4th Aryth, 1001YK

It was nice to get out of Dura once in a while. I enjoyed the decrease in the odds of getting knifed in the back.

Middle Menthis was the most diverse quarter in the entire city of Sharn. One could look to the turrets, platforms, and towers of the district and see five or six different races at almost any given time. A well dressed goblin walked with two bugbears in chainmail flanking him. A group of shifters stood in lively debate on a bridge a mere ten feet diagonally below us. A luxurious skycoach driven by a liveried half-orc floated lazily overhead. The sun managed to filter down in bright patches to this level, giving one the illusion that they were inside a building with large windows or a forest of giant trees.

I had long gotten used to looking over the edge of a bridge and seeing literally a couple thousand feet of air between me and an unforgiving landing, give or take a few hundred. That was, of course, if one didn't land on lattice of bridges or end up as a very unflattering stain on someone's skycoach. Most everyone was layered more than usual against a particularly chilly late-autumn day.

"Think I see Hubert over there", Glaive noted, pointing. His gem-like eyes dimmed; his version of squinting.

I followed his metal finger to a bridge some two-hundred feet away, diagonally below us. I saw the tanned human that Glaive thought to be that purveyor of faulty magic items and blatant lies.

"Nah. Not Hubert. Hubert never wears red", I said.

Glaive emitted a metallic snort, then, "you looked through his wardrobe or something?"

"Sovereigns take me if I ever have to. Stronger men than me have lost their sanity to that, no doubt", I replied with a shake of my head. "You can also tell its not him because he's not running away from the poor schmucks he just conned into buying that sewer water and sugar he calls a healing potion."

"True. Hm. Guess it isn't him after all." Glaive grunted.

We crossed a bridge and entered the interior of tower whose profile was a lopsided pentagon. Cindercrack was a tinkerer's paradise. Magewrights and artificers had all ended up flocking here. The cavernous space was illuminated by everburn lanterns that floated free of the ground. Complicated webs of ventilation ducts guided soot and smoke from the interior space to the piping that lined the inside of the tower like great copper veins. The buildings inside Cindercrack were densely packed and stacked on top of each other, yet they were firmly placed. The artificers enjoyed not having to deal with collapses every single day, so they built things strong. If you wanted good work done and didn't want your coinpurse to weep over it, Cindercrack was the place to go.

Glaive and I made our way through the twisting, maze like streets. At one point we passed a gnome being carried on a palanquin by a small mob of a dozen clockwork spiders. That was a new one. Some people had all the class. One way or another, we ended up at our destination soon enough. "Juli & Gunther's Mechanical Makery". Not sure if "makery" is a real word but far be it from me to admonish the vocabulary of another person.

Entering through the front door, we came upon a space in a state of controlled chaos. After a few steps down into a sunken floor, Glaive and I were among a labyrinth of work benches all covered with half-finished projects and artificing bits and bobs I'd never recognize in a million years. There were lights, oily smells, clanking contraptions, all of it coming together in a storm of activity. The conductor behind this little orchestra of creation was seated on a stool on the far side of the room, talking to a black-scaled dragonborn in chainmail. Strange. Dragonborn weren't common.

Juli was a dark-skinned human woman with a bushy mass of black hair trailing down to her neck in thick locks. She was completely encompassed by an oil-stained trench coat that was stuffed with tools and spare parts. The heavily scarred dragonborn was leaning against the wall across from her, idly spinning a sheathed greatsword on its point as Juli spoke.

"...and so I said, 'Hoarfrost, you already killed him, you didn't have to take his front door, too!'" The artificer exclaimed. She and the dragonborn both descended into hearty laughter.

"Io's blood, he was one of the most disagreeable sons of bitches I've ever met but I'm glad that axe of his was on our side", the dragonborn rumbled in a deep basso. His golden eyes shifted to look at Glaive and I. "Ah, looks like you've got actual paying customers. I best go make sure Soltani hasn't passed out drunk before noon again, anyway. Stop by the Drunk Chicken at eighth bell or so if you want to get dinner and catch up some more."

Juli hopped off her stool, wrapping the dragonborn in a hug and saying, "oh, I'll be there. Gunther, too. Glad to see you again, Skarin."

"Heh, you, too, Cogs", the dragonborn agreed, patting Juli on the back. Skarin then headed for the door, giving us a nod as he passed. I returned it.

"Mydame Juli, was that a gentleman caller?" Glaive asked coyly.

"Gentlem-...oh, hah!" Juli laughed again, shaking her head. "No, no. Skarin's just an old friend from my adventuring days. Long story", she shuffled over to a workbench, "alright, hold on...Glaive, come on over. Zeich, take a seat, this shouldn't be too long."

I nodded, finding a reasonably open bit of workbench to plant my backside on. My warforged friend went over to Juli, holding his arms out from his sides and waiting patiently.

Juli quickly went to work. She started removing the metal plating on Glaive's forearms, eventually revealing the vine-like bundles of "muscles" underneath. His metal skin couldn't feel much, but Glaive told me those bundles getting nicked was just as bad as a human getting stabbed.

"Where's Gunther?" Glaive asked as Juli walked off and rummaged through a table for something.

"He had to make a delivery to Upper Dura. Uhm...clockwork bolt thrower, I think", Juli mumbled. She scratched her head with a crescent wrench for a few seconds. "Ah, right, there." She lifted a tarp from a section of workbench and threw it aside, lifting the metal objects that lay beneath. "It took me longer than I expected, this is a pretty new idea to come from a warforged. The key was in the kinetic infusion's placement, it wa-..."

"Juli. Remember who you're talking to", I reminded her.

She grinned sheepishly, "right, right. Either way, here. Let's put these on and see…"

The artificer started attaching the metal sections around Glaive's wrists and forearms. The clicking of her tools filled the room.

"Didja hear about what happened in Upper Central?" Juli asked as she worked.

"Lot of things happen in Upper Central", I commented.

"True, true." Juli agreed with a nod. "Anywho, apparently a changeling woman was found hanged from an everburn lampost in the middle of Memorial Promenade."

Dragon Below.

"That's...peculiar", Glaive noted.

"Not just peculiar, Glaive", I pointed out, crossing my arms. "It's downright unheard of. A corpse gets hung up in the most travelled part of the one of the most secure districts of Sharn? Heard about any suspects?"

Juli, bent double in her labors, shook her head, making her locks dance. "Not that I know of. She had a painted sign around her neck, though. Had the image of a beholder on it. Not sure what that means."

Some tiny wizard had just crawled into my veins and froze my blood. The way Glaive's head turned my way, I knew he got it, too.

"You guys know something about it?" Juli inquired of us.

"Potentially", I replied. "Less you know the better in this case, lass."

Juli shrugged, "as you say. Either way, it's certainly not the 'downers' of the Lower Ward killing each other anymore. Maybe this will get the Watch to finally be more active in more places."

Or it will make them focus even harder on the rich quarters. I couldn't help but get a little cynical. Aloud, I said, "maybe. Hopefully."

After a few more minutes of silence, Juli was done with her labors.

"Alright. There you go. Give it a try, go for, uhm…", Juli looked around the room, then pointed to a stack of empty oil cans sitting on a workbench, "...that."

"You sure?" Glaive asked.

"Oh yea, for sure, go for it."

"Alright…", Glaive affirmed with hesitation. He braced himself for a second. Then with a flick of his wrists, wands of spiraled metal emerged from slots just beneath his palms. He gripped the wands and sent twin streaks of lightning at the stack of oil cans, which were struck dead on and sent scattering through the workshop. Just as quickly, the wands slid back into the recesses they had come from. Glaive returned to a normal posture.

Juli excitedly clapped her hands together, "there it is! Excellent. Whew. I was worried about the potential backlash. That could have been bad. But, it wasn't."

"I'm just glad I won't have to listen to him bitching about not having his wands anymore", I sighed, rubbing my eyes.

"Pay him no mind, Mydame Juli", Glaive insisted with a dismissive wave at me. "Every side of his bed is the wrong one, I'm pretty sure."

"You should try drinking tea in the morning Zeich. I think it might do quite a bit of good for that disposition", Juli snickered, clapping Glaive on his shoulder. "You're all set. Stop by if anything needs adjusting. Ugh, but I suppose I should get to filling these stupid work orders...once I remember where I set them down…"

"We appreciate it, lass", I told her.

"Absolutely", Glaive agreed. "Say hello to Gunter for me."

"Will do. I'm sure he looks forward to losing to you at chess yet again", Juli snorted as she started searching through her workshop.

The two of us headed for the door. As we walked, Glaive was repeatedly flipping his wands out and putting them away again. I'd met a lot of wandslingers in my time. Most of them tended to be cocky jackasses. None of them had been warforged, but Glaive was still no exception to that tendency. Glaive was also a big reason why I was still alive and breathing. I'm sure he put up with my bullshit for a similar reason.

The two of us left Juli's shop and started heading home. I packed my pipe and lit it, idly puffing on it as we walked. Being away from office hours meant people wanting me to find the baby rust monster they'd brought to Sharn as a pet would have to wait outside. How they'd endure the indignity, I had no idea. It was better than trawling the taverns for work any day of the week, that said. So, we made our way out of Cindercrack, bound for our little slice of crime ridden paradise in the nebulous divide between Middle and Lower Dura.

It was barely fifteen minutes after we left Juli's when we were graced with a pleasant encounter. Glaive and I were crossing over a wide bridge between two towers called Provision Plaza. Can't say I thought much of the name, but whatever the case, it was a favorite spot for vendors to set up food stalls. It became of a hive of activity at sunrise, noon, and dusk. We were there on the leading edge of the noon hours. People were already descending on their noontime vittles like a tower rat swarm. The stalls and stands were in two big rectangles in the Plaza's center had lines waiting for meat pies, pastries, and skewers of what I'll optimistically call "meat" being offered by a particularly reedy gnome.

"Fuck. I'm hungry", I decided with a curl of smoke.

Glaive began, "we ha-..."

"The food we have at home is not one of Bandobrasa's meat pies", I cut the warforged off before he could utter another word.

"True, but it's also already paid for. You know what isn't paid for? More healing potions", Glaive argued.

I started to retort but paused as I was forced to step around a trio of teenage humans too busy chatting and giggling to look where they were going. Godsdamned kids.

The furthering of my argument was again put on hold by the appearance of a halfling. In Sharn, you learned to be wary of the smallfolk. Some of them had friends in high places, ironically enough. I knew this one did because of the green armband he wore depicting an overflowing cornucopia. A Boromar. The little bearded bastard was looking right at me, his arms crossed over his chest. The halfling wore the signature jerkin of studded, sage green leather that all the low level head knockers and life takers of the Boromars wore.

"Andon. What a pleasant surprise", I said to the halfling. I held my pipe in my teeth for a second, trying to decide whether or not I should just deck the half-pint in the dome and book it.

"Mornin' to ya, Zeich", Andon said in return, tipping his bowler hat my way. "Glaive"

"Andon, my friend, have you started using an new beard oil? Your whiskers are particularly vibrant today", Glaive enthused with enough sarcasm to power an airship for a few miles.

Andon smiled his gap-toothed smile. That was a bad sign.

"Flattery will get you nowhere, tin can", Andon said, jabbing a stubby finger in my direction. "Why don't we take a little walk, eh, Zeich? Take in the sights, have us a talk."

"I talk just fine right here." I said, eyes shifting to our surroundings. We were about fifteen feet from the edge of the bridge, close to the center of the span. Three more halflings were waiting among the food stalls. There was a half-orc beatstick waiting for us on the end Glaive and I had been heading for, a human back from where we'd come.

"You can talk to me just fine. You can't talk to Gildy Boromar here. To do that, you need to take a walk", Andon informed me.

"I haven't done anything to Gildy Boromar."

"Ya stole from her, Zeich. Didn't think we'd find out, didja?" Andon's hand slipped to where his sling rested. He didn't take it up yet.

"Stole? What the fuck are you talking about", I demanded more than asked. If you're wondering why I wasn't shouting for the guards, there's a saying in some parts of Sharn; the Watch gets two paychecks, one from the city, and one from the Boromar Clan. I'll let you guess which one is bigger.

Andon actually looked a little perplexed. "Either you're a damn good liar or you have no godsdamned clue what you did. Dragon Below, Zeich. The dagger. The one you stole for that whore."

I nodded, "yeah. What about it?"

"That dagger is one of ten. Ten noble houses of Cyre held those daggers as symbols of some peace treaty or other way back in the day, I forgot the details", Andon waved his hands as if it didn't matter. "Point is, full set's worth a fortune. Except now Gildy is sitting on nine pig stickers that you made useless by handing one over to a whore and letting her fucking disappear off the goddamn face of existence."

"Maybe you should try having a little respect for history? Or, I don't know, other people's property?" Glaive's voice rattled. He was pretending to sound bored but I know he was looking for the best way out, just like I was.

"I don't think so, tin can, because the two o' you got no respect for us." Andon pointed to the other end of the bridge. "You're gonna take a walk and convince Gildy as to why he shouldn't break your legs and drop you into the fucking Cogs."

I'd heard enough about Gildy Boromar to know there was only one way that meeting was going to end. Son of a bitch. I know they say that no good deed goes unpunished. I was just hoping to not have to pay the piper so quick. This wouldn't be a smart fight. Boromars didn't just use stones in their slings. They used pointed metal disks the native halflings of the Talenta Plains used in hunting dinosaurs. One or two of those would tear Glaive and I to ribbons. However, the only immediate threat was Andon. There were bystanders between us and his backup. That said, killing or really hurting Andon would only land us in even hotter water with one of the most powerful criminal organizations in Sharn.

"Alright, Ani, old boy, alright. We'll take a walk", I assured him, making a show of taking a long pull from my pipe.

Andon let his guard down just a little. It was enough. I flicked the cinders from my pipe in the halfling's face. Andon closed his eyes and recoiled back, swearing and wiping at his eyes.

I tugged on Glaive's arm. The two of us immediately ran for the edge of the bridge.

"Again?!" Glaive yelped.

"Quit complaining and jump!" I shouted.

It was probably quite a sight, the two of us jumping off that bridge. Some probably just thought us suicidal. I may have been, but not quite that hard. There was another bridge a couple hundred feet below us. For most, that would have been a problem. My Aberrant Mark, though, didn't just shoot fire at people. It had one other trick.

The Mark flared to life on my neck. As it did, Glaive and I stopped picking up speed, falling at the same pace as a brisk jog as the Featherfall effect took hold. Glaive twisted in the air, drawing out a wand and launching a lightning bolt that blasted a chunk out of the stone railing above us and forced back the half-orc that was aiming a crossbow down our way.

We hit the lower bridge, landing among a work gang of orcs that all had plenty of colorful commentary about Glaive and I as we immediately sprinted away.

"All I wanted was a damn meat pie", I lamented as we ran over the bridge.

"You're welcome to go back up there", Glaive suggested.

"Food at home sounds good", I grumbled as we disappeared into the depths of the nearest tower.

"Zeichem & Glaive

Lost Items/Persons Found

Bodies Guarded

Sensitive Parcels Delivered

Free Consultation"

The slightly rusted sign was beside a wooden door that had probably had more paint on it back when it was still part of a tree. I looked back down the rickety stairwell that led from the back alley to the door. Only Glaive was in sight, the warforged waiting patiently for me to unlock the place. No one wanted in on office hours. With a tired sigh, I slid my key into the lock and opened the door. I gave the sign one last look as I passed. It had been a point of pride once. Now it stared at me like a disappointed parent every time I walked by.

The apartment Glaive and I shared was a two-room study in "better than nothing." One lone everflame lantern sat in the middle of a card table in the center of the room, casting the place in its flickering, heatless light. I was lucky heat seeped up from the hearth of the tavern we lived above, even if lute music and loud conversation did along with it. Other than the food cupboard and other random storage along the walls, the only other thing to speak of in the main room was a rocking chair sitting on a threadbare rug. Warforged didn't sleep, but they did need to rest and recharge. That's where Glaive did his resting, keeping watch on the front door. This was "his" space, more or less. Mine was through a door in the back of the room.

I closed and locked the door behind us, putting my forehead against the wood and groaning wordlessly. The Boromars. We'd gone and pissed off the Boromars. I was probably better off going downstairs to the Unspun Top, ordering enough rotgut to pour myself a bath, and lighting it all up with a firebolt. All of this for one woman I barely even knew.

I grit my teeth. No. I wasn't going to make this Lady Vellen's fault. Knowing there was one less Cyran suffering in the world made it worth it and that was no lie.

"Come on, Zeich, sit down and eat something", Glaive suggested. He opened one of his trunks, brought out his sewing basket, and sat down with a half-finished pair of pants in his rocking chair. "I know that tends to make you flesh and blood folks feel better."

"Starving to death will be easier to deal with", I sighed, leaning away from the door. "Hell, might have to sell Lady Vellen's ring just to get the coin to get out of Sharn. That's probably the only way we survive this. We're lucky Juli is more interested in experimenting than making money or we'd need to sell the ring just to pay the damn rent."

"Leaving Sharn is a temporary solution. Gildy can afford to put a decent bounty on us. It'd take a while, but they'd find us regardless." Glaive noted. His fingers of living wood began to move with surprising alacrity as he set to his work.

"True. Shit", I grunted. "Doesn't leave us with very many options."

"Could always go down to Cliffside and find a ship to Stormreach. There's always expeditions to Xen'Drik. May find us some Siberys 'Shards and come back with enough money to buy the ground out from under Gildy's feet", Glaive let out his tinny laugh.

"Not a good time for jokes, pal", I admonished, finally wandering over to the cupboard to tear off a big chunk of bread and grab the last of the cheese. Great. Now we were out of cheese. I sat down at the card table and put my feet up.

"I was only half joking, you know. It would get us out of the city. The folks who come back from Xen'Drik almost always come back rich." Glaive amended his commentary.

"Right", I said between bites. "The ones that actually come back."

"It's an option. You just pointed out we don't have very many."

I nodded, letting the conversation die. Glaive did have a point. There was big money in that ancient, broken land of giants and drow. If we were guaranteed to die here, being almost guaranteed to die was an attractive prospect. Besides, it's not like we were being any sort of successful here in Sharn. Didn't matter how good the work we did was if there wasn't any work to be done. Anyone who had good money to give an inquisitive paid it to a Medani with a Mark of Detection or a Tharashk with the Mark of Finding. They had legit Dragonmarks, after all. Why pay washed up ex-soldier with an Aberrant Mark from down the lifts when you could get the real thing without having to leave the sunlight?

I scratched my neck without really thinking about it. I never asked for my Mark, but frankly I got off easy. Some Aberrants were in constant pain from their Marks, had terrible nightmares, or just had them "go off" when their emotions ran high. Some ugly scarring and staring faces in the streets were a pretty small price to pay.

I'm not sure how much time went by. I was pretty well spaced out. Glaive was focused on his work. A knock at the door brought us both out of it.

Before anything else, I grabbed my falchion. I probably should have figured they'd come after us but I hadn't expected it to be so damn quick. Hoped my landlady didn't mind a little halfling blood on the walls. It would be the first coat of paint this place had seen in a century or ten.

Glaive was up, his wands ready to start blasting. We exchanged a look and then I said at the door, "who is it?"

"I'm here to deliver an order of orcish dancers", a man's voice replied. "C'mon, Zeich, open the damn door."

I knew that voice. It didn't belong to anyone I wanted to see, but it wasn't anyone that wanted to kill Glaive and I. Probably.

I unlocked the door and ushered in a stocky man of middling height. The elf was fair from lack of regular sunlight, as many in Sharn were. This newcomer was completely bald, an Aberrant Dragonmark covering his scalp like a big, crimson tattoo of jagged, randomly interlocking lines. The hawkish Aberrant wore a steel breastplate, leather guards protecting his arms and legs. A prized double-bladed scimitar of the Valenar elves was slung across his back. That had been a point of contention upon our first meeting four years ago. His people had slaughtered some of mine as they'd fled the Mourning.

Long story.

"Nice place you got here, Zeich", Riajh noted as he walked in. "I can see why you upgraded from that joint in Lower Menthis."

"Here I was afraid your humor would stagnate since we last met", Glaive quipped, keeping a hold of his wands.

"Could we not do this, please?" I requested. "Riajh, quit talking shit or get the hell out. You didn't go through all the trouble of tracking us down just to rub all this in our faces."

"Fine, fine", my fellow Aberrant grudgingly agreed. He took the chair I'd been sitting in. "Don't suppose you could give a man a drink?"

"We've got water. You want booze, go outside and go the tavern downstairs", I suggested.

"Nah, nevermind", Riajh sighed, putting his arms behind his head. "You heard about what happened in Upper Central?"

"I expect the entire city has by now. I also expect the Tyrants aren't happy with you over this", I replied, coming around the table to be face to face with Riajh. Glaive returned to sewing.

Riajh scowled, "if we were to kill one of those shifty-faced fuckers, we'd do it right. You know for a fact no one in the Family would be stupid enough to hang a damn corpse up on the Memorial Promenade with our rutting symbol around its neck."

"I assumed. That's pretty much a declaration of war on the Tyrants", I told Riajh, and I meant it. House Tarkanan was many things, but they weren't that stupid.

"Close to it", Riajh concurred, bringing one hand up to rub his temple. "D'Tarkanan sent a message to the Tyrants. Told them we aren't responsible. Who knows how they'll take it. You know how changelings are."

"Only too well", I said with a grimace. "So what does this have to do with me?"

Riajh leaned forward, his elbows on the table. "We need all hands on deck. D'Tarkanan wants you back for one last job."

Great. You never heard that line.

"One last job", I repeated. Didn't bother to mask my disbelief.

"Hey, now. You wanted out and we let you out. We haven't bothered you since. This is serious shit, Zeich. It's not just us and the Tyrants. The Boromars have the Daask breathing down their necks and getting bolder than ever before. If a gang war opens up, a lot of people get hurt. That's bad for business", Riajh elaborated, his fists clenching. "Ain't no profit in anarchy."

"I'm not doing that shit anymore. No more kneecapping, no more smash and grabs, no more hits", I argued. "Being a soldier was enough for me the first time."

Riajh held his arms out wide, "good thing we don't want you to be a soldier, then. D'Tarkanan wants you to be an inquisitive. She's positive the gang tension is all related. She's got a specific task for you. Involves a missing person; no theft, no assassination. D'Tarkanan knows you and she respects you, Zeich. Aberrants gotta stick together. We'll keep the Boromars off your back, too."

I cringed. "You heard about that?"

"Yeah. You stepped in it big, Zeich."

I nodded. It's true, House Tarkanan went the extra mile to protect is members. We were all bastard children with scary Aberrant Marks that once got people burned at the stake or just cut down like a dog on principle. Still happened, depending where you went. Tarkanan came together to prevent that. Of course, you put a bunch of vindictive, persecuted people with unstable magic together and give them the common cause of survival, you bet your ass that heads were going to roll. Long time ago they had rolled in the War of the Mark. Now, House Tarkanan was wise enough to be subtle about it.

"If I do this...", I started.

"We", Glaive corrected.

I snorted, "didn't want to assume."

"No worries", Glaive assured me.

"If we do this", I corrected myself. "Well...what would we be doing? You said a missing person?"

"Our boys down in Lower Dura have said there's a harpy acting suspicious", Riajh explained. "Name's Gulo. Apparently she was seen, poking around in back alleys, looking through windows, all that song and dance, in Coggrit and Yuveyu. I'd write her off as a voyeur if not for the fact that the Daask started hitting the Boromars hard right around when she showed up."

"When was that?" I prompted, committing the info to memory.

"'Bout a month ago. Gulo disappeared almost a week ago; not easy for an albino harpy to do. She's not exactly what you'd call an 'everyperson' blending in a crowd. Thing is, ever since then, the hits against the Boromars have leveled off. D'Tarkanan wants you to find Gulo, or whoever she answers to. Figure out what the hell they were trying to accomplish. There's a reward waiting for you if you manage it."

Knew better than to ask how big the reward would be. Looking a gift beholder in the mouth gets you disintegrated.

"Surprises me that d'Tarkanan wants this", I admitted, beginning to pace.

Riajh shrugged a shoulder. "Like I said, anarchy's bad for business. Things are profitable when things are stable. Stability will end up in a gutter with its throat slit if this thing between the smallfolk and the monsters keeps heating up. It's in the Family's best interests to keep this from spiralling out of control."

I guess that made sense. Cat burglars and hitmen weren't in high demand when there was war in the streets and everyone was locked up inside. With the Boromars coming for my ankles, I didn't have much choice.

"Alright, Riajh. You've got a deal. We'll look into it", I agreed.

"Good. Good." Riajh said. He tried to veil it but he was relieved. He was nervous. This business had him spooked. The Tarkanan capo patted himself down, eventually producing a coin purse and tossing it onto the table. "There. An advance and a show of good faith all in one. Find me at my usual spot when you have the info we need."

With that, Riajh pushed the chair away from the table and headed for the door. As my pacing took my by the table I snatched up the payment. Not as hefty as I's hoped. Still better than nothing.

"Welcome back to the family...brother", Riajh said as he left.

The door closed behind him. I was left standing with the coin purse in my hand. My grip tightened on it. Maybe I'd wring the dirt out of the money that way, make it spend a little less guilty. I vividly remembered swearing I'd never work for House Tarkanan again. Yet hear I was, persuaded to do just that the first time it came up again.

"You good, Zeich?" Glaive asked.

"I...don't know", I admitted, dropping the coins back to the table. "Am I a coward, Glaive?"

When he didn't answer immediately I looked back to see Glaive tilt his head slowly side ot side. At length, he replied, "I don't think so. It's easy to make big claims when you're not facing an empty pantry, overdue rent, and an angry gang of smallfolk. Which, we weren't facing any of those things back then. I may not be too fond of the Tarkanans, but I give them credit where it's due. They keep their deals…", another tilt, "...well, they keep them to their fellow Aberrants, anyway."

"Because in their eyes, all an Aberrant's got to fall back on are other Aberrants." I muttered. I started packing my pipe again. The folks in Tarkanan wanted to act like it was still the heyday of the War of the Mark so long ago. Well, it wasn't. Halas Tarkanan was long dead, buried alive when he brought the old city of Sharn down on top of himself in defiance of the Dragonmarked Houses. Aberrants would always be looked at with suspicion, but we weren't being strung up by lynch mobs anymore unless you were out in the boonies..

I lit my pipe with a wooden match. With a contemplative inhale, I got my mind on the task at hand. I'm sure I'd find plenty of time to ruminate on things I couldn't control later.

"I think I know who we need to talk to for this one", I said, resuming the seat Riajh had taken.

"Kanto?" Glaive asked.

"Nah, she said she'd start taking fingers if we came around again."

"Oh, right. Hm...Yoachem?"

"Dead. Fell out of a skycoach."

"Oof. Forgot about that. Uhm...Locursha?"

I pointed my pipe at the warforged, "bullseye. Locursha will be able to point us in the right direction. Her place is in Coggrit. She'll at least be able to tell us who Gulo's Underboss is. Which, that's what we need. I'd bet the coin Riajh just gave us that Gulo was out and about just to be visible and draw attention away from whatever else her Underboss was trying to accomplish."

"Good plan", Glaive said with approval. "Glad you're the brains of this operation."

I laughed, "that make you the muscle?"

"The looks, obviously", Glaive clanked, gesturing to his face.

"Of course", I said. Olladra be praised for the snarky warforged. Without him to balance out my gloom I probably would have faded away into some kind of fog. Don't tell him I said that, though. Sovereigns know his ego doesn't need the boost.

Rouz stood in awe of the statue for a moment. Whoever had sculpted it was truly a master of their craft. The obsidian obelisk matched an ancient dragon in size. That alone would have been impressive. There was so much more than that, though. The warped faces emerging from the stone were contorted, the way their jaws were locked in a defiant roar to the very heavens. Or were they screams of agony? Silent as the screams were, surely even the distant, simpering Sovereigns heard it by intensity alone. Rouz felt that roar resonate deep within her.

So, too, did she understand the little details of the statue. Each individual face had been sculpted. Some were chipped, some were cracked, but each was deliberate. Several of the faces were missing teeth, eyes, ears, noses. There was a pattern in the ruination of the piece. Rouz knew it for certain. If she could just make it out…

"Child. You have returned", a deep but soft voice slithered through the cavernous temple.

Rouz looked away from the statue, revealing the face of a drow to the speaker. The left side of her face was ruined and warped by a horrific burn. The eye on that side was milky and sightless. Rouz was strapped across her entire body with an assortment of wicked, short blades. Her precious katar punch dagger was currently sheathed in the small of her back.

Out of the darkness, the speaker shuffled. As usual, the Sentinel was shrouded in a black cloak, his hood and an ebony mask concealing all his features.

"I did as you asked, master", Rouz told the Sentinel. "The body was found on the Memorial Promenade. Upper Central buzzing over it." Buzzing like flies over a corpse. How very appropriate.

"What did I tell you about hiding yourself from me?" The Sentinel chastised.

Rouz furrowed her brow. "I am not."

"You are. This is not your true form. It is a deception."

Rouz's face locked into an angry snarl. Her body started to change. She shrank an inch. Her raven hair shortened, becoming stark white. Both eyes became featureless orbs of white. Her skin became that same white, though her dark leathers did not change.

The changeling's face was still scarred. The very thought made Rouz's skin crawl.

"I have no true form", Rouz seethed, pointing to the pinkish, gnarled scar tissue and blinded eye. "This steals it from me. He stole it from me. My form, my purpose, my family, all gone. Don't you get it?!"

The Sentinel shook his head. "No, child. The Tyrants may have abandoned you, but you are among a new family, with a greater purpose than ever before."

"You promised me revenge. You promised to heal me. That was years ago", Rouz snapped.

"You'll have it. All you could ever desire. The hour draws near, I swear it to you", the Sentinel explained, utterly sure of himself.

Rouz believed him. She had no other choice.

"What...is my next task, then?" Rouz inquired, still agitated but dumbing it down.

"Yet another of great import…", the Sentinel informed his changeling assassin.