Maly pushed her way, panting, into the darkened room. The sudden change from sunlight to candlelight momentarily blinded her as she shut the door. Sounds of cart vendors shouting, street musicians, horses clopping, and laughter immediately hushed to dull muffles. The Golden Heron, with colorful tapestries hanging on the wooden walls, had worked hard to keep its business inside hidden from the bustling street outside.

“Emah? You in here?” Maly asked, breathless.

“You’re late,” her friend answered, her deep voice clipped.

“Ah, yes. About that,” Maly held up a finger. “I need to tell you about–”

“You’re late, Maly,” Emah hissed. “Get over here and. Meet. Our. Host.” Each of those last words was delivered through clenched teeth.

“Oh, but… Right. Sorry,” Maly said sheepishly, still panting. She wiped a forearm across her wet brow and stamped her sandaled feet.

“I’m glad to have you both here,” a supple, smooth voice said. Maly blinked spastically, her pale blue eyes adjusting. Cloth hung from every wall, but otherwise the three of them stood alone in a room only sparsely furnished, with pillows placed neatly around its perimeter. A low desk with quill, parchment, and a slender candle atop it sat near a far wall. Another candle flickered merrily on an ironbound chest in a corner. A few garments hung from pegs peeking between tapestries on the wall. She could see now that her friend had her muscled, bare arms crossed and feet planted wide, pointedly turned away from her and towards their host. Emah was kitted for action, wearing her leather cuirass and gloves, her scabbarded sword hanging from her waist. The warrior’s short, kinky hair was pulled back from her forehead by a leather strap.

Maly still couldn’t make out details, but the third woman was slender and dressed in patterned pants and sleeveless top, with a riot of bracelets and necklaces adorning her. Their host’s long, silken black hair fell across one eye and spilled over one shoulder. Something was odd about her face, but Maly couldn’t tell at first what it was. Everything about her graceful bearing and honeyed voice felt to Maly like a caress in the dim light, which made some sense since they were standing in a brothel that she or Emah could never afford. This room wasn’t the Golden Heron’s primary entrance for clientele, though. Maly had, as instructed, circled around to a side door. She presumed this sparse, elegant room was meant for business only.

Maly tried her best to still her breathing, calm her frantic mind, and focus on what their potential employer was saying. She realized that she had missed the last several moments of conversation between the woman and Emah.

“…so you see, it’s a simple job. One afternoon for you and done.”

“You… just want us to walk with you? Are you expecting trouble?” Emah asked suspiciously.

“No particular trouble, no,” the woman said smoothly, shrugging a bare shoulder. “But you must understand, I am not used to visiting imprisoned criminals. I would feel better having an escort and have the coin to spare.”

“Wait, what are we doing? We’re just going to the jail?” Maly blinked, confused.

“Maly…” Emah growled.

“That’s right, Miss Wywich,” the woman nodded. Maly’s eyes had adjusted, and she could see now that the woman was indeed beautiful, but there was something covering the half of her face that her hair concealed. Beneath the curtain of black hair was a mask, delicately carved with an eye hole and curving around her slim nose and full-lipped mouth. “Walk with me to the jail, stay with me there while I conduct some business, and deliver me safely home.”

“Seems like a pretty easy job,” Maly chuckled.

Emah cleared her throat and shot her a withering stare. “It’s the kind of job new members of the Adventurer’s Guild receive, and we’re happy to do it, ma’am,” she growled.

Maly shrugged back apologetically.

“Excellent,” the woman nodded once. “And please: My name is Kami. I’ll provide half the fee now and half when it’s done. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Emah nodded, and took the small pouch of coins. It clinked in her palm, and Emah tucked it away on a belt pouch.

“When are we leaving?” Maly asked.

“Why, now of course,” and the woman glided past them. Kami plucked a wide, circular hat from a peg, and a long slender walking stick leaning next to it. Then she was pushing out into the sunlight.

Outside, all three of them squinted in the bright light, Emah and Maly shielding their eyes with a hand. This part of Oakton, the Rose District, sat at the broad border between the wealthier merchant quarter and the crime-riddled slums. Modest wooden homes and shops lined the dirt road, with horse-drawn carts and people traveling up and down its length. Everywhere individuals and small groups played music, the constant backdrop of Oakton. Closest to them, a man sat cross-legged and pat a wide, flat drum, humming lyrics with a deep voice while across the street a girl of no more than ten sang full-throated while her two friends danced and banged tambourines.

Though it was in the second half of winter—indeed it was the first day of Nigwan, which in Kalee meant “End,” named for the thaw and last days of winter in the nation’s capital—the weather here, far to the west and north, was mild. Most of Oakton’s residents wore light fabrics and sleeveless shirts.

Above the roofline, the towering Great Oak stood, like a protective mother watching over the town, its branches stretching across the cloudy sky. Kami did not hesitate, walking with purpose down the road, towards the immense tree. Emah strode after her with long strides. Maly scampered to keep up.

“Emah!” the young woman gasped. “I need to tell you about–”

“Not now,” Emah growled. Her brown eyes did not meet Maly’s desperate, freckled face, but instead scanned the road for danger with a serious, furrowed expression. “We’re on a job. The first job, I’ll add, in more than a week. It’s actual coin, that will put food in our mouths. So just tell me later and pay attention now.”

Now it was Maly’s turn to harrumph in frustration. “Fine,” she said, pursing her lips, and she glanced behind them, searching the crowd with pale blue eyes as if expecting someone following.

Emah pointedly ignored her and lengthened her strike to reach Kami’s shoulder. “By the way, ma’am?”

The graceful woman kept her pace, seemingly not at all breathless or bothered. She answered mildly. “Yes?”

“Why are you visiting the jail? What’s your business there?” Emah asked. A thin, knobby street vendor stepped in front of Kami, leering at her, and Emah pushed him, stumbling, out of the way. He swore at them as they passed.

“That,” Kami said dismissively. “Is my own concern. One doesn’t usually ask the business of someone from the Rose District, Miss Elmhill.” And with that she adjusted her wide-brimmed hat and continued down the road, weaving amidst the crowd while her two guards kept pace.

The trio quickly approached Southgate, beyond which lay the town’s garrison, government buildings, and wealthiest residents. The gate itself was a gap wide enough for three carts, in a thick stone curtain wall with squat, ugly towers at regular intervals. A bored city watchman nodded at them as they passed, his half-lidded eyes lingering on Kami’s smooth cheek, lithe arms, and breasts pressed against her form-fitting shirt. Even with the carved mask and low-drawn hat the woman drew attention, and the guard’s hungry gaze was only the most obvious example around them. Maly began to understand the brothel-proprietor’s desire for bodyguards into the inner city and back, and wondered how often she was harassed in some way by guardsmen, sailors, or even merchants. The brief image of the leering street vendor also clicked into her mind. Emah gave her most withering gaze to the gate guard, but the man didn’t seem to notice, his eyes fixed on Kami.

Emah glanced back at Maly, still struggling to keep up with them because of constantly looking behind.

“Maly? Is someone following us?” she asked in a low whisper.

“What? Why would you–? No, no. Of course not!” the young woman chuckled guiltily. Her round, pale face had wideset eyes, freckled cheeks, downturned lips, and a button nose, making her look somewhat like a child from the neck up. Her tattooed, muscled arms and the knife at her belt dispelled the illusion, however. Maly brushed the short, sweat-damped blonde hair from her eyes. “Uh, our employer is getting away.”

“Aargh!” Emah huffed, and she hustled to pursue Kami as the woman made a beeline through the passerbys to a round, stone structure set away from the other buildings and far from the looming keep. Here, so close to the towering Great Oak, everything was in dappled shade. Yellow and brown oak leaves twice as large as an open hand lay scattered across the cobblestone, the leaves as constant in Oakton as the street musicians.

The town’s dungeons, which held those either awaiting execution or detained indefinitely, lay beneath the main keep. Where Kami strode, however, was outside one of several jails within the curtain wall, a place to hold those accused of smaller crimes or to pull drunkards off the street. Emah glanced back at her friend as they approached the heavy wooden door of the building, clearing her throat to get her attention. Maly was still looking behind her, scanning for something. She heard Emah and looked up to her friend and then the jail door. She grimaced.

“Is this going to be a problem?” Emah whispered back. For the first time since Maly had arrived late, Emah’s voice held no anger.

“It’s fine,” Maly shrugged, but her lips were a grim line. “I mean, I didn’t stay here that long.”

Kami had stopped, motionless, before the door. As Emah and Maly flanked her, the woman seemed to shake herself out of some sort of reverie, as if she’d been lost in thought.

“We are here,” she said simply.

“Are we… going inside?” Maly asked.

Kami seemed to gather herself and nodded once, sharply. “We are. You may stay outside if you wish.” She reached out and knocked on the door, first lightly, and then more forcefully when no one answered.

Maly arched an eyebrow, impressed at the slim woman’s strength. The heavy door thrummed with her booming knocks.

No one answered.

“That seems odd, doesn’t it?” Maly offered, hesitantly.

The three looked at each other, unsure what to do, then Emah and Maly scanned the surroundings. The jail stood away from any foot traffic, and no one seemed particularly interested in watching them at its entrance. They exchanged confused glances.

Kami pursed her lips and clutched the latch. With a sharp push of her shoulder, the door shuddered and flew open.

Inside was carnage.

Maly knew the layout of this jailhouse intimately. The entry room took up roughly half of the circular level, used for the intake of prisoners. Two city watch members were stationed here at all hours, usually complaining about their boring assignment and playing dice or cards. Behind the desk and chairs stood iron bars and a heavy door, behind which were cubbies with prisoners’ belongings, city watch logs, and a winding staircase down to the lower level. The entire jail was windowless, with torches burning day and night to both light it and make the place smell of oil and smoke.

Today, the heavy door at the back of the room hung open, the table and chairs toppled. Two bodies, a man and woman in the city watch’s yellow and green livery, lay sprawled on the floor, their forms ravaged by what looked like an animal attack, or perhaps several animals. Dark blood spattered the walls and ceiling, and pooled in wide, sticky blobs around the bodies. Small prints like that from a cat or dog tracked through the blood and seemed everywhere across the wooden floor.

One guard’s corpse clutched a long spear, which impaled something brown and furred, also dead and curled around the weapon’s tip. That body drew the eye because it was vaguely humanoid, the size of a child, one four-fingered, clawed hand outstretched as if in a plea for mercy. It wore filthy rags that could barely be called clothing, hanging in tatters from its small form. They couldn’t see the thing’s face from here, but its furred head was topped by small, flared ears.

“By the gods,” Emah breathed. “What happened here? We… we should get the Watch. Maly, go get help.”

“No!” Kami barked, thrusting a hand outward, palm facing them.

“What?” Maly blinked, her breath coming short and shallow. The smell in here wasn’t the typical oil and smoke—it was like iron and sewage, making her eyes water and jaw clench. “We need to tell–”

“No, dammit all! Shut the door and follow me.” Kami dropped her walking staff and threw off her hat, tiptoeing her way through the bodies and blood towards the open door. While the other two women gaped, she stepped across the threshold and peered down the staircase.

Emah was squinting at the furred form at the end of the spear, frowning. Maly stepped close to her, eyes wide.

“I’ve paid you to escort me,” Kami said, her face serious. “Come on.” She descended the stairs.

“What- what do we do, Emah?” Maly whispered urgently.

“I don’t…” Emah shook her head. “Aargh. We follow. Come on. Weapons out.”

Emah Elmhill was not particularly tall, but she had the physique of a well-trained fighter. With a gloved hand she reached to her waist, to a leather scabbard from which decorative tassels hung. The scraping sound of steel across the metal collar filled the room as Emah drew her sword. She held the wide blade out in front of her, other hand clenched in a fist.

“Let’s go,” she huffed, and stepped her way through the massacre at her feet to follow Kami.

Maly fumbled at her belt sheath for her dagger, thin blade as long as her forearm. She stole another glance at the furred creature curled around the spear, unlike anything she had ever seen. When she realized that Emah was already descending the stairs, Maly shook her head and lightly padded forward to catch up.

A second furred body lay halfway down the spiral staircase, this one on its back. Once again it wore tattered, filthy strips of cloth, and one side of its small torso was stained in blood from a wound, most likely a spear thrust from one of the guards. Its head was like that of a large rat, with black beady eyes, long whiskers on a nose hairless at the tip of the snout. Its mouth was gaping wide in death, showing sharp, yellowed teeth at the front of its mouth. One of its four-fingered, clawed hands held a sharpened stick.

“By the light of the sun,” she gasped, her steps faltering.

“No! Blast you, no!” Kami’s voice echoed from below, immediately followed by Emah’s shout.

“Maly! Get down here!”

Wide-eyed, she dashed down the curved staircase.

The bottom floor of the jail was simple in its design. The staircase led to a square area with a guard post at its center. Arrayed around the post were four cramped cells, each with iron bars and containing only a straw pallet, a wooden bucket of water, and a grated hole leading to a common cesspit below. The walls and floor were roughly-cut stone, making the place just cold and damp enough to be constantly uncomfortable. Maly knew this place well from her weeks living here. She hated it and everything it represented.

Today, however, there was no guard posted at the center. No living one, anyway. Another green-and-yellow clad city watch member lay on his back, fat belly torn open and spilling intestines across his legs, his lifeless eyes wide and terrified in the torchlight. Two prisoners also lay dead and ravaged in their cells, bitten and torn by what looked like small claws and teeth. As above, the stench of blood and waste permeated the place.

Kami stood, fists clenched tightly, looking down at one of the corpses in the cells. It was a man, pale-skinned from the Stone Isles, with blonde hair like Maly’s. He was tall, with wiry arms and a long neck, and seemed to be of middling years. His gray clothes had been torn, especially around his chest and shoulders, which were a bloody mess of gore. Kami stared at the man’s face, her unmasked cheek wet with tears.

“Ma’am,” Emah said huskily, holding back vomit. “We have to go. We have to get help. Whatever these things are… we need to tell someone.”

Kami continued to stare at the corpse lying between her and the iron bars. Emah and Maly watched her, willing her to respond.

As a result, none of them saw the furred, rag-robed figures climbing out of the cesspool hole in the floor of an open cell, one by one, their small eyes glowing in the torchlight like rounded flint, until it was too late. Chittering, the rat-figures scampered into the hallway and attacked.

Age of Wonders: Issue 1b