I was halfway out the gate when Lauchlan and Greg caught up with me. George had signed up as a courier, all the better to find his family. The two fell into step just behind me as I strolled down the raised road from the castle into the town. There was plenty of people coming up the other way but they avoided us as they hurried past on their duties. I found myself admiring the architecture again; living upper storeys atop half tumbled stone foundations. I had no doubt that, like the ruins of Illion and so many other places on Earth, it had been built upon the ruins of prior civilisation. I thought once more of the dark labyrinth of tunnels beneath our feet that I had spied from the Cronephere and again dismissed the idea of exploring them. I know I’m repeating this a lot, but you have to understand how my reluctance led to the disaster that followed.

Having arrived at the junction we had crossed the previous day on our way to the castle, I decided to take the path yet untrod and headed left, away from the market square. We took a meandering path through the streets. My initial plan was to look for two large buildings to the north and north west of the castle, I’d spotted them from the solar that morning and wanted to take a closer look. As both were at least as large as the castle.

Travelling directly along the road, called Qufside Lane, brought us to the northern area of the town called Clay Gate. It appeared to be an industrial area with a large number of potters. Hence, I guess, the name. The north most of the buildings I sought was a large warehouse, filled with all sorts of goods. A lot of it food. I realised that even if winter began tomorrow we would have plenty to get us through.

Heading southwest from there brought us to a cathedral sized temple. The eight gods of the burghal Tares, the Torks pantheon, were venerated within:

The Green Sister, Reasingbu. A china-grey ashen Tares clad in her vestments of dreams. She who gifts a Tares’ with their Seagel at birth.

Dak, the ebony dark goddess of fire and hunting. Her muscular figure clad only in a tattered blue cloak.

Tinol, the goddess of rain and shame, her numerous impoverished worshippers identified by their teardrop talismans.

Zeazra, goddess of darkness and daughter of Dak, another ashen Tares but dressed in the robes of a noble.

De’ash, the goddess of arrogance, money and madness. The less said about her the better.

Caezar, the goddess of witches. Her nigh-fanatical worshippers clad in orange and red-violet, much like their goddess.

Laen, the singular male and god of night, son of Zeazra. Rival, friend and lover to Ninni.

Lastly the cupid-like psycho pomp Ninni, goddess of seduction, souls and archery. Mother of Dak. She who guides the spirits of the dead to the afterlife. But also she who grants what the French would call “la petite mort”.Of the entire pantheon I like her, perhaps, the most.

I knew them all by sight and I realised that I, no Merle, found the whole incestuous lot of them lacking. The veneration of nature itself by the pastoral Tares, Seagelbu, where the circumstance of one's birth granted a Tares their Seagel seemed to me the truer faith. Especially as one’s nature could change in life. But to change a gods-given gift? That seemed almost blasphemous. To be locked into one's nature by the whims of a third party, a higher power, seemed abhorrent. I’d much rather be subjected to the lottery of circumstance; time and place. To be free to shape myself.

Moving along we made our way around the western side of the castle. Its back side. Passing through an area, very originally, called Westgate. Circling the edifice to its south east we located the Guildhall. Leslie’s stomping ground.

Passing by and heading to the east we found a building I’d noticed on our way into the town. It turned out to be the local Guardian garrison. We popped in and sent the inhabitants up to the castle to speak to Murdo.

From there we turned left again and started to head back towards the market square. This felt less than ideal to me. It had only been an hour or so and I was still feeling antsy. The next junction, an alleyway to the right, seemed to lead almost directly to the city walls. The next, to the left, would have caused us to double back and I was overtaken by the urge to circumnavigate the town. The next right, however, was an alleyway that had more buildings at the far end. I sensed it would suffice my purposes. However half way down we heard shouting and screaming from within a place with a strange sign outside: A helmet half red-violet and half grey-blue. The symbol of Ninni. I had a sudden revelation of the original nature of the premises; a house dedicated to the goddess of seduction. Greg had stopped and begun to reach for his left shoulder before stopping himself with a shake of his head. With a loud crash, Something broke within the building, and Greg burst into motion, kicking open the door and surging forward into the room beyond. Lauchlan and I glanced at one another and followed.

Maybe it was because of his size, or the fragility of the structure, or because of his Seagel. But when Greg kicked down a door it stayed down. And when he raised his voice the walls shook.

“RIGHT!” he bellowed “WHAT’S GOING ON HERE?”

The upshot of this was what was going on rapidly wasn’t. Six men and half again as many women were mid squabble or brawl, depending on your point of view.

“Who the fuck are you?” One of the men said.

“I’m DC Greg Magee, formerly of Scottish Police, and currently a Guardian of the Realm of Tares. This here is Lauchlan MacLean, a fellow Guardian, and Drake Dunn, the ruler of the Earldom of Manchwark. Where we are. So I ask again; what’s going on here?” He gestured to us with his thumbs while never stopping his glare into the room.

“These boys think that because they woke up here they should have free access to everything here. Including the ladies. And I.” The speaker had been bent over backwards over a counter, but the guy assaulting her had released her and now she moved towards us, rubbing her neck.

“We disagree,” another woman said. I was surprised how calm and polite everyone was being.

“This obviously a brothel,” one of the guys said, “And you can’t prove that we don’t live here.” I looked around. Yeah, while this was obviously a brothel it didn’t mean anyone here was a sex worker.

“Doesn’t matter,” Greg echoed my thoughts. “You don’t have a right to anyone else’s body, and I doubt you’re a resident, unless you’re a sex worker yourself.”

“Sex work is legal, and protected under law in Manchwark,” I said. “Least it is now. Sex workers can refuse service to a client at any point in a transaction. They can also bar clients from their place of business for any reason.”

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“I’m not a sex worker,” the first woman said “I’m an accountant. Admittedly with a Fet-Life profile. But not a sex worker.”

“There were fewer than half a dozen sex workers in the whole of Forfar,” Greg said, “It’d be weird if they all ended up here.”

“There should be multiple establishments like this in Skipingham,” I said. “But that’s irrelevant right now.”

“Agreed,” said Greg. “Ladies, do you want these boys removed?” There was a unanimous chorus of ayes. “Lads, get your things, you’re out of here.”

“Where are we going to go?”

“Well if you don’t get a move on there are some very draughty cells under the castle.”

Soon we had them all together and out the door into the alley outside. We were just moving out there ourselves when we realised that they had us surrounded. That’s when everything went to shit.

FLASH!

{[Danger Sense] activated; threats detected, initiating combat macro-instructions.}

Merle’s keen instincts must have picked up on the sound of a blade being drawn or the subtle change in the air as whomever had cast the flash spell had channelled their Daq into the spell form. Because I has halfway through shouting out a warning; my eyes were closed but for an instant as the spell washed over us.

{Save versus [Dazzle] successful; [Blindness] resisted; visual perception reduced by half.}

My vision still swam as the guy in front of me turned, a dagger in his hand. My own narrow blade seemed to have leapt into my hand of its own accord; I had no recollection of drawing it. As his blade plunged point first toward my chest my own danced around his defences. It bit into his wrist before curving towards his throat for a killing slice.

{Potentially fatal damage caused; bleeding, opponent’s right hand disabled.}

{[Instant Kill] strike location [Throat] selected.}

Only through an act of will did I unselect the instant kill point my subconscious had picked, twisting the point away. Instead carving a fine and shallow line of blood and pain across his breast. He fell back with a cry, his knife falling from his suddenly nerveless grasp.

{Potentially fatal damage caused; bleeding}

{[Reflexes] check passed; Enemy weapon acquired. Targeting… Target acquired.}

Merle’s killer reflexes snatched the dropped knife from the air and I turned in place. The knife spun from my hand, slicing through the air between Greg and Lauchlan as they wrested with their own attackers. The former looming over his opponents as the latter struggled with them to draw his sword. The thrown knife plunged twirled towards the last attacker, hiding at the back of the pack. I’d like to think it was skill rather than luck that caused the knife to strike the gang’s Light aspected caster in the brow pommel first, rather than plunge into his skull point first and end his miserable life. But I don’t know for sure. He folded like a pile of laundry, the next spell he was in the process of casting fizzling out.

{Sub-optimal strike within damage threshold}

{Potentially fatal damage caused; concussion, unconsciousness.}

Bile was rising in my throat; I still might have killed him.

{[Born of Darkness] active; [[Light] aspect [Daq]] levels too high to access the Cronephere.}

{Activating [[Personal] [Darkness] Aura] in Enhancement mode: all physical attributes enhanced. Full visual perception restored.}

I was still moving, partly without my own volition, as the instincts of an assassin continued to prioritise survival over passivity. Despite taking down the caster there was still enough ambient light Daq in the air to stop me popping into the Cronephere. But not enough to stop me to instinctively call up my shadowy aura. I kept it close to me, like a second skin.

My guardian friends were outnumbered two to one. Which meant that Greg had one in each of his massive hands and was comically bashing them together like cymbals. Lauchlan, on the other hand was having a bit more trouble. Thankfully he finally had his sword out and was keeping the two would-be killers at blade’s length. They were trying to get around and flank him from two different sides. But this meant one of them had presented his back to me. So I ran towards him. I found myself moving far faster than I’d initially intended, taking only a moment to close the distance. Before I ran straight into him I tried to stop and ended up in a slide, feet first, sweeping his feet out from under him.

{[Balance] check passed.}

{[Grapple] check passed.}

As he fell backwards I grabbed him and hurled him back the way I had come, and towards the guy I’d already, well not so much defeated as given him more important things to worry about. He was trying to stem the oozing blood from the slash across his chest as his friend sailed over him, bounced once with the crunching sound of something breaking, and rolled to stop some five meters away from him. That shouldn’t have been possible. Just how strong was Merle anyway?

{[Strength] check passed.}

{Potentially fatal damage caused; broken bones and punctured lung.}

The guy I’d just thrown gave a shuddering gasp of breath as he lay in a broken heap in the filthy alley and coughed up blood. My blood ran cold. He was dying. He had anything from seconds to hours. Greg dropped his two opponents; they barely held on to consciousness and were out of the fight. He turned on the last guy standing and struck him down with a single punch, straight to the face. The guy went down too, in a spray of blood and broken teeth.

“Lauchlan,” I said, “Run back to the castle. Get Amanda, any other healers we have on hand, and stretcher bearers. We have six injured and at least one dying. Greg guard the… prisoners.”

I turned and ran back to the guy I’d thrown.

“I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this. I didn’t want this.” I was muttering to myself. Anxious and cycling in my panic. This was beyond my first aid skill. He looked like he’d been in a car crash.

{End combat macro-instructions? Y/N}

He was laying on his side, eyes glazed. He coughed up more blood. That was a lot of blood. He was lying on his injured side, which I was sure was right, but in my panic my first aid skills had all but vanished from my mind. All I could recall was that if I moved him I could make things worse, which translated into if I did anything it’d make things worse.

I was dimly aware of voices and then Lauchlan sat down heavily beside me. I turned to him, rage bubbling up, but then I saw that Greg was gone. Lauchlan was holding his left arm just below his elbow, tightly gripping it with his right hand. Blood dripped freely down from his left fist.

{End combat macro-instructions? Y/N}

Fuck! Yes.

“One of the bastards got me,” Lauchlan said as I turned to him. This was something I could deal with. With strips torn from his own clothes I quickly had the wound tightly bandaged. It’d probably need stitches, or magical healing, but the blood should stop flowing in the next few minutes. It didn’t look life threatening.

The same couldn’t be said of the guy lying on the ground before me. His breathing was becoming irregular, and more blood was being coughed up with every breath. Blood was filling at least one of his lungs and probably his chest cavity. To extend his life I needed to drain the blood from his thorax. On Earth a length of rubber or plastic tube, combined with a water filled bottle would do. Here I had none of that. All I had was this damn assassin’s blade.

A long thin blade with a deep gutter to maximise exsanguination.

“Motherfucker!”

“What?” Lauchlan looked at me.

“I’m going to stab a guy to save his life,” I said.

It wasn’t exactly a complex procedure, but it did require precision. Too deep, or at the wrong place or angle I’d make things much worse. Once the dagger was in there I’d have to hold it steady to prevent the incision closing. I’d only have one chance at this. If I fucked up then I’d never forgive myself.

{[Anatomy] check passed; critical success.}

So, as the punchline goes, I put him in a chest drain and waited for the ambulance.