The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of dusky purple and orange, the three of us sitting about and stirring at each and every sound. The gentle rustling of leaves sent my icearigama to my hands. The soft plop of a pine cone had Ike up with blade in one hand and a pile of dirt in the other. On and on, our edginess grew.

So it was quite the surprise that we failed to detect the arrival of Kevinar. He stepped from the shadows, emerging in legendary fashion as a dark cloaked figure detaching seamlessly from the dimming twilight. Kevinar moved swiftly and knelt down in the center of our party.

“The mission is done. I have information,” he said, speaking in a low, crouching voice.

Ike snorted. “’Bout time. Didn’t know we were going to be making this into a night mission.”

“Missions happen when they must,” Kevinar replied. “Often, the mission is the one who chooses not just the where and when of their matter, but the who and what as well.”

I nodded, not understanding at all what he was getting at. Jeldorain chortled in my head as he caught whiff of my confusion, but I ignored him.

We closed in and gathered around the dark elf, air thick with anticipation. “Kevinar, what news?” The words slipped out, accidentally and impatiently, but I wanted to cut past the chatter and start the mission. My family needed me.

Kevinar, with a practiced ease, reached into the depths of his dark cloak, his fingers deftly finding what they sought. He withdrew a crumpled piece of parchment, its edges worn and slightly tattered. With deliberate care, he unfolded the parchment, revealing its creased and lined surface. It was a map, detailed and intricate, the product of a keen eye and a steady hand.

“I have much to report,” he announced, his voice carrying a calm intensity. He cast about, looking for somewhere to spread the map out. I apparated my shield and placed it on the ground. “Thank you, Ryan,” he said, laying the map down and pushing it out flat.

We came closer and huddled around, looking over the parchment. It was hard to see in the darkness, the angle of the setting sun casting a dance of shadows and dying rays across our faces and the map's surface. But it was enough, and we examined the lines and symbols on the parchment, bringing the legend to bear and quickly understanding the lay of the land.

Kevinar's slender finger, pale against the dark ink, began to trace the routes and landmarks. “The patrols are frequent, but predictable,” he explained, his finger gliding over the pathways marked on the map. “Their mages are well-guarded, yet not invincible. I estimate them to be level 5s and 6s. Veterans in the field, but no one who has seen and survived major combat against a boss-type foe.”

I leaned in, my eyes scanning the detailed sketch of the goblin encampment. “And the families? The captives?” I asked.

“The kingdom in which they are kept is accessible from a main gate, as Harric stated, and also a secret entrance near the border of the camp here,” Kevinar said, stabbing his finger into the paper. We followed his motion, seeing the place marking with the symbol of a halfmoon.

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“That’s going to make things difficult,” Ike observed. “I was hoping the entrance to the kingdom would be closer to the chiefs and we could maybe save them, bring them with us, and get the families all before any ruckus got started. How are we supposed to save both the chiefs and the families?”

My mind raced. I’d done rescue missions before, in Lords of Chaos, and some of them were meant to be solved more diplomatically than special ops. The orcs in mind with Harric in the forefront, I imagined that the dwarves might well be in the same situation as the tribes were.

“How big is this kingdom?” I asked, suspicions rising.

Kevinar cocked his head. “It’s a city-state, a single large city that dominates a tremendous cavern beneath us,” he answered, tracing the borders it on the map before us, before flipping the map to show a detailed subterranean one. Catching a glimpse of the map legend and the distance ratios used, I quickly measured the city to be 20 square miles in depth and length. Sizable and probably densely packed, but almost certainly a place small enough to be cowed by the current Goblin Empire presence.

“What if the dwarves are under the same sort of thrall that the orcs are?” I asked. “Could we sneak in, meet with their leader, and save the families without word reaching the goblins above, giving us a chance to save the chieftains as well?”

Kevinar ticked his tongue. “Maybe.” His finger moved to a different section of the map, one marked with a series of small, clustered dots. “A series of mystic sigils mark the camp land here, and within sit mages, their eyes closed in reverie. There were three when I saw them. I don’t understand their purpose, but given their constant attention, it might have to do with this very idea of which you speak.”

Brandosyeus peered more closely. “It is indeed the right placement for displacement runes. Such a placement with the right amount of constantly concentrated mana could give them constant spell access to the kingdom. It is possible that they have hostages of their own within the dwarven kingdom.”

I growled. “Jeldorain says that such runes could give them access to all sorts of spells, depending on which minor runes are inscribed within them. Including clairvoyance. I think, for this to work, we’ll have to form two rescue teams and save both the chieftains and the families simultaneously, while also putting the rune circles out of operation. How long do these things take to set up again if they are destroyed?”

“Thousands of gold coins, new fresh soil from the kingdom beneath us, and three days of intensely concentrated ritual,” Brandosyeus said, drawing internal assent from Jeldorain.

“So there it is. We find a way to wreck the runes, then have three days to rescue the chiefs and their families, while also talking to the dwarves and convincing them to let us free them.”

“We’re going to need more people,” Ike groused.

The four of us shared a look.

“No, you can’t ask them,” Brandosyeus said, high voice rising angrily. “They aren’t heroes!”

I shook my head. “Nothing about being an NPC means they can’t be heroes. Just because they don’t have levels doesn’t mean they can’t contribute. But . . . maybe we can contact Harric again and see if there aren’t orcs that might help us?”

“It’s risky,” Kevinar stated. “But necessary. All of it is necessary.” He turned and glared at Brandosyeus, his last words challenging the satyr to say otherwise. “If the NPCs stay where they are, and we fail, they will die. What is different if they die here, with us, or there, scared and unknowing. When things are desperate, it is better to be given the chance to leave this world with a blade in your hand than without, even if destiny never expected such things from you.”

We all fell quiet, looking for Brandosyeus’ response. He turned his head.

“It’s not fair.”

“My wife is a monster, at the hand of my people and my god. Life is not fair,” Kevinar noted.

“Jon,” the satyr muttered sadly.

“We are all sad that he died. But isn’t it better that he died fighting?” Kevinar pressed. Brandosyeus turned, glaring, and for a moment I felt that he might strike the dark elf. His face red and his eyes shining, the satyr turned away from them.

“I will bring the NPCs. The three of you contact Harric and find a way to break the runes. By the time that is finished, we should all be with you.”