Soirse and Siobhan worked tirelessly through the night, slaving away over the long table of flasks and jars. Around an hour before sunrise, she finally mastered the formula. When Ghaleon and Malcolm awoke, Soirse greeted them, bleary-eyed but proud, holding three full vials of suppressant antidote in her hands. Ghaleon rubbed his eyes, reached out, and took a vial.
"Guess you and the old man are good for something after all," he mumbled through his morning haze. Malcolm ambled over and took a vial as well.
"Thanks. We should get going soon, though," he said.
Soirse sighed, fatigued but triumphant, and nodded. Siobhan had begun emptying and packing his alchemical equipment.
"I'll be leaving in two days. Ghaleon, make sure you have everything arranged by then. With all your help, I'm certain we can all finally free ourselves from the Shadow Veil's grip. Godspeed," the old man said, waving the adventurers out. The three left the house when it was still early in the morning.
"What do we do now?" Malcolm asked.
"I know somebody who might be able to help," Ghaleon replied, "Let's pay him a visit."
***
The adventurers approached a dingy, two-story wooden building. The sign over the door was engraved with the image of two dice being cast, captioned with the words "Tumblin' Dice." The pub was nearly empty this early in the morning save the man behind the bar. It was suitably grimy for a pub, and it sported several round, pock-marked wooden tables. Pottery mugs lined the shelves behind the bar and the wooden barrels in the corners of the room stank of their payloads from the previous night. Though the bar was empty, years of smoke-reek emanated from every plank therein.
The barkeep grumbled. Without looking up, he said, "Ghaleon Ebonheart. Drinking this early?"
"Ale, dark, but this is a business visit," the warrior replied.
The bartender looked up at Soirse and Malcolm and smiled wryly. He wore stringy brown hair and a scraggly beard born of a few days' neglect. His eyes turned down toward Fenrir. "No dogs."
"If he goes, I go," Soirse replied sternly.
"Fine then. Have a nice day."
"You two can argue later," Ghaleon interposed, "For now, we've got business to take care of. Jagg, these are Malcolm and Soirse," gesturing, "my associates." Gesturing back toward the bar, "Associates, Jagg Mitchum." The barkeep bowed mockingly.
"What did you have in mind," his features lost their jovial air.
"Need to get a guy out of town unnoticed."
"A kidnapping, eh? You know I don't do murder though, right?"
"No, he wants to go. Just make sure no one knows he's going."
"Hm. Nothing I can't handle, for the right price."
"See, that's the thing, Jagg," Ghaleon mumbled, "I'm a little short on the coin right now."
"The honorable noble is broke," Jagg teased, "What a shame."
"Maybe we could work off the cost," Malcolm spoke up.
Jagg ran his hands through his hair, catching his fingers on a tangle and scratching his scalp where his fingers stopped. "I do have one job you could do. Suppose I could take care of your friend if you do it for me."
"What's the task?" Ghaleon inquired.
"Oh nothing hard, just need you to collect a little money from a man who owes me a debt. His name's Ollidar Fallone, a merchant who lives in the Figaro District. You bring me the three hundred gold he owes me, and I'll make sure your friend gets out of town safe."
Ghaleon pondered for a moment, feigned disappointment at the offer, and, attempting to sound put-out, said, "Hm. Alright, it's a deal." The bartender shook his hand, cunning smile still traced across his face.
***
The sun shone high in the sky as Soirse, Ghaleon, and Malcolm emerged into the town square of Altair. The air was dry and the packed-dirt ground swirled with dust. Years of heavy foot traffic had worn away the grass, but oak trees still lined the wide square. On the far side of this gathering ground ran the Nareth-Lene River, crossed by stone and mortar bridge. A group of townsfolk crested the bridge's slight arch and strode towards the square.
The man leading this group was squat but muscular; short cropped blond hair framed his square face as his jaw tensed with anger. He was young, healthy, and flanked by a group of five or six friends. "Ghaleon!" he called out.
Ghaleon's expression sunk, eyes rolling in disgust. "Torvald," he called back calmly.
"Day off from digging in the dirt on the farm, peasant?"
"Got business to conduct. I don't have time to deal with you right now, Torvald."
"Friend of yours?" Soirse asked.
"Hardly. Torvald Oberian has been a pain in my ass since I was young. He's always been big, and he's a member of one of the Five Families on top of that."
"What's the matter? Can't stand up like a man? I owe you a severe beating for what you did to my sister," the brawny adversary taunted.
"What did you do to his sister," Malcolm asked under his breath.
"'With his sister' would be a more accurate description," the fighter replied.
"Fight me, coward," came another call, "Let me teach you some honor." Torvald's friends barked insults and catcalls to back him up, forming an arc encircling the three. "Or you could walk away, and everyone will know you're a pathetic coward."
Ghaleon turned to keep his back to Torvald and began walking toward the bridge.
"Just like your father."
No sooner had he heard those words than Ghaleon was inches from the young noble. At the end of his stride, he raised a tightly clenched fist into the air and brought it down at Torvald's face. The noble ducked to the side at the last moment and the blow hit him in the shoulder.
"That was a bad mistake."
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