Fable - Ask The Essence of Being

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Seretha ibnat Rezhe

Seretha ibnat Rezhe

Undeath Dealer
The Empire
Keeps Coming Back Seriously Likeable I
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Alliria

The Inner City was truly one of the most magnificent areas of any city Seretha had ever visited. This wasn’t the first but she was impressed every time. Annuakat was one thing - rebuilt from the war and trying too hard to look like the seat of power it was supposed to be for a waning empire which had never really waxed to begin with - and Vel Anir’s only impressive sight was its overbuilt walls constructed to protect against an enemy that never actually existed. Elbion was notable for something entirely apart from its construction and indeed from its near destruction with its floating islands of magic college, a college which was so sure of its own views on magic that Seretha could never attend it.

Alliria, though, was ancient, indefatigable, and finely wrought by the best architects in the world. Nothing quite matched it for scale and grandeur, certainly not without far more magic than had ever been put into it. The city was a testament to the works of the mundane and mortality, and that alone made it one of the most valuable gems ever cut and set.

Of course, docks were docks wherever you went. Some like Alliria’s were greater than others but it was simply a matter of scale over anything else. What made Alliria especially notable here was its access to the Bayou and the Akiva Sea and the ubiquity of ships for hire always in competition for lucrative contracts.

She was on her third ship looking for the right willing crew, speaking to grizzled human captain and his orc first mate. The human was one of the most skeptical men she had ever met, but at least the orc seemed to be up for the job.

“So, it would be on to Bayou Garramarisma, around to the southern coast, not quite into the Bayou itself,” she said. “I assume this much is fine?”

The captain shrugged and tapped a pipe he hadn’t yet packed or lit on the table. “Yea, miss, that ain’t the issue here. Dropping you off there, perfectly safe, decent trip time, worth what you’re offering. Staying there for days, though? Do you know what’s in those waters?”

She did, of course. The Bayou and its Crossroad Mire were well-known to people of her knowledge and expertise for a prevalence of necromantic activity, and only the Crossroad itself could guarantee it was of a safe variety. Sailors had legends and stories, though likely very little in actual experience with the area.

“Do you?” she countered.

The orc growled, her lip curling to reveal more tusk. If anyone had ever actually intimidated Seretha before with sheer presence, it was this densely-muscled hulk of a woman who towered over her. “We all know the stories and we all know when a story is just that. We know there are dangers and dark magic.”

“There’s no such thing as dark magic,” Seretha spat out before thinking. It wasn’t the time, but she had little patience for the oppressive language of mainstream magical thought. “All magic is destructive in the wrong hands.”

“Be that as it may,” the captain said, pausing a moment before continuing. “We can’t promise staying to pick you back up. If we get attacked by undead monstrosities, understand that we will have to leave.”

Seretha swore under her breath, but kept her smile and attempt at bright eyes and arched eyebrows to soften her more naturally severe features. “Okay, but that’s not a no, so I think we can work with this.What if you stayed in sight just enough and I can set up a signal for you to come in and grab me quickly. No lingering, just enough to pick up a rowed boat.”

“That might suffice,” the orc said. With a voice as stern and gravelly as hers, Seretha might have expected a bit more courage.

“But since I’m taking further risk on myself, I expect a discount on the upfront pay. You’ll still get a portion of what I find.”

They went back and forth for another hour before settling on price, timing, and expectations, but Seretha did get them there and the contract was signed. They were setting out with the tide in the morning. There was one remaining task: she needed help on the ground and the crew had refused to provide that in any respect. Crossbows from the deck to the beach were as close as they would ever get. With their fear of the undead, that was for the best in any case. She did have to consider her own shipboard safety and doubted she could fight them all if they decided she was too evil to continue carrying her around the sea.

The big problem there was whoever she got had to be willing to accept her magic, and broaching that subject was always a tense affair. The first step was finding potential hires and observing them. If they passed that first test, she had to figure out how to open up the conversation.

The Shallows were probably her best bet on acceptance, but the trust level would be lower with the kind of people to be found there. The Inner City was right out with its manor houses and private militias; the decadent wealthy surely were more likely to engage in questionable affairs and magicks themselves, but they didn’t like the public to find out such things. They had no reason to trust her to stay quiet, and there was only one way to guarantee she would.

The Outer City was her best chance with its down-to-earth, working class population. Easily frightened as a mass population, but individually strong and capable. There it would be just a matter of finding someone who seemed up for anything and relatively nonjudgmental. If she failed there, well… mobs of peasants were easier to deal with than squads of armed soldiers.


OOC: This is primarily intended for Argós as Seretha's travelling companion while she hunts for magical artifacts, specifically a set of knives with metaphysical properties. I'm going with Fable though in case anyone else sees something interesting they would like to engage with
 
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"Deal?" "Deal!"

And this was how the last pieces of mahogany wood in Argós' backpack magically got turned into a bunch of coins. The rich merchant was really happy with the purchase, he had to hold his top hat so that it didn't fall off. It was an excellent trade which would be able to fulfill... whatever goals that human had in mind. Without waiting for any sort of approval, the business man took the sack of mahogany wood and left the scene, replying before so:

"Thank you for the wood, Mr., have a blessed day!!"

The golem replied a "You're welcome, chief", however, it was so introvert that the merchant probably didn't even hear it. The granite being tried to return the favor again, saying "You're welcome, chief" a bit louder, holding onto the air as if he could somehow stop the wealthy human. Either way, the top hat man slowly evaporated from his horizon, and he was left back alone to the humble streets with the common, tired workers of Alliria.

It was actually funny - and strange - seeing someone so noble walking on those streets. They certainly weren't ugly, Argós had already seen worse places than that, but they certainly weren't designed for the rich; the working class houses, the populated (and somewhat dirty) taverns, the small street vendors, all of that smelled like humility to the golem - and probably stinked like humility to the wealthy. It was undeniable that there was a certain charm to the place - Alliria always wanted to appear unique whenever it was able to - but the granite construct never thought he would see someone like that top hat man walking on those streets.

Either way, the deal was made, and he was now holding the coins on his hand. Argós looked at them - were they enough for a long enough stay in Alliria? Of course not. Even in the luckiest of the luckiest of the scenarios, that wouldn't be enough. The golem's abilities as a trader certainly weren't very good; he put way too many discounts to make the rich merchant happy, and now that guy was going away with mahogany - mahogany! - wood with half the price. As he put the coins in one of the bags in his backpack, the rock golem visualized one of his mathematics and books and impulsively thought:

"I'm a mathematician, not a trader."

After some moments, he thought: perhaps "mathematician" is a bit far-fetched, after all, he had never went to an academic center; but he still had a passion for numbers, a much bigger passion than that for trading and selling. He's closer to being a mathematician than to being a trader. Or perhaps that was just how his personality acted.

At the end, the golem felt angry. Angry, frustrated, desperate and somewhat hopeless. You see, the granite being never thought he would go back to the urban regions in so little time; after Argós left a small city located somewhere in Falwoods, he threw the map he had (and had no idea how to read) in the trash and followed his path in the wilds blindly. "No maps!", the golem thought, "No more annoying maps to trick me!". However, then food started to run out, water started to get cold, the leaves of the trees started to fall, snow started to fall, and, when he less noticed, winter was kicking at the door, ready to shine at its' full fury. He didn't collect enough pieces to be sold at the urban areas, but, as soon as he discovered there was a big city named "Alliria" nearby, he realized it was either the city or the winter. He chose the city.

Now, the golem was realizing that choosing the city just meant delaying the winter. There wasn't enough money to stay in an inn and buy food, not even for three days. He could choose between buying food and sleeping on the streets or stay within closed doors and suffering from hunger; Argós didn't want either. There was this feeling, this horrible feeling of maybe, maybe he would have nowhere to sleep or nothing to eat for an entire season. That was really hard to digest.

The granite being looked around, anxiously, for some sort of job or chore he could do in order to gain some more money. His survival instincts were still working, desperately, despite the harsh scenario. His rational brain, though, thought it was only a question of time until his hopelessness sinked in and he was truly, and completely, lost. It was just, as stated, a question of time.
 
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The Outer City was the place Seretha generally fit in the most. While she certainly owned at least one high-quality dress and could make her way in polite society if needed, the majority of her personal belongings were sturdy, practical, and as small as possible to accommodate her nomadic lifestyle. They were the tools of the working class.

She carried her back herself, having left her horse in a safe location with its illusions fully powered with supplemental energy-infused bone carvings so it would maintain its appearance as a real living horse. Knowing most people, it would cause panic if a clearly raised dead horse was being stored in the city.

Wandering the streets looking for the right person or two to approach was more of an art than a science. The rules were flexible and it was impossible to know anything for certain. There was no such thing as a sure mark in anything, much less finding someone accepting of necromancy.

The obvious magicians and sorcerers were right out. They were typically taught that her magic was evil, or otherwise bought into the social mores against it. Perhaps in the Shallows she might have found someone but not here. Soldiers, too, were typically employed at least in part by authorities and none here were friends to necromancers.

She passed through multiple squares and busy streets, stopping in taverns along the way, but with little confidence in anyone she found. Another Abtati would have been ideal - being out of the desert meant they had already rejected some of the culture but would likely be willing to accept a lot to be around a familiar type of face.

With mounting annoyance, she left her eighth tavern after a brief failed interview, swearing in her native language. That was when she saw him.

Like a statue, but nowhere a statue would have been placed and with a face unlike anything that a statue might be carved to be. Some sort of golem.

She pulled up her hood to help obscure her face and gazed into the spirit plane. All around her lines of blue flame wrapped around bodies and reached out into the darkness, tethers of souls to their various anchors in the world: their bodies, their desires, things they had vowed to protect or destroy. She couldn't see the souls or the anchors themselves - other mediums could, but she had never developed the ability - but the existence of tethers was normally enough for her purposes.

The golem simply flared blue, though, unlike anything living she had ever seen. So, then, was it not truly alive? Did it lack a soul to begin with?

Either way, it was the most promising thing she had ever seen short of another necromancer. If it wasn't like the living, it wouldn't have the same considerations. It wouldn't value meat bodies as much, surely.

She went up to the towering form, easily two or more heads taller than her and positioned herself clearly in front of it, looking up into its eye. The granite facade was solid, strong... definitely a good candidate.

"Are you looking for work?" she asked with no preamble.
 
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That was when his thoughts got interrupted by a figure that suddenly appeared in front of him, looking directly at his eye. The granite creature momentarily got spooked; it wasn't everyday that a stranger would decide to interrupt you walking to announce something. Big urban centers were naturally lonely; if someone decided to talk anything to anyone, it was so because there was a good reason (generally something related to personal interests) to do that.

The figure appeared to be that of a bronze female elf. Her face was hidden for most public because she was wearing a cloak, however, the golem could see it clearly, since she was looking directly in front of him. She seemed to be wearing a necklace made out of bones. While it wasn't usual to see a commoner wearing a bone necklace, it wasn't strange for him either. Maybe it was just a fashion choice.

Funny to see someone wishing to talk specifically with him...

The stranger revealed her reasons for interrupting the golem: she was looking for someone could do some work. The granite being saw an opportunity. Perhaps that was the thing that was going to get him out of his current hole. He didn't exactly get hopeful, but he didn't intend on saying "no" either. So Argós replied calmly, at a casual pace, nodding:

"Yes, chief. How can I help ya?"
 
It... he? ... seemed to look back at her when he responded in the affirmative. Oh thank the gods, that's two for two so far.

"Would you care to step around the corner or into a nice quiet tavern corner to talk about it? I'm looking for help, an escort really, to a particular locale south of here," she said, holding her arm out so as to invite him along with her. "We can discuss the details in the open but I do have some very specific questions that would be better done without an audience."

Truthfully, she was wholly unaware that such an approach might be suspicious in and of itself, and the thought never once crossed her mind that she could be threatening, certainly not with a being so much bigger and likely proportionately stronger than her.

So, in earnest, she reached out with her other hand behind him like she was going to guide him by the small of his back, if he indeed had such a thing. She didn't make contact, though. That, at least, she was socially aware enough to be careful with - though it was at least as much due to the chance of him breaking her arm if he flinched the wrong way.

"I can take care of myself, to be clear; my concern is primarily about being overwhelmed on my own, and if anything happens to me, I'd like a chance for someone to rescue me. Or at least find my body."

She laughed, thinking herself funny. The delivery may have been flat but she didn't notice.


Argós
 
Right. Nobody would do a job interview with someone else out in the open. The granite creature had already seen cases when that happened, but, usually speaking, those sort of jobs weren't as strict with hiring procedures as the others. Sometimes, someone would just want his strength to carry something large from one place to another. The stranger's proposal seemed more serious than that.

In fact, it seemed like an adventure. Some sort of "mission". She needed the hands of someone else to happen with some level of safety, and apparently he could do it justice. The rock golem still wished he had more details to make sure that would really be true - and wished that really was true, he didn't want to lose the only light at the end of the tunnel that had appeared for him at the moment -, however, the cloaked woman expressed her wishes. And it would be very weird to discuss about a job opportunity out in the open anyways.

The stranger finished by laughing at her own joke. Argós thought it was a bit commonplace to be laughed at - everyone jokes about their deaths eventually -, however, it did hint at the adventure possibly being more dangerous than common. Either way, noticing the cloaked woman's gestures, the golem looked at her and replied with the same pace as before:

"Of course. If you have an idea of a tavern where we could this discuss your offer...? Or any safe place, really."

He wondered whether or not he would have the money to spend on a tavern's drinks and foods. Perhaps not. He was still stuck in a financial limbo, after all. He still had some biscuits, anyways, maybe he could just eat those, should hunger - or gluttony? - arrive.
 
Argós
Seretha ibnat Rezhe
The square outside Alliria’s western gate bustled in the muttering, sun-bleached way of any great port city, yet even its rabble paused to stare at the sorcerer in horn-crowned war-plate who loomed beside the guard post. Vaezhasar Drakspae, for his part, seemed built of tempered night and burnished brass: a living basilica clad in runic steel. He inclined his helmed head a fraction, the gesture suggesting both courtesy and faint incredulity.

“Vampires, you say?” The words emerged from his visor-slits like a baritone echoing down a bronze trumpet.

“A-aye, milord.” The watchman—no more than twenty summers, freckles fighting a losing battle with a new moustache—shifted his halberd as though it were newly treacherous. “A full chapter of ’em. Knights of some outlandish order no one can spell, let alone pronounce. They ride by moonlight and vanish at dawn.”

Vaezhasar rapped the spike of his staff on the flagstones; a curl of pale witch-flame wound up the haft as if eager for scandal. “And does their proximity ruffle your provincial sensibilities?”

The youth swallowed but squared his shoulders. “Can’t say it does. They keep the peace, pay for their ale, and haven’t drained so much as a stray goat. That’s more civility than many who wear coronets.”

“A keen observation,” the sorcerer mused, the faintest chuckle rattling the vox within his helm. Then his hidden eyes narrowed. Across the plaza a bronze-skinned woman in a traveller’s cloak had waylaid what appeared to be a walking menhir: a granite giant whose faceted surface glimmered with feldspar and stoic patience.

“Remarkable,” Vaezhasar murmured. “One seldom sees itinerant sorceresses interviewing sentient stone in open daylight.”

The guard followed his gaze and laughed—nervously. “Outer City’s ever full o’ curiosities, milord. Stranger yet if you venture to The Shallows.”

“Quite.” Vaezhasar’s cloak, stitched with sigils that pulsed like captive lightning, swirled as he turned away. “Remain vigilant. Should those nocturnal chevaliers relapse into bad manners, send word. I have jars enough for their ashes.”

With that he glided toward the unlikely pair—armor gleaming, staff crackling, every inch the scholarly predator. Overhead, a gull aborted a dive, deciding even scavengers should respect a wizard having an interesting day.
 
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Seretha began guiding Argós to a nearby tavern, one that would be relatively quiet this time of the day if she recalled correctly. "I do know just the place, it's not far."

She spotted a concern in her peripheral vision, affording only a flick of her eyes in that direction to ascertain whatever it was. A large, armored man with a very magical and very much active staff seemed to be making his way directly toward her. She attempted to usher her would-be employee forward faster but without any reasonable way to tell him discreetly and quickly to hurry on, there was no doubt that if the wizard was indeed coming toward them, he would catch them.

After a few steps, she could feel the presence nearing ever closer and eventually she had to accept that fact.

She wheeled about on her heel and looked up at the magician as he approached. He was quite possibly the most intimidating thing she'd seen in years at least. It was clear especially this close why he had stood out enough in the crowd on the street that her paranoia had alerted her to him.

"Oh, hello, sir!" she said with feigned cheer. That, at least, was something she was highly practiced at. "I do apologize, were you looking for this man here? Or perhaps you recognize me from the last market day and wanted a look at my wares? Unfortunately I don't have too many with me at the moment...."

Flashing him a smile, forced but again practiced in its deployment as a disarming social defense, she patted herself down to illustrate that she minimally stocked and to place her hands a little more believably near her knife as a precaution.

Argós Vaezhasar Drakspae
 
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Things were starting to roll. After the stranger revealed her intention to go... somewhere (she didn't specify where, perhaps it was the tavern they were talking about so far?), the golem nodded again, this time, a short, fast nod. Then the woman started to guide the granite creature to the supposed place; Argós accompanied her with his somewhat slow, somewhat big steps, compared to hers, managing to maintain a pace that wasn't too lengthy for both. He was glad that business was going to start as soon as they arrived at the location the cloaked stranger had in mind, and hopefully he would be able to fit into the job.

However, the world they lived in was a world of compensations, and (of course) someone had to appear to stop things from actually rolling. While the two were walking, the rock golem heard the sounds of magical particles, fuzzing like some sort of vivid - and dark? - energy, together with metallic plates clanging against each other. When he looked, he noticed someone wearing a really heavy and really magnificent armor, holding some sort of staff which contained a high charge of energy. They were so armored, Argós couldn't even identify their race, gender, age, anything. He had already seen that sorcerer before; they were attracting quite an attention in those surroundings due to their apparent power and strength. In particular, the granite creature had a fascination for all things magic, and that staff managed to catch his eye. For some moments at least, when his attention was redirected to the elf's job offer...

Now that guy was coming to them. The golem looked back to the woman, to see if she had looked at that sorcerer too, however, she apparently did nothing. He did noticed she quickly peaked at their direction, though, she still followed the path as if nothing unusual was happening. Argós continued to follow the lead; unsure, tense, and a bit afraid of what that powerful armored magician could do.

Were they some sort of law enforcement agent? They were discussing with some guard a while ago, after all... They very much looked like some sort of knight in charge of defending the city from those that were perceived as unwelcomed. The granite creature wondered - were he and the bronze elf doing something wrong? Illegal? Anything could be illegal. Law could be very arbitrary at times. Sometimes societies simply didn't make sense for Argós. Their internal systems seemed to be based on pure magic at times (on the negative sense of the word). And, then, when he less noticed, some guard appeared to throw whatever nonsensical rule at his face and make him run for his life for fun...

Or maybe they were just some errant looking for power. Those were somewhat common, after all. And they weren't very sociable. The granite golem was afraid to sometimes fall on their bad side of the story, standing on their way for their personal victory. Generally speaking, they had a few-friends face. A face the sorcerer had at that moment.

At one moment, when the magician was somewhat close to them, the rock creature and the cloaked stranger's march stopped. She did it first, and he followed suit. She greeted the sorcerer, with a smile Argós had to presume was fake, because, even though it looked very realistic, he had the impression she was as disturbed by that magician's presence as him. It seemed way too friendly. Upon hearing his mention in her speech, he felt a bit annoyed:

"I don't know this person, chief. Unless someone told about me to this individual, I doubt this person knows about me either..."

...Maybe he shouldn't have done that. The granite creature realized he might've ruined the stranger's persuasion strategy. Oh well. After calling himself an idiot in his head, he took some courage to look at the sorcerer and say, hopefully remedying the damage he had caused:

"Hello... Who are you, boss? Can I do something for you?"

Hopefully.

Seretha ibnat Rezhe
Vaezhasar Drakspae
 
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Argós Seretha ibnat Rezhe

Vaezhasar halted a prudent seven paces shy of the pair, the butt of his staff kissing the cobbles with a metallic tac that made the witch-fire coiled about its haft shiver like startled fox-flame. From behind the green-crystal visor his regard settled first upon the bronze-skinned woman.

“Your wares? Nothing of the sort, I fear," He gave a languid wave that might have banished gnats. “Your accent pricked my ear, that is all. My progenitress is Kalitian—priestess and sorceress by blood and temperament—and in all Alliria I’ve met but a handful of our desert cousins."

He inclined his horns in courteous acknowledgment, then turned the full weight of his helm toward the granite colossus who loomed at her elbow. The sorcerer’s tone shifted to the measured cadences one employs when greeting a potential colleague rather than a mere curiosity.

“I am Vaezhasar Drakspae, Maester at the Elbion College—though I confess the title sits on me no better than a formal doublet on a blacksmith. What you might do for me is doubtful—unless you secretly traffic in first-edition grimoires—but I daresay I could do a great many useful things for you: coin, counsel, or the sort of potent sorcery that keeps one’s limbs and livelihood in their proper places.” He tapped the staff again and a coil of lambent sigils rippled up the dark metal, as though illustrating the point.
 
He was a curious man, though at least seemed to pose no kind of active threat. Seretha never could be sure on such things.

"It's true, we don't come out so far. Most of us don't even make it to Annuakat with any kind of regularity," she said. The Empire as a whole, nevermind its capital, was far too infested with humans for it to feel like home to most abtati - or her, at least, and she liked to think she knew her own people.

"Now, if you're offering coin, I'd certainly take it. Perhaps in exchange for any first edition grimoires I come across? That sort of thing is part of my trade, after all. I'm sure what I'm looking for in particular at the moment is likely to include several potential tomes long lost to the ages."

She wasn't sure, truly. Did the artificer who made the set of blades write anything of the process or magic down? No one knew, and at this point she felt herself likely the preeminent expert in this mystery. What she knew of was carved in stone - hardly a book she could sell to someone working at the College. Still, she did her best to hide behind a jovial facade.

"I don't suppose you need anything?" she asked, looking over at Argós.


Argós Vaezhasar Drakspae
 
Well, it seemed like things turned out a little bit differently, didn't it?

Contrary to the granite creature's belief, the intimidating staff holder didn't attack or threaten the group. The armored sorcerer actually looked like a somewhat polite person - or polite enough to not just start a fight. Argós was glad Vaezhasar wasn't a law enforcement agent of some sort either; it meant he wouldn't have to deal with the anxiety to talk with someone who could throw him in a dungeon at any moment. Now that the golem could hear the voice coming from behind the horned helmet, the magician seemed to be a man.

Nonetheless, Vaezhasar was still intimidating. He was still a heavy armored sorcerer who seemed to hold a lot of magical power, after all. It was just that uncertainties of the moment before he revealed himself were - at least, partially - rejected. Vaezhasar's figure was normalized. In fact, the rock creature even found it funny the idea of such an individual secretly trafficking first edition magic books, though that was probably a common thing among people of that kind. Books - as Argós could confirm via personal experience - were very expensive.

Then the stranger who would hire him replied to Vaezhasar's introduction. It was interesting; there seemed to be certain similarities between the cloaked woman and the armored magician. The first being that they were both citizens of deserts, places which the granite creature found significantly more difficult to survive in than in your average forest. For him, the idea of someone being from a desert, while it wasn't a sign of god-like constitution, demonstrated some "alien" level of endurance - some sort impression that could be expressed as "how do you managed to survive in a desert out of all places?!", like a student that can't understand why his classmates are able to do certain things "more easily" than him.

What was probably more fascinating was the fact both were magic users. That explained the woman's necklace. The golem watched both talking about a potential trade with a certain level of curiosity, wondering about what sort of tomes they would be talking about. Not like it was stuff that he would deal with, though. He was well aware he wasn't one of them.

That's why that when the cloaked magician asked if he needed anything from the armored sorcerer, Argós answered:

"Yeah, I don't really need anything, chief... Magic isn't my business, and, right now, I need to be more strict with how I spend my economies."

Seretha ibnat Rezhe
Vaezhasar Drakspae
 
Seretha ibnat Rezhe Argós
Vaezhasar’s laughter rang out—a deep, resonant boom that sent a brace of pigeons flapping from a nearby cornice. Whether the sorcerer laughed from genuine delight or merely at the novelty of his company, none could say; the sound echoed about the plaza all the same.

“Quite so, Mistress Seretha,” he said, shaking his horned helm as though to dislodge the mirth still lingering in its metal throat. “A kinswoman of mine has lately clambered onto the lion-cushioned throne of Amol-Kalit, and I would not trade places with her for all the pearls in the Shallows. Desert crowns sit upon blistering problems—sandstorms, jackal-lords, and courtiers as venomous as dune adders. My dear mother—stalwart Kalitian that she is—would box my ears for speaking ill of the empire, yet honesty, like a camel, will kneel only so far.”

He traced slow sigils in the afternoon air with one gauntleted forefinger; faint sparks chased the gesture like fireflies on invisible reins. “As for coin, I possess more than I can conveniently count—though the counting keeps my auditors happy. What I truly barter in is information: the whispered indiscretions of higher powers, the footfalls of their servants, and sundry other tidbits that make polite society blanch over its soup. Alliria, of late, has been a veritable opera of intrigue.”

He lowered the hand, pausing as if weighing the desert breeze. “If such morsels interest you—and if an alliance with an itinerant Maester does not curdle your milk—say the word. If not, we can let discretion veil our ears and part as amiable strangers.” A courteous inclination of his helm invited their reply while the rune-etched staff at his side hummed like a choir of tiny, patient starlings awaiting the next refrain.
 
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Kin to the new empress? That was a strange surprise. What were the odds, after all, of meeting someone from her clan randomly at all, much less this far from home. Not that she had any particular love of the woman or the regime at all. She might have fought to make it happen but that had been for money, not out of loyalty or any belief in the so-called God-Emperor.

"Well, sir, you are extremely well-spoken and I can't help but feel your words tugging at my pursestrings," she said. She held her hand to her chest and looked up at him with a faux-sweet look in her eyes. "You certainly know what a merchant and adventurer wants to hear and frankly I can't resist. Would you care to join us to discuss why I would like to hire this golem here? Perhaps I can pique your interest as well."

She took a step to the side both as an invitation and also to see the both of them at the same time. It was still entirely unclear whether or not she could trust either of them, but one had to make a leap sometimes. She'd taken many in the past and had always come out alive, so what was one more?

"I think I may be able to make the discovery of the century here, and I needn't take all of the credit for it."

At least a century, a lifetime for humans and still longer than she herself had been alive.


Argós Vaezhasar Drakspae
 
The granite golem quietly observed as the armored sorcerer presented his part of the deal. It was curious - if Seretha (that was the cloaked woman's name, as it appeared; that, or Vaezhasar confused himself) accepted it, Argós was going to have a work colleague who was probably two or more times stronger than what he was at the moment. He wasn't sure how to react to that at all; should he be scared or should he be happy? Should he pay attention to not annoy the powerful magician or should he be relieved that they were going to have someone as strong as that on their side? Instead, he simply looked at the two magic users, both of whom were from the desert, discussing the proposal with a refined language which he sometimes didn't quite understand.

Seretha proceeded to do a well-articulated gesture by putting her hands on her chest and sliding to the side. The cloaked magician expressed her invitation to the armored one to join the interview. It seemed like she was going to accept the deal, after all. Argós looked at Vaezhasar and back at Seretha, with an overall curious eye. Nonetheless, the company he was going to have during the mission and the mission itself seemed pretty interesting... and perhaps dangerous, in a sense. They were just strangers, after all, and the adventure appeared to involve an element of risk. It was going to be risky and it was going to be like nothing he had ever seen. Hence, it was curious.

He just had to take the interview.

The granite creature still held a level of silence. Not only because he wasn't sure how to deal with the apparent formalities of the conversation, but also because he didn't feel like he had much to tell. Though, he did have to introduce his own name. The rock golem was the only one of the group who didn't say their name. Maybe doing it at that moment wasn't the best approach, though - Seretha and Vaezhasar were in the middle of a deal, at the end of the day. Better wait for them to finish so that he could play his melody without the interrupting the overall ensemble.

So Argós looked at the two, curious to see how that would turn out and patiently waiting for them to start walking. It would be interesting to watch if, after the conversation ended and they started the path towards the tavern the cloaked woman had in mind, his attention shifted to food. Food was an weakness of his; perhaps he wouldn't be able to resist buying something in the tavern. It was a question of time to see how he would turn out.

Seretha ibnat Rezhe
Vaezhasar Drakspae
 
Seretha ibnat Rezhe
Argós
Vaezhasar let out a lofty chuckle that rang in the helm like coin in a coffer. “Well-spoken?” he echoed. “I’d sooner call it honesty, occasionally of the sandblast variety, and honesty, as reputations go, tends to strip varnish faster than acid. Most folk find that disarming.”

His gaze, hidden behind the viridian gleam of his visor, made a slow, contemplative sweep of the square. The movement of his helm had all the grace of a sundial acknowledging the afternoon.

“Shall we find a place to sit?” he suggested, gesturing with one spined gauntlet. “You’ve stood long enough, I imagine, and I’d rather not risk the guilt of having worn out your legs with mere conversation.”
 
Seretha gave a slight chuckle and said, "My legs are more than capable, sir. I do want to make sure I'm not wasting our golem friend's time, however."

She led them to an open-air tavern a short walk away. Inside the privacy fencing, she directed them to one of the handful of tables and waved at the keeper. After a lack of acknowledgement, she tried again with larger movements that were much harder to ignore.

The keeper was a grizzled-looking old human woman in an apron who shuffled over and grunted a welcome, eying Argós and Vaezhasar Drakspae suspiciously. Seretha, at least, looked much more like normal clientele for the area.

"Do you have buns? Small loaves? I'll take four of whatever you have. A nice solid fish, too, I'm sure you have some in fresh. And whatever the golem here wants."

She smiled at Vaezhasar and said quietly, "I assume you're comfortable ordering and paying for yourself? I suspect your pockets may be somewhat deeper than my own."
 
Eventually, they reached the "somewhere" the cloaked magician wanted to guide them to, and- oh well. It was really a tavern. Oh well... Right, the granite creature would wait to see what the others were going to do. If they asked food, he was going to ask food as well. The gluttony was kicking at his stomach, angrily reacting to the delicious smell of the place, ferociously ordering him to be the first to ask food.

After some communication problems, the keeper came next to their table and started to note the cloaked magician's orders. And... it was funny - it seemed like she was rather taking food to later storage it? It wasn't like someone would eat all of that in a single meal, right? After the bronze elf referred to the golem and she started to silent say something to the armored sorcerer, the golem looked at the old human - she was waiting for the orders.

"Erm..."

Well, he had to do the math. The granite creature wore down his backpack sack and started to check for everything he had - wood, stone, pieces of cloth, rope, everything which he didn't sell and didn't intend to sell. It seemed like he had a good portion of basic materials, it was mostly food which was lacking. He looked at one of the backpack sack's pockets, which had many shiny coins, and started to grab them, keeping them out of the others' vision. They were... around 1.5 days worth of stays in inns and daily meals. He could buy 3 days worth of food for no days in an inn or stay 3 days in an inn and no days of food. He could also buy 2 days of food and stay one day in an inn... Well, it wasn't like he was going to have a place to cook food anywhere, so:

"I would like to have one really big fish, one piece of cheese, three pieces of bread, three tomatoes, three potatoes- I mean, six potatoes, some letuce, four fruits of whatever is in season, some red sauce and... it can be one jacket potato, for now, please. The rest is for travel. And..."

Argós looked at Vaezhasar. He was the one who was missing from ordering something. The granite creature patiently waited for him to start reciting his orders. Same with the keeper, who quickly changed from looking at the rock golem to looking at the armored magic user.

Seretha ibnat Rezhe
Vaezhasar Drakspae
 
Seretha ibnat Rezhe
Argós

Vaezhasar settled himself into the chair with the slow, deliberate caution of a man who had, on more than one occasion, shattered tavern furniture merely by sitting. The seat beneath him groaned like a wounded mule, protesting the strain of so much articulated metal and looming sorcerous presence. He leaned back, exhaled through the narrow slits of his helm, and with a flick of his gauntleted fingers—accompanied by a crackle of octarine sparks—summoned a peculiar companion.

It appeared with a sound like wet leather slapped against stone, no larger than a tavern pigeon, and no more agreeable to look at. The thing perched neatly on his shoulder, folding and unfolding limbs that looked suspiciously like the embryonic arms of a drowned godling.

1000017583.jpg

Where one might expect a beak, it bore instead a twitching radial maw, something like a lamprey’s orifice rendered in biological satire. From that wriggling circle, the creature gurgled and spat—yes, spat—a clinking heap of silver coins onto the table with the wet finality of someone ridding themselves of an unwanted meal.

"I believe that should more than cover my bill," Vaezhasar announced, with the weary magnanimity of one long accustomed to unconventionality. He gestured at the stunned innkeeper as if this were all perfectly reasonable. "Now then—bring me a pitcher of your sweetest wine, and a whole suckling pig, if you please. Roasted, crisped, and basted in its own fat. I find myself quite unreasonably hungry."
 
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