The palace was quiet, as Kutur and his companion ascended the steps to the door. He was nervous already, having dodged suspicious glances shot in his direction from the city folk all the way from the gates. They'd only ever seen dracons as either enemy soldiers, domineering landlords, or contemptuous diplomats, if at all. The sight of one dressed in mage's finery was bound to set at least a few on edge. "Try to ignore them, try to ignore them," Kutur recited to himself. He knocked on the palace gates, and the door opened, to reveal one of the emperor's personal guards.

"Magister Kutur. I shall inform His Might of your presence," he said, but Kutur grabbed him before he could leave.

"Actually, I think we are more eager to see Her Mercy at the moment. Could you send for her? Don't bother the emperor at this moment. He needn't worry about us meeting." The legionnaire looked at him oddly, but shrugged and nodded.

Moments later, Ardasa came to the door, looking about as perplexed as he. "Kutur, what's wrong? Why is- oh!" she stopped, then, her gaze turning up to the dracon lady sharing the door with him. "I wasn't expecting an ambassador for many moons. Forgive me, this is quite a surprise. Are you with Hekaga, if I may ask?"
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The spy hadn't expected such a reaction from the blacksmith. He was an odd one, perhaps raised among the more southern tribes. He was no expert on southern cultures, but as far as he was concerned, they were odd in their ways, and he needn't bother trying to wrap his head around their ideas of reincarnation and balance. "You misunderstand, my esteemed friend," he said, slowly. Time to change tactics. "You are being called to serve His Might himself, the emperor of all kobold. This is an opportunity I am giving you to fight for his cause, who is the cause of all the kobolds." The common people still loved the emperor, even if doubt was beginning to permeate the higher classes. His name alone would turn many heads in these cramped neighborhoods. "His most loyal servant is in need of your service to execute His Might's will. Furthermore, you are being offered a position of wealth and power, a life more rich in luxury than hammering shovels and plowheads. I ask you . . . consider it. If you are truly curious, Commander Mardex intends to meet at the Pig Hoof Tavern on Quiet-Lake Street, at about . . . sunset." The seeds have been planted, and the spy bowed, turning to leave. Either they will take root or they won't.