Alaric was still fuming when a small stone building illuminated by a single torch in an iron bracket near the door, came into view. The crunch of dirt shifted to the sucking of mud on boots and the ground sloped upward toward the lone building. Once close enough, Alaric's keen eyes studied every stone and every inch of visible mortar for weaknesses. To his dismay, there were none to be found. Even the roof was of solid construction, made from slate and without visible flaw.

Inside was no more hopeful. A long hallway ran the length of the jail lit by several more torches. At one end was a single cell, a shining mass of iron bars devoid of scratches or age marks. Against the back of the cell there was a single stone bench worn and weathered from frequent use. At the other end of the hall was another door behind a shining, soft brown counter. Behind the counter on an iron peg hung a ring of keys. On the counter sat a single, unlit, black lantern with a pane of dark opaque glass on each face. Beside the lantern was a small slab of smooth, white stone.

The guard motioned for them to stop in front of the counter, then shuffled behind it. Once settled in, he gestured for them to approach.

"One at a time. You first," he ordered nodding at the half-elf. "Put your weapons, trinkets, and any other items you may be carrying on the counter."

"Please sir," the elf started. "The men at the bar-".

"Quiet," the guard said slowly, stretching each syllable. "Your staff."

His face twitched with contempt as he passed the staff over the counter. The soldier ignored him and set about inspecting the staff. He rolled it between his hands a few times and peered closely at the knot at the top for several moments before setting the staff on the stone. A vibrant purple light suddenly shone through its panes before quickly fading to darkness again.

"What magical properties and or enchantments does this staff posses?" the guard asked dryly as though the line were well rehersed.

"Only a strengthening charm to increase durability," the half-elf answered.

"And it acts as a conduit for spellcasting?"

The half-elf nodded.

"What is your name?"

"Aldrin," the half-elf replied. "Of Erafein."

"Aldrin of Erafein, half-elf, casting staff," the soldier said loudly and clearly.

Another glow flashed from the lantern, this time a bright green. To Alaric's surprise, a narrow strip of parchment began to grow out of a slit in the top of the lantern. Neat print lined the parchment to read:

Aldrin of Erafein

Half-elf

Casting Staff (Lesser)

The guard briefly read over the parchment before nodding and pressing it against the base of the staff. A faint hiss whispered from the parchment. When the guard removed his hand the parchment held fast against the staff. Satisfied, the guard leaned the staff against the wall.

"Next," he pointed at Alaric.

For a moment Alaric considered using his dagger for its intended purpose. A quick jab to the leg could slip between the gaps in his amor plates. The blow would be enough to hinder any pursuit efforts without killing him. Manacle locks were easy enough to pick. He could be free in seconds.

"Patience," he told himself for the second time that night. Such a plan was too risky and if he suceeded he would draw far too much attention to himself. It would be better to wait and let this play out. He still had his charm and coin pouch if needed. Alaric slowly withdrew his dagger and pocket watch.

"Neither have any charms or enchantments," he said.

The soldier repeated the same inspection on the dagger and watch, turning them over in his hands several times. Once satisfied, he set the watch down on the counter and carefully laid the dagger on the stone tablet.

"And your name?"

"William. William of Harfeld," Alaric lied.

The guard repeated the information to the lantern. This time a blue light flashed from the lantern followed by a soft chime. Another ticket worked its free from lantern and into the waiting hand of the guard. A half chuckle escaped him as he read the ticket.

"Alaric son of none, human, weapon inert. Honesty would do you well in the future."

Alaric silently cursed. As far as he knew none of his previous jobs had ever been linked to him, at least not by the authorities. Even so, the thought of his name on a town watch list made him uneasy. One mistake was all it took to end a career in his chosen profession. This town was becoming more troublesome by the minute.

Matters only worsened when the guard placed his pocket watch on the tablet. Instead of green or blue, the lantern emitted an angry yellow. Another chime sounded, this on far less pleasant. Eyebrows raised, the guard scooped the newest ticket from the lantern.

"Concealment charm, eh?" the guard mused.

He stared down at Alaric, drumming his fingers on the counter. Alaric stared back at him, feigning innocence. A terrible thought occurred to him. What if the guard possessed the ability to read minds? His rouse would be discovered in moments as would the key to opening the watch. They held their gazes for several moments, Alaric desperately trying to maintain the facade under the guard's scrutinizing gaze while thinking of anything but the watch. In the end the guard hummed thoughtfully to himself and paired the dagger and watch with their respective tickets without another word. Relief cascaded through Alaric with fresh waves of hope. Perhaps the guard was not as infallible as he seemed.

The guard continued his methodical process with the elf who identified herself as Gwenestra, also of Erafein. She carried with her a most fascinating collection of artifacts including various rings, amulets, and spellbooks. Chief among them were a ring of casting comprised of two twisted silver bands set with a green stone which the lantern labeled 'moderate', a silver ring set with a pink stone capable of storing spells, an intricate silver webbed amulet on a silver necklace encasing a deep blue stone capable of detecting and identifying magical spells and enchantments, (at this the guard raised an eyebrow as though impressed) and a thick spellbook bound in aqua dyed leather maatching her dress and titled only with her name.

After all her property lay strewn across the counter with fresh labels from the lantern, the guard started with the fiends. The dark red fiend named himself Fernae Etirum, the black fiend Ignatius Volgrun. In turn, they surrendered such a litany of items as Alaric had never seen before: two black daggers enchanted to poison their victims, one unenchanted shortsword, one unenchanted ax, two thin grey rings charmed to detect poisons, a woven gold ring set with a white stone charmed to perform a minor healing, two thin metalic rings charmed to provide the wearer with protecion from minor injuries, and a dark ring twisting on itself to form a skull with two small ruby stones for eyes that allowed the wearer to commune with the dead.

Once all weapons, magical items, and trinkets had been tested and labeled, the guard lifted the ring of keys free from the iron peg and motioned them toward the cell. Alaric lingered, searching once for for a means to escape. By the time the guard nudged him into the cell, his hopes had been sufficiently dashed. With a solid, metalic note of finality, the door slid shut, securely locked amid a jangling of keys.

"Please," the elf, Gwenestra, cried desperately. "The men at the bar-".

"Yes, yes," the guard said annoyedly. "I am sure Holvic and his gang started the fight and you had no choice but to defend yourselves. But how did the tavern burn down, hmm?"

Gwenestra faltered. Her gaze fell to the floor under the piercing glare of the guard.

"Rick, the other guard you met earlier, is collecting witness statements. Depending on what he reports, we might be able to let you go soon. Until then, be good and you might get some dinner."

The guard left them for the door behind the counter. With a quick flick of his wrist the door unlocked. Without looking back, he pushed the door open, proceeding through it with a snap of his fingers. Every item suddenly leaped into the air as though they were marionettes and the guard, their master. They floated through the doorway in orderly single file. After the last ring floated out of sight, the door swung firmly shut.

No soon had the door closed than the fiends shot for the steel bars of the cell. They shook the bars of the call with little regard for who might hear their efforts. Ignatius pulled on the bars, muscles bulging. Fernae stuck a hand between the bars to pry at the keyhole. The result was a deafening cacophany of banging so loud Alaric doubted there was a person in all of Arborville ignorant of their efforts. Alaric wrenched them off the bars. He angrily motioned for them to be quiet. His heart thrummed loudly in his chest disrupting his attempts to determine if the guard had decided to investigate the noise. Several moments passed without a sound from the other room. Once certain the guard would not burst in on them, Alaric rounded on the fiends.

"Are you trying to get caught!" he hissed. "Any more noise and the entire town will know what you're up to!"

"Well, how would you do it then?" the darker fiend, Ignatius shot back.

Alaric silently reached into his cloak pocket to retrieve the long, stiff, length of wire he kept for such an occassion. He worked the wire between his thumb and index finger, carefully bending it into the necessary shape. Finishing with a hook at one end, Alaric paused to consider his handywork. Satisfied, he reached between the bars. In moments, his well pacticed hands had slipped the wire into the locking mechanism. His eyes slid closed. Every fiber of his being focused on the tiniest vibrations of teh wire. Twice, he pushed too hard and the wire slipped forcing him to pull the wire out and start again. At last the wire tensed, announcing the hook had wrapped around its target, the door catch holding the cell closed. One sharp pull upward and the cell should unlock...

The tension disappeared as though the hook had passed through thin air. Dismayed, he pulled the wire free. One glance confirmed his suspicions. Where the hook had once been there was now only a sharp end glowing bright orange. Alaric stared at the wire. It was no surprised the cell was charmed given their jailor's affinity for magic. Even so, the blow stung.

"It can't be picked or bypassed," he announced, pocketing what remained of the wire.

"Let me at it then," Aldrin said, pushing his way to the bars.

"It won't work," Aldrin said, resignedly. "The cell is charmed.

"We'll see about that," Aldrin huffed defiently. "Manaë flamaë!"

Hungry orange flames errupted from his hands, quickly engulfing them. He grasped the bars, pressing the greedy flames into the steel. The bars remained cold and black, impervious to his efforts. Aldrin persisted, wrinkling his forehead in concentration. A strained noise escaped him as he gripped the bars tighter. Orange violently crackled and popped, intensifying to several blue tongues of flame. Each tongue licked at the bars, growing brighter and brighter. Alaric could just make out the faint glow of metal through the flames.

"AHHH!"

Aldrin jumped back like a surprised cat.

"It shocked me," he exclaimed in disbelief. "It-".

He was inturrpted by the crunching of dirt. The jail door flew open. A short scuffled ensued as each occupant assumed what they believed to be an inconspicuous pose. Alaric leaned against the wall, feet crossed, and donned his best bored expression. Aldrin knelt to examine the dirt floor, which, judging by the state of his clothes may have been natural to him, but certainly not for anyone else. In the far corner, the fiends started playing parchment, stone, shears. Only Gwenestra stepped forward to peer through the bars.

With much clanking, the stocky guard, Rick as his youger colleague had called him, pulled the door closed behind him. Groaning, he pulled off his helmet to reveal thinning, matted brown hair streaked with grey, dull blue eyes, and a bulbous nose. His helmet was halfway to the counter before his gaze found his prisioners. A rich laugh boomed through the small jail.

"Didn' Marcus tell ya the cell is charmed?" he asked. "Ain' no way you lot are gettin out without the key. Most innocent lot I ever seen. Who do you think yer foolin?"

With renewed laughter, the guard strode behind the counter to disappear after his colleague. The fiends made to attack the bars again, but Alaric halted them with a raised hand. In the next room the sound of jangling armor faded. Alaric closed his eyes straining to hear the conversation in the next room.. Muffled fragments of phrases drifted into the cell. Though he could not make out most of what was he, he heard enough to guess the finer points.

"It's now or never," he whispered to the elf. "Maybe we can dig our way out. Summon a shovel or something we can dig with."

Gwenestra stared blankly back at him.

"But they know we did nothing wrong," she protested. "The witness statements the other guard collected will confirm we only defended ourselves."

"The guards knew that when they arrested us," Alaric whispered fervently. "We burned down the only tavern for half a day's travel. "

"But only Aldrin burned the tavern down," Gwenestra started. "We should be let go."

"You saw how this town looks after foreigners," Alaric said, aprehensively. "Do you really believe the townspeople spoke for us?"

"But I- we-," she spluttered.

"We need something to dig with," Alaric said. "Or better yet, cast a spell to dig a tunnel for us."

"I can't," Gwenestra cried.

"What do you mean you can't?" Alaric asked incredulously.

"Th- they took my casting ring. I- I-," she faltered.

"What about you, Fire Boy?" Alaric rounded on Aldrin.

"I am Aldrin, druidic student and protector of nature, not Fire Boy," Aldrin shot back.

"Can you make a tunnel or not?" Alaric exclaimed.

"No."

"Oh!" Alaric said in mock surprise. "So you can get us into trouble but when it comes to getting us out you are completely useless!"

"This is not my fault!" Aldrin roared.

"Not your fault! Not your fault!" Alaric spat, almost rendered speachless by the audacity of the claim.

"Guys-," the fiends warned in unison.

"You burned down the tavern," Alaric said closing in on Aldrin. "How is this not your fault!"

"If you had backed me up at the start instead of trying to flee, none of this would have happened!"

"If you engaged in basic hygiene-".

"GUYS!" Ignatius shouted.