Irrakam Infiltration - Vaahnzerekh's Tale

[Herald of the Storm]

This being a missive to record the knowledge obtained by Vaahnzerekh, infiltrator of the fifteenth house to Khotemi, Bearer of Lightning, Ascendent Scion of the Fifteenth Circle of Tyr'Erekoh, and Inheritor of our mutual lord the Storm Herald, Supreme Master of the lands of Tyr, Lord of the Firmament and the Fundament, and rightful ruler of all lands the shy touches, long may his reign be.

I am drafting this in accordance with the established protocols of awakening that I was tasked with before being sent on our lord's glorious mission. From what I have learned in my time on the surface, there is no chance that the Kron'tyr cypher that this missive has been written in shall be decyphered, as our people's glorious society seems to have been completely forgotten by these surface dwelling ignorants. Still, to maintain the secrecy of our mission I am ensuring that the human messenger tasked with delivery of this missive be sent to the guardian of the primary collection point, where I trust he will be promptly taken care of.

At the time of this writing, Vyrabron and I have sucessfully entered the human settlement of Irrakam in the lands of Tyr'erekoh, known to the surface dwellers as Fallien. While Irrakam appears to be one of the surface dwellers' more heavily guarded encampments, we accomplished the infiltration easily by overtaking a caravan of human merchants in the hot sands and assuming their shapes with the knowledge granted to by our great lord, long may his reign be. The form I had assumed upon entry to Irrakam was that of Faruq, a caravan master of the Shalara Glassworks within the city. Due to the ongoing damage done to the voice of his most blessed form during our long sleep, Vyrabron was forced to assume the shape of Karheem, a senior warrior serving the caravan. The subservient role was not exactly what we wished for, but one for which his silence can be attributed.

Upon entry into the city of Irrakam, Vyrabron and I took seperate paths in order to ensure that our intelligence gathering might be more widely spread. Since the writing of this we shall have rejoined forces and will have moved on in our efforts to further progress the work of our lord, long may his reign be. That being, here is a detailed log of the events that have occured to Vaahnzerekh, infiltrator of the fifteenth house.

[Herald of the Storm]

"Greetings Master Faruq," a smiling man slid out of Vaahnzerekh's way and bowed low. "It is a surprise to see you out and about.

Faruq, the man whom Vaahnzerekh was currently skinriding, was a well known and respected man around Irrakam. Though only the caravan master of the minor Shalara Glassworks trading house, his experience and mentorship extended through multiple mercenary houses and trading shops in the city. Vaahnzerekh paused to process the smiling man beside him for a moment and then then stepped out of the flow of traffic, unsure of his role in the encounter but unwilling to give offense to someone who had possibly been on good terms with the late Faruq. "And a pleasant greetings to you as well my friend."

The smiling man straightened and gave the merchant an odd look, as if not quite expecting the reply in those words. "Word has reached the ears of Dhala Salam of the most unfortunate incident to have occured to you on the path from Outlander's Post. Our sincerest sympathies go out to Shalara Glassworks. I trust that the setback has not taken too many coins from your coffers?"

Vaahnzerek sorted through the information that he had picked up from Shalara Glasswork's logs since returning in the form of their caravan master. "Dhala Salam," he replied, picking out the name as belonging to a large spice merchant who had worked for some time to acquire Shalara Galssworks. "Your house need not worry, friend. While our caravan did run into some troubles, the wares themselves reached Irrakam safetly. Even without the death benefits paid to the kin of our casualties, our most beloved house has made a tidy profit from the excursion."

"But I hear rumors that your chief guard Karheem has left the house as a result? Is that not a blow to the esteemed glassworks?"

Faruq smiled. "Each man takes their own path, friend. Karheem seeks to cleanse his troubles at the Temple of Suravani as any worthy servant would be lucky enough to do. From there I understand he intends to travel far from Irrakam as he always wished. Thus he would have been lost to Shalara Glassworks regardless."

"Truly? Then it is a blessing that he is allowed to leave on his own terms. And how does the encounter weigh upon your mind, most worthy caravan master?"

Vaahnzerekh took time time to reply, twisting his face in the human method to convey thoughfullness. He had learned much from the logs, charts, and manifests that Shalara Glassworks maintained, but the limit of what knowledge his role as Faruq could bring him. He wasn't quite finished with the caravan master's flesh yet, but the man's continued reputation wouldn't be much of a concern within a few days.

A calculated look of reluctance replaced the thoughtfulness on Faruq's face as he turned to his companion. "My friend, if I can speak to you in all frankness, the experience has left me somewhat disillusioned with Shalara Glassworks."

This caused the Dhala Salam merchant to visibly jump, as unexpected as the statement was. Vaahnzerekh watched the carefully culled reaction with unmoving eyes, taking in the way he moved. As an infiltrator, he knew that one could often learn more from their enemies than from their friends.

"T-this is most unexpected news," the other merchant responded, flabbergasted. "Perhaps you would wish to come back to Dhala Salam's parlor to have a cup of coffee and discuss your thoughts with a friend such as I?"

"Indeed," Faruq's lips turned up in an innocent smile, "that sounds like just what I need."

[Herald of the Storm]

Dhati, the merchants name Vaahnzerekh had learned, had not put up much of a fight when Vaahnzerekh had sloughed Faruq's flesh to take his. It had been a simple matter to have several cups of coffee with the merchant, leading Dhati to think that Faruq had had some thoughts of defecting from Shalara Glassworks. When Dhati had excused himself to use the restroom, Vaahnzerekh simply left Faruq's meat on the recliner and sprang upon the startled Dhati when he returned and froze in shock at the sight.

Luckily for the Kron'tyr infiltrator, Dhati had been wealthy enough to own his a room to himself within the Dhala Salam compound where Vaahnzerekh could keep the flesh of Faruq on ice brought to him by the Dhala Salam servants. It did not keep the body completely from decay but halted the rotting enough that Faruq's body would still be able to make a passable likeness at life with the right amount of concealing clothing.

That was where most of Vaahnzerekh's luck ran out though. Dhati had been a wealthy merchant within Dhala Salam, but he had not been particularly ranked or trustworthy. Vaahnzerekh had access to some of the spice house's knowledge as the junior merchant, but not nearly to the extent that Faruq had given him within Shalara Glassworks. Still, Dhala Salam was a larger house than Shalara Glassworks, and even the little information that Dhati was privvy to was more information that would be made available to Vaahnzerekh's overseer Khotemi and eventually their lord the Storm Herald.

Vaahnzerekh set aside the one hundred and eighth scroll detailing caravan wares and shipping routes that Dhala Salam had used six years ago. While the information might seem boring or trivial to another, Vaahnzerekh had tirelessly poured over the information for the last two days and had become intimately familiar with the various trade routes and schedules used between all but the most insignificant desert communities of Fallien. It was information that he was certain Khotemi would find interesting and unique, his directive to seek out useful information for the benefit of the Kron'tyr giving Vaahnzerekh the closest thing to competitiveness that the emotionless construct could know.

A harsh knock at the door drew Vaahnzerekh's attention from the one hundred and ninth scroll. "Open up Dhati," a voice commanded from behind the thick wooden portal. Wordlessly, Vaahnzerekh slid out of his seat and across the apartment. He recognized the voice as belonging to Jerrem, Dhala Salam's master of the house.

"A pleasant evening Jerrem," Vaahnzerekh said as he opened the door.

"Pleasant for you perhaps, Dhati." Jerrem scowled. Vaahnzerekh could see from the man's crossed arms and aggresive stance that this was not a visit to exchange pleasantries and shifted the look on his face accordingly.

"Is there a problem then, Jerrem."

"I have recieved reports from sources that you have tripled your request for ice to your chambers Dhati. This is more than twice that of any other merchant's apartment save the caravan master himself. Ice is not a priceless commodity in Irrakam as it is in some other places of Althanas, Dhati, and I demand to know what you are doing requesting so much."

Dhati's face scowled at Jerrem, "I have come down with a fever and the ice has helped be to break it quickly."

"Nonsense," Jerrem waved Vaahnzerekh's explanation off, and then upon seeing the rotting food and paper littered floor in the room beyond, pushed his way in with an annoyed roar.

"What have you done to my apartment, Dhati." Jerrem cursed. "Never before have I seen such slovenliness from a memeber of Dhala Sala..." Jerrem's words caught in his throat as his eyes fell upon the flayed body of Faruq.

"Suravani preserve us," he whispered, backing away slowly until a sharp talon slid out of his chest.

"How unfortunate," Vaahnzerekh muttered, sliding the talons of his left hand out of Jerrem's heart from behind. "I wasn't quite finished with Dhati's reports, but Iguess this will have to do."

A suprisingly silent squelch echoed softly as Vaahnzerekh sloughed off Dhati's body and the re-entered Faruq's. Sure enough, the ice had done its job and kept the decay of Faruq's body to a minimum. What little traces showed were easily hidden by the rich garb that Vaahnzerekh slid the body into or were repaired by the Kron'tyr power from the infiltrator's power orb.

If any of the guards thought it odd that Faruq, caravan master of the Shalara Glassworks, should be leaving the Dhala Salam compound so late in the evening, they kept it to themselves. The bodies of Dhati and Jerrem weren't discovere until late the next morning when the servants arrived with the next shipment of ice for the apartment.

[Herald of the Storm]

Vaahnzerekh walked through one of the many bazaars of Irrakam in Faruq's body. Not caring where exactly he ended up, Vaahnzerekh had left himself wander aimlessly through the city streets, taking in everything that he saw and filing it away for his report to Khotemi. The world had changed drastically during the Kron'tyr's long sleep, that much was certain. A glass merchant held up a finely blown vase, colored with a reddish brown streak that swirled around the piece.

They make their living by burning the earth, Vaahnzerekh thought, turning Faruq's eyes to the bright sun above. No Kron'tyr had yet figured out exactly how long they had been asleep in their buried tombs, though Vaahnzerekh assumed that his people's oracles were working on an answer though calculating the movement of the stars. He knew it must have been a long, long though if the creatures that walked the surface had forgotten the marvels of the Kron'tyr and believed in their baseness that burned earth was truly worthy of the title of art.

"You are Master Faruq of the Shalara Glassworks, are you not?" One of the glass hawkers caught at the edge of Vaahnzerekh's hem. The infiltrator quickly snatched the garment from the man's grip, recovering his flesh before the man could see the sickly color of the body.

"And who is it who is so disrespectful to grab at me?" Vaahnzerekh put a look of annoyance on his face.

"A thousand pardons, most worthy one," the merchant humbled himself before Faruq. "But I am myself a merchant of glass, one who has been complimented often on my abilities. I was hoping to catch my lord's attention in that he may have a chance to compare my works to that of his house."

"What would be the purpose of such an act?"

An enthusiastic smile lit the merchant's face, knowing that he had the caravan master's attention. Others from the crowd, caught by the commotion, had also crowded around. "That I may be invited into my lord's house if he judges the worth of my wares to be equal with that of his own."

Vaahnzerekh eyed the worked glass lining the merchant's shop. The quality of the pieces seemed equal to that of Shalara Glassworks, but the aestetic was completely lost on the construct. "Very well," he waived a hand, "what do I care if you use my voice to further your cause." These words elicited a chorus of murmurs from the assembled crowd, though the merchant himself was left in a stunned state.

"T-thank you most gracious lord. Take this," he pressed a finely crafted vase in the shape of a bird taking flight into Vaahnzerekh's hand. "It is a gift of gratitude for you and a primise that my skill will not let Shalara Glassworks down."

Faruq's face looked at the vase impassively before turning and walking through the crowd without another word. Five days had already passed since his parting with Vyrabron and Vaanzerekh still had so much more to learn in the three days he had left before rejoining his companion. Encounters such as these were a waste of his precious time and there fore a waste of the Storm Herald's time. This was unacceptable. Vaahznerekh's thoughts turned to the guard captain friend of Faruq's who had met he and Vyrabron upon their entry to Irrakam.

Perhaps it is time to pay Faruq's dear friend a visit, Vaahnzerekh thought, letting the glass vase slip from his fingers amongst the crowd.

Unheeded, the glass bird shattered and was trampled into the hot Fallien dust beneath the feet of an uncaring crowd.

[Herald of the Storm]

"Faruq, my dear friend, come in, come in," Shallier, captain of the western gate guard ushered Vaahnzerekh into the warm interior of his apartment. "I will admit that I am somewhat surprised about your arrival."

Vaahnzerekh turned and let Faruq's eyes scan the darkening horizon as he entered Shallier's domicile. The trek from the markets to the western gate had taken some time for the infiltrator, enough that the hot desert breeze had been replaced by the icy night wind. He supposed that it was expected that he should seem gracious to get in out of the cold, and made Faruq's flesh respond accordingly.

"I beg a thousand pardons if I am interrupting your evening Shallier," Vaahnzeerekh faced his host and offered the sincerest smile of friendship and warmth that the infiltrator's mimicry could manage. "There have been many things weighing on my mind as of late and I had recalled your offer to share a drink when last we met."

"Of course, Faruq," Shallier took the caravan master's overcoat and hung it by the mantle. "As you can see," he gestured to the empty room around him, "there is nothing occupying my time and the moment and I always relish the opportunity to speak with an old friend."

"And frankly, my friend," Shallier confided, his face looking troubled, "you don't look so well."

Vaahnzerekh looked down at Faruq's body which, without the heavy overcoat, was definately showing signs of wear from its days spent in Dhati's ice bath. "I have not been feeling quite well since my return to Irrakam, my friend. Just one of the things that has been weighing upon me, I suppose." Shallier nodded and gestured for his friend to take a seat on a plush recliner. "Your concern is the sign of a true friend."

Shallier modestly waved off the compliment, opening a bottle of dusky Fallien Rosea Porto and pouring a glass for himself and his friend. "I hear that Karheem has left the glassworks. Quite the loss for your caravans."

Vaahnzerekh took the offered wine and sipped at it quietly. "There are many roads that lead to each man's destination. Who can say what path the future holds for us?"

Shallier sighed. "True words my friend. Still, there have been many dark omens lately and more men of Karheem's caliber would be welcome."

"Dark omens?" Vaahnzerek quirked Faruq's eyebrow up questioningly.

"Just this morning the bodies of Dhati of the Dhala Salam spice comany and Jerrem, the companies master of the household were found murdered in Dhati's private suite."

"I heard something of the matter," Vaahnzerekh easily maintained a neutral face, "though I can't say it is exactly a dark omen for Shalara Glassworks."

"Perhaps that wasn't the best example given present company." Shallier chortled, pouring himself another glass. "But surely a man of your position knows of the disappearances that have been occuring throughout Fallien."

"Of course I have. I doubt there is a merchant in all of Fallien that isn't. But the fact that there has been an increase in caravan disappearances is all that I know of the situation. Is the guard aware of any further information on the subject?" Vaahnzerekh sipped lightly at his wine, his stolen eyes locked on Shallier with keen interest.

"Sadly not much more, my friend," Shallier sighed. "We are under the belief that there is a large and organized bandit group at work out in the sands, but the few survivors that we have found have been strangely silent on the subject."

I'll wager they have, Vaahnzerekh thought.

"There is nothing to fear though, for the Jya have come up with several plans for routing the interlopers, and the word has been spread to the Kya of the roaming tribes. The full might of the peoples of Fallien shall be turned on these bandits and they shall be shown the same mercy that they have shown our caravans."

"What specifically are you planning on," Vaahnzerek fairly pulsed with interest. This was information that could earn him great praise from Khotemi, and in doing so earn him the ear of the Storm Herald.

"Sadly, my friend, I cannot say as you are not of the guard," Shallier offered a sad denial.

"I may not be of the guard, Shallier, but I am one who's business is out in the sands and such matters do have a direct impact on my livelihood."

Shallier rose from his recliner and paced around his apartment, his face a troubled mask. Finally he made his way over to a clay incense burner, staring at the burning stick intensely. Behind him, Vaahnzerekh silently slid from his recliner, allowing Faruq's flesh to slip from his skeletal frame.

"I take a great risk in telling you this, my friend, but I feel that I own it to you after everything that you've done for me. Over the course of the next month we will be sending several decoy caravans out along the regular routes staffed not with the regular compliment of merchants but with the elite temple guard."

"You have been most helpful Shallier," Vaahnzerekh's unaltered voice rasped behind the guard captain. The man started but before he could turn the Kron'tyr infiltrator had slid a long talon into the back of his head, transfixing him. "I trust that you shall continue to be so."

[Herald of the Storm]

This day was the same as any other in Irrakam. Merchants woke early to get their wares to their shops at the bazaar, catering to the early risers. Colorful robes and protective scarves mixed together into a sea of eye straining swirls. Not the least surprising to the guard watchmen of the western wall, Guard Captain Shallier arrived with the rise of the sun, eager to begin his day. Shallier was a well respected officer in the guard corps, and it was not uncommon for him to work long hours under the burning sun.

“Suravani’s blessings upon you Captain,” the guard on watch stood and bowed his respect to his superior.

“Guardsman,” Shallier’s emotionless tone replied sternly, “I wish to test the recruits today. Bring them to me with all haste.”

“My lord?” the guard looked at Shallier in surprise.

“I gave no orders to question me,” Shallier snapped, “and I will not repeat myself.”

“Of course, my lord, at once,” the guardsman sprang away.

Vaahnzerekh watched the guard scuttle away through Shallier’s eyes. It was an unfortunate necessity of taking the guard captain’s body that he needed to waste valuable intelligence gathering time performing the Shallier’s duties. He only had two more days to gather information on his own before returning to Vyrabron, and he needed to make the most of it. Fortunately, he had come up with a plan.

Vaahnzerekh patrolled the walls with one recruit after another, questioning them on guard capabilities, patrol routes, weaknesses in Irrakam’s defenses, and various other bits of sensitive information under the guise of training. This manner of training went on until the air faintly shimmered from the heat of the mid-day sun, at which time one of the trained guards approached the captain.

“Pardon my interruption offense for the intrusion, my lord, but some news has arrived for you.

Shallier checked his stride, waving for his recruits to fall in behind him. “Speak your news.”

“I regret to inform you, great Captain, that news has reached us that the merchant Faruq has been found dead.”

Vaahnzerekh paused for a moment, putting a look on thought onto Shallier’s face. Deposing of Faruq’s body had been easy using the skin of the guard captain. The infiltrator knew that tongues had been wagging about Faruq’s odd behavior since the merchant returned as one of the sole survivors of his last fateful caravan. He had arranged for Faruq’s body to be found in a way which made it appear that the merchant had taken his own life by throwing himself over one of the walls overlooking Irrakam’s cliffs.

The guard looked at his captain with increasing concern as the seconds passed. Finally, Shallier’s face screwed up into a sad grimace. “My sadness overcomes me. Please see to it that the recruits are returned to regular service. I shall leave the rest of the watch to you.”

“Of course my lord,” the guard watched in suspicious curiosity as Shallier made off without another word. The Captain, he decided, was certainly acting very odd. If he had just learned of the death of an old friend he would certainly be showing more emotion, but he supposed that each man dealt with shock and grief in their own way.

“Come on,” he muttered for the recruits to follow him, Shallier’s odd behavior already fading from his thoughts.

[Herald of the Storm]

This incursion had proven incredibly valuable for the Kron’tyr Vaahnzerekh. He knew that he and Vyrabron were just one of the hundreds of pairs of infiltrators that the Storm Herald had awakened from the long sleep and imbued with the knowledge of stealth and mimicry. Each pair’s knowledge reports would be sorted by Khotemi, the Storm Herald’s Inheritor of information. Those who were successful enough in providing quality information for their lord would be elevated by their lord. Emotionless as the constructs were, each had been imbued with a drive to fulfill their mission to the best of their ability.

Shallier’s body was proving as much benefit to the infiltrator as Faruq’s had. Each had provided Vaahnzerekh with vast quantities of information, both of a completely separate nature. Even the sniveling Dhati had proven useful, though to a much lesser degree. Still, as each pair’s information reports would be judged together, Vaahnzerekh could not help but think about how Vyrabron was getting on. With only one day left before the pair were be reunited, there was still so much to do.

Shallier’s jaws chewed aimlessly at the soft black bread that was served for dinner at the guard’s mess hall. Though he had no need to eat to keep himself of the body he wore alive and active, it was far more difficult for Shallier to sit uneventfully at meal times than it had been for Faruq to do so. Eating was a habit that Vaahnzerekh had long since forgotten, but his observations were quickly bringing him back up to speed on how to effectively do so. Still, he could tell that there were more than a few eyes watching him with questioning looks. Though they were only furtive glances cast from the corners of eyes, and though Vaahnzerekh had never caught anyone openly staring at him, he knew that they were watching him nonetheless. The guardsman, he supposed, were far more observant than the merchants and glass blowers had been. They weren’t quite sure of it yet, but they could tell that something was wrong with their beloved Captain. Vaahnzerekh had no doubt that none of them would ever guess the truth of the matter, but it was certainly a good thing that he would be moving on sooner rather than later.

Now all he had to do was figure out what his next move was.

Just then a message runner entered the mess hall. “Captain Shallier?” Vaahnzerekh made Shallier swallow the hunk of wet bread in his mouth.

“Here,” he stood and shouted across the dining facility.

“The gate requests your presence sir, we’ve got an incoming diplomat that requires your seal for entry.”

Shallier nodded. “I’ll be right there.” Gathering up his things, Vaahnzerekh made one last look around the dining hall, feeling the strangeness in the atmosphere.

A diplomat, he thought, might be exactly what I need.

[Herald of the Storm]

Vaahnzerekh had no trouble picking the diplomat out of the three men awaiting his arrival at the gatehouse. Two of the men were typical Fallien bodyguards, swarthy skinned brutes wearing the robes and scarves of the desert. The third man however, was fair skinned, with long shining hair like spun gold and wore light robes that looked as if it did nothing to keep the ever present grains of sand off of his tender skin.

“This is the mystic Doug Mac Faot,” the guard on duty introduced the fair skinned young man to Captain Shallier, “a representative from the City of Light to the mystic enclave in Fallien.” Then, turning to Doug, he reciprocated. “Doug, this is Shallier, Captain of the Western Wall of Irrakam.”

Shallier cocked his head slightly to one side, examining the young diplomat. The introduction seemed straightforward but there was something about it that he didn’t quite understand. It was as if the word mystic had a different meaning than the meaning he knew for it. Shrugging it off, he had Shallier’s face smile and offered his hand to the young man.

“That’s quite alright,” Doug said, shying away from the Captain’s hand with a look of disgust. “No greetings necessary.”

All the Fallien natives except for Shallier looked at each other with amusement. For his part Shallier simply dropped his smile and said, “papers?”

Twin dots of crimson appeared on the youth’s cheeks, though they were hard to distinguish from the flush the sun had painted onto his face, “y-yes of course.” After a few minutes of fumbling the required papers were produced and placed gently in Shallier’s weathered hands. Shallier nodded and motioned for the group to remain where they were while he checked the paperwork. The gate guards instantly fell into an easy conversation with the diplomat’s bodyguards, discussing how the trip through the desert had been for them.

Vaahnzerekh scanned the diplomat’s passport, a brand new piece of paper that had only the stamp of the young man’s departure from Outlander’s Post to mar its smooth surface. As the guard had explained to him, the passport granted the diplomat free movement between Outlander’s Post, Irrakam, and the Mystic Enclave. Apparently, Vaahnzerekh noted, mystics were a race of creature similar in appearance to humans. Idly he wondered what difference, if any, there were between the species. It would be something to note in his report to Khotemi. Perhaps another infiltration team would have found some information that would answer the question. But then again …

A thought struck Vaahnzerekh, something that was simple in its execution but played Vaahnzerekh into an excellent position.

Shallier stamped that the document was in order and then returned to the waiting men. It was apparent that the diplomat thought he was better than the Fallien men, more important, which was something Vaahnzerekh could exploit. “You two,” Shallier gestured at the bodyguards, “are no longer necessary. You may go on your way.”

The two men looked at each other in surprise then shrugged, waved their thanks to the gate guards, and walked away. “But,” the diplomat began, his voice whiny and petulant.

Shallier silenced him with a look. “Someone of your status,” he explained, “should be escorted into our great city by a man of greater position. It is only right.”

“You?” the diplomat asked, warily. Shallier nodded. “Of course you are correct,” the diplomat quickly recovered his aura of self importance, “I welcome your offer, Captain …”

“Shallier.”

“Right. I welcome your offer Captain Shallier. Now, take me to the palace at once.”

Shallier smiled a little too wide and gestured for the diplomat to follow him.

[Herald of the Storm]

“So Doug, you are a mystic,” Shallier said five minutes into their walk through Irrakam. It was the first words either of them had spoken since leaving the gate, and even those went unheeded.

“Huh?” Doug asked, rounding on the guard captain. “Did you say something?”

Vaahnzerekh turned Shallier’s eyes to gaze unblinking at the young diplomat. “You are a mystic,” he prompted.

“Amazing powers of observation,” the mystic said, dryly. He started forward again but stopped when he noticed that Shallier remained where he was.

“Why have you come to Irrakam instead of going straight to your enclave?”

Doug stopped, seeming to notice that the guard captain had led him to a sparsely populated shifted nervously, his eyes darting around. “I’d like to move on now, if you’d please Captain.”

“Why,” Vaahnzerekh repeated in a flat, emotionless tone, “have you come to Irrakam instead of going straight to your enclave?”

“Because I am expected,” the mystic snapped back. Hiding his growing unease with hostility. “All newly arrived diplomats come to Irrakam to meet with the head of our order who resides here. We build our relations with the locals and knowledge of your customs.” Doug spat on the ground. “Though the courtesy I have had since my arrival makes me wonder why such things are necessary at all. We are obviously a more cultured race than you sun burnt sava…”

Doug flinched suddenly as Shallier’s hand shot out for him, only to be halted in mid-air. Vaahnzerekh twisted his head in curiosity as the air around his hand cracked like the shattering glass he had observed when someone had dropped a fine piece in Shalara Glassworks. Impassive eyes watched as the cracks spread until, at last, they came together with a concussive explosion. Shards of glass the size of a field mouse slashed and rent at Shallier’s flesh as the protective dome around the mystic youth blew apart. Uttering a cry of pain at the sudden and unexpected result, Shallier crumbled in upon himself, blood streaming from dozens of deep cuts.

“Fool,” Doug snarled, staring down at the bloody guard captain without sympathy. “I don’t know why you attacked me, but now you see the folly of attacking a mystic. What were you looking for? Riches? I have none. Ransom? My people’s magic would find me and secret me away before you knew it. I had been lead to believe that yours was a people who based their society on the mercy that your goddess teaches. I’m not bound by such things. If you survive I shall see to it that you are put to death for this indignity.”

The look of superiority on Doug’s face fell away as the bloodied Captain ceased his painful cries and rose silently to his feet. A dawning horror spread over the mystic’s face as he saw the bloody ribbons of flesh falling away from a shiny black skeleton underneath, lit by a bright, sickly green glow.

“What the …” Doug’s mutterings were cut short as Shallier’s tattered arm shot forward again, unimpeded this time by any protective shield. Cold black fingers gripped Doug’s throat like a vice, solid and unflinching.

“Your shield only functions once,” the raspy voice that issued forth from Shallier’s tattered face was completely different from the one that had previously come from the Captain’s throat. Doug struggled against this unknown threat, but to no avail. Vaahnzerekh lifted the youth off his feet, letting Shallier’s tattered flesh fall completely away from his true form. The rocky fingers of the construct’s off hand flowed into the form of long, curved talons and with a quick flick, popped a small hole in the artery on Doug’s throat. Thick blue blood ran freely from the wound, eliciting a sudden movement that could almost be called surprise from Vaahnzerekh.

“Blue blood?” the voice was a soft whisper. “Then the children of the Aneera have survived the long years since we went to sleep. I believe that our lord shall be quite interested in this news.” Doug’s struggles became less pronounced as the mystic’s blue lifeblood flowed steadily from the tiny wound. It was a perfect cut, shallow yet lethal, and his power orb would have no troubles repairing the damage once he skinrode the body.

Several minutes later, Doug walked alone in the streets of Irrakam. The dark of night was coming on quickly and he had an appointment to keep.

[Herald of the Storm]

Irrakam bustled during the day, writhing with life as merchants, guards, builders, and laymen went to and fro under the heat of the bright, hot sun. While most of these people packed up shop and returned home once the chill of night crossed the horizon, Irrakam was never truly still. Vaahnzerekh watched the comings and goings of these so-called “night owls” impassively, none so much as glancing at the oddly dressed body that slid silently through Irrakam’s shadows.

Mystics, Vaahnzerekh noted, we really no different from humans when once went down to the most basic level. As far as he could tell from the diplomat’s body, the only physical difference between the two was the color of the blood. Mentally, he has sorely lacking information and knew he had to tread carefully when the time came to present himself the other Children of Aneera. He would watch and observe and would let the others assume that his odd demeanor was just a mark of eccentricity. Doug was, after all, an unknown to the others of his contingent.

Vaahnzerekh stopped in front of Shalara Glassworks, then carefully made his way around the patrolling guards and down the designated side-street where he and Vyrabron had agreed to meet. All-in-all it had been a most profitable week for him on the information gathering front. There had been casualties, sure, but only one of those had been someone he hadn’t been impersonating. He would have killed ten times that number of lesser creatures to fulfill the Storm Herald’s commands. Still, killing too many people would lead to an investigation, which had the potential to reveal the Kron’tyr’s secret. This new body gave Vaahnzerekh the perfect opportunity to continue his infiltration while letting things calm down in Irrakam. He would return, of that he was sure. He would return.

Vaahnzerekh sensed the change more than felt or heard it. There was a shift of power in the air so subtle that it was almost unnoticeable. Idly, Vaahnzerekh reached up and tapped a gentle rhythm on his chest. Turning on the spot, Vaahnzerekh was not surprised to find the point of a black talon less than half an inch from his head. Behind the talon, a pair of green eyes glowed brightly against the dark backdrop of shadowed Irrakam.

“You always were a little stealthier than I, Vyrabron.” Doug’s face could have been fashioned from stone for all the emotion that it showed. Vyrabron’s talon retracted, flowing back into his partner’s hand.

“I trust that your week was profitable.” Vaahnzerekh nodded in time with the rhythm that Vyrabron drummed on his chest. “Excellent,” he said after the other Kron’tyr had finished. “I too have much to report to Khotemi. But first I must tell you what we will do next.”