Tycondrius sat on the inn's wooden floor, leisurely pointing a crossbow at the intruder. Surrounding him were half a dozen weapons of war, including two loaded pistols within arm's reach.
The dark-skinned, hammer-wielding man was a head taller than Tycon and wore a dark cloth mask over his face to hide his identity... The mask was redundant as his large frame and bald head were easily identifiable attributes. He wore a dark, unmarked, vaguely-military coat from a guild Tycon did not recognize.
The man stared blankly at him, then at the broken door, then back at the several men situated in the hallway.
"Ahem," Tycon cleared his throat, "May I help you, gentlemen?"
The man slung his warhammer over his shoulder, "I uh... You uh... Wouldn't happen to be a female slaver, would you?"
Tycon rubbed the bridge of his nose, "I am not a female, nor a slaver... nor am I a slaver who specializes in female stock."
A short, young person pushed their way past the hammer man. The cloth mask he wore to hide his face was painted reminiscent of a skull's jaw, "Not the target, Hammer. We're withdrawing."
A boy's voice. Though somewhat deep, it still hinted of puberty... The boy had short, dark-blue hair, and red eyes... a color as uncommon as Tycon's gold.
Without a word of apology, the team of trespassers quickly withdrew. One of their number propped the broken door to stand. As the door's hinges were still broken, the door unsurprisingly fell with an annoying thwack.
Tycon's eye twitched as he glared at Lone, still asleep after the shouts and the BROKEN. DOOR.
Standing and walking over, Tycon dragged the man out of bed, allowing his stupid face to thump on the inn room floor.
"Wha-- wuh? Yaeger? Did you come back?" Lone was trying to blink the stars out of his eyes.
"Nope, she's still dead. Get up, you fool." Tycon groaned, "Grab your maces. We need to follow some people. Now."
...
The evening's wind storm howled loud enough that the broken door would not attract undue attention. Eight figures filed into the opulent room wearing military uniforms and dark cloths over their faces.
"Room's clear, Little Boss," said the dark-skinned man, gleefully rotating a warhammer in his hands.
High-Captain Lang Hai pulled down his black skull cloth, "Hammer... this is the *right* place this time, yes?"
Hammer fidgeted, pressing the cool steel of his warhammer against his cheek, "Y-yessir."
"Very well, Hammer. Good job," Hai nodded, still scanning the room.
ραпdα Йᴏνê|(сòm) A freckled brunette scrambled into the room, wearing a bright red cloth over her mouth. Bounding with energy, she skipped around the shorter Lang Hai.
"I lockpicked the door, Little Boss!" She declared proudly.
"No, Claw. You just... broke it. Just like you did the last one. But good job, nonetheless."
Hai crossed his arms and surveyed the room, briefly running his hands over the handles of the two pistols strapped to his chest. He had 10 men and women, 7 with him and 2 guarding the doors. He didn't know what kind of problems he and his crew would face in the slavemistress' estate, but he had enough force to solve them.
After several seconds of comprehension, the brunette pulled down the red bandana covering her face to display an overly dramatic look of betrayal, "My name's not Claw, it's Rico!"
Hai shut his eyes and rubbed his glabella. He spoke slowly to ensure her understanding, "Rico, we're using our callsigns today. Your callsign is 'Claw.'"
"Oh! And Mister Garret is Hammer! Riiiiiight!" Rico placed a fist in her palm, cheering up immediately. She spun around in joy before again stopping abruptly, "Wait, what's your callsign, Little Boss?"
"It's… Captain. Just Captain. So stop calling me that." Hai managed to sigh before turning his attention. "Dagger, report."
A thin, lanky man nodded to Lang Hai, "Searched the room. No sign of 'em, Cap'n."
Hai waved a hand signal, "This estate is Olesya's last known location. Search for clues."
"Aye aye, Cap'n," the men chorused.
Rico perked up, her sandy-brown hair sticking up like pup ears, "What about me, Little Boss?"
Hai grimaced, "I need you to err... count things. How about you count your fingers and toes, Rico?"
"Eight!"
"Incorrect," Hai sighed. "Count them again. And quietly."
"Okay~" Rico whispered.
Hammer sidled up to Lang Hai as their men searched, "Why are we being so careful, Boss? We can torch this place to the ground and be outta here in five minutes."
Hai shook his head, "It's not a revenge mission this time, Sergeant. Slavemistress Olesya has something we need."
Frowning, Hammer eyed the man near the door holding a small box, "And the chest that Mace has?"
"Silver, because we need to offer at least token sincerity." Hai's eyebrows furrowed in disgust, "Believe me, with what I've heard about the old hag, I want to bash her slaver skull in and burn everything down to ash. But as long as we're in Chantal's port, we play by her rules."
Hammer grinned, "And if she ain't sellin'?"
Hai scoffed, "That's what I brought you fine ladies for."
...
Li Qiuyu's patrol around the perimeter of the Couture grounds was uneventful. The weather was beautiful-- until when the early evening sky took an unexpectedly dark turn for the worse, hazardously windy with some salty ocean rain. He hurriedly gathered everything that had been drying outside and busied himself along with the mansion servants.
Wet bedsheets for the mistress would not do.
He didn't notice anything was amiss until when he began to make his way back to his quarters past the main hall. No one used the main hall, there were plenty of other entrances and hallways that the servants used to navigate the large estate. The huge room, cluttered with pretentious art and finery, was only used when Mistress Couture was entertaining guests. It remained under lock and key to cut down on cleaning.
Its front door was thrown wide open, nearly broken off of its hinges.
Qiuyu softened his footsteps as he approached. There were voices in the room, still unaware of his presence.
As he hid himself beside the entrance, he felt the trusty weight of his short sword at his hip. He brushed his fingertips across the familiar, cold metal knives underneath his long white sleeve, hidden weapons that could reap lives from a dozen fulms away.
He deliberated his options... His usual style of handling things was to cut throats and ask questions later... if any uncut throats remained. Today was different.
Steeling his courage, Qiuyu stood at the doorway, "Who are you people? What are you doing here?"
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