Brute Squad Interludes Writing

Interlude: A Friendly Warning

The cold cobblestones and slick roofs sped by underfoot as Naeris slipped through the sleeping city. Magically dampened footfalls barely registered to even the keenest observer as the elf wove their way towards their destination. Naeris stopped only to pet an overly familiar cat; a long-time casual acquaintance on nights like this.

Naeris came to a halt on a rooftop overlooking a squat, misshapen house in the slums. Light spilled from the upper window, and inside, an ugly brute of a man was preparing for the night’s work. Naeris’ eyes narrowed as they watched the man leave.

Tailing their mark was easy; through divine grace, Naeris was almost undetectable–not that it would have mattered. The brute was sloppy, and didn’t even spare an upwards glance. Someone’s gotten cocky, Naeris thought to themselves. Or stupid. Same thing, really.

Naeris stalked their prey throughout the night, waiting for the perfect moment. It soon presented itself in the form of a blind alley in which their mark was hiding from a guard. Naeris dropped down behind Derrick Banehand and softly cleared their throat.

As though expecting a threat, Derrick whirled around and tossed a dagger. It flew straight and true, and passed right through Naeris’ illusory form. Up on the rooftop, the actual Naeris had to stifle a snigger–that never got any less funny. Cobbles is right, Naeris thought. I really do need to grow up.

“DERRICK BANEHAND,” the illusion snarled, accompanied by some minor tremors for good measure. Derrick went white, as if he was seeing a ghost. Which, Naeris thought, he may as well be. The illusion did look remarkably like their old friend Dirk, after all.


Derrick backed away from the apparition, mumbling incoherently. He ran, scrambled up a wall, and threw himself through a nearby window. Naeris chuckled, and dispelled the illusory duplicate. “I think he got the message,” they said to nobody in particular.

Later, when he got home, Derrick would find a turnip pinned to the centre of his kitchen table by a dagger.

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