“You know what you’re doing, Edmund. Get a hold on yourself. You know what will be said and what you’ll need to do, assuming they select you. You need this.”

A door opened to his left and he stood at once. A thin man emerged from the room and looked over the face of a younger Edmund with a condescending glance before beckoning him in. The far wall of the small, dimly lit office was an elaborate map of Sembia, colored in red, Cormyr, the island chains to the south and much of the Moonsea to the north. An elderly man sat behind a wide mahogany desk and gazed intently at Edmund for a moment before motioning for him to sit in a well carved chair across from him. For a moment, they made eye contact, an uncomfortable moment for Edmund.

“Welcome, Mr. Baezos. I’m sure you’re aware of who I am. My firm would like to contract your services.”

Edmund leaned back into his chair and tented his fingers as the man across from him informed him on the state of trade in Cormyr. The aged man across from him, Sarin Maevos (or so he had told him in their letters), made him uncomfortable. He was weak and frail, yes. Beneath his thick, tangled beard he had to have been nearly skeletal. His finely cut suit was loose fitting, so he couldn’t be sure. It was his eyes that made him uncomfortable. The pale blue orbs were searching and invasive, as if the old man were capable of seeing into his mind and exploring his thoughts and motivations. Edmund could only make concentrated eye contact for so long before having to retreat back to his thoughts. The walls on either side of the room were lined with bookshelves, and the same thin man who let him into the room was seated at a cramped desk hastily writing something down.

He glanced over his fingertips at the man standing behind Maevos. He leaned against the far wall, his ears reaching level with the south-east corner of the Anaurach (a region colored in orange), kept a careful eye on Edmund. His face was lined with a few scars and his nose looked shattered. Broken, Edmund pondered, by a cudgel to the face. He wore an expensive looking black tunic, and over the open top the neck of a silver chain shirt was visible. Edmund’s eyes drifted down to his thick arms that were crossed over his chest and down another few inches to a broadsword within easy reach. Sarin’s bodyguard, Edmund assumed. Every so often his eyes would flash dangerously as he regarded Edmund. It was almost as if someone had opened the catch to an oven and a burst of flame was burning out. Likely extremely brutal, Edmund mused, the sort of man who would enjoy an attack on Daevus for the opportunity to utterly destroy the attacker. It would not simply be a matter of killing an assassin.

“Good, good. I’m glad you’re interested. We believe that this assignment may be right up your alley, from what we’ve heard. There’s a trading coster in Cormyr, the Thousandhead Trading Company, and we’d like you to join it for us. Report to 371 Parveu Lane in Selgaunt within the week.”

He knew that mercantile secrets were a profitable business, and that the Sembians were likely to pay especially well for information on who a Cormyrian coster did business with. This would be an excellent opportunity for him. Besides, it’s not like anyone would really be getting hurt in this assignment. As long as he kept his head down and didn’t get overly greedy, he’d be fine. Edmund had been working to maintain eye contact with Maevos for much of the conversation, but found himself forced to look away again. He motioned for his scribe to hand him a few sheets of parchment which he folded with a few other sheets and sealed with his ring. His pale, searching eyes met Edmund’s again as he handed him the package of papers. Standing abruptly, Maevos motioned for his scribe to open the door.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Baezos. Best of luck.” His voice was raspy and detached, more so than normal. Edmund stood as he did and departed, slipping the documents into an inside pocket of his coat as he stepped out into the hot Sembian sun.

An unwise move. My fear that I may have crossed a rather potent cabal was not unfounded. The good Councilor strikes me as an exceedingly dangerous man - the cowed reaction of his operative (or, perhaps more likely, the blunt instrument serves as his bodyguard) was enough to send me into a state of panic as I left his quarters. How would I pass myself off as one of his own? How would You judge my doing so? I was glad to have you by my side, my Lord; your presence was enough to lessen some of my fear. If only You had been with me in my dreams. They were so vivid – the Councilor infecting me with a myriad of toxins and feeding me to a horde of rats, my wandering about as a leper to be stoned by the people, et cetera. They all tended to blend together, but they were all rather potent.

In any event, my fear turned out to be unwarranted. He is a very astute man, and was able to see through my wording. He was, or did not seem to be, angered by this, and I may have an ally to cultivate in him. A conversion is unlikely, but there are certainly other options.

On that topic, I have discovered a few here who are worthy of Your touch. It will only be a matter of discussing these things with them – my logic is understandably infallible in regards to the matter. Many seem quite able in their abilities, while many who can be counted among the faithful leave much to be desired. Chief among them, the man who would likely be my agent in Lower, is far too stupid for the task. While he is rather competent, he lacks any sort of subtlety that would be needed. What I require is a handler, an agent present in Lower to manipulate him and his followers. Someone with a modicum of intellect and charisma who could sway the others while leaving the current chief in charge of military affairs, punitive beatings, et cetera. Perhaps in time, but for now I’ll have to hold off on introducing him to the other faithful I’ve met. Better to let my agent do that when he has the opportunity.

Ah, the simple joys of life. It seems that vile Brackish woman is dead. According to my source in the Watch, she assaulted a goblin necromancer in Lower. I can only imagine how she met her end - devoured by the troupe of orcs who stood alongside the goblin (and who thankfully fell shortly thereafter), or perhaps the goblin's negative energy burned her to ash. I like to think that she took a poisoned dagger in the back and was raised as the little wretch's servant, forever apart from her bastard 'God.'

Things have been progressing well on other fronts as well. An ambitious duergar is gathering merchants in the interest of forging a trading coster. I am reluctant to involve myself with a duergar, especially considering my ambition for Upper, but I don't see the problem with offering potions that You have touched. After all, the profit would be used to spread Your will. If am mislead in this, I ask for a sign of your disfavor. Besides, the others involved in this coster seem to be men and women of proper virtue, and this may be an opportunity to gather a following.

I found a holy symbol of one of your servants today. What to do with it?

Things have taken a substantial turn for the better. Power, true power, is within my reach. It is merely a matter of earning it. Enlightenment can be brought with Your touch even here, my Lord. Safety will be had in the newest bastion of Your indefetigable strength. It is difficult to keep my mind focused when so much stands to be gained in my dealings. Grant me the discipline I need, my Lord, and Your will shall be done.

But I do not entirely trust my new partners. Some could be converted, given time, but it is unlikely that I will be able to share Your path with everyone. But, ah, such is life. They cannot all be brought into the fold. They will serve You in time as it is.

I need an agent whom I can trust. I cannot simply expose myself to the other faithful just yet - some have proven far too stupid for that to occur. What I need is someone of intelligence and forsight within the faith who can wrangle the others into service.

Guide me, my Lord. Deliver me this person and your will shall be done.

Damn that duergar fool!

I can only watch as my plans crumble to dust under the weight of foolishness and incompetence. My carefully laid machinations have come to naught, and I'm left with fewer options than I had.

I've decided to run for the Financial Minster position in Lower. Now that Chk is dead, I fear I have little choice. This will put a great strain on my ambition, as I fear that I will not be able to attend to many of my duties as what I can only imagine is Sanctuary's only spiritual leader. I will require more agents, more bodyguards, and more support at once. But how to accomplish this?

I have one bodyguard already. He seems competent enough, and is quite loyal to you, My Lord, as well as me. He served well during the assault on the Lower Gate that I can only assume claimed Chk. I made a number of valuable contacts during the assault, and learned a few very important things.

There were a number of paladins lounging around lazily by the gates. These holy warriors, I can only assume, thought that their divinely inspiring presence was enough to spur the rest of us on the victory. I suggested to one of them that he could be of some use by finding materials to help form a barricade, and he promptly refused in favor of standing around and being useless! What's worse, I was attending to a number of other duties, and he suggested that I take his share of the work for him! While I gathered a force of unruly cowards to aid me, the fool gathered his comrades and simply walked off!

By Your word, my lord - these men and women who march about with their false sense of arrogance and superiority are hypocrites. I have seen what better worlds can be accomplished through Your guidance, so I offered my aid to the weak and the foolish in hopes of a better future. These idiotic, heavily armored thugs are in favor of nothing more than comfort, popularity, and wealth. They are, in essence, what they so violently shun.

And for that, my Lord, I will never forgive them.