“I see death has released you, Master T,” the woman greeted, her voice hushed to no more than a sigh. Simeon studied her, an elf, and vaguely familiar. “A small gift, for new beginnings. And may they be successful.”

Simeon cringed, even if briefly, before offering a small smile and accepted the coin purse with a small nod. Rather than responding, he instead turned to the rest of the group and a quiet word, "If you're done frightening the halfling, I've a small carriage loaded with jugs by the bar. Bring her with. Day Breaks, Brother." 

A half-breed, an elf, a human, and two left unaccounted. Two who could be traitors to the sect. The cost of loyalty often came in bushels of khat or jugs of wine, but even a noble member's been turned if a weakness sat exposed. Nazeek enjoyed cryptic messages and the clock-and-dagger meetings. Perhaps the attraction was more than just for theatrics. Regardless, Simeon followed the same code and used the same language. Codes laced in words, not necessarily direct meanings, but it didn't take a scholar to note the opposite of 'Night' and 'Day' or the symbolism that could follow. Something was amiss and Simeon's mind had little interest in slowing. He'd met one of the two absentees before, [I]Dez[/I]. Neither he nor the prosthetic-girl had served five years. That meant neither knew, the threat remained only in the here. Now. The rest though, he glanced over them, not a bad group. Smaller teams meant quieter missions, perhaps with the illusion of some grand force at their backs. Master Thorne would say a small knife required equal measures of articulation and creativity. If this was the weapon he'd wield, he'd take the words to heart. 

While Rhus Lancia followed orders, Rose in tow, Simeon gestured for the Wisp to follow. Reading each member's oath revealed much, but keeping them straight proved a challenge. He looked over the pale elf once more for clues. The glimmering necklace about her neck and her complexion said all he needed, the Wisp, as in the Puppet Master, a necromancer. Chances were Rhus and the half-blood, the Chakra Savant, would run into trouble. A commander of the dead might've helped. Simeon glanced about the buildings lining the main road as he and Samantha made their way back toward the docks. Though the street lamps glowed the eerie, disorienting white, not a single face peaked from their windows. Nazeek had described Arberth as loyal, not daftly obedient. No, this was wrong. The bartender had expected a person this order and the name he'd used was a dead man's. 

"Listen. Don't interrupt. I need to think and the best comes aloud, well, quietly, but aloud. Mark discrepancies and show them, understood?" Simeon rapidly explained. He spoke to Samantha while still scanning over every home, alleyway, and rooftop. When he continued, he cut her off. 

[I]"Iplacedanorder.Andorderinthenameofadeadman.Supposedlydead.Deadtoher.Tothem?Toher.Butthetattoo,markofathem?Whosemark?Tangent,backtoher,
sheknewthename.OldenemyofNazeek?Ifanenemy,poorlyinformedone.Orwellinformed,supposedlydeadandallthat.Suppoedlydead,supposedbyher,
andmakingsurethejobisdone.Ormerelyuninformedandagrudgefromtoolongago.Ortargetingme.Us.Who'stargeting?Justher?Anythingabouther?"[/I]

Each word came too fast for a breath or even a moment's break. Were they written, they'd be in a child's hand without even the smallest of spaces to separate one word from the last. Yet, impressively, also strangely, the Wisp looked anything but befuddled. Simeon allowed himself to study her once again, to meet eyes with the woman. Reading a dossier for one who raises the dead roused a variety of images and he'd not seen a one quite like her. Amidst everything that felt just a second off right, here, in this woman, the Wisp, was something he'd never seen.

Caught up in understanding his new comrade, Simeon missed the looming figures. They had passed the formed village and entered a small area obscured by darkness. Easily within range of a rifleman or archer from the Sogna or rooftops, but blanketed in the night.Simeon could hear muffled clanging and a tired wheel squeaking fast. Off the main road, but he thought parallel to their path back to the docks. With Master Nazeek Thorne's passing gift awaiting them at the dock, the ship of the line frigate, Sogna, the closer to the ship the more lit they'd become. In other words, if they stood still, their attackers would attack close or blindly fire. Running back into Arberth or to the Sogna meant becoming a target. [I]Wonderful[/I].

"Stand close, back to back," Simeon whispered and crouching close to the earth. "We are betrayed and cornered, but invisible, Samantha. You raise the dead. There's a body down the road, maybe seventy steps. We need a distraction if we're to make it to the ship. Can you do this?"