The alley reeked of sweat and desperation as four burly thugs boxed Burizan and Chote into a corner. The dwarf cowered behind Burizan, trembling with fear. One of the thugs squinting at Chote chuckled, "What's this? A kid with a beard?"
The thug shoved Chote, squinting at the collar around his neck, "No, you idiot, that's a dwarf. One of the slave races. Worth a good pouch of gold if you find the right buyer."
The thugs turned their attention to Burizan, who was already sweating like a pig. One of the thugs slapped his stomach hard, the slap sounded like he smacked a sack with wet clothing. "Hand over your gold, piggy, and the dwarf too, now. I'll give you one chance, before I cut your stomach open and see if it oinks."
Burizan stammered, "L-Look, I don't have much left in gold, but I work for someone with serious power. He's rich, very rich. He'll double or triple whatever you'd get off of me."
The thugs hesitated. One of them raised an eyebrow, "Oh? Who is this sugar daddy of yours?"
Burizan puffed up a little, "Luenor Gardan, you know, the one who owns all the black markets in northern Ruthenia?"
The thugs laughed.
But Burizan decided he wasn't finished. "He's got elves doing his bidding. A white tiger under his command. He overthrew Baron Ronney. Now, Viscount Como pays him tribute. The Marquis himself broke bread with him. You don't think a guy like that would look after his friends... his 'friends'?"
That made them all quiet. The greed took over their doubt. After a few moments of whispering amongst themselves the leader nodded his head. "Alright, pig. Take us to him. You include food and travel expenses, aye?"
Burizan felt relief as he said, "Of course, of course. Just follow me!"
They forced themselves into a small merchant's carriage and the ride away began. While Chote shivered between them and kept his head down.
Eventually, Echlion rose upon the horizon as if from a magical story—a fortress of walls with mighty towers splitting the clouds, mana lanterns shone over its roads as the evening light left its inner city. The thugs expressed indifference, boasting about Duskwatch's mansions. Still, they felt the wall that ordered the city and the fear that lay atop.
At the gate, a guard surveyed Burizan and his entourage with skepticism. Burizan displayed the white mask insignia of Alfrenzo. That went a long way, even if the guard's eyes were still on the suspicious characters.
Burizan finally pulled the carriage to a stop near the central palace. "From here, we walk. Master doesn't like his courtyard dirty from horse hooves."
As they dismounted, one of the thugs clutched Chote by the arm, laughing. "Don't do anything funny."
Burizan then led them to the darkwood doors of Alfrenzo's office, where Faren stood like a gargoyle.
As soon as Burizan appeared, he lunged forward and urgently whispered into Faren's ear. The elf's observation narrowed. A flicker of fury crossed his face before he sighed and stepped through the door.
In a moment, the doors creaked open. Faren stepped out. "They will see you now."
The thugs strolled in, dragging Chote behind and holding their hands near their concealed daggers. Burizan walked behind with a pale face.
The thugs came in swaggering, dragging Chote and keeping their hands where they could almost touch their hidden weapons. Burizan trailed his white-knuckled grip at Chote's collar. His face was as white as freshly fallen snow.
Inside the room, Luenor was sitting calmly, flicking at his cloak over one shoulder. To his direct left sat Telmar, staring daggers across the table at Chote and Burizan. Faren stepped in behind, closing the door behind him.
Burizan opened his mouth to speak, but one of the thugs stepped forward and said, "You the pig's boss? Good. He said you had gold for us—"
An arrow zipped through the air.
The thug was stopped mid-sentence as an arrow slammed itself into the soft flesh inside of his throat. Without pause, his body thumped to the polished floor.
With his bow still drawn, Faren said, "No one disrespects my boss."
The remaining thugs scrambled for their weapons by pushing Chote in front of them to use him as a hostage, but didn't have time to react before a blur flashed behind them. Arwin's twin blades sang their song as they danced once.
Glistening in the light, the heads of two thugs rolled to the floor. The last thug held up his hands, shocked at the carnage and terrified as a twitching foot or hand crawled toward him. Before he could beg for mercy, Arwin sliced clean through the center of his back. The thug toppled.
Burizan turned to him in horror as Chote let out a flighty scream as blood flowed and splattered on him. Burizan's mouth gaped open, looking to Luenor who now no longer had a smirk on his face.
"Blood," Luenor said while he stood slowly, "in my fucking office... because of you, Burizan."
Telmar strode forward. His hand was on his sword. "I should cut you wide open, pig. You brought uninvited filth to the heart of our stronghold."
Burizan dropped to his knees. "I-I am sorry! They forced me! I only lied to get them off our backs. Please, forgive me! I caught you valuable things!"
He was reaching in his stomach pockets, nervously twiddling a series of stolen scrolls from the black market.
"I got them! Details on the Skyshard blades! And this, this dwarf! He pushed Chote forward who looked like he might cry. The merchant said his name was Chote! He is a talented smith's apprentice!"
Telmar stole the scrolls and tossed them to a waiting elf, his eyes were disgustingly scanning Burizan. "And this dwarf? Is he yours now?"
"I-I bought him! A present! The Echlion forges are taking him! And... and..."
Burizan hesitated into silence.
Luenor walked to Chote and knelt, wiping the trickle of blood from the dwarf's cheek. "What is your age?"
C-Ho shook his head. "F-fourteen," Chote stammered.
"You are free now. No one owns you."
Chote looked up, eyes round. "Free...?"
Luenor turned to Faren. "Get him cleaned up. He stays here--under my protection."
As Chote was led into the corridor, Burizan kneeling until his head hit the floor. "T-thank you, Master. Please forgive me this once."
Telmar grumbled, "One more slip, pig, and neither scrolls nor slaves can stall your life."
Luenor said nothing. He returned to his desk, rifling through scrolls with his eyes narrowed to thin slits.
"When's the auction?" he asked.
Burizan nodded violently. "Yes, my lord! They are bringing rare artifacts...and elves from the archipelago."
Telmar glared. "Elf slaves...taken and sold like livestock."
Faren said nothing, but his grip on the doorframe tightened.
Luenor set down the scrolls on his sturdy table. "Good work, Burizan. You keep your neck today."
Burizan nearly cried out with relief.
"Now go," Luenor added. "And do you dare bring a stranger back to my door again."
Burizan scrambled to his feet and bolted out the door, rushing past Chote and out down the hall.
Faren regarded Luenor. "You are going to the auction, aren't you?"