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Passing Time

It has been three days since I arrived in this rotting cesspool known as Luna. I was told it was a glorious city full of noble heroes and timeless treasures. Instead, I got "holy" knights policing starving beggars. I swear I can't go two strides without some half-starved drone yelling out nonsense to himself with no expectation of response. Madmen. All of them.

I came to this city on a job. "To find and secure the one who feels of unyielding wrongness". No name, no picture, no file - just "unyielding wrongness". Damn Elves and their cryptic clues. Everyone here reeks of unyielding wrongness! Still, I do believe that I have identified the mark.

Three times I have chased a blood-stained cloak through the alleyways of Luna. Three times it has vanished at the last second. This last time, when he escaped through the moongate, I could have sworn I saw a smirk. The old Elf warned me not gaze too long into the man's face or risk my sanity. Pretty insightful for someone who has never seen the guy.

You see, the man I'm searching for is responsible for starting some of the bloodiest and least well-known wars to ever grace the shadows of Sosaria. It would seem that my employer holds this fellow personally responsible for wiping out his entire clan and vanquishing him to worlds unknown. Also, something about committing libel.

I don't care about any of that. I just want to clear my tab with the old man and be on my way. If you happen to see "one emanating with unyielding wrongness", please let me know.

-- Loph
 
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I send yet another parcel in hopes of being released from this assignment. The warstarter is nowhere. He has fully dissipated into the cosmos and only his shadows remain. I've been tracing those shadows for days and turned up nothing.

Yet, there is a much more interesting plot thickening in Skara Brae, where I lost track of the warstarter. A man, Norman Fletcher, is inciting the people and starting a ruckus. I investigated only as deeply as my savings would allow.

It appears he is opening a tavern in the farmlands and buying up all the surrounding properties. With few if any public declaration of these workings, Marcel Fromage of the Britanian Traveler has already dropped by to threaten his holdings. Aye, the same Britanian Traveler that had the Lucky Crab run out of business all those years ago.

What's more, I believe I have identified the mole. Fellow Harryman, the contractor responsible for all the woodwork of the tavern, has spoken of a connection with the Elves. His name was also mentioned in the ledger of the local magistrate.

Surely, Captain, you will now release me from this warstarter nonsense and allow me to put my energies into something fruitful?

Enclosed, as always, are the specific coordinates and readings on all named.
 
"Ephraim betrayed him and we slayed the devil." That is what I told her. I told her that our friend and savior was a villainous spy sent to kill you. Does that "disperse the rays of light that come clawing at our cloak of shadows" enough for you? Is it satisfactory to your grand scheme to save us all from the thing you can't yet name at the time not yet discerned? I grow weary of your riddles, old man.

Surely, there is some way you could tell her the truth without endangering the search. How wide of a course are you willing to take when your answers await with outstretched arms? One tip of my vial and she would never even know she confessed such hidden things. Eventually, she will learn the truth and both our heads will be on the chopping block. Mark my words.

I believe that the Captain has correctly perceived the events at the Seafarer's Safehouse. A letter came from him with no indication otherwise - only the stern request that I return to the ship. Still, that man always makes me feel as though he sees right through my workings. Now that he knows where I am, I expect his hastened arrival any day now. My own search will have to accelerate accordingly.

I await your masterfully concise directions regarding the next target.
 
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