When the Guard first built this office, it had been full of marble, with real copper in the door knobs and with art on the walls. Back then the guard had held respect. Men and women had bowed and said nice things such as ”How are you Officer”. Back then, the Lost Slums had not sprawled over such big a part of the city. After numerous barbarian races and unholy invaders however, the city had been sacked many times over. Even if the city somehow always sprung back into prominence and opulence, but there was one big stain on its pride. The lost slums. While each invasion turned into buisness opportunity, the slums grew. When a mad undead tyrant was destroyed, you needed place to relocate confused but generally harmless undead thralls. Trying to kill them all would likely cost the city more then it was worth. So you raised a whole lot of dwellings around the local graveyards and created the Necropolis District. A place of poorly maintained, but none the less rather intact crypts, tombs and fields of unmarked graves.

It would strike the observant person that such a area should perhaps be outside the city walls. Nothing was greater then Kings Knells pride. It just wouldn't do to let a potentially cheap laborforce wander in the wild. But the effect was that the areas around the Necropolis district became undesirable, and soon found themselves a part of the ever expanding Lost Slums. Then came the demons. Sulfur and bloody hellfire rained upon the city, and many nice historical neighborhoods burned down or were filled with flesh eating curses. The usual demonic fare as far as sieges goes. It should be noted that these historic neighborhoods likely would have done much better if they had not been made out of Thatch, wood, dry paper and birch bark. The fact that the largest producer of lamp oil had its warehouses there didn't help either.

After the fires died down people with money decided to simply buy new houses on the other, properly built in stone, part of town? The Lost Slums crept and claimed the derelict houses for its inhabitants.

Balto was the artifact of a different unholy chapter in city lore. He was a thiefling. A demon and human mix, the infernal version of a mutt. He was absolute garbage at darts. The dart missed the board almost entirely, he swore.

”Fucking game is rigged!” He exclaimed angrily. ”My darts are crooked or something!”

"The only crooked thing here is you, Balto." Said a bored, middle aged and prematurely balding dwarf. His name was Bjorn Basaltbeard. He was guardhouse armorer. Balto raised a eyebrow.

"Ok.Ok. You and the rest of the local guard detail here." The dwarf admitted. He was not exactly mr straight and narrow himself. He had been put here after selling of 'surplus' guard material using a document the commander had signed while drunk. The reason for being assigned to Cleaver Street was that Cleaver Street lacked any sort of actual gear. It was the most understaffed, underfunded, and poorly equipped guard house in the city.

"Uhuhh." Balto said unconvinced as he put the darts down. He had been a guard for a scant two years and made the rank of Corporal in that time. Granted, he was made a Corporal at the same time they replaced Boris Flinkfinger who was killed in the Lost Slums. He had eaten meat from one of the street vendors. Cooked by a gnoll. Boris' death had jokingly been referred to as the "Brown Death". It had not been a pretty sight.

"Tell me Bjorn, how long have you been here?" Balto asked curiously as he went to pull on his uniform. He was about to go on patrol, a task he didn't relish. At least it was midday and not night. Night Patrols were the worst.

"Two years, same as you." Bjorn raised a bushy eyebrow.

"And during that time, they have pointedly refused to give us new gear..." Balto nodded.

"Are you accusing me Balto?" The dwarfs voice rose a few notches, from 'gravelly disgruntled mumble' to full on 'out of the beard ire.' You could always tell when you were in trouble with a male dwarf. The more animated the beard, the more anger was being released. Critical mass was when the beard was moving more then their mouth. That's when the axes came out Balton thought to himself.

"I am admonishing you." Balto corrected him. "You're only suppose to skim the top of storage. That way you can claim it's wear and tear or lost in the line of duty. When you sell the entire armory whole sale. People tend to notice."

"Bah. Don't act like you are hot porridge, you got caught to didn't you."

"Porridge? Don't you mean shit?"

"Noh lad. Porridge is delicious. Why would anyone wanna act like hot shit?"

"I... I really don't know." Balto answered, clearly out of his depth all of the sudden. Dwarves were notorius for not getting modern slang. They took things to literal, thought about the meaning of a word to much. They were in short, far too smart.

"Disregard that for now." Balto said, trying to get back on track. "Yes. I got caught. But I got a bit sloppy is all. Some posh bugger had enough cash and influence to undo my schemes." He began to slip in to the chainmail as he spoke. "But I never hurt anyone, so at least they didn't burn me on the stake."

"Small blessing eh, lad?" The dwarf grunted.

"Aye." Balto agreed as he fastened the belt with his sword and headed for the door out to the streets.

------
-Some time later-

The air was stuffy. Summer did that to the lower slums. Garbage rotted much faster and the shit festered like mad. It was not a pleasant smell to be around. Luckily, all the crap was actually worth something to the right people who had found ways to recycle even the worst as compost. So the old days of suffocating smells were only kind of bad these days. Balto didn't hate the slums, he grew up among its alleyways and narrow streets. He was one of its many misled children. Although, he had always striven to never go back, to live a life he felt he'd been robbed off.

And here he was, wearing a guards uniform and looking about himself as if he was expecting a bolt or an arrow at any moment. He was back in the slums allright, and somehow it was worse then ever to be Balto.

"Hey coppah!" Someone yelled and he just barely avoided the half rotted apple thrown at his head.

"That's assaulting a officer." Balto turned and stared at the orc sitting a overturned pail, apples lay all around him. Most of them completely inedible. Balto recognized the orc as Gogram Bonehusk. One of the nasty critters who ran door duty at the local fight pit. He was juggling two apples that looked at least somewhat edible.

"Oh. Hello Gogram." Balto sighed. "What's with the apples?"

"Stall owner sold bad apples to some of my lads. Had to give him a one two. Know what I mean?" The orch grunted. Somewhere in the darkness of the alley behind him, a man cried out.

"...Why in the infernal princesses and their heaving firey bossoms did you just tell me of a crime?"

"'Cause yo' ah' coppah. An' you a coward." Gogram smirked. "You ain' gonna do' jack."

Balto smiled. It was instinctive. When faced with scary brutes that could break your neck. Smile. It unerved them and stayed their haind. "Is that so?" Balto asked, looking past Gograms shoulder, into the dark alley.

"Yeah. That so!" The Orc said with a bit more vigor. As if trying to silence a voice telling him he was being stupid.

"You still running the door for old Twostones?" Balto asked. Twostones was a major slumlord who financed his more up and up stuff through shady operations like fighting pits and unlicensed brothels.

"Yeah. What off it?"

"Two days ago there was a fire at the Wasps nest." Balto began and the Orcs eyes grew wide. Having hit home a bit quicker then anticipated, Balto pressed his advantage. "When we arrived. I found that not all the inventory was there. I thought nothing off it." Balto said, still smiling. He had to disregard the part of his brain that wanted his bladder to its thing when the orc rose angrily to his feet. He didn't even shake as a tusked face was two inches from his own. That was why Balto was still alive. "Until now. Where did Mr Twostones bottles of fine Amilian Wine go Gogram?"

"You would not dare." The orc sounded bewildered and very angry. Balto prayed to the eleven goddesses of sulfur and brimstone as he lay in the finishing touches.

"They are in a cellar on 41st Butchers Road... Aren't they?" Baltos smug grin grew massive and predetory as the brute stumbled back. "If you run, you can get there before one of the officers I tipped off. If you get there, you can return it your boss won't ever know. But I will."

Gogram turned to shout at the others down the alley. "Time to book it boys!" Two others came out of the alley, saw Balto's smile and grew pale. They were human, and one of them, Joseph Myre, had two priors. Making him viable for the noose if caught doing something remotely nasty. The three ran towards Butchers Road.

Balto waited for a while, then went into the alley. "You alright Molay?" He asked the man picking himself up from alleyway floor. He had a crooked nose, the undeniable mark of a poor fighter and worse merchant. "You know you can't sell spoiled fruit. It's against the law Molay, under Section 221, mercantile law. No vendor may sell an exess of bad or harmfull goods knowingly." Balto grabbed the poor man by the elbow aand helped him stand.

"Aww. They weren't that bad." Moley protested.

"They were rotten enough that a damn orc couldn't eat them." Balto said with eye roll. "I won't arrest you today because I am in a good mood." While his tone was admonishing, he patted Molay on the back as the street merchant smiled sheepishly. Then, there was an explosion. The two heard it clear enough, and the ground shook beneath their feet.

Balto knew instinctively where it came from. It was from the Necropolitan District. Without thinking he set off running. It was only when he was several streets deep into the worst part of the slums his brain caught up to his feet. What the hell was he doing, running towards danger? It must be the bloody uniform. It did things to your sense of morality and duty in that it actually instilled a sense of duty. Any change from zero was a big change.

What greeted him was the charred, smoldering remain of a crypt. He skidded to a halt, almost tripping over someone. Looking at his feet, he saw the groaning, hurt body of a palid man. A man who was catching on fire where the sun hit him.

"Crap!" Balto hauled the vampire towards an alley but it was to late. He had to throw the man away as he turned into dust and burning embers. Vampires were not unheard off, but the wards around the necropolitan made it so that they could't leave without being tracked. No one was allowed to turn anyone into more vampires either. For one to be out in daylight meant fishy business. He looked towards the destroyed crypt, idly wondering when the others would arrive.

Boomy was busy jumping from roof to roof, a game he liked to play while on duty, when he saw another man that he recognized. He didn't remember the Tiefling's name, but he had seen the man at the headquarters before. The man looked like he was looking for law-breakers to beat up too, so Boomy decided to follow him.

Soon the man got the opportunity when an orc through a rotten apple at him. For some reason, though, the man didn't want to fight him. First the orc wastes perfectly good food, then the teifling doesn't want to fight him. Boomy picked up the apple and it fell apart in his hand, more liquid than solid at this point. Well, maybe not perfectly good, but even a dwarf would know that you can still make good liquor out of it. He ignored the human that was being hurt in the alleyway. He wasn't going to steal the fun of a fight from the man, even if he was losing. Why wouldn't the demon man fight the orc, though? Orcs are fun to fight. Unlike humans, elves, and the rest, orc didn't mind fighting with all they have, including their anger. Humans and the like think to much to be real fighters.

Boomy watched the man talk some more. He was threatening them judging by the orc's reaction, but Boomy didn't get what was going on. Too much talking, not enough fighting. He was about to leave the boring situation when he heard an explosion. “Keffi”, he said, cursing in an ancient goblin tongue. “Orc not-fight kept me from watching the pretty boom.” He started to run to the explosion but realized that the man with the apples hadn't left yet.

“Hey.” he said, hanging from the eaves above the man's head. “You still have those apples?”

“Yeah.” the man said, still a bit dazed.

Boomy held up a piece of silver that he'd “found”. “Give you this if I can have them all.”

The man eyed the piece greedily. They were only good for compost now anyway. “Sure. Where do you want them?”

Boomy threw him the silver piece. “Guard house.” he said, pointing in its general direction. “Going now. Going to go watch the pretty.” With that Boomy pulled himself back up onto the roof and made his way to the source of the explosion, the Necropolitan district.

What a boring day it had been thus far. *THUMP* No new customers, no exciting cases, nothing. *THUMP* Kepli let's out a sigh as the small as he catches the small leather ball that bounced off the door. Just as the gnome throws it again, the door opens. The ball hits Bjorn straight in the face and falls to the ground. Kepli scrambles up from his bed, quickly throwing a pillow over the various needles next to him. "Bjorn! My dear friend. To what do I owe this sudden visit?"

The dwarf his beard rumbles for a bit in anger, before calming down. Bjorn takes a couple of steps forward, kicking the small ball under the bed. "That bloody noise is getting on me nerves! Ya' might have drawn the shortest straw with patrols and are not out before sunset, but if ya' can't act properly, I'm kicking you out nevertheless." The dwarf folds his arms, awaiting a response... Which he doesn't get. Instead, the dwarfs get's a hazy look from Kepli, looking at the dwarf like he's made from mist or something. Bjorn his eyes twitch for a moment. "You're high as tits again!? That's it, lad!" The arm of the dwarf shoots forward, grabbing Kepli by the collar. He drags the gnome with him with ease, since the struggle Kepli puts up is rather pathetic. With one strong throw, the dwarf tosses the gnome out of the door, making him hit the stone streets rather hard. "And don't come back till ya' sobered up, you daft tool!" And with that, the door slams shut, leaving Kepli on the street.

The gnome wasn't entirely sure what happened until he hit the street. The impact had cleared his mind a bit at least. He get's up and checks himself over. Small bruises on the knees and a cut on his elbow. Nothing a doses of Pre-... Wait, shit. He didn't have his usual supplies anymore.
Kepli was the newest addition to the The Guard House on 22nd Cleaver Street. It had been rough adjusting to the new lifestyle. Whilst he tried to continue his practices of drug making, it had been rather though with the minimal supplies that were available.

A window on a higher floor opens up and Bjorns head sticks out. "Don't want to get you killed. Catch!" Something get's tossed out of the window and lands on Kepli... Hard... Ah, his leather tunic and belt. On a quick glance, several things appear to be missing from his belt. That bloody dwarf confiscated his syringes. Bah, nothing to do about it. He quickly pulls on the tunic and fastens the belt. He might as well walk around for a bit to clear his head.

The Slums always looked a lot prettier when on a drug fueled haze. So much more to see. A shame that the last thing he took wasn't nearly as strong as the stuff he usually made, so alas, the Slums looked like there usual bleak and dank selfs. Just as Kepli thought this walk was going to be another useless and boring time waster, a sound in the distance catches his attention. An explosion? Probably the fault of that stupid Goblin again, but nevertheless worth checking out.

With a quick, but careful sprint, Kepli makes his way over to the source of the explosion. After turning a couple of corners, he finally arrives in the Necropolitan district. His eyes quickly catch the sight of a known Thiefling. The gnome approaches, trying to mask his still somewhat dazed speech and eyes. "Balto! Lemme guess, our Goblin hard at work once more?"

Prospector's Rest Public House, several blocks away from 22nd Cleaver St. in the Lost Slums

Yarik was sitting at one of the bar stools of Miner's Rest, a Dwarf-run and mostly Dwarf-catering Pub that had for several decades been declared as "Neutral Ground" by the major Dwarf Street Gangs, it was one of the places where the Gangs tried to settle interpersonal conflicts without violence (didn't usually happen), and where anyone could go and largely remain unmolested (until they walked out the door). The pub was run by an older Dwarf named Thorr Drakkenborg, a man who prided himself on his establishment, in the middle of one of the shittiest quarters of the city as it was, but then he also wasn't a Dwarf of particularly high expectations. Though he was respected for keeping hot food and alcohol plentiful, and for keeping his mouth shut about "Dwarf business" from curious outsiders.

Though he wore the City Guard uniform under his heavy cloak, Yarik most certainly was not in the pub on official business, he was there to get drunk and get a bite to eat before stumbling back to his bunk at the post on 22nd Cleaver St. He was currently on his second shot of Coal-fire, a Dwarven-brew brought with the descendants of the Miner King's Throng that had become a City-Dwarf delicacy. Most other races could stomach it, though Yarik had heard that Thieflings could drink it like water if they wanted to, must be something to do with their daemon blood. Beside the shot stood a tankard of Drakkenborg's house ale, and a a plate of overcooked pork steak with turnips. Yarik was slowly chewing his food in between swigs of his drink, the alcohol already starting to affect him. The pub wasn't really the best place for lunch, and not that many patrons had come in yet, so the floor was relatively empty. Thorr looked over from tossing a couple fresh pieces of wood in his oven.

"Here I thought getting a job in the City Guard would have sobered you up."

Yarik glowered over at the old Dwarf. He was probably of a similar age to him, he thought. He swallowed his current mouthful before replying.

"And here I thought you weren't in the business of getting rid of easy customers."

Thorr responded as he walked back over to where Yarik was sitting, leaning against the counter.

"Customers pay. You run up tabs and tell me to take them up with the City Guard's Exchequer. They subsequently refuse to pay me. You not being sobered up means you just continue to drink me out of a business."

Yarik responded by downing the second shot of Coal-fire exhaling sharply as he put the glass down to fill another from the waiting bottle next to him.

"Ah, you know I'm good for it, Drakkenborg. Business is just slow in the Guard is all. Look, just wait, if I find anything nice to "confiscate" I'll send it your way. You sell it to a fence, my tab gets clear again eh?"

Thorr sighed, taking out a short pipe that was smouldering in a small ash tray on the counter and took a drag from it.

"Aye . . . keep forgetting most of you coppers are almost as crooked as the rest of us."

Yarik buzzedily nodded in agreement as he put another piece of pork in his mouth.

"I like to think of it as the cost of doing business. If the Exchequer won't pay for half-way decent food, what does he expect? I'm not dying of the fuckin' shits like Flinkfinger."

Suddenly the sound of an explosion boomed outside and the whole tavern shook slightly from the shockwave, causing Yarik to start as he lifted his tankard of ale, spilling some on his beard, and for Thorr to drop his pipe. Yarik swivelled in his stool to look out the window and see the smoking bellowing up from the general direction of the Necropolitan District.

"Fuckin' shit. There goes my excuse for a day off."

Yarik then stuffs the rest of the pork steak and a handful of diced turnips in his mouth quickly, downing them with some of the ale left over before grabbing the bottle of Coal-Fire and jogging off as fast as his legs could carry him up the muddy street, his buzzed state making his jog only slightly wonky.

Thorr yelled at Yarik as he ran out the door with the bottle.

"Hey, that's going on your tab too!"

Yarik could care less, he was more concerned about his heaving after jogging several blocks to the scene of the explosion. He really needed to get some more exercise and lay off the smoking he thought idly as he shoved his way through the gathering crowd of onlookers near the blown up crypt. He comes in from the intersection to the right of his fellow guardsmen, idly recognizing the young Thiefling and Gnome talking. As he stopped to catch his breath, he spied a small shape moving from the rooftops towards them, probably that damned Goblin who liked explosions on his way here, little fucker was going to have a hey-day.

Walking over slowly, his breath still heavy, and the bottle of Coal-fire still in his right hand, he interjected into the Gnome's statement.

"No, I spied the little fuck's on his way here now, or some other goblin or hobbgoblin hopping over the roofs at any rate . . ."

With the echoing of his hooves against the stonework beneth him Lance-Constable Khaz prowled through the streets of the slums on patrol, his eyes ever watchful for possible threats. It was only his third day in the city guard and much to his annoyance the closest he had gotten to a proper fight was when some human idiot had called him a 'Cursed beast' and threw a rock at him...

A cruel looking smile appeared on his face at the memory. In the past, he would have most likely left the moron broken and beaten in a gutter to die, but he was rather proud with himself for his self restraint on the matter; He had broken the idiot's arm, knocked him the hell out and then dragged his newly toothless ass back to the station for assaulting an officer after giving him an abridged version of his rights ("Shut up or I'll break the other one!").

Since then however, things had been rather quiet whenever he went on patrol... It was disappointing. Still, he kept on walking while ignoring the human woman that he had been 'partnered' up with.

Which said human noticed, of course. She was a friendly sort after all, and she liked to talk. Not too much, but enough that things seemed lively. Meg glanced in her partner's direction, giving him a blatant grin. Nothing wrong with being a little friendly, right? People always liked a friendly face.

"So, Khaz, right? I'm Meg. Yeah, ya prob'ly know that already but just thought t'get that outta the way, eh?" She pushed her black bangs away from her face, ignoring something squelching under one of her foot as she continued forward. Having lived in the slums her entire life, there wasn't much she was squeamish about, including stepping on unquestionables. As long as it wasn't physically draining her of life, all was well.

Her partner was definitely someone intimidating looking, even she couldn't deny that. Which was actually one of the reasons she was completely fine with this partnership. Self preservation was high on Meg's list of 'things to do'. As long as he was on her side, that meant he wouldn't try dislodging her head from her neck. Right? Right, she thought to herself.

The only answer Khaz gave the woman was something of a grunt that came from deep in his throat. It wasn't clear if it meant yes, no or was just a noise that meant nothing at all. 'Meg' as she called herself somewhat annoyed him. Sure she didn't call him a monster or anything, but he had dealt with her kind before; To weak to survive on her own so she was trying to 'buddy up' with him for protection.

Considering that she was a member of his new herd, he would out of obligation. Couldn't let scum think that they could harm his herd members without reprecussions after all. Hopefully she wouldn't do something stupid or get in his way to much...

Somewhere nearby something exploded.

Stopping for a moment in order to judge the where the noise had come from and what direaction it was from, Khaz frowned as he figured that it came from the Necropolitan area of the slums. "Come." Was all he said before he started to jog towards where the explosion came from; A speed that would require her to nearly run to keep up with. Of course she didn't have to follow him towards danger... she could just remain behind in the slums in a guard uniform alone.

"Righto!" Meg replied, eyes wide. She wasn't surprised because of the explosion. Well, perhaps a little. She just hadn't expected her partner to actually speak to her. After all, he hadn't said a 'yes' or 'no' to her first question. On hindsight, it was a stupid question to begin with, since she had already known the question.

Moving along... Meg was fast, yes, but it was apparent that Khaz was faster than she was. Running so early in the day?! She let out a sigh before stretching out. Only when he was almost out of sight did she sprint after him. "Wait up, I'm comin' too!" She didn't want to be left behind, not when there was obviously something exciting going on up ahead... wherever that big 'boom' came from.

She liked to compare herself to a cat. Cautious... but curious. It wasn't a very practical combination, causing interesting results for the most part. Or 'adventures' as she liked to call them. Her last adventure had caused her to join the guard, however, so she wasn't too sorry for the habit. As long as she wasn't dying or dead, it was all good.

As Meg caught up to Khaz at long last, trying not to show that she was panting, she reached for her boomerang, pulling it from her belt holding it tightly in her hand. Nothing wrong with being a little prepared, in her opinion. "This's gonna be good," she told him, finding it hard to keep her grin as she was breathing a little too hard.

((Collab between myself and @Greenie )) @Hellis

"Aw shit" Balto mumbled as he saw the rest of his precinct arrive. They were a motley bunch and included two people capable of killing him with ease. This was one of the many problems Balto faced as a guardje shared his badge with some scary people. If you could call a mutant people. Now he was not one to point fingers and talk about purity. But magical mutants were fucking wierd. Animals that walked on two legs and acted like they owned the place. Mainly becouse in the slums, might was right. And mutants were mighty indeed.


"No. Certeinly wasn't the goblin. The explosion was to neat. To controlled." He looked about him for any trace of culprits. "Who blows up a damn crypt?! The undead don't keep valuables. I mean, yeah a vampire might hoarde a little but exploding the crypt to get to it. I hardly think so." Balto said as he looked to the dwarf, who was a veteran of these streets. And, as a gang member, knew very well that you didn't fuck with vamps or the Necros in general. There was a guard policy that anyone killed in the pursuit of crime, was to be ignored and the papers written as "Eartly Justice done" . If you were dumb enough to go down into a crypt or one of the subterran catacombs in order to rob some dead bloke, you were on your own.

No. This didn't add up and balto hated illogical crime. They were often political in nature. Now people though of politics as the big pomps game. They were fools. Everyone could play on political levels. It was just more localized. Gang wars were all about politics. Racial politics ended up causing Cleaver Street to run red with blood a good thirty years ago. And his own kind was hunted for slightest missdemenor becouse Religion. And what was religion if not more politcs with a fancier dresscode and worse parties. No. everyone played on politics and it broke logic with a stoneclub to make even half the opposing view make sense.

"shit." His heart dropped as he walked around to where some people had gathered. Carved into the brickwall there was the words "Let the Dead Lie." and "This city is for the living." It was politics allright. It was worse then politics. It was a goddamn messy "Us vs Them" politics. Dwarves, Orc and even Demons all had one thing in common. They wer enot dead. This had the potential to get real ugly.This was "The Living" vs "The dead" and unless the Guard set their foot down it would escelate.

If they didn't find the culprit and held him responsible, others would think it was free season on the unliving. And there were enough thralls and lost undead in the Necropolitan to cause quite the uproar should they decide to suddenly care enough to riot.

"We are gonna have to ask for actual resources for this one boys and girls." He said, staring at the massive carvings. "I might even ask for a damn raise." He surmised before turning to the others. "Right. spread out. Look for clues to what was used. Boom, your demolation fetishists, you can tell what stuff they used right?" He looked to his mutant collegue "Uh.. I'll see if I can't talk to some witnesses. But I'll need someone intimidating to back me up. "

He meant of course, he needed someone that would assure him the person didn't lie or run away. A goatman was hell on two legs with a foul temper. Best interrogation tool he ever encountered.

"Right. Questions?"

Meg was glad to learn that she was correct, to a degree anyway. She came to a skidding halt, pebbles and dusts flying into the air as she planted her feet to the ground, not wanting to topple over. The dust settled and she looked around, taking note of who else was there alongside her and the delightful Khaz. She was rather good with pairing faces to names; it was something she prided herself in, while others found it to be an annoyance. By the time their first day was over, she'd been calling the rest of their precinct with their first names as if they had been friends forever.

Oh, she knew they weren't, but did that really matter any? She didn't think so!

Alrighty, she thought to herself, chewing on a nail as Balto spoke. A bad habit of hers, but certainly not the worst. Time t'think. Who blows uppa crypt? Someone who don't like vampires. That was the first thing that came to her mind, though she didn't say it out loud, because she wasn't sure it made a lot of sense, and she didn't want to sound stupid. Heck, it sounded dumb to her right after the thought even came to her mind. If anything, wouldn't people not want to irk the ones who could suck your blood when you were sleeping at night? And like Balto had mentioned, treasure hunting in a crypt wasn't going to come up to much if there was a big explosion first.

She might have thought up something else, but the sound of people talking had her look that way. Ever curious, she linked her hands behind her head by the wrists, ignoring the boomerang jolting against her noggin as she strolled over, green eyes taking in the words etched onto the wall. "S**t's purty right," she agreed under her breath, eyes darting over the rest of the wall to see if anything else was written there. Her hands slipped from the back of her head and back down to her sides, her right hand gripping her wooden weapon a little tightly.

It wasn't like she was too fond of the undead, to be sure, but they weren't too bad in her opinion. No, the worst were those at the top who thought it was their right to step on the rest of them. Ugh. Her finger was back in her mouth, teeth mercilessly grinding against her poor nail. Meg was sure they were all used to squabbles, gang fights, even worse. But what trumped all that was when people started pitting races against one another. At least in her opinion, for what it was worth. That was when the lowest of the low to the highest of the high walked around with their noses in the air, thinking they were the best thing ever for something that wasn't even their doing. In the end, many ended up with a knife through the back, figuratively and sometimes literally.

Thankfully Meg wasn't like that. She was just "borin' ol' human street scum" after all. Nothing special about that, right? Well, there was the badge now, but she often forgot that was there.

After a moment of listening, she shoved her boomerang back under her belt to the side, deciding to free her hands. With the city guard here, she didn't think any troublemakers would remain. This was just a message, a warning that there was more to come; there was no point for anyone to stay behind unless they wanted to be apprehended. She gave a mock salute in Balto's direction. "Ayee, spreadin' out!" With that, she turned and headed closer to the wall with the writing. Ignoring the people there, she started looking for anything that may give a little insight onto the situation. She didn't think searching around for footsteps would help in the least, but maybe something else?

Now that she thought of it, who'd want the undead to stay, well, dead? People who weren't dead. "Well tha' makes it real damn easy," she told herself sarcastically, throwing a bang over her shoulder in an irritated fashion. That would include a whole lot of people who lived in the city, including everyone in her precinct! She clenched her fists, took in a huge, exaggerated breath before letting it out. "Phooo... Right, right, gotta start."

Moving a little back, Meg blinked as she looked at the writing. "Bloody huge," she commented. Did that rule out the shorter races? Well, they could always have used ladders. "Or standin' on top'a the other." She snickered a little at the thought before bonking her forehead with her fist so that she would focus on the task.

Yarik, still holding the bottle of Coal-Fire in his hand and gazing around at the scene as well turned as the Thiefling addressed him on the topic of Vampires and other Undead.

When Yarik had been a gangster, he and his fellow Dwarves knew just as well as most other gangs that you don't fuck with the undead unless you're looking for war, and most didn't think it was worth it. Didn't matter if the Necros had more gold than the Miner King in those crypts and tombs they slept and lived in, the risks were just too high for most to be bothered. Sure the skeletons and more zombie-like Undead may seem dumb and easy to shake down, but the Vampires and their Ghouls were the real threat. Rumours had been going around for decades on the streets that some of the Vamps in those crypts predated the founding of the city itself, and therefore had centuries of knowledge, matured power, and experience in killing and avoiding being killed to draw upon. Regardless of whether or not the Vamps were actually THAT old, everyone knew that they were basically everlasting and that many had seen at least a couple centuries pass. Not only that, but them and the half and full-blooded Kindred took it upon themselves to protect and look after the other Undead within the Necropolitan District since next to no outsiders would other than the City Watch, and they didn't trust the City Guards before themselves.

To that end, the Necros had developed a fearsome reputation over the decades, and anyone old enough knew of the horrifying and grisly murders that had been attributed to the Vampires and their fellow Undead. Whole gambling dens left ankle-deep in blood and gore in a single night, entire crews sucked dry of blood in their sleep, or dragged screaming and bleeding to never be seen again in the cold and dark tombs. Many people in and around the Necropolitan district feared the night and the dark that came with it, and not without good reason.

Which meant that someone was either really ballsy or incredibly stupid to pull a stunt like this, if the culprits weren't just trying to kick off another war in the underworld, but that would also mean they were likely criminals just as much as those they were trying to frame. Yarik had been there before when his gang got rubbed out along with those that tried to rubbed them out shortly after by the Iron Clad Kings, he knew it was perfectly possible.

Though who? It could have been anybody on the streets going by the writing, though the access to such powerful explosives could narrow that list. He'd need to examine that blast, maybe the Goblin could shed some insight on exactly what the explosive was.

Though he also had a pretty good idea of where to begin their search for suspects just in case the explosives angle was a dead end, and he didn't like it one bit.

In the immediate instance though, he tapped his fingers along the bottle and said:

"Sure, two questions. One: Has that ill-equipped smith of ours finally managed to get his hands on some weapons or are we going to have to go on a confiscating round? Because I'm not walking around with my pants down with people blowing up fuckin' crypts and the Kindred and their Kin likely going to start making their rounds in the nights again. Two: You scared of the dark, Thiefling? Because we're likely going to have to question the Vamps to see what their take on the situation is. Who they've been doing business with recently, and who might have the most cause to want to do this to them and their kind . . . might be they'll be uncooperative or unhelpful, but at least they won't be able to put this shit on us."

He would then look over at one of the human member of their precinct. Mel? No, Meg, that was her name. The alcohol was clouding his memory on names, as he'd already forgotten those of The Thiefling and the Goblin for the moment. Either way, he smirked and shook his head wistfully, the young human came off as much a virgin to this business as the Nuns in the upper precincts. Though perhaps that's a mercy for her, age and experience in this city only made people worse. No wonder everyone considered the Vamps to be so terrifying and terrible in that case.

With the smell of ash still rich in the air Khaz took a moment to overlook the level of destruction before him with his own eyes, running his gaze over the rest of his herd lazely in order to make sure they were all there and alright before focusing more on the carnage itself.

As a matter of course, Khaz hated everybody he met equally; Having grown up in the slums he had encountered just about every form of life that walked the earth and on more then one occasion they had all shown him exactly what they thought of him and his right to exist. So it might have surprised everyone whom had ever met him that he didn't hate the undead.

Unlike the living who were so quick to comdemn him, he had never once been called a monster by their undead counterparts; One of the best bosses he had ever had while he was freelancing had been a ghoul of all things! He would have kept in touch with the undead creep if he hadn't chosen the wrong side of a power play between two competing vampires and gotten himself killed for good.

Turning to scan the crowd that had gathered, Khaz tried to sort through them in order to pick out the people who had actually been there to witness the explosion amongst those that had arrived to investigate the explosion afterwards... and from that group, try and pick which amongst them would start talking if he asked them to.

Balto eyed the dwarf "Let's see what answers we can get in the sunlight before we go spelunking shall we" He then turned to the massive, imposing creature capable of ripping him limb from limb. Yes. being in the guard was really the opportunity of a life time. HIs mother would be proud he was sure. She had abbandoned him in the slums and that was as good as tying to kill him after all, She must be thrilled to know her demonic abomation of a son was doing a good job heading into the jaws of terrible, political violence and death now.

"See anyone with plaster or dust on them Khaz? Those are the ones we wanna ask, They were here for the explosion and didn't have enough of a mind to book it when we arrived." He said as he picked up a piece of a cheremic vase. The flying rock must had shattered it. He turned it in his hands, then brought it to his nose. IT smelt of formeldahyde nad preservatives. When he realized it was part of a cremation urn he dropped it like it was on fire and tried to wipe his hand on his uniform.

"We have been here for only a few and this crimescene is allready way over my paygrade..."

While there was a small range of targets to choose from, Khaz's attention went from one plaster covered member of the audence to another, sometimes glancing at someone who appeared to be choking on dust for good measure. After a few moments, the goatman's gaze focused in on a man behind what appeared to be some kind of pushable cart, having clearly been selling some kind of substance that was most likely as ediable now that it was covered in plaster and vampire dust as it was before. The guy kind of looked like some kind of humaniod weasel... or at least some breed of furry rodent.

Without a word to anyone, Khaz started to walk over towards the man at a surprising speed, his long strides easily allowing him to close the distance between them while the man was to distracted to figure out that it was far, far to late to run away. Reaching over and grabbing the man firmly by the scruff of both his coat and greecy hair, Khaz lifted him off the ground before carrying him back over to the small impish creature before throwing him down on the ground in front of him.

The only word that Khaz said with a rumble like a stiring volcano was "Talk."

"Wh-whua. wuhaat" The man, having suddenly have the world catch up to him. "Why? I didn't do nuffin'" He said in the deepest, sluriest dialect Balto had ever heard. He motioned for him to calm down. "Ease up there. We aren't here to arrest you" Yet, he added mentally. "I can tell by the fact that you are covered in dust, that you were here when the blast went off."

"I dun know nuffin'. That the truth" The man squeeked out.

"Look." Balto spoke in the calmest, most honeyed voice he could manage "YOu are a street vendor, in the slums. Your eyes sweep for trouble more then a Guard like myself. And that says something." Balto said as he dusted the man off a little.

"What did you see?" He asked again.

"I told you...:"

Khaz decided to take part in this conversation in a relatively polite manner... he 'accidently' stepped on the man's fingers, making sure not to put enough weight down on the hoof to cause them to break... yet.

"ow ow ow owwwo-Ohhhkayyy.. I saw two guys allright!?"

"Now we are talking... " Balto said. Not even glancing at the hoof currently crushing the mans hand. "Description?"

"One was a hunched over, small fellah. Halfling I think. The other... human, kinda paleish, He had some sort of stick in his hand, he carved into the rock with it while the tine tinkered by the tomb."

Removing his hoof from the downed man's hand, Khaz allowed the imp to continue to ask whatever questions came to mind as he turned his attention back to the crowd, this time zeroing in on an orc woman that had been on the opposite side of the crowd from where the human man was.

Much like before, he repeated the due process of witness collection but unfortunately the orcish woman was a bit more attentive to the world around her then the human man was; She turned to try and run away. Reaching out, Khaz managed to grab her shoulder before she was able to turn enough to start running, forcefully turning her around and silencing her objections via a punch to the gut.

Now properly subdued, Khaz lifted the orcish woman over his shoulder before carrying back over to the questioning imp before dropping her down on the ground next to the human man. No harm in making sure they had as many witnesses as possible to get all the information that they could; Even as the woman hit the ground Khaz was already scanning the crowd for the next unlucky bastard to win the witness lottery.

"Oh..." Balto paled a bit. "Miss Longtooth." He said, a sheepish grin on his face as he recogniced the none to happy face of the Orc Matron. Her boys, the Longtooth Twins, were notoriusly keen on protecting their ol' ma. And they could give Khaz a real run for his money.

"You dare lay a ha-"

"Ah. This is offical Guard Buisness." Balto interjected. He was in damage control mode now. Khaz might be fine with making enemies but he was certeinly not fine with having the twins after him. "Khaz is merely acting after protocoll and so am I. Now Miss Longtooth. Tell us, who did you see skulk about."

"...It was "Blastin' Tommy TwoTurns..." She spat and Balto closed his eyes as to not get vile orc spittle and go blind. He had a bigger problem however.

"Blastin' Tom? As in the alchemist, peddler and pyromaniac Bottle-o-Oil Tom? Mr 'I have twelve standing charges and orders for my arrest in Ten countries' Tom? The damn near urban myth who had escaped the Guard for 10 years and costing countless guards their life. The man who blew up the old Opera House seven years back. That Tom?" He looked to Khaz. This meant trouble.

((Collab between myself and @Hellis))

Kepli didn't really care for the undead. They weren't customers of him. Kinda hard to inject stuff in your blood when you had none. So he usually walked around the Necropolitan District as any sensible living being would. So who in there right mind would blow up the crypt of a vampire? Well, it was actually rather something of a good fortune for him, although he would never say that aloud. He hadn't experimented with it himself, but it was said that you could make some real potent stuff with vampire ashes. Kepli crouches before the heap of ash that was once a vampire, trying to act like he's just examining it. But as soon as he notices nobody is looking at him, he quickly pinches some of the ash and puts it in one of his many belts.

"Trust me buddy, your death was not in vain. You'll bring up a nice small fortune."

The halfling scratches his goatee and nods, trying to look inquisitive. He mutters some words to himself, really trying to cover up his act.

"Hm, yes. Interesting. Quite interesting indeed."

After finishing 'examining' the remains, he gets up and joins in on the conversation between his Thiefling chief and the dwarf he knew as Yarik. He was probably the one Kepli had most contact with since joining the little guard house. And with contact that mainly meant gambling.

"-question the Vamps to see what their take on the situation is. Who they've been doing business with recently, and who might have the most cause to want to do this to them and their kind... might be they'll be uncooperative or unhelpful, but at least they won't be able to put this shit on us."

Acting like he had heard the entire conversation, Kepli just joins in without too much hassle. He strides up to the two with confidence and wit his arms on his hips.

"Ah, that should be easy enough. I still have an old buddy. Like... literally old. I think he's counting 402 years now or something. Bloody skeletons. Really weird if yo-... I digress. He still owes me some gambling money. And I'm willing to bet he's up for talking in exchange for wiping away that debt. I can always steal his skull again if he's not willing to help.

The halfling let's out a snicker as he recalls the good old times. He looks up at the sky as his mind carries him far away from the whole situation here. A couple of moments pass before he shakes his head and turns back to the present. He looks at the bottle of booze in the dwarf his hands and points at it.

"You gonna finish that?"

Boomy ran off into the burnt down building and started searching. He smelled several different types of wood burning, pine, spruce, ash, even some oak. He looked around and found various pieces of charcoal on the ground, tasting each of them in turn. There were pieces of each of those types of wood, but none of them tasted like they had any alcoholic drink or oils on them. Well, except for the spruce, which came from the table. It tasted slightly of wine and grain.

After looking over the building and under various pieces of debris and not even finding much worth stealing except a copper candlestick and a few copper coins. A bit annoyed by the texture of the charcoal in his mouth he popped the remains of a candle out of the candlestick and started chewing on it to clean his teeth. As soon as he tasted it he spit it out. "Stupid dead things!" he yelled. "Why put boom powder in a candle? It doesn't burn better and it tastes awful!" He spit a few more times to get the taste of saltpeter and sulfur out of his mouth and continued searching, placing anything useful or valuable in his bag.

Apparently bonking her forehead and telling herself to focus wasn't bringing any further clues to Meg. She huffed a little and patted down her tunic, removing the thin layer of dust that had settled upon it whilst she was doing her little 'investigative' work. Whatever she could have found was probably covered in dust anyway, she told herself. Wiping at her forehead with a dirty hand, she turned around, looking for familiar faces. It wasn't hard to spot her work buddies, well, at least one of them anyway. Khaz seemed to be scaring the living daylights out of a dwarf along with Balto.

"All's well there," she commented to herself with a chuckle, though it was somewhat sarcastic. If they were going to find out what happened, fear wasn't the only tactic they'd have to use, otherwise people would run off before the guard had a chance to nab them. She rubbed at her chin, unaware of the dirt mark she smudged on herself as she looked at the stragglers. Hm... She recognized a few, even if she wasn't on talking terms with them. Definitely not chummy with that Orc lady; even Meg knew when it was best to keep away. She liked her bones as they were, thank you very much. Being alive was always a good thing, and messing with the wrong person was something that got you stomped on very quickly, many times literally.

Her sights moved away from Miss Longtooth just seconds before Khaz picked her up; whether deliberately or not, who knew? But Meg's eyes certainly did catch someone else. A young boy, a human of course, though he liked to pretend he was an imp some days, and other days, a dwarf. It would get him in all sorts of trouble with persons' of said races, but he was a quick runner. Meg was faster than him, however. She sauntered over, as quick and sure as a cat, grabbing hold of his ear and tugging him closer to her.

"There y'are, ye li'l rat..." She grinned down at the grubby face, eyes mirthful.

"Ow ow ow. Le'go' of mah ear lady" The boy winced as he stared up at the female constable. "Yer gotten real mean."

"It's Miss Meg to ya, boy," she replied as she prodded his nose with the index finger of her free hand. "An' I was always mean... I just show it t'special persons. Aren'cha glad yer special?"

"Look. Miss Meggo Meanface. You dun' scare nobody"

"Grr," Meg replied, obviously not seriously offended. She may have tried to further antagonize the boy, but she had work to do, and to be fair, he wasn't really a bad sort, simply mischievous at times. Well, most times.

"Lookie there," she told him, letting go of his ear but placing the hand on his shoulder instead, her grip tight. She steered him so that he could see Khaz. "Y'don' wanna be answerin' him, right? But 'less y'tell me wha'chu been doin' here an' what y'saw, that there's who yer gonna be chattin' with. So... wha'chu say ya spill the beans t'me? I'mma make sure he'll be real nice t'ya."

The boy gulped audibly, eyeing Khaz. "'Kay ÄKay. No need to be a gremlin' about it." He winced. "There was this scary man who walked all funny. Like he had a massive... stick up he' bum."

"Hrmmm." She pressed a finger against her chin, deliberating. "Wha' kinda scary d'ya mean? Wha' was this person? Wha' was 'e wearin'?" Meg wasn't really literate, but she had a sharp enough memory. "Tell me all y'know an' I'mma buy din for ya, 'kay?"

"Din' On coppah' dough? Hah. Tell the other one abou' ya' goldie trousers. But this man, he was like. Regal. You know. Fancy. Dressed in black. Kinda thin 'eaded. Like he' din' eat much. All gaunt and stuff. Held a small stick of some sort. Waved it at the wall."

"Better'n the s**t y'get on the streets," Meg grumbled, "but it's yer tum." She was more interested in what he had to say about the man, however. He sounded like one of them magic using sorts. Maybe. She'd have to see what the others thought as well. For now...

"A'ight," she muttered, giving the boy's shoulder a light smack before letting go. "Thankies. I'mma keep the rest of the guard from stompin' on yer head. Git goin' now." With that said, she turned away from her little 'friend' and started toward Balto and Khaz. "Sooo, ya lot wanna know somethin' I know?" Her grin was quite bright.

(Collab with @Hellis)

Baltos face was one of one who looked at a noose and wondered if he should have written that letter to his mom after all. "Please. Go ahead and spill the beans. We are coppers. We kinda have to tell each other these things" He said. The fact that they were gonna have to chase a gods damned "terrorist for hire" weighing on his mind. Right now Balto was in a world of trouble, and the creek he was paddling up was feeling muddy and brown indeed. He was going to have to be smart about this.

"Allright. Gather round!" he yelled out. A strategy of sorts was forming inside that brain of his. It would need to be bold, stupidly so. And to pull it off they would have to hold each other backs at least for a while. He would also have to call in every favor he ever been owed. And then some. He waited for them to pay him enough heed that he didn't have to shout.

"We are being involved in some deep shit. I am talking knee deep at the least. This smells of politics and it smells of hired job. Our main suspect is one of the most wanted men on the bloody continent. We do not have the manpower, the resources or even the wits to catch him. Add to that that he likely have some posh knob bankrolling him and whoever his companion is, we are so far up shit creek, we need a really big paddle to get back on to solid, non manure based soil. You get me?" He asked, not waiting for a answer. 

"I am going over to Office 11, to formally put in the 'Call to Arms.'" The call to arms was old regulation thing that officers invoked when they believed their current mess of trouble was gonna spill past their designated zone of interest. Of course, when a posh copper from the upper areas called it it was attention on deck and polished swords for everyone. When Balto called it it would mean hearings and at best a pair of new boots. But he had better then aces up his sleeve. He had a knife or two. Really he had three but who was counting. Balto was also the expert in talking big and never backing it up until he was safely behind a bigger, badder guy.

Office Eleven was the nickname for the biggest Guardhouse in the city. Called Eleven instead of One becouse it had been raised ten times in the past and yet risen like a phoenix. It was a place of bureaucracy and red tape. And of lazy posh knobs who lived by the paper trail and died by the signature. But they were the type Balto made a living hustling.

”Khaz, Get the troll. I need to to start making ruckus. I won't lie. I am asking you because it will cause people to come down on us. And out of us, you are one of the most likely to survive.” He turned to Min. ”I want you to spread the word that there is a reward for anyone who can prove they saw something from the incident. Also, not a word about who is behind or we won't get a word out of anybody. ” He paused. ”Oh. And go get the nymf, I forget her name. We are gonna need her to get past Big Boffer.” Big Boffer was a mutant hound that guarded the Guard armory. They would not get any equipment by asking, so they would liberate it and claim it retroactively.

He turned to their Dwarven officer. ”Yarik, Take Boom with you. Go stir shit with the gangs. Beat a few people if you have to. Pull all the strings you know. Who has sold a big cache of explosives or unstable chemicals. ANYTHING you can find that could been used.”

Somewhere else entirely.

”That job was sloppy” Said the tall, stiff looking man with grey pale skin. He was reffered to as Mr Gray. He was a man of stout convictions and professional pride. They had been hired to do a job, and they had done it. But the damn halfling had used three times the needed amount of Dragon fire. His obsession with ”making a mark” would cost them their lives one day. He was certein of it. For his part, he was holding a still cooling piece of metal with a round tip. A single pulsing stone of power was fastened in the middle. He called it his Prismatic Focus wand. Some would in the future refer to it as a Laser. Mr Grey was magician of some skill. And a inventor of insane intellect. And a ruthless mercenary who used his terribly flamboyant and attentioncraving partner to remain anonymous trough history.

”Oh who cares? It was a pair of stiffs. Nobody is gonna be concerned.” Blastin' Tom, ever the jovial miscreant, said. He was also a avid believer in ”If it died once, it isn't really murder”. He was setting another wiring together another set of explosives. They were far from over, and as it where.

”The Guard?” Grey Inquired. He had heard nothing but scorn and distaste for the city lawmen. Apparently they were more corrupt and more incompetent then any other force in existence. But Grey did not take hyperbole as truth. One dogged officer with a need to improve his station was all it took to give them a hard time if they didn't do it by the book. And Tom all but used that book for toilet paper allready.

”The Guard of Cleaver Street? A demon offspring, a mutant, a troll, a dwarven drunk, a drug peddling half-ling, a damn nymph and a street kid.”

”Don't forget the Goblin!” Their third, very reluctant partner chimed in. Hannibal Lowe was a third rate explosives handler and seller. And he had tried to leave town when the explosion went off. Grey disliked loose ends, so thus the man was tied to a chair, staring at a crossbow that would fire if he tipped to much forward.

”oh. Yeah. And the goblin. See what I mean. They are the most useless in a bunch of useless people.” Tom said with a scoff. Finally finishing with the powder and oil containers. His bombs were work of art to Grey. So stable yet so powerful.

”I don't know. We will have to be careful.”

Meanwhile, three blocks to the north.

Strolling through the narrow street was Krobb. A troll, not just any troll though, nope, it's perhaps one of the most succesfull trolls in history!
Depending on if you count freelancing bridge toll management a proper civilized profession. Trolls tend to lean towards this profession naturally, which results in most rural bridges having a troll living under them.
Hence the name, toll, the word was a play on the word troll and many a commoner has been stopped to pay all sorts of fines. Usually in the form of meat, that meat often being the meat on the person itself.

This meant that freelance toll management was seen as simple villainy by most, but Krobb had learned from his father that toll management was an important profession. Sure he didn't teach him the reason it was important, proclaiming that 'you will learn why in time son'.

But that didn't matter to Krobb anymore, now he was a guard. And a very proud one at that. Making him a strange example of a guard... apart from the fact that he was a troll.

Once more his thinking was interrupted by the shrill shriek of a woman dressed in a pink dress with white lace.
Krobb looked at the woman and realized she had exited a crossing street, bumped into him and then screamed. Krobb simply leaned down, looked her close in the eyes and smiled a broad toothless smile.
Then she fainted, this made Krobb disappointed but he understood why. It's not easy to cope with the life in a city, his mentor had told him that the people of the city work hard and at times become stressed. She must have had a rough day.

He gently picked her up and hefted her over his right shoulder and held her securely in place with his right hand, holding the massive club in his left.
Krobb then continued his stroll along the street, happily looking for birds flying around in the air.
Another scream was heard, but she didn't faint, however a man not paying attention did as he almost walked into the troll.

This however Krobb did not notice, he had spotted a singing bullfinch with its radiant red belly bobbing with the notes. He smiled broadly and closed his eyes as he kept walking.
Unbeknownst to him, the passed out man was getting mugged, while the woman had her bag yanked from her as she charged after the perpetrator with a raised knife, Krobb accidentally tipped over a market stall with wooden kitchen utensils with his club followed by a crook leaving a home with a bag of stolen goods.

This was life, Krobb was such a good guard.