the now abandoned captain’s quarters.

My purpose: ransack everything of value. I started with the table.

I checked the tome first, the large leather bound, yellowed parchment… ledger; it appeared to contain a list of inventories coupled with schedules and names of locations I had no reference of. I had no idea why a group of bandits would keep one of these, but they could have lifted it off some victims, or maybe their operations were just that extensive.

Either way, the ledger was too large for me to take; besides that, leafing through it, I found it dull and useless, unless I spent time researching the crew and operations. I did tear out a few pages with the schedules and locations, it seemed useful.

The rest of the book, the bindings, and the unfilled pages, were all left behind.

Beside the ledger, there was the plated fountain pen I had seen the woman using. Of course, the pen was acquisitioned straight into my bag. Small and valuable, potentially useful too. One never knew when they would need a pen.

But the real win was under the ledger: a map.

A map.

It was laid out and held down flat by a mix of a grimy wood surface and the weight of the ledger. And while I could not make much sense of the map, lacking context or knowledge of the area, I figured it would likely include the area I was currently in, which made the map incredibly valuable to my continued survival… and to finding a metropolitan area. So after unsticking the map from the table, I rolled it up and carefully shoved it into my bag.

Then I went through the drawers under the table. While I was hesitant to call it a desk, since it felt more like a grimy dining room table than anything else, it did have a drawer under it. Technically, it might be considered a desk. Nomenclature aside, in that drawer I found a few trinkets: glittery silver flakes in a glass vial, a notebook, a silver key, and a heavy pouch of the strange coins that had crystals in the middle.

Naturally, I bagged all of it.

Other than the artificed key, unless the silver key was it, the only thing I had yet to find was a firearm. But there should have been one. Sure, I saw the woman take one of those strange guns with her, but there was no way that she did not have more than one. Crime bosses always had plenty of weapons at their disposal. Knowing this, I gave the rest of the room a closer go-over.

There were knives embedded in the wood hanging from the wall. None of those looked worth keeping though, nor the papers they pierced. But there had to be something else around–there.

Now that looks interesting, I thought.

In a dim corner there was a safe. A heavy one, crafted of a dull matte metal that almost blended in with the rock wall. I practically scurried to it in my haste to secure whatever valuables it contained. I ran my fingers over it. The metal felt cold and welcome against my hot and worn flesh.

I wanted in, and I could crack it, and least I could, if I had the time.

But I doubted the time would be granted… still, I had to try. I had to.

I examined the safe further, scouring every inch of metal. I found no tumbler, nor lock, but the safe was certainly locked. There must have been a trick to open it. And open it I strongly wished to do: it was large enough to contain all manner of treasures.

I checked for seams, for the door. My hands, my fingernails, my claws, flowed across the metal. My claw hooked on the slightest ridge. There. The seam. I followed them, found the hinges, or what I thought were them, but they were recessed, hidden.

Still, I found no locking mechanism. Same as the gate to the prisoners.

I thought there was a similar mechanism to unlock the safe; some artificed key, whatever that was.

Then, I remembered the silver key I had found in the desk. In the off-chance that it would work, I fished out that key from my bag, and I tapped it against the safe.

Nothing.

I tried tapping the top of it, the sides, the front–all nothing. I tried following the seams with it–nothing once more.

No matter what I tried, the key had no effect.

I sighed, my heart heavy with disappointment.

Even if the safe had a tumbler, I probably lacked the time to crack it. Whatever was locked away would stay that way, a mystery. Though I resolved to myself to come back and try again, should I snatch the ‘artificed key’ that the Red Queen wore around her neck.

After that, I gave the chambers one final look through. Satisfied that I could take nothing else, I headed out. I needed to check on the prisoners, to see just what had gone on; what had prompted the artificer to betray me.

I planned on asking a few very pointed questions.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

* Body: 38 (+2)

* Mind: 49

* Spirit: 45

Talents:

* Athleticism (2/9):

* Climbing (7/9) (+1)

* Stealth (4/9)

* Trackless Tracks (3/9)

* Closed (2/9)

Spells:

* Illusion (7/9)

* Closed

* Closed

Gifts:

* Obsession (2/9)

* Closed

* Closed