The Night Raid

Further Southwest from Van Rourke were vast, grassy plains that extended for miles out of sight, only broken by the several mountain ranges that contained them. Close to the slopes of one of these ranges, lay Rumans Keep, an Order controlled city ruled by its queen and her advisors. It was regarded as “The Fruit of the Basket” due to its fertile farmlands and location within the green valley. Westward was the only flat terrain in and out of the valley, an opening that an opposing force, one from the coast further west, took to siege the keep.

	An army of dark elves, bolstered by various other species of mamono, set their camps outside of Rumans Keep’s walls. Harpies and other flying mamono swooped across the ramparts, picking off anyone foolish enough to stand outside of the fortifications. The inhabitants and ruling class of the keep were not worried. They had grain stores to last for years and knew that next to no trees grew outside of the city’s own tree farm. They could effectively stay inside the walls and iron gate for years and be safe.

	What did they possibly need to worry about?

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	The door of the cell opened and through it walked a man rifling through various sheets of paper before sitting down at the room’s table. He was an older man about in his thirties, a complexion of refinement and snobbery about his features.  He wore a half plate armor that guarded his chest and arms, white cotton fabric indicated Order loyalties. His head was shaven, clean of any and all hair, making his royal features more pronounced. He had an air of highness around him, his movements experienced but not relaxed. This was a man who took his work very seriously, and with pride.

	Lovejoy hated high noses like him.

	The man set the papers on the table and began to rifle through them.“Let’s see...arrested for starting a bar fight, including deadly weapons in said fight-”

	“I didn’t technically start it. Some guy was disturbing everyone and threatening them with ass kickings. And I only used the claw to bash him once he brought out a knife.”

	The man looked up from his paper, glaring at Lovejoy before taking a pen and dipping it in ink. He began to write on the paper, speaking as he went along. “Interrupting Captain of the Penal Battalion Francis Jack Alman…”

	Lovejoy’s brows creased into a scowl. {“This is how it’s going to be huh.”} He sighed and leaned back into his chair, waiting for the rattling of crimes to end.

	Francis set down the papers and folded his hands onto the table. “As you can guess Mr. Lovejoy, I’m offering you the chance to join the Penal Battalion.” Lovejoy scoffed at the offer.

“Several questions. A. Why do you want me? B. Why’s the sudden need for a Penal Battalion in this frame in time? And C. You mean to tell me crime’s so bad here you’re able to gather up a whole battalion?”

	The captain kept looking onwards, even past Lovejoy as he held a tone of mock sympathy. “Well Mr. Lovejoy, You’re just who you are. The Crab. Your skills would be invaluable to us. The need is also a given considering that we’re now currently under siege. Who’s flag we do not know, nor do we care to find out. And on the crime part, first of all. How dare you badmouth our city like that. And second, our laws are very strict here in the Keep. We like to keep a refined atmosphere as we can, even with the slum scum.”

	“How about I just offer my services to the military for free to work off whatever debt I have then Francis?”

	Francis’s lip twitched slightly, before he chuckled, looking down to his hands. “Mr. Lovejoy. A recent law of Rumans Keep, drafted by the Queen, Her Majesty Rumans, forbids any contracting of mercenary parties in all sectors by either civilian or state officials.”

	Lovejoy burst out laughing at the statement. Who DIDN’T need mercenaries for even routine affairs that normal soldiers could but aren’t available to do? “No wonder this place is so in the shit then!” Francis watched, his eyes slowly drooping as Lovejoy composed himself. “I’m sorry it's just so ridiculous that any ruler of a city could be so blusteringly incompetent in terms of lawmaking.

	“Look Lovejoy, are you going to join the Penal Battalion, or are you just going to rot in a jail cell while this glorious city burns around you?

	Lovejoy sighed before delivering his answer. “Fuck, might as well Francis. I mean it's not like I have much choice in the matter.” He emphasised his point by raising his wrists, still in manacles, before setting them down on the rags the guards had given him for clothes.

	Francis smiled from across the desk, Lovejoy picking up he was glad he forced him into this. “Good. Very good Lovejoy.” Francis stood up, walking around the table as Lovejoy extended his hand for a shake.

	Lovejoy’s world spun for a bit after Francais grabbed his head and slammed it into the table, leering into his face. “Listen up you moraless, no-good, wandering murderer you. You will address me as CAPTAIN Jack Alman from now, to the end of your miserable career as a Penal Soldier. And let me tell you now Lovejoy, you will REMAIN a Penal Soldier UNTIL I feel you have redeemed yourself in glorious combat AND are rehabilitated in MY eyes! DO YOU GET ME SOLDIER?!”

	Had Lovejoy been younger in his own career, he would feel intimidated by the Gunnery Sergeant act. He smiled, his head still smashed into the table, and looked into the captain’s wild eyes. “Whatever you say Captain Francis. When do I get my gear?”

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	Hours Later…

	The day passed by at a hellishly sluggish pace for Lovejoy, from getting a red ‘X’ painted across his rag’s chest, to getting assigned a poleaxe he didn’t even know how to use, to standing at attention in front the queen, an ancient and wrinkly old prune, as she delivered a speech about the duty of his group to the keep. Letting his eyes wander several times, he noticed that the so called Penal Battalion was more of a Penal Squad, with about a dozen or so men, himself included along with Francis, who seemed to take some sort of misplaced pride in his role. Lovejoy’s eyes soon settled on a woman, wearing a gray dress with equally matching waist length hair and tiara with refined and young but somewhat aged features, idly reading a tome behind everyone else.

{“A princess?”} thought Lovejoy.

{“A court mage?”}

Every so often, she would raise her book up to her face with one hand, obscuring it from view before lowering it again. Lovejoy continued to watch, curious at what she was doing while the other soldiers stood watching the queen. As he watched, he couldn’t help but feel somewhat bedeviled by her. She was a beautiful woman after all, with an hourglass curve hidden by her dress. Eventually, she raised her book somewhat lower than normal when Lovejoy saw her nibbling at something, something with a stalk that had two leafs and formed a heart.

“Guardsmen! Are you not paying attention!?”

Lovejoy looked forward only to witness the wrinkly queen’s face in front of him, involuntarily jerking away due to the sudden change in features. As Captain Alman slapped the back of his head, the queen slapped his cheek with her glove, leaving his cheek red and a hidden fire behind his eyes. Lovejoy looked forward to see the book girl watching, but not reacting to the slapstick. {“Jesus she’s beautiful”} thought Lovejoy.

As they were dismissed, the woman quietly excused herself, passing by Lovejoy as she exited the room, the troops beginning to funnel out the same way. As she passed by, Lovejoy’s nose caught a familiar smell, one of sweetness and hidden passion. To most people, the smell would have struck them as excellent perfume or, for the paranoid, pheromones.

To Lovejoy, it struck him as the scent of prisoner fruit.

Lovejoy followed the line of troops out, the last in line, as they marched down the same hall as the woman. Soon, they came to a threeway where the woman turned into a new hall, the troops continuing on straight ahead. Lovejoy chose to follow the more interesting of the leads, slipping from his position, miraculously unnoticed.

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	Princess Remans walked through the hallways of her home, looking backwards to ensure no one was following her. She turned corner after corner, moving to her stash quickly. She needed to get rid of her snack as soon as possible. Getting caught was equivalent to death.

	She stopped in front of a door that lead to a laundry room, one she had forbidden the servants from using whatsoever. She stepped into the room, greeted with a table with a candle stick on it and various washboards scattered throughout the room. She walked over to one of them and bent downwards, moving bricks as she removed the prisoner fruit stalk from her dress. Once she beheld her stash of prisoner fruit, she shoved the stalk inside before covering the hole. There was no telling how long this siege would last. She needed to make her supply last.

	“Got a little bit of an addiction do you?”

	She whipped around, looking towards the door frame in panic. A man, that handsome Penal Soldier that had been watching her the entire time her mother was lecturing him, was standing at the door, halberd at idly at his side. Questions raced through her mind{“Who’s that? How did he follow me and not get seen?! How LONG was he WATCHING me?!!”}

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	Lovejoy stalked through the halls, hiding behind furniture as the woman turned to watch for eavesdroppers. She soon came to a door that she hurried through. Lovejoy made his way to the door and softly opened it, stepping in as the woman kneeled down near washboards and the wall. She removed the prisoner fruit stalk from her dress and slipped it inside the wall, into some stash hidden by the misuse of the room. Lovejoy closed the door as she covered her stash, before making his presence known.

	“Got a little bit of an addiction do you?”

	The woman turned, her face neutral as she looked from her kneeling position. Her voice matched her appearance, monotone and unfilled by emotion. “What are you doing here? Why should I not call the guards to arrest you?”

	Lovejoy smirked, setting his poleaxe onto the table. “Few things. A. I too have a bit of an addiction. B.I want to get to know you a bit. To do that, we can play a game where we each ask each other a question at a time. I’ll start. What’s your name?” The woman relaxed at his questions, setting her hands to her lap.

	“I am Cerena Rumans. Princess of the Queen, Mage of the Court, Grand Interrogator. Who are you Penal Soldier?”

	Lovejoy straightened himself out, standing tall. “Princess Cerena, my name is Finch Lovejoy. Also known as the Crab within soldier circles. A pleasure to meet you.” Lovejoy bowed as he introduced himself, acting as grandioso as he thought a noble upbringing could be.

	“So you’re the Crab the guards brought in last night.”

	Lovejoy raised a finger, tsking the whole while. “Ah! It's my turn to ask a question! So uh,” Lovejoy racked his brain to think of a question. “Um. So you enjoy prisoner fruit?”

	“Yes I do. But only for the fact that it helps boost my magical prowess with the intake of demonic energy. I have no plans on losing my virginity and becoming a succubus. Why are you here Lovejoy?”

	Lovejoy leaned against the table, waving his hand, “Eh, partly for connections. Partly for begging. So you’re the princess of this place? You look a little old for that.”

	The princess furrowed her brow in annoyance. “Yes, I am the princess, and I AM a little old for it. It's just that my fossil of a mother won’t die off yet. She’s about ninety-five years old and making decisions that would have worked in the past but now do nothing but fail. It's the advisors that try to keep them in check these days. Goodness, the Royal Contractor Act was-”

	“Whoa whoa whoa,” Lovejoy waved his hand, stopping Cerena short. “Slow down, you’re giving me too much information here, it's making my answers feel small and inadequate.”

	She smiled gently, waggling her finger tsking him. She was actually enjoying this guessing game. “Ah! It's all a part of the game Finch! Now then, what EXACTLY are you planning on blackmailing me for? Surely you’ll want something out of the information of my being a heretic.”

	“Straight to the point now? Alright. I’ll oblige.” Finch sank to his knees and clasped his hands together. “Oh God PLEASE get me out of that Penal Battalion! I can’t TAKE IT. I HATE the rigidness of military protocol! I can’t STAND the people in it OR Francis!” Cerena’s smile disappeared as she gently raised her brows in interest at the groveling. “Miss, if you could do that for me I would be in your fucking debt. I would do whatever I could to help you. I would swear it on my claw but if only, I, HAD IT!”

	Cerena snickered softly before she stood up and walked towards Finch, placing a hand on his shoulder. “If you surely pledge to do that Finch, I could see about doing what I can to help. I may not have the authority to pardon you straight forth but there’s a council meeting tonight so I’ll see about what I can do then. I DO have some authority in certain matters however, what do you wish?”

	Finch looked up, smiling widely, his hazel eyes and teeth shining. “Well, could I get my clothes and gear back? Just to keep me alive is all. Oh and get Francis off my back. Last thing I need is him grounding me out of spite.”

	“Are you sure that’s all? I’m sure I could do more…”

	“No, I shouldn’t need more than that. Trust me, what I do I mostly made up on the fly.”

	“Then stand Finch Lovejoy, my now secret champion. Let us go and acquire your equipment. I’ll wave it off as needed.”

	Finch stood up and grabbed his halberd off the table before walking over to the door of the laundry room and opening it. He held it open, holding out his arm for Cerena. “Lady Cerena?”

	She huffed at him, still not showing emotion. “Don’t push your luck Finch.” She walked past him, keeping her hands folded in front of her as Finch walked behind, poleaxe resting on his shoulder.

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	Fifteen minutes later…

	The barracks for the Penal Battalion, adjacent to the Royal Castle, were barren and a dull brown, with nothing in the room save various bunk beds, lined up in rows for the Soldiers and offering no privacy. Alman’s face was red and littered with veins. Where the hell did Lovejoy go? What kind of bastard did he think he was to disappear from the Battalion without permission? It wasn’t until Lovejoy showed up to the barracks, using his poleaxe as a walking stick, that he had an answer to all of it.

	“LOVEJOY! WHERE IN THE CHIEF GOD’S NAME WERE YOU?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THE PUNISHMENT IS FOR ABANDONING RANK?!”

	The bastard did nothing but smile at him. “Calm your ass down Captain. I was in an interview with Princess Rumans, Her Majesty’s daughter. She left me with a written missive of what she wants to happen.” He extended a hand forward, holding a previously unseen scroll. “If you don’t want to read it considering you’re probably seeing nothing but red then it’s fine. I’ll read it for you.”

	Lovejoy let go of his poleaxe, letting the head roughly impact with the ground as he held the paper up to read it. Alman looked down at the poleaxe’s head, his eye twitching madly when he noticed a new chip in the blade. How DARE this moraless bastard treat the weapon granted to him by the state so roughly? How DARE he tell HIM to calm down?!

	Lovejoy’s voice broke through Alman’s mental anguish. “By formal order of Princess Cerena Rumans, the Penal Soldier known formerly as Finch Lovejoy shall be granted all possessions seized upon confinement and conscription for personal use as he sees fit. This formal order also declares that Captain of the Penal Battalion Francis Jack Alman will under no circumstances bestow any punishments unto Finch Lovejoy for the remainder of his duty in the Battalion no matter his action.” Lovejoy looked up from the paper, a wide grin on his face. “Man Francis this is so great! If I had known I qualified for being a special soldier in this group I wouldn’t have been so reluctant about it!”

	Alman’s face was beet red, the soldiers all whispered to each other, glaring in jealousy at Lovejoy’s luck. The captain marched up to Lovejoy, his voice low and threatening. “Now you listen here Lovejoy. It’s a sentence enough that you abandoned your rank without permission to wander god knows where. But FAKING A ROYAL ORDER. FORGING THE PRINCESS’S GOD GIVEN NAME! I WILL SEE THAT YOUR ASS GETS TURNED INSIDE OUT FOR THIS LOVEJOY! DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME!?” Alman was shouting into Lovejoy’s face, thumbing a finger into his chest the whole while.

	Lovejoy raised a hand to his face and wiped off some spittle that had landed on his face. “Y’know Francis-”

	A hand slapped the side of Lovejoy's head, sending him staggering. “THAT’S CAPTAIN JACK ALMAN TO YOU YOU GRIMEY PIECE OF SHIT! AND EVEN THEN YOU WILL ADDRESS ME AS SIR, DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?”

	Lovejoy rubbed his head before looking at Alman again, his smug smile gone. “A few things sir. One, you should REALLY stop with the physical and emotional assaults on my person. Soon enough, I just don’t think I will be able to bear it.”

	“TOUGH SHIT SCUMBAG! I’LL SMACK AS MUCH AS I GODDAMN-”

	A voice emerged from behind Lovejoy, over Alman’s screaming “Captain Alman, is something the matter? What’s with all the shouting?”

	Lovejoy’s smile reappeared. “And two, I brought the writer of the order along with me to make sure there were no problems.”

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	Francis looked behind Lovejoy and let his jaw drop. “Your highness!”

	Cerena walked behind Lovejoy, stoic as ever with her hands down in front of her. “Captain Alman, are you not heeding the orders I gave Mr. Lovejoy after his interview?”

	Francis looked to back to Lovejoy, causing him to smile toothily. He thought,{“Damn straight motherfucker.”} the whole while. Alman looked back to Cerena, voicing discontent.

	“Your Highness, you can’t HONESTLY expect something GOOD out of a man,” he kept jabbing a finger into Lovejoy’s chest, quickly raising his hidden ire, “who murders anything for a living! He’s a MERCENARY! He HAS no loyalties! He’s no better than the monsters outside ou-AAAAAH!” Francis’s face shifted to shock as Lovejoy grabbed his finger and twisted it backwards, breaking it in one swift motion.

	Francis backed away, gazing at his newly disjointed finger, the Penal soldiers cringing at the sight. Lovejoy stood wild eyed, staring into Francis’s eyes as he looked back in a mixture of anger and fear. Lovejoy blinked and shook his head, as though he was spaced out, and turned to Cerena, her hand held to her still expressionless face. “I do apologize that you had to see that Princess Rumans. I had warned him I didn’t think I could bear his accusations and pawing.”

	She lowered her hand, setting it down in front of her. “Thank you for the apology. Now, Captain Alman. I expect you will see Mr. Lovejoy properly equipped as requested.”

	The captain shakily raised his hand to his head, wincing as he bumped his finger into his forehead to salute. “Y-yes Ma’am.” He held his salute as Cerena exited the room, leaving Lovejoy standing in front of the captain with his arms crossed in satisfaction. The captain glared at Lovejoy, still smiling at the predicament.

	“You go to the armory and request your gear. I’ll be looking for a…” Francis winced as he kept speaking, his tone soft and restrained, “medic to deal with me. But just remember Lovejoy. I still got you by your ass in terms of orders. If I tell you we’re moving out and you’re coming with us, you come with us. Do you understand?”

	Lovejoy nodded, satisfied with the change in tone. “Yes. Yes I do understand that Francis. Where might the armory be then?”

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	The guard looked up inquisitively from the piece of paper the man gave him. The signature was legitimate, but why this Penal Soldier in particular? The man smiled at him, asking, “Is anything the problem?”

“No, nothing’s the problem Mr...Lovejoy is it?”

“Yes.”

Scoffing, the guard pulled out his pen and requisition form, filling out the needed lines. “Strange. I just don’t see how anyone could make use of a set like that. Sign right here sir.”

Lovejoy took the paper, signing his name with a flourish with the pen. “You mean to tell me you’ve never heard of the Crab in action?”

“Nope, talkin’ about folklore outside of the chief god’s hero’s folktales are forbidden by law.”

Lovejoy whistled in amusement, handing back the paper to the guard. “That just goes to show how shitty this place is to me.”

{“How could a man say something like that with whatever horrors lie out there?”} thought the guard. “Listen, this place may be shitty to you, but to me, I wouldn’t have ANY other existence other than the one of the Chief God being involved.”

“Yeah you know what? Whatever. Just hand me my fucking gear will ya?”

The guard smirked, turning around and pushing past the door behind him, entering the armory. Of course the guy had no argument against the Chief God. What outsider could possibly think of a life better than one free of sin?

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Lovejoy briskly walked the halls of the castle, pack on his back, eager to be wearing his clothes yet again. His ego snapped furiously through his skull about his situation.

{“Why the hell did you just walk into this place without doing a bit of goddamn research?”}
{“How the hell are you going to get yourself out of this?!”}
{“How can you just commit yourself to a princess like that all willy nilly? How are you so certain that she won’t just have the guards slit your throat when you’re sleeping?!”}

He shoved this thoughts aside as he walked, but he could still feel the doubt gnawing at him with just mere suggestion. He muttered, “I’ll deal with it as I come to it.” to himself as he walked.

The door to the barracks soon appeared and opening it, Lovejoy found each soldier in a straight line, Francis looking from them towards Lovejoy, serious as ever. A table was in the middle of the room with food rations laid upon it. “Evening Lovejoy. I was just filling the soldiers in that we would be patrolling the wall tonight. Various monsters with wings have been picking off men left and right.” Lovejoy smiled, pleased with the tone Francis had taken with him, the splint on his finger having effect by Lovejoy’s standards.

“Alright. When do we leave Francis?” Lovejoy felt a pang of humor as he watched the captain’s eye twitch at his first name.

“In about half an hour Lovejoy. Do whatever, eat up, drink up. We’re going to be out there for the night.”

Lovejoy nodded before walking over to a bunk, the rest of the soldiers going straight for the table full of rations. Opening his pack, he once again he saw his gremlin-made claw first and set it upon the mattress. Next, his vest, the first piece of armor he bought, and the shirt he wore when he first arrived in these lands. After that came his pants, what he called “cowboy chaps”, boots, belt, and blades. Then came the same old gray jacket, stolen from a minotaur and armored with scavenged plates over the years, that he slipped over the scale mail vest. Finally, at the bottom, his helmet, it's visage as striking as ever. He set it next to his claw before moving to the table to eat.

As he sat at the table, unwrapping a ration to eat, the other soldiers, more gritty, wiry haired, or deadbeat than him, simply stared at his ensemble of armor. Lovejoy looked up, beginning to shove a bread loaf into his mouth when he noticed. “Wghat?”

One of the soldiers, his head bald save for the sides, spoke first. “Why’s it YOU get all th’ fancy gear ey? How’s you any better den us?”

Lovejoy gulped down his bread and washed it down with water, before picking up another bit of it. “You see, I, unlike other soldiers, tend to get around and know how to talk to people. Specifically nobility. That, and my reputation typically allows me connections. Unlike other people too I’m, also, not a deadbeat.”

“Bah! If I had de chance ta get close to nobility…” he looked towards Francis, sitting away from the rest of the soldiers, before looking back and whispering, “I’d stick a shiv right in dere throats ta shove it to ‘em.”

Lovejoy took another bite of bread, smiling as he chewed. “Agnd TGHAT’S wghy you’ll never be mgore than a backwater shidkigger.” Lovejoy smiled wider as the man glared at him. He knew he was right. The rest of the meal went by quietly, the soldiers looking up at intervals to glare at Lovejoy, envious of his equipment. Lovejoy finished first, pushing off the table, chugging down his water, before setting the mug on the table. He walked over to the bed where his claw, bag and helm lie, donning them as the others took their time to eat.

Finally, Francis stood up holding a grooved helmet and a claymore, and began to shout at the table. “UP AND AT ‘EM BOYS! TIME TO GET MOVING! GRAB YOUR GEAR, GRAB YOUR ARMS AND FORM UP OUTSIDE! MOVE IT! MOVE IT!” Lovejoy sat up with a sigh from his bunk, flipping down his visor as he joined the gathering outside.

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	Twenty minutes later…

	The streets were empty, the crescent moon replaced the sun in the sky, just as the Penal Battalion and occasional soldier patrols replaced the nightlife. Curfews were now in effect in Rumans Keep, the only ones allowed outside were guard patrols to keep down crime and prevent possible abductions by harpies. The threat was ever present, the soldiers, and Lovejoy himself, constantly casting glances to the shadows in the sky. {“At least I know it’s mamono now”} he thought.

	Soon, the streets ended in a giant stone brick wall, with an iron gate separating the humans from the foes. Near the gate, a tower with an inner stairwell that spiraled upwards to the top of the wall, a hundred feet tall. “Alright boys, we’ll begin our patrol once we reach the top of the tower and will walk the wall’s length for our shift. Lovejoy, since you’re the most armored, you’re up front.”

	“Naturally.” Lovejoy pushed past the other Penal soldiers, some of them smiling, towards the door of the tower. They must have been glad that if they ran into anything, they’d be behind Lovejoy as he dealt with it. Lovejoy tugged on the door unsuccessfully, before Francis moved him aside and unlocked the door. The other soldiers started funneling inside, pushing Lovejoy along to his discontent. Looking back towards the door moving upwards, Lovejoy spotted Francis locking the door to keep out civilians and other unwanted parties.

	At the top of the tower was a somewhat wide room with several tables and chairs, a lever in a corner closest to the gate. The room opened in two directions, each leading to a stretch of open wall, and nowhere else. No windows, save for crossbow slits, decorated the room. As the men poured inside, Lovejoy raised his claw over the crowd and kept his blade to his side. He hated the suffocating smell of the Penal Soldiers, that sweaty, salty, shitkicking smell that typical peasantry had. The room’s confined atmosphere made it worse, driving Lovejoy out of the door, closest to the gate.

	Lovejoy leaned on the wall, looking over the valley and the campfires of the sieging army. He knew they were mamono, but were their banners one he knew? He looked towards the standards, concealed in the darkness, and squinted his eyes to make out the designs. As he focused, the faint whistling of air and ruffling of feathers made him turn his head before he finished his survey. Straight towards a dive bombing harpy.

Lovejoy cried out, “OH CRAP!” as he turned he body to face the threat. The harpy dug her talons into his shoulders, grabbing and pushing him downwards and off the ledge. As his head turned upside down, Lovejoy thrust his claw forward and caught the ledge on the crook of his claw, stopping himself and the harpy in their tracks.

“Purupuru?” The harpy cooed questioningly at the lack of movement, as Lovejoy slowly pulled himself back upwards, grunting as he channeled his spirit energy through his claw. As his head came right side up again, he grabbed the harpy by the leg and threw her to the ground, quickly grabbing her torso with his claw and pinning her facing upwards. She struggled within the claw’s grasp, beating on the blades with her wings and attempting to scratch at Lovejoy’s legs. “Heeey let GO of me!!”

She gasped in shock as her eyes beheld Lovejoy’s helmet and realized what was pinning her to the ground. “Y-you!”

“Yep. Me.”

The harpy redoubled her efforts at escape, pounding at the claw and slapping away Lovejoy’s own hand as he tried to reach out to her. “NO! LET ME GO LET ME GO LET ME GO! I DON’T WANT TO DIE!”

“Lovejoy! You alright?” Lovejoy and the harpy looked over to Francis, standing in the door frame with his claymore drawn.

“Yes Francis. I’m fine. Evidently with no help from you.”

“Well you know Lovejoy, by the time you were pulling yourself up, I was only three quarters up the tower!” Lovejoy struggled to hear Francis over the shrill cries of the harpy beneath him. “Hey Lovejoy, you gonna kill that thing? Its starting to give me a headache!” The other soldiers cheered on the idea behind the captain, raising their voices in agreement.

Their shouting for blood distracted Lovejoy as he trailed his eyes up and down the harpy’s cloth covered body. “Francis, just- just hold the fuck on alright? I’m trying to figure something out here with her.”

“By the chief god Lovejoy what is there to figure out? She’s a monster an-”

Lovejoy impulsively shouted, “MAMONO! The correct term is mamono! “Monster” is a slur that idiots and shitkickers use!” interrupting Francis’s own statement. He scrunched his brow behind his mask, the combined screaming wearing his patience.

Francis scoffed, “Who the fuck cares what they’re called! All I know is that the only GOOD one is a DEAD one!” The harpy’s eyes darted towards Francis with Lovejoy’s own set following hers. Francis was hefting his claymore upwards and about to bring it back down.

Lovejoy twisted his body right, dragging his claw’s payload out of the way of the falling blade as it collided with the stone. As he turned, Lovejoy reared back his arm before sending a vicious jab into Francis’s uncovered face. He fell backwards with a snarl, blood pouring from his nose as the soldiers caught him. Still in his claw, Lovejoy raised his prisoner and shoved her against the wall of the fortification, pinning her once again.

She became still within his grasp, sniffling and crying in fear. Her voice came out stuttering, utter fear dominating her person. “P-please d-don’t kill m-me. Just let me g-gooo. I pr-promise I won’t do anything b-bad agaiiiin!”

Lovejoy scowled at the harpy, shushing her before he continued his investigation of allegiance. She was a brown feathered harpy, wearing black clothes that cloaked her within the darkness of the night. Her talons were tipped with corks that would prevent possible damage to anyone she grabbed from the walls. This addition would allow her to work as rough as she wanted to abducting men. Overall, it seemed her duty was to abduct men from the wall, unharmed. Thoughts raced through Lovejoy’s head. {“Any normal army would leave the harpies to grabbing their husbands at their own discretion. What kind of army would want them to SPECIFICALLY abduct men and do no harm to them?”} It wasn’t until he looked to her chest that he had his answer.

On her chest, just over her heart was a pin, with a yellow icon and set in purple. Grabbing it from her chest, her flinching the whole while, he ripped it off her shirt and brought it to his face, studying it in a wall torch’s light. The icon was of a full moon, with a purple, 4 point star in the middle of it and yellow wreaths at the bottom. It was a symbol Lovejoy had learned to hate ever since he had first seen it. It represented the faction that had nearly enslaved him years ago.

He held up the pin for the harpy to look at, staring directly at her face. “I see you’ve made a rather poor choice of affiliations.”

The harpy sniffled, blinking as she looked at the pin and him. “I-I don’t c-care about anything they want. I-i just wanted a husband to take back to my nest to love! T-the moment I got one I w-would of flew off an-and never looked back! I’m sorry I’m sorry I’m sorry! I was just lonellllly!” She started bawling again, banging against Lovejoy’s claw with her wings.

Regret reared its head once again, burning a hole in Lovejoy’s chest. He tossed the pin away and moved the harpy towards the middle of the walkway and released her. She stood still, looking at him for a few seconds, before quickly raising her wings and flapping away, Lovejoy still shouting at her. “Get outta here! I don’t want to see your face or ANY other harpy’s face up here again! AND YOU TELL THE REST THAT FINCH GODDAMN LOVEJOY’S GONNA BE LOOKIN’ FOR ANYONE ON HIS WALL! YOU HEAR ME!?”

As Lovejoy shouted his orders, Francis stalked behind him and put a bloody hand to his shoulder. “Lovejoy, WHY in the chief god’s name did you let her go?! Now they KNOW that we’re up here!”

Lovejoy raised his claw and delicately picked Francis’s hand off his shoulder, “Firstly Francis, I will not be pawed at like some common footman. Second, good. Now I can let my reputation work its charm.” Lovejoy turned to Francis, his bloody nose already subsiding, and continued to address him. “Now I ALSO know of just who the hell we’re facing. And let me tell ya, it’s not good.”

Francis sniffed at some blood still dripping downwards. “Who are we facing?”

Lovejoy looked over the wall before looking back. “We’re facing an army of the Black Coast. Who’s the Black Coast? It’s a dark elf city near the sea that created, runs, owns, and profits from slave trade. What kind of slaves? Any human kind of slaves. They only capture humans for the excuse of, “bringing the vision of the demon lord to fruition” but it's a crock of shit if you ask me. Them being HERE means that if they manage to get in, it’s going to be nothing but collars and chains for a lot of the populace.” Lovejoy stopped to regain his breath, putting his hand to his hip. “Anyways, isn’t it about time to get into formation and go patrolling Francis?”

Francis relaxed at the question, beginning, to Lovejoy’s shock, to smile. He quickly flipped down his own visor to hide his face. “Yes. Yes it is Lovejoy. You first, I got a formation already in mind.” Francis moved aside and beckoned Lovejoy back inside the building.

As he moved past, Lovejoy muttered, “Sorry about the nose thing. It was heat of the moment.” Walking into the doorway, Lovejoy was met with the Penal Soldiers bearing their weapons, grim looks about their persons. Every single one of them was staring straight at him. A question shot through Lovejoy’s mind, his mouth opening at the shock.

 “Francis, how did you know exactly what was happening when you were nowhere near to see it? And even then, assuming that you most likely saw it happened and simply waited, why would you be so willing to let me get killed as it were?” The rattling of metal alerted Lovejoy to movement behind him, Francis with his claymore at the ready. “A trap then Francis?”

Lovejoy could feel Francis smiling behind his helmet’s visor. “Why Lovejoy, you REALLY should stop with the physical and emotional assaults on my person. It’s gotten to the point where I just can’t bear it. And what ARE you talking about Lovejoy? This is no trap!” The Penal Soldiers began moving to surround Lovejoy, still keeping a distance from him, “You’re up here without permission to try and open the gate for that army to come in! I followed you with the rest of my men to stop you from your horrible scheme to get revenge on the entire system here!”

Lovejoy stepped back from Francis, looking quickly around at the crowd around him. “Y’know, it’s a shame Francis. I REALLY was trying to get along with ya to an extent and let me tell ya something, ya didn’t manage to lure me into a trap. No sir.” Lovejoy raised his claw and charged through the wall, only to have them part ways to avoid him. As they closed back in, they stopped when they saw Lovejoy had the fortification lever held in his claw. “You fuck with me...and I let them ALL in.”

Francis pushed past the others, scoffing at the threat. “C’mon Lovejoy. You can’t expect us to buy that. You wouldn’t doom an entire city to slavery like you say is the fate if we fail in our defense of it.”

	When he took a step closer, Lovejoy drew his blade, pointing it directly at the captain. “Come closer and find out Francis. I’ll tell ‘em you forced me to and we can ALLLL have a party up in here. Every single one of us.” Francis stopped in his tracks, still a distance away. “Good, you’re not as jarheaded as you look. Now all of you. Back off. That way.” Lovejoy pointed to the other end of the room, the Penal Battalion moving as Lovejoy demanded. “Whole lotta damn loyalty for soldiers huh? This is why you don’t have PRISONERS as soldiers.”

	One of the men raised a hand. “He offered freedom to the bloke that stuck ya!”

	“I don’t give a damn. In bein’ a part of this, you all collectively made the worst mistake of your lives. I tried to get along, didn’t want to have to do any nasty work. Now, you’ve all practically given me no reason NOT to kill you.” Thudding on the walls outside drew the soldiers’ attention. Lovejoy pointed at them again to prevent them from moving, “AT DAT DAT DAT! Not a single fucking muscle!” Shouting rose from along the wall, barely audible over the distance and through the stone works.

	Francis began shouting, “For god’s sake Lovejoy! There’s an ACTUAL problem now and you’re STILL threatening to open the city! You’re threatening a dead body at this point! What a shame your plan was ruined by something we couldn’t see coming!” a slight panic in his tone.

	“Oh please Francis! This was part of my plan all along!” Lovejoy’s visor did its job in hiding his widening eyes. This was not going to plan. It wasn’t until Lovejoy heard the clatter of boots landing on stone that he found the next step of his new plan. “I was just waiting for reinforcements to arrive!” Francis and the rest of the Penal Battalion looked through the door near Lovejoy, backing away from what they saw. Looking over, Lovejoy saw what they were afraid of.

	Rushing through the doorway, pieces of cobalt plate floating about, was a suit of armor, a blade and shield held in nonexistent hands. It was living armor. It was the one mamono Lovejoy couldn’t defeat. Even if he could land a blow or grab a piece of the armor, it was still too strong, even for his claw, to destroy. Further along, there was nothing to slash at anyways with no flesh to destroy! Lovejoy felt a shiver run up his spine when the armor turned its helm towards him, making his head shake and his mouth to mutter, “Oh crap.”

As the armor broke into a charge, blade rearing back, Lovejoy snapped the lever with his claw and charged towards the Penal Battalion, rearing his claw back to grab at something. While the group parted, Lovejoy swiped his claw at the wall, catching one man and pulling his claw away as blood flew in the air. Stopping outside the opposite door and turning back, he witnessed Francis and the living armor cross blades, shuffling away from the squad. Half of the Battalion looked towards the captain while the other half looked towards Lovejoy.

They split up, half going to help Francis and the other five moving to overwhelm Lovejoy. Lovejoy slashed at the crowd with his claw, managing to disembowel one man at the far right end. Another man to Lovejoy’s left brought his polearm downward, only to be pushed away by his saber, and earning the saber’s hilt spike in the face. The third man to the right drew his weapon back to strike, only for Lovejoy to strike first, slicing his throat with his saber. Another to the left brought his polearm down into the claw’s grip, snapping in a second before the claw grabbed at the man’s throat. The soldier served as a screaming projectile to the last man to Lovejoy’s right, knocking them both down. Quickly running over, Lovejoy crushed one man with his claw while running the other through with his blade.

Looking up, Lovejoy saw the rest of the soldiers lying on the ground, groaning from the effects of demon silver. The captain was crossing blades with the living armor near the ledge of the wall. It seemed like the captain was winning, managing to nearly push the armor off the wall. Lovejoy stood up and walked to the scuffle, never letting his eyes leave his quarry. Soon, he was directly behind Francis, still pushing the living armor off and outside the wall. The armor snapped its head towards Lovejoy, Francis following suit as the claw wrapped around his shin before tossing him unceremoniously over the armor. Next came the armor, Lovejoy wrapping his claw around the gorget and shoving it off the wall.

Lovejoy looked over the ledge, watching Francis scream as he plummeted down, never reaching it when a harpy with brown feathers snatched him from mid air before flying away. The living armor tumbled downwards, bouncing off the backs of mamono climbing a ladder upwards before hitting the ground with a dull thud. Quickly, it picked itself up, banging back any dents into place, much to Lovejoy’s annoyance. “One of these days I’ll fucking find something” he cursed.

Someone shouted, “OY! Who’s tossing shit at us?” from below.

Lovejoy looked downwards in tired curiosity at the voice. Below the ledge on a makeshift ladder was a line of soldiers, predominantly dark elves, climbing upwards. One at the top with silver hair looked annoyingly upwards, a scowl on her face. Another elf behind her also looked up, before shouting out, “AAAH! G-GO BACK DOOOWN! IT'S THE CRAB!” Amusingly, the elves all cried out and began to scramble down the ladder as quickly as they could, the top elf descending slower than the rest. The elf shook her fist upwards, shouting back up at him.

“Just you wait Crab! When we get our hands on you, I swear to the fucking queen we’re gonna run a goddamn SQUATTING line over you!”

Lovejoy frowned at the threat and grabbed the bars of the ladder, tilting it upwards when she was the last one on it. When the bottom was far enough, he crushed the ladder his claw, sending the elf plummeting to the ground. It wasn’t a lethal drop, just a painful one. The other elves gathered around the fallen’s squirming form while Lovejoy walked away, a slight chuckle leaving his lips. “Dark elves.”

He walked back into the fortification, the men who faced the armor looked over to Lovejoy, still paralyzed by the demon silver. “Oy! Lovejoy! We’re sorry we tried ta kill ya! Honest! The captain bribed us wiff lettin’ us go from the Battalion if we stuck ya! Help us ‘n we’ll be right as rain! We’re all chums ‘ere right guys?” A murmur of agreement rose from the floor.

Lovejoy simply shook his head, much to the men’s horror.

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	Lovejoy whipped his blade through the air, throwing off the excess blood. He looked over the loose ends on the floor, a lingering sense of regret still overshadowing him. They had pleaded with him as he went through one by one. Lovejoy looked away, sighing at the spectacle he made. He had a reputation to keep and couldn’t let people get away with threatening or trying to kill him.

	Lovejoy looked towards the rest of the wall’s length and listened the shouting and screaming of conflict, the clash of blades and crunching of wood still audible over the voices. He sighed, cracking his neck and stretching his arms and legs. He twisted his torso about, cracking his spine as needed.

	This was going to be a long night.

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	A few minutes later...

	The squad hooted and practically skipped along the wall as their minotaur bruiser Bertha went to work on the guardsmen. Her axe of demon silver seemed to send entire rooms flying as she swung it around. Nothing remained in their places, chairs, furniture, men ripe for taking as slaves and husbands. Whenever she swung her axe, something would begin to fly.

	They cheered her on as she ran into a room filled with half a dozen guardsmen, instantly smacking one across the room as another tried to jump onto her back. She grabbed him with a free hand and threw him out of view, destroying an unseen crate and sending a cloud of floury dust into the air. The cloud rose upwards in the door frame, blocking the room from view.The elves huffed in annoyance before stopping to listen to the sounds behind the cloud.

	The sound of a door being kicked open wasn’t what made the squad pause in tension, it was the insult that came with it that surprised them.

	“OY, COW UDDERS!”

	They heard Bertha roar in rage, her axe whistling through the air before clunking loudly on the floor. They heard Bertha lift her axe again for another swing, followed by a clash of steel, afterwards a screech of metal. Bertha gasped in shock, shouting out, “NO! HANS! YOU BASTARD!” The squad listened in horror as they heard a hiss and sickening crack accompanying Bertha’s own screaming. They heard several heavy blows land, before a roar of exertion signaled one last blow that sent something heavy to the ground.

	The squad of elves watched as Bertha’s axe slid out from the cloud, the metal head crushed to unusability. Following it was a man, his arm replaced with a large metal contraption dripping with blood and helmet bearing a grim visage. Behind him the cloud dissipated, revealing Bertha on the floor, an arm bent unnaturally, bruises and cuts decorating her face. The man opened his iron jaw, teeth bared as he issued a single command to the squad.

	“Start running.”

	The squad immediately displayed their backs and began to run, yelling at the other groups they passed to, “Run the other way.” Looking behind them, they saw him trailing behind, opening and closing his claw menacingly. It would be two hours before the wall was clear of Black Coast raiders. Those fleeing either ran down into the streets towards captivity or descended on the ladders that had brought them up there. Either way, they would not be able to go back, not with the ladders crushed beyond repair.

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	The general watched as various raiders descended the ladders, yelling at those below them to hurry up. Some were crazy enough to throw themselves off the walls and were thankfully caught by the mamono that could fly, or caught by slimes. Atop the walls, she managed to catch a glimpse of the driving threat, a man with a gray coat and mawed helmet, a golden flame rising from his shoulders. One word escaped her mouth as she witnessed Black Coast’s infamous fugitive.

	“Lazarus.”

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	Two hours later…

	Cerena kept her hands set in her lap, her face stoic as to not show her sheer annoyance of the progress of the council meeting. At this rate, it would be too late to appeal for Lovejoy’s release from the Battalion. Two hours had passed since the head topic of the siege had been introduced, the advisors pitching relatively wise ideas of staying inside the walls and waiting out the enemy. The queen refused to listen, instead throwing back her own ideas that she argued insistently for. Charging out and meeting the enemy was universally reviled as suicidal. Cutting down all of the trees and making siege defense weapons was ruled out as futile and wasteful due to the flyers.

Cerena was satisfied that her mother would not be able to simply override the council to exact her own misguided plans. Spread between Cerena and the advisors was a chunk of the queen’s authority in decision making.

	Her senility had made it a necessity.

	As the arguments about taking all the trees and making crossbows exclusively died down, Cerena stood up to propose her appeal...only for her mother to gasp out in revelation and to shout across the room. “I know! We can begin talks for surrender!”

	Cerena turned her head, shock and worry across her face as the advisors universally raised an uproar. “Mother. Wh-whatEVER do you mean?”

	The queen turned to Cerena, excitement and pride of her idea. “It’s simple really! If we surrender now, we can have an even GREATER say in the peace talks! It’s politics 101! What could possibly go wrong with that?”

	“Only everything involving life in the keep is all!”

	The room turned universally towards Lovejoy’s voice, walking past a doorway holding a hand to his chest, his claw placed behind him. His visor was open, exposing his face for all to see. “But before I go into detail about that, I regret to inform the council that there was an assault upon the castle’s walls tonight…”

	The queen quivered in revulsion and horror, Cerena simply lay her face into her hands upon the table. Would nothing go right tonight?

	“You! What are you doing here! Where’s that sweet man the captain, where’s-”

	Lovejoy raised his claw, waving for the queen to shush. “I’m getting to that, just let me finish my report for a second here.” The queen’s face became sour, more sour that she usually looked, at the interruption. “Anyways, I regret to inform the council that in the assault, the brave men in the Penal Battalion have been most brutally betrayed by their Captain, Francis Jack Alman. He had allowed the beasts to overtake the ramparts by the gate and nearly succeeded in exposing ALL of Rumans Keep to their influence!”

	The queen stood up, slowly shuffling towards her object of disgust. “You lie! Captain Alman would NEVER do such a thing! How DARE you even suggest that you…” Cerena tensed up in fear of the one insult she saw Lovejoy react to, “...you CONVICT!” Cerena relaxed, breathing softly out.

	“I beg to differ madame! I was in fact the person who managed to stop the assault! Alas, by the time I made it to the gatehouse and stopped their plan, Alman disappeared with a monster acquaintance and had left the Battalion ripped to shreds! They had died doing their duty to the chief god!”

	The queen was closer now, fuming at his entrance and retorts. “Do not TALK to me like I’m just another noble woman you street scum! I am the QUEEN of this keep! My family has owned this place for longer than even the new demon lord’s reign!” Cerena watched as her mother was now directly in front of Lovejoy, standing over her by a good head.

	He looked down at her, a smirk on his face. “Ech. Judging from how wrinkled you are, I’d say that in that period, you’ve personally owned it for at least half that time.” Cerena saw her mother raise her hand, backhanding Lovejoy’s jaw.

	Well, his IRON jaw anyways.

	His head barely shifted as the queen grasped at her hand in pain. Looking at the rest of the council, some stood up at their tables, unsure whether or not to help. Others looked on sadly at the spectacle. This was politics with the queen now. The queen backed away, screaming at him. “You BEAST! How DARE you hurt the queen?”

	Lovejoy shrugged, his expression unworried, “Sorry, but the queen did that herself. I had no action in the events that just happened. Honest. You can trust me. I know your memory’s going bad but-” She pushed past him, rushing out of the room calling for guards. Lovejoy watched in anticipation for the door to close, the queen out of earshot. “Ok, SO,” He clasped his hand and claw together, “With her out of the way, down to ACTUAL business!” Lovejoy pointed at Cerena, seemingly leading the discussion. “So Cerena, did you introduce the appeal to my sentence yet?”

	She raised her brows shifting in her sit as she stammered,“Um-wel-uhm.”

	A fist slammed down on a table, drawing the attention to the head of the council, a portly, older man with monk like hair named Wren. “Enough of this anarchy! We have sat here for hours to dictate what to do for the siege and by god we are going to FINISH what we started before we go off on a goose chase of YOUR demands! Mr…”

	Lovejoy seemed taken aback by the outburst. He stammered as he was put on the defensive by someone with actual authority to their voice. “Uhh. Jus- just call me Crab for now.”

	“Mr. Crab. I speak for the council and I declare we want to know EXACTLY what’s going on. WHO are we facing. WHAT could they want, WHY, and HOW we should deal with it! THEN we’ll move on to your topic.”

	Lovejoy straightened up, preparing to orate to the entire room of advisors. “Well. The enemy outside the gates belong to a city known as the Black Coast-”

	Wren waved his hand, “Ah. That’s all we need to know Mr. Crab. We here in the council know the goings on outside of the valley.” Murmurs spread throughout the advisors, Cerena internally worrying at the news. Rumors spread that victorious generals of the Black Coast would often take the losing royalty and make them trophy slaves as part of their conquests.

	Cerena raised her hand, keeping her looks about her. “Council Head Wren. If it may help things along, may I introduce...er, Mr. Crab to the rest of the council for the sake of comfort for all parties?”

	Wren waved his hand as Lovejoy raised his own hand. “Hold on, if we’re going to sit for a while longer let me take off my helmet and claw. I want everyone to see me as I am. Besides that my wrist is feelin’ stiff.” Lovejoy removed his claw, setting it on the ground as he took his helm and placed it atop the claw.

	Cerena raised her voice for all in the room to hear. “Gentlemen of the council, I would like to introduce Finch Lovejoy. A grand, professional mercenary from outside our home. Lovejoy,” she waved her hand to the variously aged men around the room. “This is the council of Queen Rumans. As you may have noticed, they are aware of the politics outside of the walls and are wise to the plight of most mamono.”

	Lovejoy hummed in acknowledgement. “I take it most if not all of their beliefs are on the lighter side then?”

	“Yes.”

	Lovejoy nodded in satisfaction with the answer. Over the centuries, the Order had grown more and more accustomed to the change in threat. In recent times, there has been an unspoken and unseen schism in the faction between radicals, who wanted to see every inhuman on a pike, versus the progressives who opposed corruption and the mamono who caused it. It had been a deal of tension not seen in the public eye. The controversy was visible to only those who dabbled in the matters of nobility.

	“As I have told you Lovejoy,” Cerena continued, “My mother has grown senile over the years, the Council and I have agreed to take some of my mother’s power and to spread it amongst ourselves for the time being. Sadly, she still has the ultimate say in some matters but it's not enough to worry about.”

	“Alright. Good to know.”

	Wren cleared his throat from across the hall. “Before we continue, I would also like to apologize for the earlier outburst Mr. Lovejoy. As you can imagine this siege has been a brow raising matter as of recent. Now then,” he paused and leaned into his desk. “What is this matter in regards to an appeal?”

	Lovejoy shifted in his position. “Well. I would, uh, like to be released from the Penal Battalion.”

	Wren chuckled softly. “Considering you’ve essentially saved the keep from a one day invasion I would reckon it would be permissible.”

	Lovejoy breathed in sharply, snapping his fingers as he added, “Oh! And I’d like to sign on as a private soldier for the sake of the keep.”

	Cerena looked directly at Lovejoy, eyes wide and her hands demanding explanation. In response, Lovejoy raised a finger for patience. What was he doing?

	The chamber lit up with discussion as Wren silenced everyone once again. “Mr. Lovejoy. Are you aware that recently Her Majesty, Queen Rumans, has passed the Royal Contractor Act which prevents any civilian or government offices from hiring private workers or contractors for any sectors of business in the belief that only honest work may come from “work done by oneself?””

	Lovejoy put his hands to his hips, puffing out his chest somewhat. “Yeah.”

	“And you ARE aware that any parties caught doing so will be subject to the law, from a fine up to punishment of flogging depending on severity?”

	“That part I wasn’t aware of but I wouldn’t worry too much about it if it wasn’t there in the first place. There’s enough precedent from tonight that SHOULD show that it’s not really needed.”

	Whispers passed around the hall. “Mr. Lovejoy, are you saying… are you implying that the council should, without the queen’s permission, strike down the law?”

	Lovejoy opened his mouth, before shutting it again. “Well. I’M not, I’m not, necessarily, the one who’s saying it-”

	Cerena quickly stood up from her chair, her hands still crossed in front of her. “No, I am.” Lovejoy, along with the council, turned their attention to the princess. “We are required, for the well being of the people of Rumans Keep, to strike down this horridly, ill thought of law. Tonight as proven that, without the aid of private contractors, we would not be able to reach our potential as a kingdom in terms of development OR defense for the sake of the people! If we claim that we do our job as governing bodies for the good of the people, we MUST repair what has been erroneously “fixed!”” Lovejoy whistled at outburst. Cerena surprised herself as well. This was one of the few times she had actually felt a passion besides her magic talent.

	Lovejoy pointed at Cerena before dropping his hand. “See? She said it.”

	Wren looked directly over towards Cerana. “Your Highness. Are you for the drafting of a repeal of the Royal Contractor Prohibition tonight?”

	“Yes I am Council Head Wren.”

	Wren nodded before raising his voice to the rest of the hall. “All those in favor of drafting a repeal to the Royal Contractor Act, raise your arm and yell “aye.””

	The entirety of the room raised their hands at once, exclaiming, “Aye!”

	“All those in disagreement say “nay.”” Silence drifted across the room.

	The doors to the room burst open, dragging everyone’s attention to a squad of guardsmen with polearms at the ready. “Finch Lovejoy! You are hereby under arrest under the accusation of assaulting Her Majesty, Queen Rumans!”

	Cerena pointed a finger towards the guardsmen. “No. It’s a baseless accusation. She tried to slap him and accidentally hit his helmet and hurt herself. Now get out.”

	The soldiers stood dumbfounded, muttering, “Yes Your Highness.” before shuffling out of the room.

	Lovejoy pointed back over to Cerena, looking to the rest of the council. “That’s leadership material right there.”

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	An hour later…

	As the night wore on with the council drafting the new repeal, the after action report finally came in from the forces on the wall. The enemy’s army had created makeshift ladders in an attempt to storm the walls of the keep to end the siege immediately. As Lovejoy claimed, he had been the sole driving force that stopped the raid from succeeding, the other soldiers standing back or dragging away their wounded. Strangely, as per first hand witnesses, Lovejoy never actually engaged with the enemy, rather choosing to drive them off with fear alone. The only casualties of the night was of the Penal Battalion, with their leader Captain Jack Alman missing in action. From interrogations of those captured, the raiders claimed their weapons could never do the damage that the Penal Soldiers had suffered.

	No one thought to question Lovejoy about it.

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	Another hour later…

	The councilmen filed out of the hall and were joined by armed escorts for their walks home. Finch watched as the hall emptied, the various men giving him bows and smiles as they passed which he reciprocated. Wren passed by last, extending his hand for a handshake. “It was a pleasure to meet you Mr. Lovejoy. I hope that with the repeal of the Contract Act, that you’ll be a good addition to our forces inside the keep.”

	Finch shook his hand, smiling gently at him. “Oh believe me, I’ll be all the help you’ll need, AND the only advisor on that army that you’ll need! Just as long as I get my hundred G a week that is.”

	“Of course. Of course. Good night Mr. Lovejoy!”

	Finch smiled gently as Wren left the room before looking back into the room to watch Cerena shake the hands of the remaining council. After she was done, she walked out towards Finch, shaking his hand to end the night. “I don’t know what you do to make things go your way Finch, but it worked. You saved the town from conquest, you're off the Penal Battalion, you managed to get past my mother, you got a law repealed, AND you now have a fully legal job working for us. In a single night at that.”

	Finch threw his arms up in a shrug, smiling smugly at the congratulations. “I honestly don’t know how I do it either.” He began to walk to his claw and helmet as Cerena stood at the door way.

	“Finch, would you care to take a walk with me so we may talk about various topics?”

	Lovejoy picked up his claw and helmet, equipping the claw and holding his helmet in his right armpit. He turned back to Cerena, answering, “By all means Cerena. But let’s do it tomorrow. I’ve been running all across the wall tonight.” Lovejoy walked to the door and held it open with his claw, beckoning Cerena with his hand. “Lady Cerena?”

	She smiled softly, bowing in her dress as she walked past Lovejoy and out the door.