Skritka

Skritka Shadowwhisker crouches among the bodies.

The Conclave Arcana's sanctum is silent except for blood dripping on stone. Five guards, three scholars, two archivists. All dead in the last ten minutes.

Portia and her mages are scattered across Praetoria, hunting the secret. They left staff behind to maintain their sanctum. Skritka waited, watched patrol routes, mapped weak points. When the sanctum stood nearly empty, she struck.

The first guard died to a thrown dagger through the throat. The second heard the body fall, turned, and died before he could draw steel. The scholars tried to run. Skritka was faster.

But she doesn't just throw daggers from shadows. When the killing turns close and desperate, she charges forward and carves through anyone stupid enough to press her. Small frame, low stance, blades flashing. Her size becomes advantage.

Bodies litter every hallway now. Some with daggers in their skulls, others with opened throats. All dead before they understood what killed them.

Skritka moves through the archive methodically. Scrolls, tomes, maps, research notes. Everything Portia gathered about Praetoria's secret goes into large sacks. Most of it she can't read. Doesn't matter. Silus has scholars.

Six bulging sacks later, she hoists them onto her harness and heads for the exit. Venari are stronger than they look, and she's stronger than most.

Portia Nyr will return to find her research gone and her support staff butchered by a venari with a pair of hunting daggers.

Skritka vanishes into the night, bound for Silus of the Rift.