The oasis city of Al'Khemir became the nerve center for Alaric's subtle campaign against the Confederacy's internal rot. Operating from the relative anonymity of their luxurious inn suite, the Steele strike force transitioned from overt monster hunters to covert intelligence operatives. The shift required a different kind of discipline, a reliance on cunning rather than overwhelming force.
"The whispers grow louder," Brita reported one evening, melting back into the suite after hours spent lurking in the city's underbelly. She removed the simple scarf covering her hair, her movements silent and economical. "Undersecretary Malakor met his brine-scented contacts again last night near the old cisterns. The package exchanged was larger this time. And his paranoia is palpable; he jumps at shadows."
"Good work, Brita," Alaric acknowledged, leaning over a map spread across a low table, marking Malakor's known meeting points. "Any specifics overheard?"
