Fable - Ask Greatness comes at a cost

The inner city of Alliria was a sight to behold with its sprawling architecture dominated by private houses owned by various merchants and buildings of every kind of guild a man could possibly conceive. Although the outer city was, rather clean and orderly as far as the global scale was concerned, its splendor paled in comparison to its richer counterpart.

It made Afanas question the wealth distribution between the two portions, for the denizens of the outer city outnumbered those of the inner city several times over.

Afanas stuck out like a sore thumb amongst the crowd of colorfully dressed merchants and guildsmen. His wide-brimmed traveler's hat, floor-sweeping maroon cape, and knee-high boots made him look…unsavory at worst and unfriendly at best. They earned him a few sidelong glances, to which he responded in kind with a series of thin, mirthless smiles. He wasn't the rude sort, you see, but he rarely smiled wide enough to show teeth for the fear of accidentally flashing his jagged fangs at unsuspecting bystanders.

He entered the first tavern he could find, having to bend at his knees just enough to keep his forehead from banging against the top of the doorframe. One of the barmaids gawked at him. He didn't feel offended, not in the slightest. He knew himself to be of towering stature. In the past, people went as far as to ask if he were sporting high heels and whether he wore the cloak for the sole purpose of concealing these height-extensors.

Afanas spied an unoccupied table, languidly sauntered over to it, pulled up a chair, sat down on it, and prayed that the wooden frame wouldn't collapse under the weight of his brawn and gear. Once certain that he was, in fact, not going to topple over, the male quickly discarded his hat and the cumbersome piece of fabric that was his cloak.

Suddenly, he was the menacing shadow rider no more. Sharp and angular features graced his countenance, but there was a certain boyish quality to him, an unexplainable softness infecting his dark eyes. They shimmered like twin onyx stones behind a net of loose bangs. His inquisitive gaze swept over the patrons once, twice.

Nobody suspicious in sight, nobody to cause him trouble. He could relax, unmolested, for once.
His face, its skin the hue of bleached bone, upturned towards the reluctant barmaid.

"Wine, please. Something sweet, fruity, if you have it. I'm not looking to get drunk," he intoned, feigning ignorance. It was his desire to avoid sounding...posh.

Urberus
Afanas' gaze fell upon the orc, his slanting eyes regarding him with superficial interest. He studied the alchemist intently and then did something he hadn't done in a while: he summoned an earnest smile, compelling the corners of his lips to stretch and curl like flesh curtains until they no longer obscured his tar-black gums, their darkness offset only by the pearly fangs, each as sharp as a dagger, glittering wickedly in the low illumination.

"Urberus, right? I've heard of you. In fact, I think I've even seen you in passing the last time I visited the city of sorcery. A pity that I didn't have enough time to strike up a proper conversation with a man of your academic prowess."

It was true. Years have passed since he last stepped a foot in Elbion. Back then, he was still paying for private tutelage in an effort to hone his arcane skills. Alas, the monotony brought upon by city life got the better of him. He grew increasingly bored and left without as much as a parting word. In truth, he desired to return at some point but kept postponing the ordeal. Immortality gave him certain leeway there. He could spend his time as he saw fit.

"You speak of purpose, Urberus. Do you think me aimless? Do I strike you as a man who strayed off the course? Alas, to answer your question, I've been many things: a thief, a pirate, a monster hunter. And now? Now I'm a glorified sellsword for whoever can cash out enough coin to enlist my services."

Afanas offered his outstretched hand to the grizzled orc. To call it a hand was generous, perhaps, seeing as it more closely resembled the talon of a raptorial bird. The digits appeared too long, too sinewy to have belonged to a human, and each was tipped with a singular lacquered claw.

Afanas blinked, long lashes fluttering over the twin stygian pools that were his irises. He brought one clawed digit to his lower lip, eyebrows knitting together in contemplation. He hadn't given that particular inquiry much thought. Why did he do the things he did? To stay alive? It was only natural, right? But no, that wasn't a proper answer. His desires extended beyond mere perseverance.

He appreciated the finer things in life, the flexibility and the freedom brought upon by his occupation as well as his peculiar heritage. The very thought of settling down prompted his stomach to flip.

He shook himself out of the reverie and squeezed the orc's hand. For a second, he feared that his lackluster nerves would neglect to hold him back and that he'd end up accidentally grinding the old man's appendage into paste. No such horror came to pass, thankfully, and Afanas breathed a sigh of relief, a silent prayer to whatever higher power he held himself beholden to.

He didn't enjoy being blindsided like this, not one bit. It left him feeling almost bashful. He was no more a boy than Urberus himself.

"I am a man unchained and unburdened, Urberus; much of what I do is motivated by my desire to stay that way. I seek power and knowledge to amuse myself, but they are just as much leveraging tools meant to aid me in retaining my freedom in this messed-up world of ours as they are means of enriching the eternal life that I've unwittingly been blessed with."

The serving girl returned, carrying a pitcher of wine. She lowered the pitcher and two large glasses on the table, but not before furtively glancing at both Afanas and his orcish conversation partner. Afanas shot her a look, THE look, producing two gold coins from his pocket. He tossed them at the girl, who aptly caught and pocketed the little discs of precious metal. People were curious, too curious, actually. Afanas valued what little privacy he could afford, and those two coins would be enough to buy the girl's silence for the time being.Shadowed in the pitcher, the liquid held the hue of a welcoming deep brown. Anafas poured it, and, as he did so, the wine shifted to the deepest of reds, shining like liquid caramel while gradually filling the twin glass containers.

"Drinks are on me," he declared, bringing the rim of the glass to his mouth, tilting and draining it in one long gulp.

The chilled nectar hit his sensitive palate, sliding down his gullet and settling in the pit of his stomach. The sweetness lingered, prompting Afanas to lick his lips.

"Yours is an idea I could get behind. I have some experience coordinating men on both land and sea. It isn't beyond my scope of ability to whip a bunch of mortal condottieres into shape."

"Unless…" His eyes narrowed, "…you are suggesting that I surround myself with those of my kind, my cadre."

Cosimo Imiliane Lorenzo Vitale

Afanas' ears twitched. He felt the familiar weight of eyes on the back of his neck, eyes that, for whatever reason, made his skin crawl and bunch up. If he had any body hair, it would've stood up, broken into gooseflesh. He elected to turn, just enough so to make it seem like he were gazing at the bar, rather than its many colorful occupants.

His peripheral vision picked up on a redheaded man that exuded a peculiar kind of miasma one would expect from an undead or curse-bearer. It was all but wafting from him, radiating in waves the rest of the patrons couldn't detect. Afanas felt tempted to turn on his witch sight to scrutinize the stranger more thoroughly but was abruptly pulled from this train of thought when half a tankard of cold ale hit his chest and midriff. He blinked, then whipped his head in Casimo's direction, one brow cocked while he regarded the man with a mixture of thinly-veiled annoyance and tempered curiosity.

He eyed the visibly inebriated stranger up and down, paying close attention to their body language.

A worse man would've likely stood up and socked Cosimo across the face, breaking his jaw, perhaps, but Afanas didn't see it fit to injure someone over an honest mistake, especially someone drunk to the point of impaired motor function.

"It is quite alright, I assure you. The suit washes easily. Gods know that it has seen worse days. Chimera blood is a bitch to get rid of, you see…" Afanas trailed off.

On the second glance, it became increasingly obvious that Cosimo was one wrong step away from dousing them a second time with whatever alcohol still remained in the tankard.

"Why don't you settle down for a bit, friend? At least until your legs return to a more…functional state. I'd feel responsible if I didn't warn you and you ended up slipping and splitting your tailbone on the hardwood floor."

The sigh that escaped Afanas' thin lips was slow, as if his brain needed that time to process what had happened. Like a slight spring breeze, it was soft and gentle, almost lost against the drone of the nearby patrons.

"I shan't forget this kindness, Urberus. If it weren't for your timely…interjection, I doubt I would've come by this tidbit of information."

Afanas trained his eyes on Urberus' back as he left. In truth, he felt disappointment settling in the pit of his gut like a heavy stone. He wanted to beat himself up for not finding a way to prolong the conversation with the veteran alchemist. Urberus was a clever one, clever and resourceful, having forgotten more about the craft than most of his contemporaries would ever know.

Afanas refilled his empty glass, emptying nearly half of the remaining wine into it. His scattered attention returned to Cosimo, dark orbs bearing down on the man like a set of anvils. He hoped, for the sake of Cosimo's continued well-being, that it wasn't his ingress that caused the old orc to depart so abruptly.

"Quite. Not enough dwarves to be found in Alliria for one to expect a proper ale. I grew up in the mountains and got used to dwarven brews. Every time humans or elves try to replicate the process, it ends up producing something that tastes an awful lot like dirty rag water."

Afanas kept sipping. The wine's full-bodied aroma eased him as he sank into its all-too-familiar embrace. He couldn't get drunk, not in the traditional sort of way, at least. His inhuman body metabolized toxins so efficiently that he could catch himself munching on dart frogs and get off with an equivalent of a mild food poisoning. Sometimes he wondered what being drunk felt like, how it would be to find himself embroiled in the same sort of state Cosimo was in.

He quickly squished the thought and began to absentmindedly fiddle with the large sapphire pendant hanging off his long neck. Its frame was pure platinum, with the polished gemstone placed smack dab in the middle of it. The rim was chased with smaller diamonds and carefully sculpted in the likeness of evil beasts.

"Afanas, yes, you got that part right. As you have already assumed, I'm not from these parts. Truth be told, I was no more expecting to run into Urberus than I was to have a stranger's company on my first visit to your little corner of the world."