A Bored Lich

Doevm's sixth sense caught faint traces of mana as he, like the city-dwellers, carefully trudged through the floodwaters, the stone beneath their feet now cracked and loose. He appreciated the solemn quiet while wondering whether he should investigate the source of the ambient mana or not.

Leftover mana, especially in high densities, indicated either that the spellcaster was a novice or the use of a magic item, like those used by the assassins in the Bloodwood. Those theories, however, had a contradiction: the uncontrolled output should have been visible to the naked eye.

Doevm estimated that the raw energy should have done much more damage to the city than the earthquake. Panic was a natural byproduct, yet the populace was calm. While it did peak Doevm's curiosity, it wasn't enough for him to change his destination. First he had to meet with the others.

Doevm trudged along, watching two Dwarves heave a minecart back onto the center tracks, watching them work shovels into piles of ores, watching buckets of water be chucked into the street, watching tavern owners chase off drunkards who were all too eager to clean up spilled ale, watching people wring out their clothes, watching families dig their essentials, what was left of them, out of their destroyed homes then head into their neighbors' seemingly-untouched houses. The quake was both unbiased and unfair in its targets. Some were spared. Some weren't.

The city guards moved with familiarity and passion when compared to their peers on the lower floors. The emblems of Minecarts proudly displayed on their leather armor were fearlessly drenched into the sludge. The guards spoke to civilians by name, recruited impromptu helpers, and ripped the pipes from the walls, giving them to blacksmiths who, in turn, reforged them into a long pump to deal with the floodwater.

Doevm noticed a group in contrast to the city guards when he got to the market. Whoever they were, they were far more annoying, yet admittedly calculative. The traces of expended mana within the market district were more dense than at the entrance and therefore harder to ignore, but a group of well-armed Dwarves barked orders loud enough to distract Doevm's thoughts.

An image of a dragon laid on a mound of gold, eyes front and narrowed, wings beginning to spread, and the Dwarves who wore the mark, either on their armor, weapons, or skin, appeared just as coarse. The more Doevm saw however, the more he realized that the group came from all walks of life. While the majority were Dwarves, there were also Humans, Savages, Orcs, and even an Elf or two. All scared. All armed. All at the ready.

Doevm looked left, then right. There wasn't a member of the city guard in sight. He had heard the name "Dragon's Hoard" when he first arrived. The emblem matched the name, but that was all he knew of the group. He stopped to observe them.

"Noh treespassing beyund thas point, civilian," said an Orc with an accent common to his homeland, Chaflo, and thicker than his biceps. He was green, beefy, cross-armed brute that towered above Doevm, his tusks staring him down. Doevm was more curious about why the creature was soaking wet, and if it was related to the yet-to-be-explained mana incident.

Doevm could barely peer past the hulking brute, whose companions worked in squadrons to squirrel supplies away from the public eye. Besides the expended mana, which was almost as prevalent as the floodwater at this point, traces of other magics wafted from under canvases and crates. Off to the side, a set of large eyes caught sight of Doevm, and a small hand reached out from behind their small bars before a tent flap came down over it. A muffled cry rang out in vain.

'A pixie, here?' Doevm thought, quickly looking away. 'The Black Market must be booming. Whoever these people are, I don't need to attract their attention as much as they do mine. The gods are going to be enough of a handful and I can always investigate what happened later.'

Doevm returned his gaze to the orc: "I guess I'll be going then."

The orc, however, wasn't listening. His head cocked to the side as a familiar voice boomed from the middle of the scene: "I said move!"

"That ain't gonna happen, buddy," said a less familiar voice, sternly.

Doevm's stomach dropped. 'No, it can't be,' he thought.

The Orc turned his back to Doevm: "Do you need help, Chieftain Tit?"

"It's Tut, you big oaf!" The stranger identified himself. "And I ain't no Chieftain."

"I don't care what you are. Get out of my way," the familiar voice sounded more and more like Frey.

'He couldn't be that stupid,' Doevm thought. The Orc was distracted. He could easily walk around it, but if the familiar voice was indeed Frey, if he had stupidly, naively tried to force his way through the camp... Doevm sighed, walked around the Orc, and what else did he expect but Frey, who was yelling at Tut, a middle-aged Dwarf with deep scars along both his face and his Mithril half-plate armor. Intricate tattoos ran up and down every inch of his skin, and Doevm recognized them as ancient, Prin body-enhancement magics.

'Was it Frey? Is he behind this whole mess?' Doevm thought. 'That idiot! No, that doesn't make sense. If a fight started, he would have finished it by now.'

Tut spoke calmly to Frey despite being flanked by two personal bodyguards. "I don't care," he said. "This is my employers' merchandise and it's our job to secure it. No one gets in. No one gets out. Wait for it to be over, and while you're at it you can apologize for throwing Junior over there into the mud." He gestured to the Orc next to Doevm. As if Frey hadn't invited enough trouble already, Tut locked eyes with Doevm.

"No civilians!" Tut barked.

The Orc, apparently named Junior, reached for Doevm, who kicked some water into his eyes. In the blink of an eye, Junior was lying face-first in the floodwater, shoulder stretched back as Doevm leaned his knee into his spine and held his wrist at an awkward angle. Junior tried to struggle out, hints of blue life essence surging. Doevm called upon his copper life essence and kept him where he was.

If Doevm hadn't caught Dragon's Hoard's attention before, he certainly did now, and the dozens of blades drawn on both him and Frey proved it.

"Wait, wait!" Tut yelled, although his placid expression revealed no traces of panic.

"Let us pass," Doevm maintained. "That's all we seek, not to interfere with your "business"."

Tut's eyes were glued to Junior, who slowly stopped struggling. Fewer bubbles rose around his mouth. "Let him go and let's talk," Tut said. "I assume you're both together? Let's be reasonable here."

"And why would we do that?" Frey asked, three weapons pointed at his neck.

Tut snarled at him: "Or I could just give the order to attack. Whichever you like."

Doevm pulled Junior up out of the floodwater: "Frey, let me handle this. Let's talk."

Tut relaxed and sheathed his weapons. "Return to your business men. I can handle this."