There was always something exhilerating about the sea air. It was the smell, perhaps - a pleasant one, but those weren't difficult to come by for the wealthy. No, the reason would be based in something less tangible. Perhaps it provided an unexpected sense of the exotic, a subconscious need to one more accustomed to dark corridors and dusty shelves of records of accounting and attrocities.<br/><br/>Unfortunately, she also hated it. The sun was too sunny.<br/><br/>Still, it was important work. That a spy had infiltrated so far into their ranks was worrying; that she had successfully leaked information, more so. It had been quite a cunning plan - her interrogators had, after many long hours - longer for her, certainly - concluded that she honestly didn't know what the information was, implying another agent, or possibly induced amnesia. Neither option was encouraging. And so, her observation of<a class="postlink" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&amp;t=45923#p282195">the spy's ratted-out colleague</a>.<br/><br/>She remembered to smile at some strangers. Mezmoriia Kebrit might be having a bad day, but the city girl she was posing as probably wasn't. She feigned interest in a passing squirrel, the picture of a happy-go-lucky child of the middle class distracted from some mundane errand.<br/><br/>Now where was young miss Nettles?<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/>That had not gone according to plan.<br/><br/>The girl was fast, and she was evasive. Armored soldiers were neither.<br/><br/>To add insult to even more insult, one had mistakenly prevented Mezmoriia from giving pursuit - being forcibly restrained against her will was not a welcome experience, and explaining who she was had taken precious seconds. Nettles was gone.<br/><br/>And so the inquisitor inquired. Careful observation, noting of disturbed terrain or worried people - there were enough signs. It was slow work, but the girl's trail lead her somewhere with no escape routes. She'd back herself into a corner.<br/><br/>Then suddenly, the air exploded.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/>The<a class="postlink" href="https://creativefreedomrpg.com/viewtopic.php?f=17&amp;t=45923#p282444">warcry</a>had caught Mezmoriia off-guard, and the strange group that seemed to form around Nettles was also unexpected. She was reminded of why she hated fieldwork (besides the sun and the stupid clothes and thousands of other physical irritations) - the best possible plan could be rendered null by brute circumstance or conspiracies of coincidence. Improvisation, not stratagem, was the name of the game here.<br/><br/>It was also why she loved it. Too rarely now did she have an excuse to practice that particular skill.<br/><br/>Mezmoriia's mind cataloged what it knew of her target. She didn't know she was being followed - an advantage partially voided by the post-riot chaos, during which she'd dropped out of sight. She'd received information from the apprehended spy - that meant they were working together, and she'd want to ensure that information got out to their organization. (The Red Leopards? It fit the profile.) Given all this, she'd be leaving the city during the riot. She'd already been seen at the docks - there could be a ship coming for her, or it could mean nothing, but either way she knew where they were...<br/><br/>She settled her mind. A soldier, likely responding to some sort of mundane crisis or other, was quite timely in passing by then. She withdrew a shortsword from a holster on her left thigh, concealed under long skirts, and intercepted him.<br/><br/>His cry for her to move aside, peasant! ended abruptly when he caught sight of the blade - the weaponry of Lorsoul's inquisitors was quite distinctive.<br/><br/>"Good, you recognize me. New orders. Get friends - I need each land route out of the city monitored. We're looking for a girl, half-elvish..."<br/><br/>A moment's description and an authorization to kill later, she sent him on on his way. Almost as an afterthought, she told him to have the next two soldiers he saw meet her at the docks.<br/><br/><div><hr style="height:2px; width:100%; border:0; color: white;background:white;"/></div><br/>Miss Nettles was running away from the waiting ship for some reason, but no matter. She was apprehended easily enough, bound with shackles borrowed from one of Mezmoriia's accompanying soldiers, and frog-marched back to it, sword at her neck.<br/><br/>"Right, anyone care to explain why you appear to be preparing to carry a traitor on your ship?"