Reconnaissance definitely wasn’t Eric’s favorite way to pass time. First, it required a great deal of patience. While he had that, he didn’t really like sitting still for long periods of time. He preferred to pace, read, or perform some other small, meaningless task to spare his sanity. However, such things would only draw attention to him, which was what he needed to avoid. But arguably the world part of reconnaissance was the uncertainty, anticipation, and stress of the job. He didn’t know who his target was when he would come, or what he should expect.

He’d chosen a small cafe as his selected spot, as it was on the same small street as Rainhall’s warehouse, and afforded a clear view of the building’s entrance. Even more importantly, his favorite strawberry tea was sold here. It wasn’t as good as Mandra made it, he thought, but it sufficed. He also had Tome of the Body out on the table in front of him and was idly flipping through the pages. To tell the truth, he wasn’t really paying attention to the words written inside, but it was a useful prop nonetheless.

He glanced up from his unwavering stare, eyes just peeking over the book and focusing on the double doors of the warehouse, as a shadow fell across his face. The blond waitress had returned, a wide smile on her face. He smiled back, his eyebrows raised in an obvious question. She’d clearly approached him with a purpose in mind, not a random desire to converse with a total stranger.

“Sir,” She said, her voice heavy with a German accent. Welsik, Eric corrected himself mentally. He had to stop doing that. “It is close to lunch hour. Would you like food?”

Being a quarter German gave Eric no advantage in distinguishing the thick accent the woman had, further hampered by her limited grasp of the common tongue. But he was able to piece her words together in sufficient order to understand the question. About to decline, simply to keep his focus on the job, he realized that sitting here and only drinking tea as he was, he was probably considered to be in the way. The woman was asking, in her own polite way, for him to either order food or leave.

“Of course,” he said, hoisting an eager smile onto his face. After all, he was hungry. “What’s on the menu today?”

“No menu,” the woman replied. “We have meat pie. Veggie. Bread.”

“That sounds good,” Eric answered, fishing a gold piece out of his pouch and handing it over. The woman’s eyes widened as the shiny coin showed itself, and looked up at him. “Keep the change.”

“But sir,” she protested faintly. “Lunch is eight copper.”

He waved a hand in dismissal of her reply. “You’ve been very kind to allow me the table for so long. Please, take this as my thanks.”

She beamed at him and finally accepted the coin with a graceful curtsy. Then she was off to the kitchen, with a bit more bounce in her step. Eric had become useful to the reaction most common people had in seeing a gold coin by now. It reminded him of the shock that people he met at gas stations would have when he offered to pay for their fuel. Random kindness was a surprise, even though he thought it really shouldn’t be.

He smiled slightly to himself as he picked up the book once more, and peered over it at the warehouse down the street. Nothing had changed in the minute he’d been conversing with the waitress. His smile faded and he let out a quiet sigh of impatience. He was beginning to think that Samuel’s guess had been off and that nobody would be coming to deliver a clandestine message. He’d only found one letter in the place Rainhall had mentioned, which, going by the Archmage’s logic, would indicate that someone would be by soon. But he’d spent all of the previous day, and most of the morning on watch, with no hint of any approaching strangers.

“Here, sir,” The waitress had returned holding a large plate of food and a fresh cup of tea for him. “Enjoy.”

He gave her a quiet word of thanks and picked up his fork. The food looked tasty, if on the plain side. What the waitress had called a meat pie turned out to be something similar to shepherd’s pie, an uncommon food for him as he wasn’t fond of potatoes. But food was food, he told himself, and there was nothing to be gained by refusing it. He scooped up a section with his fork and popped it into his mouth. His face immediately twisted into an expression of distaste. Either the meat had gone slightly sour in storage, he thought, or some other ingredient was close to spoiling.

It was nowhere near the best meal he’d ever had, but his empty stomach demanded that he eat something, and he didn’t want to hurt the establishment’s pride by tossing the food away. So he bore the faint sour taste willingly, mitigating it a little with sips of the sweet tea. It made it considerably easier to eat when he daydreamed about Mandra’s cooking. Then he was distracted by a slight ding in his ears, a familiar sound by now. He glanced up at once to see whatever window of text would appear and frowned. A window did appear, but the text was changing and forming as he watched.

Warning!

You have ingested poison. Your system will now attempt to repel the effects.

Rolling Constitution Save (DC 80) …

1d100 (48) + 20 = 68

You have failed your Constitution Save.

Activating Reroll Feat ...

1d100 (55) + 20 = 75

You have failed your Constitution Save.

You are poisoned. For the next 5 minutes, you are paralyzed and have a -20 to your Intelligence Score.

Poison? Poison! That’s why the food had tasted so off! He tried to get to his feet, to draw his sword, to do something. But his body had locked up entirely, and he could feel his thoughts leaving him. His mind felt heavy, useless. He could only survey what was in front of him in a stupor. And of course, that was when the waitress returned. Just as she’d planned, he thought. She felt her hand on his shoulder and heard her soft voice, mere centimeters from his ear.

“The poison will keep you still for a while,” she whispered. “And this will keep you from chasing us when it fades.”

She traced her fingertip on the front of his jacket in an elaborate pattern, making a small glyph there. It glowed brightly for a moment, then faded from sight. If he’d had control of his body, he could have quickly taken the shirt off, but that was impossible now. She spoke again.

“It is a Rune of Command,” she explained, her voice now perfect and accentless. “You will not chase after us or do anything to destroy the rune. If you disobey this command, the rune will explode.”

Then she was gone, leaving behind only a faint scent of power that was the result of magic. In his field of vision, he saw a figure in a dark cloak step away from a nearby building, and stare at him in silence. He’d obviously been there for some time and had only now broken out of cover when the coast was clear. The woman was his accomplice, Eric realized belatedly. She’d spotted him attempting to snoop on her ally, and poisoned him so they could make their getaway.

He cursed himself silently as he sat there, feeling the tightness of his chest and limp feeling in his limbs. He should have been more attentive, he told himself angrily. He should have realized that the conspirator, whoever they were, wouldn’t be working alone. Not that he could have done anything about the poison, he thought. At least it had only paralyzed him. She could just as easily have killed him, and gotten away without anyone the wiser. How could she possibly have gotten a job at this cafe in time to poison him? Or maybe her temporary position had been a long-term arrangement, in case of unfriendly observers such as himself.

He just didn’t know, and between the effects of the poison and the incredible anger he felt at himself, he couldn’t sort out his thoughts enough to deliberate the matter much. He was certain that the rune on his jacket could kill him, or at the very least cripple him. The woman had written it right over his heart, which would surely result in a critical injury. How could he get rid of it without triggering it? She had said that it would activate if he tried to destroy it or chase after them. So what could he do that didn’t violate that command?

Finally, after what felt like an hour to his panicking and stressed brain, he felt the poison beginning to fade. Five minutes. They’d have an incredible head start on him, and they were only just over a mile away from the docks. Could he catch up to them before their ship left the harbor? Surely it would take at least ten minutes for the ship to prepare to depart, he thought. But first, this damned rune.

He frantically searched his memories, seeking some scrap of information that could help him. What did he know about runes? Almost nothing, he answered. The only fact he could remember was that runes were considered the most temperamental form of magic, due to how fragile runes could be. The more permanent the etching method, the less likely it was that the spell could be dispelled. The energy was transferred from the mage to the rune in its creation, and without the energy trapped there, nothing would happen.

That was it! If he could damage the rune faster than it could activate, then he’d be safe. That meant he would have to cut the shirt. Thankfully he knew exactly where the rune lay, so he could make a very fast targeted attack on it. But wouldn’t that mean that he was breaking the command? He’d just have to be faster, he thought. Channel some strength into your arms, he told himself. Relax, and give no hint of your plans. Be calm, just like Master Ehran taught you.

He took a deep breath, held it, and let it out in a low hiss. He kept his muscles slack at first, then slowly twitched the muscles of his arm and wrist. His sword was less than an inch from his right hand. He could draw it faster than he could blink. But could he also attack himself in time? There was no way to avoid hurting himself if he managed it. Then he laughed inwardly. He’d be screwed even if he wasn’t fast enough. He’d just have to try to hit as lightly as he could. He let out one more breath, then moved.

The sword was out of his scabbard in a flash, and he cut across his own chest in the blink of an eye. Time seemed to slow down as he moved, and he saw the energy of the rune begin to flare as it activated, casting the spell that would permanently stop him from his pursuit. Then the steel of the sword sliced through the thick cloth with ease, slashing the rune in half. The light faded, and blood spurted from his chest.

Warning!

You have been struck by a sneak attack.

New Skill Unlocked!

Feather Slash (Active)

Striking with a light cut, you minimize your strength to weaken, rather than kill your foe. On a successful hit, your enemy will bleed, suffering one point of damage every 3 seconds, until the wound is healed.

Warning!

You have been dealt a crippling blow. You are bleeding. You will lose 1 health every 3 seconds until the wound is healed.

[Combat Information]

Level: 20 (6,659/ 7,255 XP to next level)

Hit Points: 3/7 (3 Base, 2 Level, 2 Constitution)

Attack (1): 43 (27 Strength, 16 Half Dexterity)

Defense (0): 36 (20 Constitution, 16 Half Dexterity)

Buff/Debuff: 3 (2 Level, 1 Magic/5, 1 Intelligence/5)