The rotting warehouse within Shadowfen’s old walls resounded with the pounding echo of slapping flesh and cracking bones. With each hit Torden took, the more addled his head became, the dwarf’s eyes going cross as he took another heavy blow to the cheek. The smell of alcohol and vomit filled his nose, stuck in the heavy beard braided to his face, the natural auburn blotched with shades of bile. His tunic and breeches were in a similar state, the once-white linen browned from age and dirt.

“Where’s the money, you damned dirt mouth?” Torden’s assailant pulled his fist back for another blow, stopping only as a heavy hand gripped his shoulder.

“That’s enough for now. Anymore and you’ll kill the drunk.” The man pulled away from Torden, replaced by the bullish face of their leader, Rasfin. “Hello again, Torden.” The minotaur crouched low, his snout blowing hot air into the dwarf’s muddled face. “How are you feeling, old pal?”

Cocking an eyebrow, Torden snorted, spitting a gob of blood and spattering Rasfin’s snout. “Doin’ jus fine, ole Rassy.”

Rasfin stood, huffing and glaring. “So it’s like that, I see.” With a meaty fist, he struck Torden, knocking him to the ground.

The ropes keeping Torden secured to the wooden chair strained as the dwarf clattered to the ground, a hairline fracture cracking along the back post. Coughing up blood and phlegm, Torden looked up at Rasfin with a toothy grin. “Wot’s wrong? Was just keepin yer nose all moist fer ya, is all.”

Grunting, Rasfin turned on his hoof, “Ivor, watch the oaf for a while. When he sobers up again, we’ll interrogate him properly. If he can’t pay us back the rest of the silver, then I’m sure we can find some kind of use for his body.”

Ivor nodded, his fists still stained red with Torden’s blood. “Will do, boss.”

Torden grimaced, pulling against the ropes, hearing the subtle creaking of wood splitting as the crack in the chair widened.

* * *

Gregory grunted as he lifted the metal crate, the weapons within rattling and scraping the container’s inner walls, the cacophony bouncing around the small storage room, warbling against every crate and tin stacked around the room’s perimeter. The raucous noise was dampened only by the scrolls lining the shelves, each sheaf of parchment neatly rolled and bound with knots of string. After slamming the crate down on the bottom shelf, Gregory stretched and yawned, pushing his thumbs into the base of his back.

So enveloped in his own exhaustion that he failed to hear the door whisper open, panning his eyes across the neatly ordered shelves that he spent his days organizing. Nodding to himself, satisfied with the morning’s work, Gregory turned–

A knife held to his neck as a hand slammed him against the shelf, scrolls tumbling from their pyramidal stacks as crates shook and bounced against their neighbours. “Scream, and I kill you.” The voice burned with malice, almost hissing, each word as sharp as the tips of the man’s crystalline gauntlets.

Gregory froze, a bead of sweat tumbling down his temple. “What–”

The ambusher put the barest pressure against Gregory’s neck, drawing a thin line of blood that ran down the length of his weapon. “You will speak only when I tell you to. Answer my question clearly, and you get to live. Lie to me, or tell me that you don’t know what I want to know, and you die.”

There was no question, not even a threat in the stranger’s words. Only a warning. Gregory swallowed, nodding as he desperately clung to whatever composure he could muster.

“Good. Now, where’s Rat Ears?”

Gregory bit back a retort, gulping down his breath to calm his nerves. “They… you leave this room and take a left. Their room is five, or maybe six, doors down, I don’t remember exactly.”

The stranger held his ground, grinding the blade against Gregory’s neck. “Is there anything else I should know? A secret knock? Password? Any traps?”

“What? No. No! Of course not. We’re just–” Gregory’s mouth filled with blood as the stranger slit his throat, a trail of crimson following the blade’s arc. Toppling to his knees, body shivering, vision going blurry, Gregory covered his neck with his hands. Blood seeped between his fingers, running down his arms and staining his tunic red.

“Thanks for the information,” the stranger said as Gregory died, tumbling face first into a pool of his own blood.

* * *

Talon bent down, wiping his dagger clean on the thug’s pants, the corpse’s gurgling filling the small room. Staying low, eyes closed, he listened.

The old building creaked and whined, the decrepit wood that made up the walls waterlogged and rotting from within, ceiling held aloft solely by the stone brickwork that continued to hold strong. The floor had been replaced as needed, the scurrying rats underneath all the reason to keep the boards strong and fresh. Old parchment mixed with the scent of oil and iron, the blood coagulating into the floor overpowering the storage room’s more subtle smells.

Noting nothing of dire importance, Talon stood, slipping out into the hall. The scent of blood followed him, dissipating as he latched the door behind him. The hall was clear, the doors lining its length staying undisturbed. If anyone were nearby, they didn’t care to check out the small disturbance.

Strolling down the corridor, past doors both old and new, Talon placed his hand atop the fifth. The plain, iron door stood stock still, the room within quiet save for a muffled scritching. Pushing the door open, he was assaulted by the stench of unwashed fur, urine, and the unmistakable tang of mold. Wax candles circled the room, filling it with light and smoke, the subtle effects a pleasant undertone to the more blatant filth pervading Talon’s senses.

A lone figure sat in the middle of the room, paper scattered across the floor, scanning the contents of one before tossing it to the ground and scraping the ground for another. A rough snout, more scar tissue than flesh, sniffed the paper, dragging mucus across its inked surface. Dirty nails held the sheaf with a delicacy belying the creature’s rough appearance. With an annoyed chitter, it threw the paper over its shoulder, replacing the parchment with its next round of random scrabbling.

Talon slammed the door behind him, the figure’s large ears twitching. “You must be Rat Ears,” Talon said.

“Mmmm, yesssss… Heard you. Kill what’s-his-name down the hall. Bull will be angryyyyy.” The ratman looked over his shoulder, beady eyes looking Talon up and down. Its thin tail unfurled from its waist, whipping the floorboards. “You look for me. What you want? Am busy, yes yes.”

Crossing his arms, Talon got to the point. “I’m looking for someone. Heard you have a particular talent for knowing things like that.”

Chittering, Rat Ears went back to sniffing its pile of parchment. “Hmmmmm. Know many someone. Must be more… specifiiiiic.”

“A mage, in black robes.” Talon took a step forward, hands flexing. “Last seen carrying a large case on his back.”

Laying his own burden down for a moment, Rat Ears sniffed the air, smoke filling his nostrils. Breathing through his nose, the smoke reappeared, tinted a deep purple. “Yesssss. Me knows, I do. Came through fen of shadows he did.”

Talon took another step, baring his teeth in anticipation. “Where did he go?”

Spinning around to face Talon, Rat Ears crawled close on all fours, claws digging into the pitted wood. Sniffing Talon, Rat Ears licked his snout, “Information never freeeeee. Offer met for knowledge gained.”

Talon took a step back, hand trailing towards his dagger. “What do you want?”

Sniffing more, Rat Ears circled around, tongue flicking out. “Much I smell on youuuu. Mmmmm… gold, silver, steel… strange something. New smell.” Rubbing his nose against Talon’s gauntlets, the ratman hissed. “Magic. Oooooold.”

“Don’t lay your filthy paws on those!” Talon jerked his hand back, snarling, more feral than the ratling before him. “You want payment, fine. I’ve gold aplenty, so just take it.”

Retreating a step, Rat Ears held his arms up in a placating gesture, “Want no gold. Want no magic too! Clean. Too cleannnnnn.”

“What do you want then? And speak quickly, I’m losing what remains of my patience.” Talon relaxed his posture, fingers brushing against his dagger’s pommel.

“Liiiiife.” Reaching up, Rat Ears brushed his claws against the strands of hair falling from Talon’s hood. “Blood tainted. Power within the bloooood.”

Brushing off the dirty paw, Talon tugged his hood tighter in around his face. “I hope you realize that’s my hair, and not my blood.”

“Blood tainted!” Rat Ears shrieked, scurrying around the floor before picking up a random piece of parchment and shoving it into his mouth. The paper crunched and crinkled in their mouth, tongue becoming black as the ink stained its tongue, pupils dilating. The ratman thrashed around, tail whipping across its own body before they spit the paper out, beating its hands against the floor. “Blood tainted! Fitting price!”

Grabbing his dagger, Talon was halfway to unsheathing it when Rat Ears stopped.

Becoming still as a statue and quiet as a whisper, Rat Ears stared at Talon. “Strands three for knowledge seeked. Terms are these, less none.”

Talon found his back pressed against the door, unaware that he had been backing away. Swallowing down the lump in his throat, he fought to regain his composure. “Why my hair? What use does that have to you?”

Rat Ears made no attempt to answer, staring, eyes still for the first time.

Growling, Talon ripped off his hood, waves of silver cascading over his shoulders. “Fine.” Counting out three strands, Talon plucked them between thumb and finger, grunting against the quick snap of pain. “Now take them, and give me what I came for,” Talon demanded, holding the hair before him.

Padding forward, Rat Ears held his hands out, eyes wide as the hairs dropped into his palms. “Yessss. Life. Blood tainted.” Turning around, cradling the strands like they were his children, Rat Ears took cautious steps towards the other side of the room. An ornate box sat on a rickety table, the small container the only piece of furniture not covered in teeth and claw marks. Its varnished surface played against the dull candlelight, rippling as Rat Ears swung its golden hinges open. Inside were a small collection of teeth both human and not, rotting ears and tongues, and knots of hair. Blonde, auburn, black, and now the shimmering strands of silver that Rat Ears dropped into the box. With a chittering laugh, he closed the box.

A tingling sensation ran across Talon’s scalp, like boney fingers raking through his hair. Gritting his teeth through the strange sensation, Talon spoke to distract himself from the pounding dread creeping into his head. “Great, so you got what you wanted. Now it’s time to give me what I want.”

Looking over his shoulder, a haze disappeared from the ratman’s eyes. “Yessss, yes. Deal made, deals to be maaaade.” Turning around, Rat Ears crouched down, snout snuffling through the ocean of scattered paper, tongue lashing out to lick the occasional sheaf.

Talon covered his nose, a sickly sweet scent of rot beginning to overpower the candle smoke blanketing the room.

Rat Ears licked another piece of parchment, scabbed-over tongue dragging against the rough surface. His limbs froze in place, head cocking to the side as he tentatively tasted it a few more times. Nodding to himself, he picked it up with care, scuttling over to Talon. “Information seeked, information founnnnd.”

Talon took the parchment, batting off the fleas from its surface before scanning its contents. The letters were scribbled with too much ink, creating splotches in places that made the inconsistent and warped alphabet far more difficult to decipher. “I can’t read this at all!” Talon growled, tossing the paper at Rat Ears. “Decipher your blasted handwriting! Or I swear by every god that can hear me that your disgusting life ends right here and now.”

Scrambling, Rat Ears caught the thrown paper, scanning its contents with its eyes. “It saysssss,” he hissed, eyes wide and darting, “that the seeked passed through here – the fennnn of shadows – not three monthssss ago. North headed, he did.”

“North? Is that the best you can give me? Do you have any idea what’s north? The whole bloody rest of Udrela, you pest!” Talon drew his dagger, taking a step forward. “Are you even sure that it’s him?”

Rat Ears hissed, jumping back, eyes never leaving the contents of his parchment. “Yessss. Black wear, casket on baaaack. Headed forrrr… the Marble cityyyy.”

Cupping his chin, Talon sheathed his weapon. “Marble city? …Do you mean Marbleton? You must, yes. It’s large, plenty of places to hide, and with plenty of people… plenty of fuel.” Nodding, Talon turned from the ratman. “Pray to whoever you wish that we never meet again, and say nothing of my being here.” Talon thought briefly of slaying the putrid creature, but disposed of the notion as soon as it crossed his mind. He may have need of the vermin’s skills in the future, after all.

It was only as he stepped from the room, and the door shut behind him, that Talon felt the burning eyes of a hundred rats leave him. He wiped his face with the back of his sleeve, sweat staining the gray wool. Cursing himself for his cowardice, he made his way back down the hall.

A rattling of wood preceded a sharp yelp from behind one of the dozen doors, the frame shaking as something slammed against the closed entryway. Talon drew his dagger as a few lighter impacts battered the door, crouching into a combat stance as it burst open, a roaring dwarf knocking a human down to the ground with his burly fists.

The two rolled around the hall, lungs working overtime as they beat and bruised one another. Using his stouter build, the dwarf overpowered the human and stayed on top, vomit-stained beard blocking the other man’s vision. With a series of hooks to the human’s skull, resounding cracks echoing down the hall, the dwarf knocked out his adversary cold. Standing proud, fists raised into the air, he shouted. “Yarghhh! You face da might o’ Torden Ironfist! Don’cha ever forget dat.” With one hand on his hip, the dwarf pointed dramatically down at the unconscious human.

Talon couldn’t help but respond, “What in the name of Los are you doing?”

Torden snapped his head towards Talon, a moment of clarity crossing through his hazy eyes. His mouth opened to speak, but was interrupted by the synchronized clattering of doors swinging open, knobs slamming against the walls and leaving dents in the poor wood.

“Intruders!”

“The dwarf’s escaping!”

Talon and Torden looked at the thugs filing out into the hall, then back at each other, a moment of understanding passing between them. Without a word, they ran, fleeing their would-be captors.