The rain had not yet come, though the air over Alexandria carried its promise. Salt and smoke hung together above the streets, and the rebuilt stone of the city still bore the pale scars of fire long past. Life had returned in full voice, dockhands shouting, merchants arguing, and adventurers arguing louder than either, but memory lingered in the mortar, as if the city itself still listened for the tramp of dead things that no longer marched there. Inside the Lucky Griffin, the lamps burned warm and low. [[Quintin]] stood behind the bar with his arms folded, watching four figures gather near the long oak table set aside for Guild work. He had seen this moment many times before: new licences, stiff backs, uncertain eyes, the particular bravery of people who had not yet learned what they should fear. He knew better than to expect quiet. “Right,” he said at last, lifting his voice just enough to cut through the din. “You four. Together.” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] turned first, tall and rigid, jaw already set as if the world had personally offended him. [[Béibhinn]] followed, composed but wary, hands folded before her as though she could keep herself steady by force of will. [[Dallea]] nearly fell off her chair getting up, laughing at something only she found funny. [[Vaerilyn]] rose last, smooth and unhurried, eyes already scanning the room as if she’d been assigned to count exits by some invisible authority. [[Quintin]] nodded once. “Congratulations. You passed. That alone puts you ahead of most.” Before he could say more, something small scrambled up onto the bar. A [[Bestiary/Humanoid/Goblins|goblin]]. He was thin, sharp-featured, fingers stained with alchemical residue, and his eyes flicked constantly between exits. He set a bottle on the counter with careful precision, as if even the glass might betray him. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] stared. “I hate [[Bestiary/Humanoid/Goblins|Goblins]].” The words landed hard, like a plate dropped in a quiet room. [[Dallea]] barked a laugh. “Straight to the point, then!” [[Béibhinn]]’s head snapped round. “[[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]],!” Then, quick as a hand catching a falling cup, she leaned toward the goblin. “I’m sorry. He doesn’t speak for us.” [[Vaerilyn]] said nothing, though her gaze lingered on [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] just long enough to make him shift, as if some private judgement had been spoken without words. The goblin, [[Fizzle the Wizard (Alchemist)|Fizzle]], did not respond. He slid the bottle closer, blue liquid sloshing gently inside, then vanished behind the bar with surprising speed, as though he’d been there and not there all at once. “Well,” [[Quintin]] said dryly, “that went about as expected.” Introductions came in uneven pieces, like folk trying to build a bridge while standing on opposite banks. “[[Dallea]],” said the half-elf, lifting her mug. “[[Ranger|Archer]]. Probably better sober.” She grinned. She was not sober. “I’m [[Béibhinn]],” said the Tiefling cleric. “From [[Neverwinter]].” Her jaw tightened on the last word. “Or what’s left of it.” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] crossed his arms. “[[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]]. [[Fighter]].” Nothing more. “[[Vaerilyn]],” said the elf. “I listen.” Between them on the table sat the potion like a dare that had learned to hold its breath. “I’ll drink it,” [[Dallea]] said at once, already reaching. “No, you won’t,” [[Béibhinn]] replied, calm but firm, placing her hand flat upon the table. “Absolutely not.” [[Dallea]] scoffed. “You don’t even know what it,” “I will,” [[Béibhinn]] said, and before anyone could argue further she took the bottle. For a brief moment she hesitated, eyes flicking toward the goblin’s hiding place behind the bar, as if she could feel him listening. Then she lifted the vial and drank. Nothing happened. The silence stretched just long enough for [[Dallea]] to begin a triumphant smirk. Then [[Béibhinn]]’s breath caught. Colour drained from her face, darkening swiftly until her skin took on the deep navy hue of moonlit water. She pressed a hand to her mouth, eyes widening, not in fear, but surprise. “Oh,” she murmured. “That’s… strange.” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] leaned closer, with a squint. “You’re blue.” [[Béibhinn]] drew in a breath, then another and realised she did not need to. Her eyes lit with sudden wonder, and for a moment the bitterness she carried like a cloak slipped and something almost childlike showed beneath it. “I can hold my breath,” she said slowly. She laughed, soft and startled. “I don’t think I’ll need to breathe for a very long while.” [[Dallea]] burst out laughing. “Oh, that’s unfair.” Almost at once, another bottle was placed upon the table,then another beside it,as if the goblin behind the bar had decided resistance was no longer worth the effort. [[Dallea]]’s eyes gleamed. She snatched the red-tinged vial and drank before anyone could stop her. Her hands began to glow. Heat shimmered around her fingers, orange and red, and when she clicked them together a spark jumped and bloomed into flame. [[Dallea]] stared at her hands as if they were a blessing bestowed personally upon her. “Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, I love this.” “This is wildly irresponsible,” [[Béibhinn]] said, still blue, still trying to decide whether she was delighted or horrified. A third potion,clear as glass,was set carefully at the edge of the table. [[Vaerilyn]] nudged it toward [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]]. “If you’re going to make enemies,” she said softly, “make them less permanent.” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] hesitated. His eyes flicked once to the bar, to where the goblin had vanished, and something in his face tightened,pride, perhaps, or shame unwilling to name itself. Then he drank. The noise of the tavern shifted. At first he thought it was only his head swimming, the aftertaste sharp on his tongue, but then the words around him began to settle into meaning,not Common alone, but Goblin, Dwarvish, Elvish, and others besides, layered together like threads in a woven cloth. Conversations that had once been noise now carried tone and intent, sharp edges, soft jokes, secret irritations. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] turned slowly toward the bar. “Oh,” he said quietly. Then, a little louder, as understanding deepened, “Oh.” He faced the goblin’s hiding place and spoke, not rehearsed, not careful, but clear, words that surprised even him as they left his mouth. “Your brewing is skilled,” he said in flawless Goblin. “Your courage is greater than it seems. I am sorry for what I said before.” For a heartbeat the tavern seemed to hold still. Then [[Fizzle the Wizard (Alchemist)|Fizzle]] burst out from behind the bar as if launched, clapping furiously, bouncing on his heels. “Yes! Yes! Talking-man! Polite-man! Good words!” He whirled toward [[Quintin]] with wild urgency. “Drink for them! Drink later! Quest first!” [[Quintin]] exhaled slowly and shook his head. “After the job.” “Grunk!” [[Fizzle the Wizard (Alchemist)|Fizzle]] added, pointing toward the door with both hands. “Grunk waits!” Outside, Grunk paced back and forth, muttering to himself, shoulders hunched as though bracing against weather that had not yet arrived. He looked up at their approach as if expecting betrayal, then decided not to. [[Béibhinn]] approached first. “Hello,” she said gently. “We’re here to help.” Grunk squinted at her, then nodded. “Yes. Help. Bandits bad.” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] stepped forward, still wearing the faint, pleased look of a man who had briefly understood everything. “He says you’re doing a good job,” he added quickly to the others. “Very respectable.” “What?” [[Béibhinn]] asked. “Nothing,” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] said, and in the same moment the enchantment slipped away. The layered meanings unravelled; the world returned to its usual mess of tongues and assumptions. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] blinked as if someone had turned the lamps down. Grunk repeated himself in broken Common, gesturing wildly. Bandits had been attacking merchants. He wanted a licence, too. Help him and the Guild would mark it. “And the pay?” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] asked. Grunk turned and walked away as if payment was an unimportant detail compared to moving his feet. “…I think that means follow,” [[Dallea]] said, and she was right. The road south of Alexandria wound gently at first, broad and well travelled, but it did not take long for the mood to sour. [[Dallea]] walked with too much sway in her step, laughter bubbling up at nothing in particular. She hummed tunelessly, boots scuffing stones, occasionally twirling her bow as if it were weightless. [[Béibhinn]] watched her for some time, the patience in her face thinning like cloth worn too often, before she stepped closer. “[[Dallea]],” she said carefully, “you’re going to fall into a ditch if you keep that up. I can fix this. Just,” She reached out. Her foot slipped on loose gravel. Instead of steadying [[Dallea]], she slid forward and caught only her ankles. [[Dallea]] yelped. “Hey,!” She staggered, flailed, and loosed an arrow by sheer reflex. It buried itself in the dirt a few feet away. Another followed, just as wide. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] spun. “What in the hells are you doing?” “Improvising!” [[Dallea]] shouted, still trying to regain her balance, as if the world were at fault for not standing still beneath her. “Stop that,” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] snapped. He strode forward and shoved her hard in the shoulder, sending her flat onto her back with a startled oof. [[Béibhinn]] wasted no time. She climbed atop her, planted one knee to keep her still, and pressed a glowing hand to her chest. “Hold still,” she murmured, voice steady despite the mess of limbs. “This will pass.” A soft prayer followed, quiet, practised and the haze left [[Dallea]]’s eyes as suddenly as it had come. [[Dallea]] blinked once. Twice. “…Oh,” she said. Then, after a pause, “That’s rude.” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] snorted and walked on. Not long after, [[Vaerilyn]] drifted back toward Grunk, who was trudging along with exaggerated care, glancing often at [[Béibhinn]] as though guarding a priceless relic. [[Vaerilyn]] leaned down slightly. “Think you could steal our coin pouches?” Grunk froze, as if he feared it might be a test. Then his eyes lit up. He returned moments later giggling, holding the pouches aloft like trophies, proud of himself in a way that made it hard to be angry. [[Vaerilyn]] inspected them, nodded once, and let him have the moment. “Good,” she said. “Now protect [[Béibhinn]].” Grunk straightened at once, chest puffing. “Protect,” he said solemnly, and from that point on he watched [[Béibhinn]] as if she were a sacred duty. The road narrowed where the trees grew close and the light thinned beneath their boughs. Across the path someone had dragged a rude barricade of split timber and an overturned cart, the wheel still turning faintly as though it had not long been heaved into place. Two men waited at its edge. They were not soldiers,not truly,though they wore scraps of leather and carried steel well enough to make honest folk hesitate. One lounged against the cart with the indifference of practice; the other stood nearer the centre of the road, spear in hand, eyes sharp and suspicious. [[Béibhinn]] slowed at once. She lifted her hand, a quiet signal for the others to hold, and stepped forward before [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] could speak. “Good day,” she called, voice bright with forced ease. “We didn’t mean to wander into anyone’s way.” The standing bandit raised his spear slightly. “Road toll,” he said. “Merchant tax. Pay it and pass.” “We’re not merchants,” [[Béibhinn]] replied quickly. “Truly. I’m… I’m only looking for a lake.” The lounging bandit barked a laugh. “A lake?” [[Béibhinn]] nodded as if the thought were perfectly ordinary, though her cheeks had begun to colour. “Yes. A lake to bathe in. We’ve been on the road… and I’ve heard there’s water nearby.” “There’s no lake here,” the spear-man said, and his gaze slid past her shoulder, counting heads. “And you’ve got more behind you than you’re pretending.” [[Béibhinn]]’s mouth went dry. She swallowed and tried again,gentler, softer, the way clerics spoke when they hoped the world might be kinder than it usually was. “No harm is meant,” she said. “May the road be blessed beneath your feet, and your days be,” The lounging bandit straightened, amused and wary at once. “Did she just bless us?” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] muttered behind her, “This is painful.” [[Béibhinn]] shot him a look without turning. Then, like someone trying to salvage a crumbling wall with bare hands, she reached into her pouch and produced a small token,nothing grand, only a simple charm and a few copper coins. “Perhaps,” she said carefully, “a small offering instead. For your… trouble. And then we part in peace.” The spear-man’s eyes narrowed. “That’s not toll,” he said. “That’s insult.” Behind [[Béibhinn]], [[Dallea]] shifted, boots scraping stone. Heat still lingered in her hands from the earlier potion, and a faint glow winked at her fingertips when she clenched them. [[Vaerilyn]]’s expression did not change, but her attention sharpened, as if she had been waiting for the road to show its true shape. Grunk leaned forward, confused by the stillness, and whispered far too loudly, “Should I stab?” The lounging bandit laughed again, harsher this time. “What in the hells is that thing?” [[Béibhinn]] felt the moment slipping,the lie about the lake hanging ridiculous in the air, her blessing twisted into mockery, her small mercy offered and refused. “Please,” she said one last time, voice tightening. “We don’t want,” The spear moved. [[Vaerilyn]] acted. The spell left her hand like a shard of storm-light, striking the spear-man in the chest and driving him backward off his feet with a sound of surprise more than pain. Everything broke at once. Grunk charged with a wild, delighted cry, stabbing at ankles and knees. [[Dallea]] loosed an arrow that went wide, then another that struck true. [[Béibhinn]] rushed forward,too fast, too close,and struck once, clean and terrible, and the man fell in a way that could not be undone. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] hit the second bandit like a hammer to stone, ending it before the man could properly rise. Silence returned, swift and heavy. [[Béibhinn]] stood over the fallen, shaking. “I… I’m sorry,” she whispered, and dropped to her knees. She bowed her head and spoke a prayer,not for herself, and not for victory, but for the dead, because something in her could not bear to leave the moment unmarked. Behind her, Grunk whooped, stamping his feet in triumph. No one joined him. The barricade had scarcely settled back into stillness when Grunk’s attention wandered. Beyond the roadblock, half-hidden among the trees, stood a squat wooden frame bristling with rope and warped beams,a crude siege engine abandoned in haste. Its arm hung slack, its counterweight cracked, but to Grunk it might as well have been a marvel of wonder. “Oh,” he breathed, already moving. “Big thrower.” “Grunk, no,” [[Béibhinn]] said sharply, scrambling to her feet. “Don’t touch that.” Too late. Grunk had climbed onto the frame, hauling himself up with eager strength. He produced a small bomb from somewhere entirely inappropriate and began fumbling with it, humming to himself. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] swore and rushed forward. “Get down from there!” [[Dallea]] grabbed Grunk’s ankle. “You are absolutely not allowed to explode today.” [[Vaerilyn]] scanned the treeline, voice tight. “If anyone hears this,” The bomb flared. For a dreadful heartbeat nothing happened. The party froze, caught between relief and dread. Then the blast tore through the siege engine in a thunderous crack, splintering wood and flinging debris into the undergrowth. The frame collapsed in on itself, smoke and dust billowing outward. Grunk slid down the wreckage, unharmed and beaming. “It worked!” The others stared at him,half in disbelief, half in dawning realisation of what their job had truly become. [[Béibhinn]] exhaled slowly. “We keep him alive,” she said at last. “All of us. No matter what.” Grunk nodded solemnly, unaware of how close he had come to proving otherwise. They travelled on in uneasy quiet, the forest thickening around them as the light dimmed beneath the canopy. The air carried the faint smell of smoke now, distant but unmistakable, and the ground bore the marks of many careless boots. [[Dallea]] slowed first, crouching instinctively, and pointed ahead through the trees. “There,” she murmured. The bandit camp lay in a shallow hollow beyond a rise, ringed by crude palisades and watch platforms lashed together with rope. Fires burned low. Figures moved within, unhurried and confident. These were not men expecting trouble. [[Béibhinn]] drew close to the others, voice low. “We don’t rush them. We draw them out. One at a time.” [[Vaerilyn]]’s eyes travelled over the camp, measuring distance, shadows, lines of sight. “Quietly,” she said. “If we can.” Grunk tilted his head. “Draw?” “Like bait,” [[Dallea]] whispered, flashing him a grin that was more daring than wise. “You and me.” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] opened his mouth to object, then closed it again as [[Dallea]] was already moving. Grunk followed, humming softly as though this were a stroll and not a trap. They stepped into view, boots crunching on stone. A voice called out. “Oi!” Two guards emerged from between the tents. One lifted a bow. [[Dallea]] moved fast, too fast to be sensible. She threw herself toward the nearer guard, getting between him and Grunk with a laugh that sounded wrong in the quiet of the trees. [[Vaerilyn]]’s spell struck the archer first, a crack of force that knocked him backward before the bowstring could sing. [[Béibhinn]] surged in with the brutal efficiency of someone who had already learned that hesitation costs lives. The man dropped and did not rise. The other guard tried to shout, but [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] was on him, [[Dallea]] slashing from the side, Grunk stabbing at ankles as if he’d been born to it. The body fell heavy into the dirt. They waited for the camp to stir. It did not. “They didn’t hear,” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] murmured, listening. “Then we move,” [[Vaerilyn]] said, and they moved. They reached the main gate. [[Dallea]] crept forward, trying for a quick strike, trying to be clever. Her foot slid on loose gravel. Her blade missed. The guard yelled. The camp erupted, boots, shouts, light flaring as torches were snatched up. “Run!” [[Béibhinn]] shouted. They ran into the fight. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] loosed an arrow toward the tower. The shot was clean. A bandit toppled backward and vanished from view, falling to his demise in the dark below. [[Vaerilyn]] drove straight through the front like a storm given shape, magic slamming into anyone who came near. Grunk planted himself at the main door as if he truly understood the charge [[Vaerilyn]] had given him hours before. “Protect!” he bellowed, stabbing viciously at anything that threatened her. [[Dallea]] scrambled up the tower ladder, gaining height, firing down into the camp. From above, she called something rude and jubilant that no one had time to answer. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] and [[Béibhinn]] did not wait for doors. They crashed through a side window together, glass and timber exploding inward as they rolled into the interior, weapons already moving. Inside, the fight was close and brutal. Bandits lunged from shadows. [[Béibhinn]] swung with tight fury. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] smashed through a man’s guard and drove him down. Then the bandit leader appeared, eyes bright, grin wrong, and lit two bombs at once. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] saw the flare and tried to move. Too slow. The leader dove at him. The explosion tore the room apart. Stone cracked. Wood splintered. The blast hurled [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] through the wall, smashing him into darkness beyond. [[Béibhinn]] was caught in the same ruin of force, thrown hard, her body crumpling as the world went out of her. Smoke filled everything. Outside, [[Vaerilyn]] fought like someone refusing to be pushed back, refusing to let the world take what she had been told to protect. Grunk stayed near her, wild and devoted, stabbing, shrieking, laughing at times as if battle were a game he could win by being louder than fear. [[Dallea]] saw [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] go down. Saw [[Béibhinn]] drop. Her breath caught. “No.” She jumped down from the tower, hit the ground hard, rolled, and came up running. She slid to her knees beside her fallen allies, hands already glowing as she dragged them back from the edge, breath shaking, focus absolute. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] coughed, eyes unfocused. [[Béibhinn]] gasped, weak but alive. [[Dallea]] swore something heartfelt and vicious. Then she rose. The last of the bandits fell soon after. When the noise finally died, the camp felt hollow, as though the forest itself were holding its breath. Most of the bodies had nothing worth taking, empty pouches, cheap blades, the stripped remains of people who had spent their lives taking from others only to die with nothing of their own. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] staggered, bruised and furious, and noticed a crack running through one of the inner walls. He slammed his shoulder into it. Stone gave way, revealing a hidden space beyond. A chest sat within. In another room [[Vaerilyn]] found a map with drawn buildings, marks and lines, plans in the rough hand of someone who thought themselves clever. She took it, along with a few coins, and then found the book: strange writing crawling across its pages, wrong to look at for too long. She tucked it away, expression tight. Meanwhile, the others shoved Grunk through the broken hole in the wall toward the hidden space. Grunk landed on his feet, proud of himself, and immediately found another chest. It was sticky. He grabbed it And could not let go. “I can’t move!” he shouted, voice suddenly sharp with fear. “There’s an eye! It’s looking at me!” [[Béibhinn]]’s face went pale beneath the bruises. “[[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]], get him off!” [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] grabbed at the chest, then at Grunk, then tore more of the wall down with brute force, stones crashing aside as if he could beat the fear away with strength. They pulled. The chest peeled away with a wet, reluctant sound. Grunk stumbled free, shaking his hand as if he’d grabbed a hot pan. [[Vaerilyn]] pried the chest open. Inside lay a blank sheet of paper, a strange bag of stamped curling metal filled with gold coins, and an odd circular egg with a faint warm glow. It pulsed gently, like a heartbeat you could feel through air. The egg cracked. Then cracked again. [[Vaerilyn]] took it and went into a quieter room where a chair sat abandoned. She lowered herself into it, cradling the egg as if it were something that might break the world if dropped. The shell split softly. Inside was cloth. It fluffed outward as though breathing, unfolding into a cape, pale and luminous, like the wings of a Luna moth. Magic clung to it in a way that made the hairs along the arms rise. Grunk, meanwhile, had found a monkey toy and hugged it with fierce affection, as if the day’s horrors could be soothed by something small and ridiculous. The blank paper shimmered. Golden letters formed in Elvish script, bright as fresh coin: Speak word and enter. [[Vaerilyn]] stared. Then looked across the camp to the trebuchet, where faint magic hummed through engraved lines. The markings matched the strange script in the book. She pulled parchment free and copied the engravings carefully, hand steady despite everything. Behind her, Grunk sat cross-legged and began threading human ears onto a cord like trophies. No one stopped him. They returned to Alexandria by the time the lamps were being lit, the sky bruised purple and gold above the harbour. The city’s noise rolled over them in familiar waves,shouting dockhands, clanging rigging, laughter spilling from tavern doors,and for the first time since leaving, none of it felt threatening. Exhaustion settled in its place. The Lucky Griffin welcomed them with heat and light and the smell of food that made [[Dallea]] groan aloud. [[Quintin]] looked up from behind the bar as they entered, eyes travelling over them slowly: soot in their hair, bloodstains half-cleaned, [[Béibhinn]]’s careful step, [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]]’s stiff posture. “You made it back,” he said. “That’s more than I get from some.” They gathered at the long table near the hearth and presented their findings. The map. The book. The paper. The copied engravings. The moth-cloak folded carefully, as if it might fly away if treated roughly. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]], sore and still riding the strange edge between triumph and irritation, reached for another potion before anyone thought to stop him. The first thing he said afterward burst into a cloud of brightly coloured paper that drifted gently onto the table and floor beyond. There was silence. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] stared at the confetti floating around his hands. “…Huh.” Every word that followed sent more spilling from his mouth. [[Quintin]] closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t,” he said tiredly, as if that were a prayer and not a request. He took the book and the paper, muttering as he pressed them together, and the book shuddered as though waking from a long sleep. The paper dissolved into light. The lock that had not been visible became suddenly obvious in its absence. [[Vaerilyn]] reached toward the opened page and the world fell away. She gasped, gripping the table as something vast and cold tore through her thoughts. Stars burned behind her eyes. A shape formed, terrible and precise, and when it passed she sagged back, breathing hard. “I know…” she said slowly, voice raw. “I know a spell. I didn’t know it before.” [[Quintin]] watched her a moment, then nodded as if filing it away. “That’ll happen,” he said. He pushed coins across the table. “Fifty gold. You earned it.” The tavern door was kicked in so hard the hinges screamed. A kobold stumbled in carrying two ducks, breathless and frantic. “Tax!” he squeaked. “I pay tax! Lucy! Burt!” The ducks quacked indignantly. “Goose is missing,” the kobold wailed. “Goose is gone! Please! Help!” They went to the docks. Night had settled there like a cloak. Lanterns swayed over black water. Ships creaked. Sailors shouted. The smell of brine and tar filled the lungs. They searched the ships, peering between crates and hulls, calling softly. And then [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] and [[Béibhinn]] stepped where they should not have stepped. “Oi,” came a sharp voice from above. “You two. That ship’s not yours.” Squeeb, the harbourmaster, stood on deck, thin and sharp-eyed, hands on hips. The law of the docks, made flesh. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] looked at him. Looked at [[Béibhinn]]. Then, with the same instinct that had thrown her into danger earlier that day, he grabbed her and threw her. She landed on a duck. There was a crack. She screamed. Blood poured from her nose. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] pointed upward and shouted, “Captain Poop!” The docks went quiet in the way places do right before something terrible happens. Squeeb descended the gangplank one slow step at a time. “I want to speak to you,” he said. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]], as if suddenly remembering manners, knelt. Squeeb patted his cheek. “Don’t call me Captain Poop again.” Then he bit the bottom of [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]]’s ear off. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] howled. Something cold and burning spread through his veins. “That’s poison,” [[Béibhinn]] choked, voice thick with pain, clutching her broken nose. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] threw a handful of gold coins at Squeeb, coins that glittered wrong, too light, too false. They bounced on the boards with an insulting sound. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] and [[Béibhinn]] fled to buy eggs, because someone, somewhere, had decided that was the price of peace. [[Vaerilyn]], watching the entire disaster unfold from a distance, left them to it and returned to the Lucky Griffin without a word. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] and [[Béibhinn]] returned to the docks with eggs. They handed them over. Squeeb accepted them with stiff satisfaction, as if teaching children not to touch fire. Then [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] and [[Béibhinn]], wounded and furious, went straight back to the Lucky Griffin to complain to Sordia Vignti itself. [[Dallea]] and [[Vaerilyn]] had chosen a booth and sat with drinks like audience members waiting for the show to begin. [[Béibhinn]] approached the bar, nose crooked and voice nasal. “I would like,” she said carefully, “to speak to Sordia Vignti management. Over the harbourmaster.” [[Quintin]] stared at her for a long moment. Then he nodded as if this were a reasonable request in a reasonable world. “Alright,” he said, and called for [[Ellette]]. A portal opened behind the bar, light spilling across the floor. [[Ellette]] stepped through, calm as judgement, eyes sharp and unamused. The air itself seemed to straighten around her. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]]’s stomach dropped. [[Béibhinn]] told her version of events through her broken nose, words clipped and pained. [[Ellette]] listened without interruption, her gaze drifting now and then to [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]], who suddenly found the floor deeply fascinating. When [[Béibhinn]] finished, [[Ellette]] spoke to [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] as if speaking to someone who might yet be salvageable. “You have a slight renown,” she said. “For not getting on with other races. While you’re here, it would be best to learn to get along with all walks of life.” She summoned Squeeb, and the harbourmaster arrived with the reluctant stiffness of a man who did not enjoy being called to account. [[Ellette]] asked him to apologise. Squeeb did, tight-lipped, but obedient to the authority in the room. [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] apologised back. [[Béibhinn]] did too, though it clearly pained her more than the broken nose. [[Ellette]] nodded, somewhat pleased, the way one is pleased when a fire has been put out before it takes the whole building. “The cleric temple is two streets over,” she said. “Go. Heal the broken bones and the bitten ear. You did complete your first mission, despite yourselves. I look forward to hearing more in the future.” Then she was gone, and the Lucky Griffin’s noise returned as if everyone had been holding their breath. [[Béibhinn]] and [[Lucan of House Easeden|Lucan]] went to the temple and were healed,nose straightened, poison drawn out, ear restored with magic and quiet disapproval. When they returned, [[Dallea]] had food waiting and [[Vaerilyn]] had not moved from her booth, as if she had decided that witnessing consequences was a civic duty. They ate. They drank. They laughed, shakily at first, then freely, the kind of laughter that comes when you realise you are alive and might remain so, if you stop being quite so stupid. Outside, [[City of Alexandria]] breathed, lamps glowing against the coming rain. And somewhere beyond the city’s stone and salt, the road waited for them again. [[2. The Ruins Between]]