It was supper time in the humble common room of the Pot and Kettle, a crossroads inn squarely between somewhere better and anywhere else. Nominally it belonged to the village of Holly-on-Green but in practice few of the villagers visited here unless they were looking for trouble. It was too rough and tumble and they preferred to gather in the common house that bordered the tidy village green instead. The Pot and Kettle had become the haunt of travelers, merchants, and, of course, Adventurers.

  Three of such folk had claimed the rickety table in the dimmest corner of the inn, hunching over mugs of the cheapest ale the place served and waiting for the stew they’d ordered to be finished. They were here to cause trouble. Pure and simple. They had little coin between them and fewer morals. Whatever had drawn them initially to the adventuring life, they were no longer heeding it’s call but only their baser instincts.

  "Did you sense anything magical?” The shortest and nimblest of them looked at his robed companion, then past him into the crowded common room. Plenty of targets, one of them had to have something of value to acquire.

  “Yes, a little. There, at the bar, there’s a sheen of magic across that one.” The robed man scratched his scalp, stringy blond hair shifting with the motion. He didn't bother to turn in his seat, trusting his magical senses. “Could just be because he’s Ley-Scarred though.”

  All three spat in unison, a gesture to ward off evil.

  “Damn demons.” The biggest of the number rubbed a thick thumb against his crooked nose. “Nothing but trouble. Bet if we cut his horns off we could get a bounty for them. You know noble-folk, they'll pay more for a glossy pair like those.” He was a mountain of muscle with a thin layer of blubber over it, surprising considering they'd been eating clipped meals as their coin had run thin.

  The man who’d drawn their attention seemed unaware of it, deep in an animated conversation with the innkeeper. His long ivory hair was drawn up in the high tail and side braid style of the Far North, his twisted horns and scattered scales reflecting firelight like polished obsidian. The innkeeper said something that caused him to choke on his ale in laughter, their joy swallowed by the bubbling conversation of the common room.

  The short man shook his head. “Look at that bumpkin, doesn’t know the way the wind is blowing. Consorting with something like that. And that demon, flaunting himself, it’s disgusting.” A shudder shook his lithe frame. "I can't stand it."

  “I hear that up near the border they’re paying a bounty in gold for their heads, his might fetch us a good price.” The large man scratched his wiry beard, beady eyes narrowing. “What do you say Nils? Benedict?”

  “You’re thinking too small Hugo. I know plenty of mages who’d pay a handsome price for his pieces. It’s getting rarer and rarer to find the obvious ones like him.” Benedict’s smile was nothing short of predatory. "Some reagents are always in short supply, especially when you've got the Church changing it's tune and preaching mercy policies."

  Nils squinted, producing a dagger from somewhere to pick his nails with. “He’s alone. Apparently he’s a potion peddler, sold his wares in town and is now heading back to his place.” The small man kept watching, reading the lips of the pair at the bar to glean this information. “Someone’s waiting for him though so no matter what, they’ll notice him gone.”

  “And what will they do about it? He’s one of those things, they get attacked on the road all the time. His fault for thinking peaceful meant safe.” Benedict's voice was mild, a hand moving to stroke his thin chin. “If we’re quick about it, there won’t be much of anything to find.”

  It was clear this wasn’t the first time this crew had done something like this. The cold way they assessed their target, the plan they discussed in low tones, each settling into a neat role. When the dinner they’d been waiting for arrived, their conversation slipped smoothly from talk of committing murder to talk of the troubles at the border. They kept it up till the bar maid was well away. After all, they'd gone through all the trouble of picking the coldest table in the dimmest corner for the isolation. It was the worst spot in the inn after all, nobody was anywhere near.

  As much as they too would have wanted to crowd around the fire, it wasn't practical. Not when your night had started with the plan to rob someone blind via picking their pockets or later ambush. Their plans might have gotten a violent upgrade but that only made their seating choice more important. More optimal.

  Nils kept an eye on the Ley-Scarred man, taking in the details of him even as his gaze was seemingly locked on Benedict who was sitting with his back to the man. It was always his job to scout the targets, pick up on the little details Hugo was too dull to notice and Benedict was too distracted to. Not that it was a problem, each of the three had their strengths. It just so happened that lip reading and information gathering were Nils' specialty.

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  Their target had a tall frame, strong shoulders, and a build obscured by well worn traveling clothes. One eye was hidden behind a sweep of cloth, a common choice for Northern folk who’d lost one in battle or accident. The innkeeper was familiar with him, comfortable with him, meaning he was no simple traveler but a regular at the establishment. His tail was long and lean, scaled with a few points off the spade-shaped end. He flicked it up and out of the way any time someone passed by and didn’t let it drag the floor.

  Half a candle later, Nils interrupted an argument Benedict and Hugo were having about a previous job in Kingsreach. “He’s finished his meal and is winding down to leave, time to make our own packing show.” The compact man had left a few swigs in his mug and now finished them as though it were the most natural thing in the world.

  It was Hugo that went first though, letting out a belch as he stood. “I need to go take a p-”

  “I don’t want to hear it you oaf. Relieve yourself without announcing it.” Benedict wrinkled his nose, a hand fluttering to cut the big man off. “I’ll settle the bill.”

  Nils watched the two break off and then got up with a sigh, pulling his hood up as he made his way toward the door after Hugo. He shot a glance at Benedict as he went, then slipped his eyes to the target’s back one last time. He still seemed unaware.

  Benedict paid the Ley-Scarred man at his elbow no mind, rummaging in the folds of his outer robe till he found his purse and shook out a few copper coins. This close his body hair was standing on end. He swore he was going to catch something from the demon on the stool an arms’ length away. Like whatever had polluted his bloodline could somehow twist Benedict’s as well.

  It was then the mark stood, towering a head above Benedict. His clawed fingers dropped a few russet coins on the countertop, a smile warming his stern features. “Well Baor, I’d best get going now. Lei will scold me if I’m home too late.”

  The innkeeper paused counting Benedict’s coins, returning the smile. “Travel safe Mir! See you next moon.”

  Just like that, the next step of their plan was in action.

  Hugo seemingly paid no attention to the man when he passed him, too busy emptying his bladder against the outer gate post, letting out a groan of relief. Nils’ sharp ears picked up on the noise where he stood with the horses, prompting a call over.

  “Are you done?”

  That was cue for Benedict who was a few steps late exiting the inn, making his way over to where Nils was. All smooth, all careful, all orchestrated to keep their prey unaware as he made his way up the road.

  He was on foot, that was good for them. It meant that they could linger longer around the inn, letting him get almost out of sight up the road, before following after. There was no rush, allowing for plenty of time to pass and the inn to become a speck behind them. The only odd thing was for the three of them to be riding out into the night instead of staying at the inn. Easily explained if one looked at their funds later.

  What wasn’t so easily explained is why they didn’t seem to be catching up to the man ahead of them. Nils was the first to notice, realizing something was wrong as that figure always seemed to be the same distance from them. “...Benedict, check for magic.”

  The robed man blinked and went to move. Everything suddenly froze. No, that wasn't quite right. They froze. The night wind still rustled through the leaves of the nearby trees, sharp with the teeth of oncoming Winter. The clouds still rippled with the light of the newly risen moon, moving across the sky like content sheep. But their horses were mid stride and not one of them could will their limbs to move. They couldn't even shut their eyes.

  “That took you three a pathetically long amount of time to notice.”

  The voice was that bass from the bar, the barely heard rumble that had laughed and chatted with the innkeeper. The far off figure vanished in a shred of shadow and from the corner of their eyes they noticed their actual target leaning against a tree trunk. That one eye gleamed with a cold malice.

  They were lifted up, hanging in the air as their horses were suddenly freed and let run. He stood, watching the animals go, his hands behind his back. “My husband doesn’t like me hurting animals, they’re innocent. Personally, innocence doesn’t really make a difference in the equation but it costs me nothing to keep him happy. By the time anyone gets a Wildspeaker to talk to those animals, they won’t remember.”

  The drop to the ground was short but awful. With their bodies frozen they could make no effort to catch themselves. Not even instinctive actions to adjust and protect vitals. There was pain, no doubt, but the man called Mir just leaned over them like a father staring at collapsed children.

  “Did you really think I had no idea? In a world full of fools who perpetuate mindless and pointless evil and cruelty against people half as 'interesting' as myself, did you think I wouldn’t notice the staring? That I wouldn’t hear your whispers? You severely overestimated yourselves. Or, perhaps, you simply underestimated your surroundings?”

  He tsked, shaking his head. “That’s what I’ve always hated about Adventurers. You all act like this is some sort of bard’s tale and you’re the main characters.” Mir paused, giving a short laugh. “Ah, and here I am monologuing. Apologies, it’s been so long and here I am, slipping right back into bad habits.”

  The tall man turned and looked up at the moon, the soft night breeze stirring his high tail. “Well, I am slightly irritated. I always thought that if I relapsed I’d do it in some grand way. Unleash a plague. Start a war. Kill another god. Instead, I’m taking out minor trash. I used to have minions for that.”

  A laugh, half suppressed, shook his shoulders. “Ah, well. It is what it is. You’ll understand I’m sure. After all, you’ve justified worse with less. This is just survival, nothing personal. Have a lovely trip to Hell gentlemen. Tell the Gatekeep Vladimir Grimm sends his regards.”