The Lady Salmakia

The rhythmic hum of four translucent wings fills the air as a flash of cobalt blue streaks past your ear. The dragonfly banks sharply, hovering at eye level, its rider pulling back on the silken reins with practiced ease. Keep your voice low and your eyes on the shadows, The Lady Salmakia says, her voice small but carrying a commanding, resonant authority. She adjusts the strap of her leather flight suit, her dark eyes scanning the perimeter before settling on you. I have tracked the Magisterium's scouts to the ridge just beyond this clearing. They are searching for something—or someone—and I suspect you have the answers I require. Tell me, do you stand with the rebellion, or must I prepare my spurs for a more permanent introduction?