From the desk of the Nagaraja.

By: Chryenth Posted on: December 21, 2012

Deep within the Spire of Torment is an office. Very few know of it's location, and even fewer know how to reach it. The corridor it rests at the end of is the seventh and highest level of the Spire, surrounded by spike traps dripping with poisons. There are seven flagstones on the floor in front of the door that, should a visitor step upon one, will not kill them horribly - but anyone who should as much as touch another, equally unremarkable flagstone is in for a nasty and painful death. The door itself is hidden behind a illusion - our hypothetical unwary visitor, having survived this far, may well find themselves plunging headfirst into a pit of snakes instead of reaching their appointment.

The interior of this office is, in contrast to much of the Spire, devoid of lethal tricks and traps. There are several shelves and chests, laden with the spoils of a thousand thefts. Several pieces are given a place of honour - a flame-touched golden sword with a tag attached that reads 'Enduring Serpents' , a necklace of brilliant coloured jewels inlaid with symbols of the Te'Serra and a mask with three eye-holes that still glowed a very faint purple. In front of the only window - a small and heavily barred affair that lets in little light - is a desk as long as a tall man is tall.

This desk is littered with scraps of paper, reports from all over Sapience. A shadow of a man sits in a chair that lacks any semblance of comfort - hard, cold wood and iron nails that hold it together. A cigar smokes idly in one hand as he reads a letter from a protégé of his. He notes with concern the near-empty mug of kawhe before scanning the page again, his tired eyes skipping words and indeed whole sentences of cramped and messy handwriting.

Nagaraja Jinso, it read, further to the task you sent me I have included a list of people located variously at the gates of Ashtan, North of New Thera, Centre Crossing...

The list continued. Jinso dropped the letter in annoyance - any one of his Naga could have gathered that information for him in a few hours, and the letter was more likely than not out of date anyway. Still, the novice was proving his worth. Slowly. The Nagaraja drained the last of his kawhe before moving onto the next letter - a rather more pleasing piece to look at, both for it's short length and elegantly curved script. Unusually for the letters coving his desk, it was signed by office, not by name.

Nagaraja. Venoms are restocked. Have executed wayward novice, as per your instructions. Strength through Suffering. -MoT

This one required something of a response, so Jinso scrawled a note on the bottom. Very well.

One last letter, he thought, and then I can attend the Cardinal's ceremony. And more importantly, get more kawhe.

Nagaraja. It appears that the Wardens are moving something from Cyrene's bank vaults to their House Estate, on the tenth of Eros. Permission to intercept?

There was no signature, but Jinso recognised the handwriting of one of his premier field agents. His heart skipped a beat as he glanced at the date - apparently it had arrived on his desk at the crack of dawn, on the ninth of Eros. Jinso practically vaulted over the desk, crumpling the letter in one hand and reaching for his quiver of envenomed arrows with the other.

NAGA! His telepathic shout reverberated across the realms, and a half-dozen voices acknowledged it.

Assemble at the Crossroads. Bring your bows and prepare for an infiltration. Five passionless acknowledgements came back, and one voice quickened in excitement.

I take it you received my letter then, Nagaraja?

Indeed. You may begin the briefing, but be swift.

Jinso dashed from his office, letting it lock itself behind him. A few swift turns and reckless dive into mid-air left him standing at the gates of the Spire of Torment, and moments later he slipped into the gathering of Naga at the Crossroads. He noted with approval that all of them were wielding Hashan's infamous darkbows, and had quivers full of arrows. He stepped from the shadows into a circle of sudden salutes.

"Hide yourselves, Naga. We haven't long."

The Cardinal paced at Mhaldor's gates. The city seemed somehow… empty, this morning. Gone were the mysterious columns of cigar smoke and absent were the sarcastic comments from figures in the shadows. Most noticeably, he thought sourly, gone was every gold sovereign between here and the Spire of Torment.

Then his pacing stopped as his link to the realm of Thoth lit up, and he stared into space for almost an hour before a Deacon approached him.

"Cardinal, are you well?"

He shook himself. "Yes, yes. I think the Nagaraja is going to be insufferably happy for the next few days."