Chapter 2 - Part 2

“And should I tell you what I see, do you think I would necessarily tell the truth?” cackled the old woman. Her skin and hair were a light gray, with no color at all save for the reddish horns that barely poked up an inch from her scalp.

The centaur stood with his arms folded before the tiefling seer’s tree. Pellhomno had been en route to Varna when word had come to him from a druid with whom the centaur was friendly. The seer, an adept who followed the Traveler who was also a diviner of no small skill, lived atop a tree that could only be found when Kythri manifested itself in a hidden glade within the forest.

“I think that you shall only tell me what serves chaos the best,” the centaur said with a forced smile. “And given my connections, and the shadow war between my masters and the fiends, I will cause the most chaos if I can act on truthful information.”

The elderly tiefling laughed and laughed at this, pounding the knees of her filthy, dust-caked dress. “Oh, oh, oh,” she laughed, finally wiping tears from her eyes with gnarled fingers. As she did, the centaur was able to see that one of the eyes was not real, but rather the socket had a polished round stone containing a multitude of colors within it. “Oh very good, very good, yes.” She grinned. “Shall I charge a price, or give it to you as a gift?”

“No gifts!” the centaur said quickly. This produced another round of chortling from the woman. He waited until she stopped, and then produced a heavy bag of gold, shaking it so that it clinked.

“What need have I of that?” the old tiefling asked, grinning so that what was left of her teeth showed.

“The coins within were stolen from a Mror warlord,” Pellhomno explained. “They bear his personal seal, and he is most anxious to find them.”

“Ah,” the tiefling woman said, her smile growing wider. “A funny gift to give someone, a great trick that you assist me in performing.”

“Indeed,” the centaur agreed. He hated it, he hated the way it felt, and he hoped that whatever poor soul found himself on the sharp end of Mror justice would forgive his soul eventually, but he had to know. He threw the woman the gold.

She took it, nodding and licking her lips. “I shall perform the rituals,” she told the centaur. “You will have your answers within the hour.”