Found:
I've spent the last few days plotting, planning and scouting as best I can. Maps, rowing the lake and my prior forays into this land have invested me with some knowledge of potential escape routes should they be needed, but without a more intimate awareness of the various nooks, crannies, rises, pitfalls and possible dangers, I cannot be completely secure in my preparations.
Nothing is guaranteed.
Add to that the plan itself. It's not perfect. There are far too many variables, far too many ways this could go wrong. I can be persuasive when I've a need. I can be convincing when it suits me. My fluency in Varadja and Haradaic will help, as will the years I spent learning of both cultures, being in those lands and amongst those people. The cover story I've concocted is good enough, but I'm not sure it will hold up to intense scrutiny. And the role I must play here is one I'm not all that suited to.
Nothing is guaranteed.
Meanwhile, the question of whether or not this is even worth it comes to mind. I don't know if they have the masks. I don't know if they have Emmett. I can't know until I get inside that sunken city. I could be taking too large a risk for no payoff at all.
Nothing is guaranteed.
But in its own way, isn't that part of the thrill? The lack of surety, the lack of certainty, knowing that if I am not pitch perfect in my performance that I could lose everything, even my life? It's certainly something I used to love, although this time the stakes are higher than just myself and the audience I must fool is exponentially larger.
It's a daunting task. I'll begin after sundown.
