Peaches knew it: time to go off the obvious path.
This alleyway was a straight way to death at this rate. It was as shadowy as darkspawn’s beloved darkness and even smelled of refuse and piss. That she hadn’t stepped in any unspeakable – yet, miracle worthy of the oldest Oak of Ages itself.
It barely had any paint of any kind. Just bland gray stone only a dwarf would love.
Love to chisel into something less bland.
The jetties above her shielded her from attack from above but also hid anything in the sky from her, and actually, she was acting too much like the prey, rather than the huntress.
Yet even here there was that poster plastered all over the walls.
All because that sicko trickster, Rouge what’s her face, doing, and she was never that straightforward. Even with her identity, hiding behind a red fox mask, and and and …
Oh no.
A zing up her spine. Danger nearby.
But where?
Peaches clenched her teeth. Run or … no.
She leapt onto the lowest set of jetties. The zing of danger faded a touch?
She pressed her palm against the wall. Against wood painted a drab yellow.
Suddenly the wall glowed red?
A bright red?!
Oh shit.
Peaches leapt up, and up, and up the jetties and right onto the roof. A steep tiled roof. If her thigh boots didn’t have a strong balancing spell woven into them she would of tumbled right off.
A swoosh and water splash?
Not fire?!
A wave of water filled the alley below. Water that smelled strongly of that awful iron. So burning hot the smell … not just iron.
Cold iron.
The street was also filled with water?
And long dark shadows swam through it. No sign of the cobble underneath either.
Just dark deep blue.
And a zing up and down her spine warning her danger was above and below her now.
Time to prove she was really still the Amber Death.
Their death.