Chapter Text
Hulking, crimson curtains billow in the halls, each gaping window a potential route of escape—ignoring the four story drop into midnight waves crashing against the rocky Thazlin shore. Thundering footsteps echo down the hall in time with the heartbeat in Grian’s ears, drowning out the ocean’s roar.
“Ten seconds, that’s all I needed. Ten more seconds to crack that safe and I would’ve met the quota, but some bumbling idiot somehow robbing the same manor in a giant port city set off the godforsaken alarm—”
As he rounds the hall corner, a cloaked body colliding with Grian’s own interrupts his ranting, sending both figures sprawling on the plush carpet below.
Over the shoulder of the newcomer, beyond the shock of rust toned curls revealed by the fallen hood, Grian spots the lumbering frame of a trollish creature, destructive and hideous as it stalks towards them.
Two opponents require two fighters, though it goes against their nature to join forces.
Meeting the gaze of the woman across from him, the blonde’s concealed feathers shift uneasily as the two come to a silent agreement.
The rogue shifts into a crouch as she thrusts two daggers into the path of the approaching knights. Admittedly less graceful, Grian stands and draws his short sword.
Grian glances at the opponents approaching from either side.
Pulling his scarf up over the lower half of his face, he signals for his impromptu ally to do the same. When her face is once again obscured in the charcoal cloak, she nods before resuming a defensive position.
Grian drops a hand from the hilt and reaches for the bottles at his hip. With two small vials in his grip, the blonde winds back and lobs one at the oncoming guards. As the glass shatters against the floor, a thick plum of smoke explodes outward. The other vial, thrown in a neat arc in the opposite direction, lodges itself straight in the troll’s eye.
Grian cringes at the beast's anguished roar. I suppose there’s more than one way to blind an enemy.
Swiftly sheathing his blade, Grian turns to the rogue.
“There’s more guards back the way I came, I’d choose the googlies if I were you.”
With a quick, forlonging glance at the daggers still at the feet of the dazed knights, she nods.
The two slip past the bellowing, enraged beast and into the hall beyond. Grian scours his memory desperately for the path back to his entrance—a window with a miniscule jump to the neighboring roof below.
Grian takes a left into a central corridor with sconce-lined walls, west to break away from the coastline.
At the other end of the hall, another two figures stumble around the corner. From the lack of armor and rather unrefined state of their clothing, Grian swiftly decides the two are in a similar line of work as himself and the rogue. Aside from the gladius at the hip of the taller and the well-defined bulk of the shorter, they don’t pose any apparent threat.
Electing to ignore the newcomers in favor of freedom, Grian pivots down a subtle, narrow passage. The elegant hardwood floor of the previous rooms is exchanged for cold stone brick, the echo of footsteps sharp and reverberating.
Actually, Grian thinks, that’s quite a bit of echoing.
A glance behind him confirms–yep. What was once a solo assignment has somehow grown into a collaborative group escape mission.
Catching Grian’s eye, the taller of the two newcomers calls out to him.
“Hey buddy, you the one who tipped off the guards? I saw a whole load of ‘em headed this way when we were running from some nasty gnome jerks.”
That gives Grian pause. The monsters here are definitely charmed and should appear as rather grotesque people to mortals. Grian can only see them because of the enchanted talisman his employer gifted him, so either these three are fae, or they have a contract with one.
The group reaches a break in the passageway, and Grian pushes the question of these people’s nature aside to recall the route out.
As the room is filled with the panting of the four catching their breath, the more muscular of the two newest men speaks up.
“I saw we go right, left is gonna take us back to the gnomes—and those guys are straight up bullies.” From behind him, the other nods.
“I’m with Dippledop, this place is twisty enough that left will probably take us right either way.”
The rogue scoffs, “That makes zero sense–the hallways are literally straight lines, we’ll only go the direction we choose. I say left.”
“Oh yeah? And who put you in charge, lady?”
“No one, I just have a brain that isn’t decorative!”
Grian rubs at his temples, struggling to visualize the layout of the manor with the bickering behind him.
“Can we all just–shut up for a minute? I’m trying to think. Droopledip, or whatever your name is, you said there were gnomes. How many are we talking?”
The man in question laughs, a juxtaposing sound in the chilled corridor. “I’m Impulse. Skizz here just calls me ‘Dippledop’ because we’ve been buddies for decades.”
Grian scrubs a hand over his face, impatient. “Right, okay, and the gnomes?”
Impulse strokes his chin, considering. As he opens his mouth to answer, a person comes tumbling out of the rightward hallway.
“Oh–jeeze. Hey there, fellas. Fancy meeting you here! Trust me, you do not wanna go that way.” The frazzled man pushes chestnut strands away from his face, gesturing over his shoulder to where he came from.
“Well,” the rogue smirks, turning to Skizz, “Guess we’re going left.”
The newest addition to their group beams at that, his umber cape unspooling as he straightens.
“Awesome! Boy am I glad that I found you guys. I got so lost after I ran into those guards and they sounded the alarm. Really thought I was a goner for a second there. And ya’ know what they say, safety and numbers.”
Grian starts down the left tunnel, the conversation continuing behind him as the group follows.
“Ugh, me too buddy. I swear, what kinda goodies do they have in this place to need all this protection? I’m Skizz, by the way. This is Impulse, and those two grumps are too mysterious to tell us their names.”
The brunette nods, “I could tell, they’ve got those serious faces on that make it look like they’ve gotta poop. The name’s Scar—what brings you all here on this fine evening?”
Unable to resist any longer, Grian butts in.
“An assignment—a solo assignment. I’ve got no clue how this turned into a teamup, but you all owe me one for carrying you out of here.”
“Excuse you, carrying? I’ve pulled my weight in this escape just as much as you have. I even lost my favorite throwing knives saving your skin!”
“Alright, fine. Everyone except the rogue owes me.”
A satisfied hmph comes from behind Grian.
“Thank you. And the rogue has a name—it’s Gem, if you really must know.”
A nudge in Grian’s side, he turns to find Scar smiling down at him, emerald eyes shining warmly. Grian, momentarily distracted by the way the expression pulls tanned seams taught, wonders if ‘Scar’ is a nickname sprouting from whatever injuries he endured in the past.
“C’mon, it doesn’t make any sense to have one guy without a name. What’s the worst that could come from telling us?”
The blonde sighs, directing his energy to forcing his gaze back to the path before them, and gives in. “I’m Grian, and now that we’re all well and aquainted—can we please focus on getting out of here?”
Scar holds his hands up in surrender, still smiling.
“Alright, alright. I’m hoping you know the way, cuz it looks like everyone’s just following you, and if you don’t then. Yeesh.”
Grian rolls his eyes and speeds up, turning another corner to exit the passage. Cold stone gives way to flowing drapes and ocean breeze. Directly ahead lies Grian’s grand entrance and exit: a window with direct access to the neighboring roof.
Grian glances around, deeming the coast clear of any creepy crawlies or guards. Rushing to the windowsill, Grian begins lifting himself up and over, pausing when no one follows suit.
Skizz clears his throat awkwardly, “Uh, Grian, not to doubt you bud, but—did you happen to forget that we’re on the top floor? Unless you’re gonna grow wings or something and carry us all to safety, I don’t think we can make that landing.”
Grian tenses, wings shifting at the reminder of their unnatural concealment, before forcefully relaxing.
“Just trust me, the next building is a bit shorter. Jump and roll, and you’ll be fine.”
And with that, Grian launches himself over the edge, tucking into a ball to distribute the impact through his shoulder and down his body. Popping up in a crouch on the flat roof of whatever business the aristocratic owner keeps next door, Grian turns back to the window and gives a double thumbs up.
From the open frame, Gem shrugs and steps back, gaining momentum before throwing herself neatly across the gap between buildings.
Impulse and Skizz follow, narrowly making the jump but getting there nonetheless. All that remains is Scar, glancing nervously at the space between himself and the rest of the group.
Grian cups his hands around his mouth and calls out to him, “C’mon, Scar, before the city sends more guards after us. Jump and roll, remember?”
He watches as the brunette inhales shakily, stumbling back. Emerald and obsidian eyes meet across the distance.
“I think we should all go on a nice trip together after this–” he braces himself- “maybe to the mountains, I got a nice place there and hey, the guy who sent me here lives nearby so maybe I can cash in some stuff and—oh jeeze.”
At long last, Scar sends himself over, fingers clutching at the roof’s edge before Grian grasps his arm and hauls him up.
Clapping his back, Grian grins. “Wasn’t that bad, was it?”
Scar chuckles, high pitched and strained with lingering anxiety.
“Let’s just say I don’t consider myself proficient in parkour. I’m more of a breaking-and-entering guy. Or just entering, that one’s good.”
Grian gives him one more pat before turning to the rest of their entourage.
“Well, while we’re all here, I have some questions. First and foremost—how come you all can see the monsters? I had to go through a whole process of getting a special charm and then getting it enchanted and like—if there was some easier way, I’m gonna be real angry at someone.
Impulse and Skizz pull out matching necklaces, each adorned with a swirling stone that shines faintly, enchanted and nearly an exact replica of Grian’s own.
Gem frowns, pulling back her sleeve to reveal a bracelet with, yet again, the same special bead. Scar takes the cue to do the same, though Grian notes he has an additional flattened stone—some sort of knot engraved in it.
Looking between them all, recognizing the clear similarities in craftsmanship, Grian sighs.
“Well, I suppose that answers that."
Skizz groans at the realization.
"You all work for the Taxman as well? Really weird guy with bright teal hair, lives in a castle on the side of Mt. Torre?”
At the group’s collective nod, Grian turns to the north, considering.
Impulse steps forward cautiously.
“How about, since we all had the same target and didn’t have much of a chance to meet the quota after someone set off the alarm-” an indignant hey comes from where Scar’s sat, catching his breath, “-what if we just pull our finds together and make the journey as a group? We’ve already established that we’re all going to the same place and working for the same guy. At least this way he might give us an explanation.”
It’s not an awful idea, especially with what’s at risk if Grian doesn’t get the Taxman the money he wants. Looking around, everyone else seems to be reaching the same conclusion.
Extending a hand to Scar, Grian looks back to the Thazlin horizon one last time.
“Alright, together then—let’s go.”