Dalthan let his green eyes drift away from the ridiculously dressed [Demon Mastermind] so he could casually survey the rest of the dusty street. The quiet houses seemed as lifeless as the cinnamon-colored stone they were made from. The only real sign of activity was a half dozen thri-kreen marching down the road toward one of the towering hive structures in the distance.

The dusty, vacant street certainly didn’t look like an ambush.

That didn’t mean it wasn’t one.

The [Rogue] slowed his smooth stride, letting Shale take the lead while he drifted back until he drew even with Keysha. All it took was a sidelong glance from the thief to coax the archer to turn his way with an expression that oozed impatience. Her lips pressed into a thin line of distaste, the [Sharpshooter] seemed on the verge of casting some particularly acidic insult his way when her dark brows knit in a show of confusion.

Identify, the thief mouthed, tilting his head forward to use the wide brim of his hat to shield his face from the lazy demon’s line of sight. The bewildered archer stared at him for a long, silent moment. After Dal gave her an encouraging nod, she looked away, her eyes rapidly sifting across the street like a pirate looking for their next shot of rum. Watching her intently, Dal saw the subtle way her shoulders stiffened, and her fingers twitched toward her quiver the moment her eyes settled on the figure in the rocking chair.

Not waiting for any further acknowledgment, Dal took a quick glance toward the tavern. The Crystal Goblet, in all its run-down glory, was growing closer by the second as Shale inexorably shuffled forward. He wouldn’t have time to warn all of his teammates. He’d have to choose between Zaplixel or Sylvia.

That was potentially bad news for their resident [Swindler].

He let the older man pass him. The bald wizard was entirely too preoccupied with a necklace that he was admiring in the blistering sunlight to spare a look for the [Rogue]. That suited Dalthan just fine since it gave him the chance to slip behind the prick on his way to Sylvia’s side.

The nymph looked up as the thief approached and batted her eyes coyly. “Did you finally get around to asking me to dinner? You know that I’ve already got seven dates tonight.” The druid’s amber eyes glimmered mischievously. “I’m probably going to be very stuffed by the time I get around to gentleman number eight. But if that isn’t a turn-off for you-”

Dal tipped back the brim of his hat and leaned closer to her. “Sadly, you may have to take a rain check on your entertainment tonight.” The [Rogue]’s voice dripped into her ear like warm honey, and he didn’t miss her almost imperceptible shiver in response. “Identify the guy in the chair.”

Like a sunbathing cat roused from a pleasant nap, the nymph jerked away, her eyes narrowing in silent reproach. Far less circumspect than Keysha, the [Druid] leaned around Zap’s gaunt frame to look toward their destination. She barely had time to read the information relayed by the skill before she turned back to the thief.

“Who the fuck is that?” Sylvia hissed as she moved to place herself squarely behind Shale’s looming bulk.

“How the hell should I know?” Dalthan muttered.

“We don’t have anything to worry about, right?” Keysha whispered as she moved to huddle together with the [Rogue] and the [Druid].

Amazingly, Zaplixel seemed completely oblivious to the undercurrent rippling through the party while he trudged along beside Shale’s lumbering form. Dal briefly considered dragging the old mage into their conversation only to recall that he didn’t give a shit if the asshole got murdered. Besides that, they were rapidly running out of time.

“I don’t think so?” Sylvia’s hesitant response did not inspire confidence. “It would be odd to have two teams working the same job, but not impossible. It’s more likely that they just happen to be passing through this region.”

“You’re telling me that a fucking demon just happens to coincidentally be camped out in front of the tavern we decided to stay in?” Dalthan gave the beautiful nymph a supremely skeptical look.

Syliva huffed and crossed her arms. “Well of course it’s going to sound like bullshit when you say it like that.”

“I don’t want to deal with a demon. They’re tricky.” Keysha began to subconsciously run the tips of her fingers against the length of the massive bow slung over her shoulder. “My father claimed that an entire village got wiped out by a single Gluttony demon.”

“One demon killed an entire village?” Dalthan murmured, keeping a careful eye on the figure lounging on the tavern’s porch.

Keysha shook her head. “No,” she whispered urgently, “the story was that the demon came upon the village shortly after the autumn harvest. The only survivor claimed that the tribe ate their way through an entire winter’s worth of food in less than a week. When their winter surplus ran out, they turned their knives on the village pets and then their pack beasts. When there were no animals left to sate their hunger, they turned on each other.”

The [Rogue] scoffed. “Ol’ Sloefoot would say that the technical term for a story like that is a ‘fucking fabrication.’” Dalthan looked to Sylvia for support, only to find the nymph investing a worrying amount of interest in Key’s nonsensical story.

“How did the survivor escape?” Sylvia murmured, completely ignoring the betrayed look that Dalthan sent her way.

Keysha replied with a shrug. “Who knows? According to my father, the girl took up the mantle of a priestess and led a small group of religious zealots into the wilderness to start their own tribe. Her followers claimed she was divinely descended. Maybe she was. Or maybe it was all part of the demon’s scheme.”

“It could have been,” Sylvia said as she brushed a set of splayed fingers through the luxurious locks of her hair. “Whatever happened back then doesn’t change that we have a demon we have to deal with right now. If we were in the Hub, I wouldn’t be concerned, but out here in the wild, we don’t have the benefit of Balerik's decree.”

“Let’s give him Dalthan,” Keysha blurted out. Ignoring the [Rogue]’s indignant squawk, the archer stated her case to Sylvia. “Either Dal survives whatever demented torture the demon puts him through, or he dies, and his blood is on someone else’s hands. Either way, we win.”

Dal struggled to decide what offended him more. The words coming from Key’s lips or the considering look that Sylvia was giving him. He wondered, briefly, if he could orchestrate the assassination of his entire party.

Maybe then he’d get a little bit of respect around here.

“Nobody is fucking giving me away,” Dalthan growled, his hand dropping to rest its palm against the hilt of his dagger. “I’ll deal with the damn demon. How tricky can it be?”

Before the two women could intervene, the thief briskly slipped between Shale and Zaplixel. He felt everyone’s eyes on his back as he waved good-naturedly at the seated demon. Ignoring their attention, Dal focused instead on the man blearily rousing himself from the worn wooden rocker.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Afternoon, stranger.” The [Rogue] tipped his hat with a firm tug that caused its bright orange feather to sway majestically. “They got any booze worth drinking in there or is it the same swill they’re slinging down at the other place? Where I come from, there is a remarkable correlation between innkeepers who water down their booze and accidental fires that burn taverns to the ground.”

The demon in human disguise regarded the rogue with a thoroughly bored expression. His deep brown eyes held a dull, dismissive cast while idly surveyed Dalthan’s approaching crew. When he finally spoke, his voice was a soft, tired thing, as if it took all his energy to mumble a handful of syllables.

“Where are you from?” The demon’s chest heaved, looking for all the world as if he’d just run a marathon.

Now that he was closer, just looking at the disguised demon made Dalthan feel tired and groggy. When had he started to feel so exhausted? His hands felt like he had a set of lead manacles around his wrists and his steps slowed, each stride straining against an invisible shackle. The weight of the entire world seemed to rest on his shoulders, its remorseless pressure silently urging Dal to succumb to his growing fatigue.

“I’m…uh…from a place called Low Town.” The thief was left breathless after he forced himself to reply. Dal’s steps had become an awkward shuffling motion that did little more than stir up rust-colored dust that clung to his clothes.

“I’ve never heard of Low Town.” The absurdly attired [Mastermind] murmured, his words possessing the thick slur of someone caught halfway between waking and dreaming. “Sounds like a shit hole.”

“Fuck…you. You’re the…,” Dalthan mumbled, his usual eloquence utterly forgotten in the face of his exhaustion, “...shit hole.”

The weariness that clung to him like cold molasses was partially seared away by a sudden flash of righteous fury. What right did this asshole have to insult his home? Low Town may be the smelly, illegitimate stepchild of Wavecrest, but it belonged to him. It was like standing by and listening to someone badmouth Vex. The big blue abomination might not be the cuddliest creature out there, but by Balerik, he’d be damned if he let someone else tell him that.

The more he thought about his new best friend the more he grew irritated on behalf of the murder toad’s imagined slight. Each passing moment stoked the bottled wrath within him higher until he could feel the heat radiating through his entire body. The sensation reminded him of the irrepressible sunlight that had streamed into Agadeem’s cottage from the window that the angel had opened into her realm.

The indescribable weight that had threatened to crush him to the ground now felt like nothing more substantial than a curtain of cobwebs.

Dalthan straightened his back and lifted his arms above his head in a shuddering stretch. “Well, that was quite refreshing. I haven’t had a rest like that since Madame Leatherlace-” The thief stopped himself with a soft laugh. “It would be rude of me to kiss and tell. Suffice it to say that she is a very attentive woman.”

“So attentive that she killed him.” Zaplixel deadpanned while he tried, unsuccessfully, to clasp his new necklace around his neck. “Literally.”

“Not now,” Keysha growled, stepping behind Zap to take hold of the [Swindler]’s necklace. The wizard’s retort was immediately lost in a strangled noise as Key tugged the golden chain as if it were a garrote.

Ignoring the prick’s increasingly desperate struggle to free himself from Keysha’s sneak attack, Dalthan tossed one of his best smiles at the demon. “I’m afraid that I didn’t catch your name,” the thief said in the pleasant tone of a lifelong neighbor.

“You didn’t get my name,” the sleepy demon said around a jaw-splitting yawn. He seemed utterly unconcerned by Dalthan’s continued advance. “But I guess you can call me Drowsy if you have to.”

“Well, Drowsy,” the [Rogue] said, flashing a smile that did nothing to soften the intensity of his emerald gaze. “I think you and I should come to an understanding before we go any further.”

Dalthan moved.

The [Rogue]’s long coat rustled around his lean frame when he suddenly surged onto the tavern’s wooden porch. In one fluid motion, the thief ripped his dagger from its sheath and lunged forward to press the naked blade against the surprised demon’s neck. “If you ever try that shit on me or anyone in my crew, I’ll carve you up in so many pieces that Balerik himself won’t be able to put you back together again.”

The moment his dagger touched the demon’s throat, a message sprang into his vision that reminded him of a quest scroll. With a snarl, Dal shook his head and tried to mentally dismiss the short message the way he would his character sheet. He didn’t have time for any System nonsense. Whatever it had to say could wait until after he’d impressed upon this asshole exactly how much he didn’t appreciate being fucked with.

Amazingly, the dark-eyed demon seemed as uninterested in what the rogue had to say now as he had when Dal had first introduced himself. “Can you wait until after I take a nap? All this talking has been exhausting.” While he spoke, the [Mastermind]’s eyelids began to droop as if they were weighed down by stone blocks.

Infuriated by the demon’s flippancy, Dalthan pressed the flat of his blade more firmly against the demon’s exposed throat. “I’m fucking serious,” the rogue growled as Shale lumbered up the porch steps behind him.

“Yeah?” Drowsy mumbled groggily. “Victor and the rest of my crew are inside. He likes to talk. If you’ve got a problem, take it up with him.”

Anger flashed through him with the sudden intensity of a lightning bolt leaping across the sky. This creature had attacked him and it deserved to be punished. The warmth he’d felt earlier returned as he considered retribution. It wouldn’t be wrong to end this monster here and now. It would be justice. Dal had never considered himself an arbiter of right and wrong, but the more he thought about Drowsy, the hotter this new fire within him burned.

What had started as a smoldering campfire had now become a roaring bonfire. This moment, and the hot clarity of purpose that he felt, reminded him of the night he’d taken his first life all those years ago. He’d felt this same sort of righteous fury while he watched the Yola enforcer laugh as Two-Teeth writhed in agony with every twist of the short sword that’d been buried in his gut. Dal hadn’t been able to save the small-time crook that night, but he’d been able to offer the dying man vengeance.

Dalthan never gave much thought to the way his blood had felt like it was boiling in his veins that night. The rogue had chalked it up to the nerves of a frightened child that was in way over his head. But there was another part of that night that he’d never once shared with anyone else. A detail that he’d thought for years had been nothing more than a trick of the light or a memory warped by the imagination of a kid.

The nondescript filet knife, a simple tool that he’d stolen off a fishmonger’s table, had been glowing like a falling star the moment before he plunged it into the Yola enforcer’s neck.

“We’ll do that,” Sylvia said, her soft, dulcet tones quenching some of the fire that had been roiling in the pit of his gut. The nymph placed a hand lightly on his bicep to give his arm the faintest tug. “Let’s go, Dalthan. I think you’ve made your point.”

The thief took a deep breath and forced himself to relax. “Fine,” Dalthan grumbled as he withdrew his dagger and slid it into the sheath at his hip. “But if the next guy introduces himself by trying to mind fuck me, I’m killing him.”

“No need to worry about that, my friend.” The new, oddly familiar, voice accompanied a tall, lean man that stepped through the swinging saloon doors.

The man’s appearance was even more familiar than his mesmerizing voice.

The devilishly handsome man was tall, and lean, clearly showcasing the optimal blend of agility and strength. A rakish mop of dark hair framed a face that was highlighted by a powerful jawline and dazzling green eyes that seemed to twinkle like polished gemstones. The welcoming smile that the handsome debutante tossed their way had, no doubt, been employed to devastating effect on the surrounding female populace.

The attire of the man stepping out onto the porch proved that he was more than just a pretty face. He wore a black long coat over a smartly fitting shirt and vest combination that was both functional and stylish. Accessorizing as only a truly gifted socialite could, he’d opted for a wide-brimmed hat dyed an amazing shade of green that seemed perfectly suited for the bright orange feather that waved lazily in the faint breeze.

Dalthan’s admiring gaze became troubled as he gave the dashing young man a second glance.

The man didn’t just look familiar. He looked very familiar. He’d seen this gentleman before.

In the mirror.

Sylvia’s bubbling laughter spilled out into the dusty street while Dalthan’s eyes narrowed as the thief used Identify.

[Doppelganger Spy]

“By Ancev’s twinkling teeth,” Zaplixel swore with feeling. “Now there are two of them.”