"What did I tell you? Doomed. I called it. Doomed."

"That was pretty much your own fault for letting Imoen near the catapults."

Nalia and Valygar didn't get along very well. He didn't trust her because she was a mage, and he had… deep seated issues with magic. She, on the other hand, just didn't like how he somehow managed to get his voice to sound both smug and gravelly at the same time.

"No offense intended, Enara, but I'm actually starting to wonder if maybe we shouldn't just… put a lead on her."

"She's my sister, Nalia. Not somebody's pet Corgi. You can't just leash her up."

The bridge of Imoen's nose crinkled cutely as she put everything she had into an angry little pout. "You guys are NO FUN."

Nalia whirled on her and stabbed an accusatory finger into the smaller woman's chest. "There's a giant HOLE IN MY WALL."

"Which is a good thing! Now we can just walk right in instead of sneaking in the back!" She beamed at the rest of the group, seemingly oblivious to the stares of withering death they were unleashing in her direction, then shrugged her pack off her shoulders, set it down and reached inside. A juicy red apple appeared in her hand and she bit into it with gusto, messily wiping her chin with the back of her hand as she ate.

Nalia stared at her, her own mouth agape. "What… what are you -doing?-"

"Breakfast!" Imoen replied, her mouth full.

"You just had it!"

"First breakfast. This is second."

Lightning quick, she reached out and snatched the apple away then strode through the giant hole in the keep wall that Imoen's little misstep with the catapult had opened up. The sounds of contented crunching echoed from the darkened gap.

The redhead pouted. "She stole my apple."

Nalia's voice rang out clearly from the darkness. "And it was delicious!"

The corridors leading to the main hall of the keep had been just as Enara had remembered them being the first time she'd ever set foot in the place: thoroughly ransacked – only this time by soldiers looking for loot instead of by an invading army of trolls. The effect, though, was pretty much the same. Mercenary thugs, however, tended to be easier to cow – especially the kind that would work for scum like the Roenalls.

"This is your one and only chance to reconsider, boys. Are you sure you want to do this? Do you know who I am?" She had her arms folded across her chest, making no moves towards the swords belted at her hips despite the host of drawn weapons facing her from the other end of the room.

"C'mon… there's only five of 'em," said one of the soldiers to what looked to be the unit's leader. "And that one in back looks kinda scrawny."

"Hey!"

Enara threw a little "Shush." backwards over her shoulder.

The leader of the bunch, a tall, burly, scraggly-beareded man wearing heavy chain mail and carrying a wicked looking warhammer, looked hesitant. He scratched at his chin. "Maybe, but… but the one with the swords… I mean… I've 'eard things, you know. They say… they say she's killed dragons. Like… not just one, but a bunch. And that she uses their skulls for wine goblets."

"How would that even work? The wine would just flow right out of the eye holes."

"Imoen, shush!"

Enara turned back to the group of mercenaries which was about a dozen strong. A few looked to be eager for a fight, but most were already starting to waver, the points of their weapons drooping towards the ground. She twisted the knife. "Gentlemen, I'm in a rush. Could you make up your minds? Quickly, now, if you please. You wouldn't want me to decide that it'd be faster to just slaughter the lot of you like a herd of helpless cattle instead of waiting for your answers, now would you?"

The mercenaries' second in command angrily waved his sword at her in response. "Bah! The Hells with you! I've had enough of your talk! Maybe we'll just cut your tongue out and see how you like that, eh?"

Enara raised an eyebrow at him, clearly not rattled in the least by his threat. "Hell? Lemme tell you something about Hell." Her mouth quirked into a cruel smile. "I've been there. And you know why Hell is scary? It's not the pain. It's not the torture. It's not burning in a lake of fire. It's that it lasts forever. Just. Like. Me." And now she did reach down and draw one of her blades. It burst into flame as she slid it from its scabbard, though the fire never seemed to touch her skin. "So let me be the first to tell you: welcome to Hell, boys. Welcome to Hell."

Nalia was in the lead, a little sphere of soft yellow light bobbing over her left shoulder and dispelling the shadows lining the corridors ahead of them as they continued walking towards the main hall. "You don't think you overdid it on the theatrics just a little?"

Enara chuckled. "They left, didn't they?"

"Yeah, ok. I'll take what I can get." She paused in front of a set of wide double-doors. On the other side was the castle's main room: its audience chamber and banquet hall all rolled into one. According to the group of mercenaries they'd just sent packing, the overall leader of their force was using it as his command post, which meant that the first step in retaking the keep was retaking this room. "Everyone ready? These won't be common thugs. I doubt they'll go quietly."

"I would worry more for the servants who'll have to clean all the mercenary blood out of the carpets when this business is finished."

Everyone turned to stare at Anomen.

"Everyone else was being boastful. I was feeling left out."

A small grin crossed Enara's features and she leaned over to kiss her husband briefly, if affectionately on the cheek. "The usual plan?"

He nodded. "Attack down the middle. Valygar and your sister support us from the sides, and the Lady Nalia sweeps up whatever we miss."

"You forgot the most important part."

He smirked. "Don't get stabbed. I felt we all knew that already."

Imoen snickered. "It's worth repeating, Shinybritches."

"-Sir- Shinybritches, if you please."

"My apologies."

The knight gently brushed past Nalia and took hold of one of the door handles. Across from him, Enara grabbed the other. He nodded at her. "On three?"

She grinned. "Three."

There was smoke, soot and ash everywhere – so thick it was hard for them to see their own hands in front of their faces, hard to even catch a breath.

But it wasn't all bad news. The mercenary leader and his most trusted cohorts were… dead.

Enara nudged a pile of blackened bones and charred clothing with the toe of her boot. She winced. Yep. Most definitely dead. Coughing and fighting for a clean breath, she staggered towards a pile of collapsed brick and mortar. A wall had stood there once, but now it opened up directly into the courtyard. This was actually part of the good news, though: A lot of the smoke was venting out through the newly formed "exit," and allowing relatively fresh air to come in.

"I take… no responsibility for what just happened," she said, wiping a foul-tasting sooty mess from the corner of her mouth before reaching back and helping a bedraggled Nalia ease herself down onto the pile of rocks.

"She blew up the audience chamber!" the mage groused, the tail end of her complaint trailing into a hacking cough.

Nearby, Valygar slumped against a patch of wall that was still standing and took a deep breath of clear air before pulling his waterskin from his belt and taking a long drink. He smirked. " 'Let them have it, Imoen.' Your exact words, I believe."

"I was expecting her to roast our enemies, not… whatever it was she just did."

With practiced nonchalance, Imoen brushed a little bit of soot off her sleeve. Out of the lot of them, she (Nalia noted to her annoyance,) looked the least disheveled. "You assumed. See what that gets you? Anyway, since you're curious: Dragon's Breath spell."

Nalia's eyes went wide. "Are you -insane?- You could've killed us all!"

"Oh, horse apples. You're just sore because of that hole in the wall. Look at it this way. Now you have an excuse to redecorate."

"I didn't -want- an excuse to redecorate."

Imoen sniffed. "Really? You needed one. The whole place needed to be about twenty percent cooler."