The midlander stared at the secluded little cottage with a look of utter disgust upon his face.
Truth be told, it was not the estate itself - if it could even be called that - which had earned his contempt, but the myriad geometries which sought to keep out all and sundry who were not welcome. The geometries were of mortal design, however, and were therefore flawed by mortal thinking. Yes, they were exquisite. Yes, they were worth a fortune. Yes, they constituted a masterpiece of arcanima.
...but no one had thought to add a layer of protection against the wildlife.
That was why the captain valued him, after all. He was used to thinking like an insect. “Bug,†the captain would affectionately call him every so often. Bug, indeed.
There, standing on what might have generously been called a dirt path leading up to the cottage, the diminutive Hyuran figure looked left and right, pivoted in place to ascertain whether he was being watched… and then, once satisfied, he fell apart. The enchantment which held him to this… life… was robust and yet somehow tenuous at the same, and so it was that with a mere thought he scattered his corporeal form to ash and sent the motes scurrying to the bole of a nearby oak, down along its roots into the earth, and through a winding series of cracks, fissures, and tunnels left behind by all manner of ants and worms and… bugs. Down he went, further and further, and only once he was a good twenty fulms or so deep did he begin to slowly and arduously creep his way beneath the geometries and towards the estate.
He had worked so long and hard for this assignment, for a chance at promotion beyond Fifth. He’d studied extensively under Khuja’ya, suffering the vermin’s filthy habits in silence so as to learn what he could of shifting from the natural. He’d been outspoken and forward in Pierre’s absence, ever since the Elezen had been assigned to Summerfield’s shadow. And now… now, with Gnasher on his way out, he had his chance.
The captain, their master… he’d been prepared to send Ortolf on this assignment, and Naveen had advised against it. First, there was the matter of relaying this route to Forgehands. Difficult enough to find such a small path to circumvent the wards, more difficult still to convey its whereabouts with any confidence. He, Naveen himself, has already found the way in when he’d delivered the missive the sun before… and so it should be Naveen himself to follow up. Second… the individual in question had been predisposed by recent events to distrust and despise Ala Mhigans. Sending Ortolf Forgehands would constitute too much aggression, too soon.
Rotunda had conceded both points.
Rather than emerge on the front steps, as he had the last time, Naveen pushed his way through the foundation stones… between was more honest, erosion had long since seen to the seams… and then up through the cracks between the floorboards. As the Crow coalesced within the house, he could not help but wonder at the veritable beacon of aether further in.
He glows… no, he burns like a star. Little wonder that the captain keeps him close.
He stood there, draped in a black cloak beneath which he wore black leathers and black cloth to complement his wild black hair. No one would ever dare accuse Naveen of not playing the part to his utmost ability. All that marred this ensemble were a pair of piercing blue eyes - one lighter than the other, so light it was almost white - set in a long, gaunt face.
Aloud, he said, “Caw, caw. I’d have knocked but… bugger me for a fool, someone’s thrown up a sign outside what says, ‘No Solicitors,’ and I wasn’t sure whether I count.â€
Truth be told, it was not the estate itself - if it could even be called that - which had earned his contempt, but the myriad geometries which sought to keep out all and sundry who were not welcome. The geometries were of mortal design, however, and were therefore flawed by mortal thinking. Yes, they were exquisite. Yes, they were worth a fortune. Yes, they constituted a masterpiece of arcanima.
...but no one had thought to add a layer of protection against the wildlife.
That was why the captain valued him, after all. He was used to thinking like an insect. “Bug,†the captain would affectionately call him every so often. Bug, indeed.
There, standing on what might have generously been called a dirt path leading up to the cottage, the diminutive Hyuran figure looked left and right, pivoted in place to ascertain whether he was being watched… and then, once satisfied, he fell apart. The enchantment which held him to this… life… was robust and yet somehow tenuous at the same, and so it was that with a mere thought he scattered his corporeal form to ash and sent the motes scurrying to the bole of a nearby oak, down along its roots into the earth, and through a winding series of cracks, fissures, and tunnels left behind by all manner of ants and worms and… bugs. Down he went, further and further, and only once he was a good twenty fulms or so deep did he begin to slowly and arduously creep his way beneath the geometries and towards the estate.
He had worked so long and hard for this assignment, for a chance at promotion beyond Fifth. He’d studied extensively under Khuja’ya, suffering the vermin’s filthy habits in silence so as to learn what he could of shifting from the natural. He’d been outspoken and forward in Pierre’s absence, ever since the Elezen had been assigned to Summerfield’s shadow. And now… now, with Gnasher on his way out, he had his chance.
The captain, their master… he’d been prepared to send Ortolf on this assignment, and Naveen had advised against it. First, there was the matter of relaying this route to Forgehands. Difficult enough to find such a small path to circumvent the wards, more difficult still to convey its whereabouts with any confidence. He, Naveen himself, has already found the way in when he’d delivered the missive the sun before… and so it should be Naveen himself to follow up. Second… the individual in question had been predisposed by recent events to distrust and despise Ala Mhigans. Sending Ortolf Forgehands would constitute too much aggression, too soon.
Rotunda had conceded both points.
Rather than emerge on the front steps, as he had the last time, Naveen pushed his way through the foundation stones… between was more honest, erosion had long since seen to the seams… and then up through the cracks between the floorboards. As the Crow coalesced within the house, he could not help but wonder at the veritable beacon of aether further in.
He glows… no, he burns like a star. Little wonder that the captain keeps him close.
He stood there, draped in a black cloak beneath which he wore black leathers and black cloth to complement his wild black hair. No one would ever dare accuse Naveen of not playing the part to his utmost ability. All that marred this ensemble were a pair of piercing blue eyes - one lighter than the other, so light it was almost white - set in a long, gaunt face.
Aloud, he said, “Caw, caw. I’d have knocked but… bugger me for a fool, someone’s thrown up a sign outside what says, ‘No Solicitors,’ and I wasn’t sure whether I count.â€
![[Image: 1qVSsTp.png]](http://i.imgur.com/1qVSsTp.png)
