Dimas Bosko sat in his deep red, velvet armchair, smoking a pipe and thinking deeply with a tense expression. He was in the study of his manor, atop a hill in the town of Sveto. The room, and in fact the whole building, gave an impression of decaying beauty. As the Reave of Sveto, it was all Dimas': the stained, haggard curtains; the torn, patched up, and torn again armchair; the creaking floorboards and the cobweb-filled ceiling. It was the largest and most valuable building in Sveto, and once upon a time, it had probably been incredible. A symbol, perhaps, that great and beautiful things could be made even under the influence of the Old Curse. And yes, its walls had never been infiltrated by a doppelganger nor stormed by a werewolf, but the slow weathering of time had won out in the end. All that was left was a dreary, depressing husk.

A voice spoke out from behind him, low for a woman's.

"Are you ready yet? We need to be outside in an hour," said Lillith Rochaza, Dimas' manor wizard. At about five and a half feet tall, with wavy, blonde hair that came just past her shoulders, Lillith was, as most manor wizards were, a trusted bodyguard, advisor, and agent for the reave. Like most female wizards, and other women of action, her clothing was more typical of what a man would wear; it comprised of a faded green, long-sleeved tunic, matching trousers which billowed slightly but were tucked into brown leather boots. Her blue eyes showed an expression of both intelligence and authority.

Dimas gave a long sigh and stood up, slowly walking through to his chamber without replying. Lillith already knew the answer. He looked into the mirror and saw himself, a tall man of 47 with long, black hair swept back from his face. Besides his slowly receding hairline, there was little to give away his age. A casual onlooker could see a man ten years younger, but a perceptive onlooker would notice his eyes, worn, tired and wise as they were, and see a man ten years older.

---

There was a huge gathering in the square outside the reave's manor. Everyone who could afford not to be working was present - men, women, and children. The reave's soldiers had cleared a circle in the middle of the square, at the centre of which was a large, wooden structure - a set of gallows.

In front of the manor was two sets of stone stairs, one curling in from each side to a central platform in front of the double doors. The outer bannister on each set met on this central platform to form a railing which Lillith now leant against, facing the crowd. Since when she had seen Dimas an hour ago, she had donned a blue cape - which she wore with the hood down - a pair of brown gloves, and a satchel that hung at her side. She looked up at the sky. It was cloudy, overcast, but the noonday light was passing through fairly well. It didn't look as though it would rain.

A single blackbird had perched itself on the roof of a nearby building.

Dimas stepped though the doors of his manor, and Lillith stepped backwards, so that she stood a little behind him and to his right. The captain of the guards, Lovrenco Petrovic, looked at him, and he nodded. It began.

A path was cleared through the crowds, moving up the road opposite the manor, towards it and the gallows. A tall, pale woman was being marched up the hill. She wore a dark blue dress and a gold ring on her right hand, and had many cuts and bruises across her body. Her straight, ghostly white hair was pulled back from her face by a strange contraption on her head. A series of curved iron strips that formed a frame around her head, holding in place another piece of metal that went into her mouth. This, Lillith knew, was a barbaric method for keeping captive spellcasters; the mouthpiece was barbed, and would cause excruciating pain if the wearer made any attempt to speak, making magical incantations impossible. In addition, a crude wooden frame was attached to the woman's hands, making the gestures necessary for many spells impossible. Even from this distance, Lillith could see fear in her eyes.

The woman was stopped ten steps from the gallows, and the captain began speaking loudly in his rough voice. "By order of Reave Dimas Bosko of Sveto, you, Cecilie Lukska, colloquially 'The Whiteheath Witch', are hearby found guilty of witchcraft, multiple counts of murder, and defiling of the deceased. You are also believed to be responsible for the disappearance and presumed murder of our citizen Lydia Resnik. You are to be executed by hanging."

The crowd cheered, and threw whatever they could at Cecilie. Most was rotten fruit or other inedible food, but one rock hit her on the side of the head, nearly knocking her down. She began the walk to the steps leading up to the gallows. Out of a habit of caution, Lillith cast Detect Magic. Her normally stoic expression betrayed a feeling of surprise and worry at what she saw. Dimas noticed, and asked, in his slow, deep voice "Is something wrong?"

Lillith's reply was short and to the point. "Maybe," she said, before slipping off into the crowd.

---

Lillith walked quickly, hurriedly approaching the captain and immediately demanding information on the capture of Cecilie. "Tell me, quickly," she said "what happened when you captured her?"

"Well, Miss, it went very well, you see, she had these zombies, guarding-" Captain Petrovic started off speaking, but was soon interrupted by Lillith.

"I don't care, skip to the part where you caught her."

"We got 'er while she was sleeping, see, she had the helmet on before she knew what was happening-"

"So she never had a chance to say anything?"

"No, Miss."

Lillith understood now, she knew what had happened. But it was too late to stop anything. She turned around in time to see Cecilie's pleading eyes as the lever was pulled and she fell, her neck broken as she suddenly jerked still. The crowd cheered, but sounds of excitement quickly turned to confusion as they saw Lillith approach the body. She removed the ring, and the illusion faded, to show the brown, braided hair, freckled face, and warm green eyes of the missing young woman, Lydia Resnik.

The confusion in the crowd continued for a moment longer, but as people slowly understood what happened, bedlam spread throughout it. Bedlam caused by the knowledge of a single fact: the Whiteheath Witch was alive.

Verdan Rybar stood by as the events of the execution unfolded. He watched some distance away from the main crowd,best he remained out of the way- his figure alone would not inspire confidence in the locals and he had no intention of being accused of colluding with the witch. The robed figure was almost completely still except for the slight shimmer of pale blue light from a small iron raven skull on his neck. In actuality Verdan was watching through the eyes of his raven ally which rested on the gallows as the execution took place. Once the events of the execution took a turn for the worse however, the bird returned to Verdan and landed on his shoulder.After giving a sigh,he began to move around the gathered crowd; quietly pushing past anyone still in his way muttering to them "Excuse me,thank you.","I must see the body, I am a doctor."

As he arrived at the front of the gallows he looked up at the body, examining the now lifeless body for anything of interest outside of the fact the corpse's form had just shifted.

Well, this is interesting.

It wasn't her intention to watch an execution, her Journey was only on its second day, but the sheer lack of what she thought was standard protocol was enlightening, not to mention their, methods, of preventing spellcasting.

I should probably get more infomation on where I am right now...

In every book on the subject she read, there was a general agreement that prior to doing ANYTHING to a spellcaster, you needed to check them for magic items. The woman who reveled the illusion was likely a spellcaster herself, and this unintended proxy murder could have easily been prevented by a slight change in the order of events.

That ring looks interesting though... I wonder if I could switch the illusion to someone else?

After thinking for a moment, she slipped though the crowd, moving forward, towards where a masked doctor was studying the deceased.

Milo honestly had no idea why he was sent to Sveto just to witness an execution, it's not like Davor was close enough to really be troubled by the so called Whiteheath Witch. Sure having him try and convert people to follow Tempus might make sense but even he would admit he wasn't a great choice for that. He might have spent his entire life in the temple ever since one of the priests found him as a child but he made no secret of the fact that he only followed their teachings out of a sense of duty not faith.

Still at least he would get to see a criminal be brought to justice, so it wasn't a total waste of time. He arrived at the gallows early since due to his size he needed a good spot to see everything. After what seemed way too long Cecilie Lukska was brought and hung, only to turn into someone else upon death. Naturally the transformation caused some small rioting and though he didn't really care he knew he had to try and calm things down before anyone got really hurt. He looked around to see if he could find the biggest troublemakers.

He had been watching the events unfold with mild boredom on his face while others were throwing random things at the accused witch. Another execution, something to spice up his day, he thought to himself. He'd get to see another body die, someone that was accused of murder. Still, it was funny how these crowds were so eager to see a death, as though their own fickle lives were impervious to the clutches of Kelemvor's bony hands. It was funny seeing them, all cheers and anger, throwing rotten things at the accused. Was there no dignity offered to the dead? But then, what did the dead care? Their bodies useless husks, like some construct shut down and useless.

Dacian watched as the noose was tightened around the woman's neck, and when she was revealed to be another woman, brown haired and not at all the one that was accused, a sudden and harsh laughter took hold of him nearly doubling him over as his face twisted in mirth.

He walked up to the body a few moments later, still chuckling as he wiped a tear from an eye. "You've got to be something stupid not to have seen this," he said as he lifted the girl's chin and looking over at her face. Grunting, he let the head drop and looked up at the woman that had been following the Reave, then he climbed on top of the platform and approached her. "Sir Dacian of House Drae," he said introducing himself, "Let someone of competence take care of this for you, my lady. I'll even bring back her head instead of... that blunder there. A bit of a catastrophic nightmare being blamed for the murder of an innocent girl, I can only imagine how that would play out for the Reave. Send me to go bring back this witch's head and you can play it out however you like afterwards. Clearly a far better option than trying to fix this mess, no?"

---

From the very moment Mark had wandered into the town, he was very, very sure that he would hate it here. The noise made it hard for the slapdash creature to focus, and the sheer number of people made it very difficult for him to tell whether or not someone was approaching with the intent to attack. Such concerns were always in the back of his thoughts since he had been with his creators, and while he had learned that such behavior would not be commonplace in the city, he still had yet to convince himself of this. Another thing he hated was having to talk to people. He preferred to get to the "important" part of most interactions. With his creator, that was getting Mark fixed up. With the common rabble, it was to flash his weapon and warn them that they were trespassing on private property. With brigands, the important part was culling their numbers and sending one off to advise the others not to endanger the Stormhammer family again. He would have to ask somebody at some point a few questions, if he wanted to achieve the goal that had been set before him, and given how dull his creators were... The Warforged imitated the sound of sighing, not having the lungs to do so. This was going to be a very troublesome mission, this one. A warm surge caused his eyes to glow gently as he remembered the goal that had been set before him.



Of course, however, being a greenhorn to the act of information gathering - well, gathering information from those who aren't bleeding profusely or suffering from broken bones - Mark had no real place to start. What good is it to go to a bar and exchange a few drinks when you have no need for the liquid? Why go to an inn when you require no sleep? "How u'erly pointless," Mark complained to himself. His thick, Dwarvish accent was a reminder of his creator's rather macabre decision to base Mark's voice off of his father's. Mark's eyes scanned the town, as he tried to figure out where a good congregation of people would be. The crowd gathering in the middle of the town had caught his attention, but even a fool would be able to see that they were enthralled by something. Questions would have to wait. Shoving past a group of people, he nudged his way to the front, very curious to see what the matter was. To see what had attracted the attention of those who had decided to gather around. Silently, he watched as the processions occurred, up until the moment that the lever was pulled and the 'Whiteheath Witch' was executed. Specifically, when the reveal was made that this person was not who they appeared to be. With a muffled whir, the Warforged placed a hand on his chin, the gesture that his creator had often performed when something curious or unfavorable was placed before him. Something about this business didn't sit right with him. Had they mistakenly executed someone who was supposed to be this Whiteheath Witch? A dull stream of thoughts suddenly popped up into Mark's head: Could Marina Stormhammer have been here? Could she have been executed prior, under a similar guise of magic? Was Marina being held captive by the Whiteheath Witch?

A course grunt escaped from Mark's voice synthesizer. What a bothersome chore this assignment was turning out to be.

Once things had calmed down a little, he was going to have to ask some questions. He was unsure as to how well immediately consulting those responsible for the execution would go as well. For now, he would simply have to sit back and wait, perhaps coming up with a more water-tight plan that wasn't "ask random people that he sees." As if on cue, he noticed the group approaching the body. If he could, a small smirk would have escaped from the mouth of the Warforged. Several heads worked better than one, after all. He approached the bunch in front of the body and placed hand to chin again, carefully looking over the body. He needed to figure out if there were any more secrets this woman was hiding...

---

"Ah, hells, what kind of execution is this?! If I wanted some damn amateur theatrics, I would have just gone to the theater!" Among the crowd's many hecklers was a wild-looking man with a feral glint in his eyes. Aside from the fact that he was armed and armored, he also wore some sort of oversized wolf's mane like a mantle, a trophy of his past exploits. This man, who began to boo at the execution, appeared to be some sort of hunter to any onlooker. To those perceptive enough, however, those who would notice many small things such as the small vial of silvery liquid he wore as a pendant or the many scars on the palm of his one bare hand, they would be able to piece together that this man was a Krusczek, a monster made to hunt other monsters.

When this Krusczek had began to see others gathering at the corpse, however, he seemed visually displeased.

"Shit..." Cursing under his breath, he drew his sword, grasping the blade with his uncovered hand and letting it cut into his palm. As his blood covered his curved blade, it started to ignite like a torch, the blood serving as tinder for the cursed fire burning from his blade. Raising the flaming scimitar like it was some sort of badge of office, the Krusczek began to maneuver through the crowd, keeping it raised and hollering at the manic townsfolk to move out of his way, using his blade as a deterrent for anyone to get in his way; nobody sane would want to fight a Krusczek head on, after all.

"Get away from the corpse, you fools," the man with the flaming sword called out as he neared the gallows, putting the flame on his blade out as his path became clearer, "if you get your different smells on her, I won't be able to get a good idea of this witch's scent!" As if he knew just what he was talking about, he started to sniff at the corpse, trying to get some sort of scent he can build off of, but also trying to find anything else notable about the girl that could lead him to this Whiteheath Witch. Afterward, he turned over to Lilith, his stoic expression not showing whether he was pleased with his findings or not.

"The name's Emil, by the way, and your guards are bad at their jobs. I'll find that witch for the Reave, it sounds like a good hunt. Never hunted one this cunning before, but there's a start for everything, isn't there?"

---

Vlad missed home. He enjoyed his time in Sveto as much as one could. Times were tough and the quality of life wasn't great but Vlad did his best to keep spirits up whenever someone would go in the tavern. He'd managed to pick up some work cooking in the tavern which allowed him to pay for a room and some food of his own. Leaving home was tough but after the events that transpired he had to leave.

In the weeks that Vlad had stayed in Sveto he'd gotten really invested in the town's local problems and so when he heard the Witch that had been terrorizing the town was caugh, he was overcome with joy. He stood near the back of the crowd, his height giving him a good enough vantage point of the hanging. He cheered and yelled with the rest of the crowd but similarly went quiet when it was revealed that the witch was in fact Lydia Resnik. Vlad wasn't one of those Half-Orcs that constantly struggled to distance himself from his more brutish tendencies, he figured it was just part of who he was, but he often tried to keep his anger in check. He wasn't doing a good job right now.

Vlad stormed off into the tavern, weaving inbetween the crowd and up the stairs to his room. He burst into his room and began to suit up in his armour clad with his holy symbol, shield and sword. He made a similar effort to before as he made his way back out to the gallows to meet with some other strangers who seemed to be offering their services to track down the witch.

"Count me in. I'm not going to let that witch take anymore of us!" Vlad exclaimed, almost yelling in rage.

Near the edge of the crowd stood a charcoal grey skinned, jet black hair, and silver eyed tiefling with horns that went forward two inches before curling back into a ram horn shape. The left horn was broken, and not cleanly either, off half way through the curl. He watched the execution from the side of the building he was leaning against while taking periodic swigs of his wine filled flask. His leather armor was worn but still functional with a short-sword strapped to the right side. The backpack he carried was flanked by a quiver full of arrows to his left side and a short-bow jammed next to that. On his right bicep three iron bands looped around and through each other showing that he was part of a mercenary company.

He listened to the captain of the guard shouted out the woman's charge and sentence. As the events proceeded into chaos just mere seconds after the woman was hung, and revealed to be another younger woman. He was mildly shocked at the reveal and knew it meant the original perpetrator was at large. It also meant there was probably going to be gold rewarded for the capture or execute of this "Whiteheath Witch". As a mercenary at heart, he decided to take the opportunity to make his way through the panicked crowd towards where he saw many others starting to gather near the gallows, though some stayed in the crowd. A masked man, what appeared to be a woman in dark cloths and a hat, a large mechanical person, a fair skinned man, an angry half orc, a dwarf looking for someone, and a man using his blood to ignite his blade. He gave pause at the man who used his blood to ignite his blade, a damned Krusczek was here. Joseph spat into the dirt at the sight of the man and quickly drank more of the wine before walking up.

"It seems you have captured and killed the wrong person. Perhaps you may need to hire some more professional services. I happen to be available for hire and have some experience with killing or capturing things or persons. All for a reasonable price of course." The first part he spoke with a thunderous voice to try to draw the attention of the woman in the green tunic that the pale man, half orc, and damned Krusczek were talking to.

As Verdan was making his way through the crowd, there was a violent movement and a stray elbow caught him on the side of the head. It wasn't powerful enough to deal noteworthy damage, but the unexpected blow did stun him momentarily, and he was still shaking off the last of the disorienting effect as he tried to examine Lydia's body, causing him to fail.

By chance, Milo was caught in the same violent movement. Before he knew what was going on, he was in the middle of a crowd that surged back and forth, and with the majority of the population being human, it was impossible to tell which way was which, let alone who was causing it.

Morgan had a clear view of both of these events. It was quite amusing.

---

Lillith glanced slightly to one side as the black-robed man began to examine the body, and thought little of him. It made sense that at least one professional would be present. She was less subtle when the metal man approached and joined in, speechless and wide-eyed at this form of creature she had never even heard of before. He seemed to be trying to help as well, but from what Lillith could tell, neither he nor the first man could find much of use.

She turned at the sound of laughter, to see a handsome, blond man approach. His apparent lightheartedness in the present situation caused Lillith to take an immediate dislike to him. She scowled at him as looked over the corpse, and when he spoke, she replied coldly "I like your first idea, to send someone of competence. Your second idea, that is, to send you, seems much worse, though."

It was at this point that Lillith heard yells, and turned to see what was happening. A man with a flaming sword - a Krusczek, perfect - was clearing his way through the crowd. It was clear enough that he didn't mean any real harm, but he wasn't exactly making the panicking people any calmer. A small group of guards moved forwards and surrounded him, pointing poleaxes his way, but it was easy to tell that they didn't want to fight him - the ones in front of him retreated as he walked forwards, no one attacked, and when he put out the flame, they were all visibly relieved and immediately got out of his way. The Krusczek then climbed the stairs to the gallows and began to sniff the body. He'd been right - the others had gotten their different smells on her - and while there wasn't enough left for a trail, he could get one scent which perhaps he could use to recognise the correct location once already there. There was a noticable smell of rot, more so than such a fresh corpse should have, as well as moisture, and something distinctly alchemical.

Lillith nodded at the wild man's proposal. While this one was eccentric, the Krusczek had a certain reputation. And he didn't have such a large ego. Before she could elaborate, though, another pair of warriors put themselves forwards for the hunt. A half-orc and a tiefling, the former naturally loud, the latter amplifying his voice through magic. The more the merrier, she suppoed, as long as they didn't end up killing each other over the reward. "I'll make this simple, to save time," she said "I'll talk to the reave about setting up a reward. You can decide amongst yourselves how you want to split it; I'll just give it to the first person who brings proof."

---

As this had been happening, the lone blackbird that had watched the execution slowly began to shift. Now, in it's place was a short man who was almost entirely bald, except for long, greasy strands that hung from the back of his head. He wore a strange, black coat with patches of feathers sprouting from it, and he grinned madly. Breathing heavily, he unclipped a vial from the front of his chest and threw it into the crowd, where it shattered against the flagstones. A green gas was released suddenly, and while there was no clear view of what it was doing, screams were audible.

This was just great while Milo was caught in the stampede, and unable to see over or through the larger humans, it was likely that some criminals used the chaos to their advantage. He had to seriously resist the urge to draw his mace and just scare of the angry and concerned civilians. He restrained himself though and aside from minor retaliations whenever someone accidentally kicked or elbowed him in the face let the crowd push him around. One plus was that at least it wasn't boring as the temple.

Eventually though he reached his limits and cast Thaumaturgy and yelled as loud as he could.

As she watched, a small crowd had gathered before the hanging corpse. Well, it was only five or so people, but still.

Is that really so interesting?

The ring was still in the hands of the important looking woman, but Morgan had given some thought to it and put together what she felt was a decent plan on how to get the ring into her hands.

As she backed away, searching for a nearby place she could use to focus on her spells, she heard the sounds of glass shattering, and people screaming. She sped up a little, whatever was now happening was a perfect distraction to help her get the ring.

---

With a groan and a small hiss - caused by his arms, not his false voice - Mark stepped away from the group. People were everywhere, and it looked like complete pandemonium at this point. An agitated whir escaped from the "mouth" of the Warforged. No wonder his creator never had a desire to live in the city; for all of the expensive gold and silver that seemed to flow through the streets of the city, this was quite the jarring contrast. The gas was the final straw, and he watched as it began to spread, taking a few cautious steps back. He was sure that he would not be susceptible to whatever it was that this assailant was attempting to use against the crowd, but he also knew that there was no need to not take an unnecessary risk if he had to. If, for example, it turned out to be corrosive, Mark would be in as much of a pickle as the other civilians. Mark let out another aggravated grunt, crossing his arms for a second. He couldn't quite discern what was going on, and not having a complete grasp on the situation angered Mark like nothing else. He detested not knowing information he should know, whether due to logic or otherwise having it hidden from him simply because people were too stubborn to tell him. He had the same rights to know as those who crossed him. He had broken arms and legs just to find out the name of the leader of those who would invade his creator's home, and to prepare accordingly. Being in control of the situation was the only way to win against conflict, he had been taught. "Alright, ya fools!" Mark shouted as loud as he could to the group of civilians behind him. An unnatural, mechanical fury rang throughout his words: despite having merely a basic grasp on emotions that normal organisms possess, aggravation and anger were instrumental into ensuring that Mark would do his job of scaring others off.

"To yer houses! Yer not doin' anything but makin' things worse now, ya hear?!" Mark chastised the onlookers. He realized he held little actual authority in directing these people, but he figured if he could make his voice sound loud and forceful enough, he could certainly try to make himself sound important. He wasn't sure how, but it sounded like some of the others approaching the body had managed to amplify their voice further. How curious, Mark thought for a brief moment, before continuing: "Go on, get out of here, all of you!"

Verdan gave a slight shriek and yelled "Which of you uneducated plebes just hit me?" before sighing and regaining his composure, such a small thing should not bother him. After regaining his composure the robed figure shuffled his way through the rest of the crowd to reach the gallows stand, at which point he muttered to the women overseeing the execution "Apologies but I must be closer to the body to perform a real assessment of it,the crowd was interfering.".

As Verdan turned to examine the body he noticed the green gas spreading throughout the crowd, he looked around the crowd to try and see it's effects and where it had came from. The body could wait. He gestured for his raven to take flight and mentally commanded it to identify the source of the gas and any affects it was having on the people taking the gas in.

Joseph gave a slight smile and started to reply before the sound of breaking glass and the shrieks of the commoners filled the air. He turned and saw the cloud of green gas and started to look for who ever caused the could. He drew his shortbow as he gaze fell upon a man perched on top a nearby building.

The tiefling man knocked and fired an arrow at the man suspecting that he possibly had a part in this ordeal. It was also is hope to show his own capabilities as a mercenary, and if he was right he might get something for dealing with the man. And if he was wrong, well that he would deal with later.

---

Emil began to chuckle as he watched the guards continue to be bad at their jobs, keeping the citizens in check and all. The newcomers all offering their hand at catching this witch added to Emil's amusement, especially because of how varied they seemed to be. Normally, he'd reject signing up for a job with too many people as company, but it seemed he was either too amused or too bored with his current affairs to really care much about it, for now.

"I don't care about a reward, I only do this for the sport. I guess I'll take enough for a good drink, but I'll give the rest of my share to the other stooges who took this job if they don't get in my way... actually, on second thought, mind if I take that ring as part of my share? It might still carry the scent of that witch, even moreso since it's magic...

"As for what I've got, so far, the body smells rotten... which is odd for a corpse this fresh. Either she had a rich last meal, or she was kept at someplace like a small marsh, or even a graveyard. I also smell some sort of liquid on her... it's strong and definitely nothing natural. This witch could have also dabbled in a bit of alchemy."

Before Emil could ponder more on his findings however, the sound of cracking glass broke his train of thought.

"Ah, speak of the devil!"

Looking to the crowd and seeing the clouds of green gas sudden burst forth, Emil's eyes quickly darted around the rooftops, looking for the culprit. As he was doing so, he drew the crossbow slung on his shoulder, loading it and preparing to shoot whoever the hell decided to crash this party.

Ah, well, Emil was starting to get bored, anyway.

---

Vlad wasn't a fan of being called a stooge by the Krusczek but he did agree on the goal of knocking off the witch. With little to no clue though, Vlad imagined he'd need to rely on the more adept members of their little hunting party to do the actual tracking. He was fully aware that he was more of a meat shield than anything when it came to adventuring and was more than willing to stand back and wait for his time to shine.

Speaking of, a loud crash rang out as the area began to fill with gas. Unable to realistically do anything about the mysterious fumes, Vlad pulled a javelin from his bag and began to look around for the culprit.

The panic that had previously been present had only been compounded by the sudden attack. Thankfully, this actually helped; people were now afraid enough to run away, and with Milo and Mark shouting at them, they made sure they did. Of course, they didn't actually listen to what either Milo or Mark said, "calm" was the last word that would be used to describe them now. However, it did clear enough space to see what was going on.

Of course, this wasn't necessary for someone with access to a bird's eye view, such as Verdan. He could see the cloud of gas, which had now diluted somewhat as it mixed with air, forming a cloud of larger volume but lower concentration. It was easy to enough to work out from that that there was no source of the gas, in that nothing was creating any more. It had simply been kept at very high pressure within the vial, which had shattered on impact with the flagstones and thereby released a sudden expulsion of gas. It was impossible to tell the effects of the gas precisely, since it was still heavily obscured inside, but the screams had now stopped.

The thrower himself had abandoned all attempts at subtlety - it was no issue at all for either Vlad or Emil to find him. He cackled maniacally, now half-standing with one foot on the front and one on the back of the gable roof, until he was interrupted with a sudden, sharp, gasp as an arrow struck him in his left shoulder. He swayed slightly with the impact, but his balance was extraordinarily good, and he did not fall*. Looking down, he snapped the arrow off while searching for the one who had fired it. His mad eyes fixated on the grey tiefling below him, and between his panting breaths, he rasped "Oh, I'll make you suffer for that," before remembering what his orders were, and added "but not now." And with that, he was a bird again, and began flapping in the direction of the fleeing townspeople, down the main road and towards the market square.

However, even amongst all this chaos and fear, one person still found a way to benefit. Morgan had absolutely no trouble finding a place to focus. The area in front of the manor was designed to have people watching on three sides. The people had all funelled into the main road, crowding the side opposite the manor, and the gas and the blackbird had been at the side on the right when facing away from said manor. Thus, the side on the left was almost entirely empty, ignoring a single malnourished, stray cat that was looking for food there.

Lillith had been about to reply to Emil when the vial was thrown and the hell that had already broken loose multiplied. "We can negotiate this when lives aren't at stake. For now, I'll handle him-" she tilted her head behind her, towards the blackbird "-and I'll give 200 gold to whoever deals with those." This time, she pointed to the cloud of gas. It had almost completely dispersed at this point. Inside were now visible maybe a dozen corpses, all with various cuts and piercing wounds, as though clawed at with fingernails and bitten. In addition, there were six standing, hunched figures, covered in boils and skin lesions, most of their hair having fallen out. They began limping slowly towards the gallows, approaching at their pathetic pace towards the closest food source.

As this happened, Lillith cast Longstrider on herself, and immediately gave chase after the blackbird, her form blurring with the extreme speed. A moment later, flashes of fire were visible shooting into the sky, forcing the blackbird to swerve away from them and therefore the crowds as well, though not a single Firebolt made direct contact.

The street beside the manor was quiet, and empty of people, perfect for her plan. Or, it would have been, if not for the minor issue of the wizard running away.

DAMN IT!

She had the perfect plan as well. By relying the mental effects of Charm Person, it should have been easy to convince the wizard that she could gave her the location of the spellcaster if they let her inspect the ring. She would communicate with them via Message, then pick up the ring with an Invisible Servant marked with Prestidigitation. Even if something had managed to go wrong, none of it would have been able to be traced back to her.

And now it had gone wrong, in the one way that she couldn't fix.

She has to come back eventually, right? She was talking with those people before...

She paused, looking back toward the plaza in front of the manor. The crowd had mostly disappeared back into safer parts of town, but the six who had been talking with the wizard remained, apparently to deal with the... Zombies? They looked similar enough, so she decided to call them that.

She took a moment to throw together a new plan, then found someplace to sit. There wasn't really anything she could do but wait for the wizard to get back.

The last zombie clattered to the floor, and all was silent. Many of the cobblestones surrounding the gallows were slick with blood, and six mutilated corpses of what were once human beings now lay on the floor in various states of destruction. Now that the noise of battle had cut off, the lack of sound felt sudden, unwelcome, and bleak. Seven innocent lives had been ended, and the killer was still at large. The people of Sveto had thought that the killings would end today. Instead, the total dead had doubled.

The people who fled the attack had retreated to their homes, where they hid and waited out the fighting. Now that they could no longer hear the fighting, a few curious souls ventured out to see what had happened. They climbed back up the hill, slowly, many still shaking in fear. And when they saw what was left of their friends and neighbors, their reactions were myriad. The most stoic simply stiffened and paled, looking on somberly and silently. Many cried. For most, it was a devastating tragedy. A handful, the wisest, understood that a considerably larger death toll had been planned. Had the zombies not been engaged and defeated immediately, they would have gone on to kill many more in the crush as people fled the square. This was what victory felt like.

A hard-faced, brown-haired woman of her late thirties was trying to stop her son from seeing the dead body of his father in a pool of blood a short distance away. He knew something was wrong, but he was too young to understand what.

The blackbird was barely visible in the distance, a tiny speck in front of the grey sky. Lillith had successfully fought him off, but he was still alive, flying eastwards, towards where the rivers met. He glided around a hill and out of view.

Lillith made her return to the square shortly afterwards. She surveyed the chaos from a distance, but did not participate. She could see what the people needed: a firm hand and a strong voice. Someone who could tell them they were under protection, then live up to that promise. But charisma was not her forte. She could not help reassure the people, but she could help deal with the root of the problem. And this time, it would be done properly. Lillith approached the group of warriors that had dealt with the attack, and said, simply "It seems that I owe you."