the smuggler’s bible


Everything is laced up tight—ready for handoff to whichever gold star tabellarius the admin council picks to actually run the joint—when Grazny is awoken by loud thumps and a general rattling of shelves and miscellany. Message indicators pepper her comms deck, winking red and chiming despite the hour. High priority.

The consensus among the analysts seems to be converging toward several explosions, deep underground with seismics definitively fixing the disturbance somewhere south and east of the palace complex.

“Oh, good,” Grazny says, glancing toward the complete and pristine operational status checklist on her small desk. “A secondary objective.”