Kafcar unlocked the door and entered his home quietly from the rear alley side. Lighting a small candle, Kafcar allowed his eyes to adjust to the gloom and began to move through his familiar surroundings. The three rooms that made up his flat appeared to be undisturbed since he had left the night of the dragon’s attack. When he saw the amount of destruction their attack caused he thought it wise to hide out for a while in case anyone in the neighborhood saw him painting the whitewash symbols. Now he returned for his valuables and his symbol of membership with the cult, the dragon’s scale amulet. Stepping into his rear room, Kafcar’s eyes were blinded by a suddenly opened lantern.
“Welcome home Kafcar, I’ve been patiently waiting.” a deep voice, unknown to Kafcar, spoke from behind the lantern’s light. As Kafcar’s eyes adjusted, he saw a large muscular man, shuttered lantern in one hand, drawn black short sword in the other. The intruder’s skin was taught, drawn and shaking, anger rippling across the man’s acid scarred features, his hair in scattered patches. “I know you are with them,” spoke the stranger, “I have your scale.” Kafcar’s shoulders slumped at those words, his mind wondering if he could escape. As if sensing his thoughts, the man’s sword arm rose up and fell, deftly slicing an unseen cord or rope. Kafcar’s feet were suddenly swept up, the rug he was standing on, now rising up, wrapping around him. “My name is Sanford,” his low voice rumbled, “and you are going to tell me everything you know about them.”