Bjorgen Thundrik made his name as an Aether-Khemist of Barak-Nar, a reader of winds whose instruments could smell a seam of aether-gold across half a sky. Ambitious even by the standards of his home port, he chased the reading of a lifetime: an impossible concentration of aether-gold rising from the dead city of Shadespire, a ruin that every chart in the realms marks with the same professional advice — do not.
Thundrik assembled a hand-picked crew of profiteers and went in anyway. What they found was the Mirrored City, Nagash's shattered prison of glass and echoes, which admits treasure-hunters freely and releases no one at all. Trapped with his crew among its shifting reflections, Thundrik has responded in the only manner the Code allows: methodically, profitably, and without one recorded word of despair. The strike is real, he insists, and the expedition remains in the black. It is merely running somewhat longer than projected.