Unlike Remira or Maxim, Maisel was busy doing his own things. Not a day went by when he didn't feel some eyes on him. Eyes that came in all shapes and forms, like that of a child that got lost or the dogs that fought on the streets.
Which just filled him with guilt on the inside. Because he knew that these eyes were nothing more than dead constructs supported by a familiar group of people.
A group that he had fought for a long time and was used to their methods. A group older than the principality of Wortham itself.
"Now speak, what the Blue lotus is planning."
Lotus is a common flower that was found very often in ponds and lakes, with its roots being a very beloved delicacy in the whole wide world. A beautiful flower in itself, making it hard to fathom why the name of such a brutal organization treated the life of individuals lower as nothing would choose such a name.
