As the vision begins our shaman, Talia, finds herself high above a busy Taldan road…
She’s perched on a rooftop, supple leather boots balanced on a steeply slanting roof, black gloved hand grasping a decorative spire. There, hidden amongst the shadows and eaves, she watches.
The cobblestone road is busy. Horses pull extravagant carriages, pompous nobles dressed in ridiculous finery walk the promenade, and liveried servants bustle around with urgency. Along the road are heavily guarded manors, each with manicured lawns, and ridiculous bushes shaped like animals.
“Easy pickings,” a voice grumbles.
Talia’s vision shifts, pulling back a bit. She’s not perched on a roof. A man is. Dressed in the dark clothes and nearly invisible against the shadowed shingles. He’s watching something…
He sighs. “Boring. As expected.”
After a while Talia manages to discern he’s focused on a large window in one of the manors. There’s a nobleman inside, writing papers at a desk.
Time passes.
The shadowy spy perks up, suddenly interested in his target. In the room a young woman is talking to the nobleman. She’s a pretty thing in a fashionable dress. Early twenties. Her long blonde hair is done up in a simple bun, and she looks upset. She waves her hands at the nobleman at the desk, shouting something. The only words Talia can discern by reading her lips is ‘corrupt,’ ‘poor,’ and ‘please.’
As the man responds the woman looks shocked. She shouts some more, tears one of her fine necklaces off and tosses it at the nobleman’s face. With a look of withering hatred she mutters something and storms out of the room.
That look of hate… It’s Kilarra. Smooth skinned and unscarred. Younger. Before she was beaten down by the world.
“Well now,” the shadowed man chuckles. “This just got interesting.” With a satisfied smile he watches the form of Kilarra progress through the rooms of the manor. “Time to play.”
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