Rado closed the door behind him as he stepped into the alley and offered Tavin a bottle of small beer, who stuck his pipe in his teeth and accepted it. Rado then hopped sideways and sat down on an empty crate, before producing his own bottle of the same, fumbling for the cork in the dark, and finally pouring a swig down his beak.

“Thanks for that, lad,” Tavin remarked, “was gettin’ a bit parched.”

“Welcome,” replied the corvidian, “be easier to see what we doing if we moved that lamp closer, though.”

“Nah,” the older human replied, “best to leave it be. You hang a lamp over a door you want folk to use, but we’re out here to keep ‘em from using this one. Let folk comin’ down the alley walk through the light an lose their night vision afore they get here.”

The alley was dimly lit and stayed so, even in the middle of the day, as the space overhead grew narrower from the upper floors of the wattle and daub buildings overhanging the lower ones. Stanhope’s boardwalk-covered back streets were a bit labyrinthine to outsiders; the city had grown on the riverbank, it hadn’t been planned. The lamp in question hung at a “y” shaped intersection a few yards away.

“Clever!” Rado responded after another swig.

“It ain’t my first time pullin’ guard duty,” Tavin grunted as struck a match, held it in cupped hands over the pipe bowl, and gave a couple of pulls. After exhaling a small cloud of smoke, he shook the match out and tossed it to the ground, grinding it out between the plank and his boot heel. “Been on the other side too, yeh pick up the tricks.”

“You been with the crew long?’ Rado asked, his feathered head tilted curiously.

“Three years here with Ribaud’s boys. Was doing road work afore that, but had to give it up.” Tavin replied, before blowing a couple of smoke rings.

“Didn’t pay?” Rado asked.

“Pay was good, better than here, sometimes. Maybe less reliable,” Tavin paused to take a drink, “the problem was the company.”

A drunk staggered around the corner, empty bottle in hand. He raised it to his lips and titled it upward, swaying back and forth as he waited in vain for something to dribble out. He gave up after he nearly fell over, then flung the glass bottle at the planks in frustration. He grumbled incoherently, and then resumed his shambling journey down the alley.

“Other way, old fella. Road’s closed down here.” Tavin motioned for Rado to stay where he was as, as he stepped away from the wall and into sight, his pipe in his teeth again, and hands at his sides.

“Who’re yeeew? King ‘a tha alley?!” the drunk demanded, looking Tav up and down and stepping closer. Rado slowly stood, reached behind his back, and wrapped his hand around the sap stuck in his belt.

“That’s me, and by royal decree, the road’s closed.” Tavin turned his pipe upside down and tapped it against his palm, before placing it in the pocket of his vest. He let the ashes fall from his palm to the boardwalk below as the drunk stared at him furiously.

Tavin met his glare, and without breaking eye contact, raised his foot and stomped an ember out. The drunk flinched at the sound.

“Now git.” Tavin said.

The drunk turned to leave. Rado relaxed, and let go of the sap. Then, to his horror, the drunk spun around and swung his fist in a wild haymaker! Rado began to shout a warning!

He needn’t have bothered, Tavin hadn’t relaxed for an instant. He stepped back and easily evaded the blow, then delivered an overhand punch to the drunk’s now-undefended face. The inebriated man tumbled to the boardwalk. “I’m not gonna tell you again.” Tavin growled.

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The drunk struggled to rise, and fell once, but got up on the second try. He shuffled a few steps back the way he’d come. “Yer kingdom smells like PISS!” he shouted, before recommencing his journey, staggering even more than he had when he arrived.

“You pulled your punch.” Rado observed.

Tavin sat down on an empty barrel next to their post at the door and took a swig of his beer. “He smelled like dog shit and I didn’t wanna carry him. Let him walk it off.”

Rado let out a deep, croaking laugh. “If I show up for sparing lessons smelling awful, will I starting leaving with fewer bruises?”

“Not a chance.” Tavin said with a wry smile.

“What were you saying about your time doing road work?” Rado asked.

“Yeah,” Tavin took another drink, “I grew up with a crew in Ostron, tough bunch a lads. Started small, but by the end, we was running the whole south riverfront. We was doin’ well too, till the war broke out. Army swept through the slums, and the whole crew was press-ganged. None made it back, exceptin’ myself. Lived on my saved wages for a while, took odd jobs here an' there, but I was startin’ to get thin. Met a few other veterans in a tavern, started talkin’.

"Worked a rotation, few weeks out in the hills, then a few weeks in town. Mostly grabbin’ coin purses, some jewelry, silks, weapons, furs. Things a lad could carry off easy. I thought we should get into gamblin’ next, like my old crew had. These lads had other ideas, started grabbin’ folk for ransom. Ransom’s honest enough I suppose, less work’n some other rackets.

but a few a the lads liked ta hurt folk. Somethin’ weren’t right in ‘em. Maybe it were the war, maybe it were some’n else. Started cuttin’ on hostages when payment wasn’t quick enough. Then they started cuttin’ on folk that gave ‘em trouble while they were robbin’ ‘em.”

Tavin stared off into the distance for a moment, then pulled out his pipe again, along with a pouch of smokeleaf. He loaded the pipe, tamped it with his thumb, and stuck it in his teeth . “Yer new at this, the whole life?” he asked, as he struck a match and lit the bowl.

“Yes,” Rado replied, “I was an apprentice to a cooper, but he was a vicious man, and beat me terribly. I stayed for a few months because my father had worked hard to get me the apprenticeship, but eventually I ran away.”

“How old are ya, lad?”

“Fifteen summers!” Rado declared.

“Hmmm,” Tavin puffed on the pipe for a moment before he spoke. “It’s easy for a man in our line ‘a work to think himself strong because he’s cruel. That’s foolishness. A cruel man is always surrounded by folk that wish him ill. He has to sleep, he has to eat. He’ll bleed just fine if ya come up behind him with a blade. Best way to stay alive is ta make sure enough other folk want ya that way.” He blew a smoke ring.

“What happened with your old crew?” Rado asked.

“I took my walkin’ away money and left town. If it were just one of ‘em bad, I coulda slit his throat and been done of it, but it were too many. You oughta make sure ya got a stash’a the same, the gods are fickle-like sometimes.” Tavin pointed at Rado with his pipestem. “Few months later, I was in an alehouse and heard tell of a priestess of Hecate who’d lost a daughter ta some bandits. She tracked ‘em down, summoned up a Wild Hunt, an set it on ‘em. Ripped ta bits by black dogs is a hard way to go, but can’t say as I felt too brokenhearted about it.” He puffed on the pipe again. “World’s a big place, full’a great powers an’ strange creatures; a wise man knows to avoid their notice.”

Rado sat on his crate and finished off his small beer. “Do you suppose you could ever be strong enough to not be afraid of anything? Like a great hero, or wizard, or something?”

“Heh,” Tavin grunted, “the Stygian Emperors were strong, real strong. Conquered the whole world, reigned for centuries, everybody must’ve thought they’d live forever.” He smirked. “Turns out they only lived long enough for Malgero’s patience to run out. Always somebody out there stronger, lad, don’t matter who you are.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a noise from around the corner. Boots slapped against the boardwalk as someone came running down the alley, the sound getting louder and louder as they approached.

“Back for a rematch, maybe?” Rado asked as Tavin set down his pipe and pulled a large, clipped-point knife from a sheath in the small of his back.

Before Tavin could reply, a strangely-dressed man charged through the intersection, and continued down the alley at full speed. His tall hat, decorated with a blue-green feather, only remained on his head because he held it on with one hand, the other holding a sword and scabbard at his hip. He was wearing spectacles, with dark glass in them, and his lower face was obscured by a bright red scarf that trailed behind him like a banner. His patchwork clothes were a riot of colors and patterns, and he was wearing a pack on his back.

As the runner passed, Rado was stunned to see a gnome poking out of the top of the pack, its face bunched-up in concentration as it attempted to reload a crossbow. The gnome made eye contact with Rado as it passed and glared.

“You saw nothing!” it shouted, waving a fist at the both of them. The pair faded into the dark before either Tav or Rado could begin to formulate a response, the runner’s vigorous pace holding steady as the distance opened up between them again.

“This neighborhood is going to the dogs,” Tav remarked.