The square was still, seemingly empty. As I looked around, I wondered where Rose and Azog had ended up. It was only right that I at least tried to find my companions and remove their trackers.

“Do you know where I can find my friends?” I asked the bug.

The glorified cockroach looked at me, but remained silent, judging me as if I was the idiot talking to the bug. But the bug was no ordinary bug. The bug could not fool me into reconsidering that it was, in fact, ordinary. Druid Urna was not controlling the bug but, then, who was? Who was at the wheel steering the bug? Making it crawl while it made my insides crawl. I did not know.

“You’re not fooling me.” I said.

Again, the bug did not speak.

“You spoke to me when I was under that illusion. It was not the Adjudicator who helped me escape.”

The bug kept walking, ignoring my constant talking. It was stoic, I gave it that.

Eventually, in the distance I noticed both Rose and Azog standing in the middle of a crowd seemingly unharmed. With my mana sight I could tell that the effects of the red mana still lingered but seemed to have dissipated for the most part. There, on the floor, was another bug. I looked back at my bug, confused. I didn’t realize I was following an imposter. My bug stopped a few inches from its brethren.

In Azog's hands, he held a seemingly new two-handed sword and a small coin pouch in his other hand. He was lucky to have some gold to resupply on some gear, wherever he’d found that coin purse.

“Arthur! It looks like you got lost.”

“Sure. Anyway, I met and talked to the Adjudicator. He gave me these pills and some instructions on how to remove the tracker.”

“Fortune favors those who follow bugs,” said Azog. He rubbed his like he’d won the lottery. He was likely thinking about how he’d implement the bug into creating an Inn monopoly in Mudville.

“Bugs are the worst. How can I maintain my princess image with a stupid bug following me around? A bird or a squirrel would be a much better look.” Rose added.

“Well, why don’t you go find yourself a mystical squirrel then. The bugs here and it's lucky. In my experience, you take all the luck you can get.” retorted Azog.

“Here.” I said, as I handed both Azog and Rose a pill. They looked at the pill. Also, you need to follow these instructions. I unraveled the scroll.

“Ah you fell for the classic Orcish fake spell prank.”

“What?”

“That's the classic Orcish fake spell prank. Everyone knows about that.”

“Yeah, I even know about the Classic Orcish fake spell prank.” Rose agreed.

“Just eat the damn pills.” I muttered.

They swallowed the pills.

“The Vial of Blood I’m looking for is right by the main Church of Nosturdam. Without the trackers, that’s the last place they’ll look for us,” I said.

“I like it.” said Azog.

“What? This seems pretty risky.” Rose protested.

“Look at it this way, Rose. We’ve got two of those tiny little suckers here. Those words spoken are probably the luckiest words ever to be said. If we’re going to pull off a miracle, it might as well be here and now.”

Rose closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

“It feels awfully convenient that these bugs just seem to know where to go. I’m afraid that our luck will run out. It is not like they can be right about everything.”

“Well, maybe they’re just more informed. If they know more about the city, then it could just be a matter of skill.” I said.

“It’s a bug. It’s all luck. That thing can’t even think.” Azog said.

“Says you.” I countered, deconstructing his argument like an expert butcher.

To my right, a vendor's stall was propped haphazardly on a nearby building. A building this shoddy could only mean that the vendor took any measures necessary to bring the most affordable prices to their customers. The cloak I bought was of rather low quality, with rough cut edges. The dull gray color, blended in like camouflage with the surrounding stone. It wasn’t exactly fashionable, but the last thing I wanted was to stand out. Also, the cloak was cheap. Rose and Azog had purchased similar outfits. Rose opted for a more flashy light blue. It cost more, but Rose argued it was worth the extra price. Something, something, I don’t want to look like a poor beggar. Azog went with a more sensible and opted for an affordable brown coat.

The shopkeeper, a young scruffy looking man, had yet to recognize who we were. To think that the most notable people in the city wouldn’t get noticed hurt me. We were probably the biggest criminals in the city, except for possibly the serial killer colloquially called Slicy Elf. Either the Church was overly confident in their trackers, or word had yet to spread about our serious and definitely noteworthy crime: walking past a no-trespassing sign.

Now, I wasn’t particularly a religious man before becoming a necromancer, and, after becoming a necromancer, I hadn't exactly started praying to the gods. But if there was something that would inspire you to pray, the large cathedral with a spire that reached for the stars might’ve done it for you.

As we weaved our way through alleys, making our way to the large spire that shot into the sky, I noted an abundance of travelers as we neared the Church. Three statues stood outside the Cathedral. I pulled my cloak close to my face. I didn’t want unwanted attention.

Parishioners of the Church, mostly travelers making their way to the great city, were giving offerings to the great three. Each statue was adorned with gifts that ranged in quality. That was the extent of my knowledge of the Church. There were countless gods in the world, more than could be counted on both your toes and your fingers. It wasn’t worth giving yourself a headache memorizing every single one. Still, though, the gifts gifted to each statue told a story of what they represented.

I walked towards the closest statue to take a look. A preacher stood next to the statue, likely skimming the odd coin that was thrown at the statue.

“Hear the tale of Borus, god of righteousness and prime numbers.”

“Are prime numbers lucky?” shouted someone from the crowd.

“Well, no, but they are fascinating. In the world, you can find prime numbers wherever you look. They’re hidden in plain sight, but with the power and beauty of mathematics you can uncover the beauty that surrounds us.” Said the Preacher.

“Please. Dracus’ is the god of good luck.. He offers good fortune when I donate my good coins to the church. At least then, I’d get some value out of my hard earned coin.”

The crowd murmured, the consensus clearly in favor of getting good luck.

“Wait! But you should donate out of the kindness of your hearts? Do you all hate righteousness? What about the days where people cared about the good of society as a whole?”

“Please. No one pays homage to gods that don’t give back. With only a few miracles being tossed out recently, you’ve got to be stingy with your offerings.”

The priest shook his head with vitriol. It just wasn’t fair. He’d worked hard getting to this point, only to be paired up with a terrible and somewhat boring god. For every coin he collected, the God of Fortune was getting eight. That math he knew well.

I walked past him and into the Church. The inside of the building wasn’t any less grand. I wondered if the gold trim that hung from the ceiling was solid gold, or gold leaf. The mosaic windows let in a range of light that was pleasant for most people.

The pews were made from solid oak. No cushions adorned these seats. No amount of positioning would make sitting in the seat comfortable. The wiser, crouching folk had reached an enlightened understanding that, grating their knees on the cold stone floors, was the lesser of the two evils. They were likely praying for some cushions, I concluded.

I walked down the center aisle making my way to the humble wooden altar adorned with only some gold trim. For now, it was empty. The previous sermon had ended recently. The next one wouldn’t start for a while.

I walked past the altar and took a left. An opened door led into a hallway that led to another closed door. I was pleasantly surprised that the closed door wasn’t locked. Although I refrained from opening it as I heard commotion on the other side. I put up my ear to the key and listened.

“Stop beating the bread like it killed your grandmother. It doesn't need to be perfect. We’re turning this batch into wafers to hand out to worthless common folk. They ain’t got skills like us. Nor the favor from any of the gods. Keep it cheap, so the coins keep pilin up.”

“A bakery,” I muttered, disdainfully under my breath.

They were always trying to skim some extra flour. With all of the experience I gained running around dealing with bakers, I knew that their type were trouble. Again, I looked around for any door, but without any other door insight I knew I had to make my way through the bakery if I was going to reach the top of the spire.

I frantically walked up and down the halls of the monastery, looking for any signs of death mana. There, just outside the window-sill, was a half eaten sparrow. I suspected that a cat had tried to imitate the bakers, when it kneaded the poor bird to death. Its misshapen body and protruding skull was noticeable from all but one angle.

I admit that it was not my finest work. Walking on one wing and half a foot my new undead minion was slower than the rather slow Beetles. For now, I pocketed my undead friend, and walked towards the door. I placed the poor half eaten bird by the crack in the door. In the dim-light of the hallway, it’d only look somewhat dead. I hid behind the crate conveniently close to the door.

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“Squeak.” I forced my undead bird to squawk. The sound wasn’t right, the bird's vocal chords had already started to rot.

“What’s that,” I heard one of the bakers.

“Looks like a bird,” said the other baker.

“It only sort of looks like a bird. I reckon, the cat had some fun with it and the poor thing is holding on for its frail life.”

“It’s probably got diseases. Why don’t you put it out of its misery?”

“Me?”

“I’m your boss, aren’t I?”

“No, I work for the Holy Order. My only bosses are the big three. Ain’t it sin to idolize the short-lived, when the deities exist.”

“I’m not asking you to worship me. Just do your job, beneath me.”

“I am. That’s why I’m kneading the dough.”

“How about we both go? If the creature finds its way into a bag of flour, and we accidently serve it to the High Priest we’ll surely rot at the bottom of the nine hells.”

“Aigh. Four hands are better than two anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

And it was just that easy. The two bakers chased after the small bird who happened to climb up half a bag of flour, conveniently located on the other end of the hallway. Waiting for them to bend down, I dashed for the door, slamming it behind me. I pulled down the large metal latch, locking the bakers out.

“Bang!” the door rattled.

“Whose in there!” shouted one of the bakers!”

“Where’d yah misplace the key?”

“I have the key. The security bar has been lowered.”

“I knew yah shouldn’t have installed that.”

“I didn’t want to. The priest made me do it. You can’t make good bread when it's confined to tight enclosed spaces. Hell, it's a tightly run bakery, I can’t change that. It’s the enclosed part I can.”

I turned away from the door, and found the small wooden ladder in what looked to be a brooms closet. This ladder was perfectly placed in the location, right under the spire. I began to climb. Upon reaching the top, I looked out from the open bell tower, looking at all the small people wandering about.

The bustling city flowed like a river, as an influx of people came into the city, as others left. They congregated outside of the Church and the Law Building both of which stood out from the older, less elegant buildings in the area. The Church liked to show off their wealth. It brought legitimacy to the gods that were worshiped, unconsciously, suggesting that maybe some of that wealth would rub off among the common folk.

The bell was made from bronze, and was easily weighed as much as an oxen. A large braided rope hung from the chained metal clapper. It was not immediately obvious where the vial was. I guess I shouldn’t have expected it to be in plain sight.

But there was something peculiar about a wooden beam that supported the large heavy bell. Most people would assume that it’d take a large solid beam to support the weight of such a large bell. But the beam wasn’t solid.

There was something inside the left side of the beam. I could see it with my mana sight. I wondered if the Dark One knew I’d need mana sight to find the vial. He couldn’t have, I thought. How would he know where the vial was being kept, if he was stuck inside a cold damp cave for a millennia?

But then I stopped thinking because thinking, this instant, was a waste of time. I knew that eventually, the baker’s would break through the heavy iron bar that was conveniently placed to keep people out. They were, after all, bakers.

Not having anything to chisel my way into the wood, I climbed down the stairs to grab a large metal dowel, which was pointed on one end. A baker would use the dowel to provide structure to a cake, in the same way that boots gave structure to messenger’s feet arches. I had spotted a few messengers as I looked down into the bustling streets.

I climbed up the ladder, ignoring the banging on the door. It was admittedly louder and the door would soon give out.

It took me three whacks to split the wooden beam, five whacks if you counted the two near misses, six if you counted the time my foot slipped and nearly sent the metal rod tumbling down the roof. My heart stopped as the glass vial clinked against the wooden floor, nearly falling down the ladder. That would’ve been an expensive mistake.

I picked up the vial and examined it. The glass material contained a very dark liquid in-between black and red. It was blood-like in color, but I wondered if age had turned the blood a darker hue. The mana residue from the vial reminded me of the same sort of constricting mana that I had taken from the research lab underneath the Nosturdam prison. It, however, was less potent than that of the vial found beneath the ground, or maybe more refined. I couldn’t tell.

Oddly, that bothered me, but I wasn’t one to question the recipe of a benevolent ancient being. I knew that I knew very little when it came to rituals and potions.

By now, I figured that Baker's door was probably going to cave in soon. I could hear the beating it was taking, a beating I would be taking if I didn’t leave before the door gave out.

While all heists begin with a bit of deflection, a dash of trickery, and some good old-fashioned sneaking, the most successful heists always have a well-thought out escape plan. My heist wasn’t that well thought out, so I grimaced as I contemplated my options: climb down a roof or…

That was really my only option.

The problem with climbing down a roof is that it isn't something most people usually do. If most people pranced about on roofs, then roofs would be no more than glorified floors. That was why, as I scooted my way down the edge of the angled roof, people happened to notice me. I could not hear their whispers, but their tiny pointed hands suggested that they were gossiping about me.

“Shit.” I said.

And shit was right. Down below an important group of figures had gathered. It was a group of angry looking lawyers, two angry bakers and a couple of angry clergy men. I could imagine why they were angry. As I came closer to the edge of the roof, the people down below began to look a lot less like ants. Azog was not an ant. However, he looked small when talking to the angry clergymen.

“What the hell are you doing up there?! It’s trespassing to sneak into a Church and ring the bell. Good thing common sense came over you. If you’d rang that bell you’d have to be locked up.” yelled a Lawyer loud enough where I could hear it faintly.

“Sorry. Thought I’d get a good view of the city from up there.” I yelled back.

It occurred to me that the priests and the guards had not figured out who we were: the most wanted trio in all of Nosturdam. While I was relieved that I wasn’t going to be locked up, I was somewhat disappointed and slightly confused that they didn’t notice who we were.

At the edge of the roof, was a well-placed window, followed by a ledge, followed by another less appealing ledge. As the head primate of the urban jungle, I knew it wouldn’t be too hard to climb down if I was careful. All I needed to do was avoid slipping.

I took my time, climbing down. While many of the onlookers had gone about their business, some still kept their eyes peeled onto me. They probably had better things to be doing, but it was not common for someone to break into the Church and use it as a personal playground. There were consequences for people who did that.

I felt a sense of relief rush through my body as my feet touched the ground. The vial was tightly secured beneath my clothes, hidden from sight. I got the sense that very few people knew of the vial, or perhaps the knowledge of its whereabouts were lost to the church. For some reason, though, I doubted that. If the adjudicator knew of its existence, it was likely that the head priest of Nosturdam also did.

“It is unsafe for people to be climbing where you don’t belong. Your compatriot, here, explained that you are new to the city and don’t understand the rules that govern the city. ” snarled one of the three priests.

“Sorry.”

“You should be. But like the three gods and their mercy towards their followers, we have come to the conclusion to show mercy to you. We only ask that you make an offering to the gods to show that you’re remorseful for your transgression.” The kinder, less angry priest stated, rather loudly. I recognized him as the priest who stood outside the statue of Boris.

“No worries. I can do that.”

It was a small price to pay for the stolen vial, so I happily tossed the coins left in my coin purse to Borus’ priest. There wasn’t much left, but I’m sure it would satisfy them.

“Now let's get going.” Azog snapped

I agreed. We turned around and headed for the city gates.

The unplanned heist had gone perfectly up to this point. Sure, we’d gotten some unwanted attention, but the city was unaware of the criminal masterminds that stood before them. Like Panthers fading into the darkness of the night, the three of us tried fading into the background of a crowd. The issue, though, was that hiding was tremendously hard to do, when the person looking for you could see everything all at once. We had not factored that into the heist among many other factors. It wasn’t a very well-thought out heist.

“Seize them! Those three criminals walking away in those uncomfortably cheap looking robes. ” yelled an agent of the judge known colloquially as The Grand Minister of Law, known properly as Frederick, as he shoved his way past the three priests, twoish lawyers, and a crowd of nobodies.

“Wait. Why should we seize them?” asked one of the priests, presumably the one assigned to the God of Fortune.

“They made a great enemy of the law. They… Trespassed.”

“Oh, we know that. We watched the young man climb up through the bakery and do a little roof hopping. It’s crazy what will happen when you let a clueless villager into a proper city. Don’t worry, we gave them a slap on the wrist and sent them on their way.” Borus’ priest explained.

“No. They are to be tried and sentenced in court.”

“Look, you’re getting a bit carried away. A bit of trespassing is not that big of a deal. It’s a minor crime at best.”

“You’re not understanding. They trespassed in an undisclosed and very secretive location.”

“Look. I don’t know what is undisclosed and very secretive about the Church's bakery. It’s not like we put crickets in the flour.”

“Umm…” The fatter baker piped up.

“And even if we did that, that is not something we should keep a secret, let alone punish some poor village bumpkin.”

“You’re not understanding.” said the frustrated agent, clearly exasperated at this delay. The bonus was supposed to be his, but these priests were making things difficult.”

“Someplace other than the Church.”

“Where?” asked the third priest.

“I’m afraid that’s a secret.”

“It sounds like you’re making things up. It’s bad for the Church's image for you to lie like that.” said Borus’ priest. The other two priests nodded in agreement. They could at the very least agree on this.”

The agent resigned to his fate, unknowing that it was far more than fate that had stopped his bounty fulfillment.

By now, we were nearing the gates. The guards' stoic stances and boredom was an optimistic sign. The inflow and outflow of visitors with little policing was also favorable. The one guard who was feeling ill from a bit of uncooked pork, might’ve been more than a coincidence to the keen eye. But where there walked little blackish-blue beetles, the line between luck and malicious conniving was razor thin and a bit crooked.

It was almost as if I was excited about the prospect of leaving the city to head back to Mudville. I wasn’t. Make no mistake that the little unnoteworthy smear of a village that was Mudville, wasn't the place that any person would want to be. It was a place of circumstance, a place you unknowingly navigated to, little by little; sort of like how middle aged drunkards find themselves swimming naked in the city fountain surrounded by pesky law enforcement. That was not how they intended to end their night but bad decision after bad decision pulled them to the fountain. The end result was a somewhat pleasant swim until they sobered up enough to the reality that their future was bleak.

There was, however, something rewarding about finishing a fetch that I couldn’t quite put into words. It was an intangible feeling, albeit a certainly enjoyable one. There was also a bit of relief somewhere lodged into that feeling. In the end, I just felt happy, I concluded.

I was happy, standing in the queue to leave the city. Happier, when the line moved swiftly. Even happier when we made it through the other side of the gate without any hiccups. I stood two feet away from the other side of the gate, when a small gnomish Lawyer ran to the edge of the city, followed by a platoon of twenty well trained city guards.

“By the decree of laws, I demand that you stop.” demanded Mr. Borbus, my lawyer.