Cobwebs -- Gracen

[Colombina]

Despite the minor pomp and warnings preceding the final door, the room beyond it was sparse. It had vaulted ceilings and a hearth with a thick ledge. Furniture was mostly absent, but rugs and wall niches were abundant. A pale-haired Symenestra sat at a simple table with spiral legs. It was empty save for stacked ledgers and what looked like a raised wooden carving of the heavens. The Symenestra didn’t look at Gracen when he entered, but the Pycon on the desk stopped a moment to regard the human. Nothing was remarkable about the Symenestra, save a slightly Eypharian influence to his appearance. “Biryar.” The Symenstra gestured to the twinkling carving, “I have always enjoyed this game. It is rare as most can’t afford the pieces.” He plucked a brilliant red orb out from its constellation and let it slide into his palm for Gracen to examine. It was a ruby the size of a man’s eye, perfectly polished into a dimpled sphere. “Part of the challenge is to not be distracted or too attached. See,” he held up a slender finger, “When you lose a piece to your opponent, you lose it for good. Further complexity enters when you realize the game cannot be won without sacrifice.” He returned the gem to its place on the dazzling board. “Even if it were pebbles, I still hate losing,” he chuckled. “At least it gives me something pleasant to look at as I am fleeced by Mister Kiln.” The Symenestra placed his elbows on the table and folded his hands in front of his mouth. What showed of the spider’s face was drawn together in obvious concentration as he watched the Pycon dance jewels between orbits. The spider hissed a little as a green gem was rolled into a gutter of the board. “But you aren’t here to watch me lose at Biryar,” he sighed. “You are here because I am a merchant at heart.” Though suddenly pleased he didn’t smile fully. Baring fangs was a sign of aggression, and he felt none. “I know you have come late from Hai,” the spider elaborated, “And you spoke to one named Toli Armitage, of no little significance.” He pushed an amber sphere to a new divot with his painted claws. The Pycon’s move again. “My employer has always found Hai… interesting.”

[Gracen]

Gracen took in the room as soon as he entered. His hand didn't stray toward the hilts of the two swords curving around his left hip. Such hovering would bespeak the anticipation of violence where there was little reason to expect it. He had heard of Biryar, of course, but had never learned to play, had left the highfalutin things behind at a young age. He watched and he listened, but when the time came to speak, he only confirmed one thing. "It was that, was Hai. Interesting." A hand rose to a healing cut on his face. Soon enough it too would disappear, but for the season, at least, it remained to remind him how dearly even the sight of Anatoli Armitage proved in these trying times.

[Colombina]

The Syemenstra smiled at Gracen's answer. "A man of few words. May father always said I talked too much." Both were ways of controlling the conversation, often more tactic than impulse. "Catch." A small white object was casually tossed towards Gracen. It was the pebble form earlier, etched with a feather. "That little trinket may mean nothing to you, Gracen, but it means something very profound to me." He leaned back in his chair, casually stuffing information into the chinks of Gracen's understanding. "That little stone can 'tip the scales' with some rather adamant people. There aren't many of those stones out there and there aren't many people who would need it." He pressed on, his tone still friendly and fluid. "Your lack of fury at losing it to one of my little snipes tells me you don't know what it is." While the Pycon digested the board with its beautiful orbs, the spider laced his fingers together again. "Where did you get it?" Something about the way the spider now sharpened his focus told Gracen his words were building a precipice. How the human answered would dictate whether he would be thrown from it or ushered back to safer terrain.

[Gracen]

Gracen caught the white stone, overcoming his instinct to dodge it. The spider was not yet an ally, but if he wanted to kill Gracen, it could have been done much less elaborately earlier. He caught it and he flipped it up and caught it once more to get a feel for its heft and weight, then shot summer blue eyes at it for a quick study before returning them to the spider. "I was watching the pageant barges," he said, having no reason to lie. "A young Eypharian, four arms, green eyes, black hair. Acted and spoke like a Svefra. He dropped it. I picked it up. Your snipe stole it, and I gave chase. Lady Shepemna stopped me and brought me here." He spoke facts with clinical disinterest, without attempting to fill in the blanks with something less than factual. It was a simple narrative, but he knew that the simplest facades in Ahnatep hid the most complex of interior structures, and that wasn't only with regard to the architecture. "I would recognize him on sight."

[Colombina]

The Spider smiled at Gracen's inference. The human had quickly discerned that being able to spot this man was a valuable asset. "Could you? My employer was hoping as much." Turning his attention to his Pycon friend, he requested, "Mister Kiln, would you check on Menark downstairs? I don't trust him to pay attention with Shepenma about." It was a gracious enough way to excuse the clay man from conversations best left between two. "I promise not to touch the board," he added, "Gracen will be your witness." As the Pycon excused himself, the Symenestra invited Gracen to sit on the bench opposite him. When enough time passed, he quickly slipped to the marrow of their meeting. “I believe in two things, Gracen. One: nothing comes free, and two: everything has a price. I need a bloody errand performed, and not all men are suited to it." The Symenestra waited for this caveat to bring any alteration to the human's features. “That errand is the thing that does not come free, but my second principle saves us.” The room grew tighter, as the Symenestra levied his full attention on Gracen. “Some men are hard to find,” the spider said meaningfully, “But I happen to be extraordinarily lucky when it comes to discovering old friends." The spider tilted his head, as if to better catch Gracen's reply in his ear. "Would my lucky talent interest you?”

[Gracen]

He gave a short nod of assent, not one to repeat himself. He would recognize the young Eypharian if necessary. He just smiled at the reference to his refereeing of the biryar match. The little Pycon would just have to trust the both of them. Gracen sat and waited out the Spider; if his twelve years of chasing blood and rumors was any indicator, he had long ago learned the virtue of patience. When it all came out, he nodded again. It was always the same with men such as these, and he had come to some prescience in such matters. Some things were just predictable, even those who sussed out his own intentions. He had to ask his questions to find the trails of his quarry. "I'm no Knight," he averred. "I have already located Anatoli Armitage, but there are two more friends whose locations have escaped me." There was a lead to Mura, of course, for Cian Galensar, but if Jacobi Hardai was closer, he would rather not lose the time sailing to the opposite end of the world. "So you've found me. Tell me the job, and we can discuss friends and gold."

[Colombina]

"I want the man who lost this stone found, captured, and, if necessary, killed in a quiet way." The Symenestra pronounced the terms easily and cleanly. "I don't know if he needs killing yet." He turned his palms upward in an gesture of ignorance without raising them from the table. "But it is a very real possibility. We will let you know once you have him." A drawer popped open, manifesting from nowhere in the seamless table. The Spider pulled out a few nondescript objects: a piece of wadj, a key and a battered signet ring. "If you have questions about reasoning, you'll be happier if you don't ask them," he explained. "Your discretion is, of course, required. And, if you can't complete the work alone, you can't complete it at all." Caveats and restrictions had been added without threats of how he and his employer would follow through. Perhaps he had reached a point in his career where it was unnecessary to explain. Those who made it to his table were somewhat sophisticated parties in their professional lives. The spider's clawed hand made a small cage over the objects he withdrew from the desk, betraying their importance. These were the bartering tools, if Gracen agreed to the task.

[Gracen]

Again he nodded. The details were unimportant; he did not want to develop any sort of liking for the young mark, else the possible blooding might upset what remained of his conscience. "Then it were best I returned to where Lady Shepemna found me to follow his trail before it gets any colder or more trampled by festival feet," he decided. "Although if you have any other information that might help me home in upon him, I am all ears." He doubted that he would find any trace of the young man back there, but he had one other clue to go on: he had mentioned the party of the Southwinds being the place to go rather than the Eastwinds. Thus he would search the first party, then the second. Thankfully Izdihar had inquired after whether he might escort her there.

[Colombina]

"I'd suggest the Ano Cultist, but they are more covetous of secrets than even I. The stone is of their making, rarely given." The spider swept the few objects into a small velvet pouch. "The key is for rooms utilized by those in my employ," a deceptively benign term, "You'll find them easily enough in some cities if you wear the ring. Use it to sign any missives to me. Leave them in the rooms you chance upon. They'll reach me. But I doubt you'll have anything to write about." The procedure was laid out cleanly, casually, as if there was nothing clandestine about the transaction. "When you find the boy. Burn the paper." The spider dropped the pouch on the edge of his desk. "If the others find him first, you get nothing and your ring will no longer earn passage." He folded his hands and almost smiled. "Simple."

[Gracen]

Gracen smiled, and it wasn't cold, but it wasn't nice either. He liked this man, the Spider. If things had worked out differently, he might have worked for him in the long term, but the road always called him away with promises of people who needed killing, the ones he wanted dead as opposed to employers. But he nodded his head and took the pouch, secreting it upon his person. "Then perhaps I will see you when the paper needs burning," he said, and waited to be dismissed. When he was out, he would have Shepemna take him to the Ano Cultist, if she knew the particular one who had gifted the stone to the Eypharian boy, or at least point him in the right direction. He knew he wouldn't find anything back where he had met him. The trail would have been unreadable five seconds after they had parted ways; by now it was gone.