Dark and squishy mud made up most of the ground. The stench of rancid mud and moldy dwellings assaulted my nose. Two warriors seemed to be holding back several men who were wearing the same baggy black clothing. Each of these uniformed men held a sword in his hand. Every visible blade in the alley was made of Sivernite: a white ceramic exclusive to this planet and stronger than any metal.

I spotted a teenage girl in a purple robe covered in straps and buckles which cinched it around each thigh. Her long black hair flowed freely and whipped as she whirled around. At the right knee, one of her legs turned into a black, scaly calf, sloping down to a reptilian foot. She whirled as she brought her bladed staff down across one human enemy’s thigh, crippling him. She slid into a guarded back stance, released her left hand from the staff, and cast the hand forward. She made a gesture as she did this with her palm slanted out, fingers together and angled upward like blades. Ice shards flew from her fingertips and drove into her crippled enemy’s face. He howled as the shards tore apart the flesh of his cheeks, but he limped forward anyway.

Vapor. Her name is Vapor, because she favors ice and water magic.

A mountain of muscle appeared behind the enemy. The mountain drove two short but thick swords upward through the man’s back and out his front, the move lifting the uniformed man completely off the ground. My observant eye took the moment to catalogue a few details: a shirt of poor fabric, seeing the way it parted in clumps under the blades. Dense black material which did not garishly display the blossoming blood as much as I would have imagined. A patch on one shoulder with the number 100 over the letters HH in gold lettering. The uniformed man’s shocked face as he stared down at the two blades which were, by their placement, piercing his lungs.

The mountain’s hideously scarred face appeared again over the enemy’s shoulder. Carved and puckered flesh covered his face and bald head. The web of scars disappeared into a thick black beard. The scarred man drew up one foot and kicked his smaller enemy off the ends of his short blades, dropping him facedown into the muck where he lay unmoving. The victor turned his face upward, grinning at Vapor. He still had all his teeth, and the smile seemed to be intended more for baring those teeth than for any friendly purpose.

Ugly. His name is Ugly. It suits him, inside and out.

Ugly was dressed in thick leather armor, all dark brown. The Keeper emblems stood out starkly on each shoulder. Huge leather straps crisscrossed his body, shoulder to hip, and each held the sheath for his short swords along with several knives and bits of gear. Ugly and Vapor each turned back into the fray to find new targets. Straight away, three men in matching black outfits rushed Ugly, their swords swinging.