The woods are silent aside from the chirping of crickets and the rustle of wind through the trees. The three men from the apothecary huddle in the bushes, eyes trained on where they’d seen the orc and her companion duck into cover.

Rhoth had told the men about them, the rogues that had been harassing his store for months, taking what they wanted and breaking things if he tried to stop them. According to the elf, it was bad enough that he’d been forced to dilute his stock just to make ends meet.

The men don’t quite believe him, but well. An orc woman and a male figure in elven armor, trudging through the shadows of dusk rather than stopping in town for a room and a bite to eat. Mighty suspicious, and just like the elf had said.

And they’d be heading back to the apothecary later to make sure the elf gave them proper medicine this time. Just to be safe.

For a long while, nothing happens.

Just as they’re about to start making their way across, a sudden rustle catches their attention. From behind them. The men whirl around, weapons trained on the noise’s origin.

“Don’t shoot!” a male voice calls out. It has an odd echo.

Third doesn’t lower his bow. “Come out. Hands where we can see them.”

Mordecai steps out of the bushes, hands in the air and cowl pulled low. The deep shadows hide his skull from view. First and Second approach him warily, swords at the ready.

“Grab his weapon,” the voice he recognizes as Second growls.

First reaches for the knife at Mordecai’s hip, when a strangled yelp comes from Third. When they turn back to look at him, he’s gone, the only evidence that he was ever there being a misfired arrow sticking out of the dirt and a patch of disturbed earth trailing into the brush. Mordecai takes the opportunity to swing his fist into First’s throat.

The man doubles over, coughing and curling a protective hand around the bruising flesh. Mordecai leaps back, out of Second’s range, and grabs the handle of his knife. With a roar, Second charges toward him. He slides the knife from its sheath and

the woman hunches over, clutching her abdomen to staunch the bleeding, but the bleeding doesn’t stop.

He snaps out of it just in time to dodge the sword thrust. Right, no getting distracted during fights. Learn your lesson, damn it.

As soon as Second regains his footing, Mordecai turns and sprints.

He’s significantly faster without the heavy armor, being nothing but lightweight bones himself. He ends up having to slow down several times to make sure the man’s still behind him. This wasn’t part of the plan, but if he can’t fight directly he’ll have to improvise.

It’s just a hunch but…there! He skids to a halt under the shadow of a thick cluster of trees and shrubbery. It’s still dusk, barely, but you wouldn’t know it to see the place. The trees blot out any remaining sunlight and the shadows cast by the brush and debris are nearly pitch-black. Without fear of being burned and the advantage of night vision, the odds of a one-on-one fight are stacked in his favor here. But that’s not what he’s hoping for.

Second catches up to him, panting. “Done running?” he asks.

Mordecai lowers himself into a fighting stance. “You’re not going to let up, are you?”

“Look,” Second says, in a surprisingly soothing tone, “I just wanna know if what the elf said was true. If you aren’t extorting him, we don’t actually have to fight.”

Mordecai considers it. He could walk away from this right now, meet back up with Achillea, and the two of them could continue their way north. Rhoth will get his comeuppance, and no blood needs be shed by his hands.

Then again, he’d hate to let Achillea down.

“Extorting him?” He laughs hollowly. From the way Second tenses up, his undead voice makes it an eerie sound. “Is that what he told you? Ah, good old Rhoth. He’d sell out his own mother to save his own skin.”

He pulls back his hood, letting the man get a good look. The man’s eyes widen and he lets out a gasp of horror.

“Do me a favor, would you? When you see Rhoth next, tell him that next time he wants to get rid of some pests, he can find someone else to do it for him.” The shadows deepen further and begin to writhe. For the first time since he rose, the term ‘grinning skull’ feels appropriate. If he were still flesh and blood, he’s sure he’d be smiling ear-to-ear.

“That is, if you make it back in one piece.”

And the shadows lunge.