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Chapter Text

On a cold winter’s night, Lord Martin’s manor sat proud as ever, bathed in the waxing moon beneath Audale. With nothing but dim street lights and torches to see, the lord’s guards stood around the main entry passively, hands at their sides, idly waiting for the hours to pass. Audale was a rich quarter and rarely saw crime, thus they had become complacent.

The air felt like snow, though not a flake had yet to fall. In the silence of midnight, two leather soled boots tipped across the cobblestones that surrounded Martin’s manor, creating no sound at all. Away from the guards and hidden by the darkness, a hooded man used claw-like tools concealed in his hands to ascend the wall. He moved up two floors, heading for a bay window. The pane was slightly open, despite the cold air, so he assumed it was an empty room that a servant forgot to attend, as nobody in their right mind would welcome that kind of draft.

Silent still, the man slipped inside the open window, his stealthy shoes delicately touching down upon one of Lord Martin’s many exotic rugs. He put his hooked tools away then turned around and froze at what he saw.

This was not an empty storage room, but rather the bedroom of Lord Martin’s daughter, Kiana. Naturally enjoying the cold air, her bed was mere feet away from the cracked window, and she sat up against the headboard now, eyes fixed in fear on the intruder. 

The man revealed a dagger from his sleeve and held it in the direction of the woman. “I don’t want to kill you,” he said quietly, “But if you alert your guard, you leave me no choice.”

Kiana shook her head. “I won’t,” she said, trembling. “Have you come to kill my father?”

“Why would I kill him?”

Kiana’s eyes, a somber gray, remained fixed on the shaded, unknown face of the intruder as it was obscured by his hood. “I know he has many enemies.”

“I don’t really care about your father,” the man admitted, still holding his dagger out, now taking slow steps towards the bed. “Every rich bastard in the City isn’t worth his goods.”

Kiana inhaled sharply. “You’re a thief,” she said. “You’re…”

A grin stretched across the man’s jaw, his only visible feature. He raised his one empty, gloved hand and dropped his hood, revealing a head of auburn hair and bright green eyes. 

“You’re Roskile,” Kiana whispered, “The master thief of the City.”

“The one and only,” Roskile said with a proud grin. “And you’re Lord Martin’s daughter, right? Kiana?”

“Yes…”

“Twenty-five and still unmarried.”

Kiana’s porcelain face blushed. “How do you know that?”

“I know all sorts of things. For example, your father has a collection of gold rings that he keeps in the wine cellar. I’m interested in these. They will be mine tonight; whether or not you’re a casualty doesn’t matter to me.”

Kiana, her tension and fright easing surprisingly quickly, pulled the covers away and sat on the edge of her bed. She showed incredible bravery in the face of her potentially murdered. Her slight frame was held by an amber nightgown that complimented her black hair, and despite her pale face, she smiled. “If…I were to bring you the rings…would you spare my life?”

“Spare your life/” Roskile asked, sneering. “Why should I?”

“I just want to live,” Kiana said defensively. “I’ve done nothing wrong to you. I will…help. I will help you willingly in exchange for my life.”

Roskile stepped over to Kiana’s dresser, looking at the jewelry she had laid out earlier; rings and necklaces that sparkled in the weak moonlight. He put the dagger away and instead thumbed over some of the nicer pieces. “What’s wrong with the old man?” he asked, raising an eyebrow. 

“You’ve already said it,” said Kiana, watching the man carefully. “He doesn’t let me leave.”

Roskile picked up an amulet and looked it over in the darkness. “I don’t see you getting me those rings.”

Kiana narrowed her eyes. “I will, but,” she said. “But you must promise to spare my life.”

The thief set down the amulet, never to touch it again. “I promise,” he said. 

Kiana stood, put on a robe and left Roskile alone in her room for some time. Once she returned, she was surprised to find that he was still there, waiting patiently at the foot of her bed. He smiled at the small wooden box in Kiana’s possession. 

“Aah,” Roskile cooed, standing at last. “Those must be the rings.”

Kiana held the box out firmly. “Take them,” she said, “And never come back.”

Roskile received the box, opened it and grinned ear-to-ear. “Oh, yes. That’s them. Thank you, Kiana. I don’t normally work in this manner but whatever gets the job done tends to keep the rent paid.”

He took the rings from the box and put them into a pocket stitched into his vest, then handed the empty box back to Kiana. “You should destroy it.”

Kiana nodded. She watched as the thief turned away and climbed out of the window. 

“Farewell,” said Roskile.

“Farewell.”

“There’s a piece called the Nightingale's Eye, a small opalescent gem once coveted by the Hammerites. It’s said to be in a church, a small one, hidden away in the Old Quarter.”

“I’ve looted all of the churches in the Old Quarter. There’s no opalescent gem in them. Plus I’m not exactly jumping up and down to find another eye .”

Following the untimely passing of one of Garrett’s more reliable fences, Cutty, the thief was left with the less reliable ones. Timor, an older man with shaggy white hair and most of his teeth missing, was finding his way into Garrett’s pocket frequently these days, much to the thief’s annoyance.

But these days were different anyway. It could be said of Garrett that he wasn’t the man he was a year earlier; greed had overtly consumed him on his last big job, and he paid a terrible price for it. One that almost destroyed the whole world. To say he wasn’t shaken from that ordeal would be a lie, but the only physical sign of his change was the absence of his right eye. 

“You’ve looted all of the churches, you say?” Timor asked, flashing a painful grin, if it could even be called such a thing.

“Yes,” Garrett replied sternly. He sat across from Timor in the sad, sullen room in which the fence declared his life. Not much was there save for a dilated table with three chairs, an oil lamp and a pad on the ground which served as a greasy bed for the wretched man. Garrett did not favor the smells within, but it was necessary to get good work. 

“Not this one, my friend,” Timor explained. “You see, word has reached me that it had been bound by Pagan magic, but something has changed and the magic is gone.”

Garrett narrowed his eye. “I’ve been to the Old Quarter dozens of times. I would have remembered a Hammerite church bound by Pagan magic.”

Timor, unwilling to placate Garrett’s hostility, took a map from a pile of papers on the center of the table and unrolled it. Upon the stained, torn parchment was a faded diagram of streets, which Garrett instantly recognized as the Old Quarter; or at least where the streets once stood before the undead invasion shut the entire area down. This was exceptionally familiar to him. In fact, Garrett’s entire life had been turned upside-down due to events occurring in the Old Quarter as of late. 

“Here,” said Timor, pointing to an unmarked square on the map. “Here is where you’ll go to find the Nightingale’s Eye.”

Garrett shook his head. “I’ve been there and that building is gone,” he said.

“8,500 gold is in it if you can bring it to me.”

The corner of Garrett’s mouth curved into a smile. “And if I risk my neck in the undead zone only to find the building’s gone?”

“I’ll give you 4,000 just for being wrong.”

“That’s more like it,” said Garrett. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”

Timor held out his hand over the table. “Deal?”

Garrett looked at the filthy hand and opted to grab the map instead. “I’ll see you here in a week.”

He rolled up the parchment and put it into a pocket in his utility leggings. He hated the Old Quarter, but even going there just to turn around for 4,000 gold was a good enough bargain not to pass up.

Garrett left the narrow building where Timor lived and headed into Stonemarket proper, acting on his next job quickly. The sooner he tackled it, the sooner he would get paid—-and the sooner he could move on from the past.

He stopped off at Marla’s equipment store to get a few more water arrows that he would bless with his remaining holy water back home. Upon stepping inside, the pink-haired young Marla perked up from her reshelving. “Garrett!” she gasped. “I haven’t seen you in…so long!”

“I’ve been busy,” Garrett answered dryly. “How’s your supply of water arrows?”

“Water arrows? Water arrows…” Marla looked around, clearly flustered by the thief’s appearance. “I have some. I have plenty! I have—as many as you need. At a discount! Wait, there’s something different about you…”

Garrett’s nose wrinkled. “I cut my hair.”

“Oh, by the gods!” Marla gasped. She ran around the countertop and up to Garrett with a hand to her face. “Your eye is missing?”

“Yeah, about that.”

“Garrett! You can’t walk around like that. It’s not healthy.”

Garrett looked down. “Where are my water arrows?”

Marla returned to the counter and squatted down behind it, immediately shuffling through her things, all the while Garrett stood in the middle of the shop with a bored look on his face.

“Doesn’t it make thieving difficult?” Marla asked from behind the counter.

“My bow and arrow skills needed some tweaking, but I’m still the best. Speaking of arrows–”

“ Still the best ,” Marla repeated warmly. “Of course! Oh, here we go.” She sprang up from the counter and held something out in her hand.

“I asked for water arrows,” Garrett repeated once again, now gritting his teeth with impatience. 

“But this will help you,” Marla insisted, but Garrett didn’t move. “Please?”

Garrett grumbled to himself before snatching the small, soft object in Marla’s hand. “An eyepatch?” he asked, as if it were an insult.

“You won’t get anything–you know–stuck in there.”

Garrett kept the patch in his fist. “ Thanks ,” he said, rather coldly. “I still don’t see water arrows.”

“Right, right. Water arrows. How many did you say you needed?”

Chapter Text

Kiana stood before her vanity, watching the candle before her as it slowly died out while she brushed her hair. The single window in her bedroom was closed for fear of intruders now. Perhaps her father's unnatural clinginess was finally wearing off on her.

After setting her hairbrush down, she picked up the amulet that Roskile had touched several weeks earlier. She pondered her father's rage following his own prized jewel collection; he thought it was the Hammerites, acting in revenge for the lord’s refusal to donate to the church. He was always adamantly against the Order, assuming they were at fault for the great cataclysm in the Old Quarter (it began in a Hammer church).

Kiana’s bedroom door opened and the girl thought nothing of it other than Sir Cedric, Martin's "knight for hire" and also Kiana’s good friend.

"Goodnight, Sir Cedric," Kiana said quietly. There was no answer. She tilted her head so that she could see the door in her mirror. "Sir Cedric?"

The door closed as softly as it opened, and a hooded figure was suddenly behind her. Kiana gasped. "You promised not to return!" She hissed. "How did you get inside?"

"You asked me not to return," the thief Roskile cooed, dropping his hood to make his handsome face known. “I never promised.”

"Why are you here? I've given you what you asked for. If father finds you, he will surely have you killed."

"Not if I slaughter him first!" Roskile taunted.

Kiana held her face with horror. "No!" She cried, trying to stay quiet. 

"Calm down," said Roskile. "I won’t kill him. He’s doing a fine job of that himself down in his study, passed out from too much wine.”

"Typical," said Kiana, still shaken. "Th-then what is that you do want?"

Roskile sat on the edge of Kiana’s bed. His worn gloves creased a little as he folded his hands together. There was something inviting about him, and Kiana found herself sitting next to him, though tense, without gear.  

"Well," Roskile began in a stiff, awkward voice, "To put it simply, I was impressed by your willingness to help me. I’ve never had someone…go along with my demands so easily before.”

Kiana didn't answer. The man was confusing and worrying her.

"I was humbled almost, and I realized I had to see you again."

Roskile turned to Kiana and touched her face softly. She winced at his hand, but did not move away. "I don't understand this," she admitted softly. “You’re scaring me.”

"You're trapped in here because of your crazy father," Roskile explained, "Let me get you out of here."

"No!" Kiana snapped, turning her head away sharply. 

"Don't you want to leave?"

"He would have us both killed!"

Roskile gave a sigh and sat up, cracking his knuckles. "But," he added as he turned away, "If you could leave without him knowing, would you?”

Kiana didn't answer.

Roskile opened her window and let down a rope. "Think about it," he said. "I'll see you again."

Not all of the Old Quarter had been devastated by the undead surge years ago. In fact, most of it was quite well-to-do. It was only one small section that had been quarantined, so successfully that the large stone wall held back all of the monsters. Garrett still knew the ways to get in without unleashing chaos into the civilian areas (despite the fleeting thoughts of doing so). There was a bitter taste still in his mouth from his last task in the quarantined section; retrieving the Eye from the haunted cathedral, marking the first step towards bringing about a return to the dangerous Trickster, the god of Chaos. Returning to the Old Quarter to get yet another stone eye was the last thing he wanted to do, but the promise of good pay would always win.

He was wearing the patch from Marla to keep the wound hidden and safe, and much to Garrett’s surprise it was actually quite comfortable. He staggered across piles of rubble, doing his best to remain quiet and not rouse the attention of any nearby zombies. Holy water at hand, he made his way to the spot that Timor swore would suddenly have a church that he completely missed last time.

It looked like any of the old buildings there, and only one floor remaining at that. Surely he had passed it several times before. Nothing distinguished it from the others, but he would take Timor’s word for it and look harder.

Garrett passed through the open threshold and looked around; a small, empty room with a boarded up door against the wall.

Better not be a wash…

He decided to pull the boards from the doors, doing his best to stay quiet in case any nearby burricks heard him scurrying about. Once the boards were gone, he was surprised the find the door they were covering was unlocked. He turned the handle and pulled, revealing an empty space that felt narrow. Taking a few cautious steps in, he was faced with a descending staircase. 

This must be the basement of the church , Garrett thought. I guess the rest of the building was destroyed. But why would the Hammers build a small church so close to their precious cathedral?

His footsteps echoed as he went underground. It grew cold. The stairs ended and turned into a long passage, completely dark, so Garrett took out a fire crystal and held it in his palm to illuminate his path ever so slightly. Even being able to see at night has its limits.

He passed one door, but it was locked. He tried to pick it but it still wouldn’t budge. He couldn’t risk breaking it open since the noise would be too much, and he had no idea of what might be hiding within. Hopefully that Nightingale isn’t through there .

At the end of the hallway was a door with an old hammer carved on it, of course being the symbol of the Hammerites. This door, too, was locked, but he was able to pick it open.

He took a few steps within and extinguished his light, knowing that rooms like this would likely have something troublesome for him. 

Left alone in the complete darkness, he waited, then heard the familiar clink-clink-clink of a Hammer Haunt walking around. Garrett sighed to himself. Of course there would be an undead Hammerite in a mysterious, locked basement of a church he had never noticed before. Of course .

It would be hard, but if was able to figure out what direction the Haunt was walking, he might be able to get behind it and knock it out. He readied his sword.

The noise grew louder. The Haunt was coming closer. Garrett wished there was some lightsource to be able to determine what was going on, but he couldn’t risk being seen. Haunts were fierce enemies, being both inhumanely fast and strong. 

The steps slowed as they got closer. Garrett felt his heart beating in his throat. Why would he be slowing down so much unless he’s looking for me?

The Haunt was too close for comfort now. One more step and Garrett could feel its presence. But this was weird. He had never known the undead Hammerites to be so…investigative. 

The hell with it .

Knowing the Haunt was right in front of him, Garrett raised his sword to strike, but just before he could, a perfectly normal human voice called out, ”Is someone there?” right in front of him, right where the Haunt would be.

Garrett lowered his sword.

“Show yourself!” the voice said.

“What kind of trick is this?” Garrett asked.

“A trick? Nay, ‘tis no trick!” The voice was kind and male, of a middle range and full of optimism. “What blessed day this is! A man has found me, found me at last!”

Very confused by now, Garrett took out his fire crystal again and held it up before him. He startled when he saw a white skull shrouded with rotting red fabric. But this was not an ordinary Hammerite Haunt; yes, he looked like one and stood like one, but when his jaw chattered, this normal male voice came out.

“How are you talking?” Garrett asked, still holding the bow close in case it was a trap.

“Ah, if only I had an answer!” he sighed. “The Pagans stole my soul away, locking me in this cell. My flesh hath rotted away, but believe me, I am still a man in my heart.”

“I’ve stolen a lot but I can’t say I’ve ever stolen a soul.”

“A thief, you are?”

“You could say that.”

The Haunt sprang forward and grabbed Garrett by the arm. His finger bones pressed hard into Garrett’s forearm. “ Hey ,” Garrett snapped, pulling away.

“Please, good thief! Please help me find my soul!”

“What’s in it for me?”

“What do you want?”

Garrett narrowed his eye. “Gold. And the Nightingale’s Eye.”

“Any gold I find is yours, and among my brethren is there plenty! But the Nightingale’s Eye? I haven’t any knowledge of that.”

“It’s supposed to be here, that’s why I came. Some opalescent stone . Seen anything like that?”

“Mm, perhaps thou speakest of the Builder’s Spirit. T’was once housed here, but the pagans stole it with my soul.”

Garrett let out a groan. “Are you kidding? Where the taff is it?”

The Haunt sighed. He draped his arm across his forehead dramatically. “T’was so long ago, I can’st remember. But, in my heart of hearts, I believe in time I will feeleth my soul. Please, bring me from this eternal crypt and to the light of day!”

“Fine,” Garrett agreed bitterly. “But I’m getting that eye, spirit, whatever you call it, and anything else I find along the way.”

“But of course, my friend!”

Begrudgingly, Garrett left the dilapidated ruins with the Haunt following closely behind. “I am Brother Aldwyn, by the way,” he said. 

“Garrett.”

“Master Garrett, my new thief friend!”

“Don’t get too comfortable. We’re finding your soul and getting me paid. By the way, how is your soul gone but you’re still, well, yourself? Shouldn’t your soul be the part of you that gives you your personality?”

“I cannot say, Master Garrett. All I know is that the air was pulled from my lungs as a light was taken out of my body. They put the light into a jar and locked me away.”

Garrett hummed pensively. They were going up the stairs to the ground level again. “I’m not so sure that’s your soul, Aldwyn.”

Once out of the ruins and into the night’s air, Aldwyn looked around with a shock. “What hath happened?! M-my city!”

“Long story,” said Garrett. “Can you feel your…soul?”

Brother Aldwyn placed his boney hands on his chest and inhaled deeply. Garrett wasn’t sure how the Haunt was breathing, but there was definitely the sound of it.

“It is…somewhere. I sense it. Yes, to the north. It calleth to me!”

Garrett glared at Brother Aldwyn. “You can’t be any more specific?”

“I will have to get closer. Please, take me to the north!”

“Sorry, pal. You’re undead, but I have to make it back home before I awaken too many zombies.”

“But…what about I?”

He didn’t want to say it, but Garrett figured telling Timor that the stone was there but was moved wouldn’t earn him the 4,000 in gold. He had no choice. This Haunt was his only lead.

“I’ll take you back to my place, somehow ,” said Garrett. “We’ll head north tomorrow.”

Brother Aldwyn was an undead Haunt and therefore did not need to sleep. While Garrett lay trying to rest in bed, Aldwyn remained fixed at the wall, motionless, hands together in eager waiting.

“T’was once housed here, but the pagans stole it with my soul. ”

Aldwyn’s comment echoed in Garrett’s mind. As he slept, his thoughts brought him back to the night of his greatest betrayal; when Constantine revealed himself to be the Trickster, and that Viktoria was his dryad accomplice. 

He was no stranger to the undead or the Glyph magics of the Keepers, but he had not been face-to-face with such a strange spirit before. Viktoria pinned him to the wall and ripped out his eye for sacrifice with the stone he had stolen. Garrett was a hard man to rattle, but almost a year had passed and he still felt shook up by the incident. Not only was the pain excruciating, but finding out that Viktoria was working against him was a feeling he’d rather not have known.

His mind went back to the night they met. It was a rainy, murky day and the thieve’s pubs were empty. Garrett had found out about Viktoria through notes at Ramirez’s manor, but never thought to pursue her as a real fence until she came looking for his expertise.

He arrived at the pub and sat in the corner, waiting for his new fence as instructed. Just at the stroke of midnight, she arrived in a dark green velvet cape. Her face was covered, but when she turned to Garrett, he somehow knew it was her. 

Her figure sauntered over to the table and sat across from Garrett, relaxing as she dropped the soft hood which covered her face. “What’s wrong?” she asked, wine red lips smirking. Her hair was dark and complemented her light olive complexion well.

“I didn’t expect a fence to be so…”

“Beautiful?” Viktoria suggested.

“ Gaudy ,” Garrett corrected. He sniffed and folded his gloved hands together. “What’s the job?”

“Straight to business, aren’t you?” Viktoria teased. “Very practical.”

“What’s the job?”

Viktoria rolled her eyes. Realizing the conversation wouldn’t go her way, she presented a parchment and opened it up on the table, facing Garrett. “This is the map of Constantine’s manor.”

“Constantine? Who the taff is that?”

“A nobleman who recently moved into the City. He has a relic that I want and am willing to pay top gold for.”

Garrett narrowed his eyes. “What kind of relic?”

“A sword.”

“Keep talking. What makes this job so special?”

Viktoria looked over her shoulder and motioned for the bartender. “I don’t trust most people with this kind of work,” she said.

Garrett was visibly annoyed. “What kind of work?”

The bartender came over and offered Viktoria a generous glass of wine. Despite the bar being a normal hangout for Garrett, (since the City Watch didn’t know about it, degenerates would come and go as they pleased) he had never seen Viktoria before…and yet the bartender spoke to her like was a regular.

“Anything for the sir tonight?” the bartender asked, but Garrett shook his head.

Viktoria took a generous sip from the goblet and waved the bartender to leave. “We have business,” she said. Once the bartender was out of earshot, she leaned closer to Garrett and said, “Exceptionally high risk work, worthy of an exceptionally high risk thief.”

Garrett, lying in bed with his mind swimming in thoughts, twinged at the memories. How could he have been so stupid? Clearly, something was strange about Viktoria. Fences were old, weird, ambiguous people who knew not to attract attention to themselves. But Viktoria was flashy, animated, lively and, well, beautiful. 

Even in their second meeting, when Constantine revealed himself as the master behind the plan, Garrett didn’t think twice. When he offered 100,000 gold for a stone eye, he didn’t think twice. In fact, the thought of such money in exchange for a seemingly simple task elated him to such a degree that he was unable to see the ridiculousness of it. 

“Is that a smile on your face?” Viktoria taunted as she walked beside Garrett, leading him out of the manor he had robbed just hours ago. Fresh grass crumpled beneath her booted feet as they strolled through Constantine’s garden.

“Your associate’s offer is one of the more generous jobs I’ve taken,” Garrett answered. He did his best to play it straight, but the excitement could not be contained. “I guess I’m just glad that we crossed paths.”

“It wasn’t a coincidence,” said Viktoria. “Say, Garrett, would you like to buy me a drink somewhere? Seeing as you’ll have plenty of money soon.”

“ Buy you a drink?” Garrett stammered. All of the delight left from his face. “Why would I buy a drink that someone else is going to have?”

Despite his question being terribly rude, Viktoria smiled. She reached out and touched Garrett’s shoulder softly. “Garrett, have you never been on a date?”

 Scowling instantly, Garrett sneered, “I only do business relationship.”

“Well,” Viktoria suggested, shifting her hips, “Then let’s go have drinks and we’ll keep our own tabs, as business.”

Garrett agreed and Viktoria took him to a tavern in Audale. He was resistant. “Are you crazy?” he asked angrily. “If the City Watch sees me…”

The woman laughed again. They were in front of the old wooden door to the tavern. A tiny stained glass window sat in the center. “Relax,” she said, touching Garrett’s arm. “Does the watch even know what you look like?”

“I can’t take that kind of risk.”

“Garrett, there’s nothing to worry about. Do you really think people only do illegal things in your bar?”

Garrett narrowed his eyes. 

“Just one drink and you can go home, okay?” Viktoria asked.  “Remember, it’s for business…”

“Fine.”

“Drop your hood, it will look suspicious.”

Garrett did not like this at all, but he also didn’t want to anger the associate to his biggest job yet, so he exposed his face and followed her into the tavern. The server instantly recognized her and let them sit at a cozy seat by the fireplace. Garrett naturally wanted to be closer to the wall, so he put his back to the fire and Viktoria sat across from him. The flames reflected in her dark eyes.

Garrett ordered a dark ale while Viktoria asked for the house wine. As they began to drink, Viktoria started laughing.

“What’s so funny?” Garrett asked, tightening his jaw.

“I had you all wrong,” said Viktoria. “I assumed you were quite the lady’s man.”

“Why?” Garrett asked dryly. “Because I’m so…professional?”

“Handsome.”

Garrett glared at her. Despite his excitement for the big job at hand, Viktoria’s teases were hardly appearling and they weren’t coy at all.

She took another sip and leaned across the table. “You aren’t a virgin, are you?”

“This doesn’t sound like business at all,” Garrett mumbled into his drink. He finished it and waved for the bartender to bring him another.

“You’re too serious,” Viktoria teased.

“There’s a time and a place for everything.”

“So are you?”

“What.”

Another ale was brought and Garrett instantly took a generous gulp then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“A virgin.”

“No!” Garrett barked. If it wasn’t for the tavern being packed full, his outburst may have garnered attention. As it were, the chatter of late night patrons filled the room brightly with sound.

“So…what, prostitutes?”

“Why does it even matter to you?” Garrett asked. “Finish your wine.”

“I’m just curious. You’re strange and difficult to figure out.”

“That makes two of us.”

Viktoria giggled, finally finishing her wine. “You have no idea,” she teased.

Garrett finished his ale and stood up. He put his hood on, like a security blanket. “We’re done here.”

He left a few pieces of gold on the table and walked out of the tavern, enjoying the sudden wash of silence when he stepped out into the streets.

Chapter Text

The thief slid down the side of Martin’s manor and onto the cobblestone streets with his usual precise silence. He would go to Stonemarket next, for although the noblemen were all asleep, the black market was just getting started.

Before he made it, however, his pace slowed when he noticed someone was trailing him.

“There’s only one kind of person who can hide from me,” Roskile said dryly into the darkness, “And even they are detectable. What do you want?”

A hooded figure stepped out of the shadows. “Forgive me,” spoke a male voice, quite young although stern. “We need to talk.”

Roskile turned around, sneering at the other man. “You know I don’t like you Keepers.”

“I understand, but know that I am here on the council’s orders. We’ve been tracking you.”

“Are you kidding? For how long?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

Roskile tightened his fists, walking up to the Keeper noisily. “Yes, I think it does. I told you I don’t care about your orders, annals, prophecies. I want to be left alone.”

“Roskile, please. Our prophecies suggest a master thief, the one true Keeper, yes. But I think it would please you to know that the council has unanimously decided that you are not that master thief.”

Roskile breathed a tight sigh of relief as he placed his hands on his hips. “That’s good news,” he said. “So what else do you want?”

“Well, we’ve noticed that you have visited Lord Martin’s manor twice recently.”

All of the relief left Roskile’s face and he frowned again. In fact, he appeared outraged. “Are you kidding?” he shouted.

“Roskile, you shouldn’t be so loud.”

“Taff being loud, Artemus! You’ve been following me just now? How is my personal life any business of yours? I’m not the one true Keeper so leave me alone!”

Keeper Artemus cleared his throat. He hesitated to meet Roskile’s ire. “A recent translation of a portion of the prophecy suggests that perhaps you play a significant role in the identity of the master thief.”

Roskile narrowed his eyes. “If you think it’s the lord’s daughter, you’re wrong. She’s no thief. She couldn’t keep–”

“We don’t think it’s her,” Artemus interrupted. “Tell me, Roskile, is there anything that Glyphic magic could help you with as of late?”

Roskile couldn’t help but laugh. “I don’t want your Glyphs, I don’t want your magic. I never asked for your training and I never wanted to have anything to do with your prophecies.”

“Are you sure? Sure there’s nothing we could do to help the daughter?”

“Yes, I’m sure,” Roskile stated. He turned around and started to walk away, going to Stonemarket as intended previously. But then, he slowed. Artemus was still there. “Say, glyphs can do…just about anything, right?”

“It depends. They can’t bring world peace, they can’t turn into gold. But they can do many things. I’m certain I could help you.”

Roskile cleared his throat. “I'll think about it.”

Morning for Garrett was evening for everyone else. He finally awoke from his bitter slumber to find brother Aldwyn standing by the bed. Garrett jumped when he saw the old skull staring at him. 

"Master Garrett's slumber was weak and full of interruptions. Is something the matter?"

Garrett sat up groggily and pushed the haunt away. He touched his eye wound. "It's nothing," he said. "Let's find your soul and get on with this. We'll go north from the city today.”

“Aye,” Aldwyn said, shaking his ghastly head. “Through the night, I felt a whisper upon the air…I feel my soul is residing within the confines of a Pagan settlement. Yes! To the north, Master Garrett. There is no further time to waste!”

It was difficult to move a member of the undead community through the City. Normally, if Garrett were to travel far, he would take a horse and buggy, but that was impossible while traveling with a Haunt. Instead, he had to use his vast knowledge of the sewers to sneak beneath everyone and get outside of the City. 

This was a long and arduous task. To make matters worse, Brother Aldwyn wouldn't stop talking. Every nook and cranny was fascinating to him, even in the dim doldrums of the filthy city sewer system. 

“Ah, Master Garrett! Such exquisite metal work! Surely a gift from the Builder.”

The constant yammering was insufferable for Garrett, who had became so used to working in the quiet, but he had to remain stoic and keep in mind that this Haunt was his only lead to get his big payout from Timor. He had no other choice for the time being.

When they finally arrived at the end of the sewers and to the edge of the City, Garrett pushed open the manhole to be flooded by early morning light. He winced, hissing almost, as it hurt his eyes.

“What are we to do?!” Brother Aldwyn gasped. “Surely we cannot go about in such bright light. Not with this wretched face of mine! Oh, curse the fates, curse the–”

“Enough,” Garrett interrupted firmly. “We're out of the City, it doesn't matter.”

Not another word came from the Haunt (for the time being) and the duo climbed fourth out of the sewers. 

Indeed, the City was far beyond them; just a silhouette of buildings and smoke. They now stood on the edge of the woods. Garrett remembered this was a place where Pagans lived, and nobody from the City would dare go into the woods.

“Come on,” Garrett said with a sigh. Brother Aldwyn was preoccupied by looking at the trees. Birds had begun to awaken with the rising of the sun, and soft songs were tweeting through the air.

“Incredible!” The Haunt sighed. “I've never left the City before. It's…I am surprised.”

But Garrett didn't care. The Pagans could be anywhere, and there was no saying that Aldwyn's soul would be there. Either way, they had to try.

Several hours into the journey, as the woods grew thicker and thicker, Garrett was pleased to find that there was a path appearing between them. They followed it for about a mile until they found a clearance which was populated with stone houses. 

“Is this it?” Aldwyn asked.

“Yeah. Think so.”

They carefully tread across the worn dirt path and between the houses. It was silent. There did not appear to be anyone. 

“Can you feel your soul?” Asked Garrett.

Aldwyn looked around. He didn't seem very happy.

“Well?” Garrett proded.

“I'm afraid that the feeling has left me.”

Garrett tensed. “Are you kidding? Why didn't you say that sooner?!”

“I felt it on the way, I am sorry. It did seem like the right place.”

“Damn it.”

Garrett was beyond disappointed. Either way, he would make the best of it. 

“Maybe there's something valuable in this place.”

While Aldwyn wandered around the Pagan village, Garrett set to work looting each house. He found a few precious gems, but nothing terribly substantial. No Nightingale’s Eye, either.

“This is ridiculous,” Garrett barked once he was done. “There's nothing here. We went to the wrong village. How many of these places are there?”

“I am terribly sorry, Master Garrett. If I had any idea that this journey would be so fruitless, surely I would have gone alone!”

Garrett sighed. He sat down on a rock beside one of the houses and put his face in his hands.

Being in the woods and seeing the Pagan carvings of the Woodsy lord kept reminding him of his biggest downfall. He put his hand to his eyepatch and winced, feeling the burn from when his eye had been ripped out. Not only in his eye, but in his heart. He closed his good eye and remembered the night before Garrett returned to the Haunted Cathedral with the talismans. He had met up with Viktoria to confirm they were authentic and that he had been successful.

“Well, well,” Viktoria said as she picked up the Earth Talisman and looked it over between her slender hands. “You certainly are gifted in your art.”

“Gifted has nothing to do with it,” said Garrett. He clapped his hand onto the Fire Talisman and drummed his fingers. 

They had met at Garrett's apartment, since it was the safest place to show off delicate goods. In all honesty, Garrett was feeling nervous about having Viktoria there. She was so breathtakingly beautiful that she stood out among his dreary, barren home.

“Color me impressed,” said Viktoria. She put the talisman down and sauntered over to the dilapidated dinner table by Garrett’s small kitchen. She sat down on a chair and crossed one leg over the other. “Well?”

Garrett cleared his throat. He tried to focus on the talismans instead, telling himself how ridiculous it was to be feeling anything other than pride in his work. What was this woman doing to him? He NEVER believed in feelings, affection, love…

“Aren't you going to offer me something to drink?” Viktoria added with a smirk on her darkly painted lips.

“You certainly are fond of the drink,” Garrett instantly rebutted, trying to keep his dry sense of wit. He scratched at the top of the talisman with his thumb. What crazy things he had seen to be holding it now.

“It's merely a pleasantry, Garrett. Don't you have any wine?”

“No.”

Viktoria twisted her lips. “Oh, what a pity.”

“Why are you still here?”

“I just thought we could talk.”

Garrett let go of the talisman and walked over to join her at the table. He felt awkward. “I don't like to talk,” he said.

“I know that,” Viktoria teased. She looked across the table at him, a mysterious look in her eyes. Garrett stole a glance—was there something sad in her eyes?

“Maybe if you practiced more, it wouldn't be so trifling for you,” Viktoria suggested. Her flirtatious tone was dropping and she gradually sounded more soft and sincere. 

“I don't want to practice.”

“Garrett…”

Garrett stood up suddenly. “I need you to leave,” he mumbled, looking away. “You've seen the talismans. Tell your boss I'll go back to the Cathedral tomorrow.”

“Garrett…”

He pointed firmly to the door. “Leave.”

“Garrett, you're being silly. What's the matter? There's nothing wrong with having a little chat.”

“Leave.”

Chapter Text

Lord Martin, a man of medium stature with deep and grave features, paced adamantly across the luxury rug in his study. Standing against the door, silent and stern, was his knight-for-hire, Sir Rowlens. Sir Rowlens had come from Bohn, and Lord Martin paid handsomely for the 30-something year-old knight to live in and guard his manor. 

“Weeks now, and not a word of my rings!” Martin bellowed. His graying beard shook as he spoke with fervor. “I know exactly where they are and exactly how it happened!”

Sir Rowlens bowed his head. “The Hammerites, my lord?”

“Of course it’s the bloody Hammerites! You know they’ve had a hard-on against me ever since I declined their request for tribute. Tribute? Ha! The pagans make more sense to me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Always have,” Lord Martin added. “I just need to find out how they got in. Rowlens, you need to stay on alert.”

“Yes, my lord.”

“Don’t let any of these taffing Hammerites in here! I don’t want them anywhere inside my manor.”

“Very good, my lord.”

“You are dismissed from my presence for the evening,” Martin grumbled. 

“Thank you, my lord.”

Lord Martin continued to mumble under his breath as Sir Rowlens left the study. 

The hired knight would make his way to Kiana’s bedroom and check in with her for the evening before retiring to his post, but before he made it to the ascending stairwell, someone reached from the shadows and grabbed his arm.

“It's me,” a woman's voice spoke softly.

Sir Rowlens had flinched but came to quickly. He turned on his heel to find a woman standing behind him. She was lovely, dressed in dark with a hood obscuring her long hair.

“I told you to stop doing that,” Sir Rowlens said. Away from his lord, his formal voice had dropped and he took his usual smooth, low timbre.

“Sorry,” the woman apologized. She kept her hand on his arm. “I couldn't stay away.”

“I'm just worried that my lord will see you.”

“And if he does?”

Sir Rowlens cleared his throat. His eyes darted around the hallway quickly before he took the woman into the stairwell and out of earshot. 

“Our business is done now,” said Rowlens. “Lord Martin didn't want to accept your offer. I doubt he'd be thrilled to see you here.”

The woman put her hands onto Rowlens’ shoulders and looked up into his eyes. “I wanted to see you again.”

There was something desperate about her. “What's wrong?” asked Sir Rowlens.

“I…can't tell you. Not yet. But, please, just…”

The woman shuddered a bit and put her head onto his chest, closing her eyes. She listened to his heartbeat. 

“Please, I don't want to go back yet.”

“Back where?” Rowlens asked, but she didn't answer. “Back where, Viktoria?”

There's nothing here. We need to go back.”

A disappointed and angry Garrett was leading Brother Aldwyn out of the Pagan village they had just raided in the hopes of finding the Nightingale’s Eye as well as the Hammerites's soul. Unfortunately for both of them, the search had been fruitless.

“My apologies again, Master Garrett. The feeling has completely left me.”

Garrett said nothing as they headed out of the village. As they were leaving the empty stone houses behind, a voice called out to them.

“Wait!”

Garrett turned sharply and saw a woman standing in the middle of the path. He had not seen her before. 

She was a curious woman, nearly human but with a mouth shaped more like a snout, and her ears were perked up on the top of her head. She bore a remarkable resemblance to a deer, but with charming eyes and a sleek, feminine figure. A green cloak was adorning her body.

“What bes you seeking?” She asked.

“By the Builder!” Aldwyn exclaimed. His curiosity had piqued and he ran up to the deer lady, who retracted at his appearance. 

“Dead beast!” She yelled. “Harms me not, you!”

“Please, my friend of the forest! See that I am hideous, but know that I was once man. This appearance is merely a rotten visage, forced upon me by the loss of my soul…my soul!” He seemed to glow. “Have you seen it? We came here from the City, came all of this way in the hopes of finding it.”

The deer lady seemed to be slowly coming around. Her shoulders relaxed and her ears twitched. “Souls you seeks?”

“And a gemstone,” added Garrett.

“No gemstones, no souls. Pagansies all dead when the Tricksy one did fall.” She shook her head solemnly. “But comes evil manfools, comes to take the precious thingers!”

Garrett raised his eyebrows. “Precious how? Who took them?”

“Manfools they,” the deer lady said with a spiteful sneer. “Black hoods, using magicks with blue lines. Comes to us and takesies all our thingers!”

Garrett wasn't sure what group of people had robbed the compound, but one thing sounded quite certain—they were using Glyphs. And that meant the Keepers should know.

“Alright, Aldwyn,” Garrett said to his companion once the deer lady stopped speaking, “I can work with that. Time to go.”

“Can't we stay a little bit longer?” The Haunt asked.

“No.”

“But this creature, this incredible creature! Surely she has wisdom for the ages.”

The deer lady blushed, though she still looked rather disturbed by Aldwyn’s appearance.

“My lady, I forgot to introduce myself. I am Brother Aldwyn.”

“I am Softfoot.”

“Softfoot! How unusual! Such interesting names these Pagans choose!”

But Garrett cut between them before any more could be said. “Enough,” he grumbled. “Let's go.”

“Bes a wise move,” said Softfoot. “My leader is coming homesies soon, and no manfools does she wants to seezies!”

Garrett had turned to leave, but she slowed and looked over his shoulder at Softfoot. “Your leader?”

“Mm! Leader leavesies for scouting, looks she for more Pagans.”

“Would she know where the gem is?”

“No, she knows what I knows.”

“Who is she?”

“The woodsy dryad, Viktoria.”

Garrett froze.

She was still alive?

Viktoria was still alive?

“Well, why wouldn't she?” Garrett thought to himself. He killed the Trickster but did not lay a hand on Viktoria. He had not seen her since she took his eye.

“Viktoria…”

“Yes, Viktoria goesie to find Pagans but comsie she soon. After manfools rob us, tells me she no wants to see any city peoples!”

“Got it,” said Garrett, although in his head he was already planning to come back. He simply had to see Viktoria. He had to tell her how frustrated he was that she betrayed him, as odd as the notion felt.

Throughout the entire journey home, all Garrett could think about was Viktoria, so much that he didn't even hear Brother Aldwyn rambling about how beautiful the forest was and how taken by Softfoot he had become. 

This disturbed Garrett. It disturbed him in the same way that he was upset during the last time he saw Viktoria prior to the incident, when she came to his home to see the talismans. 

Women never bothered Garrett. He knew feelings didn't matter. But why Viktoria? Why?

When at long last the duo finally made it home, Garrett went straight to his bed and lay down, staring at the ceiling. 

“I gotta focus on this job.”

Getting his thoughts in a row, he considered his next move: talk to the Keepers about the mysterious hooded people who robbed the Pagans.

“Then I can go back and see Viktoria.”

The very thought of having any kind of warm feeling made Garrett shudder, and he was suddenly angry with himself. He sat up and tightened his fists. How could he be so stupid? Surely it was Viktoria’s wiles that pulled the wool over him and got him into this place to begin with! Garrett knew better than to take a 100,000 gold job—thief 101 told him that an offer too good to be true always was. It was Viktoria’s fault. Why would he want to see her again? Maybe it had just been too long since he had known a woman.

“Ah, Master Garrett?” Brother Aldwyn's voice came from the otherside of the door.

“What.”

“Someone is requesting you.”

“...what!”

He got up quickly and opened the door. Aldwyn was standing there looking rather bashful.

“What are you talking about? Where?”

“Ah, the door. Someone knocketh!”

“Oh.”

Garrett calmed down and looked out the peephole of his front door. Pink hair. It was Marla.

He opened the door slightly and stuck his nose out. “What do you want, Marla?” 

“Well, um, well Garrett, I hadn't seen you in the shop for a while and I was getting a little worried. Hope you don't mind.”

“I'm annoyed.”

Marla turned bright red. “I'm sorry!” She squeaked. “I just thought you might be hurt.”

“I'm fine.”

Garrett began to close the door, but upon seeing Marla looking so dejected, so disappointed—and not to mention his previous thoughts–-he decided to let her in.

“Oh!”

if it were possible, Marla turned even more red in the face. It seemed she did not expect this plan to actually work. But Garrett opened the door and motioned for her to come in and she, nervously, did. 

“Guess I could use some company,” Garrett said with a sardonic chortle.

“Uh, I think you have company already,” said Marla. She was staring at Brother Aldwyn with wide eyes.

“Oh, that's just Brother Aldwyn. He's a Haunt but don't worry, he's friendly. Too friendly, actually.”

“That's wild! You made friends with a Haunt! Only you, Garrett. You're so amazing.”

“He is quite amazing!” Said Brother Aldwyn. 

“Oh my gods, he talks!?”

“Indeed, I do! If it weren't for my ghastly appearance, I would be no different than when I was alive!”

“Alright, enough,” Garrett cut in. He grabbed Marla by the arm and pulled her to his room, where he shut and locked the door so Brother Aldwyn couldn't bother them.

“O-oh, Garrett. What are you doing?” Marla asked. She was glowing like a fireplace.

“You want me to fuck you, right?” He asked point blank.

“Garrett!” Marla squeaked. “What's gotten into you?”

“You want me to fuck you…right?”

“I mean, yeah, I…yeah, I do, but…Garrett!”

He put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her in for a kiss. Marla stopped her fidgeting and immediately melted into him. 

“Oh, Garrett…”

“Get on the bed.”

Marla obliged. She sat down on his bed and pulled down her dress, exposing her surprisingly ample bosom.

Garrett got on top of her. His hands felt across her body, his breath at the nape of her neck. 

“Garrett…!”

Poor Brother Aldwyn, stuck outside the bedroom door, had no ears to cover and no pleasant place to go while the noises continued through the night.