A dozen scarred, grim-faced men, and one ogre, prowled through the dark; outfitted with an assortment of blades, clubs, and crossbows. The ancient avenue was filled with accumulated dirt, debris, and plant life, but was still easily traversed on foot. Here and there, a curb or paving stone showed through the undergrowth. They followed a well-worn path through the ruins of the old city; evidence that someone walked through frequently. They passed walls of stone blocks, some crumbling, some collapsed, some mostly carted away for building material. The fallen remains of grand mansions, servants’ quarters, stables, and courtyards surrounded them, now little more than outlines on the floor of a forest rising to cover the derelicts like a slow, green tide.

Eventually, the path turned and went under a stone archway into a mostly-intact courtyard. Before them, someone had used rough-hewn timbers and sailcloth to construct a crude shelter among the some of the remaining walls. The glow of an oil lamp was visible through the sturdy cloth.

A man in a well-worn cuirass motioned for two of the little platoon to creep along the sides of the building and peer in the windows. He had a wiry frame, a black tricorn hat on his head, and a sturdy arming sword in one hand. His calculating gaze swept back and forth across his surroundings, alert for an ambush, and the rest of the party took their cues from him. The two scouts returned a few moments later.

“Couldn’t see much, Mr. Goswin,” the first whispered, “he’s got the windows boarded over, but I found a gap. Just a fireplace, cookpot, and a couple bits of furniture. Didn’t see no people.”

Fulcher Goswin’s hawkish face twisted into a snarl. “Did you at least see him?!” he hissed.

The first scout shook his head fearfully, but the second spoke up. “There’s a door set into the floor on one side, boss. You know how his sort are; always creepin’ about in basements an’ catacombs an’ shit. He wouldn’t have left ‘is lamp on if he were leavin’.”

Goswin took a breath to calm himself, then tapped his finger on his chin thoughtfully. “He hasn’t been seen in town for days, you’re probably right.“ He gave the place another look, then made up his mind. “You two,” he pointed at the scouts, “circle around behind the place in case he has a back door. We’ll give you a couple minutes to get into place before we go in.” He pointed at a third man who was holding a crossbow and had a vicious looking knife stuck in his belt. “You wait there,” he gestured toward the corner of the building, “an’ shoot him in the back if he gets around behind us and comes back this way.” The crossbowman nodded in acknowledgment.

“Get to it lads,” the crime boss ordered. The scouts quickly vanished around the corner of the ruin, and Fulcher went over his equipment one last time. He gave his leather gauntlets a pull to make sure they were on all the way, and checked the buckles of his cuirass. He confirmed his dagger was securely in its sheathe on his hip, as was the smaller knife he kept in his boot. There was a horsewhip tied on his belt as well, in case they caught the little bastard alive. He was a believer in trying to find satisfaction in your work.

“Aldegarde, Agulf, you’re up.” Fulcher pointed at the ogre, who smiled with both heads.

“Sure thing, Mr. Goswin,” Aldegarde replied as he and his brother stood up straight. Aldegarde wore a blue fez on his head with a gold tassel. He flexed his fingers to position a massive knuckleduster in his meaty fist.

“I’ll knock.” Agulf grinned. He wore a brown felt top hat, with yellow and red feathers stuck in the russet-leather hatband. He hoisted a weapon that appeared to have started life as a large, tough-grained fencepost. One end had been turned down and wrapped in leather to form a handle, and the other end had a cuff of wrought iron wrapped around it, creating a club that could easily be used to demolish buildings.

The ogre brothers’ burly body was wrapped in a thick, black, waist-length jacket with wooden buttons, an enormous belt with a wineskin hanging from it, and a set of leggings made from tanned cowhide, with the reddish-brown and white fur on the outside. They wore sandals on their feet, with leather soles and straps of braided rope. Fully nine feet tall now that they weren’t hunched over to talk to the humans, the brothers swaggered up to the ramshackle door of the building. The rest of the group followed in their wake.

“Company!” Agulf called in a singsong voice as he swung his club.

The door shattered as it flew off its improvised hinges, showering the interior of the place with high-velocity splinters. The brothers bent at the waist and peeked inside, or at least Aldegarde did, holding his fez on with his fingertips. Seeing nobody within, he gave the blocks over the top of the doorframe a brutal punch with the iron knuckleduster. Agulf jabbed with the end of his club, and the blocks fell in, the doorway now large enough to admit an ogre. They waded through, the rest of the gang on their heels.

The interior of the building was a simple dwelling, with a small bed fashioned from wood that had probably been collected from the trees outside. A few embers smouldered in a stone hearth with a few cast iron and ceramic pieces of cookware nearby. One of the men walked over to the bed and opened a chest next to it, flinging the contents everywhere as he searched. It didn’t contain anything more than clothes. A table in the center of the room had been overturned by flying wreckage, dumping a candlestick and some wooden dishes on the floor. A water barrel sat alone in a corner.

Aldegarde and Agulf walked past the hearth, followed by Fulcher. They stopped in front of a heavy double door set into the floor, built of thick oak planks bound in iron. A wooden beam laid alongside, clearly intended for barring the door, along with a heavy padlock.

“What you suppose is down there, that he needs all this?” Agulf asked.

“Treasure?” one of the men asked hopefully.

“More like Leudo,” Fulcher grimaced, “maybe worse.”

“No turning back after this.” Aldegarde said.

Fulcher nodded, then took a two-handed grip on his sword. “Open it.”

The ogre grabbed the ring-shaped door handle with one hand, lifted the club over their heads with the other, and pulled.

The brothers took the lead through the catacombs, followed by Goswin, who was carrying a lantern in his left hand, his sword in the right. The rest of the gang formed up on each side of the boss. The stone hallways were wide enough for a half dozen people to walk through, side by side. Their way through the complex was easy enough to find, candles were set at various intervals; the mounds of multicolored wax a testament to an ongoing presence among the ancient tombs. A few were still lit.

After a few minutes of walking, they turned a corner and saw a more substantial light ahead. A voice echoed down the hallway towards them, singing snatches of a song that had been popular in some of Drumlummon's less reputable taverns for the last couple of months. Fulcher gestured for everyone to remain silent, then doused his lantern. They crept up to the doorway, remaining in the shadows while trying to get a glimpse of the room inside.

Fulcher raised a hand, and the party readied themselves.

“...lusty whiskeeeeeey... and barrel-aged ladies...” the person ahead sang to themselves.

Fulcher dropped his arm, and he and his men charged into the room, weapons at the ready!

The room was large and roughly square-shaped, with three entrances; the one they’d entered, and two on the opposite side of the room. It contained two tables, with a brazier burning in between them. The closest table had what appeared to be a body on it, covered with a sheet. The other table held an oil lamp and a stack of old books. The target of the raid was copying a sigil from one onto a sheet of leather, and smoking a pipe.

He looked very much like a jackrabbit standing on its hind legs, and the top of his head was about waist height to an average man. A pair of majestic antlers sprouted from the top of his head, and he was dressed in a tunic, waistcoat and jacket. Pen in hand, he looked up at them and blinked.

“I don’t think we’ve met,” he began, “ but I’d guess Fulcher Goswin? You have a certain resemblance to someone I’ve had in here before.”

“Got it in one,” Fulcher replied. “You must be Puglith.”

“I heard you liked my work! It’s always nice to see my professional efforts appreciated; happens too infrequently in my vocation. Were you here for more? I could probably do something interesting with that one,” the jackalope asked as it pointed at the ogre. The brothers glared back at it.

“I’m actually having second thoughts about the one I have. He’s gotten up to a bit of mischief.” Goswin answered.

“I am sorry to hear that. I’d be happy to offer you some advice on keeping him, perhaps even a discount on a future purchase?” Puglith inquired, a gleam in his eye.

“I don’t think there are going to be any future purchases. Not from me, and not from any one else, either,” said Goswin, resting the blade of his sword against his shoulder. “You see, he ate my aunt. I wasn’t overly fond of the woman, but my mother has made her feelings about what needs to happen now clear. Family, you know how it is.”

“That is unfortunate. Are you sure I can’t talk-” the necromancer began, before another one of Goswin’s men burst into the room from the hallway.

“Boss,” he shouted, “we got trouble!” His face was streaked with sweat, and he was breathing heavily.

Fulcher looked at him and recognized one of the scouts he’d sent to cover the back of the building. “What are you doing here? What trouble?” he asked.

“Stable, half a dozen horses in it!” panted the scout.

“So he’s got a few horses, what of it?”

“Saddled!” gasped the gangster, bent over with his hands on his knees, “Marked! Royal Hussars!”

Fulcher turned to look at Puglith, who had set down his pen, picked up the pipe, and was puffing away on it. Booted footfalls sounded as six people entered from one of the hallways on the other side of the room. Six uniformed Hussars; four troopers, a sergeant, and a captain gave the gangsters the sort of smiles that cats probably give to field mice.

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“And here I thought you were making new friends, Puglith,” the captain said. For a human, he was tall, a little over six feet. He had a chiseled jaw, dark hair, dark eyes, and broad shoulders emphasized by by epaulets. He wore a black bicorn hat oriented front to back, with a gold fringe and white ostrich feather on top. His uniform was the green of the Ostrogothi regulars, with shiny brass buttons, knee-high polished black boots, and a black cloak over his shoulder. His gloved hand rested on the pommel of a heavy cavalry saber.

“Puglith doesn’t have any friends he didn’t assemble himself,” the sergeant smirked. Her uniform was much like the captain’s, but without the epaulets or bicorn hat. She wore a beret instead, with a silver pin depicting a rampant stallion and a red feather. She had cocoa brown skin and long black hair tied behind her in a ponytail.

Puglith glared at the sergeant. “Bellamy, you’re lucky you’re in His Majesty’s service. If people couldn’t be ordered to associate with you, no one would.” She glared back.

“Who are you people and what are you doing here?” Fulcher demanded. He and his men outnumbered the soldiers two-to-one, not counting the ogre, and he wasn’t intimidated.

“Captain Salvadore Lexington, His Majesty’s 3rd Hussars. This is Sergeant Candida Bellamy, and it looks you already know Magister-Sergeant Puglith,” the captain replied. "So you're the infamous Mr. Goswin, then? Given your reputation, I thought you'd be bigger."

“I was unaware Puglith was in the service,” Fulcher remarked, his voice even. "An' I'd love to make a cute remark about your reputation, but you don't have one. If fact, you've never been important enough for me to have heard your name."

"Perhaps you've never been important enough to hear it," Captain Lexington said. "Now put your weapons down, and maybe we'll go easy on you."

“Lads,” Fulcher ordered, “no witnesses. Get to work!”

The gangsters roared as they charged forward, weapons raised. The soldiers drew their sabers and assumed a guard. Fulcher moved towards Puglith, but Captain Lexington stepped in between them, saber raised. The crime boss snarled as he took a two-handed grip on his sword and thrust toward the captain’s face. Captain Lexington parried the blow and then stepped forward to counterattack, but Goswin stepped back and brought the tip of his blade back up to stop Lexington’s advance. The captain smiled, but there was no mirth in it.

“I always enjoy a good fight,” he said, “shall we add a wager to make it really interesting?”

“Respectfully, I was already plannin’ to turn out your pockets after I kill you,” Fulcher replied, “so I can’t say as I see much point to it.”

Captain Lexington narrowed his eyes as he crouched slightly, then launched into a series of attacks, surging forward with his curved blade flashing as Goswin parried and dodged.

Puglith watched as the gang charged toward the five hussars. He inhaled deeply from the pipe in his hand, then blew the smoke out towards the encroaching enemies. The smoke billowed out, more than anyone could reasonably have had in their lungs, and kept coming. It rolled across the stone floor, then reared up as it reached the gangsters. It thickened and resolved itself into figures, some human, some not, and fell upon the intruders; punching, kicking, and gouging at eyes. The gangsters wasted no time turning their weapons on the smoky phantoms, who would dissipate after a few hits. The hussars seized the opportunity and attacked as well, and that side of the room devolved into a chaotic melee.

The ogre brothers were swarmed by the specters, and swung their weapons wildly, catching one of the gang members by accident. The unfortunate criminal crashed into the wall, crumpled to the floor, and stopped moving. As Agulf smashed the last of the phantoms with his club, Aldegarde looked around and spotted the furry necromancer.

“You little shit!” he growled, and the brothers stomped toward Puglith.

The jackalope reached into a jacket pocket and produced a small glass bottle sealed with a cork, then tossed it into the brazier. Agulf raised his club as the fire flared and a ring of smoke rose from the brazier. A tense second passed, but the brazier didn’t do anything other than continue to burn. He stared at it suspiciously, while Aldegarde looked at Puglith and raised an eyebrow. The jackalope grinned.

“Is that it?” Aldegarde asked.

Puglith grinned even wider.

Something heavy landed on the brothers’ back. Agulf was suddenly unable to see, as whatever it was had taken a tight grip around his head with some sort of appendage, and blows began to rain down on them from a pair of closed fists. They spun around, trying to dislodge their attacker, and Aldegarde saw that the table behind them was now empty. He turned to look at Agulf, and found himself staring into the unblinking eye of what appeared to be a horse, minus its skin. Its jaw had opened unnaturally wide, and it appeared to be doing its best to swallow Agulf’s head whole.

Bellowing in terror and rage, the ogre dropped the club and reached up with both hands, seizing the abomination’s jaws and pulling them open, freeing Agulf’s head from its hold. The brothers adjusted their grip, bent at the waist, and threw the creature to the floor in front of them.

It had been assembled out of various body parts, not all of which appeared to be human, or even from an intelligent creature at all. It also didn’t appear to be complete, as it had a human-esque torso with three long arms, one of which hadn’t yet been covered with skin. Two sprouted from the creature’s shoulders, as normal, but the third was directly underneath the second. The head may have been from a horse, but it was difficult to know for sure. Fortunately for Agulf, the teeth had been pulled from the jaw, likely to be replaced later with something more dangerous.

Before it could scramble back up, the ogre jumped on it and began stomping viciously, shouting curses. When the creature stopped moving, Agulf snatched up his club and they barreled after the necromancer, who had run off while they were distracted. Spotting an opportunity, he took an opportunistic swipe at Captain Lexington as they passed.

Having been on the defensive almost since the fight started, Fulcher seized on the captain’s momentary distraction and caught the hussar with a quick thrust to the thigh, sinking the tip of the blade in a couple of inches. Wincing in pain, Lexington recovered immediately, but as he continued to trade blows with Goswin, he was noticeably slower than before, and Fulcher began to press him, deliberately forcing the captain to put weight on his wounded leg.

Despite being outnumbered initially, the hussars’ superior training and the necromancer’s assistance showed their value, and the gangsters were cut down one after the other. Sergeant Bellamy in particular went at them like she had some sort of longstanding blood feud against the Goswin outfit. With a saber in one hand and a dagger in the other, she played havoc with the hardened criminals, her superlative technique allowing her to attack with impunity.

The ogre slid through the doorway in their bloody sandals and careened off the opposite wall, too determined to catch Puglith and turn him into a stain on the floor to slow down. A single torch burned in the hall, and ten pale-faced humans stood there staring at him with vacant expressions. Aldegarde looked at them suspiciously, and Agulf glanced behind the ogre to be sure they wouldn’t be surprised again.

“Get out of our way if you don’t want to get hurt,” Aldegarde demanded, scowling at the newcomers.

Agulf turned back and looked at them. “They ain’t breathing,” he said to his brother.

“I hate necromancers,” Aldegarde groaned as the undead creatures opened their mouths, bared their teeth, and charged at the ogre, biting and snapping.

Puglith was in a tomb he’d emptied out and used as a storage room for corpses before he made something out of them. The revenants he’d released would buy him some time, but they weren’t enough to stop that ogre. He had to hand it to Goswin; he had good taste in enforcers. Well, minus that useless cousin of his.

This wasn’t going to be his best work; he’d had much higher hopes for what he was working with now, but those hussars weren’t a match for an ogre. At least, not on foot and in a hallway where they couldn’t get around behind it. They’d probably kill it easily if they had caught it in the forest while they were on horseback.

He pulled out his belt knife and carved a sigil onto the corpse’s forehead as the distorted sounds of the ogre howling, cursing, and smashing echoed down the hall. Puglith puffed on his pipe as he pulled a small book from his coat pocket and flipped through it, searching through the ledger full of names, bargains struck, and favors owed.

There!

A suitable spirit chosen to serve as the animus of his creation, he whispered the incantation as the sounds of the ogre performing acts of violence came to an end. A pair of rumbling voices sounded in the hall as Puglith drew off the pipe and blew the smoke into the corpse’s face, where it found the mouth and flowed inside.

“I’m going to rip him apart slowly,” Aldegarde growled as they stomped down the hall, a torch in his hand.

“We been in worse fights,” Agulf replied. “Been hurt worse too, lots worse.”

“That isn’t it!” Aldegard insisted. “It’s that we think we’re fighting one thing, then we get ambushed by something creepy that bites.” He spat in disgust. “It’s unsettling!”

“I was the one who got bit by the first one,” Agulf pointed out. “Weren’t so bad.”

“First of all, that one didn’t have any teeth. Secondly, what do you mean it ‘weren’t so bad’?! I nearly shit our pants when I saw what had your head in its mouth!” exclaimed Aldegarde.

“Didn’t care for it at the time, but then we smashed it flat. No reason to dwell on it. Ugly bastard should have been afraid of us,” Agulf reasoned.

Aldegarde shook his head. “You screamed plenty at the last ones.”

“Little biters had teeth. Shit hurt,” Agulf explained patiently.

They stopped suddenly. From ahead came the sound of hooves on the stone floor. The light from the torch was reflected in two pairs of eyes in the darkness, and Agulf raised his club menacingly. A massive lowland buffalo lumbered into the light, its large black horns wider than the ogre’s shoulders. It’s coat was black as well, and Puglith was sitting on its back, holding onto the hump over its shoulders with his hands. He hopped off and patted the creature’s shoulder, reaching up to do so.

“I was going to use it for parts,” he said, “but you two are proving to be a real pain in the ass.”

Agulf gestured at the jackalope with his club. “Come here and I’ll end your suffering.”

“You’re funny!” Puglith replied. “You won’t be when I’m done.”

Aldegarde tossed the torch to the floor in between them, then pulled the wineskin off their belt. He thumbed it open and took a swig.

“You kids play nice.” Puglith slapped the buffalo on the shoulder, and it charged forward. The necromancer turned and ran off into the darkness, leaving them to it.

Time seemed to slow down for Aldegarde, as he watched the buffalo advance, one hoof after the other. His knees bent and his eyes widened as he waited for the moment to make his move. When he was certain the creature had too much momentum to stop, he raised the substantial wineskin, pointed it at the still-burning torch on the floor, and clamped his hand into a fist.

The potent liquor reached the flame just before the undead beast; roaring into a conflagration that filled the hallway, and igniting the buffalo as well, as the last of the liquid splashed onto it before catching fire.

The reanimated creature momentarily forgot about the ogre, and began to buck and kick wildly, spinning around in the hallway and making a screaming noise that wasn’t right for a bovine. The ogre took their club in a two-handed grip and watched for an opening as the space filled with the smell of burning hair.

Finally, the thing resumed its charge, though it was unclear if it was fleeing or attacking. The brothers took a couple of quick steps forward, then dropped into a slide, swinging the club at the animal’s knees. The strike connected, and the burning monster tumbled end over end. The ogre stood and turned, grim looks on their faces. Over and over again, they raised the club and struck, as the undead creature burned, screamed, and tried to rise to its feet.

When it finally stopped moving, the brothers took a few steps back, before sitting down with their back against the wall to rest. The necromancer was long gone by now, and they were filthy, sore, and exhausted. They stared at the opposite wall in sullen silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

“Wish we still had some of this.” Aldegarde held up with wineskin. Agulf gave a small smile.

“We get out of here, an’ it’s on me.”

Aldegarde and Agulf turned to look at the speaker and saw Fulcher Goswin, his hands tied. Captain Lexington stood behind him, saber blade resting alongside Fulcher’s neck. Sergeant Bellamy and two hussars brought up the rear, also escorting a pair of prisoners with their hands bound.

Agulf sighed, “Sorry boss, should’a been there.”

“Ain’t your fault, lads. You stopped those things back down the hall from ambushing us, probably saved our lives,” Goswin replied.

“Little menace and his useless creations,” Bellamy groused, rubbing a bandaged hand. “Ought to just feed him to them and be done with it.”

“He’s doing important work, both for the service, and the whole kingdom,” said Captain Lexington said. “Now you,” he pointed at one of the hussars, “go find him. These gentlemen are going to explain to us exactly what they’re doing here and why.”