The events of the previous night weighed on him, but he pushed them aside as he sat up. Sera was already awake, tending to a small pot over the fire. Then she glanced at him.
"You're up early. You must be excited about your new job.”
Rohan forced a small smirk.
"Something like that."
"At least you're not throwing yourself into the pits again. You don’t have to kill yourself to survive, you know.”
Rohan didn’t respond. Instead, he got up and dressed, adjusting his clothes to hide the bruises that still lingered from his last fight. He had bigger things to focus on now. The party was tonight, and if he played his cards right, he might finally get closer to the Iron Talons.
“You know, one of my friend’s daughters is looking for a boyfriend.”
Rohan paused, shooting her an unimpressed glance.
“And?”
“And, think you’d be a good match. She’s sweet, hard-working, and, most importantly, not getting punched in the face for a living.”
Rohan sighed, shaking his head.
“I don’t have time for that.”
“You don’t have time for anything but fighting, you should at least meet her.”
He grabbed his belt, fastening it tightly.
“I’ll think about it.”
He said, though they both knew he wouldn’t.
Sera rolled her eyes but didn’t push further.
“Suit yourself. Just don’t end up dead before you get a chance.”
Rohan didn’t respond. He had a long night ahead of him, and romance was the last thing on his mind.
That evening, Rohan made his way through the streets, following the woman’s directions to a grand estate nestled on the outskirts of the city. Unlike the cramped, filthy alleys he had grown accustomed to, this part of Duskwatch was eerily quiet, the kind of silence that came with wealth and power.
The mansion loomed ahead, surrounded by tall iron fences, its windows glowing warmly against the night. Carriages lined the entrance, noblemen and merchants stepping out in fine silks and embroidered cloaks, their laughter spilling into the night air.
Rohan adjusted the stiff collar of the formal servant’s uniform he had been given, a crisp black vest over a white shirt, far too clean for someone like him. The woman, dressed in deep crimson with gold jewelry glittering at her wrists, walked beside him.
“Try to look presentable, you’re not here to fight, at least not yet.”
He ignored the comment, his gaze flicking to the guards posted near the entrance. Well-armed, disciplined. Not common sword for hire. Whoever owned this place had money, real money.
As they reached the doors, she turned to him, her smirk returning.
“Your job is simple. Serve drinks, keep quiet, and listen. The nobles love to talk, especially when they think no one of importance is listening. If you’re lucky, you might hear something useful about your little... Iron Talon problem.”
Rohan gave a small nod. This was why he had agreed to come. If the Iron Talons had powerful backers, this was the kind of place they would be.
She reached up, straightening his vest like a mother fussing over her son.
“And do try not to look so murderous. You’re supposed to be charming. This arrangement of ours can be mutually beneficial, you know.”
Rohan glanced at her, eyes narrowing.
“Meaning?”
She smirked, adjusting the golden bracelets on her wrists.
“You want information on the Iron Talons, yes? The people who fund them, protect them from the law? I can help you with that.”
His jaw tightened.
“And what do you want in return?”
She chuckled.
“Nothing much. Just information. This party isn’t just for entertainment. It’s where powerful people gather to share secrets they wouldn’t dare speak of elsewhere. If you help me learn the right ones, who’s scheming against whom, who’s in debt, who’s desperate enough to make a deal, then I’ll make sure you hear what you need about the Talons.”
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Rohan remained silent for a moment. He hated being used. Hated the thought of being someone’s tool. But if she had access to the kind of information he needed, he didn’t have much of a choice.
“Fine, but I won’t play your errand boy.”
Her smirk widened.
“Of course not. You’re far too wild for that.”
A golden chandelier bathed the hall in a warm glow, reflecting off the polished marble floors. The chatter of nobles and merchants filled the space, their voices layered with laughter and hushed conspiracies.
He kept his head slightly bowed, blending in with the other servants weaving through the crowd with silver trays of drinks and delicacies.
The woman, his so-called benefactor, moved through the crowd with ease, greeting guests with a practiced smile. Every so often, she’d glance at him, making sure he was playing his part.
Rohan kept his movements controlled, his ears sharp for anything useful. He caught snippets of conversations as he passed:
“…raising tariffs again. If he keeps this up, the common folk will riot.”
“…a new shipment of weapons heading south. Iron Talons might be involved.”
“…heard about the mercenary captain? Gone missing last week.”
He filed the details away, pouring wine with a blank expression. Then, as he approached a small group of men in embroidered tunics, he caught something that made his blood run cold.
“…the Iron Talons are on the move. Another village burned. Same as before.”
Rohan tightened his grip on the tray. He forced himself to remain still, to keep listening. A heavyset noble, adorned with rings on each finger, swirled his wine lazily.
“It’s no surprise. Someone’s backing them. No bandit gang operates with such precision otherwise.”
The man beside him, lean and sharp-eyed, scoffed.
“And who would be foolish enough to fund a pack of bandits?”
The heavyset noble smirked.
“That, my friend, is the real question.”
Rohan kept his posture relaxed, moving around the noblemen as he poured another round of wine. His pulse hammered in his ears, but he forced himself to focus. The lean noble, still swirling his drink, spoke again.
“I hear they've been targeting specific villages. Not just random raids.”
The heavyset noble nodded, smirking.
“Of course not. There's a plan, always is. If I had to guess, I’d say someone’s clearing land, forcing people out. Or maybe they're just softening things up for something bigger.”
Rohan pretended to adjust the glasses on his tray, carefully masking his interest.
The lean noble tapped his fingers on the table.
“Some say it’s a merchant. Someone with deep pockets. Maybe even someone in this room.”
The group chuckled, as if the idea were a joke. But Rohan could see the careful glances they exchanged, the unspoken calculations in their eyes.
Someone here was feeding the Iron Talons. Someone powerful enough to move supplies without drawing too much attention.
As the last of the guests drifted out, Rohan lingered near the doorway, watching servants sweep away the remnants of excess, half-empty glasses, and crumpled napkins.
She was waiting for him, reclined in a velvet chair, swirling a glass of wine between her fingers.
“Sit.”
She said, her voice smooth and inviting. Rohan did as she asked, leaning forward slightly.
“Well?”
she prompted, tilting her head.
“What did you learn?”
He took a breath.
“A lot of these nobles are drowning in debt. Gambling, bad investments, spending more than they have just to keep up appearances.”
He met her gaze.
“Some of them owe money to dangerous people. One of them, Lord Avaric, owes enough to be desperate, talking about selling off family heirlooms just to keep the collectors off his back.”
She smirked, intrigued.
“Interesting, and?”
Rohan continued, choosing his words carefully.
“A few of them have been paying for protection, mercenaries, informants, even bribing city guards. But it’s not clear who they’re afraid of. Could be local gangs, but it could also be someone higher up.”
Her eyes glimmered with satisfaction.
“Good.”
He hesitated for a second before adding,
“One noble, Sir Orwin, was drunk enough to say he’s been ‘playing both sides.’ Whatever that means.”
She let out a low laugh.
“Oh, it means he’s exactly the kind of man who will get himself killed if he isn’t careful.”
Rohan kept his expression neutral. He had learned far more than this, whispers about certain nobles meeting with shadowy figures, rumors of bribes being funneled into criminal enterprises. He had even heard a passing mention of the Iron Talons, but that information was his, not hers.
She studied him for a moment before reaching down beside her chair and tossing a heavy bag onto the table. The sound of clinking coins filled the space between them.
“Consider this an investment, fighting in the pits is a poor man’s game. But this? Information is what topples kings and starts wars.”
Rohan hesitated before picking up the bag. The weight of it was almost unsettling.
She smiled knowingly.
“You’re useful. And you could be even more so.”
He met her gaze.
“I’ll see you at the next party.”
Her smirk widened.
“Oh, I have no doubt.”
Rohan stood and stepped out into the cold night. The coins felt heavy in his hands, but the knowledge in his head felt heavier. This was different. This wasn’t just survival. This was power.
The weight of the coin pouch sat heavy in his pocket, but Rohan's mind was elsewhere. The nobles weren’t just corrupt, they were afraid. Afraid of something bigger lurking beneath the surface.
He slipped through the quiet streets of Duskwatch, moving with purpose. He had overheard Lord Avaric, deep in his cups, muttering about a meeting. Something about "making things right" and "one last chance." Rohan wasn’t sure who Avaric was meeting, but the fear in his voice had been real.
It wasn’t hard to follow him. Nobles like Avaric weren’t careful, they were arrogant. Rohan tailed him through winding alleys and side streets, watching as the lord’s fine robes grew dirtier with each step. Avaric wasn’t used to the slums.
The meeting spot was an abandoned warehouse near the docks. Rohan slipped into the shadows, pressing himself against the damp stone as Avaric stepped inside.
A moment later, a figure emerged from the darkness within. Cloaked, hood pulled low. The way they moved was careful and controlled. Not a common thug. Someone trained.
Rohan crept closer, careful with each step.
“You’re late.”
The figure said, voice low and firm.
Avaric’s hands trembled as he pulled a pouch from his robes.
“This is all I could get.”
The figure didn’t reach for it.
“It’s not enough.”
“I-I need more time!”
A long silence stretched between them before the cloaked figure spoke again.
“Then make yourself useful.”
Avaric swallowed hard.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s a new face in the pits. “Young. Skilled. Fights like a wild dog.”
Rohan’s blood turned cold.
“And?”
“We need to know where he came from. Who he answers to.”
The figure stepped closer, their voice dropping to a whisper.
“Find out, or you’ll wish debt was your only problem.”
Avaric’s face paled, and he nodded quickly.
Rohan felt his grip tighten on his dagger. They were already watching him.
