“Nil. Hey, Miss Nil. Wake up.”

Nil’s eyes squeezed shut a bit more tightly before fluttering open to find a rounded, crimson face hovering at the edge of the bed, only inches away from her own. In a flash of motion the goblin’s dagger jumped into her hand and pressed itself against the interloper’s throat.

Dahlia’s eyes went wide as dinner plates and crept down toward the blade, the rest of her body going perfectly motionless. “Whoah.” She croaked. “Easy there.”

“What in the Hells are you doing, Dahlia?!” Nil hissed. Her breathing was shallow and ragged, hair falling loosely over wild eyes.

“N-nothing, I just – there’s something going on outside.” With an extremely careful movement, she pointed toward the window. “In the street. Could you maybe, uh…”

Nil glanced at her knife, hesitated, then pulled it away. Now that her hammering heartbeat had begun to fade in her ears, she could hear it: commotion in the street outside, raised voices muffled by the wall. She shot Dahlia a poisonous glance. “Dahlia, I swear to you, if you’ve woken me over some wastrels having a drunken brawl-“

“No, no, I think this is actually something.” The emberling sucked in a breath and patted a palm against her throat. “They’ve got…I don’t know, something I’ve never seen before.”

“Who? What are you talking about?”

But Dahlia had already crept away toward the window, gesturing hurriedly over her shoulder for Nil to follow. Letting out a low growl of irritation, the goblin threw aside the blanket covering her and hopped to the floor.

Nil and Dahlia’s room looked out into a slim side street – more an alleyway than anything else – with only eight feet or so of clearance between the Divine’s Rest and the building beside it. It was almost completely dark now, a faint haze of starlight giving the world outside a bluish shapelessness – were it not for the hand-lantern carried by one of the figures jostling about below, Dahlia would have found the entire scene completely illegible. 

As the pair peeked over the lip of the window, five individuals seemed to be arguing in hushed but aggressive tones. They might have all been humans, but from this angle it was difficult to tell; much more obvious, from the amount of collar-grabbing and violent shoving, was that this was no casual midnight palaver. 

“Can you tell what’s going on?” Dahlia whispered. “I can barely see anything.”

“I can see fine.” Nil shot back. “Now shut up, I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.”

Dahlia glanced at the goblin to see that her eyes had changed, the blue of her irises constricting to thin halos around now-enormous pupils. An eerie greenish glow reflected from the backs of her eyes. 

“Soldiers.” She murmured. “But not like the ones from the gate. Those are Watch uniforms. And what in the Hells are they…?”

“You see ‘em, right?” Dahlia tapped lightly at the frame. “They’ve got like, clubs or something.”

Nil pulled away from the window, sitting back on her haunches. “This isn’t any of our business, Dahlia. It’s just the Watch doing what they do best. I’m going back to-”

An unnamably strange sound rang out from below – a sort of sound one would be hard-pressed to describe, let alone imagine being created within the normal course of physical reality. A clamor arose from the rooms around them soon after – whatever had just happened, it had woken everyone in the Divine’s Rest. Somewhere on the upper floor a door slammed, angry footsteps stomping by their room a moment later. 

They scrambled back to the windowpane – to Dahlia, the scene below had plunged into blackness. 

“…I think he’s dead.” Nil said. 

Dahlia gawped at her. “What? Who?”

“No idea.” She shook her head. “Not one of the soldiers. He’s down, and…I don’t know. Doesn’t seem to be breathing.”

Downstairs, muffled voices began to raise in agitated confusion. A veritable stampede of footsteps sounded in the hallway outside, up and down the stairs, all about the floor beneath. Now and then, Mortin’s wavering baritone could be heard among the voices, attempting to pacify his customers.

“Do you think we should go out there?” Dahlia whispered. “See what’s going on?”

Nil shook her head sharply. “Absolutely not. Like I said, it’s none of our business. First thing in the morning, we are getting out of here, and we are leaving this town and its problems behind us.”

With that, the witch crawled back into bed and turned away from the window, pulling the blanket up over her ears to mute the commotion below. Dahlia stared after her for a moment but remained by the window, watching as Mortin and a small crowd of the inn’s patrons discovered the body. Eventually she fell asleep, propped up against the wall by one pauldron.

***

The next morning was overcast, colorless light streaming across Dahlia’s face and creating dim shafts in the dusty air until the emberling finally clawed her way back to consciousness. She hadn’t slept well at all, though to be fair, sleeping sitting up and in her armor likely had not helped. Dahlia yawned and stretched, listening to the click and pop of vertebrae realigning themselves as she began to look blearily around the room. Someone was talking.

“…avail thee not, darkling. The spell upon mine bones simply cannot be broken.”

“Yes, I’m sure I’ll just take your word for that. Now lower your voice, old man – better yet, cease your prattling entirely. I am trying to work.”

“Thine convenience is of no concern to me, harlot.”

Dahlia looked over to find Nil sitting on a pillow with her spellbook open on the floor in front of her, scratching away with a quill. Several other objects lie scattered around her – a stopwatch, a spiral shell, a few extravagantly-colored feathers and several other unrecognizable trinkets. Dahlia’s travel bag had been spread open, with Augustus’ skull sitting discontentedly amongst her piled belongings; unable to move the skull itself, it seemed Nil had simply pushed everything else slightly out of the way. At the clanking of the emberling’s armor, she turned.

“Ah, Dahlia. So good of you to join us.”

“Morning. Whatcha doin’ with my stuff?”

The goblin shrugged. “Exactly what I said I was going to do. I’m going to figure out how this binding enchantment works, and then I’m going to dispel it.”

“Pah.” Augustus scoffed. “As if thine crude goblin shamanism could measure a whit against the dark power imprisoning me within this vessel.”

“I wonder,” Nil said sweetly, “would you still be able to talk if I stuffed your jaw with wood shavings?”

Dahlia dragged herself to her feet and walked over, gathering the bag up around her things and hefting it. “Well, that’s about enough of that for now.”

“Just as well.” The witch said, beginning to gather up her assorted baubles. She hooked the spellbook on her belt, depositing the rest into the cone of her hat before securing it on her head. “I’m eager to put this dreary place behind us.”

Dahlia eyed Nil’s hat curiously. “Now how does that work, exactly?”

“I’m sure you’d love to know.” Nil tilted her head toward the door. “Come on, places to be.”

The pair made their way downstairs. Aside from a single insensate dwarf slumped over the far corner of the bar, the only person in the tavern was Mortin – he looked up at the sound of their descending footsteps, instantly turning a few shades paler at the site of Nil.

“G-good morning, milady.” He said hurriedly, giving Dahlia a quick nod as well. “Miss Brunhilda. Is there anything at all I can do for you? I haven’t started breakfast yet, I could…”

The goblin flicked her wrist in a shooing motion. “You’ll be happy to know that I’ve decided to let you off with a warning on last night’s little indiscretion, human. You may limit your groveling appropriately.”

The look of relief on the man’s face seemed to de-age him by several years. “Yes, milady. Thank you, milady.”

“That said, my steward and I have a long road ahead of us, and some provisions for the journey would not go amiss.” Nil smiled. “Anything you can rustle up sharp-like, lord Hebert?”

“Of course ma’am, of course. Anything you need.” With a slightly frantic energy, the innkeeper disappeared through a door behind the bar and started rummaging through the pantry.

Dahlia leaned over to rest an elbow on the counter. “Bit of a ruckus last night.” she called out, putting the gruff edge of the ‘Brunhilda’ persona on her voice, “Disrupted my lady’s rest something fierce. Anything you can tell us about that?”

Mortin appeared in the doorway carrying a small basket piled with bread, cheese and a few pieces of somewhat sorry-looking fruit. “Right.” He said. “Heard all that, did you?”

“It would have been difficult to miss.” Said Nil. 

“It’s the strangest thing.” Mortin said. He set the basket down, leaning on his palms over the countertop. “A fight, or something. Can only guess that much ‘cuz somebody died. I saw the body – young lad by the name of Orvis, may he rest with the gods, can’t say I knew him very well.” The innkeeper shook his head. “But for the life of me, nobody could tell what did him in. Not before the Delegate’s boys came ’round and took him away, at any rate.”

Nil and Dahlia exchanged a look. “The Delegate?” Dahlia said.

A sour look came over the man’s face. “Oh, aye. Sent in from the golden city, supposed to bring us into the Empire proper. But ever since-“

“Now see, Brunhilda,” Nil said, snatching the basket off of the bar, “your rampant curiosity is already waylaying us yet again, and you’ve got the man starting in on the troubles of small towns and government bureaucrats. A tale as old as time, and just as boring, I’m sure. Come on then, I’d like to make Fornoth before my thirtieth birthday if it’s alright with you.”

As the goblin turned and walked toward the front door, Dahlia saw it – the momentary glint of hatred in Mortin’s eyes as soon as she turned her back. She hurried to catch up with Nil.

“You sure do have a way with people.” She said once they had pushed through the doors and into the street, leaving the Divine’s Rest behind them.

“And you obviously have very little experience with Triumvirate nobility.” The witch pulled a roll from the basket and took a small nibble. “I played the character to a tee, I assure you.”

“You sure you didn’t just want to watch him squirm a little?”

Nil shrugged. “Two things can be true simultaneously.”

When it became obvious the goblin was not going to offer anything, Dahlia reached over to grab a chunk of cheese and half an apple from their makeshift breakfast. “This countess, she even a real person?”

“Who, Thistle?” Nil said. “Of course she is. Heiress to one of the two goblin noble houses of Dianophon, just like I told you. She also happens to be completely empty-headed, blonde, and in fact looks nothing like me whatsoever. But it was exceedingly unlikely that that swollen longlegs moron had ever laid eyes on her, or that he would have been able to tell one greenskin from another if he had.”

“Huh.” Dahlia took a bite of apple, chewing thoughtfully as they walked. 

A timid drizzle of rain began to speckle their clothes as the pair made their way through the quiet streets of Kaldemere. Despite the hour, the town seemed only marginally more lively then when they had arrived the evening before. Almost to a man, the citizens they passed on the street carried that same half-haunted look of weariness – the look of people going about their day by rote, keeping themselves busy until they could go to sleep and start the whole process again.

“Hells, this place is dreary.” Dahlia said through a mouthful of cheese. “See, what these people could really use is a proper overlord. A real nasty tyrant to put some fire under ’em, get the blood pumping. Maybe do something about all these boring white buildings while they’re at it.”

“Keep your voice down.” Nil snapped. “A place like this takes the threat of Villains a lot more seriously than you seem to think.”

As they turned the next corner, it suddenly became less of a wonder that the streets seemed so empty. There must have been at least two hundred people clustered in the road up ahead, raising the sort of vitriolic mob babble that made it difficult to pick out what anyone in particular was saying – whatever the case, it was clear they weren’t happy. The crowd was gathered around the gate of a wrought-iron fence, shouting and occasionally throwing fists into the air.

Drawing closer, Nil and Dahlia were able to clarify an important detail or two. The fence keeping the mob out appeared to mark the border of someone’s estate – a good-sized manor sat a ways back from the street, a paved pathway winding through a garden up to its front door. More interesting than that, however, was the group standing between the mob of townsfolk and the gate. 

White cloaks trimmed with gold, sleek silver helmets, a bearing that radiated authority and clarity of purpose. Both women recognized the uniforms immediately; Dahlia from the previous night’s incident, Nil from a lifetime of residence in Dianophon City. Around two dozen of them blocked the gate, silently regarding the press of the shouting mob, and each carried one of the strange devices Nil and Dahlia had caught only glimpses of the night before. They consisted of a tangle of thin metal pipes, sprouting from a long rectangular stock of carved wood and converging on a larger tube extending from the base. Set into each stock was a glass capsule of some sort, filled with a gray-blue liquid that was at once dull and gently shimmering in the cool morning light.

The pair was near enough now to pick out individual voices calling out from the crowd. 

“Why doesn’t he come out here and face us himself?” A woman shouted.

“We can’t keep going on like this!” Cried another. 

Nil made to simply walk by on the opposite side of the street, her eyes fixed pointedly ahead, but Dahlia’s pace had already begun to slow. She reached out to put a hand on the goblin’s shoulder, and received a sharp look of reproach for it. 

“Nil, wait.” Dahlia said. “I want to see what’s going on.”

“I can tell you exactly what’s going on.” Nil’s tone was harsh, her volume hushed to only just be heard over the racket. “A bunch of country nobodies are realizing that her excellency the Chancellor doesn’t give a bent copper whether they live or die. More fool them for taking this long to do so.”

The emberling stood on her tiptoes, trying to get a better view. “They’ve got those…thingamajigs, same as last night. A lot of ‘em.”

“Thank you for the update.” Nil said, a muscle clenching at the back of her jaw. “Like I told you before, it’s none of our business. We can’t risk getting caught up in some small-town squabble just because you’re – Dahlia!”

But the emberling was already pushing through the back of the crowd, disappearing from view a moment later with a flick of her tail. Nil swore under her breath and followed after. 

An orcish woman stepped to the front of the platoon, eyeing the crowd with cool contempt. “Threatening a Delegate of the Holy Edict is punishable by twenty years’ imprisonment.” She called out, her strong voice cutting through the cacophony. “We are prepared to offer leniency in the event of immediate dispersal. Return to your homes and places of business, and lord Gilveer will overlook this flagrantly illegal gathering.”

“Nobody’s threatening anybody.” Said an elven man, stepping into the semicircle of space between the crowd and soldiers. “We just want to know why the esteemed Delegate has been hiding from us.”

Nil pushed forward as best she could, almost immediately becoming lost in a tangle of jostling legs. A flash of bright red caught her eye and she forged toward it, feeling like an explorer caught in a jungle of living trees. 

“This mob constitutes a threat by number alone.” The captain retorted. “To say nothing of the dissidents you surely have hiding among your numbers.” She gave a decidedly unkind smile. “If you have concerns for the Delegate, you are welcome to air them at the next town hall.”

“Gilveer hasn’t attended a town hall in months, and you know it.” The elf said. 

A glass bottle sailed through the air from somewhere in the crowd, bouncing harmlessly off the chest plate of one of the soldiers before shattering on the ground. As one, the Watch took a step back and unslung their odd weapons, bracing the wooden stocks against their shoulders to aim the devices like crossbows into the crowd.

“Who threw that?!” The captain roared. She swept an accusing finger out across the crowd. “One of you saw who it was! Hand them over, now!”

The mob flinched back, their burgeoning agitation beginning to dissolve into uncertainty. Wary glances flickered back and forth across the assembled faces – none of them knew what to expect from these new weapons, but facing down two dozen fully armored members of the Watch was never an attractive prospect. No one spoke up in response to the captain’s demands, however.

Nil was knocked sideways, almost losing her footing as the crowd moved around her like waves in turbulent water. She could see Dahlia just a ways ahead, but the tightly packed citizens seemed to be conspiring to block her passage. Gritting her teeth, Nil lifted her heel and stomped with all of her might on the toes of someone at random; the man gasped and jerked away, giving her just enough space to clamber through and gain a few more precious inches. Dahlia was close now, her tail lashing back and forth just within Nil’s reach – she dug her elbow into someone’s thigh, levering herself forward and reaching out.

“You lot must think I’m joking.” The captain said, tone thrumming with an eerie calm. “You think you can slink around at night scheming and plotting, defacing Triumvirate property, spitting in the face of all the Chancellor’s kindness, and never face any consequences. Perhaps it’s time you ungrateful wretches learned a hard lesson.” She looked over her shoulder. “Men! Make ready!”

“WAIT!”

The voice boomed out above the murmuring of the crowd, so powerfully that even the soldiers visibly faltered for a moment. A space opened naturally around the speaker, townsfolk sidling away to create a circular opening in the press of bodies – whether that was to give the stage to this new voice or simply because they did not want to stand close to someone who had directly gained the Watch’s attention was unclear. As the crowd parted, they revealed a crimson emberling in dark iron armor – and the stricken-looking goblin who had just taken hold of her tail. 

“Everyone, listen to me!” Dahlia’s usually jovial expression had been replaced by one of deadly seriousness. She turned to face the crowd, leaving the Watch captain looking vaguely befuddled behind her. “You have to leave! You have to leave right now, or…or something really bad is going to happen!”

“Dahlia,” Nil hissed, “Stop.” Her eyes were so wide as to be nearly circular, and brimming with murder. 

Members of the mob exchanged wary looks. “And who the hell are you?” A younger voice called out. “They don’t even have their swords. They’re just trying to scare us!”

Dahlia’s tone grew rough, pleading. “You don’t understand! Those things they’re carrying, they…I don’t have time to explain!” Desperate, she took a step forward and shoved the nearest onlooker, as if she could force them bodily out of harm’s way. “Please!”

The captain shook her head with disgust. “Enough of this.” She said, raising an arm. 

“I’M A MAGE!” Dahlia screamed. 

The street went perfectly quiet in the space of an instant – a second passed, then two. Dahlia’s head moved on a swivel, taking in the fact that every single eye was now focused squarely upon her. She chanced to catch Nil out of the corner of her eye; the witch was staring at her like she had just reached down her own throat and turned herself inside out. 

“You stupid, stupid girl.” Nil said hoarsely. 

“That’s right!” Dahlia shouted with renewed vigor, whirling on the crowd. “And not just that, but a Villain as well!” She slapped a palm against her chest, rattled a verse off under her breath, and pumped her fist into the air. Her gauntlet quickly began to glow red, shimmering waves of heat wafting up into the chill morning air. “My name is Dahlia Scratch, the great and terrible, devourer of souls and scourge of all that is righteous!”

Dahlia’s hand snapped open, fingers curled into a red-hot claw. “NOW FLEE, MAGGOTS, BEFORE I BURN THE VERY FLESH FROM YOUR WORTHLESS BONES!”

That, as it turned out, did the trick. 

Chaos erupted amongst the disgruntled townsfolk of Kaldemere. Men and women in all directions shrieked and turned to run, falling and climbing over one another in their haste to escape. They fled in random directions, bolting down side streets and crashing through the front doors of nearby shops and houses – one man threw himself through a window, scattering broken glass into the street. The soldiers watched, bewildered, as the situation suddenly and drastically changed. They looked to their captain, weapons still canvassing the rapidly dispersing mob.

For an instant, the Watch captain looked just as stunned as her platoon – but only for an instant. “What are you doing?” She roared at her men, who flinched as if awakening from a stupor. “Loose! Loose, damn you!”

The soldiers, still somewhat unbalanced from Dahlia’s sudden outburst, gave a mixed reaction. Some looked to their captain, unsure of whom they were meant to target. Some traded uncertain glances, struggling with the prospect of attacking townspeople who had already turned to flee. A select few, however, had only one thought pass through their minds: they had been given an order. 

Four soldiers lifted their weapons, bracing the wooden stocks against their shoulders. Much of the angry crowd had already dispersed, but the street was long and wide, and there remained several individuals who had made the unfortunate decision to run down the avenue rather than filtering through the buildings and alleyways nearby. All but one of the Watch pivoted, taking steady aim at the backs of the fleeing citizens. 

The fourth had a much simpler idea. After all, even as chaos erupted in every direction there remained a singular figure standing in the middle of the street, still holding the dramatic pose she’d used to scare off the mob. He, too, leveled his weapon at her back. 

Nil watched all of this as time slowed to a crawl around her. Dahlia’s attention was elsewhere, glorying in the terror of the crowd – if Nil’s suspicions were correct, she was about to die without ever knowing what hit her. Only one possibility came to mind. 

The goblin reached out, taking hold of Dahlia’s tail, and yanked on it with as much strength as she could summon. 

“HeyyoOW!” Dahlia squealed, flinching hard. “What the heck was that f-”

An odd, warbling sound rang out, teasing the ear with a dozen suggestions of familiarity and yet utterly, uniquely alien. It was a sound Dahlia would have been completely at a loss to identify, save for the fact that she had heard it the night before. In the same instant, she felt the air near her cheek change – an undefinable alteration simultaneously hot and dreadfully cold, tingling against her skin like the touch of a feather on a damaged nerve. A moment after that, she realized she could see it – a needle-thin trail of wrongness passing just by the side of her head, disturbing the empty space in a way that reminded her of the air above an open flame. 

A block or so away, one of the fleeing citizens made a guttural noise and collapsed, seemingly without cause. 

“You blind, useless-” the captain snarled, wheeling to cuff one of her subordinates heavily along the side of his helmet. She tore the weapon from his hands and spun, taking aim at Dahlia to finish the task he had just failed. 

“Run.” Nil croaked. The pale green of her face had gone nearly white. “Now. Run.”