Downtown Druid

The blunderbus fired and Jacopo was launched with it to the far side of the room, slamming against the wall. A man screamed, though whether it was Iron or his paramore, Jacopo was in no state to determine. His ears were ringing as he took several stumbling steps away from the wall he’d slammed into. He saw blood beginning to seep from the bed, trickling down the stone frame and onto the ground. He shook his head in an attempt to regain his composure and ran out of the bedroom door and into the hallway.

He made it halfway there just as several dwarves came barrelling through it. They didn’t notice him even though he was in the center of the room. They just ran right for their leader. That didn’t mean they didn’t pose a danger though. Jacopo was forced to dodge their heavy boots, the tip of his tail being crushed by one of them. The pain of that made Dantes flinch from his bed back in his cave, feeling discomfort in a limb he didn’t have.

They scurried down the hallway, and into the now empty hall. There was no need to be subtle at this point. The dwarves would all be far too focused on the gunshot they’d just heard, and reacting to the damage it caused rather than a lone rat scurrying around. It wasn’t as if they had reason to suspect a rat was involved either. That would take some leaps of logic he didn’t think the dwarves were capable of.

Dantes and Jacopo both wished they could’ve actually seen that damage they’d done, to be certain of if they’d killed Iron, or maimed him, or to confirm that they even hit him at all. It was possible that only his bedroom companion had been struck by the brunt of the blast. It was too risky to stick around to be sure though, especially with the injuries Jacopo had sustained from the gun's recoil.

Jacopo made it out of the main dwarven hall, and then out to the corridor between Clan Stonedust territory. Once he was there, the rest of the trip was a matter of muscle memory, he could make it back in his sleep.

…

Dantes opened his eyes. Jacopo was heading back, and likely didn’t need him focused on his every move just for that trek. He opened and closed his hands, looking at his slender fingers. That was the longest period he’d looked through Jacopo’s eyes, and the effect was disorienting. He had to remind himself not to get on all fours as he moved from his bed and had a drink of water.

Once that was done he began flexing his new abilities, sensing the life around him and assessing its needs. His plants were still in good shape, not desiring anything since he’d cared for them so recently. He ran his fingers along the ever-growing moss carpet that was overtaking the stone floor. If he strained his senses he could feel the state of his garden as well. It craved more blood, but its calls for it were half-hearted as it had been sated so recently. The rats in the garden were still feasting, or relaxing after a heavy meal, and the embers of life within the fruit sacks indicated to him that the rats hadn’t touched them, just as he’d requested.

The trip with Jacopo had been a much bigger success than he’d expected. He hadn’t expected such an excellent opportunity for revenge against Iron, but was grateful that Jacopo had the same desire to take it as he had. Even if they hadn't managed to actually kill him, the wounds they inflicted on him or his companion would at the very least serve as an excellent start. He also knew that the Smallfolk Consortium was conflicted about what to do about him, which gave him the opportunity to take initiative. Finally, he knew that the elves had been scattered by not only his attack, but a series of follow-up raids by the Orcs and Dwarves. The danger to him from their remnants was reduced, though he had no illusions that it didn’t still exist.

He needed to set some meetings, and make some moves. Unfortunately, he needed to wait until Mez finished the first brew he’d requested. Having something tangible to bring into a negotiation would give him much more to stand on than empty promises of future profits. He’d sold nothing for a profit before, but that was to groups far less savvy. It would take at least a week, but possibly more to have the brew in hand to start some negotiations. In the meantime he would keep bringing Mez fruit so that future batches could be produced in quick succession.

All of that was to say he at least had a week to kill. He could do more scouting with Jacopo or the other rats, continue to cultivate his garden, but visiting even Collared territory would need to wait since he’d likely need to answer to Merle for how things had happened in the undermarket. Merle was no friend to the Elves, but Dantes had put him at enormous risk with his actions, and had no doubt that he’d need to answer for it.

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Dantes reached out with his senses until he found a cockroach in the corner of his chamber. He unsealed a few small pieces of cracker and slowly approached him. He tried to broadcast his intentions to the insect, and it seemed to work as it didn’t scurry away as he approached. He slowly moved his hand toward him, and dropped the crumbs directly in front of him. The roach skittered toward the food and began eating.

He wasn’t certain that what he was doing would lead to the same abilities he’d developed with rats, but he had the time and felt it couldn’t hurt to try. Rats could get almost anywhere in the Pit, but roaches could make it to even those places that rats couldn’t. Besides that he imagined the ability to summon and command roaches would be enormously useful, if only to diversify what he could do.

He moved over to where he had his pitcher of water, and poured it into the small dish he kept for bathing. He regarded himself for a moment in the reflection. He was gaunt. Five years of a lack of nourishment had made him shrivel away. Before he’d gotten there he’d been a ball of wiry coiled muscle from moving across rooftops, and running through alleys. Now that he had access to more food, he began to consider the possibilities of bringing himself back up to something resembling his old self. He’d need his strength to keep building on his successes in the Pit, and he’d need it even more for what would come after.

He settled the plan for the next two weeks in his mind. Working with Mez on brewing as much product as possible, tending the garden and harvesting its fruit, exercise, experimenting more with his abilities, and scouting more with Jacopo and the other rats.

He laid back down. The plans were solid, but the day had been long and for some reason he felt many of Jacopo’s exertions as his own, weighing heavily on his body. He could sense that Jacopo was already through the Undermarket, and would be back soon. He closed his eyes, and let sleep take him.

…

The plan had been perfect. Hit the councilman’s shipment of dust and gold while it was being moved from the port. Everyone on the council thought that they were untouchable. They had deals with all of the larger gangs to leave their interests alone, and could call upon the city guard at will if they needed to. That meant that their caravan had only the driver and two guards. It was brazen, and bold, exactly Dantes’ style.

He waited up on the rooftop while Danglars and Gaspard stood in the road standing over a dead horse and a crashed buggy. They were arguing loudly as the councilman's transport carriage approached.

“I don’t give a fuck about your damned horse. I was just pulling my buggy when you hauled ass down here and nearly got everyone killed!”

“Who moves a fucking buggy through this part of town? Besides, didn’t you hear me yelling, you deaf bastard!?”

They were improvising more than Dantes had hoped they would, but it couldn’t be helped. They were born performers in their own way.

The transport stopped just below Dantes, and the guards moved to approach the scene. Gaspard and Danglars kept the argument going until the guards were nearly on top of them, then they drew daggers, and lunged at them.

At the same time that they did that Dantes leapt from the rooftop and onto the roof of the carriage, and Mercedez emerged from a nearby alley with her hand crossbow aimed at the driver, and Mondego manifested in front of the horse with his morningstar.

“Drop the reins and step away. You never saw us,” said Dantes to the driver as the man assessed the situation.

The driver simply raised his hands and stepped off the carriage. The moment he was off of it, Mercedes sent a bolt through his skull and he crumpled.

Dantes laughed, and moved to the side of the carriage to check on the goods before they moved the carriage somewhere more discrete. The moment he opened the door, he was blasted backward by concussive force and slammed against a warehouse wall.

Out of the carriage stepped a bald man with a tight black beard and a staff in one hand. A mage. They hadn’t been expecting that.

The rest was a blur of running, fireballs exploding overhead, Mercedes climbing the ladder they’d placed in case they needed to make a quick escape. Danglars and Gaspard climbed after Mercedes, practically on top of one another, then Dantes encouraged Mondego to climb ahead of him. Dantes went up after. He reached the top, saw hands push the top of the ladder away from the roof, the sensation of falling, piercing pain as he landed.

He woke up.

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