The journey was not particularly long. The two raiders and their captive help made their way through the marsh, out of the worst of the bleak Hauntwood and toward its thinner, more travelled portions. The rain started falling again, albeit lightly. Granth silently wished it wouldn't keep pouring, if only because it would wear at his bowstring a little more, even with the sparse beeswax he'd put on it. He was short on the stuff.

Once the group found the road, it was easy enough to spot the wagon's trail. Hoof prints, wagon wheels, bootprints, claw prints... It was as large a group as the goblin had suggested. Granth looked to his companions from atop his horse.

"Pick up the pace," he ordered quietly. "We want to catch them before nightfall."

It was true: if they found the group at nightfall, Granth's steed would stand out like a sore thumb thanks to its fiery mane, and Granth wouldn't be able to see well enough to shoot his targets accurately. They had to move swiftly if they were going to set up the ambush.

---

Dusk was slowly approaching when the group finally caught up with the caravan. It was actually the goblin who saw them first, letting out a low whimper when he spotted the group on a small, dry mound above the swamp. They'd probably chosen the spot solely for being large enough to put the wagon and for having easy access back to the road, but it looked as if they were camping for the night. That meant the mules wouldn't run off with the wagon; they'd been tied to a tree and left to nibble on some feed. The conditions were almost perfect... save for the fact that Granth didn't see the dwarf the goblin had mentioned, and the hill and the trees provided the merchant's caravan with decent cover.

Granth nodded. They'd only get one shot. So, he looked to the lizardman next to him and murmured quietly.

"Take the goblin to the side by the road," he told Xalmann quietly. "Stay hidden. Send him to pretend to steal from the caravan. He runs away, lures a couple of the guards... we both move in and take care of the rest while they're gone. When they come back, we'll kill them, too."

It was a simple enough plan. It was dangerous, but it would have to work.

"I'll wait here. Good vantage point. Good luck, Red."

This had been an awful day for the Goblin. Walking through this marsh was bad enough. The mud that grabbed onto his feet and make walking such a labor. The mosquitoes eating him alive. The constant smell of rot and decay. I was terrible. Then, he was attacked and abducted by a man in a hood and mask that clearly screamed "bandit" to him and a Lizardfolk that was covered nearly head to toe in bandages. He knew he wasn't a warrior, but he was humiliated knowing he had lost to someone that looked like they should really be in bed in a hospital right now. And in an instant, too.

Now, he was being lead around the caravan that he had been following. He didn't expect them to reach it so quickly. He thought he might have a chance to try and escape while they camped for the night, but the man had forced them to march so quickly that they'd reached the wagon before the sun even set. The Goblin silently cursed his luck. He had no intentions of actually returning to these lunatics once he escaped the guards he was being forced to distract! That is, if he escapes them... He silently cursed his luck again.

---

Xalmann hid behind a bush with the Goblin and observed the camp. He saw three Humans and one Lizardfolk sitting around a campfire. They appeared to be eating a meal and having a lively conversation. Their guard was lowered. Likely because they entrusted it to the Lizardfolk and Human that were currently on guard duty. The Lizard stood at full attention, looking around, a club at the ready in their hand. His scales were green and he had a wider, more bulky physique than Xalmann, but was about the same height. They looked like a strong warrior. The human guard was leaning against the side of the wagon, a spear in their hand leaned against their shoulder. They were also on guard, looking around for any threats, but clearly less serious than their Lizardfolk partner.

Xalmann scanned the camp for the best spot to send the Goblin to be spotted so that he would have a decent lead on the guards to start running away. He didn't particularly care for the Goblin's safety, but the farther the Goblin could lure the guards, the better. He looked at the mules tied to the tree. They were a fair distance from the center of camp, and they were essential to pulling the wagon. The guards would certainly go after the Goblin if he were to make as if he was trying to steal one. Xalmann lead the Goblin to the bushes closest to the tied mules and leaned in close. He pointed to the mules.

"Wait one minute here. Pretend to steal a mule. Run when they move toward you" he quietly hissed in the Goblin's ear and then made his way stealthily toward the other side of the camp, ready to charge at the unsuspecting travellers around the campfire once the guards were lured away.

The lizardman's whisper put fear in the goblin. The sight of those sharp, meat-tearing teeth as the red monster spoke made the goblin feel the unspoken threat behind the whole circumstance. If he didn't do as the bandits wanted, he would be killed. He was only there to serve a purpose, nothing more.

The little goblin slunk forward, creeping quietly as he could with his head bowed low and his jittery teeth clacking in his mouth. He snuck toward the tied up mules, which spotted him and watched him with alarm, clearly deciding whether they wanted to kick him. The goblin swallowed, then drew out his hidden knife and began to cut the mules loose, the handle slipping in his sweaty palms as he worked.

The rope fell to the ground. The mules began to move a little more freely. The goblin glanced back at the woods, wondering if he could escape, but then remembered the archer waiting in the darkness between the trees. Taking a deep breath, the little creature grabbed one of the strands of rope still tied to a mule, and started shrieking.

The mule panicked, and the goblin felt himself being dragged after it by the very rope he was carrying. It bucked and kicked and danced around on the dirt, darting toward the open path leading back to the road. The goblin could hear the frantic shouts of the two guards as they started rushing across the camp, trying to catch the two loose mules, splitting up to try and grab both. The poor goblin screamed even louder, then finally got pegged by the mule's hoof right in the stomach. It wasn't the full strength of the mule; but that was enough to send him sprawling, tumbling, crashing through the trees and into the murk. He could scarcely breathe. He could scarcely move.

The guards ran past where the goblin had been flung, focused on catching the mule. He wasn't even worth pausing to kill.

The goblin laid in place, angry and worn, and debated whether to just leave while he still could or... or... or do something to get revenge on those arrogant bandits.

---

Granth witnessed the scene play out from his hidden place among the trees. He was deeply amused. Watching a shadow that he assumed was the goblin fly through the air and crash into the marsh forced a quiet chuckle out of him. He didn't let his humor linger long, however, for Granth had butcher's work to do.

The off-duty porters were hooting and hollering as their companions rushed off to retrieve the mule, clearly glad they didn't have to be the ones to catch the mules. Perhaps they'd get an earful later, but that seemed entirely worth it to them. One of them was wearing wealthier clothes than the others; one of the two merchants he'd spotted entering Gazablaak in the first place. The man seemed relaxed, as if he was certain everything would work out. Granth decided he didn't like his face.

The hunter pulled back his bowstring with his arrow. He measured the shot. He loosed.

The arrow flew through the air with a sharp whistle, then collided with the merchant's chest. He gasped out in shock, and his companions scrambled up to their feet, moving for cover and grabbing their weapons as they shouted warnings into the twilight. They didn't even bother trying to pull the merchant to safety; they knew he was already dead. Granth was able to loose a second arrow, this one taking a black scaled lizardman in the back as he tried to rush behind the wagon for cover. He fell to the ground with a pained roar that echoed loudly, then flailed upon the ground.

Granth chuckled again beneath his mask and began stepping forward to reposition himself for a better shooting angle. Two guards were missing; another was down, and so was one of the merchants. The mules were loose, too. That just left two of the other porters and...

The wagon's door flew open. A furious looking dwarf with a silver-banded red beard and fine clothes stepped out, a truly massive crossbow in his hands. He hefted it up and fired the tremendous thing right at Granth. Granth barely had time to duck out of the way; and when he did, splinters of wood flew into his face as the bolt smashed into the tree right behind him, shaking it with the impact.

"What are you doing, boys?!" the dwarf demanded of his men. "Get over there and kill the sorry bandit! We've got this!"

Granth cursed, then nocked another arrow onto his bowstring as the remaining humans scrambled down the mound after him, given courage by their employer's stalwart defense. He peered out to try and take a shot at them, but saw the dwarf had his crossbow pointed up at him. He still had more bolts loaded in it! A repeater?! Granth ducked back out of sight before the dwarf could shoot.

Any time now, Red, Granth thought to himself as he prepared for a much harder fight than he'd anticipated.

Xalmaan watched as all of the enemies were completely focused on his companion. They didn't even know he was there. This was a perfect opportunity. He waited a moment for the Dwarf to hop down from the wagon and move forward with the others. The Dwarf stood there, waiting for line of sight on Mask while the other two moved to pincer him from either side of his hiding place. The black Lizardfolk was next to the wagon, on the ground. This Dwarf was clearly the most dangerous with that powerful crossbow forcing Mask to hide in cover. He had to take them down.

Xalmaan snuck around the wagon on the opposite side from the black Lizardfolk and behind the Dwarf, who was oblivious to his presence, anger toward the man who had just killed one of his companions dulling his senses. He didn't hear as Xalmann crept up to him and chopped with his dagger sideways, directly into the Dwarf's neck. A look of shock crossed their face as they let out a choking, gurgling warning to the others. "Damn you..." The crossbow fell from their grasp as their final breath left their body. The crossbow hit the ground, the impact causing it to fire the loaded bolt into the tree that Mask was hiding behind, sending splinters flying. The Dwarf's body fell next, hitting the ground with a thud.

The other two looked back, surprised by their companion's sudden death. One human held a large sword. A large man, clearly a warrior. The other was thinner, but also held a sword. Their sword was smaller, more for someone dexterous than someone strong. Xalmann's instincts told him this man was the more dangerous opponent of the two.

He threw his spear, charging behind it. The man swung his sword and deflected the thrown spear easily, but it served its purpose. It distracted the man as Xalmann rushed in, swinging his dagger. The man was not so easily defeated though. He dodged to the side and swung his sword in a downward arc toward Xalmann's neck. He threw himself backward, narrowly avoiding the blade.

He felt his body screaming out in pain and ignored it. He had no time for it. This was a life or death battle. He felt the movement of the larger man behind him and ducked down as the large sword swung overhead. He turned and slashed out with his dagger, but the man moved back to avoid it. They weren't as fast as their companion though, and Xalmann managed to land a shallow cut on the man's thigh. That wouldn't be enough to finish him though, so he quickly moved away, not wanting to stay between the two men. He was surprised though as the large man seemed frozen, a look of horror on their face.

---

Dagger of Torment

Granth cursed as a bolt slammed into the tree in front of him, the tip poking out just inches away from his eyes through the bark. He nearly fell over in surprise, but gathered his composure and peered out to take a shot...

...only to realize that Red had already executed the damned dwarf.

Granth took a moment to assess the situation. There were two humans tangled in a fight with Red, a fight he was sorely disadvantaged in. The two other surviving fighters - the ones that had run off to chase the mules - were distant, but were beginning to make their way back. The odds weren't looking too good, but if Granth and Xalmann could wrap up the fight quickly, they could probably scare the others off.

Time was wasting. Granth raised his bow and took aim again, waiting for the right opportunity to fire as Red sparred with his enemies, ducking and weaving between their strikes, slowed by his wounds. Granth waited... waited...

There! The larger of the swordsmen, nicked briefly by Red's dagger, went stark still in shock. Granth didn't bother to wonder why; he didn't care. He took the shot.

THWAP! The arrow slid right into the man's eye socket like a knife into a sheath, and the fellow staggered away, dumb with horror, and fell onto his back. His companion looked on with shock, then quickly maneuvered to put Red between himself and Granth.

"Shit!" Granth cursed again, lowering his bow. He'd hoped to make two rapid shots to take out both his enemies, but that wasn't going to happen. Scowling, he raced up the mound, maneuvering to try and get a better shot.

The dexterous swordsman was clearly skilled, but now had two problems. He not only had to keep the dagger-wielding fighter at bay, but had to fight at such an angle that the archer couldn't take him down. He just had to survive long enough for his allies to arrive, just long enough to make the fight three-on-two...

The larger man fell to the ground, an arrow in his eye socket. Xalmann quickly regained his composure and turned to the last remaining enemy until the other two came back from their distraction. The man circled him, moving away from the tree to place himself opposite Xalmann from Mask. He realized what the man was trying to do as he looked past him to the two distant, but definitely returning guards. He also saw the spot where the Goblin had been kicked to the ground was now empty. He didn't care about the Goblin. They were no longer needed. They had served their purpose in this battle already.

Xalmann decided this needed to end quickly, before the other two returned, if he and Mask wanted to win this fight. He charged at the swordsman again, his dagger in front of him. The man held up his sword, ready to collide with the charging Lizardfolk, but Xalmann suddenly jumped to the side and threw his dagger toward the man's thigh, catching them off guard. They were almost able to avoid the dagger, but it managed to nick them as they tried to dodge to the side. Like the other man, they suddenly froze in place with an expression of horror on their face.

---

Dagger of Torment

Once more, one of Xalmann's opponents just stopped moving. Granth wasn't about to look a gift horse in the eye. He took the shot that presented itself; the arrow hit the fighter in the chest. The man staggered and seemingly came to his senses and started rushing toward Red again, but Granth just fired another arrow into his leg. The swordsman crashed into the muddy earth and did not get back up.

The two fighters that had been rushing to help their ally skidded to a stop. They stared ahead at the two raiders, eyes wide as they debated what to do. Then Granth's fiery-maned steed strode out from the swamp, stepping behind the archer, illuminating him in firelight. The bandit raised his bow over his head.

"Leave!" shouted the bowman, glaring across at the warriors in the distance. "If I see you again, I'll stick you like pigs!"

The green-scaled lizard and his human compatriot knew very well they wouldn't get offered mercy a second time. They ran away, just as they were told. It was better than dying.

The bandit lowered his bow, glancing across at Red. He breathed heavily, then slowly went about retrieving his arrows from the bodies, inspecting each as he did.

"Good work, Xalmann," the archer said quietly, flicking blood off one of his arrows. "Take whatever's valuable. I'll do the same. Work with me, and I'll make sure there ain't no shortage of chances to sharpen your skills on fights like this." Granth paused, then turned to face the lizard directly.

"Ain't planning to stay small time. This is just the beginning, Red," the archer told his ally seriously. His voice was sharper than before. "If you want to leave, I ain't gonna stop you. But stick with me, and when I'm the Bandit King, you'll be my righthand man, and anyone that steps out of line... you can do what you wish with 'em."

Slight surprise was barely visible on Xalmann's normally emotionless face when Mask had called him by name. He nodded and got to work collecting what he could from the camp while he thought about Mask's offer. He picked up his dagger and stared at it for a moment before sheathing it at his waist. It was strange. Twice, his opponent had suddenly frozen after receiving a minor wound from it.

He opened the back of the wagon and climbed inside. He looked around, seeing large rolled up bolts of fine, different colored fabrics on the floor and various types of clothing hanging from a rack on the wall. He was about to hop back out of the wagon when something caught his eye. A dark blue cloak with a hood and a silver metal fastening. He took the cloak and put it over his shoulders.

He looked at himself in a tall mirror that was propped against the wall. He was slightly disturbed by his own appearance. He was covered nearly head to toe in bandages. He looked down and suddenly realized he had been naked this whole time, his loincloth having been burnt to nothing in the fire. He hadn't noticed at all, hadn't had time to think about it. He supposed his companion hadn't noticed due to the bandages or the difference in species. Or perhaps he hadn't cared. He seemed like a very practical man. Xalmann looked through the clothing and picked out a pair of baggy leather pants and a sash.

He exited the wagon and looked to his companion who was busy tossing the bodies for their valuables.

"Your horse can pull this wagon alone?" he called out to him. "The valuables will not fit in bags."

"Horse can pull it if we dump the cheap junk," Granth replied, snatching another item off the corpse in front of him: a fancy dagger that would sell better than it could fight. He tucked it away into his boot, then strode over toward the lizardman, looking at him intently.

"We'll get rid of anything that's more trouble than it's worth. We can't take it back to Gazablaak right away; they'll know we killed some of their own people if we bring evidence right to 'em. So, we'll take the wagon toward the Moon Glade instead, and we don't stop until we hit a village," Granth decided, stepping inside the wagon to find crates he deemed less valuable. The man stared tossing them on out roughly. "Got a fence out that way that'll buy everything, wagon and all. Once that's done, we eat what we want, buy what we want, and get back on the road to find the next fat merchant."

Granth glanced over at Xalmann, eyeing the lizard over. He considered something, then noted slowly, "Being a bandit's all about smelling danger and opportunity. You've got to get a sense for when something's worth risking your neck for and when it's not. Gets easier when there's more than just one of you. Shares get leaner, too, unless you're one of the bosses.

"You don't got to decide nothing tonight. We'll sell the wagon, and you'll get your half of the cut. What you do with it is up to you, Red."

With that, the would-be Bandit King led his fell horse in front of the wagon, attached it, and made his way back onto the road and out of the marsh.

Xalmann nodded toward Mask, still thinking through what he wanted to do next. Their offer was tempting, and he owed the him his life. He looked down at the discarded goods. Mixed into the spilled crates were a few cheap daggers in leather sheaths. He looked through them, pulling the daggers out and testing his own dagger in the sheaths until he found one that fit it better than the one he had borrowed from Mask. He discarded the old one and attached the new one to the belt around his waist. Mask had told him it was cheap junk when he had given it to him. He also found a small knife and some empty belt pouches that he took along with a small whetstone and file for sharpening his dagger.

He took what he wanted quickly, not wanting to fall too far behind the already moving cart. He attached the pouches to his belt as he caught up and walked on the opposite side of the flaming horse from Mask. He wished he had found an axe among the wagon's goods, but sadly, there was no axe to be found. He silently glanced at his companion. He could not ask the man for any more than had already given him. He would have to find an axe eventually.

As he hurried to catch up to his companion, Xalmann didn't notice the fire suddenly dying down to mere embers as he walked by. He just looked up at the sky, the sudden darkness making him wonder if the sun had just set.

The next several days went by surprisingly quickly. Mask and Red had to spend their time watching for other robbers on the road as they drove the wagon along. Their intimidating glares scared off a couple would-be thieves, but otherwise the road toward the Moon Glade was calm. There was always more work to do, but most of it could be done in relative silence, and the pair went unmolested on their journey.

There was food and water aplenty in the wagon, too. The merchants they'd slain had kept rations to feed seven people, after all. Most of the foodstuffs were of Gazablaak fare, but Granth didn't mind that. He'd survived off of worse. It was edible, and that was what mattered.

Before the end of the fifth day, the bandit and his ally arrived outside of one of the smaller villages in the Moon Glade, one insignificant enough not to appear on any maps. Granth knew where he was going, however, and his fiery-maned horse drew the wagon into the settlement. The murderers caught the attention of the locals, but nobody challenged them as they entered.

Business was concluded pretty swiftly. Granth found his fence and got paid good money for the wares. He made sure Xalmann was there to witness the transaction, and as soon as it was done he held out the leather pouch that held the lizard's half.

"That's it," Granth told the lizard as they stood inside the sketchy shop. "Job's been done. I'll find a couple toughs at the local inn to join up; there's someone good for our line of work in every town. Could use a good lieutenant, however."

Granth paused. He stared at the lizardman intently, then leaned in and spoke a bit more quietly, a bit more gravely.

"I won't tell you what to do... but if you and I keep working together, Xalmann, there's going to be bigger opportunities for us both. You might even get to meet the man behind the curtain. The boss."

The bandit didn't say who 'the boss' was, who it was that was pulling his own strings. But he let that idea hang in the air. Then he spoke a little more openly again.

"Either way, ain't time for that. You want to work with me on a more permanent basis, there'll be a place for you. We did good work together. Won't be long 'til they speak in hushed tones about Granth, Xalmann, and the Deadwood Devils."

The bandit grinned at the thought. He didn't have his mask on, so the cruelty of that grin was on full display. He clearly liked the idea of being feared. It was, after all, a very practical way to get what you wanted. He asked his next question with that grin still spread across his face.

"What do you say, partner? You going to be a Devil?"

Xalmann looked at the leather pouch in his hand. He had been thinking a lot about what he would do next during their travels. He had finally come to his decision. He looked up at his companion for the last few days.

"I am thankful. You saved my life. But I apologize. I will not be a Devil. I will not give orders to others. I cannot give orders to others. My tribe died following the orders of Dagon. I will grow stronger. I will kill Dagon. But I will do it alone" he said with a hint of sadness breaking through his normally stoic expression. He pressed the pouch of coins into Granth's hand.

"My repayment for saving my life. Find me again. I will assist you in anything you ask" he said as he placed a hand on Granth's shoulder and gave it a slight squeeze.

He silently nodded to Granth one last time before turning and leaving the shop alone. They had not really spoken much in their time together. They knew little about each other. Xalmann had only just learned the man's real name. He wondered if and when the man would find him again. What kind of help would they ask of him the next time they met? He hoped they would find him again.

But in the meantime, he had training to do. He had to grow stronger if he wanted to kill Dagon. He had to learn about and master his abilities. What he did to make his opponents freeze in horror. He had come to realize during their travels that he had gained some powers over fire as well. He didn't know how to feel about them. He hated fire. But if they helped him, if they would allow him to make Dagon feel the same pain he had, he would use them. He would master them. Whatever it took to get his revenge.

Granth didn't fault the lizardman for leaving. He had his own goals to pursue, and he was strong enough to pursue them. He'd offered his help in the future, too... and had denied taking money for the work they'd done. There were definitely worse things that could happen when parting ways.

The bandit would've preferred to have lost the money and kept the warrior, however. He saw just how capable the lizard was, witnessed just how dangerous he could be. Having someone like that on his side would've been a mighty boon. But... It wasn't Granth's place to decide what the man did with his life.

The bandit shrugged. There was work to be done, and there was no use dwelling on the possibilities of things that could have been. He had an empire to build.

---

Elsewhere, far off in the Marsh Flats, a goblin made his way into Gazablaak and toward the inn. He was a pitiful creature if ever there was one, even more so than he'd been before the bandits had robbed him of his weapon. He was limping, too, and sickly from the swamp. He'd tried to loot the goods the thugs had cast off into the muck, but other looters came and claimed it, chasing him off. His week had been the very definition of misfortune.

But the goblin wasn't going to let that be how the story ended. He'd managed to keep a few valuables hidden from the looters, enough to pay for a warm meal and a drink at the Safe Dry Sleep Eat Spot. And as he sat there with his meal in front of the bar, the goblin looked to the scruffy goblin innkeeper and asked a strange question...

"Do you know anyone that'll kill men for money?"