They climbed the rope ladder that was lowered for them and then approached the door. As Malakos reached for the handle, a large ax swung out and blocked him. The cleric looked up at the ogre who stood guard. 

“Business,” he grunted. 

“I’m…from the Thistleton branch,” Malakos said, thinking quickly. “I’m here to make a report.” 

The ogre squinted in suspicious confusion. “Don’t fink we 'ave a Fistleton branch,” he said. 

 “It’s new,” the cleric sweated. “We–some of my compatriots and I–were recruited just two days ago and sent to Thistleton to observe the king. He’d made a clandestine trip there, so our movements to watch him had to be kept top-secret. But we need to make a report on our observations, and quickly.”

The ogre blinked a few times, still suspicious, but the urgency in Malakos’s voice seemed to persuade him. He lifted his ax and let them through. 

Inside was a large central room filled with wooden tables. It appeared to serve as a dining hall of sorts, but now had all of the tables pushed off to the side to make space for several training circles. At one, a scarred dwarf pointed his sword at different points on a mannequin, instructing a group of students on strike zones. At another, some hyena men and goblins worked on armor–piecing together the hodge-podge assortment of pieces into protective wear. A massive, scarred leonin passed a third training circle, where all the occupants snapped to attention and saluted. A door at the other end of the room opened and a caped figure, entirely clad in leather armor, stepped into the room. The leonin saluted casually and approached, both entering into conversation and then slipping back into the room. Before the door closed, Malakos saw that it was a planning room–one massive table sat in the center, covered in papers and maps. 

“Psst!” Bardy hissed, tapping Malakos’s leg. “Look at that hallway over there. It seems to lead to the barracks. Think they’d be keeping the princess down there?” 

“Worth a look,” Malakos said, slipping toward the hallway. 

After a good, long search of the rooms, the infiltrators were still no closer to finding the princess. 

“Now what?” Malakos asked. It was more of a hypothetical question, but suddenly, something caught his eye. They were passing what appeared to be the infirmary, where two goblins were resting. One was asleep, but the other sat on the examining table with his back to them. Springing out of his shoulder was an arrow–a very fine arrow with some kind of golden insignia on the fletching. 

“Bardy?” Malakos said. “I’m gonna need you to keep watch. If another healer comes this way, stall them.” With that, he walked into the infirmary. 

“Alright now,” the cleric said, flashing a professional smile and striding over to the water basin to wash his hands. “What have we got here?” 

“Ah, you know–” the goblin chuckled. “Just this little thing here.”

Malakos gave a low whistle. “Yes, that certainly needs to be looked at. What were you getting yourself into?” He looked closer at the fletching on the arrow. Just as he suspected, it was the king’s crest. 

“Well, not to brag or nuthin’” the goblin said, “but this was a little parting gift from his majesty during the whole ‘kidnapping’ raid.” 

“I see,” Malakos said. “Now this will tingle just a little bit.” He cast a healing spell and slid the arrow out from the goblin’s shoulder. 

The goblin sat up, looking confused. He rolled his shoulders and swung his arm. “Hey–that was…that was pretty neat. I’m good as new! Where’d you learn that?” 

“Just a little trick I picked up,” Malakos said, twirling the arrow between his fingers. “Now, about the princess–did she sustain any injuries? Should I attend to her as well?” 

“The princess? No, she’s fine. No injuries at all.” 

“Well, what about…uh…shock? I should make sure she wasn’t too rattled by everything.”

The goblin paused in the doorway and cocked his head at the cleric. “Why would she be in shock? The whole thing was her idea.” 

"You got that?" Malakos asked Bardy as the goblin disappeared. 

"Yeah," he responded. "Let's regroup."

The two of them retrieved Deruque and Ruby, and returned to the main building. As they climbed the ladder, Malakos turned to the rangers.

“Okay,” he said. “This is very delicate. When we get to the top, let me do the talking.”

“Yeah, no,” Bardy said, slipping underneath him on the rope ladder and climbing up ahead of him. “You leave this to the bard—my charisma is a force of nature.”

Before Malakos could stop him, he had climbed to the top and approached the guards. By the time the rest of the party had boarded the platform, the guards were saluting and opening the door for him and the team, as Bardy beckoned them, his grin holding the maximum amount of smug per square inch that could fit on his diminutive face.

“So,” Bardy said. “Let's spread out. The princess may be here voluntarily, even aiding and abetting the rebel efforts; but we still need to locate her, maybe talk her into coming back and calming her dad down.”

“We also need to find out what these guys are up to. We know, from the children, that they do some humanitarian things in town. We've heard, from the king, that they do some rebel harassment at the palace. We've overheard, from some of the members here, that they do some robbery things toward nobles, to fund the humanitarian things. But I know, from what I can see happening around us--” Malakos gestured to the various groups of trainees, the armor being assembled on the tables “--that what they're doing here is building up to something bigger, more organized. I want to know what that is."

"Revolution," Deruque breathed, the word rolling deliciously in his mouth.

"The job first," Bardy insisted. "After we finish it and part ways, you can re-kidnap the princess and join her here, if you want. I'll be sure to listen for tales of your heroics from the bardic grapevine."

"Actually, he may be on to something," Malakos said. "Searching for the princess in this labyrinth could take weeks, by which time we're sure to be noticed. If we get recruited, however, we could look for her with more impunity–maybe even just ask where she is.”

"Good idea," Ruby said, giving Malakos a push toward the two commanders who were still deep in discussion. "Why don't you get us in, while we blend in to look around a little more?"

"Uh," Malakos started, but the rest of the team had already dispersed. 

"Right, then," Malakos steeled himself and approached the armored figure, noticing, too late, that the leonin had left.

"Excuse me," he said. "Would you be Captain Rykard?" Malakos had been careful, earlier, to listen in on any conversations he could overhear. Names were invaluable tools when it came to earning trust. 'Captain Rykard' was one that had been thrown around a great deal–the scarred leonin commander it belonged to seemed to be held in high regard and even fondness by most of the troops. If Malakos could nudge this other authority figure–the Captain's equal, or possibly superior officer, with whom he seemed to be on good terms–into introducing him to the leonin, he'd already have a foothold into his good graces, and from there, the rest of the troops: including, perhaps their elusive rebel princess.

"No," the figure growled and nodded in the direction of the scarred leonin. "Over there."

"Oh, thank you. We needed to discuss our recruitment–an orc we met on the road from Thistleton said to talk to him."

"No," the figure growled again. "That'd be my job."

"O-oh, recruitment is–oh, okay, yes, of course." Malakos gave a twitchy smile. This was…not going to be the brief interaction he had hoped for. While the leonin was nearly twice the size of the leathern commander, the latter was twice as disconcerting, in Malakos's mind. There was something off-putting about the lack of facial expression–or, really, any kind of distinguishing feature beyond the armor–or maybe it was something about the commander's silent presence or general aura. Either way, Malakos felt an almost palpable pressure around his ears as he began talking.

"I'm not from here," he said. "I'd come from Rokkenport to visit my cousin and her children here, after her husband had died. But by the time I'd arrived, they had all followed him into the grave through illness and starvation. I discovered it was a common story, and approached the king to beg aid for the town. I was met only with indifference bloated by opulence."

Though the mask on the armored commander remained inexpressive, Malakos noted the studded shoulder plates sink at his words. 

"I uh, I admit I was rather vocal in my disappointment, upon being escorted from the palace grounds; and well, that caught the attention of the orc I mentioned. He directed me and some of these others to come here. We believe we can be of service to you."

The leathern commander looked past Malakos, an unspoken question hanging in the air.

"Oh, the others got distracted–" Malakos started.

"Not everyone!" Bardy popped out from behind the cleric's legs. 

Malakos gently but firmly pushed him back out of sight.

Before the commander could ask, Malakos forced a smile and said, "Shall I find them for you? They're just down that way–can't have gotten far."

"Down that hall?!" The commander snapped, then suddenly sprinted toward the door.

Malakos and Bardy followed close behind. This urgency struck them both as suspicious: could this be the way to the princess? Maybe she wasn't here on her own terms, after all…

Their speculations were cut short, however, as the three of them burst through a door and found themselves in a stable of sorts. However, though the beasts in here bore saddles, they were no horses. 

"What are they?" Malakos asked, peering in one of the stalls. A studded glove yanked him back by the collar; and none too soon, as a large, spiked tentacle whipped out at the spot his face had been, half a second before.

"Omlarcats," his rescuer answered. "Also known as displacer beasts. Vicious creatures–each responds to its master and only its master. Anyone else gets too close and they die." The commander turned somberly to the end of the hall, where all the untethered beasts were fighting to get at one spot.

Malakos paled. From under their legs, a blue Dragonborn leg stuck out on the stone floor.

"RUBY!" He cried.

In response, Ruby's head popped up over the crowding omlarcats. "Oh, hey Malakos! Look what I found–kitties!" She giggled as two started licking her face. "They all want pets so much, they knocked me over to get them."

Malakos looked back for explanation, but, despite the mask, the commander seemed as surprised as he felt.

“Oh, hi–” Ruby stood as she noticed the commander. “Um, so we’re here to join your forces, i-if that’s okay.”

The commander looked past her, at the omlarcats nuzzling at her hands for more attention. A brief nod indicated their acceptance. “Is…this all of you?”

“No–” Malakos said, looking around. “We have another dragonborn ranger; but I don’t know where–”

He was cut off by the distinct noise of shouting from the main hall. 

“--REVOLUTION, MY BROTHERS! DOWN WITH TYRANNY! LONG LIVE THE PEOPLE!” The words became more clear as the commander and the rest of the party turned the corner and Deruque came into view, perched atop one of the tables. He waved a red cloak high above his head, a crowd of what was apparently everyone on base (including the poor goblin he’d apparently swiped the cloak off of) gathering in absolute bewilderment below. 

“Oh no…” Malakos whispered. He glanced quickly at the commander, whose mask exuded a sense of complete confusion. “He, uh…he’s very enthusiastic about the cause.” 

The commander looked at the tiefling. 

“And,” the tiefling stammered, moving toward the table, “I do believe it’s time for his medicine, haha… Allow me.” 

The cleric grabbed the ranger by the arm. “Deruque!” he hissed. “How is this ‘blending in’?” 

“I’m just connecting with my fellows in the cause of eradicating the royals!” Deruque bellowed to the crowd. Malakos sweated as he heard them whispering “Who is this guy?” to each other. 

“Alright, yes,” Malakos said, slowly and sweetly. “Let’s get you back to the infirmary and tend to that head injury you received on that…uh…raid…of the Lady of Devonshire’s carriage.” 

“I didn’t receive any head injury–” Deruque started, but slumped to the ground. Bardy stood behind him, his lute strumming a drowsy tune. 

“Good work, Bardy,” Malakos said. He and Ruby hauled the sleeping revolutionary back down the hall, securing him in an empty cell. 

“So…” the commander’s voice sounded behind them. “He’s…with you?”

“He gets a little over the top sometimes,” Malakos grunted as he pulled the door shut. “But he’s an excellent asset to our team. And… yours, too. If you’ll have us?” He looked at the commander expectantly. 

Bardy aided him, making the most forlorn puppy-dog face he had ever done. 

“Well…” the commander said, “we can use all the help we can get.” 

With that, the commander unmasked, a river of amber-colored hair cascading onto her shoulders. Her voice, no longer distorted through her mask, pronounced, “Welcome to the Red Cloaks. I am Lady Dimir–commander of our forces, and princess of Whispenshire.”