Kathan stood before Im-Slatner when the Minion opened his front door. The feline creature, who was covered in short blue-gray fur except for the brilliant white-blond ruff about his shoulders, glanced askance at Im-Slatner. Before the Minion could ask what the Mock was doing here, it had writhed between Im-Slatner's legs and the door frame and into Im-Slatner's home.
"It's abuzz, all of it!" Kathan purred in delight. "Oh, things will happen soon!"
"What things? What is happening?" Im-Slatner shut his door and glared at the Mock with his slender hands curled into fists.
"The Cahllesque group! Ke-he-he, not just a group passing through, no, but one here, led by the Lady Lucinda!"
Im-Slatner stiffened. "What could she want here?" he asked, keeping his tone as conversational as possible. He prayed the Mock could not detect the apprehension that tugged at his body, the chilling tingle centered at the base of his spine.
"She's chasing an outcast of some sort. I guess an ex-Corsair, one that swore off Cahllyn. Usually they can't be bothered with that, right, but this one has apparently done something that met with great disapproval." Kathan chortled and swished his tail back and forth.
Im-Slatner could not keep fear from creeping into his voice. "Was his name mentioned? Did you manage to get a name?"
The Mock's eyelids lowered and his mouth curved into a sly smirk. "Worried, are we? Does the Cs'e'erahn fear that he unconsciously brought the ire of one of Cahllyn's finest Judicators upon his head in the regular course of business?"
Im-Slatner had no time for Kathan's games. The Minion snapped out a long-fingered hand and released his breath in a low hiss. A green haze spread from his lips and twisted around the Mock, who had fallen back in a servile cringe.
Kathan mewled pitifully for a moment before breaking into a fit of hacking and coughing. His forelimbs pawed at his head in desperation, trying to push away the foul miasma Im-Slatner had invoked. "M-ahl-Morris! Maurice! Ghak! Some-hek-thing!"
Im-Slatner cut the invisible bonds of power linking him to the Dread Sister and his incantation faded moments later. Not the Corsair Lars, then. Well, likely not. The Mock would not have lied. The craven species blustered and reveled when they held positions of power or possessed some sort of leverage, but quickly turned to fawning when exposed to any real threat. Though Kathan was an infamous purveyor of rumors around Marone, even he could be wrong.
"How would you like to earn some coin?"
Kathan's ears perked up. Mocks were greedy, too. "Will I have to something dangerous?"
"Perhaps. You are to deliver a message on my behalf."
"To the Cahllesque woman." Kathan sat up, straightening his back and puffing out his mane.
Im-Slatner pressed his lips together. Mocks were selfish cowards, but they were not stupid. "Yes."
"This message will be a deceit."
Im-Slatner goggled at Kathan, who gave a high-pitched giggle. "Your skill lies in Cs'e'rahn magics, Bonedaddy. Mine is in this thing which you ask me to do."
"It will not be a complete lie."
"No?"
"Inform Judicator Lucinda that Sister Ophelia was just sighted in Marone."
Kathan's lips drew back from his pointed teeth in a feral grin. "The devastation holds the potential to be phenomenal."
"Indeed it does." Im-Slatner reached into the pocket of his robe and and retrieved a pouch. He tied a long leather thong around its neck and held it out for the Mock. Kathan crept forward, eyes wary, and snatched the bag to inspect its contents. They apparently met his satisfaction, as he purred in contentment. Im-Slatner pulled open his front door so the Mock could leave.
"I was under the impression that Cs'e'erah stood neutral in the war between Cahllyn and Maurcke," Kathan said as he stepped outside.
I'm-Slatner said, "The Dread Sister loves her two Brothers equally. She simply loves herself far more."
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