The Plot

Thunk.

Thunk.

Thunk.

	Cerena forced her eyes open despite the crust seal that closed them.

Thunk.

	What WAS that sound?

Thunk.

	Who in their right mind was up before the sun rose and was making such a racket?

Thunk.

	She threw her bed’s linens aside and sat upright in her gown. She rubbed her eyes clear of crust with two fingers as the sound continued from somewhere in the courtyard beneath her chambers. Cerena walked over to the open window of her room, the curtains fluttering gently from a cool breeze.

Thunk.

	Far below the window in the castle courtyard was a glowing man absentmindedly throwing something against a tree. He would stand up, walk over and retrieve his projectile before returning to his spot in an endless cycle. Cerena raised her hand, mouthing the chant of a force spell when something caught her eye. On the ground next to him was his big, red, claw with his helmet sitting idly nearby. She sighed and let her hand fall to her side at the new revelation. “Finch,” she wondered aloud, “what are you doing up at this hour?”

	She strode to her dresser, throwing it open, chanting as the gown flew off her body by its own accord. She choose clothes nearly at random, a dark purple shirt here, black slacks there, and brown, shin boots to start. A waist-length, royal purple cloak held on her mantle by a silver chain finished her attire. Cerena walked towards the mirror and twirled around, watching her cape flow about her. The new “adventurous” fashion trend, as much as her mother hated it, was quite deserving of its praise by nobility.

	Cerena closed her dresser shelves with a flick of her wrist and strode out of her bedroom, opening and closing her door with the same motion.

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	“Finch, what are you doing up at this hour?”

	Finch looked behind himself towards Cerena’s voice, “Oh, hello Cerena. I was just…” He paused when he saw her attire, the fabrics loose yet somewhat clingy. “That’s a nice get up you’ve got I have to admit.”

	She smiled faintly, tossing back a lock of hair over her shoulder. “Thank you. I assume my choices complement each other.”

	“Yeah,” Finch nodded, “although I can’t quite say it's exactly shows off nobility. Seems more like the stereotype for adventuring to me.”

	“It’s a recent fashion trend Finch. All the other ladies in other courts have been going dressed like this to different courts or balls. Mother may hate it but goodness if I don’t love it.”

	{“That explains Melissa’s choice of attire”} he thought. Finch raised an eyebrow at the final tidbit. “Seems you’ve a lot to talk about your mom Cerena.”

	The princess sighed, fanning her head with a hand. “I’m sorry Finch; just idle ramblings is all. I digress though, what are you doing up at such an early hour?”

	“Nightmares.” Finch looked back to the tree, now pitted with various holes. “Couldn’t fall back asleep so I decided to find somewhere where I wouldn’t wake anyone and practice throwing my knife.” He lifted his right arm and hurled the knife towards the tree.

THUNK.

	The knife stuck itself into the bark of the tree, sagging slightly before Finch reclaimed it from the wood.

	Cerena crossed her arms, annoyance accompanying it. “I hate to tell you but you woke me up with your practicing.”

	Finch looked back, grimacing as he diverted his eyes to several patches of grass. “Sorry.”

	Cerena sighed, softening her gaze. “It’s alright. I needed extra time to study up on extra protection spells in case things go completely wrong in the keep anyways.” Finch sheathed his knife and let his gaze wander about the sky.

	“Y’know, since we’re both up and most likely not going to fall asleep, how about I take you up on your offer for a walk from last night?”

	Cerena paused for a moment, seemingly pondering at the offer, before responding, “That...seems like a good idea for the time being Finch. Shall we?”

	“Yeah, but let me change into my combat gear first actually. Need to keep up appearances for my reputation for the birdbrains.”

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	Fifteen minutes later…

	There they were, Cerena feeling proud of walking in the streets as casually as she was, and Finch armed to the teeth of his helmet. She watched the skies constantly, the shadows above speeding off at the sight of her walking companion. Not once did Finch bother to look up even in paranoia. He walked with confidence, planting one foot in front of another as if walking was his duty in life.

	If the legend of his slaying of the frost giant was any indication, his courage was well deserved.

	Silence permeated the streets as the two kept eerily silent ever since they left the castle.

	“So Finch,” Cerena started, “what brought you here to Rumans’ Keep in the first place?”

	Finch scratched at his chin with his free hand, “Well, obviously I came looking for a new house in a place I thought secure and moderately friendly to be in.” He looked upwards, for the first time, to the shadows above. “Obviously  I was VERY wrong on both accounts.” He reached out, nudging the princess in the arm. “Hey, to pass this walk by, how’s to say we play the game we did when we first met eh?”

	Cerena looked over her shoulder, her face straight as usual. “I don’t see why you would want to pass up the time to enjoy the walk but certainly. We can play your game. Do you want to start?”

	“Certainly. So, how’d you develop your...“tastes” as it were?”

	“Don’t you think that you’re starting a little personally?” she questioned. Finch simply shrugged. Cerena sighed before starting her story, “Long ago, when I was still just learning the arts of magic I had heard that intaking demonic energy would not only jumpstart my progress, but would also allow me to become more powerful over time. All this at the cost of not being able to partake in intercourse less I risk transforming in a succubus.” She gazed upwards towards the sky and all around, seemingly just realizing the sensitivity of the conversation. “So, one day, I snuck out of the castle and hunted down a mamono merchant who could supply it. Every month since then, I would sneak out in the dead of night with my spells to pick up her shipments. Sadly,” she raised her hand before letting flop back to her side, “the siege has prevented my recent delivery so now I’ll have to wait for my new supplements with what’s left of my stash.”

	Nodding, Finch replied, “That’s certainly interesting. Glad that it doesn’t come with any withdrawal symptoms I’ll bet.” The princess hummed in response. “Now, your turn.”

	Cerena paused for a moment, thinking for a question before once again noticing her companion’s golden glow. “Finch,” she started, “how is it you manage to sleep with that glow about you? With my energy alone I had to get used to sleeping with the equivalent of a night light. For you it must certainly be like sleeping in the sun.”

	Finch exhaled from the exertion of walking. “Eh, I don’t actually see it. From what I’ve been told, only those who have trained in using it and demonic mamono are able to detect it. The only reason I can use any little bit of it is due to an enchantment on my claw here.” He banged the side of hs claw with his fist for emphasis, the steel ringing almost as a steel wastebin.

	“Pardon if I may, but may I ask what the name of it was?”

	“I think it was a...hum.” He paused for a moment a raised a brow in thought, “I think it was called the “Strength of Will” enchantment. Done by none other than the Lich Gwendolyn.”

	Cerena raised her eyes in amazement at the answer. That ancient enchantment? Done by the Mother of Eros’s Purification rituals?! She looked directly into Finch’s eyes, his brows and smile raised in obvious pride. “Gwendolyn?” Finch nodded his head.

	“My turn now. How’d everything in Rumans Keep get to be how it is now?” Finch twirled his hand in the air, “What with your mother and all.”

	Cerena looked back forward and noticed the wall directly in their path, the door leading upwards open. Someone had forgotten to lock it. “Before I answer, shall we walk along the wall to witness the sunrise and to greet the soldiers?”

	“Certainly.”

	She walked ahead of Finch, starting up the stairs with him just behind her. “Now, my father ruled as normally as you could imagine, some progressive Order values with some tight restrictions for mamono while my mother sat off to the side lines, staunchly radical.” She kept her tone solid and full, reciting the history as a scribe would. “Time passed and about twenty years ago my father perished at the age of seventy-four while my mother was still seventy-five.”

	Finch piped up from behind her, “You mean to tell me she’s ninety-five in a time where the typical old age for peasantry is forty or fifty?”

	“We’re royalty Finch. We have access to better treatments, diets, and magics than common folk but that’s besides the point. She took control of the kingdom and instituted various different new laws and regulations that drove out any mamono visitation whatsoever.” She paused on the stairs momentarily, seemingly catching her breath from the walk before continuing. “Originally it wasn’t a problem since they were accepted by the lower classes and were generally competent decisions. It’s only been in the past few years that senility has begun to take its hold. Thankfully my mother’s one good decision in all her ramblings was to split power between her, me, and the council. Of course she’s forgotten about it though.” Cerena walked through the doors that lead into the now cleaned gate house, several guards within replacing the lever that Finch had apparently destroyed. When they became aware of their company, they quickly stood at attention, hands stained with oil rubbing against their foreheads. When she dismissed them, they began to hoot at Finch, hurrahing him at his earlier work.

	He waved with a grin at the guardsmen before returning his gaze to Cerena. “So what were her… “questionable” decisions in state then? Surely they could’ve had SOME use.”

	{“He has to be joking”} she thought. Judging by his face, he wasn’t.

Cerena grabbed Finch by the shoulder and spun him to face her directly, speaking in a fierce whisper. “Finch, my mother, while not straight admitting it, ABHORS the use of magic for ANYTHING. Knowing that she hates mamono and the challenges that line of thinking brings, let the implications run wild.” Finch raised his eyebrows at the explanation. Magic was one of the few things that helped keep the Order strong enough to be a match for the demon lord’s own forces. “Not only that, to sum up her executive decisions, It would be the equivalent of taking a mug of ale, downing it, and thinking it would be a good weapon to use in war.” She raised her hand and flicked it towards the wall in the general direction of the Keep’s tree farm. “For god’s sake Finch she recommended chopping down all the trees in town and using them for CROSSBOWS to deal with the siege.”

	Finch whistled in amazement. “I don’t know what I’m more impressed by, your comparison or the absolute, sheer flying turtle land that your mother is living in. I am sorry for you.”

	Cerena furrowed her brow at the response. Did Finch’s wisecracks know no end? She breathed out in annoyance before letting him go.

	“I’m sorry was that TOO personal or-”

	“No. No, it’s fine Finch. Let’s just keep along our walk.” she huffed as she began to walk out of the gatehouse

	Finch followed behind after waving back at the soldiers. They walked silently again before Finch broke the reformed ice. “Sooo are we still playing our game er....”

	“I would guess so Finch. Who’s turn was it again?”

	“I think it’s yours. I asked how things came to be, that lead on its own tangent…”

	“Right, right.” Cerena looked towards the line in the stone beneath them and noted they were still relatively clean. The only mess still in the stone was of footprints of dried blood that rapidly disappeared. They had the same stride length that Finch seemed to walk at. “Finch,” Cerena piped up, realizing her next question, “why didn’t you kill any of the raiders from last night? Even the minotaur that was supposedly the unofficial champion of the fiasco?”

	Finch rejoined Cerena at her side before speaking. “Well, partly it was due to laziness in not wanting to have to tire myself and the fact there was no point in it. My reputation has a stunning record of sending people running.” He raised his claw and gawked at it a bit before dropping it to his side, “Hell, I like to think I use fear and awe more often than my sword and claw.”

	Cerena unconsciously nodded at the answer before stopping as Finch bent over in the corner of her eye. He was bending down over an exquisite looking black blade, the blade curved sharply like a cutlass with various gems embedded in the handle. Finch whistled as he looked over the blade, resting it in his claw’s grasp with the hilt in his hand. “This is a captain’s blade,” he started, “Each gem signifying a won engagement and the black demon silver represents unending loyalty to the Black Coast. This’ll be a worth a fortune when I sell it off.” He adjusted the treasure to hold it by the base of the blade in his hand before standing once again.

	Cerena marveled at Finch’s eye for treasure. “Don’t you already have enough money Finch? Surely someone as valuable as you would have a fortune from your endeavors.”

“Not actually,” he looked back towards his companion, “a good chunk of my money actually comes from stealing shit after murdering the owner or finding it as I go along. Honestly I just pick it up as I go along.”

	Cerena smirked as she looked in front of her. “And here I was thinking you were an honest man worthy of talking to nobility Finch.”

	“It is honest!” Finch scoffed, “I kill people, and I steal what I can. I’m being completely honest!”

Cerena held a hand up to her mouth as she giggled at the defense. She looked back over to her new looking glass into the life of mercenary work. “I see that your cleverness extends to your words as well.”

	Finch smiled as he looked ahead. “If you think that’s clever, you should see me when I’m working.”

	“I would hope no-” Cerena flinched when the shouting of a familiar old coot ahead interrupted her.

	“HEHE! Good to see ya up here Missus Rumans! Who dat you done got with ye?”

	Finch raised an eyebrow at the old codger in front of him, pulling slightly back at the wrinkled sight. The man was thin and wiry, looking like a grizzled prospector with none of the actual physical traits. His face was wrinkled and scrunched up, a wiry head of white hair and stained beard hiding the blemishes. He wore the typical guard uniform of Rumans keep, leather with metal plates sprinkled throughout, but also had an eyepatch and crossbow slung across his back. For Cerena, a golden haze could be seen on the man’s shoulders; spirit energy.

	Cerena composed herself as the old man saluted before her. “Ah. Lawrence Tallern. Good to see you up here protecting the keep,” she returned the salute, leaving him standing at ease. “Finch, this is Sir Lawrence Tallern. He’s the resident hero of our home, known for never missing a shot.  Lawrence, Finch Lovejoy, the Crab.” The Tallern perked his head up pridefully, expecting a curtsy while Finch stared on, impartial to the elder.

	“Forgive me but I don’t exactly bow to everyone I meet.” Cerena could detect a sting of prejudice in Finch’s voice.

	Tallern shook his head before taking a step closer and looking Finch in the face. “Well, ya should pay some respec’ ‘n curtsy ta me yung ‘un. Ay keeled tirty monsters ovah da course ‘a my life. Keeled five more traitahs along wiff ‘em and STEEL goin’ strong! Hehe!” He bobbled a finger up and down in front of his person, “Ain’t nobody gonna be toppin’ me fer stayin’ alive fer a bit! I say, Missus Rumans how many yea’s was it again?” He looked over to Cerena, scratching his head.

	“It was…” she looked over to Finch, his face was contorted in confusion, mouthing ‘young ‘un,’ questioningly. “...about forty years I believe.”

	Finch nodded slightly, placing his hand on his hip before cracking a smile. “Well. A few things old-timer,” he emphasized old timer, much to Tallern’s visible cargin, “First off, thirty-five over the course of forty fuckin’ years don’t ring much to me.”

	“O’ really?” Tallern leaned forward with his hands on his hips. “Well, ‘sides ol’ Lucian Thunderhead ‘n General Maxim, who ya evah hea’ about dat could have himself a higher count den ol’ me eh yung ‘un? Uh?” He tapped a finger lightly into Finch’s chest, sending a visible twitch through Finch’s eye. “‘N don’t try ta lie ta me ‘bout some hero I ain’t heard ‘bout eitha! I dun heard al-”

	“You ever hear of the Crab old timer?” Finch asked deadpan as Tallern scratched his head in thought.

	“Nope! Can’t say ay have. Doesn’t seem too big ‘a deal if I meself hadn’t heard of ‘em!” The strain of steel drew Cerena’s gaze to Finch’s tightening claw.

	“You ever hear of the Massacre of the Southern Gate?”

	“Nope.”

	Cerena gently placed a hand on Finch’s shoulder, stating, “Finch, maybe it’s best if we stop the…”

	He continued regardless, still glaring at the crossbowmen. “Well here’s the deal old timer. It seems to me like you managed to prolong about a slow year’s worth of work over to the course of forty. Evidently your ass is ALSO so backwater retarded that the name of the Crab ain’t ever reached your ears like it should’ve. Cerena,” he tapped her shoulder with a spare finger, “you and the Queen’s council had both heard of me before a few days ago right?”

	“Yes..”

	Finch quickly turned back to the old man still looking forward indignantly. “The Crab was the one responsible for the Massacre, and he managed to kill about dozen monsters alone.” He leaned forward, raising his claw to head level. “In a SINGLE night.” Finch returned to his old pose as Tallern stood slackjawed. “This of course not counting the body pile that’s accumulated over his admittedly short in comparison career but it is still quite the tale to tell considering he also managed to kill a frost giant single handedly as well.” He paused for a moment before widening his eyes and smiling widely. “And sadly, Lawrence,” he stressed his quarry’s name, “while I HAVE heard of General Maxim alongside other Order heros and distinctly remember killing Lucian...yet… I’ve never heard YOUR name mentioned by anyone.” Finch tapped the tip of his claw into Tallern’s chest. “Not by Order men, monsters, no one!” Tallern stood up straight, a frown on his face and his hands balled into fists. “I guess you’ll just have accept the fact that you’re just another old man who’s trying to pretend like he matters in some extent despite his age.”

	Tallern’s face was beet red, sharply contrasting his stained beard and white hair. “You lil’ sonuvabitch! Ya think AY’M irrelavent? Ay defended this keep mah hol’ damn life! Wot’s something YOU’VE done ‘a worth huh? Well now?! Least I saved a man from one a’ dem succ demons, it ain’t jus’ killin that-”

	Finch raised his claw and let one digit bounce up and down as he interrupted Tallern’s demands, “Stopped the Plague of Vines for one,” he looked up towards the sky raising a brow, “saved an entire forest from being corrupted with that one, killed that ancient frost giant and saved a village, a relic of the old demon lord y’know,  managed to save the wall SINGLE HANDEDLY last night and managed to save a village from a rampaging ushi oni as a lesser known tale and so much more over the course of two years.” He looked back downwards as the old hero in front of him stood there fuming at his list. “I’m sorry did you want me to list them chronologically, or in the order the stories were written in?” He watched as Tallern stormed off behind him, roughly bumping his shoulder as he passed. Finch muttered, “Old, crinkly, bastard.” after the old man left.

	Cerena glared at Finch silently until he met her eyes. “What?”

	“Did you REALLY have to be so rude to someone you’ve only just met Finch?”

	Finch let his neck slacken with his eyelids. “He ain’t MY hero. And I personally have trouble respecting a man who gets giddy about shooting other men and their lovers...and he reminds me of the frost giant kind of.”

	Cerena walked past him and leaned out onto the fortification, looking over the plains as they rose from the mountains directly behind them. “Don’t you ever think that it would pay off to ever be polite when you first meet someone so that you can be friends with them?”

	Finch sighed as he looked behind towards the direction Tallern departed in. “Cerena, not too many people want to be friends with a man who kills people for a living.” He paused for a moment before adding, “Both ways I mean. And even then, I get by just fine on my own. I’ve managed to do it for two years and by god I’m going to STILL keep doing it for years to come. And even THEN I know who I like and who I DON’T like. That old bastard is one of the latter.”

	Cerena sighed and leaned deeper into the wall. He had a point, and should’ve known with the time he’s spent in his career. But something pinged Cerena’s interest while Finch was insulting Tallern. “Finch,” she started, “I’ve heard all of your tales...but I don’t recall the one about saving a town from an ushi-oni. What was that one?” Looking behind her, she saw Finch’s eyes light up at the reference.

	“Uhm...that one was a bit of a,” Finch was stammering and trying to find words for his thoughts, “...the town thing was...hum.” he looked towards the ground before peeking back up, “sort of in the moment?”

	Cerena’s face scrunched in curiosity. “What do you mean?”

	“Saving the town was a sort of half truth. It’s a long and complicated story.”

	“Do you have time to tell me?”

	Finch shrugged his shoulders. “Not..exactly. It's more of a private deal.”

	“You slept with her?”

	Finch glared directly at her, exclaiming, “HELL NO! What you think I’m some sort’ve…” He stopped speaking and shifted his glare into shock. “Cerena?” he pointed a finger past her out towards the field, “What is that over the horizon?”

	Cerena followed Finch’s finger with her gaze, leading her to gaze out to the horizon. Just over the bend was the outline still somewhat hidden by the morning’s darkness. After staring for a few seconds, Cerena gasped and held a hand to her mouth, her face reflecting the same shock Finch’s did.

	An enormous catapult was heading straight towards the keep and would arrive by night fall.

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	The council room was alight with arguments and controversy. Sheer, bloody panic washed over the calm and rational ideas like a black tide. Cerena sat quietly in her seat while Lovejoy stood next to her, still armed and looking over the room with worry. A line of men in military uniform stood at attention in the middle of the room, the glinting medals on their chests signifying great tacticians and generals. The queen’s seat was empty; she refused to be in the same room as the man who supposedly broke her hand.

	Wren banged a gavel loudly against his desk, shouting, “ORDER! ORDER IN THIS ROOM!” The council room quickly silenced as Wren released his gavel and leaned on his desk, hands clasping each other. “As the council knows, we MUST find a solution to the impending arrival of the catapult so reported by Her Majesty Princess Rumans and Mr. Lovejoy.” he waved his hand over towards the duo, Lovejoy waving his hand once in greetings. “Now, to help us decide what to do, I have requested the presence of the Keep’s top military leaders to give us their suggestions.” He motioned his hand towards the generals, nodding at them to begin their presentations.

	Lovejoy listened half heartedly to the ideas. One thought to attempt to create a ballista just to fire at and hopefully disable the catapult. Another, rather cheerful looking general thought to use Cerena’s magics in an attempt to either disable the machine or protect the keep from its payload. When she announced to all that those powers were still out of her reach, he filed back in line, his smile gone. When the final general stepped forward, Lovejoy was leaning heavily against the table in front of him, eyes closed in thought.

	The general cleared his throat before beginning. “As I may present. To, the council,” his voice was shaky, starting and stopping randomly, “my plan.” Lovejoy scrunched his face as the man continued, “I suggest a...more...personal approach to this situation. In order to t-truly disable the catapult, we must take it into our own hands. I propose that...taking our best soldiers and men...we open the gates, momentarily! Momentarily!” The general quickly raised his finger to emphasis ‘momentarily.’ “To send them flooding out towards the machine in an attempt to reach and disable it.”

He paused as Lovejoy opened his eyes and looked up, voicing his thoughts. “Excuse me general, quick question. What exactly do you mean by ‘best soldiers’?” Lovejoy used his claws and fingers as air quotes.

The general looked over to him, sweat pouring down his face. “W-well. I mean, those who would decide to volunteer for the good of the keep. It would be strictly...uh, voluntary. Any help would be appreciated.” Lovejoy watched as the entire council stared at him, silently willing him to take part in what was the best sounding plan at the moment.

Wren raised his voice, raising his hand as he spoke. “Ehm. While it would certainly help to have Mr. Lovejoy take part in the assault, in the off chance that he refuses for his own safety, it would still be wise to attempt to preserve all the assets that we can for future use. Does...anyone have any suggestions or questions?” Wren looked about the room, with a worried brow raised..

Lovejoy’s eye twitched as his knuckles whitened from gripping at the table. ‘Refuse for his own safety’ on something he practically dove into willingly before?! A younger man across the room raised his hand. “Wouldn’t we only need one qualified man to disable the catapult? Surely if he knows what to do he could dismantle or damage it beyond prepare.”

“Why, yes...yes that is a possibility,” a general interjected, “but how would a single man get remotely close to it?”

	While the council began discussing the possibility, Lovejoy began speaking himself to a plan. “Let’s see.” he started, “It’ll be impossible to breakthrough the line of mamono, even with me spearheading it. All it takes is one man to disable the catapult, and it will be here by nightfall.” He looked over to Cerena and thought back to their walk, his eyes lighting up with an idea. She had to sneak through people somehow, maybe she had a way to help. He tapped Cerena’s shoulder for her attention. “Cerena, do you happen to have any spell books or something that revolve around the school of illusion?”

	She looked up to him in thought. “I have one stowed away somewhere, I’ll have to find it though...what are you thinking?”

	“I was thinking of something that could be used for stealth. Darkness, false images….invisibility.”

	Cerena’s face lit up at the revelation of the plan. “Thinking on your toes I see.”

	Lovejoy smiled down at his confidant. “Not really.” He raised his hand, shouting, “Excuse me! Gentlemen excuse me for a moment! I’ve a plan!”

	The council quieted down, the various men directing their hope filled gazes towards Lovejoy. “So, that strikeforce idea, it’s pretty good, but ultimately wasteful. That one councilman,” he pointed in the general direction of the voice, “had a good idea with only needing a single man. That one general, general…” he waved his finger at the generals, “whoever, had a good idea about using magic. I say, let’s combine the ideas!”

	Mumbling arose from the room, Wren looking curiously at Lovejoy. “Mr Lovejoy, if you would care to explain your idea in detail for the rest of us.”

	“It’s simple Wren. Princess Cerena uses whatever invisibility spell she can to obscure a single soldier so that he can sneak to the catapult to disable it. Preferably in the dead of night, where the light of the sun won’t expose the ruse.” Trying to sneak to the catapult with invisibility during the day was pointless, both with the enemy seeing what was happening and the shadow from the sun exposing the invisible man’s shadow.

	The councilmen began to look towards each other, nodding in agreement. Wren still looked to Lovejoy, interested and happier. “Who do you propose should be the person to go out and do it? And even then how will we hide his presence exiting the keep? The enemy would certainly notice the gate opening and closing.”

	Lovejoy raised a finger. “One, we can hide his exit by making a small rope ladder of some sort to scale the wall, both upwards and downwards.” He raised a second finger, “And two, in regards to who’ll do it…” he paused, looking around the room to the various men still staring. Even now his ego was prodding at him. {“You can’t be serious about this. Why? Why give them the one thing-”} He dropped his hand before interrupting his own thoughts with his answer.

Cerena roughly pulled Lovejoy down by the sleeve fiercely whispering “Are you MAD?!” while the rest of the council nodded their heads at the plan, Wren declaring he would take the plan for approval from Her Majesty, Queen Rumans. Lovejoy smiled at his own answer, one that his ego now repeated in mockery.

{“I’ll do it?”}

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	Ten minutes later…

	{“That bitch.”}

	{“That absolute, wrinkly CUNT.”} thought Lovejoy.

	Lovejoy stomped alongside Cerena and Wren as they exited the throne room, his mind generating obscenity after obscenity towards the queen. The same one who so graciously decided to veto their plan when none others existed. She offered no details as to what bothered her or what needed to change, she simply threw the plan away. The trio stayed together amidst the crowd of other councilmen, each having an unspoken demand to talk with the others.

	Soon, they found themselves in the broom closet Lovejoy first met Cerena in, Wren standing in front of the closed door, Lovejoy leaning on a wall, claw at his side and hand in his pocket, and Cerena sitting idly on the table with her hands in her lap. Cerena and Lovejoy were both frowning, visible even in the darkness of the room while Wren looked between the two of them worriedly.

	“I guarantee,” Lovejoy started, “that she saw my name on that fuckin’ plan and tossed it.”

	Cerena glared at him, a look that instantly sent a chill down his spine. “Really? Re-really? You think that’s why hum? That it was ONLY your involvement that caused it to fail?”

	Lovejoy looked up, his frown turning to meekness as he saw tears in Cerena’s eyes. “Well. I mean, uh, it could have been a variety of-”

	“NO! It couldn’t POSSIBLY be due to the fact that it would mean my own magics would be displayed and I would be able to realize my potential.” Tears began to flow freely down Cerena’s face, staining any make up she had applied. “No! It couldn’t POSSIBLY be due to her, innate desire to see me squander my potential like she did with her own spirit energy! NOPE! IT JUST COULDN’T BE NOW COULD IT?!”

Lovejoy and Wren both flinched at Cerena’s yelling in the enclosed space, before Lovejoy’s eyes opened wide in shock. “Wait a minute, Cerena, your mom’s a hero as well?”

	“YES FINCH! WHY ELSE WOULD THAT OLD HAG STILL BE ALIVE TO TORMENT ME?!” Cerena walked around the room, casting various spells and sending objects flying, simultaneously sending Lovejoy and Wren for cover underneath the table. The storm above was so thick with power and shrapnel, Lovejoy couldn’t help but fear incurring Cerena’s wrath in the future.

	Lovejoy looked towards Wren as the maelstrom of magic stormed above them and shouted, “Wren! How long has this sorta bullshit been going on?! The,” he waved his hand around the room, “breakdowns?”

	Wren kept a hand raised over his head, flinching as items crashed around the room. “This...happens every now and again Mr. Lovejoy-”

	“Call me Finch!”

	“Finch! Ever since her father died, her mother has done nothing but discourage her from studying! It gets to be stressful you know! I hate to sound boastful but I reckon if not for me she wouldn’t be where she is today with her magical talents!”

	Finch stared at Wren for a moment before asking, “You’ve been the one egging her on?”

	“Like her father? Yes I have! Ever since I met her as a newly elected councilman of her age!”

Soon, the clattering faded away as Finch and Wren both peeked out from the table, Cerena slumped in a corner sniffling as she nibbled at a prisoner fruit. Finch held out a hand, about to open his mouth before Wren extended his own to interrupt him. “I know, about the prisoner fruit Finch. She told me about her plan after she found out I was a progressive.” Wren knelt down next to Cerena before he embraced her, rocking back and forth slightly to help her calm down as she started sobbing again. Finch stood still for a few moments until he began to walk about the room with his claw delicately holding his chin.

“It is a good plan,” he mumbled to himself, “it would involve Cerena, me, and maybe some third party to construct the thing to lower me down and…” Finch raised an eyebrow as he racked his brain for what else would be involved in the plot. “...nothing else I think?” Wren and Cerena both looked to him before Wren’s eyes lit up with a plot.

“Finch, as per our agreement with your contract, while you are an auxiliary to the forces of Rumans Keep, you are still not technically accountable under jurisdiction of the Keep’s military correct?”

Finch looked back, eyebrow still cocked, towards Wren. “Yeah?”

Wren looked back to Cerena who looked towards them both with curiosity. “Cerena, you are not technically a part of the military and wouldn’t be held accountable by your mother legally right?”

Cerena’s visage began to brighten while Finch was smiling at the implications. Cerena answered, “No...Wren, are you suggesting...”

“We do this plan on our own time and resources, not being held accountable for our actions legally by the assholes above?” Finch finished.

Wren tapped his finger through the air towards Finch, exclaiming, “Exactly. I can request the ladder with my own funds to do my part in this plot and to keep this out of government authority. Practically foolproof!”

	Wren gave a hand to help lift Cerena from her stupor in the corner while Finch walked to the door of the room. As Cerena cleaned herself with the aid of a handkerchief, Finch’s eyes darted from the prisoner fruit stalk in her hand, to her face, and finally back to her stash, where more fruit lay. He gnashed his teeth together, attempting to silence his sweet tooth before it could inspire the rest of his teeth to rebellion. Cerena seemed to notice his fidgeting, and asked “Finch, do you want a prisoner fruit before we go? You said you were addicted too right?”

	Finch shifted his balance between his legs, thinking, {I REALLY shouldn’t. But if I don’t then who fucking knows when it’ll come back to bug me again. It’s also Cerena’s stash and she IS offering..”} He looked closer at the stash and noticed that only a scant few fruit remained, by Finch’s guess only several. He reminded himself there was no telling how long this siege would last. “I’m,” he dipped his head before raising it back up, “going to have to refuse Cerena. It’s your stash, and, you’ll probably need it more than me, all I get are these ah...shitty cravings.”

	Cerena stared for a few seconds before shrugging her shoulders. She tossed the stalk into the hole and rehid it, before walking towards the door. Finch opened the door, beckoning Wren and Cerena to exit into the empty hall. As they passed by he whispered to each of them, “Cerena, study up. Wren, see if you can’t pay whoever makes it extra to speed up the construction of the ladder. I’m going to a bar to drink and nap.”

	Wren looked over indignantly as Finch closed the door behind himself. “Why is it you’re the one getting drunk and demanding we do the work?”

	“Your ass isn’t the one going into the breach Wren.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Hours later…

	Lionelle was getting impatient. Here she was in her dueling attire, boots, pants, corset, a mantle for warmth, all emblazoned with the same floral patterns of purple and yellow, doing nothing. The greatest duelist in the lands, honored with some semblance of military power for her abilities alone, sitting around doing nothing; even the few slaves they brought would not keep her entertained. General Pellissia, the VIP of her duties, had been ever insistent that no actions beyond the initial night raid were to occur, something she wasn’t even allowed to participate in. Lionelle felt that Lazarus, that bastard, was to thank for that. {“If only I had been up there to beat him down”} she had thought.

	Still, she found it odd how Pellissia was still so sure that the catapult was the solution. Especially with the payload it was destined to be delivering. Standing near the general as she marveled at the goblin engineering, the sheer size of the catapult attracted admirers from all across the siege camp. The iron vat filled with pitch, however, still demanded an explanation of her tactics.

	She looked over to the general, robed in purple and gold with jewelry in the shape of an eye wrapped around her head, to speak. “General, are you certain this choice of ammunition is wise? Aren’t we trying to CAPTURE the city rather than destroy it?”

	Pellissia looked calmly over to Lionelle, her gaze completely relaxed to the point of uncomfort to Lionelle. “Why, Lionelle. Why do you doubt my prediction?”

	“It’s not that I doubt it general, I expect the city to fall with the help of this machine but, why something that can burn down the entire keep? And why exactly only one?”

	Pellissa exhaled gently through her nose, turning back to observe the war machine’s tuning. “The winds of fate, while confusing in their path, always reach their destination. There was no point in trying to delay fate with choices of ‘ammunition’ so I chose something to help create fear for later. Even then, the catapult will only be able, and only need to fire once before our victory is assured Lionelle. Just give it time.”

	Lionelle nodded briefly, turning her head away before she quickly looked back with her brow raised. “‘Only be able to fire once?’”

	Pellissia never did answer her on that question.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Hours later…

	“Is this REALLY all you could fucking get?” Finch held up the piece of wood in his claw, dragging up the rope along with it. “This is a fucking stick tied to a long piece of rope.”

	Wren shrugged as laid the coil of rope of the ground. “What did you expect Finch? This was the best thing the roper said they could do in the time they had. They were at least nice enough to not charge me for the lumber they borrowed from the woodshop.”

	Finch looked over to Cerena still looking over her tome of illusion magic before staring back down at the wood in his claw. It certainly looked like it was thick enough to hold his weight, and long enough to stand upon easily. Looking back up towards Wren, he felt a hole rip open in his chest when he saw Wren panting heavily at carrying the bundle of rope. This was going to be the guy lowering him down? “Are you...entirely certain that we can’t get some of the soldiers to help us out?” Finch questioned.

	Wren placed his hands on his hips, still breathing heavily from his supposed exertion. “Ha, I’m.. afraid not Finch. If they get involved, we are instantly under their jurisdiction which we don’t want.”

	Finch simply looked up to the night sky, the stars strangely uninterrupted by flying bodies for once. He pondered aloud, “Y’know, standing here about to do this shit, I’m starting to think this isn’t such a good idea.”

	“Oh hush Finch, it’s YOUR idea in the first place.” Cerena scolded as she walked towards him, holding her tome in hand. “Just remember, no sudden or erratic movements. If you make any, the cloak will dissipate and render you visible again. Understand?”

	Finch nodded, “Slow movements. Got it.”

Cerena raised her hand, chanting silently before waving her hand over Finch’s body. Finch watched in awe as his body tingled, his person disappearing by fading away into nothing. Wren was astonished, gently extending a hand to tap Finch while Cerena tilted her head, her face contorted in angry confusion.

	Wren exclaimed, “I can’t believe it worked!” while Cerena was still visibly upset.

	“No,” she huffed in annoyance, “it didn’t work. His spirit energy is still visible.”

	Finch’s eyes raised in interest at the conundrum. “What do you mean? Did you mess up the spell or something? Something you missed?”

She placed a hand to her chin in thought, before performing the spell again, this time on herself. Cerena disappeared from sight, before reappearing with her arms flailing around her. “Alright, I know what the problem is.” She looked forward to Finch’s position. “Finch, you just have too much spirit energy. You look like a golden wisp to anyone who can see it.”

Finch simply stared back, before picking up the rope and laying the stick near the edge of the wall. “Well. In that case then so long as I stay away from wizards and demons, I should be fine. Thankfully the Black Coast don’t typically field demons nor mages so I should be fine.”

Cerena crossed her arms in front of her chest while Wren bent down to hold the wooden beam over the edge. Looking up, Wren looked through Finch towards Cerena, reassuring, “Cerena, he seems confident about your spell and I see no reason to wait for his liquid confidence to wear off. Can you help me lower him with magic? My lack of strength will not be enough I fear.”

Cerena nodded before stepping to Wren’s side by the rope. “Well Finch. Go ahead and mount the beam. We’ll do our best to lower you down to the ground.”

Finch kicked the beam to just off the ledge before kneeling near the ledge. “Alright, one thing though.”

Cerena and Wren both sighed, “What?” at the new demand.

“Pay attention to the rope. When you feel one tug on it, it means ‘Pull me up but take your time. it’s all quiet.’ If you feel two tugs, it means ‘Pull me up, pull me up for fuck’s sake pull me up I’m about to get my brains humped out.’ Agreed?” When both Wren and Cerena nodded their heads, Finch slid his feet over the ledge and onto the wooden beam, wrapping his hand tightly around the rope. He stopped himself from shooting his claw out to ledge as he felt himself drop an inch before stopping, Wren and Cerena solidifying their grip on the rope. Slowly, he descended to the ground, the beam shaking ever so slightly at his fidgeting.

Once again, his ego began to snap at his decisions from his mind.

{“Why the hell are you doing this?”}
{“This place doesn’t mean ANYTHING to you.”}
{“Hell, if you wanted to you could escape now, be done with the city and this army.”}

As the beam touched the ground, Finch mumbled, “Because Cerena was nice enough to me.” before shoving his nipping ego into the valley of his mind.

He began to walk towards the catapult, distant from the castle, past the tent city, as the grass scrunched softly beneath his boots. Finch stopped momentarily, looking down at his feet before continuing, moving slower and rolling his feet. The new motion’s silence was the gift he was desiring as he reached the tent line.

Various sounds echoed in Finch’s helmet, from sex within the tents between mamono and their husbands, or dark elves and their slaves, to groups chatting idly near camp fires strewn throughout the camp. Looking inside one of the tents he passed, he witnessed a dark elf riding a man atop a fur mat, her hand pulling back a leash attached to a collar around the man’s neck, the elf egging, “Mmph! C’mon you..ah~ you dog! Buck your hips into me and ask your chief god to save you from my love!” Finch nearly gagged at the display and only stopped himself short of intervening, blowing his cover.

This was almost his fate, years ago at the Black Coast.

He continued on, walking past different, similar displays, mentally telling himself to watch how tightly he was closing his claw. He passed by a campfire heating various lizardmen along with a stray manticore, conversing of the battles they hoped to face. Just as he passed by, the manticore sat straight up, sniffing at the air, asking, “Do you girls smell that?” Finch stopped in his tracks, despite his mental protests to keep moving.

One of the lizardmen answered, “No, not really. What, you smell something cooking?”

The manticore stood up from her spot, walking over to where Finch was still standing, sniffing the whole while. “No...not something cooking. I smell a man.” She breathed in deeply, before exhaling with a hint of excitement. “A new man.” Finch held his breath, fearful that the manticore might hear it, along with his footsteps if he moved. She stepped closer and closer, her tail weaving left and right behind her as she kept after his scent. It wasn’t long before she stood behind Finch, her breath drifting past the back of his gorget and to his neck, goosebumps rising to his much unwanted excitement. He held his claw still, angled behind him to grab at whatever he would need to as the manticore continued her hunt.

Eventually, she walked back to her campfire, stating, “One of the harpies must’ve gotten another guy or something, that or someone decided to get a little nas~tay out here. You girls know what I’m saying?” thrusting her hips on “nasty.”  The campfire group roared in laughter as Finch stalked off, weaving through the tents to avoid any more campfires ahead.

Eventually the tents dissipated to green grass as the catapult stood at the ready from a small square pit of flat earth in the ground. Looking over, Finch spotted a tent, larger than the others with spires that held the symbols of the Black Coast, separated from the others. {“The head honchos…”} he thought. From the distance, the catapult seemed to be of goblin design, the use of thick rope tied tightly around the frame and across the middle in lieu of a crossbar to prevent impact damage from the strain of the payload on the throwing arm. Judging from the light Finch saw emerge from the missile within the bucket, it was meant to cause a horrible fire.

	Walking towards his target, the he noticed the flaps of the tent open, vomiting out a group of six dark elves, four of which were in the typical soldier outfit while two others appeared more extravagant. One wore a gaudy outfit that provided no protection from the elements, a corset exposing luscious amounts of dark brown cleavage and leaving her shoulders bare if not for the mantle around her shoulders. Her form was lithe yet of average height, not bigger than Finch but not completely dwarfed either. Her hair was short and a typical white for dark elves, her face smooth and mature, creased with seriousness. A rapier barely hidden by the mantle along with the parrying dagger on her hip revealed her as one of the duelists of the Black Coast; the one thing he couldn’t tell.

	The other was more suspiciously dressed, her body was covered in robes reflecting her allegiance to the Black Coast with a eye sigil made of gold on her forehead. Her somewhat lighter frame was mostly obscured by her robes, but the addition of light might have revealed the similarly lith form of the other elf, her height slightly taller however. Her hair was unusual for a dark elf, a solid black with a face with plush lips and an expression of unnatural calmness that sent a chill through Finch’s spine. He could’ve sworn he recognized this duo from the legends he heard between soldiers in bars.

	Finch watched as the group stopped at the robed one’s command, raising an arm as she stared out towards Finch. Did she see him? When her hand started glowing, Finch shook his head, muttering “Oh crap.” and quickly flipped down his visor, breaking into a sprint for the catapult.

	The signs pointed to yes.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	A minute earlier...

Pellissia leaned against one of the lavish pillows in her command tent, Lionelle’s honor guard stood in front of the door, the grand duelist herself resting against the table in the room. She had stomped inside demanding a full explanation of her decisions during the siege. She was questioning ‘the unorthodox choice of attempting to wait out a town with endless supplies of grain, choosing to probe at the enemy's defenses once rather than a rush to take the wall along with an insistence on destroying the town with a firestorm of just plain cruel proportion.’ She couldn’t help but chuckle at all of the accusations. Lionelle clearly doubted her powers of divination.

Pellissia waved her hand dismissively towards Lionelle. “Lionelle...my dear bodyguard,” Lionelle twitched at the word ‘bodyguard,’ “you really do doubt my predictions. Have they not helped us find our way to victory? I predicted that the raid last night,” she raised a finger, “while ultimately would have been a failure, was a chance for us to glimpse into the enemy’s ranks towards their champion, and it revealed to us Lazarus in all of his infamy. I predict, now, that with the use of our new weapon, the keep will be forced to surrender.” She looked off towards a corner of the tent while keeping Lionelle’s glare in her peripheral vision. “While certainly we will not acquire what we want in totality, we will still reap a prize worthy of our efforts.”

Lionelle pushed off the table with a huff, placing her hands on her hips as she stood over the general. “You still haven’t explained to me WHY the catapult will ONLY be able to fire one shot in its lifetime. Certainly we should be able to carve boulders from the mountain and use that.”

Pellissia stood up, sighing at her underling’s lack of understanding. “Because you do not realize the catapult will die tonight. Be it from weather, the earth, or something else, it will not survive.”

The duelist raised an eyebrow at the boast of the catapult’s destruction. “Well general. If you’re so insistent on the catapult’s destruction, then how about we go watch it fire it’s payload?” Lionelle extended her arm out and waved in the general direction of the machine. “The goblins say it’s ready to fire after some adjustments for aiming over the wall.”

“I see no wrongs in proving my visions to you Lionelle. I will join you in your watching.”

The guardsmen parted as the two commanders stepped out into the night’s air, the catapult and goblins working on it lit by torchlight. To Lionelle, it was the typical sight of the area just as before she entered the tent. To Pellissia, there was another light shining in the darkness.

There was the flame that she had seen burning brightly the night before as she watched her soldiers flee from the wall. Pellissia raised her hand for the entourage to stop in their tracks. “Look Lionelle. The destruction of the catapult is indeed present.”

She squinted through the empty space, looking all around for any disturbance. “I don’t see anything. What, do you see something?”

“Oh! You really don’t see it? Oh yes of course you do not make use of magic. Here, let me reveal to you what I see.” Lionelle frowned at the insult while the general raised her hand, chanting for a spell of light to emerge from it. Much to her enjoyment, the form of Lazarus instantly appeared ahead of them, starting a mad dash for the catapult.

	Lionelle’s gasp drew the general’s attention to her side, the duelist unsheathing her blade and beginning to step forward. She held her arm out, blocking the stride of her bodyguard and her own honour guard. The duelist looked indignantly towards her, demanding, “What are you doing?! Lazarus is right there! We NEED to stop him!”

	Pellissia hardened her gaze, looking towards Lionelle and her ridiculous notion. There was no stopping him. “I recommend leaving the problem alone. The catapult WILL be destroyed, yes, but Lazarus will be delivered unto our grasp soon enough. That I guarantee.”

	“And let him possibly kill any of our soldiers?! I think not!” Lionelle shoved past her superior’s arm, pursuing Lazarus with the rest of her guard.

	The general looked towards the rabbit chase before sighing. Fate, while steadfast in its intentions, was also unpredictable, able to have it’s path shaped by those like Lazarus.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Panic.

	Sheer bloody panic raced through Finch’s mind as he dashed to the catapult. Even now the green bodies of the several goblin engineers were visible as he drew his blade from its sheath. Looking behind him, he spotted several of the tent party chasing after him, the one with the corset keeping her profile thin, dashing towards him side first with her blade arm. He would have to deal with that after the machine.

	As he approached the pit, some of the goblins witnessed his approach, screaming and breaking away from the catapult. Only one remained by her post, back to a wheel on the machine, fearful of the beast charging at her. Just as Finch strode over the edge of the pit, the goblin seemed struck with realization before turning the wheel, sending it spinning uncontrollably before breaking into her own mad dash.

	Finch could only shout, “NO!” as the bucket jolted upward, colliding with the rope and sending the payload towards the wall of the city. It flew through the air like a comet, colliding with a tower along the wall, spilling some of it’s pitch before continuing on a shortened trajectory into the city.

	Looking back, he spotted the pursuing elves, closer now, the front one shouting, “LAZARUS! FACE ME, THE GRAND DUELIST, AND ANSWER FOR YOUR CRIMES AGAINST THE BLACK COAST!”

	“Huh,” he thought aloud to himself, “so that’s who that is.” The grand duelist, here in the battlefield, chasing after him like a hellhound with a manticore prick in her ass. He made it a point to not to engage with her, especially not with her friends with her. Finch looked about, looking for anything that he could use to his advantage against the odds charging at him. The straining whine of rope drew his gaze to the catapult’s in place between the beams of the frame.

	{“Two birds, one stone?”} he thought.

	Finch quickly hopped into the frame of the catapult, positioning himself just in reach of the rope as he waited for the group to close in. The duelist and her party did not bother to stop at the edge of the pit, leaping over the edge and onto the flat earth. Suddenly, Finch jumped upwards, grabbing the rope in his claw before snipping it free, sending the chunk of thick rope whipping around the beam like a weed whacker. He ducked down into the frame and beneath the rope, watching as the group of his quarry were assailed by the spindly hazard.

	The rope swept through them like blades of grass, some being torn apart while others were graced with sudden deep cuts across their bodies or faces. The grand duelist herself, in the middle of the group, turned her body rightward in an attempt to block the whipping rope with her left hand, only to have it severed with a scar rent across her face.

	Finch looked back to the catapult, now disabled without a properly strung rope, the weakness of goblin war machines. Now, the camp was cheering at the launch, unaware of the threat that now needed to push past them and back towards the wall.

	Finch calmed his breathing, his ego caressing the insides of his mind.

	{“It’s alright, you’re okay.”}
	{“You’re going to be alright.”}
	{“What you did in Van Rourke prepared you for this.”}

	He nodded before standing up from his spot, moving away from the moaning and screaming of the rope’s victims. He started to walk towards the line of tents, breathing deeply the whole while at his new predicament. As he closed the distance to the line, some mamono spotted him and began calling for their peers to witness his arrival.

	His instincts told him that it was no use as he broke into a sprint towards the tent line. {“You’re just going to get caught dead tired”} it repeated. Finch willed his mind to stop talking as he roared out, holding his claw in front of him as he charged the few mamono gathered.

	{“Might as well give them something to talk about”} he thought as he butted past the weakest section in the body of walls. The wall broken and his person through it, he began doing the stupidest thing to do when being pursued by mamono.

	He ran like a bitch.

	Finch leapt over and sprinted past firepits, tents, and various different soldiers staggering back from the sight. Those that stood in the way, be it elves, ogres, or werewolves, were batted out of the way with the sheer force of Finch’s claw. He channeled his spirit energy into his claw, just to be safe.

	Eventually, he broke the tent line to the space outside the keep, where he spotted the rope still dangling near the ground. His breathing was ragged and irregular, his stride nothing more than a fast limp, only pushed on by the crowd distantly behind him. The beam was higher than when he left it, just in reach for his claw to grab onto and tug harshly on, once, twice, and several more times.

	He felt his arm almost spring out of its socket when he suddenly shot into the air, the crowd staring from the base of the wall.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	Pellissia was saddened by what happened to Lionelle, but she did warn her about interfering. Lazarus, after all, had an unpredictable nature to him, the fact he had been courageous or crazy enough to disable the catapult himself was proof of it. But, even with all of his unpredictability, he would not be able to escape fate. He would deliver himself unto the Black Coast’s grasp at some point.

	As she watched his flame shoot up the wall, she chuckled at the thought of him thinking he has escaped. He would be back. She turned back towards her tent, to a slave waiting on the fine blankets and pillows. {“I’ll see you tomorrow morning Lazarus.”} she thought.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	As Finch rapidly approached the ledge, he felt himself roughly dragged across the wall before sliding over the ledge to Cerena and Wren’s waiting hands shouting, “Let go! Let got of the rope!” As instructed, he let go of the beam and let it fly down the hundred foot drop to the inside of the city. He looked around from the floor, between Cerena and Wren’s faces as they looked over his heaving body.

	Finch asked, “How...the fuck....did you get me up so fast.”

	“Well, when the catapult’s missile hit the tower,” he pointed to a nearby tower with a chunk torn out of its frame, “and Cerena saw you running like a madman through the tents, she got the idea to tie the rope around a large piece of rubble and dropped it off the edge to pull you up, like a pulley system.”

	Cerena looked up towards Wren, whining, “Wren that’s the least of our questions right now. Finch,” she looked down towards his form, “What happened?”

	“I,” he started, “got detected by a wizard. I ran to the…. Hah, catapult, but, right when I got there the fucking… green, CUNTS there fired it without aiming. I, ha, man give me a second. I just sprinted a fucking mile and my sides are worse for wear.” He closed his eyes in pain with the discovery of absolute pain currently in his legs and thighs. He composed himself, taking deep breaths and flipped up his visor to let in more cool air. The smell of smoke soon wafted into his nose, throwing his eyelids open. He looked towards Cerena's face, illuminated by torch light. “Cerena, where exactly did the missile hit?”

	She looked upwards along with Finch before putting her hands up to her mouth in shock. As Finch turned over and crawled to the edge to observe the fire blazing in the distance, Wren stood up and answered his question.

	“Judging by the location, it’s…" Wren took a gulp of air as he looked towards the rising column of smoke. "It’s set our granary, and our food supply ablaze.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

	The mamono talked nonstop of the spectacle they had witnessed that night. Who wouldn’t be talking about the Crab running full sprint for a good mile through a mamono war camp and, somehow, getting away with it? They had decided to name the event aptly as, “The Crab’s Frantic Scuttle."