Thora stretched out their arms as the morning sun began to shed its first rays upon the sky. Today was the big day in Pitted Dusk, the day to recapture the predators that had been loosed the night before. After the triumph at the challenges the day before, Thora had enjoyed the celebrations and even made sure not to drink too much so that the early morning rise wouldn’t be too rough. Zearach, annoyingly, was already geared up and ushering the rest of them to the door.

Grumbling about “morning people”, Thora picked up the leather armour from the floor and got ready as quickly as possible. The elf was right, they needed to get to the fields before something bad happened.

Thora was still chewing on some rolls and a block of cheese when they reached their destination. All around them were piles of fur and gore, the bloodied remains of the hare population that had invaded Pitted Dusk. These vicious predators were effective, that was clear. At the moment, there was no sign of the vicious rodents they were after, so it was time to set a trap.

While Zearach and Thora found hiding places and readied their bows, the others began taunting the creatures. Duanne, in his great wisdom, was grabbing hare corpses and tossing them into the air, hoping to attract the attention of their prey. Alandal, trying a similar approach, was chanting quietly and directing one of the bodies to float through the air back and forth, doing his best imitation of a bunny hopping. But there was no sign of the beasts they were after.

They began to slowly explore the hills and bushes around them, trying to find a sign of where the two dangerous animals might be. The terrain was rough and uneven, with many places for little creatures to hide, and other than the bodies of their victims… no tracks.

At that moment the quiet of their hunt was disturbed by the loud noise of wagon wheels and horse hooves. The sound echoed across the fields, bringing all attention to the cart and the smiling travelling merchant who was approaching.

“Good morning!” called out the vendor, greeting them with a friendly shout. “Can I interest you in some fine clothes? Perhaps a new set of boots? What do you need? I can…”

His words changed to a scream as a blood-covered shape flung itself at him, burying its fangs in his neck.

Nasty pointed teeth

The creature tearing at the merchant’s neck had grown enormously overnight from its feeding frenzy. About the size of a rotund halfling, it made for a fearsome and deadly predator. Arrows flew across the field, trying to force the rabid rabbit to loose itself from the merchant. As Zearach and Thora reached for another arrow, their target swung its attention towards them and leapt. Thora watched as the creature closed the distance but it was unable to leap high enough to reach the dwarf’s elevated position. Acting as a crew, the heroes closed in on their quarry, striking it from all directions, before finally knocking it out and netting it.

Zearach was starting to wipe the blood away from a large gash in his throat left by the creature when another one leapt through the air above them. Blood sprayed everywhere as the crew attempted to beat down the new arrival. The beast clawed and bit its way through their ranks, eventually sending Duanne to the ground in a pool of his own blood. Zearach’s blades sent the rodent to the realm between, but Thora could only relax once the dwarf was able to put a net on the beast, effectively neutralizing it.

“This thing doesn’t work at all!” came a shout from behind them. The merchant, throwing a cloak upon the ground, broke the silence that had settled after the battle. His throat was still bleeding, but the man would live.

“Maybe you should get to town. Why don’t we hitch a ride with you, we’ll show you the way” offered Duanne, who was likely a little annoyed after trying to defend this loudmouthed merchant and being taken out by rabbits for his trouble. The only upshot of the whole deal was that the cloak discarded by the merchant seemed to be more than it appeared. The wizard tucked it into his shell for later, settling in for the ride back to town.

When they reached Pitted Dusk, it was not to huge fanfare or celebration as they had received in Wilted Gulch that last time, but the Hare Days organizers were still very grateful for them returning their precious predator rodents. Handing them the two netted beasts, Alandal held out his claw, waiting for the reward.

“500 gold, I believe?” asked the bard flatly, stating it more than questioning.

The mayor smiled, handing over the sack, congratulating the team on their work. An old hunter approached the group, holding a long wrapped package.

“Not just the gold, friends, if you recall!” the old man said with excitement, introducing himself as Armuth. “It’s long past time for me to retire and my good friend needs a new home.”

The old ranger carefully unwrapped the bundle, exposing a beautiful bow that seemed to glow an icy blue. Something seemed different, unique, about the weapon.

“Meet Everfrost, the Preserving Bow, adventurers.” The old man said it with pride, but there was also a tinge of sadness and regret. Thora wondered if the old man was having second thoughts. “Treat her well, please.”

With that he passed the bundle over. Zearach gladly picked it up, tilting it as he examined the fine worksmanship as they wandered back to the Heroe’s Haven. When they arrived at the tavern, they split up the gold and Zearach put Everfrost on the table to continue trying to determine its secrets. They were there only a few minutes before a crusty old man approached them, eyeing the fantastic weapon lying upon the table.

“That’s a mighty fine item you have yourselves there!” croaked out the stranger. “You know, I could take that off your hands. I’ll make you a great deal. What if you never had to hunt again? More money than you can dream of! I’ll give you 100 gold right now.”

Thora raised an eyebrow, looking around at the others at the table. Was this man serious? Even Zearach was having his patience tested.

“Are you trying to buy the bow? Sir, that offer isn’t even close to the reward I just received today as winnings from the contest” stated the elf in a flat and serious tone. “The bow’s not for sale.”

“It’s a great deal!” countered the elderly swindler. “You’ll regret turning it down.”

“I’m sure we’ll be fine” Zearach responded, his voice holding a tint of disdain in it. Thora wondered what would happen if this man pushed the elf hard enough.

Strangely, the odd man held up his hands in defeat, backing away and turning to return to his seat at the bar. Thora had not expected him to give in so easily. Something was off about him, but the soldier couldn’t quite put a finger on it. As Thora’s ka’az used to say: “Never trust the fool who spins tales of riches”. The elderly man was still paying close attention, though, watching them as he chewed on his meal. A rather rough-looking individual was sitting with him, ignoring the table and staring out the window to the streets outside. The old man leaned into him and whispered something, to which the man nodded, got up, and left. Curious.

Thora returned to the well-earned lunch on the table, unsure of what that was all about. The gold was burning a hole in the dwarf’s pocket and Thora was itching for the chance to explore the town and perhaps make a purchase or two. The others also seemed eager to take a bit of tour and after their meal they decided to spend the day walking the roads of Pitted Dusk.

Muggers gonna mug

Thora walked casually with the others, wondering what they might find down by the docks. Perhaps somebody who had travelled to Enker and knew of a way there? Or perhaps a ship they could take to get them closer to Embassy? The sky was turning dark as they hit the cobblestoned pavings that wound through the shops and homes of this district. The beautiful saltiness of the air was a lot stronger in this part of Pitted Dusk and reminded Thora of a story that beka used to tell when the dwarf was much smaller. It featured mermaids and sea serpents and pirates, all things that Thora was certain had been made up by the dwarf’s mother based on the fictions in her library. To hear the tales that Duanne had spun at some of their meals, Thora was beginning to think that some of it might be real!

All of the shops around them were either locked up for the night or in the process of closing up. There were few folks wandering these streets at this hour with only the occasional passerby. Perhaps that was the reason the elf was able to hear them.

“We have company” Zearach said in a low voice, as nonchalantly as possible, trying not to raise any attention. The ranger had heard a group behind them matching their pace, trying to hide in their approach in the group’s own steps, but the elf’s hearing was better than most. “Don’t look, but I suspect at least three of them following, probably four.”

He gave a quick laugh as if he had just told a joke and then raised an eyebrow at Thora. The dwarf knew what that meant and winked in agreement, holding back a smile. Tapping Duanne on the shoulder, Zearach pointed down the roadway as if indicating where they should be going and leaned in, whispering something to the tortle before standing up straight again. Immediately, the sound of Duanne’s peg leg on the stones went up in force as the wizard happily stomped forward with exaggerated motions.

The moment they rounded a corner, Alandal, Zearach, and Thora began splitting off into different alleyways with Duanne continuing his stomp around the corner towards the docks. Thora’s hands found a window sill and the dwarf began scaling the sheer surface of the stone building’s wall, swinging and climbing without a sound, just as the dwarf had been trained. As the soldier reached the sloping edge of the roof, Thora’s hands pulled hard to swing up onto the roof top, keeping low to avoid being noticed. Crawling hand over hand across the hard roofing tiles, the dwarf looked down at the scene below.

To Thora’s right, the soldier could see Alandal with his back up against a wall, waiting for the cue. The bard was pressed back hard into the shadows, trying to hide his large frame as best as possible. To Thora’s left, on a nearby rooftop, the dwarf could barely make out the elven ranger poised in the darkness, ready to leap down upon their would-be ambushers. Below them in the streets was a group of individuals that Thora could only describe as “thugs”. They had the look of predators, moving purposefully but with great care. If Zearach had not heard them, Thora wasn’t sure if any of the rest of them would have been able to notice their pursuers. They were good. But not good enough.

The sound of the wizard’s wooden leg slamming over and over into the cobblestones beat like a rhythm and Thora’s breathing slowed to match it, taking aim with the large elven bow received from Zearach. Quietly notching an arrow, the dwarf readied for what was to come.

As they ambushed the would-be assassins, it took little time to decimate their ranks. One by one they fell to the combined force of the foursome. The rough-looking one at the back held up his hands, begging for mercy. He looked familiar. It took a moment to place it, but Thora was sure this was the same from the bar. The one the crusty old man was talking to.

“I’m not paid enough for this” the bandit said, revealing his name to be Jarard. “Look, the boss told me to do it. If you give me the bow, this is all done. Boss says that thing is worth a fortune but it’s supposed to stay in the family. Something about him and his brother having a falling out some decades back. His name is Kranz, a collector of some kind, pretty valuable stuff. Magic items and such? Look, I told ya what I know, can I go?”

The man was almost too willing to give up his employer, and rather effusive with the details. He was clearly terrified and at this moment would likely say anything to save his hide. Thora was about to probe deeper, but Duanne had another question for the man.

“How were you supposed to meet to return the bow” asked the tortle in a menacing tone. Thora wondered briefly if the wizard’s beak could cleanly remove a hand.

“We always met at the bar, you know the one” blubbered the frightened man. “But when it’s late like this the old man’s probably at his place in town.”

Alandal’s large dragonborn form leaned close in, his draconic snout hovering near Jarard’s left ear. “I think you’ll be taking us, don’t you think?” There was no mistaking the threat behind the words. The bard was intimidating to begin with but had a way of saying the right thing at the right time.

“Okay, okay… I’ll do it” grunted Jarard, caving in to the demands. “I show you the way, you let me go, right?”

Alandal nodded his scaly head, agreeing to the terms, as he shoved the ruffian forward down the street. Behind them, in the roadway, they left the trio of ambushers that Thora had carefully piled up against each other. Hopefully the watch would find them before the rats did.

It’s only murder if somebody finds out

With the streets mostly empty of traffic, there was little to slow them down on their way to find the old man. Nearing the end of an alley, Jarard pointed across the street to a sign that read “Kranz’s Anztiques”.

“That’s the boss’ place, right there” explained the bandit. “But it’s all closed up, see?”

Indeed, the shop seemed to have closed for the night. The second story window, however, was letting a faint light escape from inside indicating that somebody was still up and burning a candle. The group silently approached, crossing the street while looking around to make sure there weren’t too many prying eyes.

“Here, let me boost ya, take a look” whispered Thora, holding out both hands for Zearach as they had done back at the Ranch House. This time, however, Zearach could not get a solid hold and clattered loudly against the wall, his axes making too much noise against the hard surface. A shadow approached the window, coming to check on the noise. Duanne reacted quickly, sending a quick fog into the air above them. It wouldn’t last long, but hopefully it would obscure them somewhat.

“Who’s there?” called a familiar voice from above, the same one they had heard back at the Heroe’s Hearthstone. “Jarard?”

“I’ve got the bow, boss” Thora called out, trying to mimic Jarard’s speech pattern as well as possible. Duanne kept his eye on the real Jarard, a look on his face that said “If you try anything, I will eat your tongue”. The bandit kept quiet.

“Around back, and make it quick. It’s unlocked” came the answer from above as the window was shut again. The shadow retreated from the window, back into the room, leaving Thora and the others to scramble around to the back alley. With Thora’s longbow wrapped in a blanket, Jarard reluctantly made his way up the staircase to the room above. There stood the old man, Kranz, in his night shirt, greedily awaiting Jarard and his prize. His eyes were on the wrapped object in Jarard’s hands but Kranz was a suspicious sort and quickly recognized something was off.

“Wait a second” said the old man, slowly, with a hint of a drawl. “Those ain’t your crew, Jarard.”

The moment for surprise was gone and they needed to react quickly. The old man was reaching for something at the desk, but Zearach’s hands were too quick. He knocked an arrow into Everfrost and released, the arrow pinning the old man into place on the desk.

“Enough!” screamed the man, in obvious pain. His hand was now encased in ice, unable to be freed. “Fine, take the bow. It should have been mine! Take it, and leave town. I don’t want to ever see you here again!”

Thora slowly drew two knitting needles from within a fold in the dwarf’s cloak, raising them menacingly.

“Are you sure you don’t want to see us again?” threatened the dwarf. Thora was bluffing, the man was unarmed and in his pyjamas, but hoped that the tone of the conversation might change to a more favorable one.

“No, not my eyes!” babbled Kranz, unable to look away from the soldier’s needles. “Was I wrong all this time? Take anything you want, the key to disarming the traps is…”

Just as Thora was about to learn the old man’s secrets, a gurgling sound emitted from Kranz’s mouth as his free hand clutched at his throat. Blood began to run through his fingers as he fell to his knees, the one hand still pinned to the desk. Behind him stood Duanne, the bloody dagger still in his hand. The dwarf frowned, sending a disapproving look Duanne’s way.

“C’mon, we almost had the information we needed! There was no need to…”

Once again, the conversation was cutoff by the sound of a blade entering flesh. Zearach gasped in surprise as Jarard, having secreted a knife in his boot, stabbed the elf and began to run. Duanne shoved the man as hard as possible, sending the thug tumbling down the stairs, head over heels. Jarard was still trying to make it to the door, though, starting to crawl. It was just a few lengths away. The tortle’s arms tucked in as he threw himself shell-first down the stairs, the dwarf balanced atop his shell back, surfing to the bottom of the stairwell.

Jarard pulled himself forward, almost to his knees as he tried to escape his pursuers. The exit was so close now, his hand almost on the knob of the door. The bandit’s heart was racing, his mind filled with terror. As his fingers closed on the brass metal of the knob, escape in his hand, an arrow pierced his back, knocking him back to the ground. Hope extinguished in his eyes as they closed one final time. Jarard never even felt the sudden slam of the turtle shell crushing his head.

Thora looked around at the mess. The rogue’s blade was still in the shop, until at least tomorrow evening. That meant they had to keep this quiet for at least a day and somehow cover up this mess. When Jarard’s boys in the alley were found people might start asking questions. Thora sighed heavily. This was going to be a long night and day.

Credits

• Cover image: “The stalkers”, generated by Jason St-Cyr using NightCafe
• Bow image: “Everfrost”, created by John Richardson