[40th Year of Foresai, Lower Wind Month, Day 2]

Tina was starting to get a headache. Her skull was overpressurized, blood pooling at the top of her head. She had been hanging upside down for the last hour, and it was beginning to get boring. Her legs were wrapped around one of the rafters, themselves the slanted offshoots for the main beam that stretched the building. It had been a spendthrift project, producing an overly opulent structure - near cathedral-like in its appearance - as a symbol of law and order; a woodwork promise to the people that contraband would not make it in or out of city walls. This was made ironic by Tina’s mission on multiple levels, but the main reason was the man below her. He was Chief inspector Durnen, and there was no traffic that passed through the Capital’s east gate that did not fall under his watchful eye. Of course, seeing didn’t mean much if he could be bribed into not speaking about it.

Her left leg cramped. Grabbing the top of the beam with her hands, she pulled herself up slightly, meaning her body weight was no longer borne by her legs. She spread them, stretching and relieving much of the tension that had built up. Her sister, two beams to Tina’s left, did the same. The ceiling in this office was unusually high, and the elevation of Tia and Tina above their mark meant that the weak candlelight he was using to scribble out inspection reports would not illuminate them. They had faded into the gloom, and became just another pair of stalkers that hid in the depths of the night.

A series of raps came against the door. Biding the visitor to come in, a man entered the room.

“Caravan, correct? We’ll need to perform an inspection on each of your carts. Please provide your manifest, and sign here, here, and here. Before coming here you should have precalculated the tax levy. If you are part of a company or guild they should have done this for you. Place your coinage on the scale.”

The man who entered placed several dozen gold coins on Durnen’s desk scale, far more than required. Handing Durnen a manifest, the man stood silently and watched the bureaucrat. Durnen flipped around the forms that he had asked the man to complete and began to fill them out himself. Within a minute, he had completed the sheet, and had turned around in his chair and began filling out another form. Finished and satisfied, he removed the coins from the scale, put them in his desk, and handed the sheet of parchment to the other man.

“Here’s your completed inspection report. It's late at night, so watch for criminals and miscreants. Godsspeed.”

What a smooth interaction. No verbal innuendo or bargaining from either party. He’s experienced at being corrupt.

This was all the proof Tina and Tia needed. They positioned themselves above the men, and let go.

—

Evileye was standing in a field, leaning against a post. The scarecrow that had once occupied it had been ripped off, and it was the only structure or tree in the field which she could support her bodyweight against. Although it was near midnight, the full moon blazed high in the sky, and she would have been clearly identifiable to anyone who walked along the road. This was not the case however, for she had made herself invisible.

Evileye removed a small object from one of the pockets in the liner of her cloak. It was in the shape of a nearly flat circle, and under a small glass sheet were three separate dials moving at varying speed. A useful toy she had acquired long ago, Evileye used it to tell the time.

Two minutes.

She had been following a small convoy of wagons for the last three hours. Invisible, she had floated among the guards, listening to their hidden words.

Minute thirty.

Drifting in a world of hushed tones and secrets, Evileye had finally caught something with her ears.

One minute.

A few words, exchanged between two men driving the rear wagon, asking about where they would stash the Laira they had hidden under their barrels of barley.

Thirty seconds.

On hearing that, Evileye had flown a mile ahead of the wagon train, and began the process of preparing her snare.

Fifteen seconds .

The umber sea was illuminated in the distance, the orange light of flame causing the shadows of the grainfield to waver.

Ten seconds.

Evileye had weaved arcane incantations, lacing the air with invisible tripwires and spellbombs. These enveloped the road, and horse and man alike walked past them, entirely unaware of their presence.

Five Seconds.

—

Lakyus felt her heart race. She was standing an arms length away from the door to an abandoned farmstead; at least it was abandoned until Eight Fingers began to use it as a waystation. She knew that beyond the door were seven people, at least two of them enforcers; that once she broke it down, she would need to kill at least six, and capture the remaining one alive. She would have to be swift, lest anyone find egress on the back of a horse. Any mistake on her part could result in the cold steel of her enemy plunging into her body. This was not why her heart was racing.

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Kill them all Lakyus, it would be easier that way.

Her grip tightened. No matter what ghosts haunted Gagaran, what aggrieved victims pursued Tina and Tia, or whatever curses befell Evileye, Lakyus bore a burden she was certain was the heaviest.

You would enjoy it. You’re that sort of person.

The blade she bore, leveled against the lock on the door, was that burden.

What are you waiting for? Kill them and take their essence.

It was long and broad, a bastard sword jet black in color. Specks of unlight shone from its surface in detestable and unnatural patterns. The pommel of the blade was inlaid with a dark sapphire, as black as the night surrounding her.

Crush them.

This sword’s name was Kilineiram. It was a weapon from the age of heros; the Fourth of Four, of the Thirteenth of Thirteen. The foremost Blade of Darkness, born by the Black Knight himself. It was an anathema.

Subsume them.

Lakyus’s mind roiled. Moonlight defined its edges, a kaleidoscope of malediction reflecting into her eyes. The sword was not sentient, but looking into it belied the weakness of the senses. The obsidian darkness was foremost a glass, through which the deepest parts of the psyche could find themselves illuminated. Lakyus bore this blade, a shard of negative energy thought to have been formed by the steady deposition of planes lower and fouler than this one, and she bore it proudly.

Although she knew that the words polluting her mind were delusions of her own doing, Lakyus could not help but fear in her heart that this cursed blade was corrupting her. Clearing her mind, she stepped back. Tensing power in her body, she exploded forward, shattering the lock on the door with a kick.

—

Gagaran struck again at the tree with her ax. The sweat on her arms glistened in the faint light of the waxing penumbra. Dawn was hours away, and she had to hurry. She struck again, and again, and again a final time, felling the tree. It was an adolescent birch, and broke under Gagaran’s assault with little resistance. This made her count eighteen, and although she would have prepared more, she felt pressed for time.

Grunting, she lifted it onto her shoulder, and steadily walked up the hill behind her, passing several stumps of her former conquests. A river was near, and the roar of rushing water was yet another aspect of the summer months. The night was warm, and the hum of insects provided a soothing tune for the coming day. As she walked, her legs burned, and with her free hand she reached into her bag and withdrew a small vile. Pulling the cork with her teeth, she spat it away and downed the liquid inside. It was sickly sweet, and had she not braced herself for the taste, she would have spat that out too. The aches in her body began to fade, and within a few minutes, her fatigue would ebb away completely.

Nearing the top, the pile of other logs came into view. They were resting on the opposite downslope, but were prevented from rolling down by her warhammer, whose pummel had been thrust into the soil. Cresting the hill, Gagaran set down the log on top of the rest, then looked down the slope.

Her quarry was a small nest of tents, with a count of six horses tied by the river’s edge. Tracking them through the day, she realized from gait and endurance that they were skilled warriors. When they sat down to rest for the night, one had remained dutifully awake at all times, scanning the darkness for man or beast, combatant or monster. Their choice of rest was not done mindlessly either, they sat in the center of a wide clearing; protected by a wall of water behind them and a field in front that would give them significant reaction time.

She could win one duel, or three; but six was pushing it. Despite her outward bluster and confidence, the cooler part of her mind prevailed, and she had no intention of attacking them with anything that was not a surprise. Although she could fell the watchman before any others were capable of engaging, a charge over such distance would leave her tired and off her edge. Gagaran decided to improvise.

Her gaze on the encampment below, she closed her eyes and focused on her body. She felt her lungs swell with air, the beat of her heart, and the rhythm of her Ki. She was ready. In a swift motion she wrenched her warhammer from the ground. The logs began to move, rolling and bouncing down the hill in an arboreal avalanche, the camp directly in its path. After being satisfied that her plan was going to work, Gagaran congratulated herself for her ingenious idea, and charged after them.

—

Everett Jal slowly began to rouse. Slipping into consciousness, the first thing his mind conceived was pain. His head was pounding; his skull felt like it was splitting itself in half. He pieced the first thoughts of the day together.

How late was I out last night? I must have drank the whole fucking town under.

Yet, he was not satisfied with the simple explanation of a hangover. His whole body hurt, his shins especially. As awareness crept into his mind, he began to ask more questions.

Why am I upright? Am I in a chair? Wait, why can’t I move?

At this he shot awake, jerking forward only to feel ropes dig deep and force the air from his chest. Struggling to breathe, he quickly started to remember fragments of his previous thread of consciousness.

No, I wasn't out drinking! I was asleep, Kelvos shouted the alarm and suddenly something heavy struck the side of the tent and crushed it flat.

He opened his eyes only to find himself in the dark. He was bound in a chair, sitting at a table lit with only a dim candle. Worse, he couldn’t bring his eyes to focus, swelling forcing his right eye into a squint.

Shit! I’ve been captured.

Struggling against his bonds only served to bruise him more. They would not move. Suddenly, a face appeared before him. It was bone-white, with thin slits where there should have been eyes, and no mouth.

A ghost?! N-no, that’s a mask.

More details of the specter in front of him came into view. The mask was enveloped with red, a cloak. It was draped over a body, hiding it entirely from view. Everett felt his heart sink.

It can’t be. That’s… oh my Gods, that’s Evileye isn’t? Have I been captured by the Blue Roses!?

Four more figures slowly came into view, and he felt his heart sink deeper. A low and gruff voice came from the largest of them.

“Oy, loverboy, are you going to make us ask questions, or can you make this easy on us and just tell us everything you know?”

I’m fucked.