Quickly stretching his limbs to warm his cold atrophied muscles, he leapt with avian grace to the heights of the trader's building. Talons gouged through layers of ice and snow before finding purchase in a beveled crease of the slate roof. Soundlessly he trudged across the expanse, tracking his quarry from the building heights. Stark watched with rapt, unblinking interest as Krogenar labored through newly formed snow drifts and entered the local tavern.
"Lambs to the slaughter", a knowing grin played across his raptor beak, "or rather, a certain little piggy just made it to market." His chilled breath clouded the hazy night as he whispered, "The best form of information, is misinformation, my porcine friend. We have well prepared our contingents here for your eventual arrival."
With barely restrained mirth, Stark waited for the performance to unfold, confident that his agents would liven up the Istishian's confidence of FLAME's failure here in Polaris. The uncountable and torturous span of time of living and preparing in cold suffering had paid off, FLAME plans were quickly coming to fruition.
His humor only increased all the more as his thoughts centered upon his comrades... especially those in New Thalos. "... and the curtain rises even now upon a new act being performed in your own backyard."
With a firey glint, he hastily leapt from the heights and made way to the chapel to prepare to receive the reports of his comrades. Stark had had a very busy, yet fulfilling day.
