"KEEP MOVING," Captain Roth shouted to his soldiers, "WE DO NOT STOP UNTIL THE MOUNT."

Captain Roth led his soldiers down the relatively narrow cobblestone path towards the Mount. The path was flanked on both sides by an old forest, while there was still some life in their branches there was more dead growth than new. While the leaves that did dot the canopy above started to show the first color of the autumn season, it was, by in large, a dead section. This dead section would stretch for the last leg of their journey, and this made Captain Roth nervous. His eyes darted from side to side, scanning the tree's and the canopy itself for signs of a thief. There had been a few attempts made by various groups already on their treasure, and he did not want to lose his prize this close to home. He did not want to lose his prize this close to fame.

"HURRY, HURRY, WE'RE ALMOST THERE."

Captain Roth had reason to worry more. This was the perfect spot for an ambush. The trees could be felled, stoping their advance, the branches could be dropped, crushing his soldiers, and the narrow path meant they could get blocked in easily. While his cavalry could maneuver still, the carriage couldn't. Captain Roth shifted his eyes back to the carriage. It was a metal monstrosity of locks, chains, and chained-up locks. It would take thirteen keys to fully unlock the door, and another one to get to their stolen goods. He knew that if an ambush were to happen, it would take longer for a would be thief to open the door and get the artifact than it would for reinforcements to arrive. He knew that he had completed his mission, but a single thought still lingered.

What if the thief was good?



An eerie calm falls over Ordan and his traveling crew despite the sight of bodies littering the roadside and strewn across the village around them. These corpses were in a fight, they all wore some facet of armor and a litany of weapons littered the area around them. Their blood painted the road, the houses, and even the grass and it was evident that they did not die without a fight. Yet, despite the chaos and despite this bloodshed, there was one thing missing that Orban could easily tell. The villagers. The only bodies were the soldiers, and there were footsteps in the blood-stained mud that suggest that whoever once called this place home was led away from it towards the nearby forest. What’s more, there are several canine tracks unlike anything seen before in the mortal realm. These footprints were big, bigger than any dog or wolf and even bigger than some of the monsters that Ordan would have faced.

There is also something off about the air. It is as if something powerful lingers within it. Some unspoken word, some unseen threat, or some unknown presence. If they look carefully they may even see an eye peeking at them from the windows, from the forest, and every direction and yet there is nothing there.



A most peculiar sight awaits Taiji. As he travels down the road a small caravan of wealthy-looking, but upset, businessmen will begin to pass them. They are dressed in fine linen, and carry expensive-looking crates and chests however they struggle to take each step. It is as if none of these people have actually worked a day in their lives, and this little effort of labor is too challenging for them. They all have the same look of sadness mixed with anger in their eyes, and Taiji may hear a few curses whispered under their breath at their misfortune.

“You, you look like you are up for a challenge,” one of the men shouted as she walked up to Tiji. He was tall, fat, and looked like he was used to commanding an aura of respect. He wore no jewelry however the tan lines on his finger suggest that he typically does. His eyes carried a look of contentment.

“What if I could promise you riches beyond measure,” he asked Tiji, “the name is Kaito, and I run the village of Hurrin,” he paused as he sighed with anger, “or should I say ran. A musical demon entered our village last week, and he has fought and killed his way through our militia until he forced us out. We called him,” he paused as he shifted his eyes from side-to-side, “the singing demon, the maestro of our misfortune. Will you help us?”



“GET AWAY FROM MY MOTHER,” a young boy screams as he charges towards Bren.

He is young, maybe seven or so years of age. He has a small dagger in his hand but it looks like it might as well be a sword. He has small cuts and scrapes across his face but is otherwise okay. Behind him, a younger girl is holding onto his clothes. Fear is present in both their eyes, a fear that is directed to the sight of Bren.

“I WILL STAB YOU, MONSTER,” the boy will scream again but as he continues his charge he will trip over a branch that had suddenly blown in with the wind, falling to the ground and sending the knife sliding across the pavement towards Bren. The boy is not hurt, at least badly, but he still screams. The boy scoots backward, trying to now put distance between Bren and himself, but also keep himself in between Bren and his family. Bren would notice that there is a woman in the ditch on the side of the road who is hurt badly. She has been attacked by a sword and a long laceration is seen across her chest. Her eyes flicker open, but they don’t stay open for long and she drifts back to sleep.

The family sits on the side of the road at a crossroads. The post has three signs on it. The first points towards a nearby village. Smoke fills the air coming from that direction and Bren would smell the blood that was spilled there. The second points towards a nearby city called Goldrun. It was a larger city, and they would have healers and possible help for the young family. The third pointed towards another village, and Bren may notice a familiar track in the mud heading towards it. A gnoll footprint.



“So, you must be why I am waiting here,” a well-dressed man whispered from behind Eve and his group.

From seemingly nowhere this well-dressed man appeared and began to walk towards the fated one. He was well dressed, with an expensive robe that was covered in fine trims and details that would make even the vainest nobleman blush. Despite the robe being closed the trio could easily tell that the man was strong. The longer they looked at the well-dressed man, the more a sense of unease would fall over them. There was something off, something wrong, with the person walking towards them. And if sight alone was not enough, the air began to carry with it the faint hint of sulfur.

“I was told that I could expect someone of great power to face the coming darkness on this road, but even I could not have guessed that would be the Citadel’s first love,” a slight grin fell across the face of the well-dressed man as he sized up Eve’s traveling companions, “don’t worry, I don’t bite,” his voice a mix of sultry and sweet, “I am here to join up on your merry escapade,” he paused as he leaned in, “on your fated quest.”

The well-dressed man’s smile only grew larger, warmer, and more inviting. His eyes seemed kind, gentle, and compassionate.



“Wait,” a single voice cut across a sea of bodies.

“Wait, don’t,” the man coughed and blood followed, “don’t go you must help them.”

All around Iveus was death. A battle was had recently, and it was a battle that this human patrol lost. A hundred bodies dotted the landscape, all in some different state of destruction. Some were cleaved in two, some were thrown into the rocky landscape breaking their bodies, and others found a merciful death with a stab through the heart. However, there was no sign of whomever or whatever attacked them. The only bodies that dotted the landscape were this human faction, and they died fighting something other than themselves.

“I feel myself fading,” the man whispered. He had a look in his eye, a determined look. “I don’t know what it was but it cut through us, it was humming some twisted song as it swung…” The man gasped for air for a brief second, “it’s heading towards the village of Koi, it’s heading..” the man leaned his head back as a few more pained breathes filled the air. “It’s heading…” his voice grew weak. “It’s…” He grew silent as his chest ceased movement, and his head slumped to the side.

Iveus would notice that the air hung heavy with a strange energy. It was not magic, but it held a power he never felt before. Whatever cut through these soldiers was strong, and it was heading towards a village that would not be able to protect itself.



“Are you a paladin, please tell me you’re a paladin,” a man shouted from ahead of Zarathia. He was bloodied, and as he ran he held his hand over his right shoulder. He did not give her a moment to respond.

“My village, my village was attacked,” he paused as he used his bloody hand to point down the road. The man was shaking, and it was clear that he had been through an ordeal unlike any other. “A necromancer, it was a necromancer. It killed everyone and then raised their corpses, please you have to save them, please save them,” the man begged and pleaded.

Zarathia would feel a change in the air. Something was calling to her from up ahead and it was a sensation of power different than any she would have felt, but at the same time, it was oddly familiar. This necromancer must be carrying a powerful relic or tome on them, and this powerful item could be theirs for the taking.

A simple question crossed the gnoll's mind as he stared not at the boy baring his miniature fangs, but at the deep cut the woman behind him had suffered. Suffering enough to drive a human child to attack a full-grown gnoll, with stumbling steps, shaking hands, and a knife he believed was a sword of legend. All the while the word "monster" was spat. A cursory glance of the scene to his side, of the crossroads, of his options, of his very future, Bren spied a gnoll footprint.

"Had one of his own brought this suffering?"

A deep, low growl escaped Bren as he considered the possibility, before returning to the present situation. The boy and girl were scared to death, and their mother was fading fast. He had seen this sight many a time in his home, of families soon to be rent asunder. And this time, Bren had the power to deny this parting. Without missing a beat, Bren would pick up the boy's dagger and slash it across his own palm by grabbing it, the tough hide ensuring it was as shallow a cut as a knife could manage, but still show that blood had been drawn.

"Child is strong. Bested me. Bren bound by honor to save. Brave child, raise head," Bren said, before suddenly scooping the two up with a swift motion, holding them in one arm, while effortlessly picking the mother up in the other, keeping her head level as he started to run. Run, with all his bestial might, to reach Goldrun before the mother lost her life. He had sufficient coin for a healer, he thought, and wouldn't take no for an answer from the children. Pressed once more against the boy's hand was the dagger that Bren had harmed himself with, the gnoll's blood on the blade. Run and run, Bren would fly until dirt became cobbled road, and until he caught the scent of a healer's herbs ground into powder.

Was hardly going to just keep walking Iveus thinks to himself at the soldier's cry, a massacre like this is not something you just ignore, and this road wasn't meant to be particularly dangerous. It all makes sense when the soldier mentions the twisted song, the Maestro's minions are active already, he'd known it was only a matter of time of course, he wouldn't have The Tome if it wasn't.

"Don't you worry about Koi, I'll handle it." He doubts the poor fellow actually heard, but no harm in offering a little hope. Iveus right hand goes to the large belt pouch with the Tome within, pulling it out even as he starts walking down the road to Koi and a brisk walk.

Koi won't fall like these soldiers did, because he'll be there.

ATTN: @NoriWasHere (Captain Roth)

---

Three things went into a proper heist:

Time.

Planning.

Effort.

Of those three, the thief that Captain Roth feared had enough to execute her plan. Under the cloud of dread and haste, the caravan rushed through the shaded wood in a diamond formation of cavalrymen, pursuing of a single goal: the safety of The Mount, their fortress, impregnable to all but Gods and Men selfsame. However, the last stretch of road would be the last stretch for half of the ten men that rode their weary horse, and the same would be true of the horse that carried them and their precious artifact:

Thundral's Cornucopia.

It was calculated to the smallest detail with the information gathered from the infamous information broker, Grandma Musilene, and materials stolen over the course of a week's preplanning. Suspended above them, within the decrepit canopy, a thunderstorm of steel caltrop awaited the pressure of a carriage passing over a weighted trap set under a small rise of the dirt road. A carriage had a more calculable ride trajectory than horses, and that made the trap simple to set.

...and, easy to release.

The held tree branches cracked like thunder, and a net split apart under pressure, allowing hell to rain down. Chaos erupted, as the wheels of carriage cracked, and the shoed hooves of ten horses caught the spiked metal that littered the road. Immediately, the carriage lurched and wrenched on the twin horses that pulled it forward; the sudden cessation of movement caused the hitches to yank, and the right-side horse collapsed - its leg snapping from the angle, bleeding profusely - while the left-side horse tumbled over the caltrops, and fell into the spikes, landing on its abdomen.

As the carriage was disabled, smoke fell from the sky, and obscured the forest for the trees - as well as the hell that fired out of the treeline.

Bolts fired from the trees en masse, and impaled the caravan escort from both sides. Captain Roth could heard his men screaming in confusion and death screams, horses panicking and hitting the ground, yet there was nothing that he could do, as bolts rammed into his abdomen from left and right, and his horse as well, as the war-trained beast raised his hindquarters, and tossed his rider. Looking back, Captain Roth could see his steed felled by a series of serrated bolts that punctured his side, much like the one digging into his abdominal muscle - aching to tear his stomach and right kidney wide.

Behind him, another soldier fell as a bolt tore through his femoral artery, and the blood gushed over his horse; the crimson stream flowing over the bolt that dropped his mount to its own knee. The scene was much the same, as he struggled to his feet to attempt and access the damage, as the rain of arrows slowly ceased.

Death and Injury in equal measure was all his found, as he made his way from the front to the back; their Rear Guard, lightest armored of them all, lay in a pool of his blood and his speedy mare's blood, as bolt tore open his bicep, and his sword was plunge into his mare's neck. His death the result of hers, as she lay in a heap upon his crushed chest; his head bent in a twisted angle.

"Poetic in a way, isn't it," asked a nonchalant voice, as something landed on the carriage, "They died together, from the same cause. Necks are shockingly fragile under pressure."

Captain Roth could barely make out the intruder he'd feared so, as he caught sight of her and those glowing eyes going down at him haughtily.

The daughter of the Midnight Thief and Mistress of Misfortune...


"I'd love to stay and chat, but we both have things to do, so..." Captain Roth would witness the rumored might of the Shadowless Thief firsthand, as she placed her hands on the roof of the carriage, and her glowing eyes closed, before she and the carriage disappeared in plain sight in a swirl of smoky shadow...

Just under a mile off, the carriage would reappear on the edge of a cliffside, and without support, plunge into the depths of the forest below. If anyone was alive and inside, they wouldn't make it much longer... if all at judging by the crash before.

However, she wouldn't know for a while, as the thief crawled up into a flourishing tree, and groaned, as her eyes shut and she fell asleep...

Odran Stormweaver
Marching Music

---

When it came to Iron Dwarf companies, not even their scouts were particularly subtle. While they were not going out of their way to be noisy, when dwarves in plated armor came marching, it was hard to be quiet about it. Unlike their regular army units however, at least the Ironborn's Ranger crews marched relatively light. In place of a two-score platoon fitted a full baggage train of wagons, cargo and support crew, Odran and his crew numbered a bit over a dozen warriors and shield dwarves, and a quartet of laden mules. Still, it was hard to mask the subtle shake of the ground as some 18 dwarves marched through the village. The main component of unit itself was made up of 10 dwarven rangers and a pair of war-goat riders of varying ages, though all experienced in their own right, heads on a constant swivel as they scanned their surroundings. The remaining 6 dwarves made up the unit's small complement of shield dwarves, attendants to the older, more experienced rangers in the column. The column slowed down as they entered the village proper, hands on blade, rifle and shield as one of the shield dwarves, a young woman, approached her adoptive father at the front.

"Flint and fell... Da', what do you think's happened here?" Alfira asked, her normally bright alto voice low and subdued, her face more than a little pale given the sight. The orange light of her runelantern on the back of her pack pulled long shadows on her father's face as he glanced back at her.

"Well, that's what we're here to find out." Odran murmured in reply as he knelt down, checking one of the corpses and the accompanying beast prints. The poor man had been torn apart by the beast, whether by teeth or claw, it was hard to tell due to the severity, but whatever it was, the beast was massive. Removing a gauntlet, Odran ran his fingers against the edge of one of the footprints, feeling for textures, as his eyes and hands looked for something that might clue him in to what it was they might be marching into- be it stray furs or claw marks. Whatever it was, Odran hadn't seen anything like it, but it was smart- at least smart enough to keep the village people alive after slaughtering its defenders. Either men had control of the beasts and had taken villagers prisoner, or the beasts themselves were capable of taking folk prisoner.

"Callan!" Odran barked as he stood, there was an attendant grunt as one of the goat-riders rode up to him. "Return to the company and tell em what's happened 'ere. Request for reinforcements." The dwarf named Callan gave Odran a sharp nod before kicking his spurs into his goat, sending the two careening back the way they came. "Mulloch! Oryl!" Odran barked at two of the veteran rangers. There was the rapid shuffle and crunching of steel and sod as the responding dwarves marched up to him. "Take the mules and the lads and hold here. Hopefully flare rounds will make it through the treeline if we need ya."

"But Captain!" One of the shield dwarves protested, "How are we s'posed to learn if we're stuck here on camp duty?" To Odran's chagrin, Alfira nodded in agreement, speaking up as well. "I'm not stayin' back either Da, I'm coming with you."

"This un's no learning matter." Odran grunted, "We've stumbled onto something big here."

"All the more reason for me to come with you." Alfira argued, several of the other shield dwarves nodding in agreement, "You'll need every axe you can, right?" Odran eyed his daughter down for a moment, his vision flitting over to the other shield dwarves for a moment before he sighed. "Fine. Arek, the goat's no good in the woods. Stay here. Alfira, Tonben, form up." The two mentioned shield dwarves' faces lit up as they began to fall into formation with the rest of the rangers. A few of the remaining shield dwarves began to protest before Odran cut them off.

"I'm sorry- I think you lot are under the impression that this was a discussion." Odran barked, "I didn't say, 'Hey laddies, would you all like to stay in the village or come with me?', I said 'Mulloch, Oryl, take the mules and the lads, and Hold. Here.' Understood?"

With the riders gone, and two of their number staying back with the remaining shield dwarves to set up a small base camp, Odran's unit now numbered 8 Rangers and 2 Shield dwarves as they prepared to enter the woods- seeking whatever it was that had torn through the village. With any luck, they'd be able to find the remaining villagers and bring them home. If not that, then at least put an end to whatever was tearing this countryside apart.

"Stick close to me loddy, don't rush in looking for a fight." Odran murmured to Alfira, cradling the starmetal rifle in his hands as the dwarves glanced at the woods ahead of them, necks craning as the short dwarves looked up at the towering treetops above them. There was a silent breath before Odran led the march into the forest, the stomping of steel muffled in the thick underbrush. Now about half their original number and without the mules, they could at least try to travel more quietly- especially given the unknown they were heading into. The darkness of the night and trees soon enveloped the dwarves, their runelanterns like willow-wisps in the dark woods.

"Stop worrying Da, I'm not a child anymore." Alfira replied to him quietly, a plated elbow nudging his side reassuringly.

"That's why I'm worried."

---

Necromancer.

The word cut Thia deeply with unintended and unknown accusation. The halberd resting lazily against her chest, burned in right hand, her fingers squeezing the cold metal until her knuckles turned a pale white. Gazing into the distance, from where the sobbing stranger had come, she saw smoke slowly beginning to rise on the horizon. There had been no small amount of violence committed, but there could always be more.

Too late, she thought, her anger fading as she drank slowly from the waterskin she held in her left hand. Her deliberations shifting to the doom that the villager was mournfully recollecting.

Who was there to save? The dead were dead. The undead were undead. The unfortunate souls ensnared by the foul magic of a necromancer could not be saved, they could only be freed, delivered to their deserved rest.

She could have kept going. She had no need to follow the road. She had not particular place to go. She did not believe in any destiny save that of the grave. She sighed and remained on the rock on which she was perched, studying the wretched, bloodied man in front of her with a look that revealed moderate irritation. She felt no pity, merely anger. It was always the same. Begging. Wailing. Desperate calls for help. The horror no longer moved her. It no longer touched her. She saw little more than weakness, cast in a painfully common pattern. Everyone expected to be saved. Everyone was waiting for a hero.

There was a hum, the rhythmic pulsing of power, a infernal orchestra that seemed to echo through the air. It pulled at her. It called to her. The feeling was familiar, a sensation that tugged at her buried memories, and filled her with a most unwelcome feeling. Longing colored by hatred, most desperately invoked, sent a shiver rising up her neck. She had no interest in encountering any reminders of her past. The Lady of Death had been right about one thing, the dead had no place in the world of the living, not even as specters.

Replacing the stopper in her waterskin and tying it to her belt, Thia rose from the moss covered stone, shifting her halberd until it loomed in front of her, ready to strike with the smallest of motions. With her free hand she brushed the dust off her robes, faded gray reappearing from underneath shades of brownish dirt with each motion. Her armor offered welcome resistance beneath the thick cloth. And her helm clattered mutely from where it hung slung over her shoulder.

The corner of her lips shifted into a lazy smile that never traveled close to her eyes, "Coin. How much? How much are you willing to pay? How much can you pay?"

The words tasted wrong, sharp barbs that cut the inside of her mouth, leaving her mouth swirling with a metallic flavor, like blood. And still she swallowed, accepting the bitterness, heedless anger driving her forwards. The Fates might have trapped her. The three witches might have ensnared her with their dark magic, but she would not work for free. She was no servant. She was no guileless believer. And she was no hero. Not by any measure.