Poisonous Fox

Flexibility: 4/9 (+2)

Chance Encounter: 2/9 (+1)

Studies at the Academy progressed without any exceptional notes that week.

The class I performed best at was Dance; also, the class was my worst. One flattering remark from the instructor, and suddenly I was an acceptable target for bullying and sabotage. However, this hardly hindered me, although it did bother Marianne on my account.

Besides that one detriment, things progressed smoothly. Sir Kate Guardson refrained from dropping by Ma’Ritz, likely she found herself busy between schoolwork and her martial duties. I counted this absence of hers as a benefit. To improve matters further, my working hours had been reduced. No longer was I required to keep watch past midnight. This meant I was now allowed a decent amount of rest to recover each day.

Additionally, this progress was also shown with my Marks as well. Also on perhaps a worrying note, the tendrils within my false-arm had grown more numerous as well and in length. It now contained four tendrils coiled and hidden within the silvery gel-like flesh. This allowed my left hand to better mimic what it ought to have appeared as; I wondered just why the false-arm was growing stronger.

The week flew by, and quickly we arrived at its conclusion, a two day rest period before classes started once more anew. The presence of the weekend in this world surprised me; it was not necessarily a social norm that I would have anticipated to be duplicated in parallel. Regardless of the suspicious coincidence, there were no actions I could take regarding my suspicions, thus I could only accept its presence and move on.

Besides, the weekend offered me an opportunity to catch up on several items of priority. Items that had been weighing more heavily upon me as time went on. Every day that I went without making progress towards finding Emboru’s sibling was another day I came closer to a nebulous and dire occurrence.

Unfortunately, I had little idea on where to start, except for infiltrating Southbridge’s information centers. Since I already had put plans into motion to do just that, there was little else I could do, other than committing myself to random motion and hoping for the best.

If I could not strive towards the greatest of tasks, then the next item weighing upon me was the one assigned by Belobog. But, other than vague hints regarding whatever it was she wanted of me, I could do little else to prepare.

Hence, I was today focusing on what was likely one of my least important obligations: finding Cook’s old employer, the white Kaiva.

This was why, before any other surprises could find me that morning, I had snuck out from Ma’Ritz and I had followed the early morning traffic down from Blossom Hill, across the divide, and I had begun skulking through the slums.

My target was near where the largest population of Kaiva seemed to reside, near where Cook’s favored butchery stood.

I was implementing a modified version of my previous strategy.

The last time I had searched for Cook’s old employer, I had attempted both to ask passerby directly, and when that had failed, as it turned out that the Kaiva were both incredibly inclusive and violent, I had tried following several random Kaiva from the rooftops. In hindsight, the approach had been chaotic, uncoordinated, and just poorly planned in general.

In the time since my initial attempt, I had time to think about this problem, and the things I needed to do differently.

First, I ensured I went unnoticed. I traveled the ridges and bowed walls of the tenement houses. So long as I avoided traveling on the ground, avoiding notice came easily. The buildings appeared so messy and lackadaisical that blending in with the skyline proved easy.

Second, and this was where my strategy had most greatly improved, I began by watching several shops that sold perishables that I thought Kaiva of means might desire. Such as the butcher shop that I myself favored.

I found a perch a block down from the butcher and I watched and waited. Several customers came and went, humans and Kaiva both. The first Kaiva I saw that exited from the shop carrying a sack filled with bulges of butcher paper fit my search criteria. They were wealthy enough to make purchases, they were Kaiva, and they required an ice-box which would most likely be in their residence.

It would be a stretch to assume that one Kaiva lived near the next, and that one of those Kaiva might be the one I sought, but still, this seemed the best approach I had available, besides hiring an information broker.

I trailed the Kaiva for several blocks, always lingering behind them, keeping to the rooftops, though several times I had to slide down the wall of a crooked building before climbing up the next. Eventually, the Kaiva ducked into an old brick building that was dwarfed by the surrounding tenements.

The building was covered in graffiti and tags, marking it the territory for one of the local gangs, though they called themselves pit crews, not gangs.

I could not be certain my target Kaiva resided within the brick building, but I knew at least one Kaiva lived there. I still found it unlikely that the refined white Kaiva would dwell in such a place, but I supposed it was a possibility. I would remember its location and perhaps come back later.

I returned to my original position above the butcher and waited for another.

I allowed several Kaiva to come and go, and I waited until I saw one wearing dyed clothing of a slightly better cut and weave than the norm. I trailed this wealthier Kaiva for several blocks. Strangely enough, they headed the same direction as the first that I had tailed. Minutes later, I watched the Kaiva enter the same brick building.

At this time, I revisited my original assumptions.

Several different levels of fiscal means resided therein. Perhaps there were laborers and servants and differing castes thereof.

I considered returning to watch the butcher, to try trailing another, to perhaps see if the third would lead me somewhere different. But at this point, too much time had been wasted. My time was not unlimited, and I was certain that soon certain obligations would catch up with me.

Thus, despite the adage regarding impatient thieves and their fates, I decided to err on the side of haste.

I climbed down to the roof of the brick building and I scouted around the perimeter of the upper levels until I found an untended and unlocked window down on the second floor. I slipped inside and waited, unfocusing my senses and letting sensory wash over me.

I detected no changes, nor any immediate approaching activity.

It appeared my entry had gone unnoticed.

Without much in the way of expectation, I began exploring the building.

I had entered in through a window to an empty apartment, and I let myself into the main hall. The walkway should have been busier. At the very least, there should have been lighting available. People should have been making noise as they went about their lives in their homes. But no, the place was dark and quiet. I was growing suspicious as to the nature of the building.

I passed door after door, all silent and most with dusty handles. It was as I neared the stairwell that I heard them. As I approached, I realized that I had been smelling them for a while.

The door leading to their apartment had been left ajar. This was notable, incredibly so, and led me to grow ever more cautious. For it was atypical behavior to leave the front door open, especially in what I considered to be a ‘bad neighborhood.’ The air within the apartment carried a haze, along with the slightest hints of bitterness. I recognized the scent before I reached the opened door.

The locals had several names for the drug, but essentially it was a naturally occurring opioid that could be cultivated with minimal resources. It was not a banned substance, though it was hardly conducive towards a long and happy life. It was addictive and carried substantial health risks, ranging from hair-loss to blindness, depending on the strain.

Were it not for my Alchemical Immunity, I would have chosen to retreat from the hallway immediately. I could hardly afford a muddled mind. However, knowing my Talent offered sufficient protection from anything but an egregious amount of poison, I slid to the gap in the doorway and peaked in.

Two humans were playing a game of cards while they occasionally glanced down from their window towards the street below. Their card table had been shoved against the far wall, giving them easy lines of sight to the outside. As I watched, one of them swore and tossed his hand of cards, while the other chuckled. The loser grumbled and arose and started making his way towards the exit where I stood.

Were his eyes focused upon the door, I would have retreated. As it was, his attention was not upon the door, instead upon a small brazier that carried smoldering embers. The brazier was between him and I, and it was the brazier which held his focus.

He grabbed a small satchel laying on the ground nearby, and pulled a pinch of flaked fungal material before tossing it amongst the embers. He drew several breaths to blow upon the embers until the flaked material began smoldering as well, joining the embers in a not-quite open flame.

“There,” the man grumbled, turning back towards his friend. “Next turn is yours.”

The other man spat to the side, “Only if I lose, yeah?”

“Oh, you will,” the first man grunted. “You will…”

They then dealt out another hand of cards, all the while infrequently glancing out the window, down at the street below.

It became obvious that the two were some form of lookout, that the entire building was likely some form of bastion kept by the Opals, the pit-crew who had predominantly tagged the exterior of the building.

Considering the fact that the pit-crews of the city were composed nearly entirely of humans, the fact that several Kaiva had returned to this building was curious. Enough so that I decided to investigate the remainder of the building.

At the stairwell, I saw signs of traffic coming to the second floor, and less frequent traffic to the higher floors. Considering that there were at least five floors above where I stood, the amount of wear on the stairs should have been greater than what I observed. I had not seen evidence of alternative modes of travel, and I doubted the Opals relied upon scaling the exterior of the building, though they may have used the neighboring buildings to access the rooftop, as I had. Except, I had failed to see any obvious means of egress on the rooftop either.

A quandary.

The Opals would not have placed lookouts without a reason. The building carried strategic significance of some sort. The possibility remained that the lookouts were placed for another reason, perhaps a side-hustle in the nearby vicinity, or perhaps they were watching for hostile activity of some sort, perhaps an encroaching gang, or the Knights, although I had seen no signs of law enforcement in the slums thus far. Besides these possibilities, I had verified that people were entering the building. Something greater was happening here, and it was not on the second floor, nor on the floors above me.

Of course, this was merely conjecture on my part. To be certain, I would need to scout the entirety of the building. But my instincts were telling me that whatever was going on was happening on the ground floor.

It occurred to me that I did have a relatively quick means of verification. This method was not one that I favored; I disliked the comparisons that could be drawn when I used such a method. However, a proper thief knew when to employ the proper tool for a job, and scruples such as embarrassment should have no effect upon my assessment.

Thus, as I crouched in the stairwell, I focused on my nose, and what my olfactory sense told me.

There was the opioid, there was the grime and filth that came from impoverished civilizations, the common stink of stale urine, and worse, of course.

But, as I crouched there, I failed to detect any hint of the spices which Kaiva favored, which Kaiva would have purchased alongside their perishables, which I had confirmed that at least one of the Kaiva carried with them when they entered the building.

This was enough of a confirmation for me to ignore the entirety of the building above me, and instead descend to the ground floor below.

As the stairwell opened up, I was expecting another floor similar to the one above, another hallway with numerous apartment entrances. What I found instead was more akin to a warehouse, where the obvious remnants of walls had been removed to open up the space. As I scanned the remnants of plaster and the gaps left from the removal of such walls, I saw instead posts had been erected, obviously after the fact, as they were made of wood and several had been wedged in askew.

A chill ran down my spine as I observed the shoddy construction. The entire building was a deathtrap. The Opals had replaced load-bearing walls with shoddy beams of wood.

I shook myself off my fears. The building stood well enough for the time being, and I would not be lingering here for long. But as I scanned over the impromptu storage space, I failed to find an obvious population of Kaiva, or anyone for that matter.

This was obviously an impossibility. The people had to have gone somewhere. Teleportation was not a thing. At least I assumed it was not. If it was, it would have been beyond the Opals’ means.

A portion of me desired to immediately begin rifling through the barrels and crates to search for valuables.

I refrained from this temptation. For all I knew, this floor was a trap, and the goons on the floor above were sacrificial pawns. Rather than take any risks, I crawled up the wall to a corner between a post and the wall, where I remained hidden in the shadows, well out of sightlines of anyone watching the floor.

From this vantage, I waited, confident that this mystery would soon be solved through observation.

Waiting, unfortunately, was by its inherent definition a time-sink. While I remained plastered to the wall eight feet off the ground and tucked out of sight, I could only think of all the other things I could be doing instead. I could be practicing my skills. I could be reviewing study materials or preparing for another week at the Academy. I could be scouting potential targets to either enrich myself or better prepare myself for Belobog’s task. I could be generating random brownian motion in the hopes of satisfying Emboru. Ordinarily, waiting was not overly onerous.

I had been instructed in patience by my mother… quite vigorously, one might say. Were I not in a new body, I would have carried physical scars from those lessons, not solely mental ones.

It came as a relief when the door to the exterior opened. In walked two people; they each wore the colored armband that marked them as members of the Opals. The door shut behind them, plunging the warehouse floor once more into a gloomy darkness that must have been challenging for them to navigate. They seemed to pay the lack of lighting no mind, though, which showed a remarkable level of familiarity with the crowded floor’s current setup.

The moved down one aisleway between crates before taking a corner and progressing off to the side, near where a particularly large pile of stacked crates resided.

“Bridges fall and metal rusts,” one of the two spoke aloud, the baritone voice louder than necessary and almost startling me from my perch. The two had been silent up until this point.

From somewhere within the stack of crates, a different voice replied, only partially muffled by the wood.

“Barons lick the king’s dust,” this other voice from a hidden source replied.

“But the Opals stand forever,” the first voice said, finishing what seemed to be a pass phrase.

“Nah, that ain’t how it ends,” the second entrant said, up until this point he had remained silent.

“It sounds better though,” the first said.

“That it do,” the hidden voice agreed.

“But it’s not right,” the second said. “We were told to say it right.” He pointed at a gap within the stacked crates, where the shadow seemed deeper than it ought to have been. “You shouldn’t be lettin’ us in unless we say it right.”

“He’s… also right,” the hidden voice agreed once more.

“Find,” the first spat. “But the Opals stand strong and tall. There, happy? Sounds like shit.”

“Good ‘nough,” the hidden voice said. A clicking sound came as a latch was pulled, followed by a ratcheting of gears. “Course, it’s all a bit silly, ain’t it? Not like I don’t know ya both.”

“Rules is rules,” the second said, though both of them seemed to be nodding in agreement as they waited and watched a barrel. The barrel twitched and then began to tilt to the side until it rested parallel against the ground. “Whelp, I’ll head in first,” the second finished, turning around and bending down, before disappearing from sight behind the crates.

“Yep, see ya in a few, Greg,” the hidden voice said.

I crawled along the side of the wall until I could get a better angle on where the base of the barrel had been. A circular opening had been revealed in the floor, and I made it just in time to see the first of the men also descend, climbing down what I assumed was a ladder.

Once the two had disappeared, the ratcheting sound returned, and the mechanism groaned before returning the barrel to its original upright position, concealing the hidden entrance.

If this building had been curious and suspicious before, it was suddenly an object of fascination. While the two that had descended had been human, I could only assume that this was also where the Kaiva had gone. A hidden entrance into either a basement, or more likely, a subterranean network of tunnels; the entirety of Southbridge had been built atop a series of mines, and I had already seen the elaborate sewer system that Southbridge relied upon; the assumption that I was looking at an entrance to a secret subterranean base was not ridiculous.

Much effort had been spent in securing this entrance. This implied that whatever was kept hidden down there was worth it, at least to the Opals.

If I could find out more, then I would have something to barter with the next time Belobog stopped by. I might also come closer to understanding the Kaiva population here and how they fit into things, which would bring me closer to resolving Cook’s task. And finally, if there was a subterranean complex, then there was a decent chance that I could learn something new regarding Emboru’s sibling. While the last possibility may have been a stretch, it was not nonexistent.

I felt justified in my decision to investigate further, even if it would cost me the remainder of my day to do so.

I crept towards the pile of crates where the third voice had come from. Initially, I could not see him, though I knew he must have been in that pile in someway. I climbed the nearest wall to peer over the top of the pile of stacked crates, perhaps wondering if they had been setup in a perimeter, similar to a child’s fort. However, that was not the case. The guard was completely encompassed by the stacked crates.

Next, I stalked around the perimeter, searching for any out of place seams or signs of wear and traffic. After circling the entire pile, although I did have to pick my way carefully over several haphazard rows of things, after circling the pile, I found nothing. The closest I found to something out of the norm was near the barrel. It was there that I heard the man’s breathing.

Crawling along the ground, keeping to a corner of one of the rows, I approached the pile until I was pressed against it. There I remained, listening. His breathing was regular, not overly cautious or exhibiting signs of obvious distraction. Cautiously, I raised my head at an angle until I was just able to peer through the crack that the noise was coming from.

The interior was dark. No light sources whatsoever. If not for the gloomy light filtering in through the gap, I would not have been able to see anything at all, and even then, all I could discern was the vaguest outline of the man, sitting on a stool, watching out the very same crack that I was peering through. When I saw this I froze. But his breathing remained unchanged. He had not seen me, even though I was directly before him, well inside his range of vision.

Moving slowly, I lowered my head once more, and that was when the entrance to the improvised warehouse opened, light spilled into the place, and another person entered.

Were it not for my trained instincts, I would have jumped in surprise and likely given the game away. However, I continued in my controlled motions and made my way off to the side, where I could blend in with the stacked boxes which formed one of the rows. There, I curled into a ball and reduced my outline as much as possible, confident that I would remain unseen, so long as I remained quiet and unmoving.

The new entrant shut the door behind them, allowing the gloom to return to the room.

They began making their way towards the secret entrance.

Something clattered.

The man grunted in pain, then cursed. “Godslovin’ bastards moved shit again, didn’t they?” he called out.

“Nah…” the guard said, breaking his silence. “Well, maybe? Dunno who was on shift before you.”

“Ugh,” the man said, sounding disgusted. He kicked at whatever had tripped him. “Don’t matter. I’ll be done later. If you see those clowns start changin’ my shit again, tell ‘m to wait, yeah?”

“Sure thing, Lar.”

“Alright… well, later then,” the man said, heading towards the stairwell and then ascending. He likely was one of the sources of infrequent traffic to the higher levels of the building. It was possible that he lived there and worked below. It would make sense, though I would be particularly concerned about the shoddily placed load-bearing beams, were I him.

Once he was gone, I took a moment to consider my options. I wanted to see what was down there, to find whatever valuables were stored there, and perhaps gain additional intelligence regarding the underbelly of the city. I desired this, strongly. However, there came the matter of risk, along with the manner of infiltration.

But as I considered this problem, and all the things that could go wrong, I began to perform an informal measurement of the risks and rewards. For, while I was curious as to what was hidden below, it may end up being a trap. Not that one had been laid for me, specifically, but it could still be one. And even if not a deliberate trap, it may be a labyrinth filled with rats and worse without more than a single way out.

Yet… I was curious, incredibly so. And I doubted there was only a single means of egress, given the nature of the city’s foundation. And from what I could smell from the warehouse, the entrance hardly led to a sewer, at least not one that had been used in some time.

The remainder of the risks could be abated with planning. All I needed was to infiltrate without raising the alarm. Considering that, and my suspicion that the reward may be significant, depending on what was below.

Thus, I quickly went over my options. While deploying stealth, I felt around the base of the barrel. The mechanism to open and close it was unavailable, tucked inside the wood, if above the surface at all. As I had no intention of tunneling through the wood, this meant I needed the guard to open the hatch.

The easiest way to convince him would be to impersonate one of the Opals and issue the correct code. I had heard the code already, and I could likely dig up a spare arm-band easily enough. However, I worried about the unknown: Did the lookout know everybody that used this entrance personally? If so, my impersonation would be difficult. There was also the risk that there existed multiple codes and counter challenges. To determine if this was the case, I would need to remain vigilant and listen for multiple people to come. And even then, were I to spend the day listening in on the comingings and going, even then, I might fail to catch a critical piece or meaning of the challenge and response.

The easiest and likely the safest manner of infiltration would be to simply disable the lookout.

While typically I would refrain from base violence, my time on this world had inured me somewhat. Though, I was still loathe to spill blood, despite my false-arm’s eagerness.

But even were I to disable the lookout, I would likely struggle to do so before they issued an alarm. I was not even sure I could find a way inside the lookout’s hidey-hole, so whatever method I employed would need to be at range, through a narrow slit, and fast enough to keep the guard from sounding out a warning.

This seemed like a difficult task, though my false-arm did twinge in anticipation, its tendrils coiling just slightly, tensing up similar to a spring.

To my false-arm’s disappointment, I decided against such a loud and permanent solution. There was no telling how soon such an infiltration would be discovered, but probably as soon as the next entrant arrived and found the lookout a bloody smear and the entrance torn open.

It was at this point that inspiration struck.

I left the warehouse and climbed the stairs back to the second floor, where the two potential lookouts played a game of cards while surrounding themselves in opioid fumes. While the fumes were hardly thick enough to disable a person, especially at the low-level dose that these two men employed, I thought that the substance had potential.

While the two were distracted playing a game, I gently pushed the door further open, and keeping the brazier between myself and them, and moving ever so slowly while in a crouch, I crawled forward and grabbed the satchel of desiccated and crumbled fungal matter, and I then retreated, once more shutting the door until it was just as ajar as I left it.

I expected that the two men would soon go to deploy an additional dose, but when they found the satchel missing, I would not be surprised if they blamed each other. It was highly unlikely that they would assume a thief had visited first thing, especially as their building was ‘secure,’ and they had been sitting there the entire time.

I could have rolled my eyes as I imagined how they would react, but I wanted to spend no further time dwelling upon such incompetent criminals.

No, I had better things to do, I decided.

Back down in the warehouse, once again I crept up to the base of the stacked crates, just below where the lookout’s window lay. There, with great care, I pulled a handful of the opioids and ensured they were powdered into a loose dust. I formed a tube with my hand, and raising it over the edge of the window, I blew the powder inside, timing my exhale with the lookout’s, to better mask the noise.

During this time, I felt fortunate that the opioid was not active topically. For, even with my Alchemical Immunity, I was unsure if I would have been protected, otherwise.

After I finished blowing the second handful of dust, I heard the lookout sneeze.

The man muttered to himself, largely nonsense, but it sounded as though he said something like, “Wha–what’s that–smell–achoo!”

From that point, I waited several minutes, listening to the man as he shuffled about, his breathing grew shallower, almost uneven. I doubted he would be knocked out by the dose. At least not so soon. I hoped he would remain somewhat cognizant, at least.

I risked another peak, and noticed a dim light emanating from a Charger, a coin with an active silver of crystal at its core. The man was holding it before his face, having apparently retrieved it from his purse. He was examining the coin, marveling at it. The light allowed me to see his dilated eyes, along with the faint start of drool coming from the corner of his mouth.

Perhaps, I thought, I had used too strong of a dose. This meant that I needed to hurry, unless I risked the man losing all functionality.

Just as I was about to implement my plan, the man began uttering nonsense. I paused, waiting, to see if there was another with him, or if he was speaking to anyone else. But no, nothing. Just the ramblings of a poor fool that might have overdosed without consent or acknowledgement. I doubted it was an overdose, though. I had not heard of any unintentional deaths through the use of this opioid. But then again, this was not a drug of choice for anyone that could afford better.

I quickly made my way to the front entry way, and I stood up. I opened the door, then shut it loudly, almost slamming it.

I pretended to have just entered, similar to the first pair that I had seen. I strode confidently towards the barrel, choosing the exact same path as the first.

As I reached the barrel, I waited a second for the lookout to proffer any initial challenge.

A few seconds passed, and I realized that it would be safer for me to take the initiative, in case there were potentially alternative codes that could be given. Thinking back on the phrase, I repeated it in the same gruff tone that seemed so common in the slums.

“Bridges fall and metal rusts,” I said, beginning the start of the ridiculous lyric.

I waited several more seconds. The man grumbled something, but I could not hear it. I worried if he had gone to sound an alarm, but then I heard him slur unintelligibly. As I could not determine exactly what he said, I decided to take an imperious approach.

“I said,” I said, along with a false clearing of the throat, “Bridges fall, metal rusts.”

“Uhhh, yeah… I’mma… I’m drawin… cans we do the osher… osh… oth… other! Other one?”

I scoffed in disgust; this I did not have to feign.

“Pathetic,” I snapped. “Are you drunk?” I demanded. “Sleeping on the job? Or worse. Pathetic, truly, absolutely, despicable,” I finished with as much judgment as I could, putting the man on the backfoot as much as possible.

“Ssay–?” the man started, but was unable to finish as I cut him off.

“No. No, no, no!” I snapped my fingers. “It is at this point, that you respond, Barons lick the king’s dust, to which I would reply something of the sort, The Opals stand tall and strong. That is how this should have gone, were you not such a worm. Now,” I paused to take a breath and loom over his little window, allowing the full force of my ire to leak through my posture, “Open, the, hatch.”

Despite my performance, the fool offered a weak protest.

“But I didn’t cha–”

I cut him off once more.

“Do you want me to inform the boss that you have inebriated yourself?” I said, scathingly. “No? Then open it.”

Again, the man mumbled, though the intelligibility of what he said had not greatly improved.

“Now!” I snapped, before shooting my hand through his window and seizing him by his grimy collar. I gave him a quick shake, before releasing him. I immediately desired for an alcohol swipe to cleanse my hand with. I considered that I might have overplayed my part.

Before I could doubt myself further, the man mumbled an assent, and began fumbling about inside his hole.

Finally, the gears began to turn. The barrel pivoted and tilted until parallel with the floor, and a hole and ladder were revealed, with a faint glow coming from the bottom. It was deeper than I had anticipated, at least ten yards down, if not more. As I could not hear any sounds of conversation or activity echoing up, I assumed the subterranean lair was extensive. Large enough, at least, that I would not need to fear becoming trapped and hunted.

“You have bought my silence,” I told the lookout, using an imperious voice once more, arrogance seeping my words. “For now.” I took a second’s pause to stare within the window, ensuring our eyes met, assuming he was able to even see more than a blur at this point. I doubted he would remember much, except the domineering threat and intimidation. “Do not bother me again,” I finished.

“Ssure…” the man slurred, faintly. At least, that was what I assumed he said. I cared not for the particulars. My objective had been met.

I began my descent down the ladder, a giddy eagerness roiling within my stomach. I was infiltrating a villain’s lair. I could not deny that a portion of my immature mind, a remnant from childhood, was squealing in delight. A small smile may have crossed my face, more of a smirk, than anything. I dropped the rest of the way, landing on the ground as silently as a feather.

There were no sentries posted below.

The tunnel was wide enough to stretch out, and tall enough I could crawl along the ceiling to escape notice. In the distance either way, I could see several branching paths.

I could spend far too much time exploring down here. Far, far too much time. A part of me wanted to. But, I needed to prioritize. My objective, I decided, was to locate wherever it was that the Kaiva had gone. To do so, I once more relied upon my olfactory scent, and I followed the briefest taste of spice.

The detriment of this mode of tracking my quarry, was that I also had to smell every other scent emanating from these tunnels. And while they might not have been an active sewer, that did not prevent the Opals from taking liberties inside their own base.

I spat in disgust and muscled through my displeasure. When I was finished, I decided, I would be taking a bath. If they let me inside Ma’Ritz because I overly reeked from this venture, that is.

As I went, I passed branching paths, several of which joined my current hallway at irregular elevations and angles. Not all the openings led to an obvious path, sometimes they appeared to be redundant piping, perhaps large enough for an adult to crawl through. Others had pieces of tarp hung across, and of these several had been smeared with colorful substances; I would be hesitant to describe this substance as paint.

No sounds emanate from these chambers, although several had more recently been in use, judging by disturbed dust and the scent of unwashed flesh.

A portion of me was tempted to rifle through these chambers, some of them likely contained items of worth. However, it behooved me to locate the marks first. I promised myself to indulge my greed and curiosity later, if the chance presented itself.

In this way I continued onward, following the subtle trail of spices and meat and the sourness of fermentation gone bad. And it was in this way that I began to hear voices, accompanied with the sounds reminiscent of dining: clinking, smacking, and the way speech was muddled when the speaker spoke with a mouth full of food.

Uncouth, to say the least, though the sounds confirmed that my invasion of their lair had gone unnoticed, along with my approach.

Still, a careless thief was soon wrung.

I kept flat to the wall as I came near, until the dim lighting of infrequent torches shone through the tunnel and revealed the inhabitants within the next chamber.

Several Kaiva lounged on cushions on a long wooden table which had been pressed against one of the walls. Betwixt them rested several wide and shallow bowls, some of which held sauce drizzled meat, possibly gizzards. One Kaiva was pacing anxiously, tail flicking and ears standing straight. He kept his pacing to the space between his lounging brethren and another table which was occupied by several grime covered humans. These humans, notably, wore speckled blue and white arm-bands, marking them as members of the Opals, another gang from the slums, though they preferred to term themselves as pit crews.

The humans were feasting at their own table, with at least one pitcher of ale having spilled. Several of these crew-members were flushed and slurring their words, obviously drunk. Notably, at least two of their number were sober. It was these, and the pacing Kaiva, that I remained the most cautious of as I crept to the corner to eavesdrop; I chose a spot hidden by flickering shadows that had at least three means of retreat, to avoid being caught or trapped between an incoming group and those whom I was now eavesdropping upon.

One of the Kaiva, this one female, called out loudly to her pacing companion in their native tongue.

“Tell the ugly one that these ones smell that!” she said, causing the other lounging Kaiva to chortle, with one of them waving a hand as though to dispel the stench. “This was not appreciated!”

“While telling the ugly one this,” one of the other loungers added, “tell also that bathing would help too.”

“His stench would be improved if the bathing was done in anything but a middens heap,” she tacked on, as though helpfully.

“Are those bowls full of sour grains?” the pacing Kaiva responded, irritation evident. “This one finds your merriment unfounded.”

It was at this point that one of the intoxicated male humans craned his neck so that he faced the Kaiva, this one shouted, “Speak common, godslicking cats!”

The Kaiva who paced, he clicked his tongue in irritation. He addressed the man. “Then our quarry has been found?” the Kaiva asked. “Otherwise, this one has no reasonable thing to speak of in common,” he finished with the Kaivan word for common, which left his whiskered lips sounding more similar to a curse than anything else. The natural vehemence left me suspicious of the etymology of the word.

“Your princess?” One of the more sober men jumped in with a sneer. “Of course not! You would know if we had.”

The Kaiva had ceased pacing, instead making a show of inspecting his claws. He flicked an imaginary piece of grime off while he paused, apparently giving thought to his words. When they came, they were surprisingly civil, given the hostile language that the humans had used. I supposed this civility may have been enforced by the fact that the Kaiva were guests here, or that the humans outnumbered the Kaiva two to one. The fact that the Kaiva could speak civilly in common in the first place seemed strange; he bore no collar and gave no impression of ever having been enslaved and trained. I grew curious regarding their circumstances, though not curious enough to seek answers immediately, though I did remain there eavesdropping.

“Then,” the Kaiva said, “Our deal is unfulfilled and these ones will speak the language of our pleasure.” The way he rolled his r’s almost sounded like a purr, though I thought that may have been a deliberate affixation. “Keep your peace, human.”

“Ugh,” the sober human groaned, spitting on the floor to the side. “Uppity cats.”

The Kaiva’s whiskers pinched forward and their hind-claws dragged across the stone. One of the lounging Kaiva hissed, though they spoke nothing beyond their obvious displeasure.

The man, sensing that his guests may have been nearing the point where civility was forgotten and hostilities commenced, held both his hands up with his palms forward, knocking over a tankard at the same time, to the cursing of the man that the drink spilled upon.

“Hey, you hired us,” the most sober of the men said. “Don’t go makin’ threats.” He took a moment to swipe most of the spill to the side, sending a wave of it onto the sputtering and intoxicated man. “Would hate it if some Knights found you, yeah?” He finished, giving the Kaiva a mean look.

“Threats?” the Kaiva hissed. “Your solution to our inquiry, to our offense at your demeaning language, is to make threats?!”

So, the Opals were hosting the group of Kaiva. They were not a single unified group, but at least two separate. What purpose had drawn them together, I wondered. Naturally, I was also curious about the nature of this princess; I doubted they spoke of Princess Marissa, though she was the only princess I was aware of visiting Southbridge.

“Woah, there… I wouldn’t call ‘em threats, not exactly,” the man said, holding up his hands though still remaining firm. “But we are business associates, and some courtesy goes a long ways, yeah? Just speak a language me an’ the boys can speak too, is all I’m asking.”

The Kaiva clicked his tongue again before smoothing his snarl and finally saying, “very well.”

From there, the conversation once more divided and descended into puerile worthlessness. I remained eavesdropping, however, following all sets of conversation the best I could. At several points, conversation once more merged upon more important topics, although these moments were fleeting.

One of the intoxicated humans slurred out a complaint before belching.

“Don’t understand how we haven’t found a distinctive cat yet, but we’ve been looking, and there’ve been sightings. Won’t be long now till we narrow her down and close in…”

At the same time, one of the Kaiva asked loudly, interjecting a question in addition to the princess.

“And the other?” the pacing Kaiva asked insistently. “The spirit core?”

The least intoxicated human made an unflattering guttural noise. “It’s still in Kwin City,” he said. “Not even sure it’ll come this way. Not sure it would be worth the heat if it did. More trouble than it’s worth. Even succeedin’ld be a death warrant.”

The Kaiva clicked his tongue and tapped the padding of his foot on the stone in anxious thought.

“This one understands,” the Kaiva said. “Though it would be most welcome to gain, and a bonus would be provided.”

“I bet,” the man scoffed. “But that sort’ll get armies and inquisition comin’ after our balls. Would need plenty of pay and a place to spend it, if ya catch my drift…”

The Kaiva performed an odd wiggle that I had difficulty parsing.

“This could be provided,” the Kaiva said. “For such a gift, the bearers would live as kings among our humans.”

The man crooked his jaw and worked through the Kaiva’s words, before finally grunting.

“You’ve got humans down there?” he asked.

“Naturally. Our empire is far more advanced than given credit for… It is only natural that we have… plenty.”

The way the Kaiva finished left a chill crawling down my spine, which in turn reminded me that my time was not unlimited, and that eventually that the lookout may realize he had been drugged.

And there were still other things I wished to do while visiting the Opal’s den. I decided to turn back and visit some of the side passages, particularly the better decorated chambers. This loosely might have been termed scouting, though less flatteringly it would be termed burglary.

During this diversion, I found several store rooms and one with a lockbox.

I picked my way through to quickly find the most valuable objects that were also the easiest to carry. Once more, I remembered my ratio of value to volume. Of course, I could not always accurately judge this, but some objects were easier than others, such as an arcbow I found, which was what the humans called their artificed crossbows. In the safe, I found several sealed letters, which likely contained either blackmail material or valuable intel. An ornamental knife that contained several gemstones was also chosen, though I remained dubious on if the gemstones were anything more than glass baubles. And finally, I looted every Charger I came across, though most of them had already been spent.

Finally, I followed another well-traveled path, and this time I discovered another exit, this one into an even slummier building, the backroom of a gambling tavern.

As I was running short on time, and as the Opals would eventually discover they had been burglarized at some point, I decided to leave promptly and boldly, exiting through the gambling tavern as though I belonged there.

While I pushed my way out, I only had to ignore four lecherous calls and one concerned bouncer. But by the time I breezed past the entryway, I was already gone, sprinting down alleys and finally climbing to the rooftops, where I continued my journey above and beyond most of the slums. When I reached the divide, I crossed over and merged into the rest of the foot traffic, making the rest of my way in the crowd’s obscurity.

Once again, I found myself working my night-shift.

I almost felt it laughable, that Ma found it necessary for her to pay for protection. Other than the first night, I had not seen any hostile actions towards the establishment. Though, perhaps that was due to my presence, as inconsistent as it was.

A part of me considered once more prowling towards Baron’s Estate, however, I felt I had had enough ventures for one day. Thus, I remained on the rooftops near Ma’Ritz. I thought it best to avoid traveling too far, as I had a sneaking suspicion I would be visited. In preparation for this, I had left a sack filled with my earlier excursions stowed away in a remote corner. As I whiled away my time, I practiced ribbon fighting, dancing across the uneven rooftops and balustrades in flowing leaps and pirouettes. I doubted the efficacy of doing so in combat, but it provided a somewhat productive diversion.

And then, an hour before I would have retired, I received the expected visitor; my foresight had paid off.

As I was expecting her, when I saw a shadow cross the street, coming from the chasm-side of Blossom Hill, I respooled my ribbon, hung it from my belt, quickly grabbed my sack of ill-gotten gains, and I climbed down from the rooftops to intercept her.

By the time I was moving to meet her, she was already at the back of Ma’Ritz, looking up towards my usual perch on that rooftop.

Interesting, I thought.

I sprung from perhaps five yards up and landed in a soft crouch behind Belobog. Since I came from a different rooftop than the one she had been expecting me, my sudden appearance startled her. She jumped and twirled with a hand to her chest and another hand to a hidden holster. She quickly realized who I was, near immediately, and she relaxed, letting her hands fall loose to her sides. She resumed a confident posture, if a bit disheveled.

“Oh,” she said, a false disinterest lacing her voice. “Didn’t recognize you at first. New Talent?”

I shrugged, wondering if her surprised reaction came as a result of a synergy between Flexibility and Stealth. Since Belobog could somehow detect minds as part of her psychic toolkit. It should have been more difficult for me to arrive without her prior notice. It was not as though I had been attempting to jump-scare the girl. In fact, I would have rather kept such an ability hidden from my enforced allies.

None of these thoughts were shared. Rather than elaborating, I gave her a noncommittal humm as an answer.

Near unbidden, a brief memory of exultation replayed through my mind. The sensation of air wind rushing by, kissing my cheeks. I had leapt from tenuous rails to fragile singles, spinning my ribbon about me all the while. The practice of grace and dexterity had left my night far richer.

“Have you always practiced the urumi?” Belobog asked, drawing me back from the phantom sensations, though an undercurrent of the memory remained, almost caressing my thoughts as I replied.

Flexibility: 5/9 (+1)

“Hm?” I answered, before realizing her eyes were resting upon my ribbon’s hilt. “Urumi? I fear I am unfamiliar with the term.”

“Serious?” Belobog asked, somewhat incredulous. “What else you calling it?”

“A battle-ribbon, I believe it was termed when I first picked the weapon up.”

“Nu-huh. That’s dumb. Why call it that?” A frown slipped across her face, revealing an irritation that ran deeper than I would have otherwise expected.

I decided to change the topic from a potential mire.

“I doubt you visited to discuss etymology,” I said, shrugging to belay casualness. “Though your arrival was timed fortunately.” I held the sack full from my earlier gains for her to inspect. Naturally, this caught her interest, though not completely.

“Yeah, whatever,” she grumbled. “Why should I care about what some imperials steal and ruin a cultural artifact of esteem. What do I care? Swamp-sucking–”

Rather than endure this embarrassing tantrum, I shook the sack once more. The clacking of Chargers, the shuffling of papers, and the weight of the artificed weaponry stole her attention.

“Right. Whatcha got?” she asked mercurially; I assumed this had to have been a false front of hers, but I refrained from comment.

Against careful judgment, I tossed the sack the short distance between us, potentially losing possession as a bartering point. However, providing a modicum of trust would likely improve relations and hence rewards, and all without giving up anything that I had not actually had in the first place. Afterall, so long as I attempted to integrate into polite society, I would be at the mercy of Belobog’s organization. Mothersworn extortionists, I thought without irony.

When she finished peaking through the sack of spent Chargers and other, less fluid, goods, she glanced back towards me with a smirk.

“How much will this be worth?” I asked. A portion of me wanted to put these goods towards buying my way out from their organization’s influence, however, the rest of me corrected that minority of my thoughts of that naivety. That was not how such organizations operated.

“I’ll need to see what Joe says, but probably more than some loose change.”

An interesting phrase that she used, but I took the hint. “Should I plan a visit? I find my schedule rather tight lately.”

She scoffed. “Can’t be too tight if you have time to take side gigs,” she said, waving the sack once more. “Where’d you even find this?”

“I am hesitant to use such dramatic language,” I said, attempting to overcome my embarrassment. “But earlier today I visited an underground hideout near the Kaiva Quarter of the slums.”

“That’s not an unofficial quarter,” she said, almost a playful banter. “But I think I know the spot… but you were careful, yeah?” She sounded slightly more concerned than previously; I could not be sure of the genuineness of her display. “I’m not gonna find any angry crews gunning for me over this, right?”

That self-interest sounded far more believable.

“Unlikely, unless you advertise those letters, whatever they contain.”

“Should be good then…” she tapped her chin, pursing her lips in faux-thought. “You’re not taking jobs for anyone else though, right? Can’t afford mixed loyalties in this business, you know?”

I exhaled and deflated slightly. This angle of hers ought to have been anticipated. Of course she would be nervous if I was taking on jobs independently. She could hardly afford to have her asset burned before she had the chance to do so herself. I decided that this was one of those rare instances in which honesty would serve me best.

“It started as a personal favor to track someone down,” I said.

“That somehow ended with you infiltrating a smuggler’s den?” she asked, sounding somewhat disbelieving. “I might need more details than that.”

Unbidden, I found myself thinking of the white Kaiva I had seen in the meat-shop, and hearing Cook’s favor to find the mysterious previous employer. If the replaying memories were due to Belobog or my own Marks, I could not be certain.

“Yet, I find myself a believer. A white one, huh?” Belobog mused. “I might be able to help with that. Let me ask around a bit. Anything to get ahead of the crews is good for business anyways.”

“You would do this for me?” I asked, unsure if her motives were as she said. I could only assume that she had additional reasons. “I assumed this would be a trifle for my coworker, to repay a simple favor. It has grown, somewhat, beyond that.”

“Yeah… no,” Belobog shook her head. “There’s something more going on here, and it would probably be best for me to take over.”

I narrowed my eyes.

“Nothing ‘gainst you, of course!” she said quickly. “You’ve got the chops, for sure. It’s just that this type of stuff fits my skill-set. Yours is best left to other tasks…”

She tapped the side of her temple, and I noticed that her hair band had come askew at some point. It would be difficult to notice from anywhere but up close and directly before her, considering she wore a hood, but the cloth band was crooked, and one of the mounds that was normally covered was partially visible. The mound reflected the dim lamplight just slightly, appearing both glossy and crystalline.

How had I not noticed this before? Was Belobog a deviant? Or was she something other than human…

As those thoughts flitted across my surface thoughts, Belobog frowned and corrected the hairband, once more hiding the mounds and whatever it was they implied.

“Hey, focus,” she said, snapping her fingers. A dull pressure left my gaze following her fingers. “Where were we… right,” she said, nodding as though everything made complete sense.

“I’ll take over finding out more about this Kaiva of yours,” she said, not so much as offering as stating a forgone conclusion, “and you can start making plans for that job we’ve been planning.”

I frowned. This job that they had been planning, that they had somewhat extorted me into committing myself to, was not a job that I would normally have taken on. The risk was too high, and the reward could not have been commensurate.

“Hey, none of these second thoughts,” Belobog said, likely reading my mind. “You owe us, remember?”

My frown only grew.

“Ugh, of course. No loyalty among thieves, yeah?” she muttered, as though that would compel me to do her bidding. “Would it matter if I told you it pays really well?”

“I find my current circumstances satisfactory,” I said. “I doubt any sum of Chargers would encourage me to take upon myself such risk.”

She smirked, “Really? Not gonna go for some Cee then?”

I shook my head.

“Well, that’s good,” she said, her smirk only growing. “Cuz the job doesn’t pay in anything like that.”

I rolled my eyes. “If the job fails to pay, then no amount of leverage could entice me to–”

She held up a hand to forestall my protest. “Easy, I didn’t say that it doesn’t pay. I said it doesn’t pay in Cee.”

“Then what will it pay?” I asked. My interest had been piqued. And, I justified to myself, it was not as though I truly had a choice in the matter, not if I wished to continue my current circumstances.

“Well… so fun bit a trivia here,” she began. “...The Baron is holding a contest soon, to find the most martial of the mercenaries, or just anyone that can scrap. It will be bloody and violent and a good show altogether…”

Disgust nearly overwhelmed me.

“I will not fight for you,” I said with not an undue amount of vehemence. “I am certainly no savage as to join in any uncouth blood-sport. The barbary of–”

She groaned as I may have gone on overlong. “Fine, whatever. You don’t like bloodsports. I get that. It’s a good thing we aren’t asking you to do anything like that. That’s just context for the job, y’know? Call it flavoring, or whatev. Intel, yeah?”

I groaned, rubbing my forehead. I found dealing with Belobog difficult, and this impression only grew worse with exposure to her.

“The reason I’m telling you all this is that the Baron will be offering a hefty prize to encourage all of those that will be fighting…”

That… that did make sense. If people of ability would be submitting themselves to such danger, then surely the prize must be desirable. Though, I had enough sense to realize that there existed plenty of fools that were willing to enter unfavorable battles for the scant possibility of payment, even if that payment were merely Chargers.

“If this prize is indeed that, such a prize, then why would your organization ever permit their employed thief to remain in possession once the job is complete?”

“Worried we’ll backstab you, huh?” she asked.

My silence on the matter should have been answer enough.

“Well, so I’m gonna go out on a limb and explain some things. First, you’re crazy good as a burglar or a cat-thief, a second story-man, so to say. It’d be dumb for us to throw a long-term and quality tool away for a quick buck, so to say. Laverna’s all about investing in promising individuals, yeah?”

I may have scoffed. As though I would believe any of that. Of course, I knew my own worth. But the level of investment that Belobog was speaking of went above and beyond what criminals would typically keep. Normally, they sought immediate profits and pleasure.

“Cuz they’re idiots, J.”

I narrowed my eyes once more. “I fail to recall granting liberties with my name.”

“Yeah, whatever. So, like I was saying, we’d be dumb to throw you out like that. Besides, our current patron’s seeking to undermine the baron here, and isn’t really after the prize itself. It gives us some latitude to work with, yeah?”

I nodded slowly, my mouth suddenly running dry. I understood what she was saying, furthermore, I understood how she was manipulating the conversation and I could anticipate the response she expected from me. Nevermind the fact that I had no way to verify any of what she was saying. If what she was claiming was accurate, then her organization was likely even more troublesome than I had initially thought.

If their motive was to actively destabilize a region, then they were political catspaws themselves. Depending on their methods, they might even be loosely termed a terror-cell, though that likely would have been a bit of a stretch.

Regardless, I was loath to go any further for them.

However, another thought occurred to me: If Belobog could find a certain Kaiva, then could she also help track down Emboru’s sibling? And if Belobog herself was a catspaw, then perhaps she would become desperate for allies, which would improve my own bargaining leverage.

All of these thoughts came crashing down once Belobog finished smirking and explained the prize that was on the line, that the baron was hoarding away in his manor under lock and key. What she said next drew my attention to a honed edge.

“How do you feel about a grimoire?”

She finished with a maddening smirk, almost vulpine.

Blessings: Rank (1/9)

Body: 65

Mind: 75

Spirit: 49

False Arm (Replacing Blessings)

4 Tendrils, approximately 1.5 yards in length, unspooled.

Talents:

Athleticism I (2/9):

Climbing I (5/9)

Featherlight I (4/9)

Inversion (2/9)

Gymnastics (4/9)

Stealth I (8/9)

Trackless Tracks I (4/9)

Area Coverage (6/9)

Alchemical Immunity (ineligible for growth)

Eschiver I (3/9)

Evasion I (2/9)

Impending Sense (4/9)

Lucky Break I (1/9)

Chance Encounter (2/9) (+1)

Courtly Dancing: Treachery (2/9)

Flexibility (5/9) (+3)

Spells:

Illusion I (5/9)

Touch (8/9)

Guise of the Kitsune (8/9)

Closed

Gifts:

Obsession (4/9)

Closed (0/9)

Closed (0/9)