Earlier that night, in the village of Row:

Two travelers stride into the subjugated settlement, in the valley of the Long Fang Mountains. The twin peaks curl around it like the maw of an ancient beast, their jagged ridges glinting faintly in the Tower-light. The air hangs heavy with the scent of pine and the acrid tang of wood-smoke.

Along the village streets, patrolmen move in a dreary rhythm, shoulders slumping under the weight of Warlord Karich Urough’s rule. Dust rises from their tired footsteps, settling just as quickly in the cracks of splintered wooden beams and sagging rooftops. Every inch of the village bears the scars of its master’s iron grip, from crumbling walls to the quiet sobs from within its shuttered homes.

Through the forlorn streets strides a woman in stark contrast to its hollow-eyed inhabitants. She moves with a purpose that turns heads and widens eyes, her silhouette sharp and striking against the backdrop of decay. A flat-brimmed black hat crowns her tall frame, and her blonde hair flows in wild disarray beneath it. The black outfit she wears fits her impeccably, its long coat rippling with her movements.

Trailing behind her i Rhody, a girl on the verge of adult-hood, draped in the gray woolen robes of an acolyte. She struggles against a pack nearly twice her size. Her every step is an effort as she adjusts the heavy straps digging into her shoulders. The pack bulges with equipment: munitions, spare clothing, and a black logbook tucked into a side pocket.

The girl’s soft features and nervous glances make her seem wildly out of place next to the gunslinger who walks ahead without a care, her every stride daring someone to get in her way.

“Zeph,” the girl calls, her voice strained with exertion. “Can we… slow down? Just a little?”

Zeph doesn’t even turn her head. “Slowing down,” she says smoothly, “is for people who haven’t got a warlord to kill."

Her terse statement cuts through any objections Rhody harbored. She bends forward, readjusting the pack, and tries her best to keep up.

Ahead, a group of six patrolmen rounds a corner, their spears popping against the tread dirt ground. Their steps falter as they take in the tall figure striding toward them.

“Halt!” barks one of the men, his voice cracking. He levels his spear, the tip quivering slightly. Battling his anxiety he tries to steady it.

One of the rear patrolmen whispers to another, "That's her, Lituc's Favored..."

Zeph keeps walking, as if oblivious to the command. Rhody finds her feet rooted in place, her breath caught between panic and disbelief.

The patrol’s leader steps forward, his spear leveling at Zeph’s chest. “You’ll go no further, stranger. Row has a curfew; anyone breaking it’s to be imprisoned and lashed ---Karich’s orders!”

Zeph’s eyes drop to the spear, and she grins—a toothy, predator's grin. Her gaze flickers, measuring him, “You’re going to subdue me, with a stick?”

He inches the razor-sharp head of the spear closer, its tip tapping a button on her midnight blouse. “You’re going to subdue Zepharin, the soon to be Queen of Assassins, WITH A STICK?!”

The man stutters, “A-a spear.”

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Her hand blurs into motion. One moment, it's loosely hanging at her side; the next, it's gripping a silvered revolver, pointed at his spear's shaft, just beneath its tip.

The man’s eyes barely register the word “APPLAUSE” engraved into its silvered barrel. BANG! A shower of splinters pelts the patrolman’s face and he reflexively turns away, his shout of surprise swallowed by the echoing crack.

“A STICK!” Zeph spins around, bringing the butt of the revolver against the other side of his head, The impact lands with a sickening crunch, his helmet flying loose as he crumples to the ground.

Chaos erupts. The remains of the patrol lunge forward as Zeph effortlessly side-steps their rush, more dancing than fighting. BANG. Another shot rings out, shattering the spear of a second man, its fragments clattering to the ground.

One of the guards rushes her from the side, but she twists on her heel, her cape flaring out like an angel's wing. The man, dazzled, doesn't register the butt of her revolver zipping toward his throat.

She moves like a river cutting through stone, her strikes precise and efficient. Applause spits flame as she dismantles the patrol’s defenses, shattering their weapons and resolve.

BANG.Shouts rise from around the village, growing louder as lanterns flicker to life in the nearby houses. Curtains rustle as wary eyes peek out, their owners unwilling to intervene but too curious to turn away.

“Zeph, I think we should get moving!” Rhody calls out, her voice pitched high as she glances frantically for an escape route, while her trembling legs and the weight of her pack conspire to keep her still.

BANG. Lantern light dances between the surrounding buildings, casting long, jittering shadows across the uneven walls and streets.

BANG. When Applause clicks empty, Zeph tosses it over her shoulder. Duty overcoming her, Rhody rushes forward to catch it with a startled yelp, fumbling with shaky fingers to reload the weapon.

Zeph snatches a discarded spear from the ground, twirling it lazily like a marching baton.

“Why are you fighting the whole town!?” Rhody shouts as her fingers tremble around the ammunition. “Aren’t assassins supposed to be subtle?”

“What, who told you that!? An assassin’s supposed to be notorious. How would a subtle assassin even find work!?” Zeph retorts, her voice filled with indignation as she ducks beneath a wide swing and sweeps the legs from under a new arrival.

The patrol-men continue to fall until only one remains. His knees shake as he watches Zeph approach, she reaches out and grabs his spear. He offers no resistance as she slides it from his hands. Zeph crouches beside him, pointing her freshly loaded revolver at his chest.

“Now,” she says sweetly. “My assistant Rhody has some questions for you.”

The man nods frantically, his lips trembling as Rhody steps forward, flipping open Zeph's logbook. The black cover of the leather-bound tome peels away like an old scab, revealing rows of neatly crossed-out names. Line after line of past marks march across the page, leading to six that remain untouched, starting with Karich Urough.

“Keep’s defenses?” Rhody asks, her pencil poised. Her tone is clipped but steady now, her earlier nervousness replaced by a determined calm.

The man stammers out everything he can recall: guard rotations, entrances and exits, and directions to Karich’s chambers. Zeph, clearly disinterested, taps the barrel of Applause against her thigh.

Wrapping up the interrogation, Rhody hoists her pack and returns to Zeph’s side. “Okay, I think I’ve got a plan.”

Zeph raises an eye-brow, her lips twitching with the hint of a smirk. “First step?”

“It seems our best shot of entering the keep unscathed is through its roof.”

“Alright, prepare the hook.” Zeph starts trudging toward the twin curved peaks in the distant, intent on the Keep lying between them. The towering structure seems to pulse with menace, its jagged parapets silhouetted against the night sky.

“Wait, don’t you want to know the—”

“Rhody!” Zeph snapped, “Don’t pull my focus.”

“But-”

“No buts.” Zeph tosses her head, her golden locks spinning behind her. “Just keep up.”

Zeph strides away, casting a long shadow across the dusty ground. Rhody lets out a groan and pockets the log-book, trudging on.

Looking up at the tall walls of the keep, she can’t hold her tongue, “You don’t expect me to climb rope with this pack on?”

“You’ll figure it out," Zeph calls over her shoulder. "Father Herus said you’re resourceful,” she glances back, her grin sharp and unapologetic. “Now hurry up. I want to claim this mark at daybreak. That’ll read better in the papers.”

Behind them, the village lies silent once more, though its inhabitants remain restless. Children peek cautiously from their hiding spots, their wide eyes following the gunslinger and her retainer as they vanish into the distance.

Above, the shadow of the Long Fang Mountains’ Keep looms large, the faint sound of the wind whispering promises of challenge and glory.