The trio’s descent into Row stirred the village like a gust through dry leaves. Ablee led the way, striding boldly into the central square, her grin sharp as she scanned the villagers huddled in cautious clusters. Broken beams and sagging rooftops, the scars of Karich's iron rule, framed the scene. Ablee planted her hands on her hips, her voice ringing out.
“Karich is gone!” she declared, the words carrying over the murmur of the crowd. “The Keep’s wide open, waiting for you to take it!”
A beat of stunned silence followed, the villagers exchanging wide-eyed glances. Before the embers of her statement could catch, Zeph stepped forward, her shadow cutting across Ablee.
“We cleared the Keep.” she corrected sharply, Applause gleaming faintly at her side. Her eyes narrowed as she leveled them at Ablee. “Don’t go claiming credit for what I did.”
Ablee rolled her eyes, turning to face Zeph. “You're here with me; your help was implied.”
The two locked eyes and sparks flew between them. Ablee’s smirk widened, defiant, while Zeph’s jaw tightened, her stance stiff with irritation. Around them, the villagers whispered, shifting uneasily as they watched the spectacle.
Rhody stepped forward, her voice pitched awkwardly between mediation and desperation. “Maybe we could...focus on the villagers, what this means for them—”
“Stay out of this, Rhody!” they snapped in unison, their combined irritation cutting her short.
The villagers, cautiously emboldened by the strange display, grew louder. A few straightened their shoulders, gripping old tools and makeshift weapons. The Keep, once a symbol of fear, suddenly seems… reachable.
Ablee's energy was infectious as she spun to face the gathering villagers. “You’ve all been waiting for this,” she said, her voice booming like a slege-hammer against stone. She swept an arm toward the distant silhouette of The Long Fang Mountains Keep, its dark spires jutting against the early dawn. “Karich’s reign is over! No more patrols shaking you down for scraps. No more curfews!”
The crowd shifted: their faces a blend of hope and hesitation. Ablee leaned into their uncertainty, her grin sharp, her voice rose with fiery conviction. “That fortress is yours! It’s time you took it back and showed the world that Row won’t be stepped on anymore!”
Zeph steppped forward, her presence adding to the swell of emotion. Her tone was low and commanding. “The Keep’s defenses have been dealt with. The warband is in disarray. But that window won’t stay open forever.” She leveled her gaze at the villagers, her eyes set and unwavering. “You’ve got a chance to reclaim what’s yours. Don’t waste it!”
Ablee flashed her a sideways glance, lips quirking in a half-smirk. The contrast between Zeph’s icy precision and her own blazing passion was palpable yet oddly complementary. “See?” Ablee added, spinning back to the crowd. “Even the witch agrees. You’ve got this!”
The villagers exchanged uncertain looks, but Ablee’s fervor and Zeph’s confidence struck a chord. Slowly, heads began to nod. A blacksmith stepped forward, hammer in hand. Behind him, a farmer hefted a battered scythe. The murmurs swelled into determined chatter. What once felt impossible now seemed inevitable.
The trio continued down the street as the village set into action.
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The heavy wooden doors of Row's garrison broke open. Inside the dimly lit hall, a small group of the remaining watchmen discussed the previous night's events. At the trio's intrusion, they rose to their feet, spears aloft, with fear in their eyes. Their shoulders stiffened as they recognized the chilling presence of the gunslinger. Zeph didn't need to speak; the gleam of Applause at her hip did all the talking.
One guard, braver or stupider than the rest, stepped forward, a halberd clutched tightly in his trembling hands. “H-halt!” he barked, though his voice wavered. “You’re not—”
Applause cleared its holster with a smooth, almost lazy motion. Its barrel pointed at the man’s chest, and the room froze. “This is so played out,” Zeph said, her voice touched with annoyance. “Can we just hurry things along? I'm starving.”
He stumbled back, nearly tripping over his feet. His halberd clattered to the ground. Behind him, the other soldiers exchanged uncertain looks, their confidence evaporating in the face of Zeph’s calm menace.
Ablee took a step forward, her grin wicked, “Alright now, I KNOW you fellas have some good grub around here; bring it out!"
Rhody peeked around the garrison's entrance, clutching her deck's pouch.
“Now,” Zeph said, her tone brooking no argument, “where’s the cook?”
The kitchen door swung open with a dramatic creak, revealing a whirlwind of motion. Pots clanged against counters and steam billows from an oversized cauldron. Standing before them was a stout, mustachioed man with a chef’s hat leaning precariously to one side. He was wielding a ladle like a sword.
“Ahm right here!” he bellowed, glowering at the girls. His eyes widened slightly at the sight of Zeph and Applause, but his bravado held. “And this is not a tavern! Whatever you’re here for, the answer is NO!” He swung the ladle, disgorging an errant droplet of bisque that Zeph sidestepped with a tsk.
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Zeph took a deliberate step forward, her boots clicking against the floor. Her sharp, calculating gaze was enough to make the chef's assistants freeze mid-stir. “We’re here for the best you’ve got,” she said, snatching the ladle from his hand. Running her tongue along its scoop, her face scrunched. “And gods help you if it's no better than this.”
“The best?” The cook scoffed, his hand flying to his chest as though personally affronted. “Impossible! The best is for officers only!”
A sous chef with long, mint-green hair approached the man, "Sorry to interrupt Chef, but I believe that's Karich's daughter; she must be back from boarding school."
Ablee erupted, "Don't you DARE CALL ME THAT! AND BOARDING SCHOOL?!" she stormed forward, fists balling at her sides.
Rhody rushed behind her, grabbing ahold of the straps of Ablee's overalls. “Hey now, we don't need to start another fight!"
The cook sputtered and raised his hands in defeat. “Fine, fine! Steaks and ale for the lord's guests!” he cried, his tone dripping with melodrama.
Zeph smirked and threw out an arm to block Ablee's advance. Turning to the livid girl, she mouthed, "Don't you ruin this for me."
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The table groaned beneath the weight of their feast, thick slabs of meat seared to perfection and frothy mugs of ale.
The scent of charred herbs and sizzling fat hangs heavy in the air. Without any warning, Ablee lunged at the nearest plate, tearing into her steak with a ferocity that would make a wild animal blush.
“Is… is she even chewing?” Rhody whispered, her wide eyes darting between Ablee’s rapid-fire bites and the pile of bones already forming beside her plate.
Ablee paused, her mouth full, and flashed Rhody a grease-slick grin. “Chewing’s overrated,” she said through a muffled mouthful and washed it down with a long gulp of ale.
It was Ablee's first taste of alcohol, and it showed. By her second mug, her cheeks were flushed, and her actions somehow grew wilder. A cloth napkin folded into a jaunty hat rested atop her head. “Arr tis me, Captain Steakbeard, Terror of Row!” Ablee announced, a 20 oz rib-eye hanging from her teeth.
Rhody looked up to Zeph, muttering under her breath, “Are you sure we need her?”
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The chaos crescendoed when there was one steak left, sitting tantalizingly in the center of the table. Zeph leaned forward to grab it with her fork, but Ablee’s hand slammed down first, her fingers curling around it.
“It’s mine!” Ablee declared, her drunken slur undermining the menace in her voice.
Zeph leveled Applause at the girl and said, “Hands off.”
Ablee glared and then slapped her hand down through the steak, painting her palm and fingers with glistening seared goodness.
"Whatever," she said and began gnawing on one of her knuckles, drawing out a flood of red juices that dribbled down her chin.
Zeph recoiled, disgust flashing across her face. “Fine. Take it. Just… stop doing that.”
Ablee beamed victorious and tore into her prize.
Zeph sighed, leaning back and sipping her ale. She observed her "captive," half-amused, half-regretful, as subdued soldiers glanced at her in awe and trepidation. The assassin smirked, toasting them with her mug. “Chew on that.”
The Tower dominated the horizon outside the garrison window, rising from the earth like the spine of an ancient behemoth, its base lost in the hazy distance. Its immense form stretched into the heavens, a monolith of white stone speckled with patches of green and blue. The sunlight caught along its marbled side, shimmering like a mirage.
Jagged protrusions jutted from its surface, forming irregular ledges and overhangs. Weaving an ever-changing course around them were faint trails of ley energy, the currents upon which Tower Liners sail.
Ablee stood at the window, her face illuminated by the golden glow of the sun. Her eyes were fixed on the Tower, wide and unblinking, her grin a mixture of determination and exhilaration. “That,” she said, her voice low and reverent, “is all I've waited for.”
Rhody glanced up from her mug, puzzled. “You mean the giant forbidden death pillar?”
“Not just a pillar.” Ablee snapped, whirling around, her face set with unmatched intensity. “It’s a challenge. A reckoning. You think anyone who climbs that thing is the same when they reach the top?” She pointed a finger at it, her voice rising with fervor. “Every crack, every ledge, every windblown inch of it screams, ‘You can’t.”
Zeph watched her from her seat, chin resting on her palm. “You're right, you can't. Oakley's the only one to ever top The Tower, and she's dead.”
"She proved it can be done, and I'm going to be next." Ablee raised her mug, swirling the last dregs of her ale. “You know,” she said casually, “Karich commissioned a Liner; my original plan was to steal it.”
Rhody froze mid-sip, her eyes wide. “Steal a… You can't just steal a Liner!”
Ablee waved a hand. “Of course, the old bastard's already taken off in it, so I guess we’ll just have to borrow another one.”
Rhody choked. “Borrow? You mean steal another one?” Her voice rose in pitch with each word. “Are you insane? That’s not just illegal—it’s insanely illegal! We’ll report to the King of Wands Temple and requisition a room on board one the proper way.”
Zeph snorted, tipping her hat back as she walked to the window ledge. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
Rhody turned on her, aghast. “What do you mean, not happening? It’s the only way we can get up there to finish your mark—”
“I’m not going back to the Temple empty-handed,” Zeph cut in sharply. “They could drop the marks, thinking it's not worth chasing Ablee's Dad up the death-pillar. That would be a permanent stain on my record.” Her tone dropped lower, cold as steel. “We’ll handle this Liner situation ourselves, finish the mission, and then report back. No detours.”
Rhody bristled. “Climbing The Tower without the church’s permission is punishable by death! You'd be better off consuming Ambrosia.”
Zeph raised an eyebrow, smirking. “They don’t need to know how we did it, only that we succeeded. Now, do I need to take you captive too?”
Rhody sputtered, her resolve cracking under Zeph’s intensity. “I…uh...” she mutters.
Ablee shot the girl an amused smile, “That's the spirit, Rhody! Hope you enjoy bending the rules," then returned her attention to The Tower and hashing out plans with Zeph.
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Rhody sat on the edge of the room, her tarot deck fanned absently in her hands, though she wasn't reading the cards. Her eyes flicked between Zeph, lounging confidently with her boots kicked up on the table, and Ablee, still half-drunk and laughing as she tried to balance a fork on her nose. The warmth of the feast, the lighthearted chaos—they should be comforting. But Rhody felt a knot tightening in her chest.