I didn't remember much more that night than waking up when Fyren took me from Luke's arms, and then a brief memory of Luxxa helping me crawl out of my dress before tucking me in bed like a child. After that, nestled in the soft, silken sheets, I drifted through visions, wandering the streets and manors of Duskwood.
I quickly found myself in an unfamiliar manor, with gaudy, gold-leaf decor and rich, gemstone-inlaid furniture. A bloody corpse with a terrible wound in its neck lay stretched across the ground, a group of elvish guards standing over it, murmuring in low, worried voices.
The door burst open, and an inquisitor strode in, his face black with fury.
"He's dead?" he asked, glaring at the elf on the ground.
"Yes, my Lord," one of the soldiers said, a captain by the look of it. "We discovered him this morning, but he's been dead for at least six hours. No one could have snuck past our defenses without being at least sixth-level. A Dark Guild Assassin, by my reckoning."
