<br/>The brass quill scratched audibly across the rough parchment as Zeksi faithfully reproduced the strange creature she had seen two days before. She had heard tales of such beasts in other volumes, though she was long skeptical that they were real. But seeing was believing, and she reproduced the ridiculously long ears of the furry creature as best she could while keeping a straight face.<br/><br/>The barmaid had helpfully identified it by the local common name for the creature, a “rabbit”, adding that the tavern not only served the animal in a soup, but that it was “quite nice with pumpernickel”.<br/><br/>Zeksi declined, as she had just eaten four days earlier and was still rather full. She offered the tapstress a warm smile as she refilled her whiskey, before she set down her quill. The Souillure was in the habit of giving one thing at a time the proper attention. It helped her immensely in public settings and cities if she focused on something within her sight. Her whiskey in this case, as she produced a slim leather case and with an alchemist’s focus, proceeded to add her own honey and spice mix to the glass, stirring with one of dozens of slender blackroot twigs she stored in the case.<br/><br/>She kept her thoughts on the whiskey, ignoring the three rats beneath her stool and beneath the floor as they fought over a day old sausage that had fallen though a crack in the boards. She was also hazily aware of a dozen other random things, like little fishhooks in her mind’s eye.<br/><br/>A barber surgeon two blocks away who had just begun whipping up shaving cream for a customer. A pair of shoes a little boy’s spiteful sister had hidden from him in the hay of a horse stall almost a mile south. An elf hunter carrying the grisly remains of a skinned deer… three meters away.<br/><br/>Zeksi tilted her head to the side sharply, with the same look someone might have after being snuck up on as her mind’s eye shifted to the huntress sharply enough to make her slightly dizzy. The surveyor drew in a slow breath, tapping her blackroot stir against the rim of her glass before sucking on the thin licorice flavored twig.<br/><br/>This lack of focus was new to Zeksi as she had spent decades learning to center herself and concentrate within to drown out the “noise”. As reliable and steady as true North to a compass, typically, a week ago she discovered that whatever ethereal lodestone she had always found within herself had somehow… moved.<br/><br/>Testing for the hundredth time in a handful of days, she removed the blackroot from her mouth and held it between her thumb and forefinger. The slim black twig remained pointing straight up at the ceiling for a few moment before it started to bend and twist frantically in her grasp. It struggled like a dog on a leash, her gift more desperate to lead her than she had ever seen before. With a sharp wooden crack, the tip of the twig bent at a ninety degree angle and separated itself from the bit between her fingers.<br/><br/>It whistled through the air, the slender tip jamming itself an inch into the bartop between Veret and Eled with such force that Zeksi immediately reached for her handkerchief. From the other side of the bar, the surveyor in a Pantazian uniform waved the lace white square like a surrender flag, “Forgive me! That… got away from me!”<br/><br/>She quickly closed and locked her book, gathering her tools and beverage before she scooted her stool over towards them, “If words are but wind to you, then let me offer you a drink to give the apology some weight!”<br/><br/>Zeksi wasn’t entirely certain what it was she was doing here or what business she had with the trio… but she enjoyed the advantage of knowing at least she was definitely in the right place. She just didn’t know for what.