Long had she waited for this day.

Long had she waited for a challenge, and yet impatience continued to build, threatened to overwhelm.

And finally, when the day had come, the adversary that showed itself did not rely on subterfuge, did not rely on skill, or intelligence. Instead, here was that belligerent Qui'sas, always speaking of the superiority of her race, of being the true representatives of the Quisalis, standing at the head of a gathered army to depose her.

When would these fools learn?

She listened to the tirade, allowed the words to wash over her. She paid them no attention, for they were the common ramblings of the over-confident, of the arrogant. Death would come. That was always the certainty.

Finally, when Penchal Fii'zile tired of words, she gave the order to attack. Tens of soldiers leapt to the offensive, and the Grandmaster of the Quisalis smiled for the first time in years.

When the dust settled, Penchal was left alone, the bare remnants of most of the corpses wafting away in a gentle breeze that flowed through the bottom of the Den. Penchal was under the foot of the Grandmaster. The battle was too short, not enough to sate her thirst; and so she made sure Sapience would learn of her new, more public role.

With a few choice shouts, accompanied by Penchal's desperate screams of pain, she announced her reveal, and waited. But rather than the hordes of adventurers, angered by their deaths at the hands of her assassins, she was met with only a single, scared Ivory Mark running around out of phase, and an explorer come only to delve into the depths of her Den.

And so she simmered within her cavern, and waited for when curiosity would overpower the cowardice.

Penned by My hand on the 19th of Daedalan, in the year 656 AF.