“This is absurd,” Rowan grumbled. The fae woman sat upon a wooden crate in the ‘Gold Mine’ warehouse. With her legs primly, she used the starlight flavored lollipop in her hand to gesture toward the orderly rows of thieves kneeling on the stone floor. Sixteen members of The Lost and Found knelt with their arms tied behind their backs and a blindfold across their eyes. “You said this was going to be a covert mission. You said we were going to sneak in and talk some capo into setting up a meeting with Delilah.”

“I told you it wouldn’t work,” Rowan continued as she leveled the sticky lollipop toward the tall, shirtless man while he struggled to clean a wicked looking cut across his ribs. “You knew it wouldn’t work. But how did that terrible plan end up like this?! You drug me down here to the ass end of this filthy district to help you wage a one man war against the thieve’s guild? Why did we even bother with the illusions?”

Despite her vocal frustration, Rowan continued to maintain said illusions. The female fae looked like a slim, nondescript young woman in loose fitting cotton clothes and a cloak three sizes too large for her diminutive height. Dax, on the other hand, looked like a dockworker with an unfortunately crooked nose and a half dozen missing teeth. The sergeant’s looks had steadily deteriorated over the course of the night, not because of the damage the thieves had done, but because Rowan had been venting her frustration by constantly tweaking his illusion further and further into the realm of the unsightly. If the night went on much longer, the thieves might run for fear of catching whatever hideous wasting disease Dax had contracted.

“Will you stop complaining for a minute and give me a hand?,” Dax muttered as he smeared a bit of pungent smelling salve on the cut running across his ribs. “At least the damn thing wasn’t poisoned.”

“Give you a hand doing what?,” Rowan said, her illusionary eyes blinking owlishly from the depths of her hood. “Treating your wounds? Do I look like a nurse?” Without warning, the lollipop in her hand burst into glittering dust. Like a maelstrom of tiny stars, the sparkling motes of light swirled around her hand only to suddenly solidify into a massive syringe with a needle the size of a carpenter’s pencil. The device was so large that it took both her hands to hold it.

Dax froze, his eyes slowly widening in horror while he watched the fae gracefully hop down from where she’d been perched on the edge of a crate. “Here we go! Nurse Rowan is on the job!” As she spoke, she experimentally pressed the plunger of the syringe. With the push of her palm, a drop of thick, green goop oozed its way out of the tip of the gleaming needle. With a nauseating plop, the goo splattered onto the floor where it immediately began to pop and sizzle as it melted through the limestone.

“If you wanted to play doctor and patient, you could have just told me, Dax.” Rowan said as she lazily stalked towards him like an alley cat approaching a cornered mouse. “You didn’t have to let yourself get stabbed.”

“Quit fooling around,” Dax growled as he tugged his shirt back into place. When the fae woman continued to advance toward him like a headsman plodding toward a convict, the sergeant raised his hands in surrender. “Alright, alright. Put that thing away, Rowan. This obviously wasn’t one of my best plans, but it will work. Eventually.”

“Eventually?,” the woman seethed. “How many of the Lost and Found do you need to beat up for this? Besides that, by now they’re aware that some belligerent hoodlum is on the loose. The mob bosses will be calling the Watch on us, you asshole.”

“I can’t believe I let you talk me into this,” Rowan whined as the huge syringe shattered into countless motes of light. The storm of sparkling dust coiled around the fae before the cloud morphed into a plush leather recliner. Rowan wobbled on her feet, feigning exhaustion, before she collapsed dramatically onto the heavily cushioned seat.

“You could just let us go?,” one of the blindfolded thieve’s ventured. His words were immediately followed by a wave of assent from his bound compatriots. Encouraged by the groundswell of support around him, the blonde thief continued, “I don’t think any of us have ever met Delilah. So we couldn’t help you even if we wanted to. I don’t even know if she’s real. I, personally, think she’s just a story told by the government to scare the people into doing their bidding. Just like that crock of shit about a dracolich working for the Watch. Who would even believe that?”

“Sure,” Dax said, pointedly ignoring Rowan’s tittering laughter as it rang through the warehouse like a set of wind chimes in a tornado. “But if that’s true then it doesn’t seem like you have very much to negotiate with.”

“We have plenty of information to negotiate with!,” called a scraggly looking man in the far corner. “We’re the Lost and Found. We know all the secrets of Dalthan’s Rest. Even the ones that the government tries to cover up.”

“Why don’t you share one of these secrets and I’ll decide what its worth,” Dax said pensively. This entire operation had been a catastrophe and he was already loath to explain how things had unfolded to the Captain. Maybe if he managed to shake some new intel out of the thieve’s guild Brasko would be less inclined to demote him down to janitorial duty.

“This should be good,” Rowan said. Her tone was coated so heavily in derision that Dax could, literally, hear her eyes rolling as she spoke.

“Well, uh,” the scraggly man was obviously not prepared to suddenly be put on the spot. “Did you know the planet is round? All the governments spread lies about the world being flat. Even the Gods! But the truth is that Nuterra isn’t flat like they claim. It's as round as a bowling ball.”

Rowan scoffed dismissively. “That’s impossible, you idiot. The Cliffs of Perdition surround the world in every direction and they are very real. The water cascading over the cliffs pours directly into the Nether. That’s how the Terminus River is formed.”

“Have you ever seen the Cliffs of Perdition,” asked the scraggly thief. Dax questioned the wisdom of some clandestine organization sharing confidential information with someone who was obviously terrible at keeping secrets .

Rowan stopped fidgeting with her foot as her illusionary hood slowly swiveled to directly face the chatty thief. “No, I’ve never seen the Cliffs. The deep ocean is one of the most dangerous places in all of Nuterra.”

“So you don’t know that the Cliffs are real,” the scruffy man replied with a hint of smugness in his tone. “You just know what other people have told you.”

“I know the Cliffs are well documented. I’ve even seen pictures of them in our textbooks.” Rowan spoke slowly, carefully enunciating every word.

“Pictures can be faked and textbooks are just a way for the government to indoctrinate our children.” The blindfolded thief’s voice had a gruff edge, as if Rowan talking about independent verification offended him.

“But those pictures are in all the textbooks! All over the world!” The incredulous fae raised her voice as her patience with the conversation rapidly dwindled.

“This rabbit hole goes deep. The first step to discovering the truth is to accept that everyone who doesn’t agree with us is compromised by the shadow cabal. The D6 rules the world from behind the scenes.” Dax had to admire the way the scraggly old beggar delivered that line with the gravitas of an archmage revealing some ancient arcane mystery.

“That doesn’t even make any sense!,” Rowan fumed. “Where is your proof? All your arguments are just circular logic.”

“Check the pocket in my cloak,” the blonde thief said as he wiggled helplessly against his bindings. “You’ll find all the proof you need.”

With a shrug, Dax stepped toward him. “Try anything and my partner will vaporize you with a Wand of Disintegration, got it?,” the sergeant told the blindfolded man. The thieves suddenly stiffened as they imagined the deadly artifact pointed their way. That suited Dax just fine because it made it much easier to rifle through the blonde man’s pockets.

What he found was a crisply folded brochure. The white cover of the brochure had a stylized word written across the top in black ink. At the bottom there was a simple green triangle with an open eye set in the center of it.

“Conspiratology?,” read a bewildered Dax. “What the hell is this?”

“It’s our religion,” the thief said as he tipped his head back as if daring the sergeant to gainsay him. “I’m only a level two Cretin so I’m afraid I can’t tell you much more than the brochure does. Some of the higher level members of Conspiratology know truths that I can only dream of. The truly committed, those who can reach level six, are given a chance to speak to our glorious leader. The wisdom of Master Red Herring is unparalleled.”

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Dax’s emerald eyes sharpened as he looked askance toward the blonde thief. “How do you gain levels in this cult?”

“We’re not a cult,” the man muttered dismissively. “We gain levels by recruiting new members to our completely legitimate religion. Would you like to attend one of our meetings?”

It was a shame that the thief’s blindfold kept him from seeing the way Dax blanched.

“There’s never a dull moment around you, is there?,” Rowan murmured as she rose from her chair to wander over toward Dax. The chair immediately exploded into countless motes of light that spiraled through the air to coalesce into a golden circlet above the fae’s head. Warm light radiated from the halo, causing several of the blindfolded thieves to shift furtively as she walked by.

“Really?,” Dax asked dryly before offering the brochure to the approaching woman.

“What? Are you trying to imply that I’m a bad girl?,” Rowan challenged as she snatched the paper from the sergeant’s grip.

Dax could only roll his eyes in reply. He watched the halo shatter, the sparkling dust gathering together a heartbeat later in the form of two small horns rising from her hood. A thin, sinuous tail, with a tip shaped like a spade, completed the transition to Rowan’s idea of a ‘bad girl.’ He could have berated her for fooling around on the job, but he knew from years of working with the fae that this was just her way of blowing off steam.

Things hadn’t gone the way he’d planned. That was certainly true. So it was difficult for him to blame her for letting a bit of anxiety cloud her judgment. Besides, he knew from years of experience that criticizing the fae would only encourage her.

“So, is this for real?,” Rowan asked after reading the first page of the brochure. She continued idly flipping through the rest while she spoke. “Do you all realize that most of the things written in this pamphlet are illegal? Its fine to criticize the government, but there’s a term for people who get together in little groups and plan to overthrow their duly elected leaders.”

The blonde thief spoke up again, “It isn’t treason. It's an act of patriotism.” Most of the captured thieves quickly offered words of agreement. “My brothers in arms will stand with me. They recognize that if we don’t act soon, the D6 will tighten their iron fist and squeeze the freedom from the people of Dalthan’s Rest.”

“The D6?,” Dax groaned in growing exasperation. “What does that even mean?”

The beggar spoke with a sneer in his voice, “Have you been living under a rock? They’re a group of humans that come from another world! Long ago there were more. They called themselves the D20, but after their lust for power led to a war they became the D12.” The old man’s voice dropped to a whisper as if fearing the powers he spoke of might smite him for revealing their secrets. “Now, after all this time, only the strongest still remain. The D6.”

Dax was massaging the bridge of his nose to try and ward off the migraine that was already stabbing at the back of his eyes. Rowan, however, was fully engaged with the thieves and their holy quest to protect the city. Like a teacher quoting a piece of assigned reading, the fae patiently read, out loud, from the confiscated brochure.

“We’ll deport all the foreigners and build a wall around the city to keep anyone else from getting in.” With a scowl slashed across her lips, Rowan flipped the page. Her eyes narrowed even further as she read the next sentence. “We’ll ensure that every man, woman, and child over the age of three is issued an 80 manavolt automatic Wand of Shrapnel.”

With a sigh, Dax looked up to find Rowan staring at him with her mouth open in a soundless ‘O’ of disbelief. “I don’t think your cult will be able to pull this off, I’m afraid. Wands of Shrapnel are banned in virtually every country in Nuterra. Just possessing an automatic one would be considered a war crime in some places.”

“That’s exactly the point!,” a new voice said. Emboldened by the reasonable nature of his friend’s arguments, a young man with a mop of unruly brown hair spoke up hastily. “The governments are scared of the people being able to defend themselves! Its up to us to give that power back to the people.”

“And you’re going to accomplish this by handing out military grade weaponry? To everybody?” An incredulous Rowan let the brochure slip from her fingers. The glossy paper hit the floor with a rustling sound. “Has your cult thought this through?”

“We’re not a cult,” the old man in the back groused. “We’re an officially recognized religion in thirty seven countries.”

“All of those countries know about your doctrine of overthrowing local governments to suit your philosophy?,” Dax asked as he let his eyes drift across the gathered crowd of thieves. A few of the bound criminals looked distinctly uncomfortable, but most seemed to grow more sure of themselves as the conversation continued.

At Dax’s question, the scruffy old man straightened his back and stuck his nose in the air to affect the impression of superiority. “The inner workings of our religion are a private matter between us and our God.”

At the mention of a deity, Rowan’s head snapped up to look anxiously toward Dax. The sergeant returned her look as calmly as he could despite the growing sense of dread he felt bubbling in the pit of his stomach. Along with the sinking feeling in his gut, he felt that the inscrutable conversation, filled with warped logic and gaslighted reality, suddenly made a sick kind of sense.

“Which deity is worshiped by the followers of Conspiratology?,” Dax asked while he watched Rowan make a curt motion with her hand. Stardust rose from both of them as she broke the illusions hiding their identity. As if that weren’t a large enough issue, the flickering motes of light swirled around them in a maelstrom of glitter before gathering together in the form of a wicked looking club in Rowan’s hand.

He’d seen anger in the beautiful fae’s eyes before. What he saw, in that moment, was not anger. With a lopsided smile twisting her lips and an unfocused glow lighting her amber eyes, Rowan didn’t look mad. No. When the woman lifted the club in her hand and took a menacing step toward the oblivious thieves, she looked positively murderous.

Two quick steps took him to Rowan’s side where he could easily wrap his calloused fingers around her slender wrist. The fae struggled to lift the gnarled club in her hand despite Dax’s grip. Her struggle grew far more insistent when the thief blithely told them what the Watch officers had already figured out.

“We follow Scam, Lord of Ill Gotten Gains,” the thief replied serenely, having no idea that Rowan’s magically conjured club would have caved his skull in if Dax hadn’t been there to stop it.

To be fair to the fae, Dax didn’t think Rowan would have actually done the prisoners any harm.

“Just let me kill them all, Dax,” Rowan seethed as she struggled to escape his grip. Nobody will miss them,” she pleaded.

Then again, maybe he was the only thing standing between Rowan and a warehouse full of corpses.

Dax could understand her rage. A bit of it, at least. The fae had certainly made some mistakes when she’d fled The Endless Glade. Some of those mistakes had been due to her own naivety and hubris.

Some of them had been the result of Scam nudging the impressionable youth. Alone and rudderless, like a ship lost in a storm-tossed sea, Rowan had pleaded to the heavens for direction. Scam had answered and been all too willing to provide guidance.

By the time Rowan realized that the Lord of Ill Gotten Gains was the only one who benefited from said guidance, the damage had already been done.

“He is using you,” Rowan hissed as she drew her leg back to kick one of the nearby thieves. Dax hauled her back just in time for her foot to swing wide of its target. “It’s in his name! He is a literal scam!”

“That’s just what the government wants you to believe!,” the kid with the disheveled hair shouted. “He told us that they constantly lie and make up stories about him! Because they’re scared of him! And scared we’ll find out the truth!”

“They’re going to hurt people, Dax.” Rowan whispered, her voice tearing through the air like rusted barb wire. “How did we not know about this? We have to stop it.”

“One thing at a time,” he sighed, relaxing his grip as he felt her wilt against him. “The first thing we have to do is find this Tybalt character and get Margo changed back. Then we’ll figure out what’s going on with this Conspiratology stuff. I promise.”

One of the few women they’d captured visibly perked up as Dax spoke. The short woman with her dirty blonde hair cut to shoulder length had been quiet ever since she’d been blindfolded. While her fellow members of The Lost and Found had defended their belief in Conspiratology, she’d shifted uncomfortably as if she wanted to be anywhere but here. Dax hadn’t paid much attention, at the time, because he imagined most of the thieves felt that way.

“Did you say ‘Tybalt’?” The short girl, and she was a young girl now that Dax took a second look, said in an airy alto voice.

Dax let Rowan jerk sulkily out of his grip as they both turned toward the lean girl who couldn’t be more than fifteen. The girl’s threadbare cotton outfit looked to be made of more patches than original fabric.

“I did,” Dax said hesitantly as he stepped around Rowan to walk over to approach the girl. “Does that name mean anything to you?”

“Jessa, don’t you dare talk to these…”

That was as far as the other thief got before an explosion of golden glitter turned into a filthy cloth gagging the man’s mouth. The thief immediately retched. Dax could understand the sentiment considering the pungent smell that wafted from the gag reminded him of rotten eggs and putrid fish. The sergeant arched a brow at Rowan, but the fae only offered him a grim smile while she tapped her gnarled club against one open palm.

“Well,” the girl replied as she, like the rest of the thieves, began to scoot blindly away from the horrid scent. “I don’t know much besides he’s a cat beastkin, right?”

“That’s right,” Dax said, fanning at the air in front of his nose to disperse the stink.

“I know Delilah’s looking for him,” the girl continued timidly. “He stole her wand.”