The Gang of Five

Chapter One

Dugan

“Dugan! Time to wake up!” A groan escaped me first, then a quick flick of the covers to get my legs free. The sun was just peeking into my window, and I glanced out at the sunrise as I got dressed. I’d been preparing for this day for many years, and I carefully selected the dog-eared textbooks that would serve as my first grimoires, shadowbooks, and—

”Do you still want the blueberry smile baked into your pancakes?” Grumbling, I packed my bag and carried it out the short hallway to the living-slash-dining-slash-kitchen that made up the main room of the apartment.

“Ugh. No, mom, I’m a freshman at Aguefort Academy now—I need to be serious.” She snickered as I thudded down into a chair to tie my shoes.

“Mhm. Have everything? I think we got everything from the supply list…” I’d triple-checked already, simply taking the piping-hot pancake and jamming it into my mouth with a glance at the clock.

“Ghh—a… be… la-ye.” We barely had enough time to shout farewells that likely woke my mother up before I was out of the door and jogging to the stairs. Everyone always said I’d meet my adventuring party at Aguefort, and once I’d gotten in I had spent months preparing both magic and tactics—I was going to be the best wizard Aguefort ever saw, or at least get close.

Annabel

With the alarm on my crystal nearly deafening me, I shot straight up and smacked my head on my staff, which was (for some reason) standing perfectly upright next to my bed. Rubbing my forehead, I grumbled out a curse at the thing as I staggered around my room to find clothes. Tillering wasn’t a far ride on my bike, but I still needed to get ready reasonably quickly—time waits for no one. As I fought on a shoe, the staff began to emit a low hum, and I raised an eyebrow at it after I won the battle.

“What? You always tell me that curses are your prayers, so I’m just praying.” The humming paused, then made a sort-of ‘yeah, fair’ noise before stopping as my hand grabbed it from it’s position. Darting down the stairs—both parents already at work, it seemed—I moved my bike out and hopped on, staff slung over my shoulder and radiating a small puff of warmth as I pedaled in the morning mist.

“Think it’ll rain today?” My staff hummed noncommittally, and I nodded in agreement with a glance at the scattered clouds. I liked the sound of rain, but not necessarily when I was riding a bicycle in it.

Siobhan

“Sweetie, breakfast is—oh, you’re already awake! Wonderful.” In fact, I’d been awake for an inordinate amount of time, bent on perfecting my first-day look past the first and rough drafts.

“Does this bodice clash too terribly with the fabric of the skirt? I love the lacing on it, but I wasn’t sure.” Glancing up and down, my father frowned in contemplation, then shook his head.

“No, it’s quite autumnal—proper for the season. Shall I call your stylist, if you’d like a second opinion?” That was enough for me, and I gathered what I needed for bardic classes—a single notebook; it was certainly easier to sing in terms of what I could carry—before following him down the central corridor of the second floor. Maids were conversing over a list of compiled chores on the staircase, stepping aside with short curtsies as we passed, headed to the ground floor.

“I’ve called your car, but if you’d rather delay for breakfast tea…?” Glancing at a solid gold grandfather clock, my brow creased momentarily before smoothing again.

“Give it to the maids, instead. I’d rather not be late on my first day.” I never could finish the spread set out for me, mostly picking the items I liked, and with a parting exchange of bows, I stepped outside to enter my car. It was driven by an unseen servant, so I rolled the windows down to gaze at the manors on this street as we made our way to Aguefort—a new audience to woo.

Arabella

As part of the normal routine, I woke before the sun rose and began the process of disabling all of the traps set into my door at night. At first, the multiple locks, boobytraps, and alarms were near-impossible—not having learned fine motor control would do that—but over time, I was faster and quieter with each morning. By now, I almost was able to slip past my oldest brother, who was sitting in the kitchen.

“Morning, sis. Got a second?” Caught, I slinked into the dim ceiling light and sat across from Lucas, the oldest of four.

“Starting at Aguefort, right?” I nodded once, managing to palm a grape from his plate.

“I better not see you in class.” With a nod, I melted back into the shadows and out the door, ducking between trees and bushes and beginning the long journey to school; the game was to see if I could get through an entire day at Aguefort without being spotted, and I intended to win.

Poppy

I might have been a bit zealous in beginning a morning yoga session five hours before school, but I never needed much to begin with (thanks, dad). It also gave me some time to practice sword forms, make breakfast, and reiterate the plan to myself as I prepared to leave. Step one, make it to school on time; step two, find an adventuring party; and step three, make a friend. Seems reasonable.

Arabella

Rogue class was not exactly what I’d been expecting, but having to figure out the specific assignments and instructions from a series of ciphers and riddles was a bit out of my comfort zone for the moment; instead, knowing the rumor about the rogue teacher—if a student finds her, they pass the year—I did a preliminary scan of the school, noting down hallways, windows, entrances and exits. While I wasn’t as much of a mastermind as my brother, I did have a knack for infiltration, and reasoned that any sort of information on teachers would either be in the staff room or Aguefort’s office—the second was liable to have magical traps, so I settled on additional reference in the library. Scanning through some of the history of the school taught me some; Eugenia Shadow was listed as my current teacher, though she’d died some time ago, which meant she was a ghost—thusly able to hide in the Ethereal Plane. Catching a ghost was a tricky proposition, and catching a master rogue ghost seemed harder—a brief flash of something in the corner of my eye nearly made me stab a knife out on reflex, but when I turned, nothing was there.

“I wonder…” While I couldn’t necessarily summon a ghost, there were still a few venues available to me in terms of finding her—a gravesite likely wouldn’t count, but, if ghosts were able to move between planes, then a harebrained idea presented itself to me that caused me to snap the book shut, stand, and make my way to the chemistry room for an acquisition. Moving between air vents and the roof itself, I made my way undetected to the vent overlooking a room full of alchemical supplies, ranging from ground mineral dust, palimpsests, frog eyes, and a variety of magical and nonmagical ingredients—ectoplasm sat, glowing slightly, in a glass jar on a high shelf. Getting in was easy, popping the grate and dropping silently to the ground; the issue arose when I was halfway back into the vent, legs hanging down, and the door opened. Freezing completely, I listened intently as someone rummaged around, muttered to themselves about subpar ingredients, and scooted back out. After that, due to the sneaking suspicion that the flash I’d seen was actually a certain teacher checking on new students, I went through an elaborate series of infiltrations—going as far as managing to steal a stapler from a classroom mid-class—and ended up back on the roof, jar and stapler in hand. With gloves, I scooped out some of the ectoplasm and coated the stapler in it, then tossed it into the air. Completely covered in ectoplasm, it proceeded to vanish, steam appearing from apparently nothingness until all of the ectoplasm burned off and the stapler came back into reality. From this, I inferred that ectoplasm would allow very brief access to interact with the Ethereal Plane, and promptly smeared some onto my eyes and looked around in a full circle as fast as I could—gotcha. I threw a knife, and watched with watering eyes as it passed directly through the heart of an elderly halfling woman, ghost, with bushy hair and wide glasses, who was just as shocked as I was. Rapidly wiping off the ectoplasm as the steaming started to hurt, Professor Shadow was visible in the regular plane when I looked back up.

“Now that is an interesting strategy. For part of that, even I couldn’t find you.” I didn’t know whether ghosts counted as losing the game, but nevertheless I melted into what little shadows there were on the roof before responding.

“My family has been rogues for a few generations—in my blood, as they say.” She rolled her eyes and withdrew a ghostly cigarette, lighting it and floating over to where I was leaning.

“Can the cloak and dagger shit. It’s boring. What’re you going to do now? You’ve got an entire year of mischief ahead of you.” I shrugged, inspecting another throwing knife in my hand.

“Dunno. I kind of want to try and rob a bank.” Surprisingly, a smile crossed Eugenia’s face, and she puffed before offering it to me, which I accepted with another shrug.

“Am I going to get ghost cancer with this?” She snorted, both at my words and my coughs as I passed it back.

“Not for fifty years, or so. I like that mentality—don’t get caught, and I might have some extra points to award at the end of the year.” With a wink, she tossed the lit cigarette to me and vanished as I fumbled with it, scowling up as I realized it had been a distraction. Stealthing back along the roof, I paused by a vent as I heard a trio of voices: two confident, one afraid.

Annabel

“Are you in the wrong classroom?” Face a darker shade of red than normal, I shook my head and handed over the slip of paper explaining that I was, in fact, a cleric.

“I—uh, I think this is right?” The cleric teacher, an air genasi with a full head of puffy, cloudlike hair hair, kind smile-lines, and glasses scanned the paper, frowned up at me, and shook her head.

“Far from me to prescribe titles to you, but I can sense the magical aura radiating off of you—how exactly did you become an oathbreaker as a child?” My confused frown made hers deepen, and Yolanda Badgood stood, paper in hand, and walked to the door.

“Come with me, I’ll show you to Halo.” I tagged along, indignantly clutching my staff in front of me as though it was some form of proof.

“But my staff does magic. I do healing spells all the time—I healed a rabbit on my way to school this morning!” Badgood raised an eyebrow at me, walking along the halls past a few other new students trying to find where to go—I bumped into one with my staff by accident, mouthing a sorry over my shoulder at a half-elf who rolled her eyes.

“Halo, Miss Hollyfrost has somewhat of a… strange situation.” Almost before he’d fully turned around, a muffled gasp of surprise flew out loud enough that I doubted anyone hadn’t heard it.

“An oathbreaker, but… that’s odd. Could I perhaps have a drop of your blood?” I didn’t particularly care, more focused on finding a way to explain that I had no idea how I had broken any oaths as he pricked my finger, flicking a curl of blond hair from his face before casting a spell that made the droplet levitate into the air, glow, and splatter onto a poised napkin.

“It seems one of your direct ancestors was an oathbreaker, and somehow… transmitted it to you? Almost like a curse.” The two teachers shared a look, then both looked at me; my highly unsure expression brought out a sigh.

“To answer your valid point, your staff is your focus, but it’s meant to be used as a physical weapon, not as a conduit. For some reason, the way you interact with magic was altered in such a way that you are almost only able to do so through paladin-oriented means. Do you know what deity you draw strength from?” At my negative response, they both shared a significantly more worried look, before Yolanda smiled and waved a hand.

“No worries. I’m certain Halo will train you up right.” With that, I was left with the paladin teacher, who smiled as he resettled at his desk.

“For the first day, I usually take time to study up on the incoming class’s patrons, weapons, and things like that. Why not get a good feel for the layout of the school in the meantime?” With a shrug, I committed the room number to memory and joined the flow of students in the hallway, making sure not to bump into anyone while I considered what the two teachers had said. I was a paladin, not a cleric? What sort of deity was seemingly living in my staff? Passing by a board with several different group and club posters pinned to it, I skimmed a few interesting ones before deciding against it—I doubted many people in the chess club would like if a tiefling showed up—I usually ended up getting distracted and knocking the pieces over with my tail, anyway. Charting the school wasn’t terribly complicated, but it was a lengthy time traipsing up and down hallways, explaining that I was a paladin to school monitors, and even engaging in a game of catch with an older paladin while we were in an empty hallway. As I rounded a corner to head to where I thought the cafeteria was, a noise from a nearby bathroom caught my ear, and I paused. Was that...

Dugan

A puff of ice misted out of my staff, impacting the mannequin at the front of the room and spreading a veneer of frozen fabric and crystalline ice dead-center.

“Correct. Next?” Wizard classes were very rigid, as was the teacher, Tiberia Runestaff. Her purplish dress would flip back and forth as she turned in a way that made everyone near her give her a five-foot berth, and the small orb atop her staff pulsed with a rhythmic green light when casting magic. We were doing some sort of preliminary class, and those selected were sent out early to spend the rest of the day painstakingly taking notes over the material we needed to learn—thankfully, I was sent out earliest, and made straight for the library to study. Magic was such an intriguing subject, having an entire wing dedicated to it alone, and I lost myself for several minutes roaming shelves and creating an ever-larger pile of books in my arms. The lack of clocks where I was sitting also didn’t help, as I only looked up from my books when the librarian came to tell me that I’d been sitting there for four hours; somewhat embarrassed, I picked up my notes and made a hasty exit to review them somewhere private. That spot, I found out, was the little-used bathroom on the north-east end of the campus, right next to the woods and far from any offices or classrooms. Setting myself up in a stall, I reviewed both things that were important for my class, but also for my goal with magic: Chronurgy, or Chronomancy, depending on the area. That a normal magic-user could manipulate even time itself was unimaginable to me, and since the patron (and principal) of Aguefort was a chronomancer himself, there were a plethora of books on the subject. I froze, though, when the door to the bathroom swung open a bit violently, followed by someone stumbling through; on instinct, I pulled my feet and bag up onto the toilet seat to hide.

“C’mon, we need a bard. Don’t make this hard.” Several people laughed at the forced rhyme, and I realized that about five people were in the bathroom with me, though none seemed to have noticed me. The sound of someone standing up, maybe—shadows passed in front of the door.

“I don’t want to have to, but I can’t turn down practice with unarmed strikes. Right, Val?” The person named Val snorted, responding in a lower voice.

“So they say.” I wasn’t sure what to do—I’d likely be beat up just for having witnessed whatever was happening—but an instinct had me gripping my staff tightly, poised at the door to my stall.

“Can we hurry this up? I want to look up some info about Cliffbreaker—always good to know about teachers.” One of them was a barbarian, then. Val must be a monk, as well; none of them were bards, since they needed one; two fighters was a lot for a four-person party, by my estimation.

“True that. You can heal ‘em after this, right?” A murmured assent—spellcaster. All of the reference books I’d read about magic said that spellcasters were a spellcaster’s worst enemy, and as I debated trying to intervene, I heard the door open again.

Poppy

“Miss Prott, I’m not going to warn you again.” With a disappointed frown, I refrained from bashing my crossguard against the nose of some pompous student who’d insulted my footstance and settled back a few steps.

“Sorry. Got too into it, is all.” Corsica Jones sighed through her nose, stepped back in the open space we’d cleared in the classroom, and drew her sword.

“Want to try it again?” Never one to turn down a fight, I grinned and settled into a readied position, sword held defensively in my hands. She swung across her body, which I caught by sticking my sword out with one hand and bracing my forearm against the flat of it as the two clanged together; then, trying out a move I’d seen in a manual once, I swung my body around to pass both blades over the top of me, sending her swing wide and giving me an opening to drive a blow into her side, but I pulled back at the last second to only tap the blade against her.

“Dangerous move. If I had two blades, you’d’ve been beheaded.” Standing back upright, I shrugged and sheathed my blade.

“You don’t. I’ll remember that for next time, though.”

After a class of mostly practicing motions without dueling, I headed out to get a feel for the school itself, ambling back and forth between different classrooms, hallways, and corridors until I ended up somewhere on the north-east side. My water bottle was empty, and no fountains were in sight, so I resolved to fill it from a tap in a nearby bathroom—when I approached the door, however, I paused.

“—a bard. Don’t make this hard.” A few laughs, then the sound of someone either crawling or pulling themselves upright; bullies. I debated what to do—even a two-versus-however many people were in there was long odds, but I wasn’t very much a fan of people pushing someone like a bard around just because they were stronger.

“...turn down practice in unarmed strikes.” As though proving my point to myself, I realized the situation. There must be a mostly-formed party in there trying to ‘convince’—read: threaten—a bard into joining their party; unfair tactics. Almost before I knew it, my blade had slid quietly from it’s sheath, hand about to open the door as I paused. This was some random person, and besides, I didn’t even have a party yet. Or friends, really, considering I’d alienated most of them by being a bit too into fighting—some of them had muttered about a lost barbarian, even.

“—You can heal ‘em after this, right?” That settled it. The low whimper I heard moved me into action almost before I’d even registered hearing it, and I darted into the room, sword ready.

Siobhan

Bard class had been as easy as I’d thought it would be; singing magic was able to work with other focuses well, and I’d even gotten a few joking invitations to high school bands after a brief performance. The real problem, though, arose afterwards.

“You’re Siobhan Tilofa, right? We need a bard, whatcha think?”

“Hey, our party is just missing that one ‘X’ factor, would you…?”

“You should totally join our bard group!” and other platitudes left me a bit scorned at the concept of parties; I was worth more than just a voice, even if my magic was fairly advanced already. These ‘offers’ culminated in a group of a fighter, a monk, a ranger, and a cleric that didn’t come up to me immediately, rather staying just within my perception and watching. Despite many attempts to lose them, no matter which hallway I darted down or staircase I traversed, they were always twenty-ish feet from me. Somewhere on the north-east end of the school, I turned down a hallway to find the barbarian, an orc with a massive steel warhammer, stop me by putting a massive hand on my collarbone.

“We just wanna talk, Tilofa.” I stumbled backwards, only to be shoved by the elven fighter into a wall, thudding painfully and fully running to the nearest door. Unfortunately, I wasn’t as fast as the monk, who reached me and put a shoulder into my back that broke my nose on the door and sent me flailing into a bathroom, falling onto the ground and quickly healing my nose even as I skinned both of my knees.

“C’mon, we need a bard. Don’t make this hard.” They laughed, cleric stepping in last as the fighter squatted down, smiling.

“I don’t want to have to, but I can’t turn down practice with unarmed strikes. Right, Val?” He glanced over his shoulder at the monk, who snorted and nodded, arms crossed.

“So they say.” Using the wall behind me, I pulled myself upright and prepared myself to use whatever magic I could to escape—break the window? No, that meant broken glass…

“Can we hurry this up? I want to look up some info about Cliffbreaker—always good to know about teachers.” That was the human barbarian, who flicked one of her twin braids over her shoulder and gave me a mostly-bored look.

“True that. You can heal ‘em after this, right?” A slight whimper of fear escaped me; were they seriously about to torture me over an adventuring party? Before anyone could so much as blink, several things happened at once before my eyes that were nearly impossible to believe. The door burst open, a blur of fabric and steel moving through the loose group like water even as one of the stalls burst open to emit a ray of frost magic that narrowly avoided a shadow dropping from the air vent behind the barbarian; before my eyes, the head of the fighter rolled off of his shoulders, frost freezing the cleric long enough to permit the bladed person to whirl around and put a greatsword through his throat; the shadow behind the barbarian, a blade flashed out and opened his throat even as the monk fell, having been disemboweled by the fighter on her way through. All of us froze, staring at each other, as the door swung open again, revealing a shorter tiefling clutching a staff with a terrified-yet-determined expression that melted into shock as blood began to flow on the ground. With a tsk, the fighter dragged the tiefling inside, locked the door, and planted herself firmly in front of it.

“Can we all explain what exactly just happened?” The halfling with the knife didn’t appear to be that enthused about being seen—must be a rogue—but nevertheless shrugged, wiping her blade off before withdrawing a small bag and opening the string that tied it shut.

“Heard something that sounded bad. Wanted to handle it—if you hadn’t almost kicked the door down, it would’ve been whisper-quiet. And nonlethal.” The reality of the situation began to sink in as a human stepped out of the stall, staff up in shock.

“You… you…” Sliding down against the wall into a sitting position, eyes wide and locked onto the reflection of the fighter in a pool of mixing blood. The tiefling girl stepped gingerly across the mess—was the rogue putting the bodies into a bag?!--and squatted down next to me with a smile.

“Er… hi. I’m a cl—paladin. Are you injured?” I wasn’t really in a position to talk, simply nodding to my knees, which were promptly healed with a touch. The fighter and the rogue appeared to be arguing about the merits of lethality, human wizard (possibly warlock) glancing between us and the door before sighing and casting prestidigitations to clean up the blood. Still not trusting my voice, I muttered out a few prestidigitations of my own, quickly cleaning up the mess as the fighter and rogue got over their argument to begin shoving bodies into an improbably small, likely magically-expanded bag.

“We’re just going to… I mean.” The tiefling seemed like the most logical of the bunch, and I snatched her hand in a bout of fear, then let go with a rapid shake of my head.

“What would you rather do? I doubt a quadruple homicide is a good self-defense tactic for bullying. Name’s Poppy, by the way. Poppy Prott.” She shook hands with the still-befuddled wizard, who inclined his head after cleaning the last of the blood off of everyone.

“Dugan Mistwind.” The tiefling went next, introducing herself as Annabel Hollyfrost, then the rogue—after several judgemental stares—who spoke hers in next to a whisper.

“Arabella Skullbind. Who’s the bard we all just saved, then?” All eyes turned to me, still seated, and I stuttered out a response as I jumped to my feet.

“Siobhan Tilofa. Were they going to torture me until I joined their party?” Dugan shrugged, exchanging a look with Annabel that I couldn’t understand.

“What it sounded like to me. Why were they so… adamant?” I shrugged, glancing between the other faces.

“I sang in bard class, then every group that possibly could ask tried to get me to join their party. Must not be a lot of bards at Aguefort.” They exchanged nods, Poppy turning and glancing at me with a sly look.

“You’re not seeking a group, right? What would you say to some bodyguards?” Arabella snorted, Annabel glancing at me with a hint of worry that faltered at my equally sly grin.

“Now that sounds promising. Let’s make a lifelong bond over covering up four brutal murders, shall we?” Poppy looked down at my outstretched hand, spat into hers, and shook with a firm grip and a toothy grin.

“My kind of friend. Any of you mages know fire spells?”

About twenty minutes later, the five of us were standing near a bank of the River Marigold, a ways past the southern edge of town where it lead off downstream.

“So we just… push them out?” Poppy and Arabella had assembled a small raft, loaded the bodies onto it, and covered them with sticks, papers, and other flammable objects to make a funerary boat that would incinerate the bodies, and let the bones sink down further the river and far away from where anyone would be looking.

“Should we say something?” Annabel moved to speak, but was interrupted by Poppy kicking the raft into the water with a scowl.

“Nah. Better they receive the same respect they showed Tilofa. Hey, do you like nicknames?” At my nonreaction, Dugan lit the raft on fire and Poppy turned back to face me.

“Ti. No, no… S-Ti? Esti. There you go.” I raised an eyebrow, but said nothing, watching as the smoking, flaming wood floated down the river slowly, giving ample time for me to be reminded about what had happened today. Not like any of us had a choice, really; overzealous and unthinking moves had landed us with a shared secret that was, frankly, worrying.

“Sure, Prott. Now, unless you all think it would be a good idea to stand upstream of a floating raft of bodies, I’m going to go home.” All five of us froze in place as a voice not of our number spoke, a guttural, deep and rough tone that rattled my teeth in my jaw.

“And what do we have here? Disposin’ of a body, are ye?” I looked at the opposite shore, having not realized just how close we were to both my house and this man’s as retired-pirate Bill Seacaster hollered at us from across the water. At our immediate scatter for the road and the trees opposite it, the man laughed, withdrew a jug of some liquid, and created a wick with a strip of cloth before tossing it onto the raft, sending a small shockwave as the bottle exploded and engulfed the fire properly. We didn’t stop until through the first few rows of trees, circling up under a tall oak and catching our breath collectively.

“Doubt he’d say anything. Probably is happy for a little excitement, is all.” Dugan nodded, partly leaning on his staff.

“Everyone says he’s gone mad, anyway. In my eyes, no witnesses.” A few nods, before I glanced at my crystal and sighed—I needed to move now, or the driver would be a bit suspicious of me turning up from not the school.

“I repeat my admonishment earlier. See you tomorrow.” Poppy snickered, while Arabella had already seemingly melted into the shadows of the forest; Annabel and Dugan shared a look as I walked confidently off into the trees—definitely a unique first day.

Somewhere far—no, not far, close—somewhere close by, a spark of magical energy popped into being.