A shadow passed overhead raising a few gazes. Iliskra came hurtling down from the rooftop behind the half-orc and his goons, her mace raised overhead. With a hard downward cleave she slammed her weapon into the head of the man to the furthest right with an audible clang that knocked his helmet from his head and sent him toppling to the ground. There were gasps of shock, Iliskra ignoring them and raising her mace overhead a second time and bringing it down with both hands - cracking open the fallen humans’ skull, hot blood spattering across her face.

“Ha!” Ibdur shouted loudly, eyes and nostrils flaring violently as he bared his axes and rushed forward. “The orc is mine!”

Iliskra was suddenly struck in the side of the face, her vision blurring as her whole head erupted with pain. The half-elf landed hard on her right side a few feet away from the man she had just killed. She had been too slow to move out of reach and one of the remaining two thugs had slammed his shield into her, stunning her slightly. Iliskra turned over on her back to see the man approach her drawing his sword, she rolled backward and up into an unsteady stance - avoiding a downward swing in the process. Only to realize she had come up with her back in a corner.

“Leon!” Iliskra blurted out, taking a defensive stance. The other thug, sword drawn, focused on Leon while the half-orc - now free from the Maskaran’s spell - turned to defense as Ibdur came at his larger opponent in a whirlwind of steel and savage yells.

Leon growled as Iliskra called out. He was anxious to leave the pair of strangers, but Iliskra was a known fighter and ally. Which made her worth more to him than both of these strangers combined. "Time's running out," he said, slipping a Cure Serious Wounds potion free from his belt and placing it on the ground. "Trust us or don't. Looks like we're killing them either way as a freebie."

He dashed forward, raising his shield high and reaching out for his divine connection once again. He was expending more power than the would have liked, but the three of them were still learning to fight alongside each other. He dropped low as he passed by the half-orc and dwarf engaging in a whirl of steel, an axe glancing off of his shield. He reached out and touched the dwarf's boot, the shadows from the alleyway curling up the dwarf's form and writhing to ward off attacks and enhance his defense.

Slipping past the fighting duo, Leon unsheathed his longsword and muttered another prayer. Swirling from the shadows beside Iliskra, a copy of his longsword forged from the Iliskra's shadow slid out of the wall, deflecting a sword strike aimed at her neck. The blade whipped around, striking the shield side of the thug hard and bashing him away from Iliskra to buy her time to recover. Leon fell on the other thug with a whirl of his own sword and shield, pressing the attack hard to prevent anyone from striking at the half-elf. A slice across his shoulder was punishment for his aggression.

He continued to will his shadow sword to strike at Iliskra's target, his shield smashing into the thug hard and then scything down with his longsword to cut deeply into the man's foot and shatter his ankle. His shadow blade pressed it's attack, and finally the thug figured out he had to strike down the caster to end it's assault. A slice across Leon's sword arm created another line of red between his hardened leather plates. Leon let his shadow sword sink back into the shadows, deceiving the man into believing the sword had been dispelled.

The thug called out to his companion and together they smashed their swords down onto Leon who caught the blades on his shield and went down to one knee. Before the thugs could take advantage though, the shadow blade spun and arced through both of the man's necks, sending sprays of arterial blood into the air as they both dropped their weapons and clutched at their ruined throats.

Panting hard and bleeding, Leon turned to look at Iliskra with a smile from beneath his mask. "You gave me just the opening I needed. See if you can help Ibdur, can't let him have all the fun."

Iliskra sharply inhaled as the two men crumbled to the ground side-by-side, weakly gasping for their last breaths as blood poured from their throats and mouths. Very impressive. Iliskra thought admiringly as she steeled herself for further melee. She turned her attention to where Ibdur was fighting with the half-orc, or rather the far smaller dwarf was proving an untouchable force as he hacked and chipped away at his larger opponent.

“Tempus’ fury upon you, foul beast-thing!” Ibdur shouted as he swung both axes at once and parried away a sideways arc from the thug leader who snorted furiously and bared his tusks. Ibdur rushed in, swinging at the half-orc’s knees, the latter stepping back and using his weapons’ end to try and counter-parry Ibdur’s strikes. The first two axe swings were blocked, Ibdur however ducked low and rolled forward beneath his foes’ reach. The half-orc impulsively brought his knee up in an attempt to smash Ibdur in the face - and that was his dire mistake. Ibdur made an upward slash with his right-handed weapon, the wicked blade cutting straight up the front of Gunalar’s knee severing flesh and ligaments. Gunalar’s hammer fell from his grasp and the half-orc wailed in pain, falling backward onto the ground.

Ibdur dropped his left-handed axe and leapt over Gunalar’s legs and onto his midsection, balancing himself atop the writhing half-orc. Gunalar’s hands came up, palms open in either surrender or failing defense. It mattered not. Ibdur with a single swing flayed eight of the fingers from Gunalar’s hands, the brute squealing like an oversized boar now as his bloodied stumps streamed crimson down his forearms. Ibdur grasped his one axe in both hands and raised it high and then brought the blade straight down Gunalar’s face with a loud crunch of bone and a spray of blood that painted the Tempuran’s crazed visage. The half-orc went silent, arms dropping against the dirt.

“Ha!” Ibdur let out his war cry a second time and pulled his axe free and then buried it a second time into the mangled face beneath him, Iliskra visibly wincing as more blood as well as flesh and gray matter spattered onto Ibdur and clung to his weapon and armor. Satisfied with his merciless butchering of the half-orc thug Ibdur finally hopped back onto the ground, collecting his second axe and using one shirt sleeve to try and wipe the gory remains from his face - succeeding only in smearing them into his beard and eyebrows. Iliskra felt her stomach churn and shook her head, turning away from the dwarf who now beamed in victorious pride as he twirled his axes at his sides.

“By Tempus it always fills with me a lively fire to fell an orc-blood!” Ibdur grinned viciously as he looked between Leon and Iliskra. Drops of blood ran along the dwarfs’ lips and pearly whites.

Leon stood slowly, turning to watch Ibdur finish off the half-orc in a spray of crimson and broken skull fragments. It was a bit much for his taste, but he had to hand it to the dwarf, the target was definitely dead. And likely wouldn't be coming back as anything either unless he had friends in very high places.

At least he may have some benefit in his death, Leon thought to himself, flicking the blood off of his weapon and running it along the coat of one of the fallen thugs for good measure. Sheathing the weapon, he kept his shield in his off hand as he walked back over to Ibdur and Iliskra.

"I trust you are well, Arahar," Leon asked, before turning his eyes on Iliskra, "it was a good counter ambush. You gave me the opening I needed." For once, he spoke the truth, outnumbered and outmaneuvered Leon and Ibdur might have been able to fight their way clear, but it was only because of Iliskra that the strangers lived through the experience. With that, he nodded calmly and walked past them and crouching down ten feet away from the strangers.

The woman was still very hostile, staring daggers at them as though she hadn't just seen these three kill four well armed enemy thugs in half a minute. The man seemed to recognize that Leon and his companions had little to gain by killing them, and was eagerly finishing off a very expensive cure potion that Leon had left for him.

"Now then, where were we?," Leon said

“You were just telling us about the man, the elf, and the dwarf - all professional killers it would seem - that came to find the man’s uncle in this forsaken city.” Elthel, the young woman, said venomously as her companion cast aside the now empty potion bottle.

“I wonder, she continued, “do you all have the same mysterious uncle? Is he human, elf, or dwarf?”

“Elthel, please,” the half-elf man said, wiping at the corners of his mouth, “these… three saved us. Be it intentional or not. And… they just killed that oaf Gunalar. Well done master dwarf… either way…”

Iliskra narrowed her eyes as she looked the half-elf man over. He was still quite sickly pale and seemed to be under great strain even now despite the healing potion given to him. “I… believe that… dart was poisoned…” he said aloud, as if he had read Iliskra’s very thoughts. The young red-haired woman lowered her blades and crouched next to her companion, Iliskra catching a glimpse of the concern welling up across her features.

“Those bastards,” Elthel hissed, “they were intent on killing you one way or another.”

“Who?” Iliskra asked, Elthel looked back around - her face immediately regaining all its’ distrustfulness. The half-elf grunted as he adjusted his sitting position, unlike Elthel he seemed more willing to talk, “Gunalar, who you just killed. I… was a fool. He lured me to his lair under promises of… a partnership. And then… he and his men sprang upon us; myself, Elthel, and Aseilia and Vrein. The latter two… did not make it. And one of Gunalar’s cutthroats threw a… dart straight into my shoulder… just after I had escaped the others’ trying to… flay me like a freshly caught trout. I should have known that boar-headed clod would throw… his lot in with Shagarm over me…”

“We need to get you back to-…” Elthel caught herself, realizing she had nearly revealed either a name or a place in her concern.

“Who are you lot? Truthfully, if I dare press.” the wounded man managed to string the query out smoothly, eyes moving between Leon, Iliskra, and Ibdur.

“We are not actually looking for his uncle,” Iliskra blurted out very suddenly, nodding toward Leon, “we are… let us say refugees that just arrived here.”

“Refugees?” the half-elf all but barked, raising his head and brows in disbelief, “and you came here - willingly?” Elthel’s eyes were but slits by now as she squeezed the hilt of her dagger tight, ready to pounce.

“We came from Chandlerscross together, where we first crossed paths,” Iliskra said evenly, “let us just say we are not welcome there or in Scarsdeep as we are the type of folk to be on the… offside of the law.”

“And so you came here? Here? To this fallen city overwhelmed by marauders, Red Wizards, and mercenaries?”

Ibdur looked sideways at Leon, as if waiting for a command to attack.

Leon glanced between his companions, idly wondering if they should just leave this pair of strangers to die. The woman clearly had no intention of cooperating, even with the life of her companion on the line and the slaughtered bodies of her enemies at her feet. It was tiresome and far too much effort for what seemed a small prize.

"It does say something about us a whole when the Tempuran Arahar is the most lawfully inclined of us," Leon said with a laugh, "but she is telling the truth. We met in Chandlerscross, and our skillset tends to work best with those who are not above operating against the law of the land to get the job done."

"You clearly don't seem to give a damn that we saved your lives. Fair enough. You didn't ask us to, and as I pointed out to the former Gundalar or whatever the hell his name was, lumping us in with you on his target list guaranteed his death. You also don't seem to care that my very expensive potion is the main reason your friend there is still breathing," Leon pointed out, then turned his eyes towards the man, "sorry friend, that it isn't doing more for you. I can't purge poison from your body, but I can stop it from hurting you for a handful of hours."

"So I'll throw that on the offering table to, after all I would hate to see my potion go to waste," Leon said, talking to them both, "help us find somewhere to rest up a bit and maybe some people that are willing to trade coin for a good set of skills. And it would be helpful if they were anti-... the fuck did the ugly guy say his boss's name was? Shaggy arms? Since we probably just axed our way out of his group. Literally."

"It's either help us and return the favor we've paid you, or go in peace and try to keep your friend alive on your own. But the next time I see you, I'll consider you fair targets just like we did Gundabar or whatever and his buddies, fair enough? Unless it's to pay me back for my potion, of course."

Screwing up the names was purposeful, the easy lie slipping between his lips reinforcing the idea that maybe their group had never heard of Shagarm. The offer of delaying the poison a few precious hours might also be enough to sway the woman if she really valued the life of the man next to her, which was a safe assumption since any other rogue would have left him in the dirt to die cleanly from the poison of Gunalar's blade. And then finally a threat to cap off the idea that refusing them will end up costing her in the future even more than losing her friend now.

The half-elf struggled up to a stand, what color remained in his face draining away as he wobbled on both knees. Concern filled the face of Elthel who warily put away her blade and grabbed ahold of her companion by his right shoulder and forearm.

“I say… we take them back with us.”

Elthel recoiled slightly, casting a sideways glare at the three newcomers.
“We do not need them, and you know this.” She seemed to be hinting at something.

“We would both be dead had they not come upon us. Gunalar and his men would have killed you… and then finished… me. By now both our heads would most likely be tied up in separate bags… grasped in the fists of Shagarm.”

Iliskra could see that even though the young woman tried to maintain a look of denial that in her eyes she knew it was true. The half-elf continued, “We just… need to get… back… and our friend can help me. If we… run into more trouble… perhaps these three will help us. I… will gladly pay you in coin for an escort.”
Iliskra saw a grin and a twinkle in the mysterious half-bloods’ eye as he turned his head, and yet her gut told her to trust him - somewhat. She could not help but wonder if just maybe these two were part of the Ashaba Talons. If they were, then she, Leon, and Ibdur had just gotten their foot over the threshold if fortune was so kind. The wounded elf-blood was hard to mark in his current state, but he and his lady companions’ armor and equipment looked to be of a fine quality removed from that of common ruffians. The young woman seemed impetuous without a doubt, but she did not come off as a tenderfoot to Iliskra. Not at all. Even if these two are not Talons they should be able to give us a solid lead. Willingly or by force. If they try to double cross us we can still make use of them.

“Perhaps instead of gold,” Iliskra piped up again, “you pay us with valuable information. An escort in exchange for a lead.”

The half-elf raised an eyebrow in thought before briskly answering, “Very well… then. What would you like to know?”

“Not here, and not in your current state.” Iliskra said pointedly, “Let us get you wherever you may need to go and then we can talk about your payment of tongue.”

“Agreed.”

“Are you sure about this?” Elthel demanded, still clinging onto the poisoned man.

“Yes. I think… they are a safe bet. And besides… you may… need help carrying me.”

Leon chuckled, moving back to his companions and shaking his head. He wondered what could be so important that the woman would risk her compatriots life just to try and stop the three of them from learning about it. Was this bunch of thieves as Gundalar had called them, so fragile that they feared three newcomers to the city?

"One of you two gets to do the negotiations next time," he said, nodding at Iliskra and Ibdur.

Doing a final pat down of the corpses, Leon checked his weapon and shield harness before setting off with the rest of the group. It would be slow going, since their guides were a very ill half-elf using another as a crutch and Leon moved to be the closest to them in case the woman decided she needed help after all. He trusted Iliskra and Ibdur to keep an eye on their surroundings, and in turn he kept an eye on the pair of half-elves as they walked. He offered no conversation, knowing that the strangers would need to keep their concentration on just moving along and his own companions would be focusing on the world around them for potential threats and markings.

Instead, he reached out towards the divine connection he felt with Mask, feeling the reassuring touch of the shadows on his body. Mask's reassurance was far from a guarantee of safety, but at least it promised that the Shadowlord's goals were being forwarded. Now he just had to hope that such goals included himself and his companions. It would be a shame after all to end up discarded like so many other assets.

It was not a very far trek, in fact Elthel indicated it was just two streets northward from the south wall. However, the poisoned state of her comrade made the walk long and tedious as Elthel and a very annoyed Ibdur had to all but drag him. The small group also had to diverge into an alleyway after Iliskra spotted a heavily armed bunch of four clomping down the middle of the street amid the cracked stones and decayed bodies. They were all human men, encased in full suits of steel plate armor and wielding a variety of weapons including a wicked-looking morningstar.

“Shagarm’s men.” Elthel spat as they disappeared down the street.

Once the coast was clear, so to speak, Elthel directed the group toward a rickety-looking two story wooden building. A sign hung from two chains over the door that said “Yanoriim’s Grocery” in bold, black lettering.

“This is a grocery shop.” Ibdur said the obvious as Elthel reached forward and turned the door handle.

“Yanoriim is one of our most trusted fences and sources of information outside of the city.” Elthel said as she pushed open the door with a labored creaking of hinges. She stepped inside followed by Ibdur and the hobbling half-blood.

Iliskra looked to Leon with a raised brow, “Be ready.” And with that she went in leaving her masked compatriot to bring up the rear. The afternoon was drawing to an end and evening would soon arrive. As the sun set the streets would grow more active in the worst of ways and Iliskra imagined this Shagarm’s grip was even tighter under the cover of night. She wondered how well their fellows across the river were doing. As complicated as this had already become Iliskra still preferred it over the idea of fighting Thayans and their armies of demons and undead.

The inside of the store was dimly lit by lanterns that hung the four walls and a large wooden chandelier lined with burning candles that presided overhead. The interior of the shop looked better than the outside. The floors were creaky but stable, the wallpaper was peeling here and there but not severely, and the shelves and racks of goods were orderly. Standing behind the counter on the far side across from the front door was a dwarf - portly even for his kind - with balding gray hair and a a thick but well-kept mustache.

“Can I help-…” the dwarfs’ words were cut short as he saw Elthel and the wounded half-elf before then blurting out, “Waukeen’s golden tits! Zilaster! What happened!? And where are?…” The dwarf looked among the group, obviously searching for others before his concerned eyes stopped on Iliskra and Leon - his worry immediately turning to suspicion.

“Things… did not… go as… planned…”

Zilaster. Iliskra thought, she had never heard the name of course but it was nice to have one to paste to the mysterious man before them.

“Be ready.”

"Always," Leon grumbled, looking up at the shop. Either their guides were crazy or the shop functioned as some kind of front or hidden safehouse. He tried to scan the storefront for hidden symbols or signs of a thieves' guild, but his knowledge of the secret language of thieves' was limited at best. Even if he had a mastery of the strange mix of slang and coded phrases, it was still possible that the Talons or whomever their guides were a part of didn't follow the common code anyways.

Come to think of it, it was rather odd that any shop, let alone one that specialized in food would be relatively undisturbed here. He shrugged, deciding that answers would come soon enough. As long as Iliskra watched the front, he would take care of their backs. Leon stepped inside but continued to keep an eye out towards the front to make sure the heavily armed and armored group they spotted didn't suddenly decide to backtrack.

Despite the dwarf shopkeep's concerned words and likely suspicion of Leon, Ibdur, and Iliskra, the priest continued to keep his focus towards the outside. Anything he said would likely be discarded by the shopkeep, and he was in no mood to play ten lies and a truth with the dwarf when Elthel and Zilaster could provide an easier introduction.