World of Warcraft®

It had been quite a few years since the Sailing Beauty could call itself new, but the ship was serviceable and cheaper than funding a new ship to be built. It even came furnished with part of a crew, as the shipping company that had sold it to Othmar had not been interested in keeping on its deckhands. A few weeks' inquiry soon turned up a captain willing to take command and some extra hands to fill the other missing positions.

No one questioned why the new owner converted one of the cabins into his own private stateroom; it was his prerogative, after all, even if Othmar rarely seemed to be present. The room remained locked at all times, wards set into door should it be opened without his explicit approval.

The room itself was decorated with various pieces of art and souvenirs that Othmar had picked up in his travels. Some items were of obvious value: a painting of Liam Trollbane, a marble statuette, a bookcase full of assorted illuminated texts. Others, not so much: an odly shaped rock, perhaps once part of a wall; an ordinary looking seashell; an empty glass jar.

Someone unfamiliar with the room may not have noticed the new addition, but Othmar was knew every little trophy. The mangled toy dragon was not one of his. He picked it up, as well as the note beside it, hearing the rumbling of discontent in his head from Sandstorm.

"Now, now, let's not be hasty. Let us see what this is."

Touch my family, I touch you.

"Ah. So the boy's responding to the challenge. An excellent riposte in execution, if a bit lacking in verbal wit. This game might be of more interest than I had planned. Let us see what he makes of our next moves."

Having the drake's thoughts permeate his own had taken quite a bit of adjustment, particularly as Sandstorm was far more temperamental and impulsive than Othmar had expected. Still, he did not regret the decision. When he had stumbled upon Kordrion's unique "condition" he had recognized it as the unique challenge it was. If some rash boy could master the power of an ancient spirit, so could he. And he would do it better.

With a cheerful grin, Othmar placed the mangled dragon upon the shelf to join the other oddities.

A few days latter, several letters had been left at his door. Othmar gingerly picked them up, letting out of soft hiss - an almost draconic one- of pain as his back twinged. His lack of skill in the healing arts pained him, quite literally in this case, and Kordrion's fangs were sharp. He had healed himself well enough to avoid needing extra care, but it would be a few days before the ache went away.

Sandstorm rumbled in his mind, a mix of satisfaction and yet discontent at the outcome. The drake wished to hunt, to fight. Kordrion and his drake were the obvious choice; knowing there was another drake in "his" territory irked Sandstorm. Othmar had never really seen the appeal of physical domination until he had joined minds, but he understood the need to best his enemies. He also wished to test the limits of their abilities and striking at Kordrion in Stranglethorn had been a perfect opportunity. They had seriously injured the boy, yes, but it had not been a clear victory. It had been luck that Kordrion had been distracted at a crucial moment. There was work to be done, clearly. A refinement of technique.

"Come, now," he consoled the spirit. "It would hardly be any fun if victory were won too quickly. We shall continue with our plan, and soon you shall prove yourself."

He sat at his desk and reviewed the letters. Near the bottom of the stack was a note from Captain Caraway., a reply for Othmar's request to find someone.... "competent" to run a few errands for him. He did not recall the name Galen Trunch, but would trust the captain's judgement. He wrote a list of supplies to be acquired and a letter for Trunch to deliver in Stormwind.

Williams,

This gentleman is here to pick up my order, as has been discussed. The money will be deposited via the usual methods.

-T.S.

A small red stamp of a stylized 'S' is underneath

The instructions and letter were passed along to the man currently known as "Galen Trunch." The ordrinary looking man took it with a nod and a shrug, just like a good courier; no one who knew Arlston Cross would have suspected that he now worked upon the Sailing Beauty.

Unlike a good courier, a copy was soon made and on its way to Kordrion Stoneheardt. The other list and letter were soon safely tucked away and on the way to deliver.

Arlston Cross and the Footmen, Stroudt, Hemsley, and Priche all moved about the deck, doing the usual sailing duties. Keeping the deck cleaned and sanded. Arlston, or "Galen Trunch" as he was going as, approached the captain, asking if there was anything the Captain needed, he was available for any extra duty. Arlston did not look a thing like he usually did. He had always been average looking, and would never stand out in a crowd.

Here, aboard his enemies' ship. He was more hidden than he ever was.

The cramped back offices of the Azeroth Heritage Society were not meant to be impressive. That honor went to the Gallery, where prospective buyers could view the Society's latest acquisitions. Theoretically, those purchases were meant to fund the Society's restoration projects and charity work, but the only luxuries that had been allowed the offices were the padded chairs that were long overdue to be replaced, and the enchanted lamps that provided light without risking a fire.

Elren rarely met any of those buyers. She'd only been hired on as a researcher and clerk. In fact, she'd spent the last few weeks "researching" graveyards to update the Society's "Complete Genealogical Guide to Stormwind." She snorted to herself at the title; really, it was just an excuse for some nobles to feed their egos on how far back they could trace their family line.

She much preferred the real restoration projects that came to her desk; so many books and artworks had been lost an destroyed in the past decades! Elren wished she could've known what it was like to walk the streets of Lordearon in its glory, or hear the famous Alterac Mountain Singers... She'd had to content herself with listening stories that Bertram had told her, or before him, Adelaide, until she disappeared a few years back. She missed them both.

Especially Adelaide on days like this. A woman, Azheira, had inquired about whether the Society did any business with someone named "Othmar;" usually those requests came from someone who wished to verify an object's authenticity. Adelaide had been the one to originally organize the records room where they kept track of the various antiques and artwork they sold.

It actually didn't take her very long to find a file on someone named Leo Othmar. The original entry was in Adelaide's handwriting. Othmar seemed to be a repeat customer, though only a few purchases were recorded over the course of the years. She frowned at one of the invoices; someone else had written a small note in the bottom corner.

possible supplier?

She took a sharp breath and set the paper aside. Then, carefully, she penned a message to Azheira requesting a meeting.

With a soft grunt, Azheira slung her bag over her left shoulder as she picked up the message she had just received with her other hand. She had packed light, so the satchel wasn’t extremely heavy, nevertheless, she felt the full weight of it on her back. An exhausted sigh escaped her lips. She was so tired lately.

One fingernail slid under the seal on the back of the envelope and quickly broke the wax off. Scanning the now open missive, she realized it was from the woman Kordrion had told her to contact regarding Othmar. A slight frown crossed her features as she noted Elren wanted to meet.

“She would want to have a meeting just as I am off for Kalimdor,” she muttered. Pale blue eyes looked out the window as she briefly considered not going on this hunting trip. Her hair swung about as she shook her head. A compelling feeling told her she must go. But, a slight detour to the Azeroth Heritage Society’s office surely wouldn’t put her too far behind.

Things had been progressing smoothly. The hold of the ship resemble a farm, filled with livestock and enough supplies to feed a small camp. The final preparations to leave port had been made.

Othmar sat at his desk, patiently reading of the books from his shelves. He glanced at the gnomish clock sitting on the corner of the desk. It was nearly time for his appointment.

The thought had barely been complete when one by one, arcane lights flared to life along the wall, forming a spiderweb before abruptly solidifying into a portal in the middle of his stateroom. After a few moments, a well dressed blood elf stepped through the portal, followed by a skittish looking younger elf, not far into adulthood, and looking as if he'd been plucked out of one of the darker corners of Murder Row.

Othmar carefully set a bookmark in place and laid the book on the corner of the desk. "Good morning, Toralis."

The older elf gave him a shallow bow and a smirk. "Leo. I brought you the first of your...assistants."

The other elf blinked in surprised, then scowled. "This isn't what you told me I would be doing. I ain't working for some human, forget it."

Othmar gave him a penetrating stare. "What, exactly, did you expect?"

The young elf sneered back. "Not to be here that's for sure. He promised me steady work for the rest of my life at his lab!"

"And I am in charge of the lab. So you will work with me, or he can return you to whatever... gutter you came from."

He glowered. "I best be paid right prompt like."

Othmar gave a suffering sigh before returning his attention to the mage. "The other location is prepared?"

"Indeed, some of my more...senior assistants are there placing the finishing touches to ensure we are not able to be found."

"We've collected livestock and other supplies in the hold. I did underestimate last time just how much our guest would eat." He smiled at the private joke.

Toralis gave a amused sound. "I am given to understand that children his age eat quite a bit, Shall we?"

“Indeed.” Othmar stood and gestured for Toralis to continue.

The mage turned around and uttered an incantation, opening a new portal. He stepped through without hesistation, and the “assistant,” not wanting to be left behind, quickly followed. Othmar took one last look at his doors to make sure the locks were set before following.

He paused on the other side momentarily in the bright light. The air changed slightly; still the salty air of the sea, but free from the obnoxious scents of Booty Bay. It had taken Toralis time to find the small, uninhabited island, but he already had the beginnings of a small research facility in place.

A large, hangar-like building with an irised roof predominated the scene. Around them, a mix of workers, primarily elves and humans with a few taurens lifting large loads, were busy constructing extra housing and barns.

“I took out grant in the name of researching the arcane properties than can be found in the elements,” Toralis explained. “It’s amazing how few questions people will ask when you are working towards feeding their need for more power.”

Othmar looked around in approval. “It seems Stormwind is more occupied these days with the aftermath of Orgrimmar than the sciences."

Toralis tsked disparingly. “A shame...though I am sad to see that Silvermoon is even becoming more moderate in the lengths they will go to. Once my people had no fear of reacting for the sun and grabbing its power with both hands...now? Now they crawl about begging permission and worrying what the barbarians will think of them.”

“Where is the main facility? We may as well begin.” Othmar made a gestured toward the bewildered assistant.

Toralis pointed out the large building. “You will find everything you require inside.”

Othmar looked over to the other elf. “You,” he said, realizing he had yet to get the assistant’s name. It hardly mattered. “Come with us.”

He scowled but followed anyway.

The inside of the large building was rather bare, yet incredibly spacious. A few tables with odd instruments lined the closest wall. At the far end of the room a large rune was inscribed into the floor. Othmar noticed that Toralis had added a feature, arge heavy chains attached to rather solid looking titansteel manacles, but chose not to draw attention to them. “Excellent.”
Toralis smirked. “Unless you have immediate need of me, I should see how the rest of the construction is going.” He sketched a bow.

“Yes, of course.” Othmar let Toralis leave, then strode out into a clear area of the empty room, keeping a distance from the rune. “You, young man, have an interesting task ahead of you.”

The assistant perked a brow, following after a moment’s hesistation. “How so?”

“What my colleague said was quite true, in a way. We are researching the power of the elements. And how to share that power with others who have not had the years of training." He looked to the elf out of the corner of his eye, to see if he caught the hint.

The elf blinked. “You’re gonna give me power? Just like that?”

“Not quite that simple. There will be some work on your part." He stopped walking, and judged the distance between them. "I would suggest standing back a few more feet, please."

He nodded and took a few steps back. “What do I have to do?”

“First, I will show you what we hope to accomplish.” He smiled wanly. “Do not fear what you are about to see.”

With that, Othmar’s form began to shift and change. It a matter of moments (in fact, a few moments longer than necessary as he intentionally slowed the process) he had changed into a large sandstone drake. The assistant stood his ground, but his eyes grew wide.

"This," Othmar rumbled, "is what I wish to teach you to do. Without the need for potion or illusion."

“Y-Y...you want to teach me to become...THAT? THAT is a dragon. I ain’t no dragon.”

"Not yet." He lowered his head down to the assistant's level. "But you can be. A creature of immense power, impervious to most weapons, and with freedom of the skies." He cocked his head. "Or you can stay immured in the muck of the gutters."

The elf quickly nodded his head. “What I gotta do?”

“See the glowing circle over there? Stand in it.”

He nodded and all but scrambled to stand in it.

"Stay there and imagine yourself transforming, as I just did. I will be extending a tendril of power toward you. Do not fight it, but allow the change to come over you."

He nodded eagerly and squeezed his eyes shut, concentrating.

Other in turn took a moment to concentrate, reaching for his bond with the drake spirit residing in his mind. Sandstorm was ready and willing. Othmar knew what he was attempting was possible; he had seen the evidence in Stoneheardt’s mind. If he and his spirit could master the trick, so could Othmar and Sandstorm.

Together they reached out for the assistant’s mind. Othmar was no stranger to invading another’s mind, and the elf was leaving the doors wide open.

There was a rather loud thump as the new drake sprawled face first into the ground.

“I warned you you would have to work,” Othmar said dryly. He gave himself a shake, feeling the drain of the connection. Sandstorm had warned him that it would be so, although the drain felt minimal once the connection had been established.

“How do you feel?” Othmar asked.

“Strange...Keep feelin’ like I'm gonna step on the wings.”

That corresponded to the memories he’d stolen from Stoneheardt. “No innate sense of positioning. Hmm.” He checked with Sandstorm; with mental chuckle, the drake withdrew the power from elf.

Another thud of surprise as he fell over abruptly.

Othmar shifted back into human form, shaking his head apologetically. “It seems it will take a while for you to grow accustomed to holding that shape for long periods of time," he lied smoothly.

The elf picked himself off the ground and grumbled, “I’ll work on it, work real hard.”

"That is all we'll try today. A good night's rest and a decent meal should improve tomorrow's results. There have been arrangements for sleeping quarters made here."

He left to find Toralis. The assistant… he really ought to learn his name… followed once more.

Overall, it was a good day. And a good start.

Arlston Cross, or "Galen Trunch" as he was going as currently, watched from the tree he was sitting under on a crate, fixing a small pulley as the three Terran footmen, garbed only in sailor's breeches and headbands toiled with long lengths of rope behind him.

His green eyes watched like a hawk as they tracked the elves and Othmar across the way, coming across from the portal that had winked into existence. A glimpse of Othmar's office before the trio made there way across the sandy ground toward the main building. Almost a fortress that Arlston and the footmen had been assisting in constructing. When he wasn't on the ship, he was here, when he wasn't here, on the ship. It had been many years since he'd gone undercover somewhere. Now, standing up and looping the rope and pulley over his shoulder, he trundled after the trio, looking for all the world like any other of the plethora of workers.

Upon following the group to the large building, he found a crate to leave the bulky equipment on, and the footmen remained there to set about checking the crates and looking casual. These men were not covert, they were the farthest from it. Easier to play the role of workmen they were, than sneaks and scouts.

Arlston stole inside after the elves, adjusting the cutlass and dirk he carried instead of his usual blades, his bootless feet sliding silently. He wished he could hear what the gathering was saying, but only garbled whispers reached his ears. Two elves, one younger, Othmar. Identify and isolate? Identify only.

Memorizing the features of the elves, to later include in his report he darted along the wall as the group walked on. Othmar looking around at the manacles, the equipment and other supplies. Arlston tucked himself, under one of the tables lining the wall, contorted into a very flexible position until he could observe from afar.

What he saw astounded him. Committing each detail to memory as he watched the younger elf become a stone drake. By magical means. Arlston pressed himself deeper into the shadowed hiding place beneath the heavily laden table and observed, going through in his mind what to send to Kordrion.

Yuuko’s hood was tightly drawn with her ears uncomfortably wrapped close to her head. Her cloak hid her plate and the axe that seemed to be ever present at her side. A mist wafted across the glistening cobblestones in the late hours of the night. She huddled in an ally posing as another homeless figure as a guard walked by. Her target sat only a few paces away. She was young and clueless. From her torn garments and dirty appearance she was exactly what was required. She closed her emerald eyes as memories of her past haunted her. A short laugh escaped her as he realized that not too long ago she was in the very spot as this woman, a forgotten and uncared for nuisance to society. Would anyone miss her? Was there someone out there still looking for her? She cursed under her breath for dwelling on such things. A job was a job. In one fluid moment she was up. Her plated boots threw sparks from the street as she rushed forward and brought the hilt of her axe down on the woman’s head. Before the woman could crumple, Yuuko had her up on her shoulder and vanished into the haze filled streets.

Yuuko hastily approached a coach. It was parked in an adjustment alleyway, its side emblazoned with her cleaning agency’s name. Opening the rear she deposited her burden next to a young man. He was also dressed much the same, another nameless one that would never be remembered. His eyes watched her as she checked and rechecked his binds, before turning back to his new companion and binding her in much the same way. She roughly tossed her against the back of the carriage, making room for herself as she closed the rear. She tapped three times on the roof which caused the coach to lurch forward as an unseen driver directed the coach out of the city to a location predetermined by her employer.

The briny smell was obviously less distasteful to the paladin than to the other passengers. She leaned onto the railing, inhaling deeply as the ship cut smoothly through the water. A slow smile spread across her face as the vessel approached the Stormwind Harbor. The city was no longer home, but it was close enough and she was glad to be back in the Eastern Kingdoms. Her hunting trip had gone well as she had eventually found her quarry. Old habits die hard and his had helped her ferret him out.

Once they arrived in port the crew quickly and efficiently tethered the boat to the dock. Several of the travelers stumbled as they made their way off the ship. A few looked rather ill. Azheira may have appeared a bit weary, but her stride was smooth as she made the transition to the stationary platform. The sailors had observed how comfortable she was on a ship and most watched her walk away with appreciation in their gazes.

Azheira noticed none of them. She was anxious to get home to Arathi and it showed in her purposeful pace as she quickly made her way to the Azeroth Heritage Society’s offices. She could only hope that Miss Beckley hadn’t gone home for the day.

**************

Stepping out of the building in the Mage District, Azheira squinted as the late afternoon sun hit her face. She raised one hand to hood her eyes while she looked at her notes. Not much was written on the pad of paper. Elren Beckley had only been willing to part with a small amount of information. Azheira was quite certain the woman knew more than she had shared.

Hoping to garner the woman’s trust, Azheira had been more courteous than normal. She had nodded politely and smiled as if asking questions about a man she didn’t know was the most normal thing in the world. Miss Beckley had been reticent to speak and gave the information unenthusiastically. In fact, she had been almost hostile several times during the appointment.

Nevertheless, Elren had supplied her with two bits of data that could potentially lead to the location of Leo Othmar. The first was regarding a painting he had had the Society restore for him. Azheira shook her head as she contemplated why this man would be so interested in a painting from a little known artist. Perhaps it meant nothing and he simply fancied himself to be a lover of art, but still, it was something to look into.

The second was a more concrete bit of information. There was a firm by the name of Booty Bay Investigations connected to Othmar. Azheira would, of course, tell Kordrion about it, but she was already making plans to head out to the Salty Sailor for Tavern night tomorrow. One never knows what kind of evidence one can glean from the sort of people who frequent a bar.

The research had gone remarkably well. Othmar flipped through the pages of his notebook. Resistant, but not immune, to poisons. Susceptible to arcane attacks. Increased healing.

The largest difficulty it seemed, was that the drake form provided increased durability, size, and strength; at least to someone as unsuitable to tapping its true potential as Stoneheardt. The boy seemed to have a knack for acquiring things which he couldn’t truly appreciate.

He turned to the hand-drawn maps spread across his desk. They were finely detailed, the work of months, most likely. They depicted a complex of hallways and caverns extending below Terra Incognita’s base in Aerie Peak, sealed off dwarven passages from generations past. They’d been stolen from the boy’s own notes while he had been distracted gallivanting up and down the Eastern Kingdoms tracking down the doppelganger they’d created.

It had taken several attempts to create Turing, Kordrion’s double. Fortunately they had a few extra “assistants” for Toralis to practice the polymorphing spells on first; even with Sandstorm’s aid, it was a difficult process. He reflected it was just as well that he wiped Turing’s original memory, for it had also been a painful process. The result, however, was a close replica of Kordrion Stoneheardt, imprinted with Stoneheardt’s memories to simulate his mannerisms, and the ability to turn into a drake via Othmar.

Having lured Stoneheardt away from the Hinterlands, Turing had casually infiltrated the stronghold and stolen the map and a spare Hearthstone before anyone had the chance to examine him too closely. The rank-and-file would not question their commander’s appearance, but any of Terra Incognita’s officers were too much of a risk.

The map had precisely the information he’d been seeking. He’d seen hints of it in Stoneheardt’s mind: a key stone underneath their complex that served as a power source for the Terran’s wards. An ancient dwarven artifact, in the hands of some mercenary group? It was offensive.

Rather like the power of a spirit drake being wasted on a reckless youth with no idea of how to use it.

It would not be easy to remove the stone. Othmar was patient. Fortunately, he had a new trump card.

Arlston Cross.

It was about time to visit Kordrion’s spy again. The man’s mind was formidable, a veritable fortress of a walls and twisted alleys. So far, he’d made little progress in slowly unraveling “Galen Trunch’s” secrets.

The drake in Othmar’s mind rumbled discontentedly; Othmar chuckled. Sandstorm had little patience for the subtleties.

“Very well,” Othmar promised indulgently, though not without regret for the missed opportunity to spar with Cross’s defenses. “It will not be long before some sort of rescue effort is mounted, and we would hardly want them to fail, would we?”

A sensation of pleased expectation. There was little that Sandstorm loved more than seeing his enemies completely and totally crushed.

The walls of Arlston Cross’s mind would be reduced to rubble.

With pursed lips, Azheira stared down at the tall figure of Arlston Cross lying on the bed in her guest room. The man had not stirred once since being brought to her house in town the previous night. A frustrated sigh escaped her lips. She had been able to heal his wounds, but the damage to his mind was something else. The Light had been unable to penetrate the shadow magic surrounding his cognizance.

She wondered how Kordrion was faring. At least he seemed to be in decent physical condition – for now. Who knew what had Othmar had done to him while he was unconscious. The rescue of the two men had gone off without a hitch. In fact, Kordrion had already been in the process of escaping when they arrived. It was a simple matter, really and much, much too easy. Adrazel had found the location without difficulty. She along with Noikona, Ketlan and Azheira were able to get there and get the two men out and back to Stormwind. No one had stopped them. No one had questioned them. Obviously, a rescue was what Othmar had wanted. The question now was – why?

Distractedly, Azheira reached up to thumb the gem in her necklace. As she did so, she felt the bracelet on her right wrist shift slightly. Pausing, she looked at it for a minute. The new bracelet Kordrion was wearing when they rescued him was definitely part of Othmar’s plan. Getting that thing off of the rogue’s wrist would be of vital importance if they were to thwart Othmar. At the very least, they needed to find out how to counteract it.

Looking back at the still figure on the bed, Azheira shook her head. Perhaps a new spy should be sent in to Othmar. In order to penetrate the shadows in Arlston’s mind, she would need more information about what she was dealing with.

“Hey! Mister!”

A young boy ran up to Kordrion’s side as he walked the streets of Stormwind, and he glanced down curiously. “Evening, help you with something?”

He cheerfully held up a folded note. “This is for you.” His eyes lit up as Kordrion took it and offered him a tip. “Hey, thanks.”

Kordrion nodded in reply and unfolded the note; it was written in handwriting he’d seen before. Meet at the pier by Stormwind Lake. Lose any Terrans who might be following you.

He blinked a few times, then glanced down at the kid. “Sure this was meant for me?”

“Yeah, I’m sure.” The boy seemed vaguely offended. “Guy pointed you out and everything.”

“I see.”

“Yeah, sure. Thanks ‘gain, mister.” The kid pocketed his coin and ran off, leaving Kordrion to ponder the note. He folded it in his pocket with some confusion, but after a moment’s indecision, headed toward the pier.

It was rather empty at that time of day. At the far end, a lone fisherman casted his line. The only other figure stood about halfway down the pier, dressed in a priest’s robe. Leo Othmar.

Kordrion approached cautiously. “Why did you send me that note?”

Othmar turned his head to look at him. “To speak with you, of course.”

“Why?”

“I was concerned when you did not check in. I have since heard that you were ill. Better now, I see."

Kordrion stiffened at the words. “Why would I check in?”

Othmar turned toward him, as if surprised. “That question is quite bothersome,” he said after a moment’s reflection.

“I am not your puppet.”

He sighed. “I see we overcompensated this time. Or perhaps the illness interfered. But you really believe yourself to be... you?"

Kordrion tensed even more. “Of course I am.”

“Do think about it and try to remember,” Othmar said gently. “How did you escape so easily?”

He motioned to Kordrion’s arm, where the enchanted bracer preventing him from calling upon Grumpy still resided. “And quite convenient that you are unable to contact the drake, yes?”

An annoyed look crossed Kordrion’s face. “I did the other night!”

“Did you?” The question was offered simply and quietly.

Kordrion continued to regard him in annoyance and slight dubiousness. “Yes. I know about the key and we will get it.”

Othmar frowned in irritation. “This is really a bother. I suppose I shall have to wait. I will not take up any more of your time.”

“Wait for what?”

“You’ll know when the time comes. There is no point in explaining to you at this moment.” He ignored Kordrion’s confusion. “Good day, ‘Mr. Stoneheardt.’ “

He strode past Kordrion and back to the mains streets of the city. Kordrion made a frustrated sound to himself, watching him leave, unable to hide the hint of uncertainty in his expression.

He stared after the disappeared form of Othmar a long time before leaving in search of Noikona.

Noikona watched Kordrion walk away. She could almost feel his confusion. Their conversation had resulted in far more questions than answers. She was fairly certain she’d spoken to the real Kordrion. He did after all carry an enchanted blade that was attuned to him and others of the order. She knew there were ways around the enchantment but was the effort in doing so warranted?

She had to give Othmar credit. He had once more instilled the seed of doubt within her. She knew the techniques he was using. The psychological effect on the mind was small, but just enough to cause one to hesitate and question the actions of one you thought you knew and trusted. Othmar was playing the game well. Right now he had the cards stacked against them.

She left the garrison angry. Kordrion’s bracelet needed to be removed and soon. Answers and the elimination of doubt was a necessity. If Kordrion was unable to reach out to the spirit of wisdom within him, was he prepared to meet her steel? She had warned him that she would not hesitate. For his sake she hoped all was in check and the dragon would answer.

Kordrion’s bracer had been removed. She was glad for this, but as with all things the knowledge came with a price. She felt like a pawn on a chessboard and an expendable one at that. She was glad to have the information to thwart the possibility of Kordrion having to endure the bracers effects again. Now she must hold up her side of the bargain and return what seemed to be a simple plant to the one called Othmar. She had stalled far too long; it was time to send word to the despicable man that his property was in her possession.

Bending her finger was almost an impossibility. The dull ache of a few days ago had been replaced with occasional waves of intense pain. She knew the infection was getting worse but she was out of options. She cleaned and redressed the wound several times a day, meticulously insuring that it stayed sanitary, but nothing seemed to help. It stubbornly refused to respond to anything she tried. She could feel her body temperature had increased but refused to think about it. A fever was not something she had time for; with luck it would taper off and break before midday.

Almost crying out she forced her hand into her gauntlet and finished donning the rest of her armor. She would check with the over talkative weather gnome and see if she had any more news on this horrible plant. Her eyes flashed to the corner of the room where it sat in a clay pot. She had watered it and the sun’s rays touched down on its peculiar leaves from the barred window high above her bed. She would be glad to be rid of it and soon.

Noikona left her cell signing out with the guards and headed for the streets.