It was a beautiful night, or at least as beautiful as it ever got in Dray’Mel. Sure there was a thick smog blocking out the sky, the usual smell of shit was strong in the air and he could hear the faintest of ghastly wails coming from the Wraiths above, not to mention the state of the Slum streets were littered with filth and rot, but…

‘Nah, now that I think about it, this city is still a shithole.’ Zacharias laughed to himself as he approached the filthy, stained door of the Tipsy Boar. He could hear the roar of a drunken crowd before he even opened the bloody thing.

When the establishment had been run by Sykes and his odious toadies, it was a quiet bar filled with the elf's own men and no one else. More of a cover story than any real place to visit or a place to make a decent profit. His cronies could gather and plot in relative secrecy without any Tombmakers sticking their oars in.

At first Zach had treated the bar the same way, using it as a meeting place to arrange business first and foremost. After all, if Sykes was worried about attracting the wrong attention, maybe that was the ‘thing to do’ as an up and coming crime lord. Something about showing your hand too early and all that.

It wasn’t until Zach really thought about it that he’d decided to change things up. Sykes was a patient elf, clearly, but that hadn’t helped him in the end, had it? So instead, the Halfling had decided to do what he did best; spit in the face of anyone who fucked with him.

The once naturally coloured wooden walls of the tavern were now coated with bright red paint, all the better to catch people’s eyes. Golden trim, ‘well, fool’s gold anyways’, decorated the ornamental pillars he’d had installed by the entrance.

The Halfling had even gotten one of his men to enchant him a stunning new sign for the Tipsy Boar, a glowing image of a charging boar nailed to the front of the tavern in tasteful scarlet lettering.

Sure, it cost him a pretty penny to keep a mage on hand to fuel the damn thing, but the five minstrel’s he had on retainer cost him more than that. This gave the Tipsy Boar its edge above the competition, being the only tavern in Dray’Mel to have music at any hour, so it was worth every silver coin.

Oddly enough, his neighbours hadn’t felt the same way about the admittedly bright lights and the constant noise from the singing or the drunken shouts for more. And they’d been particularly vocal about the dancing girls he’d hired straight from the docks.

Worse yet was the ever present smell of vomit and various bodily fluids, all barely masked under a layer of cheap perfume that wafted off the tavern and out into the streets.

And sure, there was a noticeable increase in knife crime, not to mention the uptick in street walkers and pimps in the area, but Zach was a benevolent soul so he was more than willing to pass on some gold to help folks resettle somewhere else.

Some folks were happy to pocket the payout, but there were always belligerent sorts out there. A few visits from his men took care of that thankfully, though one persistent old wretch had earned a special visit from the top man himself.

As Zacharias threw open the tavern doors and let the cacophony of noise wash over him, all he was thinking about was how much he preferred the sweet serenade of an old ladies' brittle bones, as they snapped like twigs.

‘No accounting for taste though.’ He chortled to himself, making his way through the screaming crowd. You’d think most folks would be adverse to coming this deep into the Slums for a drink, but Zach had happily slashed the price of booze.

At first he’d dropped it to half, then cut it again down to a quarter. He was losing coppers for every gulp that went down these people’s gullets… but that wasn’t the point.

Even as he walked past the loaded tables, Zach gave quick nods to his best workers as they blended in with the drunks, making friends and plying more booze down their mark’s throats.

Some were men, mostly a mix of humans and the odd Halfling, but most of his agents were older retired prostitutes. Even when he was still just a kid, trying to sling his first vial of something sweet, he’d known to get in the good graces of his elders. Hells, some of them had even been around when we were just a wee lad, picking the pockets of drunks for a meal.

Most folks would turn to the younger, sweeter lasses to entice buyers into a honeypot, but Zach knew just how much of a diva the fresh blood could be. But the older gals, the ones who were on the way out? Those were the cunning ones, the desperate souls that Zacharias had made a network out of.

And with his newfound status, he’d pulled them all along with him. They’d seen the worst of this city, so they knew what was waiting for them if they couldn’t sell.

So they lied, as freely and as cheaply as the ale that trickled down the Tipsy Boar’s patrons' chins. They’d be your best friend, your new confidante, Hells, they’d treat you like a son or daughter so long as you stayed and drank.

It was enough to bring a tear to Zacharias’ cold heart, seeing just how hard the old tarts worked at getting their targets nice and tipsy.

Then, when they were drunk enough, they’d offer a new taste, something much better than some cheap swill! ‘Oh, you’ve never tried Thimbledust before? That’s such a shame, the stuff is out of this world. It’s grown in Faerie itself, quite a hassle to get it into Dray’Mel. But oh so worth it.’ They’d purr in the drunken ears of the patrons with well practised charm.

Like deadly sirens, ready to beckon a sailor to the rocks.

It didn’t always work but more often than not, why wouldn’t they give it a try? And when they came back, why wouldn’t they try it again. And again, and again.

Still, that wasn’t Zacharias’ job anymore, so he’d leave the drug peddling to his lackies. Sure, his men would stab him in the back if they thought they could manage it, but already rumours of him having bigger backers were spreading like wildfire which made some of even Sykes most stauncher lackeys reconsider their mutinous plans.

People even said he had the Denmother in his corner, why else would she be letting his pet Ratling into her shop? Pulling the filthy thing aside, only to send him off running to his Master.

‘Idiots might actually vomit if they realised their favourite ales and drugs were made by little Ratling paws.’

Zacharias mused, stepping atop a conveniently empty chair and shouted out, “Next rounds on the house, we need more booze in all of you! And you, Bard! Let’s hear that voice nice and loud, I shouldn’t be able to hear myself think!”

Hopping down to thunderous applause that momentarily dwarfed the bard's ribald song about a plucky fair maiden and an oh-so-noble knight, the Halfling stepped past the two muscled-clad green-skinned men casually leaning against the wall by the tavern’s stairs.

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The two orcs had all the subtlety Zach had expected from their kind, but the added security never hurt. Nor did the two much more heavily armoured orcs that were stationed at the top of the stairs. Their green skin and jutting tusks made for a fierce visual combination, but the Halfling always loved the quick little bow they’d do whenever they saw him.

‘Respect is a fickle thing.’ The two orcs could probably mince him in seconds if the thick-headed thugs got the drop on him, but Zach trusted they knew their place.

It was much the same for the rest of the men sitting on the top floor of the tavern, most counting out coins in one room or pouring various alchemical goods into the precisely sized bottles in another. Sure, the ragtag bunch of louts pocketed bits here and there, but that didn’t really matter.

Zacharias had long since moved past needing to watch every coin that crossed hands. No, it was respect that mattered now, and making sure all aspects of his business all kept flowing.

He made his way past his lieutenant and ignored his fellow Halfling’s little nod towards him, barely able to remember the other Halfling’s name. The toady was a bit more useful than the last had been, but he’d end up with a knife in his gut soon enough.

After all, that’s how Garryl, ‘or was it Geralt?’, had gotten the position in the first place.

Throwing open the only room of the tavern that hadn’t been gutted to make room for more empty vials or safes to keep the flowing gold in, Zacharias walked into his bedroom with a smile.

As the doors sealed behind him, the booming noise coming from below cut off and the Halfling finally let the cheery smile on his face slide off as he moved to his wardrobe.

He’d had the entire place renovated once he moved in, plush carpets brushing against his feet, furniture made of the finest woods Draymel could offer and, of course, a large bed draped in silken sheets. On the ceiling, a large mirror had been placed above it, creating the final classy touch. There were few personal effects, no silly trinkets cluttering up the place. That wasn’t his style. His bed and his reflection was all he really needed on a night.

Peeling his black leather outfit off his body, Zach gingerly rolled his right shoulder to try and loosen the stiff muscles from where Kristoff had healed him. The Gnome was a useful find, but hardly the ‘partner’ the Cleric considered himself.

No, Zach only had one partner and they were considerably more decked out in fur.

Moving to his washstand, the crime lord grabbed a small innocuous stone from where it waited by his soap, before channeling his Mana into it. The pebble lit up with a small ritual before crumbling into ash as the spell within activated.

With that sorted, the Halfling turned to start washing the blood off his body. The Shade had turned out more dangerous than Zach had expected, but it had been worth it to go along on the Ratling’s little adventure.

A little of his own blood was a small price to pay for an edge, Zacharias had learned that lesson long ago. As his eyes flickered to the mirror he’d propped up to help him shave, he absentmindedly touched the scars covering his face.

That had been another lesson worth learning, never to underestimate his competition. At first he’d hated the scars as they’d severely limited his ability to blend in with the crowds, but that was an issue for a thief, for a pickpocket.

He was so much more than that now. When people saw his face, the scars were the first thing they saw. It made them understand just who they were speaking to.

Respect.

As he finished up washing up, Zacharias moved towards the queen sized bed on the far wall, sitting on top of the rich red silken sheets and pulled loose his set of knives and set in to wait.

Minutes turned to hours, as Zacharias patiently worked on sharpening his daggers until a flicker of movement caught his eye.

It took all of focus to resist the urge to look directly at the source of the motion, but subterfuge was second nature to the Halfling at this point. And so, he just continued oiling his latest daggers edge, lightly dragging a cloth across the kukri with steady motions.

“Some people might take that as a threat, you are surely aware?” A voice rang out from the shadows near the window. “Are our arrangements not to your liking, Halfling?”

Slowly looking up from his blade, Zacharias widened his eyes slightly in mock surprise before throwing up a wide friendly grin as he stared at the only thing he could see peering back at him.

Two red orbs hovered in the darkness, an odd sight to be sure. The set of eyes swayed minutely from side to side, but remained pointedly fixed on Zacharias.

“The opposite, actually. I’ve got nowt to complain about the shipment or the new servants. We’re making good headway into mass production for some of the elixirs, should have results before the end of the month,” Zacharias answered smoothly, dropping his knife on the bed beside him.

“I’m not surprised, those Iskrin cost me a small fortune.” The voice lied surprisingly well, as Zach noted as a subtle sense of annoyance entered the figure’s tone. “And the regents weren’t cheap either. Still, I’ve been working on locating-“

Zach interrupted the shadowy figure with a loud bark of laughter. “Locating Sykes’ source for the Dragon’s Blood, yes. Fortunately for us, I’ve managed to make inroads on solving that issue.”

“Wujeeta’s Ratling apprentice has signed on to help figure out the ingredient. It’ll just be a matter of time before we can figure out the recipe.” Zach finished with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“Ah, you pulled your partner in?” The voice responded, perhaps a bit too eagerly. “You’re aware that once he completes the recipe he’ll be a loose end. I won’t lose out on this opportunity over a Ratling.” The shadowy speaker finished with a scoff.

“Of course, I’ll gut him myself.” Zach answered languidly, rolling up his knife kit and sheathing his weapons across his entire body. “Now, do you have the extract for him to work on?”

The blood red orbs didn’t move immediately, watching the Halfling’s movements with care before the figure took a step forward and placed a blood red vial of swirling liquid on the ground.

“My men were able to distill a portion of Dragon’s Blood down to its finest essence, but they were unable to find the source.” The voice lied once more, though Zach noted it was with much better control. “Do not delay, if we miss this opportunity it will be on your head, Halfling.”

As the eyes blinked shut, Zacharias tossed the whetstone he’d been holding to the side and picked up the vial, turning it each way in appreciation.

‘Not bad, not bad at all.’ The once-thief thought to himself, before turning a wondering eye to his open window. ‘The enigmatic mysterious benefactor routine is a pain to put up with, but such is life.’

While it was true that Zach couldn’t see his visitors face as they stood in their little bubble of enchanted darkness, it was clear the fool hadn’t done his research properly.

Shadows were, after all, his main area of expertise. It was simple enough to use a trickle of his Mana to get a sense of what he was dealing with and the target wasn’t exactly a difficult creature to place.

Every little movement he’d made had left ripples in the very shadows the 'man' had hidden in, letting Zach know his height, his weight, and the length of his tail. The Halfling could even tell the exact number of whiskers adorning the Albino Iskrin’s furry cheeks.

Combined with Skrakch’s inability to keep his mouth shut, it was pretty clear why the Crown Prince had been so eager to fund Zacharias’ little project, and leading either of the Ratlings on a little bit didn’t hurt anyone.

Skrakch didn’t need to know who was funding his current efforts, and the Crown Prince certainly didn’t need to know that Zacharias was aware that all he really wanted was a dead Ratling delivered to his feet.

‘No, the real question is, how is the Prince getting his hand on such pure Dragon’s Blood… and how do I get him to give the source to me?”

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Zacharias spun the bottle between his fingers with well-practiced movements as he considered his options.

It was the oldest lesson he’d learned after all, that blood was worth its weight in gold, so the Halfling wasn’t shy about risking his own neck.

But it was always better to pay a blood price with another soul’s life.

“After all, if the price is one Ratling’s head, who am I to decline?’