I looked across the water at Lakeside. The town crawled its way out of the lake and up the cliff face like some kind of creature pulling itself out of the water. Gods above I hated Lakeside; it was always damp, always wet and slick. The Falls drenched the town, emitting a constant spray that you could never avoid. You'd think that with so much constant water you could escape the smell of fish, but you'd be wrong. Lakeside was an assault on my senses, and I loathed to go back.
Yet, here I was forced by fate once more.
I'd burn the town to ash if only I could. Can't burn down a town built from stone and perpetually wet; a shame, that. I shook my head and set my jaw; the job wouldn't do itself, and I was in desperate need of coin. I checked the hidden compartment in my staff; a long narrow tube that ran nearly the full length, and was cleverly concealed by the wood's natural rings. Nearly two pounds of dragon bone dust was hidden away in tightly sewn silk pouches.
Get in. Deliver the goods. Get paid. Get the hell out.
It was so easy I'd done it hundreds of times. I'd made my living out of it. Smuggling the most exotic and rare, and illegal and dangerous, goods paid me well.
Well enough to even go back to Lakeside.
