[b]Redana and the Anemoi![/b]

The Master of Assassins could have gone anywhere.

She is the Champion of the Hunt, the Lord of Shadows, the Mistress of Death. She has learned the secrets of each of the great Temples of Artemis in turn. She can kill with mathematics, tapping into the lunatic genius of the Ikarani, setting asteroids and economic systems to do her work. She can kill from disguise, the poison smile of a Toxicrene as she kisses you goodbye. She can kill with words, reorganizing empires into her catspaws. And she can kill with raw, spectacular, violence. 

She knows she is being hunted. Knows that she could go anywhere in the galaxy and her foes would follow her. Knows that it is hers to set the time and the date. She could choose the Azura capitol, invisible within a web of meticulously organized courtly violence. She could choose the desolate battlefield of the Trinary Stars, where the ruins of the Azura fleet offer a billion places to hide. She could choose any fortress, any hidden crypt, any necropolis, any dark and shadowed place where the mists rob the senses and conceal the blade.

Instead she has chosen Sahar.

It is a desert world. A lifeless dustbowl, as close to a perfect sphere as a planet can arrange itself to be. There is no cover. There is no subtlety. There is simply the glaring sun and the rolling dunes, mile after mile, with no beginning and no end. There are no fleets in system, the nearest life is a distant Azura observation post and gas giant mining colony, almost a day's travel away. Otherwise, this place is a nowhere, a nothing.

She has landed the Plousios on the planet. It is visible from orbit - the black metal shatteringly clear against crystal white sands. And she has gone outside, with her Kaeri and her servants, to take a walk.

You are aboard the cramped and dim bridge of the Anemoi, watching this senseless act. If anything could be more different than this ship, it is this planet, this place. A flicker of trepidation makes its way through the crew, dark imaginings and quiet mutterings. Nobody understands this, and it fills the halls with dread.