A man sat at an oaken desk somewhere in Kormyre. The people of Travance had beaten back the Society of Benefactors once again. Brooding silently, the man swished the liquor in his glass.

Once more, Travance had undone his machinations. Once more, they had captured one of the members of the Society. The man sipped at the caramel liquid in the glass. Of course, Crux would be out chasing somebody that had tried to play into his game, and not available to “take care” of the problems that had popped up. He frowned. With the burning of the farms and weapons, he had been sure of his ability to pin the blame on Duke Balliol, yet the denizens of Travance had seen through it. They had been able to crack the codes that had been put out. The next ones used would have to be harder. He smiled slowly.

It took an entire town to match his intellect. He would make Travance earn their victory if they managed to beat him again. If not, the town would be his. Then, the city. Then, the crown.