Her past two decades were dedicated to Ulon.

Mother always said truly understanding the secrets would take a proper drow a century, but they aren't exactly proper drow, and they probably don't have a century. (Of course, if Mother knew how long they did have, she never told Tencednil.) That just meant they had to try harder, though. Learn faster, be better, stay focused like the servants instead of seeing for themselves like a noble can. And Mother said it was working! At only two decades old, she was seeing things in all the right ways!

Two weeks ago, she woke with the dawn, felt for Ulon in her prayers, and found something else there. At first she thought it was her birthright as a noble finally coming in. But when Mother saw her cast a Detect Magic with her hands, her smile collapsed like its guide thread had snapped.

One week ago, Mother finally deigned to inform Tencednil she was a sorcerer, and that Ulon's favor almost never fell on a drow already able to cast. If she ever wanted to cast through the circle and pentagon, she would need to prove herself more than any noble in the last at least three millenia.

Yesterday, she started looking for some way to create that proof.

The morning bell rings.

Korvosa's streets know many things, and she's always had a feel for where to find whispers. Who around here is looking for some newly-released Academae students to get in trouble for them? Who among the students might want aid from a newblooded sorcerer and her blinding, stupefying lights? Where can she go to show that in the hands of a drow (fine, half-drow), even sorcery can be mighty?

Well, most of the students have spread out throughout the city, clustering around the Academae and its affiliate businesses. There's a couple of them trying to buy muscle in a shady dockside bar. Someone goes briefly invisible as they round a corner on a busy street. A small group sends something in the sky scattering away with rays of frost. Take your pick.

She's been in shady dockside bars as a purchaser of muscle. The servants might think providing muscle is a peasant job, but Mother said it's how new drow houses start. Tencednil, as a (half-)drow without a house to back her, might as well follow that path.

As far as she can tell, her one and only spell is debilitating for anyone right nearby, and she cast it five times in a row yesterday before running dry. She may not be a wizard, but she's pretty sure that's impressive. Also, as of a couple days ago, one of her spells went wrong she demonstrated a drow's natural understanding of spellcraft when she cast it into a shadow, which peeled off and has been following her around ever since. It can't talk, but it's buzzed a warning at her a few times when she was about to fall. Maybe it will be useful in other ways, and if it breaks she can probably make a new one tomorrow.

(Also she's not exactly asking for much right now. Surely there's someone who needs a sorcerer.)

There's two students at a corner table in the Rusted Anchor, arguing with a burly Shoanti man. Parchment is spread across the table–at a glace it appears to mostly be maps and blueprints.

She can't lurk in the shadows, but that's not the only way to direct attention away from oneself. She will look around for a place to sit, entirely inconspicuously happening to find herself near enough to the argument to hear what they're discussing.

...mostly inconspicuously. Nudging a chair out of her way wasn't supposed to be quite that loud. Maybe nobody noticed?

"A third. There's one of me and two of you."

"It's our maps and our plans, without us you have no share at all. A quarter."

"Without me you'll be dead, weak boy."

"I'll have you know I passed two tests of Str—"

"Shut it, Anton. We've got a watcher." He looks at Tencednil. "Hey! Elf! You got a problem?"

No point in pretending now. As students at the Academae, they must be worth at least something... She turns to them slowly.

"I couldn't help but overhear, you're so loud. Just how minimal a sum are you squabbling over? I was considering doing some charity work to test my new spell, and you sound like you might be in need. And with such debate over a third or a quarter, a fourth person who plans to give out her own share based on actual contribution might solve your problems."

That's not even a lie! Unless the numbers are impressive. A bit of money really is less important than a reputation for trustworthiness, it's far harder to backstab someone who's already watching you.

"If you don't want a share of the loot, you're welcome to come along."

"We don't even know if there is any—" He sighs. "We've the blueprint to one of Florel Matei's old boltholes. He was assistant professor at the Hall of Whsipers some fifty-odd years back... but he's mostly known now for moonlighting as a murderer and a necrophile. They hanged him in '64 but never found his spellbook, or his headband, or anything else really."

"Well, I wasn't expecting much, so a risk of nothing is a risk I'd take. And a headband for cunning or a spellbook wouldn't do me much good, so you can trust me there." She nods to the silent one. "Call it quarters all around, I distribute anything I can't use from my share among the rest of you depending on how much we actually did need you instead of holding out for an Abadaran price splitting?"

The large man chuckles. "See boys, even the elf knows sense."

"What they're not telling you is that this place is buried sixty feet beneath the earth, and the only way in is down through the sewers and the Vaults. Probably the only reason one can hope it hasn't been robbed already."

"Well, that and the illusory wall covering the entrance. But we have the map."

She snaps, and a floating mass of shadowy spheres peels out of her shadow and floats up to eye level.

"This little one sees through most illusions like they're not there, and I know the Academae teaches summoning enough to get to bats. Surely you're not claiming a strictly visual illusion has kept anything actually valuable hidden for decades."

Well, alright, it seems to see through the few minor illusions she's been able to test with. They don't need to know that, though, now do they.

"The door's made of stone, flush to the wall, and swings it inward. Our friend here claims he can get arcane locks open reliably."

"I've done it before. 'tis not that hard."

"So you two would need to find another good lockbreaker or someone who can cast a good Knock, if you wanted it without his help. He would need someone who remembers Florel's habits well enough to track down his bolthole, now that he knows it's behind an illusion. That might get pricy, but there's two of you and one of him. Sounds like either of you walking away would put the other in a bad place, no? So we go all four of us, we see what actually doesn't work when we try it, and we work out the shares when we know what we needed."

Ulon doesn't teach general goodwill or fairness to anyone you deal with. He does teach that you should never leave someone who can hurt you, wants to hurt you, and doesn't have a reason not to. Apparently some Academae students are not so well taught.

He pauses for a moment, before nodding.

"Alright. I'm Julio, my colleague is Anton, and our lockbreaker is Mika."

"Tencednil."

And if she tries to be subtle here, they'll just miss it, won't they. There's no point risking death to avoid sounding stupid, and if they need to make choices in a few seconds it is risking death to know this little.

"And when someone jumps us on the way, where do you need to be? Am I watching for a Grease or expecting a Sleep, perhaps?"

"I've got mage armor, sleep, and cause fear today. Anton has mage armor, ant haul, and ear-piercing scream."