Cutter rested on his heels, watching his fellow shadows move into position. This was their big moment, the time where they'd either show their training paid off—or perish. He was a bit disappointed, but not too surprised, when Ruby insisted on accompanying him out of town. What had shocked him was the Shek. As he and Ruby left Admag, the emaciated warrior trotted up beside them wordlessly. "Can I help you?" he asked, the Shek having avoided eye-contact. "Hhmph," she grunted. "You've brought in more rogue Shek than any other flatskin. If you're taking followers, I'll see how you fight." Cutter's grumbling complaints about not wanting company fell on deaf ears. By the time he left Squin to prey on the Dust Bandits again, he'd collected three Shek warriors and another thief to boot. What's more, the first time he left them to scout ahead on his own, when he'd returned they'd bought a bonedog from passing nomads. Named the pup Man-eater too; proper Shek sensibility there, as ridiculous as the massive sheets of steel they dragged around calling a weapon.

The glint of moonlight off of Ruby's blade snapped Cutter back to the present. They were ready. He stood, wincing as his knees popped. Looking up, he could just see the silhouette of the turreters against the stars. He readied his grappling hook, and watched Kisara strut into the lights before the main gate, showcasing her dauntless Shek pride. As she began hurling taunts, he tossed the hook up, feeling it catch. He couldn't help but grin like a giddy child as he began climbing; their plan was working perfectly. The idiot bandits kept shooting, and even hitting Kisara some. Of course, their crude crossbows were nowhere near enough to pierce her armor from that range. Heaving himself over the top of the wall, he crouched on the alure and drew his short blade. He could no longer see Ruby and Krusa, and had to hope they proved as competent as they believed themselves.