An apparatus for trapping lions.

A box, for the most part, is unremarkable. They are highly variable receptacles, with innumerable uses, and it is true that its very name, preceded by a qualifying adjective, has been assigned to many objects of artistic or antiquarian interest.

Beyond that, boxes are typically brown. That’s usually because they’re made of wood. Some are big. Some are small. And most agree, the best ones have things in it.

On the 23rd day of Brewkoh, in Paith-year 4914, Drockory Benzitt and Lor-val Blackheart launched a job. They’d been sent for a box. It was usually a box they ended up seeking, that popular kind, with things in it.

Drockory, a 66 year-old Botsarian elf and 32 year career thief for hire, had reached a point of reflection common to most everyone who stole things for a living. This was the concept of the 'Big Filch', the liberating last job. It was a rite of passage for every heister, one that enabled beach retirement with nothing to do but collect interest. This was simply unavoidable. If thieving is your livelihood, it will happen to you.

For some, it happens early in a career, sometimes before it really gets going. That never works out, because a Filch that Big for someone that small is destined to fail.

The other common scenario is the ‘addict’. This specimen can’t stop, always succumbing to just one more hit until they get caught. In most cases like that, it's a fail. But that’s why Drockory Benzitt was poised to succeed. He genuinely wanted out. He’d powered this gig long enough to be good at it, and more than long enough to hate it. The stories they could tell, he and Lor-Val. The lurid, fucked up stories... Lor-Val Blackheart, on the other hand, could keep this wild ride going indefinitely. A hairy gnome of arresting proportions, Lor was 52 years old, and never got tired of stealing things. He also liked to fight, and during the eleven years he’d been with Drockory, only one of them was spent in jail. His elfan companion had a calming effect on him. Drockory had also gotten quite good at saving Lor’s “revolting little ass”, as he had so often put it.

Lor-Val had learned temperance from Drockory. Temperance, and a few tricks of the trade.

When the moon shone that night, it was close to orange in hue. It leant a unique sheen to the Vinery Forests, where Drockory and Lor-Val prepared their mission. It was here where The New Order of Paithian Humans, or NOOPH as they are called, stationed many ports, and tonight, something was passing through.

Drockory knew enough to question the motivation of any paid quest. It was his habit to show up and scout the port before making any moves, no matter how familiar he already was. A pre-scout operation like this would usually provide a pretty good idea of what was happening. In this case, it didn't really. But certainly, this was not a

maintenance stop for a NOOPH caravan. Now known to Drockory and Lor, this was a destination. It was the mouth of a well-guarded underground fortress.

As the pair sat within their foliaged observatory, cropped within a mass of Vinery oak branches, they made note of numerous NOOPH special operatives, more than usual for a routine night shipment.

Why all of this, then? That's what Lor-Val was thinking. In fact, he was saying it out loud, and were it not for Drockory's HUSH spell in their immediate radius, the NOOPHs would have long ago heard them.

"Ho-LY! Look at this!” said Lor-Val, pointing at the scene with a squat finger. “There's about twelve special ops guys, right there! What the fuck, dude? Did Merl actually think we could handle these guys? There's no way. Oh, fuck. What if we're supposed to be decoys? What if he set us up? Should we do this? I don't think we should do this. We'll get caught, maybe killed. Hey – did you ‘HUSH’ me? You can't even hear me, can you? I don't know if I can hear my own voice... or not. This is weird. YIP! YOW! HELLO?"

Drockory removed his shoulder sack from his suit of black leather. He produced a scope patch and placed it over his right eye. It was a device that enabled magicle night vision, designed to detect humanoid life-energy in the dark. It was a crude device of his own making, a prototype he created with the intention of finding an investor and mass marketing them. There were several names he considered, but he’d finally settled on 'The Soul Patch'. It was one of many ventures he was noodling for when he’d go 'legit'.

The Soul Patch allowed him to get a handle on exactly how many NOOPH operatives were down there, and if there were any on the perimeter. Having anticipated the NOOPH's employing a similar technology, a CLOAK was also cast on their immediate radius, another spell of his that made it possible to hide from DETECTION magic.

Drockory counted exactly fifteen NOOPH ops at the base of the entrance. Hidden in various pockets surrounding the area were eight. And now, in the distance, he could see the beginnings of another convoy that was advancing. It looked like nine more.

Lor-Val was starting to freak out. He was thinking they should bail, but he also knew that would attract attention. The gnome tugged nervously on the collar of his own studded leather armour, and he was just about to run from their HUSH bubble.

But, Drockory tapped his shoulder and pointed to something. Beside them, not so very far away from their own treetop perch, was another figure. It looked to be a female, and the wiry frame suggested she was a woelf. They could only catch a glimpse. She was well hidden in the Vinery's dense brush. Well hidden, not because she'd thrown some leaves and branches around. She was well hidden from a considerable amount of magicle CAMO.

Someone’s put a lot of work into her gear, considered Drockory Benzitt.

Drockory was starting to think that Lor-Val's decoy theory was holding water. Here they were, tasked with intercepting an unknown transferred item at a loaded NOOPH base, and beside them was someone who, by all accounts, was probably better at this than they were. Paralyzed by doubt, the two watched from their nest, waiting to see if this new player would engage.

As the caravan of NOOPH operatives reached the fortress mouth, a high- ranking officer met the primary buggy. Some words were exchanged, and the officer opened one of the chariot doors. He slid from the chariot’s floor an intricately locked casing, and from there, after a series of keys and combinations, the ornate casing's lid was opened.

Drockory’s deep brown eyes got wider. Even for an elf. Was this an ancient weapon? Artifact? A human-crafted histrorical document that reminded them to be cool to each other?

Drockory and Lor looked on, perfectly still and noiseless. The NOOPH official sunk his trembling hands into the carrier, and removed from it, a Box.

It was a rather plain looking Box. Typical, what you might expect. It was made from some sort of wood, and it was smallish. Drockory kept waiting for it to pop open and reveal something impressive. But it didn't. The officer just held it wonderously in his hands, as though he now possessed a grand answer.

That's when the CAMO’d stranger dropped from the trees and onto the officer’s head. It happened fast, and none of the NOOPH operatives saw it coming. Before they knew it, the lone thief had snatched the Box and headed back to the brush.

Drockory decided this was a good time to enhance their hiding. He conjured a frontal ‘CAMO-curtain’ that now kept them blended against the Vinery's giant leaves. Drockory rested a hand on Lor-val’s shoulder and brought a finger to his lips.

They watched. This new player was good. By the time Drockory shifted his attention back to the ensuing heist after casting his CAMO, she had taken out three operatives. Swiftly, with impressive backflips, and thin blades. But the NOOPH ops sharply recovered.

Now they were pissed. Drockory could tell the offensive was about to get advanced, at least as far as the mages were concerned. There were collective flashes and sulphurous wafts, a sure sign they were aiming for a fast takedown. A direct hit from this kind of stuff was meant to kill.

Then, some LIGHTNING snapped from one of the ops in a blast of blinding blue light. The thief was proving hard to hit with something wild like a conjured LIGHTNING bolt. It jutted into a hulking oak, which then exploded, dropping a huge branch. It created pure chaos, and Drockory even thought this thief was counting on it to happen. It provided a perfect storm of confusion, and the intended target began her ascent up a great Vinery hardwood.

Drockory was astonished. This person just walked in and schooled a platoon of NOOPH operatives, and it was looking like she’d get away with it. He wondered how

he could get in touch with her after all of this. Maybe buy her some lunch, get some tips.

Then, he noticed a tranced NOOPH operative on the ground, locking in on the fleeing thief. Looking closer, Drockory could see what was happening. It was a type of magic he didn't use himself, because it was a bit dodgy. Inherently evil. Plus, it was super hard to learn.

Lor-Val was shuffling within their hidden nest, getting antsier as the conflict grew. His gut reaction was to split, but he remembered that would reveal their presence. Drockory could sense this, and clutched the gnome's shoulder once more. With a look, he told the gnome it was best to stay put.

The thief cleanly evaded rows of projectile attacks, but the dark spell that was being locked onto her had yet to be fired. Lock-ons didn't miss. That was the whole point. And Drockory's suspicions were confirmed as the spell had been discharged. It was a DEATHBALL. A direct hit would end her life by freezing the beat of her heart. It was as simple as that.

The thief made a dash along a massive branch in an attempt to sink deeper into the forest. It happened to be the branch where Drockory and Lor were camped. The two watched fretfully as the thief ran towards them. At this rate, she'd go crashing into Drockory's curtain and run them down, ending her escape and blowing their own cover, and that’s exactly what would’ve happened, if she didn't take the DEATHBALL on the back of her leg.

It killed her instantly. The thief collapsed lifelessly on the branch, about six feet from Drockory and Lor-Val. Behind their CAMO, Drockory and Lor exchanged shocked faces. Without prompting, Lor crawled out of the curtain to the fresh corpse that did their job for them. He snapped loose the thief's satchel and scrambled back to their post. Drockory took the bag, looked inside, and there it was.

The Box. He stuffed the whole thing into a sack, a great deal surprised they'd actually gotten what they were chartered to recover. And he knew the truth – that they weren't. They were hired meat, and the dead thief beside them was meant to succeed. But none of that mattered. The Box was theirs, now. And he intended to ask for considerably more than what was agreed upon, since that DEATHBALL could've just as easily been for him.

I am so close to achieving a Big Filch. But he wasn't, really. The NOOPH operatives, the ones that could SOAR, made their way to Drockory and Lor's treetop hiding. One of them checked the corpse, which was ice cold from the DEATHBALL’s soak. He checked it thoroughly, then wildly, and eventually informed the others the Box was gone.

Drockory and Lor-Val gaped at the operative, motionless. The operative’s analysis was intense. It looked like he had some tracking experience. He appeared to

be picking up on some details around the large brush-covered branch he stood on. There were sure signs of passage, to a trained eye.

Drockory could tell by his manner that he had figured on Lor's recent path. The operative followed it, looking slowly upward. Completely still, he studied the blurred space in front of him... and he knew what it was.

Before he could sound an alarm, Drockory clamped onto Lor's leather scruff and powered a LEAP from their station, ending their cover. Lor-Val's confused gaze met the operative's eyes as he was pulled by Drockory’s grip into the Vinery Forest. With descending pops of white light, the departing pair sank into a row of RIP spells, giving them a decent head start into the darkness.

If Drockory had a signature cast, it was the ‘RIP’ spell. RIPs were short- distance teleport spells that, according to experts on the subject, ‘carve rips through the fabric of distance, thus enabling one of the more efficient methods of travel’. It was an essential tool to Drockory’s craft, which often called upon the art of escape.

The operative, shocked and staggered, eventually assembled the nearest NOOPH squad. Drockory managed to land brutally about a half-mile away, down from the hulking Vinery oak they were at, continuing eastward. They were now close to the forest's shore along a tearing coastline of the Brau'lin Sea. But he was spent. His spellvibe had been all but tapped. He collapsed to his knees, resting on one palm, trying not to vomit from exhaustion. Lor-Val brushed himself off and came to his side, reviewing their surroundings, probing for an escape route.

There wasn’t one. To the left, a rolling hill of trees and brush from where they came, echoing the nearing shouts of NOOPH operatives.

To their right, a hefty drop into crashing waves. From this position, all that could be seen of the sea were approaching whitecaps and the shoreline impact, straight down.

Lor-Val checked to see if his shortsword was still strapped to his back. It was. He'd named it Marty, after the piece of shit human he stole it from. Marty the human tried to screw him, once. So Marty got shitkicked and lost all his stuff. Normally, wielding a weapon stolen from a man you shitkicked was not preferred practice. There was the worry of it being cursed or something. But in truth, that was more about a dead man's sword, not a stolen one. Taking it further, Lor-Val decided to name it after the guy. It was a mean piece, technically a shortsword, but it resembled a survival knife. It was sharp and clean up top, and toothy on the bottom. The hilt was perfect for Lor's grip, which was strong, but very small, and at two feet four inches, it was just shy of Lor's actual height.

On all fours, Drockory gasped and coughed up some blood, the common reaction of a mage that tests the limits of a spellvibe. He wouldn't be making a run for it in his condition, and the NOOPH shouts grew closer. He clicked a button on his

wristcase. The top flipped open to reveal a set of small capsules strapped in a row, each about four inches long. He plucked the pink one and looked hesitantly at Lor, who already knew what it was.

A cap of GAS. It would allow Drockory to take gaseous form and maneuver his way out of danger unseen. While in it, he could pass into trees, move underground, and vaporously wind his way through the forest to a safer place. There were risks involved, but as long as he avoided strong winds the effect would last long enough for an escape.

"You know there's only enough for one of us," he said to Lor-Val, who did know this.

"Down that shit," replied Lor. "I think I can make it." He did not think he could make it. Behind Lor-Val, an airborne NOOPH operative landed firmly and readied a spell. As he turned, the operative released a force of PUSH magic that slammed the gnome into a tree trunk, holding him still.

Drockory broke the capsule and drank its contents. The operative looked on, keeping Lor held to the tree's exterior with his left spell-hand. He recognized the swirling pink mist that overtook Drockory. He was wise to the GAS.

The operative’s orders were to, 1.) Retrieve the stolen item, and, 2.) Slay the thieves.

He brought his right hand up to conjure a lesser CYCLONE that would whip through Drockory's gaseous form and destroy the spell’s effect, enabling retrieval of the Box from the dispelled corpse. The left spell-hand that kept Lor-Val in check was tapping from the right, and the operative needed both to properly summon. Reluctantly, he pulled away from Lor to bring his spell-hands together and begin the CYCLONE's rush towards Drockory's mist.

Lor-Val, having been dropped from the hold, skittered to a tree branch that hung directly above the casting operative. He hopped backwards off of it, bringing the sharp side of Marty the shortsword neatly through the operative’s wrists. With a disturbing howl, the NOOPH operative tucked his fresh stumps into his armpits, thinking that might stop the bleeding.

Lor-Val looked to the forest, and could now see squads of approaching light. The NOOPHs were certain of his location now. This was because of the newly handless operative, who had just realized in a panicked way that, even if he survived this, he would never cast another spell in his life. The irony was lost on Lor-Val, who plunged Marty into his neck to shut him up. He looked to where he last saw Drockory, watching his partner’s cloud fade safely into the forest.

This was a last stand. At the moment there was nowhere to run, but Lor-Val did anyway. Along the cliff that dropped into the Brau'lin Sea, the grass was high, just higher than he was. It was his only option for a longshot escape. He tumbled into a run for it.

By this time, the approaching operatives had spotted him. A massive barrage of BOLT spells, bullets of magic energy, had been slung in Lor's direction. The gnome managed to roll behind a cluster of rocks to avoid them. Tucked behind cover, he reviewed his immediate surroundings. More BOLTs chipped at the rocks that guarded him, lighting up the forest, then more still. The NOOPH operatives were closing in on him fast, and Lor was suddenly in the middle of a war zone.

Then it stopped. After a terrified pause, Lor-Val broke into another run. Without delay, a FIREBALL landed right behind him, launching his wee body into the air and over the bluffs. Lor-Val managed to catch a hanging cliff weed, and dangled over the ridge of the vicious drop into the rage of the Brau'lin Sea.

The NOOPH squad rushed to check the scene, cautiously halting to peer over the cliff's edge.

Lor-Val was gone. They could only assume he had been crushed on the shore. A grizzled commanding NOOPH captain arrived soon after. “Lieutenant,” he said to the officer beside him, “have an aerial team check the shoreline. I want indisputable evidence that gnome is dead, and I want that Box." The lieutenant removed her helmet, peeking downwards. “Yes sir, captain Dinn,” she said.

And that, in a stroke of fate, was how Drockory Benzitt ended up with the Box.