Starday, Rova 29, 4712 night
northern caravan route (Taraska River)

“And then I told him, ”that’s not a mouse, that’s a rat!””

Qatana’s circle of friends exploded with chittering laughter, and Pookie looked pleased with herself.

This wasn’t the first time they had heard the story, but it was an amusing tale and well told.

Qatana looked up from the dying embers of the caravan camp fire into the velvety blackness of the frigid night sky. As her eyes adjusted a host of stars slowly faded into view, like diamonds glinting in candle light.

Suddenly a near ethereal voice spoke softly to her, “Have arrived in the city. Exploration will begin tomorrow. Afterward, will watch and await further instructions.”

Elias had taken her up on the offer, then. She wasn’t sure if she was surprised, but she was pleased.

The idea had come to her in Kalsgard, and she had sent a letter and payment enough for several months of simple stealth work to an old associate. Perhaps, she thought, “associate” was too informal a word. Tutor. Inspiration. Friend.

But Elias was unfocused, and had a tendency to idle away his hours in brooding contemplation rather than accomplishing much. He needed a mission, she felt, and she had provided one — with pay: the best kind.

She concentrated and thought, “Understood. Carry on as planned. I will send additional payment as funds and opportunities arise.”

Elias knew what she was planning to do, even if he did not believe she would ever pull it off. But he was sympathetic, and willing to do the tedious job of gathering intelligence. Lots of it over a long time.

Her goal still lay far outside her grasp. She must grow first. Grow in power. Grow in influence. Grow in wealth. She cared little for such things, as did most of her sect, but they were a means to an end.

Some years earlier she had thought to enlist people who already possessed what she lacked. The Sandpoint Heroes. Some of them might have assisted her. They were said to be both powerful and wealthy beyond belief.

She had even traveled to Nybor to enlist Takkad, thinking maybe he would ask his friend Sabin, the mad mage, to join them.

Emotionally it was a difficult journey. She had not been on the road from Sandpoint to Nybor since… the dark times. She had some of her friends with her, but they had not yet crossed over. Four tiny bundles of warmth tucked in a pocket of her cloak, offering much needed comfort.

She found Takkad’s residence easily enough: everyone in the city knew him and where he lived. But she couldn’t help but be disappointed with the shack he called home. It was on the edge of town and had a small barn and large grassy pasture out back.

A horse looked up from its grazing and gazed at her with an almost thoughtful expression.

Surely this wasn’t the right place. “Maybe they said the east side of town and not the west,” she thought as she approached the rickety door.

Qatana reached up to knock, but hastily withdrew her hand. She could feel it. Massive amounts of magical power surging along the surface of the door. This place was not what it seemed.

“Can I help you, miss?”

A man with a wheel barrow full of manure was looking at her from the road.

“I came to see Takkad.”

He looked at her blankly for a moment before replying, “Mm, hmm. And was Master Takkad expecting you?”

Qatana felt at a loss. This wasn’t going like she expected.

“No. But I knew he lived here and thought I would take a chance and see if he was in.”

Another pause.

“I see. Does he even know you, honey?”

Honey? That sort of thing would normally send Qatana into a rage, but for the moment she was at a complete loss as to what to do.

“Nnn, no,” she finally stammered.

“Well at least you’re honest. Not everyone who stops by is. But I’m sorry, Takkad is out. His crazy half orc friend showed up about a fortnight ago and it wasn’t an hour later that the master came out to the barn and said, ”Otis, Sabin and I are taking off for a while, and I’m not sure when we’ll be back. Make sure you take proper care of Butters for me.””

Otis gazed out at the horse and then at the manure in the barrow. “And that is what I was doin’ when you came up and stood fidgeting by the front door. I hate to break it to you miss, but you wasted a trip. I hope you had other business in Nybor.”

A week or so later, after she had returned to Sandpoint, she realized that it was fortunate she had missed Takkad afterall. This was a personal issue, and she needed to deal with it herself, or at least she needed to be the one making the plans and calling the shots.

Someone threw a branch on the remains of the camp fire, which made a loud whoomf as sparks shot up in the air and pulled Qatana back to the present. The flames quickly sprang to life, eagerly accepting the offering of dry wood.

In the renewed light she pulled an old creased map out from her pack and traced the route she was sure Elias had followed from Magnimar to Kaer Maga.

Softly at first, but building steadily in intensity, Beorn began to cackle hysterically.