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Authors: Kameron M. Franklin
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sweep, his face began to change. The blond strands that barely covered his scalp became thick white curls. Skin that was once pulled tight over jaw and cheekbones now sagged and wrinkled.
Pockmarks appeared all over his beaklike nose, which flattened as the spell completed. In a matter of seconds, he was the spitting image of his mentor, the man who taught him this minor illusion.
Therescales picked the disguise not only for its irony, but because he never tired of the looks on the others' faces. It was like they had seen a ghost. Just the memory of their widened eyes and startled gasps brought a smirk to his lips as he crossed the street.
Stopping before the entrance, Therescales nervously played with the heavy gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand. He felt somewhat naked without his bracers and dagger, though the protection offered by the enchanted armbands would do him little good in this situation, and the weapon would only arouse suspicions. No, it was the shielding the ring provided that was important. Without it, his mind would be an open book to any with the means and desire to flip through its pages. Were that to happen, he would be as good as dead.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't the first time he considered the consequences, but there was no turning back; he was already in too deep. Fortunately, the rewards promised should he succeed made the dangers an acceptable part of the bargain. Therescales opened the door and stepped into the warehouse.
The interior of the building had been partitioned off so that Therescales now stood in a lantern-lit showroom that was only a fraction of the warehouse's square footage. Shelves of dark wood lined the walls at various heights, and marble pedestals dotted the floor. Upon these were displayed crafts and trinkets from all across Faerun: ivory carvings by Cormyrean artisans, carpets from Tethyr, lamps of multicolored glass made in Neverwinter, Thayan artwork, and other items of less recognizable origin but certainly no less value. Therescales walked through the gallery, making a show of examining each and every piece. From the corner of his eye, he watched a small, balding man sorting through a pile of papers at a desk by a door in the far wall. He didn't recognize the clerk; it was always someone different, so that was hardly surprising. Therescales worked his way closer, getting to within a few arm's lengths of the desk, when the clerk finally finished his task and looked up.
"I'm sorry, but all sales are by appointment only." The man scowled. If Therescales had not seen his initial, startled reaction, he would have thought the clerk truly frustrated by the interruption.
"That's quite all right," Therescales replied confidently. "I was referred by a shadowy sage whose symbol is a black staff." He smiled and waited.
The clerk became still for a moment, and Therescales could practically hear the clockwork gears turning in his head. Recognition blossomed on the little man's face, and he walked over to the nearby door. He pulled a key from a pouch on his belt and inserted it into the doorknob. With a twist, the lock was undone, and the clerk pushed the door open.
"I hope you find what you're looking for."
Therescales quickly moved past the man and through the doorway. Beyond it waited the rest of the warehouse. The vast space was unlit save by moonbeams that fell through two skylights spaced evenly along the length of the roof. Crates and barrels stacked at various heights formed a maze of shadowy towers. Therescales gazed out into the mysterious landscape, suddenly hesitant. He gave a small jump as the door slammed shut behind him, taking with it the light that had spilled from the showroom. Once his eyes adjusted, he crept into the maze.
Silence blanketed the warehouse while Therescales searched for the mark that would identify his quarry. Even though much of the inventory had been rearranged since his last visit, he moved unerringly to
Pockmarks appeared all over his beaklike nose, which flattened as the spell completed. In a matter of seconds, he was the spitting image of his mentor, the man who taught him this minor illusion.
Therescales picked the disguise not only for its irony, but because he never tired of the looks on the others' faces. It was like they had seen a ghost. Just the memory of their widened eyes and startled gasps brought a smirk to his lips as he crossed the street.
Stopping before the entrance, Therescales nervously played with the heavy gold ring on the middle finger of his right hand. He felt somewhat naked without his bracers and dagger, though the protection offered by the enchanted armbands would do him little good in this situation, and the weapon would only arouse suspicions. No, it was the shielding the ring provided that was important. Without it, his mind would be an open book to any with the means and desire to flip through its pages. Were that to happen, he would be as good as dead.
The thought sent a shiver down his spine. It wasn't the first time he considered the consequences, but there was no turning back; he was already in too deep. Fortunately, the rewards promised should he succeed made the dangers an acceptable part of the bargain. Therescales opened the door and stepped into the warehouse.
The interior of the building had been partitioned off so that Therescales now stood in a lantern-lit showroom that was only a fraction of the warehouse's square footage. Shelves of dark wood lined the walls at various heights, and marble pedestals dotted the floor. Upon these were displayed crafts and trinkets from all across Faerun: ivory carvings by Cormyrean artisans, carpets from Tethyr, lamps of multicolored glass made in Neverwinter, Thayan artwork, and other items of less recognizable origin but certainly no less value. Therescales walked through the gallery, making a show of examining each and every piece. From the corner of his eye, he watched a small, balding man sorting through a pile of papers at a desk by a door in the far wall. He didn't recognize the clerk; it was always someone different, so that was hardly surprising. Therescales worked his way closer, getting to within a few arm's lengths of the desk, when the clerk finally finished his task and looked up.
"I'm sorry, but all sales are by appointment only." The man scowled. If Therescales had not seen his initial, startled reaction, he would have thought the clerk truly frustrated by the interruption.
"That's quite all right," Therescales replied confidently. "I was referred by a shadowy sage whose symbol is a black staff." He smiled and waited.
The clerk became still for a moment, and Therescales could practically hear the clockwork gears turning in his head. Recognition blossomed on the little man's face, and he walked over to the nearby door. He pulled a key from a pouch on his belt and inserted it into the doorknob. With a twist, the lock was undone, and the clerk pushed the door open.
"I hope you find what you're looking for."
Therescales quickly moved past the man and through the doorway. Beyond it waited the rest of the warehouse. The vast space was unlit save by moonbeams that fell through two skylights spaced evenly along the length of the roof. Crates and barrels stacked at various heights formed a maze of shadowy towers. Therescales gazed out into the mysterious landscape, suddenly hesitant. He gave a small jump as the door slammed shut behind him, taking with it the light that had spilled from the showroom. Once his eyes adjusted, he crept into the maze.
Silence blanketed the warehouse while Therescales searched for the mark that would identify his quarry. Even though much of the inventory had been rearranged since his last visit, he moved unerringly to
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