61
The mist of a Minrathous night hits you as you leave the pawn shop and, for a moment, you struggle to remember why you chose this over a hot bath and a delicious box of unidentified spiced meat.
Dorian, at least, seems happy—or perhaps “happy” isn’t quite the right word. He’s eager, moving quickly, bouncing on the balls of his feet when you, Ashur, and Tarquin fall behind.
“A little wound up?” you ask.
“I’m… glad you chose to bring me along,” he confesses quietly. “I felt useless sitting there in headquarters all day while you were out here.”
“And here I thought you just didn’t want to ruin your fancy clothes,” you say.
You both fall silent as you enter the catacombs, the darkness and the chill stealing away any remaining words. It doesn’t stay that way for long, though; just past the entrance, you see a figure step into the light.
It’s an attractive man—all right, an incredibly attractive man—and, unfortunately, he hasn’t come alone. As his companions move out of the shadows, you realize that this is a trap—and you’re surrounded.