orpheaâ:
Orphea had been entirely absorbed in an old tome full of epic ballads. Sheâd become enamored with the strange, winding tale of a sea serpent intent on capturing a particular pirate crew, but it kept attacking the wrong ships. It became the villain of the story even though it only wanted vengeance for wrongs against it. She was just getting to the battle, where the notes denoted the greatest musical surge, when the door opened for the second time in so many minutes. She only pulled her eyes away from the page as she heard a crash.
Orphea didnât have much experience with robberies, at least not when they occurred on land and she wasnât the robber, and so she froze where she stood. She couldnât run for the door without running smack into them and she didnât know if the little shop had a back exit. Slowly, she slunk back further behind the bookshelf and slipped the tome into a free space. She didnât want to be involved. She wrote about heroes, she didnât act like one.
Three more men piled into the cramped shop and Orphea had to wonder if theyâd contoured their muscles beforehand for optimal intimidation. Perhaps theyâd even practiced their goonish facial expressions in the mirror that morning. The head goon sidled up the register where the owner, Mr. Bronet, stood and brandished his blade. The movement lacked all flourish; if she wrote about this later sheâd need to embellish this manâs paltry performance. âYou seem to be confused, old man,â continued the leader. This would be terrible dialogueâno one would read such drivel. Despite his weak words, she could see the glint of his blade and the cruelty in his eyes. Sheâd come into the store to browse, not watch a murder or to be murdered. With a huff, she reached into her belt for three crumbling nut shells and broke them up into powder between her fingers as she mumbled. Within a moment, one of the goons, the one whoâd chosen to don an ugly blue hood, swung wildly for the leader. His short sword raked across the manâs back and he howled in confusion and pain. The leader turned on the attacker and while Orphea couldnât see his face, she imagined he had it scrunched up like a squished-faced dog in anger.
Orpheaâs disappointment that her spell had only affected one out of four of her quarries diminished slightly at the betrayed cry of: âThe fuck, Brian!â followed quickly by the equally distraught âSorry, Neale, I dunno!â She clapped a hand to her mouth to stifle her mirth and watched as the four men rounded on each other. Sheâd meant to confuse them enough so that she could make her escape, but clearly that wasnât in the cards for the evening. The two in the back stepped forward towards Mr. Bronet, their weapons held high, while the leader continued to berate Brian. One of them swept one of the delicate potted plants off of the counter and she jumped as it shattered upon the floor. At her sudden movement, the book sheâd been reading before slipped from the book shelf and landed with a dull thud on the floor. Neale fell silent before turning, slowly, no doubt in a manner meant to be menacing, towards the shelves to the back of the store.Â
As the group of men continued to escalate the situation, Thalra crept around the shelf she was hiding behind to see if she could get any closer to the door without being seen. But as she did, she found herself staring at the back of a woman who was crushing⌠peanut shells into her palm? It was only a few second later, after Thalra stared with some confusion at the elf, that she realized sheâd been casting a spell. There was a shout, and then arguing, neither of the voices sounded like the old man, so Thalra assumed whatever the woman did, it hadnât affected the owner.
âNice trick,â she whispered to the woman, just before the sound of pottery smashing to the floor made her jump and knock a book over. Thalra flinched, and got out her bandore from her bag, preparing for the worst. The other men seemed to go silent, and a moment later, two appeared at the end of the shelves, blocking both womenâs way forward.
The one who looked like the leader smirked and looked like he was about to say something, but before he could Thalra raised her hand and brought it down quickly on the strings of her instrument, creating a cacophony of terrible sounds that invaded the leaderâs ears and spiraled down into his brain. He cried out, clutching at his head as a crown of barbed, iron thorns started to grow around his head, sinking into the tender flesh of his temples. When his eyes shot open, there was an insanity in them that let Thalra know he was hers to command for now.
The man beside him noticed the spell take effect and his eyes widened. âWhat the fuck did you bitches do!â He shouted, before raising his blade and swinging it down at the other woman. It was a clean hit, slashing across her shoulder, and it seemed to bring everything into focus for Thalra. This wasnât something theyâd be able to walk away from.
Well, Thalra had been wanting to work some stuff out. Grinning now at the prospect of violence, Thalra pointed a finger at the man whoâd just slashed at the other woman. The man wearing the crown of thorns from her spell, turned on her command and lashed out with his longsword. But the other man seemed to be expecting it and expertly dodged out of the way. âGuys, forget the old man, we need some help over here!â he yelled. Thalra heard the old man shout briefly, before it was suddenly choked off by a violent thud. Then she heard a door open and slam.
âGot it,â a deep, burly voice called.


















