The doors open with a force revealing a gang of tieflings.

Two of the larger tieflings approach the bar. One, a paladin, dons a heavy set of brilliant armor shined to perfection, hiding the true girth of the monster. The second, a wizard in robes tucked into rolls with eyes that seem to scan everyone and everything as if discerning what others couldn't begin to ponder.

Two strut with a mischievous intent towards a bulk of patrons. A warlock in robed leather arms muses irritation from the peaceful diners, flipping plates, flicking ears and stealing drinks from loose mugs. An accompanying fighter, cast in strands of muscle and covered in scars, stares down the victims in challenge, begging to add to her collection.

From the shadows emerge two more tieflings circling the crowd. A bard strapped with instruments and loose buckles surfs the locals, searching for a flirt. A cloaked rogue lifts light purses from distracted waists with a haste, nearly unnoticeable.

The paladin flags the bartender.

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"We're looking for Oram. Would you know of their whereabouts?"

The bartender raises a questioning brow without pulling his attention from polishing a mug. The wizard adds, eyeing everywhere but the bartender.

WIZARD, GULA

"Human. Young adult male. Brown hair. About ye' tall. Said to be a farmer that lives in these hills. Frequents this ba—"

The bartender bows their head and raises a hand in a sigh to cut off the wizard's rambling.

BARTENDER

"Listen. I can't lie. The boys around here tend to get up to trouble, but they mean no harm. If you can promise me the same, I'll tell you."

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"Lying opposes my principles."

WIZARD, GULA

"I, too, am concerned only by the facts."

The bartender furrows his brows in confusion and concern.

BARTENDER

"N- No. That you won't harm the boy."

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"Oh. That depends."

BARTENDER (More confusion and concern)

"On what?"

WIZARD, GULA

"That is to be determined."

The bartender's mouth gapes as if to contest when from the gathering crowd comes the sound of chairs and disgruntled guests.

FIGHTER, INVIDIA

"I think we found him Supe'!"

The fighter shouts across the room grinning, held by the collar of her tunic. On tiptoes, not for being lifted but to see her assaulter eye to eye. A local farmer boy, mop of brown hair with skin tanned by exposure and a face yet affected by age. Others stand with gripped fists and clenched teeth. The warlock rocks smugly upon a stool, twirling a half eaten bread knot about one finger.

WARLOCK, IRAS

"I told you if we just barge in making fun of people's dead moms, he'd eventually pop up."

ORAM

"I knews you mother-spitters were sum' good-for-nothings."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Ooh, mother-spitters. Add that one to our book of insults, Invid."

FIGHTER, INVIDIA

"Gladly. I'll mother-spit everyone single one of these mother-spitters."

BARD, LIBIDINE

"Points for effort, dear."

The bard speaks with a merriment. They also have both arms rested around the shoulders of a couple of enamored patrons.

BARD, LIBIDINE

"But those aren't quite the 'fightin' words' you're looking for. Now, I'm always one for a bit of exhibition, so we can either do this here or take it elsewhere."

The bard gestures towards the group of aggressors but looks at the new companions within his arms. Appearing from nowhere, the rogue spills a collection of coins across a table and begins counting.

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"Seriously. These guys have nothing. I almost feel bad for stealing from them."

The rogue shies away, sliding the coins into a pouch, observing unaware guests search their pockets.

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"Almost."

WIZARD, GULA

"Our objective is to bring him in alive."

FIGHTER, INVIDIA

"Alive doesn't mean unharmed. Lemme hit 'em just once."

ORAM

"If you think you and your friends are the ones leaving here alive, you thought wrong."

The farmer says through bared teeth, reaching for tools as a couple others begin to arm themselves.

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Avar, why didn't you take their weapons?"

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"First off, they're tools. Second, they are worth less than the hassle it would take to sell them."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Again, it's not always about the money. Now, we don't get to just fight poor farmers, we get to fight poor armed farmers. We're four torches short of a mob."

BARD, LIBIDINE

"You're one to talk of values, Iras. If you didn't piss off everyone within a kilometer radius maybe Supe' and Gula could have gathered information before you and Invi started another fight."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"I don't want to hear it from you, Libi. We've been here all of sixty seconds and you've contracted three diseases. Probably invented a new one in the process."

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"Look. We found our target. That's all that matters. The next step is to bring him back to the city. In the name of our father."

The paladin turns around, pushing his way through the crowd. The bartender notices a small horned figure across his back, swaddled in wool.

BARD, LIBIDINE

"And what about the name of our employer?"

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"All in Father's plans."

BARD, LIBIDINE

"Right. Because eeeeverything's for daddy with you."

The paladin approaches the farm boy holding his fighter. Marching through the crowd a head and neck taller than the rest, armor glinting in the candlelight.

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"Listen boy. We are here by command of the high king himself. As enforcers of his will, we hereby—"

He is interrupted by a hand upon his pauldron turning the paladin towards its direction.

FARMER #1:

"Hey pal, I don't think you know who your--"

In the same momentum, Superbia bashes the farmer's nose with his forehead to the distinct sound of cartilage snapping.

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"YOU DARE…"

A wicked grin spreads across his face, brows twitch as blood trickles between his eyes.

FIGHTER, INVIDIA

"THEM'S THE FIGHTING WORDS!"

Invidia shouts as she reels her head back, giving her assailant the same.

As the bodies slump, the entire tavern erupts into a chaotic free for all. Civilians begin scattering for exits, turning over chairs and tables in a hurry. Other farmers are joining the fray to protect their comrades. Few take advantage of the confusion to physically settle debts with each other. Superbia and Invidia are in the thick of it, fending off one attack after the other. Throwing bodies and dodging punches. Ducking a flying mug, Superbia shouts to his warlock and bard who are loitering against a support beam in the back.

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"Any help, you guys?"

BARD, LIBIDINE (Examining reflection in a hand mirror)

"This isn't my fight."

WARLOCK, IRAS (Inspecting fingernails)

"I didn't start anything."

They dodge more airborne debris.

WARLOCK, IRAS

"What about Avar?"

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"These lives are not mine to take."

Avaritias replies as he sneaks up the stairs to the bedrooms. Superbia ducks a flying fighter and gives one last clobber to a man he has within a headlock before dropping him and gesturing for the wizard.

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"You learned all those fancy spells. One of them would be nice right about now, Gula. Gula?"

Superbia looks up towards a loud clatter in the kitchen and sees Gula has begun stuffing himself in the confusion. Invidia lands back in a huff.

FIGHTER, INVIDIA

"We don't need 'em. Leaves more for us. Besides, Iras was right, these are just poor farmers. We're probably doing the king a favor."

Invidia roars before tackling a farmer into a table and shattering it beneath them.

WARLOCK, IRAS

"What about Desi? That baby sleeps all day anyways. When's he gonna help out for once?"

Superbia cracks a glass over the head of one farmer and shanks another with the remaining shard in hand.

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"I'd rather not wake Desidias. Now's not the time. Could you two get the others while we finish up here?"

He grabs a young farmer boy in a double shoulder lock. Fear grows in the boy's eyes as he watches the tiefling fighter come flying, knees and elbows tucked, only to unfold as she approaches his midriff. The sound of cracking reverberates through the paladin's armor as boots connect with the meaty medium. Superbia drops the limp boy and brushes blood and dirt off his breastplate in disgust.

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"You could keep your shoes off my armor."

FIGHTER, INVIDIA (Mockingly)

"My apologies, your grace."

Iras and Libidine head for the kitchen.

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Wanna bet on what they're doing?"

BARD, LIBIDINE

"That's not hard to guess. Gula is either eating or reading. Or both. And Avar is probably doing something he shouldn't."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Well, I bet you're either broke or no fun."

BARD, LIBIDINE

"I am the embodiment of fun, my friend."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Broke it is. Noted."

As they breach the threshold into the kitchen, they see open cabinets and strewn drawers. Utensils and scraps litter the floor. Gula is gorging upon the nightly stew pot while examining an open recipe book upon the mantle of the cooking fire. Mid chew, he turns and notices his group members had caught him in the act.

WIZARD, GULA (Embarrassed)

"mmFFMMghmgmMmg."

BARD, LIBIDINE

"Have no shame in what you love, dear."

WARLOCK, IRAS (Disgusted)

"Maybe a little shame. I can't tell if you're hungry or horny."

WIZARD, GULA

*gulp* "The hunger for knowledge is one that can never be fulfilled. To acquire the many tastes of these varied lands is but a—"

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Yeah, yeah, yeah, you're a fat fuck we get it, now where's the rat?"

Hollow thuds echo through the stone floors. It grows louder with each proceeding the other. A cellar hatch swings open from across the room, giving way to a hulk of a butcher. Bloodied apron and cleavers guilty of his work.

BUTCHER

"...and this bullshit. I can't do my work in peace with all this racket. If those boys break any more of my—"

He stops his monologue as he spies the three tieflings huddled around his cooking pot. He approaches, cleaver pointed in accusation.

BUTCHER

"You ain't 'posed to be back here, Devils. You Jamies' boys?"

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Yes?"

BARD, LIBIDINE

"No, we are not."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"I am. They're not. Kill them."

Between the exchange, they see Avaritias crawling behind the butcher towards the open cellar. He descends the stairs, giving sideways glances before closing the hatch behind him.

BARD, LIBIDINE

"We were just looking for our friend. This one seems to have indulged himself in this evening's fine entree. He will be sure to fully compensate you for his rudeness. Now, if you'll excuse us."

Libi leads the two towards the door and a cleaver narrowly misses Libidine's nose, sticking into the wooden cabinet and almost clipping his horns.

BUTCHER

"I never liked Jamie. Or liars."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Shit."

Iras kicks a table into the butcher's stomach. Seemingly doing more harm to himself, Iras dives to the ground, avoiding a soaring pot. Libi drops, attempting to hide from view behind a barrel. Gula with outstretched staff and orb begins a cast.

WIZARD, GULA

"I cast Firebolt!"

Unphased by the whiff of a spell dissipating against the wall behind him, the butcher prepares to throw more kitchenware.

BUTCHER

"I cast Iron Skillet!"

Launched with such power, the skillet splinters the mantle above the fireplace, whizzing just past Gula's head. He examines the damage in bewilderment before turning back to the butcher.

WIZARD, GULA

"That's not a real spell!"

BUTCHER

"Saute!"

The butcher lights a match and spits a mouthful of cooking alcohol in the Gula's direction. He ducks in surprise, nearly scorching his robes.

WIZARD, GULA

"Donkey! You are a farce to the great magical arts."

Gula dodges more flying utensils and kitchen puns.

WIZARD, GULA

"It'd be the same as me claiming the rising sun a feat of my own grandeur. A delusion! You, sir, are a walking mockery!"

Crawling on the ground, Iras and Libidine find each other hiding just outside the somatic battle.

WARLOCK, IRAS

"It'd be embarrassing if the three of us couldn't handle one guy while those two are fighting off half the village."

BARD, LIBIDINE

"It won't be if we don't tell them and they don't find out. Let's finish this quickly and get out of here."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"You got an idea?"

BARD, LIBIDINE

"Working on one."

Libidine pulls himself up from behind their hiding spot.

BARD, LIBIDINE

"Hey jackass! That wizard thinks your main cuts wouldn't befit even the lowest of carrions!"

The butcher turns in notice to the bard's remark and returns to Gula, face flushed in an anger doubled over.

WIZARD, GULA

"I would—*ducks* I would never, good sir! Just the opposite, in fact!"

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Oh, I like this game. Yeah, he said whatever your pig mother taught you in the kitchen belongs in the scraps!"

WIZARD, GULA

"I don't even know your mother!"

The butcher chucks a stale loaf at Iras and Libidine, cracking them both across the bridge of their noses.

WARLOCK, IRAS

"You mother-spitter! This thing's as hard as rocks. Or is it a rock?"

He nibbles and bangs it against the edge of a table, inspecting its physical properties. Libidine rubs his nose.

BARD, LIBIDINE

"Fuck you dude! Just throwing shit all willy-nilly with no respect to a chef's diligence."

Libidine begins chucking whatever's within reach in response.

WIZARD, GULA

"How do you like this, Nard? Tomato Paste! Carrot Sight! Force of Ginger!"

Gula joins in, lobbing vegetables and puns of his own retort.

WARLOCK, IRAS

"I love making a mess!"

The four engage in a flight of culinary missiles. Rounds pass and the clutter grows.

WARLOCK, IRAS

"This is fun and all, but we're taking too long. I can't trust Gula not to eat half his ammunition and they might be done out there already."

BARD, LIBIDINE

"I know. Our supplies are beginning to dwindle as well. I have a plan. Double tap?"

WARLOCK, IRAS

*nods* "Double Tap."

They stand back to back, facing towards the butcher who has the wizard locked in with a half eaten chicken leg. It's too late before he notices the iron skillet Libidine beamed for his face.

BARD, LIBIDINE

"Now!"

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Eldritch Blast!"

The skillet rebounds off the butcher's forehead. Before the skillet could begin to fall, it is smacked with crackling green energy delivering a force twice as great as when it was thrown returning into the butcher's brow. Eyes rolled back in their sockets, the butcher's heavy body drops with a groan and a thud.

WARLOCK, IRAS (Blowing smoke from his fingertips)

"You zigged when you should've zagged, partner."

Libidine dusts and collects himself. Gula peeks an eye over his cover, investigating the silence that has taken the room save the scuttle just outside the kitchen. The silence is short-lived as the hatch to the cellar swings open, out-stepping the rogue.

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"Finally, how long does it take for three spell casters to fight one person?"

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Like you were any help, asshole. And what were you doing?"

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"What I do best. Let's regroup with the others."

Back in the main room, Invidia is piling unconscious bodies against a far wall. The paladin is polishing a bracer with extensive care, a greater effort than it took fending off the horde of farmers.

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"I figure that's all of them. Any more and we'd be fighting extended family. Who knows how deep that could get."

FIGHTER, INVIDIA

"Or how wide. These bumpkins all look the same. I'm not even sure we got the right guy anymore."

She drops a limp arm from the pile after determining the face it belonged to was of no interest. As the remainder of the group approaches, Superbia addresses them without looking away from his armor.

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"What took you guys so long?"

BARD, LIBIDINE

"Ooooh, there was a brigade of chefs back there you wouldn't belie--"

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"It was one guy. They were having a food fight."

Avaritias interrupts, emptying his contents across a table. Iras and Libidine scoff in exasperation.

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"But I was able to find these."

He dumps bundled packages and a leather-bound ledger out of a sack. He looks at Gula.

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"Think we can sell it?"

WIZARD, GULA

"Could we? Yes. Should we? Not within the borders of this kingdom."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"What is it?"

Gula cuts into the package and examines its contents.

WIZARD, GULA

"Krystaal. A form of hard stimulants illicitly traded in these parts. Illegal under most courts."

BARD, LIBIDINE (Fingering the powder)

"Are you sure? It feels pretty soft."

WIZARD, GULA

"And a ledger recording a history of transactions. Volume, price, recipients. I think we accidentally stumbled upon a distribution ring."

Invidia peers outside the window and notices torch light in the distance.

FIGHTER, INVIDIA

"Guys, I think we got company."

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"Grab our target Invidia. Libidine, tie him to a chair and strap him to Invidia."

LIBIDINE AND INVIDIA (Saluting, mockingly in unison)

"Aye, aye captain."

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"Gula, procure what rations remain from the kitchen for the trip back to town."

WIZARD, GULA

"I will do my best."

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"Iras, Avaritias, help me prepare for a second assault. We might have to fight our way out of here."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Who made you leader?"

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"You got a better idea? I'm not looking to fight all night."

The clammer of the distant mob closes in with each heartbeat as the tieflings engage in their tasks. Libidine binds the farm boy to Invidias' back with rope, gagged and blindfolded. Invidia shrugs, distributing the weight across her body.

FIGHTER, INVIDIA

"You're good with rope, Libi. It's tight yet, I almost can't feel it."

BARD, LIBIDINE

"I've had my practice. Comes in use when restraining the willing. And unwilling."

FIGHTER, INVIDIA (Blankly)

"What does that mean?"

Gula stubbles out of the kitchen, clutching cook books and bread baskets, crumbs falling from around his mouth.

WIZARD, GULA

"I think the cook's dead."

FIGHTER, INVIDIA

"You guys actually killed someone? I didn't think you had it in you."

Iras wipes a dusting of powder from his nose with the back of his hand.

WARLOCK, IRAS

*sniff* "Contact. If we kill anymore farmers we might single-handedly starve the population of this season's harvest."

Farmers begin to burst into the tavern's main room, front and back, toting torches, pitchforks, hoes, and scythes.

BARD, LIBIDINE

"Been a while since we were the targets of a Devil-hunting mob."

The tieflings gather in the center of the room, back to back, surrounded by overturned tables, dug in to make a stand that will last the night. The tieflings raise their weapons and spells in retaliation.

Just before the clash, a cannon shot rings throughout the room. From behind the bar stands the keeper holding a short-barreled powder cannon held upright towards the ceiling, shaking from fear and recoil. A shallow thud is heard from above, followed by muffled cries of anguish.

BARTENDER

"Enough! I knew you empire dogs would catch on to our operations soon enough. I will not see any more bloodshed in my inn tonight. If you think this is the last of the Rally Hounds, you'd be sorely mistaken. You don't know how much shit you just stirred up. When The Wolf King catches wind of what you've done here, you'll be—"

PALADIN, SUPERBIA (Sternly)

"I believe you are the one who is mistaken. We couldn't care less about what it is you do in your spare time with your little friends. I told you what we were here for. Our only concern is with the boy and if it's all the same to you and your kinfolk, we would also like to leave without any more resistance."

The bartender stares blankly at the gang of tieflings, mouth open in search of questions he couldn't comprehend to ask. The mob stands hesitantly waiting on words from the bartender that fail to find light. The gang slowly edge their way towards the door, parting through the crowd, eyeing the farmers that step to give way, tightening their grips on their weapons. Superbia leaves without looking back.

WIZARD, GULA

"Thank you for the food. Sorry about the mess."

Gula bows his head, dropping a few pieces of bread before following the paladin out. Libidine winks at a few of the men muttering unmentionables just under his breath, leaving a few of them scared, for better or worse, as he departs. Iras belches and flings indecent hand gestures around the room as he exits.

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"I'm keeping the drugs. And the money from the safe. And the jewelry from your room. Probably wasn't yours anyway."

He jingles with each step as he leaves. Just outside the door, a few comments are barely distinguishable.

ROGUE, AVARITIAS

"There were chopped up bodies in the cellar. What do you think that was about?"

BARD, LIBIDINE

"I hope you didn't eat them, Gula."

WARLOCK, IRAS

"Wouldn't be a first for you, tubby."

WIZARD, GULA (Sadly)

"Some things are better left a mystery."

Invidia leads with her back to door, bucking at unsettled farmers, soiling their toiling attire. She pauses at the threshold before gut punching the nearest farm boy, keeling him over in pain and darting after the rest of her party.

The bartender, along with the mob, look around aghast at the destruction of their local watering hole. Parts of the building begin to fall apart as if holding its breath for the tieflings to leave.

As the inn fades in the distance, the tieflings discuss their encounter and the details of their next move amongst each other. The small tiefling strapped to the back of the paladin begins to stir before asking through a sleepy voice.

DRUID, DESIDIA

"Are we there yet?"

PALADIN, SUPERBIA

"Almost, little one. Go back to sleep. We'll be camping for the night."

And with that, the gang search for a spot to rest on the roadside, out of view of any patrolling locals, before continuing on their journey.