<div align="center">(http://lh4.ggpht.com/_CRE5WIuAKUo/TOTpNmvFyhI/AAAAAAAABf4/CWlyfsBhm1k/c.JPG)</div><br/>Within its galactic crystal sphere of Realmspace spins the sphere of Toril. Upon this blue-green planet, and within the cold stone of a cylindrical tower chamber, a vastly smaller crystal sphere held its own blue-green image.<br/><br/>One forest trail met and ended where it met another, better-kept and wider trail running perpendicular. Had the first continued, it would've found a cool rushing stream a short ways through the high ferns under the shade of many looking shadowtop trees.<br/><br/>A finger, within glove fabric held tight by a ring, tapped the image through the crystal sphere, as if seeking to crush mighty trees against the dry earth. The ill-lit face above it all looked over the sphere, and issued a voice which was soft, impassive or perhaps vaguely entertained, and would've seemed gentle had it been warm rather than cool as the swift stream in the image. s"Crown patrols come from any of the trial directions down either of the others; one should find half-again as many such passing you by, then, versus waiting along some stretch of one. Still far from the busiest in this corner of Cormyr, of course, hence some of our...operations deigning to continue unabated so nearby. Yet more than we'd like, and they grew too bold, too curious, needling where knightly noses need not. Perhaps 'tis this season of uncertain succession; the Purple Dragon patrols grow either too vigilant in their duties, or too derelict to maintain certain prescribed routes tenday after tenday."<br/><br/>A second voice, deeper and more direct, answered, "And so?"<br/><br/>As smoothly as any word before, the first droned on, finger flicking along the trails, "So we muse upon means to delay, misdirect, perhaps even slip one among them by feigned surrender to learn from their midst or give us one on the...inside...for any ensuing venture of our own against their regional camp. The four you see here are charged to do just that, though the details of execution are left to their squad leader. It is always such a delight to see what...creativity and ingenuity sparks up among our ranks, the better to assess future potential,<em>and</em>to maintain a certain variety and thus unpredictability of our tactics to our foes."<br/><br/>"Among her, you see here -" the image within the sphere zoomed in at a mere scissoring of two gloved fingers, to an individual in simple black cloth. He stood just above six feet, hair short and so blonde that it seemed nearly invisible when the sun caught it from certain angles, sometimes giving the impression of baldness despite his youthful, strong-jawed face. His garb was quite simple; black and tied in several places so that it girded his limbs securely and left his motions unfettered. He wore sandals, and his outfit was short legged and sleeved, exposing  taut and rippling forearms and calves. "The blonde one, Ulaw, a vigorous enough Banepriest. His parents were merchants based out of Shou Long for much of his earlier years. You'll be amused to know that he might have stayed, were he not exiled from the monastery for his rather...hmm, direct approach to certain philosophical arguments with his fellows there. Our profit, as his return to his parents' native Moonsea area brought - "<br/><br/>"Yes," the deeper voice cut in, "I know my own priests, I believe. And as it happens, the she-sneak..." An ungloved finger traced the arc of the crystal sphere, almost fondly. The image moved to center on a brunette young woman a foot shorter than the blonde man. Her garb was also black, but with a somewhat charcoal hue; the black of chimneyed city roofs whether grime and soot is not cleaned away. Its material was not cloth but a thin, supple leather which hugged nearly all her body, and her feline movements often caused it to accent the curves of her buttocks, hips, or high breasts. She wore a hoodcloak of a more foresty brownish-black, and seemed to recede back into it whereas the man had stood straight and proud. "Ahh yes; 'Pennae' as she likes to go by; we caught her prying and filching at one of our secret temples in Arabel. We certainly couldn't just let that go, not with the Crown's lack of love for our supreme faith - a pity and a hypocrisy, the royal Obarskyr family are all tyrant's enough for the tastes of many, especially n restless Arabel eh?"<br/><br/>"Fortunately for the Sword-Coast-born Pennae - and well enough by me, I grant -" the voice chuckled rather softly by its own standards, "She was ready enough to let her mind be swayed towards our employment. I daresay she's enjoyed it since," the voice chuckled again.<br/><br/>The first, softer voice spoke, "With all that I'll presume neither way as to your familiarity with this one, Ashran; as arrogant as most of our other wizards," the voice chuckled self-indulgently, "But subtler about it, perhaps. Perhaps he learned his lesson after expulsion from a Waterdhavian wizards' college for a few too many illusion-pranks." The gloved fingers had shifted the image to a man nearly as tall as the blond, but far narrower of build, and with dark flowing hair perhaps meant to give his shoulders a bit more illusory bulk. HE wore the loosest clothing; wizardly and purple-black, but cut off at the knees and legged rather than a true robe. A cloak of pure black was drawn over all this, and the tall-faced fellow's eyes, too, were so black that pupil and iris could scarcely be differentiated. "Though I would never presume, my friend, so subtle as to have escaped your ears that he is rumored to worship Shar rather than<em>our</em>Dread Lord." The 'our' sounded ever so slightly forced.<br/><br/>The other voice gave the curt grunt which usually accompanied a shrug; not pleased-sounding, but not inclined to bother about it either. "Shadow Weaver, then?"<br/><br/>"Just so. Some pray to the Mistress of Night for it, some purely through study, but it suits the favorite spells of an illusionist such as he. We don't believe he's in contact with or feeding information to any faithful of Shar, or any other worldly organization but ours, whatever his beliefs."<br/><br/>"And you've not bothered to mind-ream him because..."<br/><br/>"He's harmless, and if he does have other loyalties, potentially the more useful as a vector by which to feed false information to the Nightsinger's faithful. Not unlike the way the leader of these three may have opportunities to deceive her potential future captors." The gloved fingers shifted the image again, to a fourth individual,  and the voice made an "hmm-mm," voice of interest. The deeper voice had made a similar noise, and when each became aware of the other, they both silenced themselves awkwardly.<br/><br/>Then they both chuckled. The softer voice said, "Much as I could go on, the others will be convening below by now, and we've the rest of the map of Cormyr to pore over with them. Delightful days these, truly."<br/><br/>The deeper voice concurred heartily, "Delicate times are meant to be shattered through by the strong, like to fragile and frivolous baubles being swept from shelves to make space for weightier things. We go."<br/><br/>The gloved fingers tapped and rubbed thoughtfully for a moment more on the crystal, right against the tallest of the four convened agents. Then the fingers all flicked outward from the palm together and curled downward like a snuffer over a candle. The sphere went dark.<br/><br/>Where it had glimpsed, the brass-haired Ulaw glanced sidelong, away from his appraisal of the trail junction, at Ashran, who was just flicking sweaty and slightly greasy locks of his dark hair away from his long face. Ulaw spoke in cold bone tones, "Mind as elsewhere as ever, booknose?"<br/><br/>Ashran replied in tones as smooth as a slowly corrosive liquid eating through taut silk. "Just my way of patiently biding time while your mind catches up in comprehension of the so-complex geometry of the trails here," he gestured with several extremely long fingers to the simple T junction. Behind them, the hooded Pennae suppressed an already barely audible and slightly catty giggle, and her delicate chin lifted under the hoot to look to the fourth, or rather first, of their squad.