You will forgive the good Sergeant Rochester if he at first assumed, upon regaining consciousness, that he had died and was currently in the care of the Afterlife. The st moment he had been conscious had seen him running for his life while hundreds of palid, bloodless hands grasped out to take ahold of him, scraping and bruising him all over with a terrible strength that he could just barely wriggle free of. The only thing which had kept him from their clutches was a moment of pure weakness–for while the gruesome massacre of his men unfolded before him, this normally-brave knight cast away his sword, his breastpte, and any other heavy article that may have weighed him down, before bolting off into a mad sprint headed further down that Hellish corridor and deeper into its thick, obscuring veil of fog. Although he could not see them whenever he looked back over his shoulder, he could still hear them: a horrible chorus of hundreds of voices crying out as if in great terror and pain, overying an ominous, shuffling rhythm as if a great mob dogged at his heels in a stumbling sprint.

  Once his lungs began to burn and he was forced to reluctantly slow his hurried gait, Rochester had realized there was only one thing he could do to save himself. With nothing left to power his aching body forward but sheer terror, he made a desperate running leap onto the side of the dirt wall. No sooner had he nded than did scores of rough hands reach out from the mist to tch onto his heels.

  Emerging out of these vivid and terrifying memories and back into the present, he looked down at his hands, which were well-bound with fresh bandages. They had been wounded as he had cwed and scratched in a desperate bid to free himself, his nails having been torn away, and the tips of his fingers were scraped raw and up to the first knuckle.

  Because of the depth of the pit, the wall had been a climb of about six and a half meters, and the only reason that he had been able to press onward and upward was that the climb had not been completely vertical, and so was just barely climbable. When he had finally pulled himself far enough that his head could peek over the ridge of the dirt wall, he was startled and dismayed to see two rge and silhouetted forms awaiting him! In his surprise he had lost his bance, and went tumbling ass-over-teakettle down the other side of the wall. For an instant he felt the back of his head collide with what felt like a rge rock as he quite violently met the ground, and he knew nothing more until he awoke here–wherever ‘here’ might be.

  As Rochester finally came to his vision swam as he adjusted to the light, until everything finally seemed to settle and he arose to a sitting position in his bed. He was in a small room lit partially by the blue-tinted light of early evening let in through the window, while at the opposite end of the room a fire crackled in the firepce, its warm light casting the form of a person tending to it into shadow. As they heard the small creak of Rochester shifting in his bed, the woman turned to face him, and he was a little taken aback at who he saw there.

  She was a beautiful woman, perhaps the most beautiful that he had ever seen–though that was small praise, seeing as he had grown up in Otkorn. She was dressed finely and stood with proper posture, and the features of her face were defined and mature, accented well by her warm bck hair which had been tied into a neat bun.

  “Ah, you are awake.” She said, her voice as elegant as the rest of her, although her tone was completely neutral.

  That is when Rochester noticed her eyes, which glowed with a uniquely violet hue, and with a shock he realized that he was in the presence of Nobility! He did his best to hastily turn and to provide as respectful a bow as he could make in his current condition. Lady Merida raised her hands to wave away his efforts.

  “No no, that is quite unnecessary! Please y back down.” She bade him, and Rochester could do naught but comply.

  Looking a bit sheepish now, Rochester stammered out, “S-so are you the Countess, then?” He imagined a woman of average size putting on a costume that made her form appear much taller and wider and a mask that obscured all of her features.

  “Oh, not at all.” The woman replied with a little amused grin. “The Countess is my niece. My name is Merida, Lady-Mayor of Stoppridge.”

  “L-Lady Merida.” He said, bowing his head with respect despite her previous protests.

  “The Countess was the one who found you, and returned you to the Castle for treatment.”

  Rochester smiled with a soft, bitter mencholy at that. “Ah, then it seems I am in her debt once again.”

  Lady Merida folded her arms. “A debt that you could surely repay just by answering any questions that the Count or Countess have for you.”

  Rochester looked up at her now with a determined expression. After being put through such horrors due to their ignorance and duplicity, any duty or loyalty he had felt for the Baron, or for Otkorn itself, had been cast away along with his sword in that dark trench.

  “I shall gdly answer any questions they might have.”

  Lady Merida grinned again, but it was wider and warmer this time. “Well, then I shall send them in without dey.” And with that she slipped out of the rge wooden doors leading into the hallway beyond and was gone. Rochester scratched the back of his head, puffed out his cheeks with a held breath and sighed as he let it out, hoping that he was making the right choice. His anxieties would have to wait, however, for he detected from beyond the door the sound of approaching footfalls: one set was rge and heavy, the other smaller and more frequent.

  The tch on the door clicked and Niks and Uldred entered the room. It was Rochester’s first time ying eyes on the new Count, but he looked just as had been described in the rumors, barring the obvious exaggerations. He was a small man, thin and spindly in stature, but with a handsome, youthful face framed by a head of short, dirty-blonde hair.

  “Sergeant Rochester, I am gd to see you finally awake!”

  “Aye my Lord, although I think I might be just pin Rochester, now.”

  Following this introduction, for the next few hours the former Sergeant was debriefed of the events leading up to the present moment. After that he also provided a detailed retelling of the recent history of the Baron of Otkorn, beginning a few years prior, just before the first time he had met the Countess when she had been contracted by Lengar to recapture the Road of Benedict from the forces of Otkorn led by Rochester’s former commander.

  “I hadn’t access to Baron Otkorn himself before the Countess... before I was promoted to the rank of Sergeant, so I know not how long he has been this way. But ever since I was allowed to meet him, his behavior has always been strange.” Said Rochester, taking a sip from the gss of water he had been provided to soothe his parched throat.

  Niks was scribbling all of the information down since the start of this interview, which Uldred looked on, remaining stood and as inscrutable as usual with her cloak and her mask.

  “He has always been a... cheap man, even though he does not ck for coin. Always trying to pay as little as possible, whether that be for construction or tools, or new men to repce those soldiers that he has lost.” Rochester’s eyes turned to Uldred briefly, before sheepishly returning to looking down at his bnket.

  “You are referring to those... thugs who have been appearing everywhere recently?” Niks asked over his notes.

  “Aye. For as long as I can remember the Baron has preferred conscripting men from the prisons rather than the peasantry. Partly because of how full they have become– for the conditions the people of Otkorn live in are quite wretched–but also to repce the forces he regurly lost to Lengar as he fought for control of the Road. Recently he had increased this practice to such a great degree... It was almost like he had been swelling his ranks in preparation for some greater scheme... which I suppose in hindsight he was.”

  Niks looked up at Uldred then, who returned his gaze with a knowing look of her own.

  “I think we have heard all that we need to hear. Thank you for your assistance, Serg–Mister Rochester.” Niks quickly corrected himself before rising from his seat, the numerous and detailed notes he had taken during the former soldier’s testimony clutched securely to his breast.

  “Sleep.” Said the Countess in a tone that, while commanding, was not unkind. “Your fate shall be decided when we return.”

  With that the Noble couple turned to make their exit back into the hall through the heavy wooden doors, through which the exhausted survivor could just barely hear Niks’ voice as he quietly chided Uldred, before both the door and his eyelids fell shut and he knew no more.

  “Did you have to say that so ominously?”

  The mismatched pair were shortly stood within the office of the Countess, positioned side by side behind her rge wooden desk. Inside the room with them were the Lady Mayor Merida and Ser Gregory, along with Thomas and Nayantara. After a few moments of anticipatory silence, the door creaked open and the Knight-Captain Glorifeld entered the room. He was followed closely by Finona, who looked nervously about at the very important people who were already gathered there. And once the door had fallen shut behind her with a click, it was time to begin.

  “My good people.” Said Niks. “I have called you all here today because I have decided that it is finally time to put the matter of Coronton to rest.”

  Reaching below Uldred’s desk, Niks retrieved a rge scroll made of a thick parchment that was yellow with age, which he unfurled to its full size, engulfing the entire desk and all of the other documents that had been set upon it. From one moment to the next the ordinary table had been transformed into a most detailed, hand-drawn map of the County, crisscrossed with lines and symbols of various colors and thicknesses to depict and differentiate the roads and the sideroads, along with the terrain and features of each area. Without pause, Niks then turned and, from behind the desk, selected three pieces from a chessboard that decorated an end-table beside the wall. He then pced these in different locations atop the vast map.

  Niks carefully set the Queen where they all currently resided at Castle Petrice; the Pawn he pced atop Coronton; and finally he then positioned the King in a bnk space beyond the Petrician border where the Barony of Otkorn y. Several eyebrows raised at that gesture, while others looked on nonplussed, as if they had already guessed at the revetion themselves.

  “Let us rey what we have learned thus far: that the man we know as ‘the Lord Mayor Borney’ is a chartan and a criminal; that Otkorn has conscripted and transferred a considerable number of violent criminals to undermine Coronton’s city watch with a standing force that will not balk at executing even the most cruel or unusual of orders.”

  He then pointed his finger towards the base of the small mountain range located slightly West of Coronton, and which was a good ways South of Castle Petrice. He then drew his finger along in a smooth arc until it reached a point closer to–and just West of–the Castle.

  “According to Mister Rochester, his orders from Borney were to enter into the trench which the Countess and I discovered the other day, and to lead a score of men to the Castle to take it from the West, where we would least expect such an attack.”

  All of the Petricians in the room exchanged looks of disbelief and dismay as they absorbed this news. The Knight-Captain Ser Glorifeld looked about at his cohorts with a bemused and uncertain expression. “...You will have to expin to me, my Lord, the significance of that area to the West.”

  “Monsters.” The Countess answered in a booming voice before Niks had a chance to reply himself. “Surely you have heard of the Fmberges?”

  Ser Glorifeld exchanged a look with her, and then Nayantara and Thomas behind him as well. “So they are real, then?” The two swordmasters grinned back at him as if in confirmation.

  “Yes, although it appears that the Lord-Mayor does not believe that himself, leading to the failure of his pnned encroachment.” Niks expined.

  The idea of a Petrician Lord who did not believe in the existence of the Monsters was obviously an arming one, based on the reactions of the other locals present in the room. Ser Glorifeld stepped forward to speak again.

  “This is a good thing for us, is it not? A force of a hundred men has been removed from our opponent’s hand without any effort on our part. We must seize this opportunity before they have a chance to reinforce themselves!”

  Niks nodded to him. “Yes, I agree. We mean to set out soon, three days from now at the very test. You are all to prepare and assemble your forces so we can march for Coronton posthaste.”

  It was at that point that Finona raised a trembling hand to speak. “W-what about me and my frie- my people, m’Lord? Are we to come as well?”

  Glorifeld, Merida, and Gregory looked back at her with apologetic expressions. “With all due respect, miss Finona, your... colleagues have only recently begun the first steps in their training.” Lady Merida said in a gentle tone. “It is too dangerous, not to mention irresponsible, to bring such an inexperienced group to a battlefield. Truthfully, I am also worried about the readiness of my own men, for while they have been training for years, this is likely to be their first taste of real combat.”

  Finona looked over to Niks then with pleading eyes, and he hesitantly rubbed the back of his neck as he contempted the situation. “What if…” He began, trailing off as he became lost in thought for a moment before he continued. “...What if we were to pce them far in the rear? Even if we do not pn for them to fight, it may work in our favor to fraudulently bolster our forces.”

  Lady Merida folded her arms and her face fell into a serious and contemptive expression as she considered this proposal. “To give the illusion that we have more men than we truly do, hmm?” Then she looked back at Finona herself, clearly still somewhat unconvinced. “I suppose that could be... satisfactory.”

  Finona’s face lit up for what seemed like the first time.

  “Th-thank you! I promise that we won’t l-let you down!” She stammered, bowing deeply towards the Lady Mayor, who waved her hand dismissively in reply.

  “Save your thanks for after we see this through, for you may not be feeling so grateful after everything is said and done.”

  Now it was Niks’ turn to fold his arms. “Well, that settles it, then. You are all dismissed. See to your people, and begin preparing to depart without dey!”

  The voices of all those present barked out their acknowledgements of his orders and then steadily began making their way out through the office doors, some of them more enthusiastically than the others. After a few moments had passed they were finally left with only four figures in the room: the Count and Countess along with Nayantara and Thomas. The two Hunters looked expectantly towards their leaders. Niks leaned in towards his wife and whispered to her from behind the cover of his hand.

  “Are you Hunters allowed to engage in matters of politics? I mean, I know you must do so, for you are after all the Countess. But for the two of you..?”

  Uldred did not attempt to whisper in the slightest as she replied. “There are no rules against the matters a Fmberge may or may not engage in. At least, barring wanton murder or banditry. There are very few rules for them at all, in fact.”

  He paused to consider before he posed another query. “...and what about you?”

  Uldred leered down at him through the slits in her mask. “Of course, I must accompany you as well--all of you, I mean. Not just you.”

  Niks grinned up at her. “I knew I could count on you!”

  This drew out from the secretly-blushing Countess a flurry of stammered words and flustered gesturing the likes of which Nayantara and Thomas had never had the privilege of witnessing before. The two of them tactfully refrained from commenting, and simply watched the couple interact with silent grins of amusement.