Completed Dark Trilogy II - A Dark Alliance (Brandon)

[Sal Mander]

Day 30, Spring of 514 A.V.

Sal admired the traders, yelling prices and offers to entice would be shoppers and browsers. Anyone would think they were selling the very last gold ingots in MIzahar, such was their enthusiasm and tenacity. He watched how they descended on their prey, namely anyone who made the mistake of looking at their wares for more than a moment. The vulture merchants would tackle those hapless victims with promises of 'three for the price of two', or trinkets that were not to be found outside of Sahova, except for this lucky merchant's stall. Sal smirked how they were also like cheap, one night stands, offering the world to the customer to get them 'into bed' as it were, only to discard them like the morning after as soon as money changed hands. Then on to the next one, a never ending chorus of discounts and specials all with one aim in mind. Rid the customer of their coins.

And so it went throughout the various markets and commercial districts in Lhavit. Sal preferred the shop over the market, if he had to choose. While there was the drawback of potentially being cornered by a shopkeeper, you were at least in the place to begin with because you were after something in particular. Shopkeepers were content to offer fake smiles and false pats on the back to those that came through the doors to them. They had no need of venturing outside and trying to hook a customer or two. Unless business was bad of course. Or if it was a whorehouse. Or both, indeed.

But the street vendors were a different bunch altogether. For one there were a number of them, all trying to shout the loudest and present the best offers, lest a competitor three stalls down got there first. Some were bearable, Sal noted, such as those with little room for extravagant claims. For example, a pie was a pie when all was said and done, and people went to the pie stall because, well, they wanted pie. Not much the merchant there could do beyond building a reputation for fine pies. That Sal could stomach. The pie too. No, it was those other ones, the opportunists, whose wares seemed to change every few days depending on what latest junk they had procured from gods knew where.

Some had a presentable act of looking honest, while others were just shady through and through. Sal watched one with an eye patch and grim, matted beard that was trying to sell a variety of jewels and pendants. His one eye darted about a little too quickly whenever the Shinya strolled by, and Sal noted his shouting took pause when they did. Further along there was the fat fabric trader, wearing his wares they were sewn with fine lace and embroidery though were clearly not ideal for standing about a stall all day. There was a sweat patch forming on his back and, when he raised an arm to beckon someone with some new offer, a ring under his armpit also.

But there was one merchant in particular that had Sal's attention today. A man with a hook nose, like the handle of an urn, on top of which sat a pair of eyes so beady that even rats probably looked the other way. He squinted instead of blinked, those rat eyes peering at anyone who came within a five foot radius of his stall, as though they were up to no good. He wore an old round hat that looked like a larger version of the pies a few stalls back. But most noticeable was the abundance of rings on his long, skeleton like fingers. All of them were sparkling and gleaming gold, as though he had set to polishing them every night without fail. To look at the man, it was a fair assumption by even the most neutral of observers that there was something not quite right about him. It was as if a fine layer of slick wrongness fell upon him, not at once noticeable to the naked eye, but more a sense, or a feeling that it left. He was just bad people.

Of course, Sal knew that for a fact. The man, Burton Tally, was a liar, a cheat and a thief. Worse of all, he had stolen from a good friend of Sal. The problem for Tally, though he of course had no way of knowing this, was that Sal was loyal to a fault. Stubborn and loyal, a haphazard combination that had ended in more than a few undesirable outcomes in the past. But it was not about conflict resolution or acting has a neutral party between two roaring forces. In Sal's case, if you wronged his family or friends, he was going to put you down or be put down in the process. It stemmed from growing up with two older and protective brothers that had shown little Sal what it was to be family. Not just by blood, but by action too. Their father had been one of the old fashioned types, who rather than coddle a bullied son, sent them back into the fray with instructions to 'hit the biggest one, hard'. Sound advice, so long as you punched so hard the other kid did not get up for fifteen minutes.

Pulling his attention away from childhood squabbles, Sal's mind returned to Burton Tally, the wretched little man who had it coming to him. In Tally's defense, the crime in question was not anything out of the ordinary for a lying petcher such as he. All in a day's work for a conman. So long as you ended the day with more coins than when you started, what did it matter how they got there? Well, that was logical to a point. The problem was Sal was that point. A sore point no less.

Tally had, only days earlier, set up a game of cards that was one of those 'invite only' deals. In was an opportunity for him to pick his opponents and ensure the cards were stacked in his favor. Hosted in a tavern of ill repute, in a seedy back room away from prying eyes, Tally had put his devious little plan into motion that had, for a long story short, rid five other fellows of their hard earned coins. The fellows were an assortment of merchants and shopkeepers, fools that had somehow come to fraternize with Tally long enough to believe his invite to the card game as a sign of prestige among peers. But all had gone home to wives and children with stories and excuses as to why the coffers were thinned.

But Tally had grown greedy. His winning streak was becoming legend, so much that people started to question the amount of skill in the game as opposed to downright luck. In truth, it was a bit of both, and while one could certainly be mastered, the other was always an unpredictable element. Tally however had seemed to master both, which in turn had set the wheels of suspicion in motion. Enter Sal's friend. He had confronted Tally with the suggestion that the cards were rigged, and after a scuffle, triumphantly watched as a card fell from Tally's sleeve. On that occasion it had only been those two men left at the table, so it was a classic 'his word against yours'. But Tally knew better than to get into a game of who can shout louder. He had selected his card partners carefully, knowing that if the need arose, he would have leverage. In Sal's friend's case, the knowledge of the card game was completely secret from his wife. Having come off the back of a gambling addiction that had only ended with the wife threatening to leave, any word of this recent setback would have spelled an end to the marriage. Tally knew that too, and so his winning streak had been allowed to go on without interruption.

But on learning of Tally's treachery, Sal was livid. His friend had come to him for advise and council, a conversation that had ended with Sal simply stating, "Leave it to me." So here he was, fire in his belly and murder in his eyes. Of course, he was not planning to murder the man. Just return to his friend what was unfairly taken. He planned to give his friend a good talking too also when it was all done, about staying away from card games for good. But for now his sights were on Burton Tally.

Liar, cheat, thief.

[Brandon Blackwing]

Glad to be outside again, the bat pulled the door to the ‘Touch of Fire’ closed, shutting the smoky smell inside, the light headache that had been forming threateningly vaporizing within ticks due to the fresh mountain air . Though he could not say that he had liked the bowl-haired, muscular, with grime stained, blonde guy, he was happy he’d been there, having suggested a great weapon for him to use. Daggers. This was quite exciting actually, the six daggers he’d ordered would be the first he would ever hold! It was almost impossible to bear having to wait nineteen days, he could not help wondering what they would look like and how it would be like to wield them.

Maybe he was indeed a bit overreacting, but his childish joy was to be understood by those he knew. As a Kelvic he had only lived for barely three years, quite a contrast with his appearance, thus there was much he had yet to see and experience. The anticipation of his own and interest for weaponry was apparently something he had inherited from both his parents. Though his mother did not possess any kind of arm, she had always shown interest in the craftsmanship and beauty of the objects, however refusing to carry them around herself. She swore by unarmed combat styles, claiming that “being a living weapon herself, all she needed were her natural strength and claws to pulverize her foes”. And pulverizing foes was something she was good at, maybe a little too good. The bat would never forget the day she had mauled his ribs, probably having forgotten to hold back. Even in her human disguise, her strength was not to be underestimated.

However, the person that had sparked Lethia’s fascination for blades was Brandon’s unknown father, a man veiled in mystery. The bat did not know his name, he did not have a clue what he looked like or where he could find him, Lethia did not speak that much about him, probably for Gallan’s sake. Though during one of the rare times she had told Bran some stories of times long past, his father had made an appearance. Though his role had been that of a side character, and had only received a basic introduction for completeness’s sake, it had been enough to make the bat wanting to hear more, yet he had never been rewarded with what he had asked for. Those “good old times” were maybe not that good after all. Or perhaps she felt that it was pointless to dwell on happenings of the past. Whatever the case, Brandon had found out that his father was a Kelvic too, what kind had not been revealed, and his occupation at the time was that of a wandering mercenary.

Both the thief’s mother and father had found themselves in Riverfall, another place Brandon had only heard about, but apparently it was located near a magnificent waterfall and inhabited by huge warriors. As he recalled that, Bran remembered the story had pivoted around those warriors, the point of the story being something about his mother having fought many of them to hone her skills or so… anyways, she had faced an other opponent then those warriors one day, a fellow who was “surprisingly weak compared to the Akalak”. What Akalak were was not something the bat knew either. According to Lethia, “she would have been able to win with relative ease, but had lost on purpose to make him feel better.” Yeah right. After her defeat, the two spent some time together, Spring being a time of pheromones for most Kelvic, getting closer every day. They hung out a lot, he often showing her his arsenal, swords, daggers, bows, axes…, “he was a living weaponry depot.” Eventually, the peak of the pheromones was on them, and so was the peak of their relationship. It had taken a while, but Lethia being picky about her mates, she had used all that time to confirm whether he was worthy or not. He was.

Though this might not seem as though he was but a minor character in her story, he in fact had been rewarded by a small role. Not only had this been all Lethia had told Bran about him, but she had been rambling on for half a bell already, and would do the same after that part.

While recalling, the thief had been walking all the time, avoiding collisions with people and objects alike, making way to … where actually? Absentmindedly strolling about the city was not something eh didn’t do on a regular basis, so he should be someplace familiar … A glance around and a listen to the noise around him proved him right. The hustle and bustle of the small streets, the way too crowded alleys as well as the shouting market vendors were more than enough to give him a location. The Azure no doubt. This was a great place to pickpocket, though he was not really in the mood for that. The horrible failure form last time still haunted him, making a sour face as he stared at his fingers which had been purple at the time. He hid them in the pockets of his pants, and positioned himself against a nearby wall, leaning casually, watching the crowd pass with little interest. As far as the thief could remember, there was no reason he had stet foot into the battlefield of vendors, so why was it he lingered around? A clue about it was not something he possessed … though …. Maybe something interesting was about to happen?

Credit goes to Engghaen

[Sal Mander]

Sal's right hand, the one with his flame shaped tattoo, gripped the pommel of his longsword like some cruel giant choking the life out of a lesser and smaller being. His knuckles were white as bone, while his blood had rushed to his head in a torrent of anger, teetering on something more had he allowed it to continue unchecked. Thankfully, on this occasion, that was something he was able to do.

If Sal thought about it really hard, he might have recalled the first time he really lost his temper. Not in the petulant manner of a child throwing a tantrum, or the kind fueled by teenage angst. But rather the more destructive beast that reigned in all denizens of Mizahar, whether it stowed away in secret, only rearing its head on seldom occasions, or living in full view for all to witness. The beast was rage, its goal a simple one. To destroy the focus of its attention by all means necessary.

Realizing that he was perhaps being a little over zealous, Sal consciously took charge of his breathing, taking in purposeful breaths that left his body slowly and calmly. Having taken the opportunity to reassess the situation, he agreed with himself that anger was both unhelpful and unwarranted. He was merely here to set things right by his friend. How he was going to right said wrongs remained quite the conundrum though. Looking at the situation with an open mind, he considered his options.

Firstly, he could confront Burton Tally with the accusations that had already been laid bare. Perhaps in a moment of regret and repentance, Tally would hand over his winnings and denounce his rotten ways. Fat chance of that. Secondly, maybe a more action orientated approach was in order. He could sprint at the man, vault over his head before landing on his feet with sword in hand. Now Sal was just being silly. Shaking the foolish notion of acrobatics from his wandering mind, he forced himself to present a more viable option for the task at hand.

The problem was simple. Burton Tally needed to fork over the money he had effectively stole from Sal's friend. Of course, now that Sal thought about it, Tally did not necessarily need to know he was handing over the money. Play the thief at his own game. It was almost poetic. But there was one grand flaw to the otherwise delicious scheme. Sal was no thief, not beyond a few minor discrepancies as a child. How then was he to relieve Tally of his ill gotten wealth? From his vantage point pretending to browse the wares of a merchant selling fishing bait and tackle, Sal watched Tally at his own stall, those rat eyes watching every passerby with scrutiny, as if sizing them up to steal from their pockets around the corner. The man kept one hand in his coat pocket at all times, and Sal felt confident it was most likely a dagger or some other small instrument for the purpose of stabbing with.

Tally was careful and observant, ideal traits for a thief. It also meant stealing from the wretch was going to be nigh on impossible. Aside from the possible dagger, Sal did not even know if Tally was even carrying anything of worth. Sure, he had pocketed a few coins from his wares, but surely not to the amount that had been won from the card game. With these additional facts presenting themselves, stealing from the man was starting to look like a terrible idea. What Sal really needed was that key that hung from Tally's belt. It was hanging from a leather strap that was buttoned to the thief's belt, in a way that to remove it would require cutting the strap. This is a terrible idea, Sal told himself. But it only took a moment of thinking of his friend to reignite his motivation. Unless he was going to rob Burton Tally in broad daylight at sword point, that key seemed like the only plan he had right now. If only he had a thief of his own that he could deploy.

It took a moment for Sal to register the slender looking fellow leaning casually against a nearby wall. He would have looked past the man without a second thought, only his gaze flicked back as a hint of recognition pounced into his mind. Something about the man registered familiarity. Was it...no, it could not be? Only a few days earlier, if Sal's suspicions were correct, this was the toerag that had put him on his backside amidst a pile of crates. Knuckles turned white again as the poor longsword was victim to another strangling. He momentarily wanted to throttle this other thief, but realized that apart from getting barged out of the way, he really had no quarrel with the man. Some questions perhaps, born from curiosity, but otherwise nothing more.

Still, none of that mattered. What he did have for the fellow was a proposition. It was of course a gamble though. After all, Sal's hypothesis as to the man's identity could have been wide of the mark. Even so, what did he have to lose? It only took a quick glance around to ensure there were no stacks of crates, and Sal was weaving towards the man like a snake, or at least how he envisioned a snake would weave in a crowd of merchants. He just needed to get close enough to talk to him.

[Brandon Blackwing]

The habit of keeping an eye out for what was going on in a crowd was something the bat had picked up after a couple of failed attempts at pickpocketing, where it was crucial to know when you were noticed, be it by the victim or someone else. Naturally, whenever the thief found himself surrounded by people he did the same, there was no real reason why … but it was some form of caution, a thief had always to keep his guard up, on of the disadvantages of such an occupation. Though it was subconscious most of the time, Brandon was almost always vigilant, sometimes just his instinct warning him, but usually it were his Kelvic senses.

However, sometimes it was just too obvious to miss, like it was now : A tall guy zigzagged through the crowd, his gaze fixed on the thief, one arm not moving at all while the other was used to push people out of the way when they came too close. It couldn’t be more obvious, if he thought he was being sneaky, he was overestimating himself big time. What the man wanted from him, the bat did not know, he hadn’t seen the guy before …. Or had he? Wait a tick, that gaze …. Those eyes … the expression … he had seen them before! But where?

A moment later, the thief was struck by lightening as past events ploughed their way through the chaos inside his head. The undercover super-trained Shinya guy! Oh shyke, this wasn’t good, not good at all! His eyes were fixed on Brandon, how did he recognise him, hadn’t his face been covered, hadn’t they just caught a few glimpses of each other? How was this possible? Maybe he wasn’t looking at the bat at all? Bran made sure to check if there was something or someone interesting next to him, but couldn’t find anything. Gods, he was glaring at him with those orbs filled with focus, those intense, serious eyes.

What to do, what to do? Nervousness was getting hold of the thief, cold sweat gathering on his forehead, his onyx orbs franticly darting to and fro in search for possible escape routes. Was that the best idea though? Would fleeing not make him look even more suspicious in the man’s eyes? Indeed, it was not a given that the Shinya did know the bat’s identity as a thief, but was just acting on a hunch, a gut feeling that hit the mark pretty well. However, Brandon could still deny that, and if the man acted on a hunch, it meant he had no concrete proof. It made the bat relax a bit, not too much though, for he wouldn’t let his guard down in situations like this one.

Yes, that was what he’d do: act normal, pretending he didn’t know what the Shinya guy was talking about, pretend not to know the man at all. That would be the best, the bat thought, however that was but a solution to one of the many possible problems the man could cause. Ah well, so be it, it wasn’t like he had any more time to think about solutions, the man had reached him already, stopping in front of him and staring intensely. Did the guy not know any other expressions? As the man got ready to speak, taking in some air and maybe mustering up some courage, the thief interfered with his own voice.

“What do you want?”

It wasn’t asked in a nice way, rather bold a query and not very polite either, though Brandon did not particularly care, he had to make the first move to gain the advantage. At least, that was what usually happened in a fight but maybe that rule could be applied on social happenings also?

Credit goes to Engghaen

[Sal Mander]

Sal inwardly thought himself quite clever as he weaved through the crowd, though in truth he was recollecting various spies and bounty hunters from books and stories he had lost himself in growing up. He imagined he was one of them, on some special mission to right the wrongs of Lhavit and oversee the downfall of criminals like Burton Tally. Who said he should not daydream? He had spotted Brandon in a crowd after all, but lacking modesty in the moment, Sal chose to ignore that that had been blind luck.

Reaching his intended target, Sal worried for a moment that the masked fellow might take flight again. The circumstances of their last meeting had been unclear of course, the only real evidence coming between fits of coughs from that guy who had been struck in the neck. It was only then that Sal recalled that part, realizing that Brandon was capable of violence as well as flight. A little reluctance began to creep into his thoughts, but he pressed on with confidence that a third and more amicable option would yet present itself.

Before he could formulate what he wanted to say, Brandon had seized the initiative and struck first. His question was so devastatingly simple and to the point that he caught Sal off guard. "What do I want?" he asked in return as though every thought leading up to this moment had vacated his mind in an instance. He recovered quickly though, clearing his throat to fill a few moments before settling on a reply to the question.

He did not pretend to know Brandon, and decided an honest approach would be his best bet for now, ironic as that may have seemed dealing with a thief. "I want what you want. To make some coin. You interested, or am I wasting my time?" Sal was pleased with himself again, hoping to sound enticing enough to hold Brandon's attention. Either that or he was just making a fool of himself. But he did not care, so long as he could say he tried.

[Brandon Blackwing]

OOCI must say that I liked your previous avatar more...



The reply he received was his own question fired back at him, though the subject of it was still the man who had been since the start of their ‘meeting’. Apparently the man was baffled by the query, surprised by the advantage taken away from him. Good, this guy might have known the bat’s profession, but that did not mean the thief could not pretend he was wrong entirely, by staying where he was and taking the initiative of starting the conversation he had done just that, albeit not that outspoken. It was more or less the hidden meaning, the undertone of his actions, even a dense person would notice.

Soon enough, as the man recovered and remembered how to use his tongue, the bat did receive an answer, and it was an amusing one. It was as bold as the question asked before, straight to the point but not quite. Actually it was more like beating around the bush, the bat realized, the man was fishing, trying to find out if the bat was who the man –the shinya- thought he was. The response on the question would have to serve as a means of knowing. Sadly, there was no real way for the bat to escape, to avoid suspicion. If he pretended not to know what he was talking about, the guard would certainly know he was doing just that.

And if he would show interest, the man would know the thief did know what he was talking about. However, it wasn’t said that someone who did not have a clue could not be interested, right? Heh, that would be the role to play until the man told him what exactly he wanted, what he meant with ‘making coin’. Besides, it wasn’t like the thief was in it for the money alone, this business did have something else to offer: adrenaline rush. That was responsible for the enjoyment the Kelvic got out of stealing, the coin was a nice bonus.

Though, it had to be said that the bat was indeed interested, he might act the opposite way, but the man had succeeded into capturing his attention. The problem laid in the suspicions the bat had about the man’s identity; the thief was relatively sure the man was with the Shinya –why exactly he did not know- and thus this might be a trap. However, curiosity had proven itself multiple times to hold stronger control over the bat than self-preservation, he couldn’t care less about the Shinya if curiosity took over. He wouldn’t let the man know, obviously.

“Not everyone is interested in making coin, you know. There are people out here that are more likely focused on other things than that, though you do have my attention. Just one question you need to answer before I say any more: who are you?”

Brandon kept silent for a while, only speaking up at the same moment the mysterious person did too, thus interrupting the man with two words: “Answer honestly.” Then he guarded his tongue once more, allowing the man to reply. That was not all to it though, when the man was finished talking, the thief asked the exact question again before shutting his mouth again. It had a meaning, but not one he would let the man know, instead he added: “Answer me again, and we will continue this conversation, do you not do this, I shall take my leave.” Perhaps it was not something he would make himself popular with, though the bat was in the position to demand weird things, someone who was in need of his services desperately would answer, and well, safety was needed, he wasn’t that curious.

Then when a second answer was given the thief opened his mouth to speak once more, though what came out of it was not what the man would want to hear. “I ask of you again: Who are you?” Brandon was sure his companion was starting to get annoyed, but he had a reason to ask trice. If the answer was exactly the same each time, the man was lying; he had prepared himself for that question, so he had something to hide. This meant someone was trying to fool the bat for a reason, but why was not known to the thief. If the answer was different every time, but the meaning of the answer was the same, Brandon would stay to listen to what the man had to say. Three different replies which were very alike were the truth … or a very adept liar, someone who was prepared even for situations like these….

Credit goes to Engghaen

[Sal Mander]

The streets were busy, lined with merchants, traders, travelers and so on, weaving in between one another and going about their days. But even in a crowd there was need for discretion. Rather than stand facing Brandon in the street, Sal positioned himself alongside the younger man against the wall, so they were now stood side by side. He crossed his arms, while one leg was bent under him with his foot on the wall. For anyone who cared to look in their direction, Brandon and Sal were just two men hanging out and chatting and not looking the least bit suspicious.

'Who are you?" Brandon asked, his interest apparently keen, though not yet captured. Sal took the man's caution positively, believing that had the thief not demonstrated at least some sense, that the whole plan might have been a foolish idea. But caution was good. It meant a person was willing to stop and think instead of rushing in at a moment's notice. It meant they had restraint and an analytical mind, weighing up facts and insights before taking action. Coupled with Brandon's display of agility days earlier, Sal was certain the bat could be of help. If only he could persuade Brandon to agree with his assessment.

"Who I am is...," Sal began before his conversational partner cut him off at once. The thief wants honesty? So be it, Sal decided. "Let's stick with Mr. Mander for now. Just a man with a proposition. All you have to do is hear me out, then you can walk away if you're not interested. No problem." Brandon did not respond straight away, which gave the impression he was waiting to hear more. Taking the cue, Sal laid out his proposition as basically as he could for now. No need for excessive details at this point.

"Redistribution of funds. To put it bluntly, one man took it from another, and I intend to right that wrong. Any help I employ in the process will of course be compensated." That was his opening gambit in order to sweeten the pot, but after a pause, Brandon's reply was not as Sal expected. Instead of showing greater interest, he seemed stuck on the first question still as to Sal's identity. Cautious indeed. Though can he be faulted for being so, in his line of work? That was a large assumption on Sal's part, that thieving was Brandon's line of work. The fact was he had witnessed thievery in action, but that might have been a one time event as far as he knew. Or what if the bat had only been undertaking some task similar to the one Sal was embarking on now?

In any case, he chose to answer the young man again, hoping the addition of his first name might draw out a little trust. "Sal. Sal Mander. Lhavit is home to me and I've lived here all my days. He threw that last part in for free, waiting expectantly to see if his answer was enough to sate Brandon's suspicion. But for a third time he came back with that same question. What does this guy want from me? Sal pondered while growing agitated at the unfolding exchange.

"Listen pal. My damn name is Sal Mander, unless you're going philosophical on me. If that's the case, who I am is the kind of guy who thinks people who ask the same question three times are either deaf, or wasting my time." Sal pushed himself off the wall and made to leave, his frustration beginning to boil over at the seemingly impotent end to his plan, but turned back as his temper demanded more be said.

"And another thing. You pushed me into a stack of crates the other day. Remember that? When you almost got yourself caught by that guy in the alley. And do you know who that even was? A damn Shinya is all. Off duty and out of uniform, yeah, but a Shinya all the same. Maybe you might want to keep an eye out. I'm sure he'll be doing the same." Realizing his frustrations had exploded into a ramble, Sal silenced himself with a sigh, leaning back onto the wall with his arms crossed again, staring off into the crowd.

[Brandon Blackwing]

It seemed his tactic worked pretty well, the older man introduced himself as Mr. Mander first, then as Sal Mander and lastly he got pretty mad. Well, apparently he was short of temper, but that was no problem, short tempered people were not really the most fit for leading others into traps. The bat grinned at the man’s outburst, he found it quite amusing how worked up the man seemed to be about falling into that stack of crates the other day. However, the bat had not pushed him in there, he recalled the man had lost his footing when the bat had been to near, stepping and falling into the crates as a result.

What came next was less pleasant but useful information. A Shinya out of uniform? That was not good, the guy had probably remembered the bat’s clothing and other remarkable, easy to remember aspects. Brandon scowled for a moment, eyes darting over the scenery before him, searching for suspicious people … he felt watched all of a sudden. Maybe he should indeed keep an eye out …. And be more careful next time, no pickpocketing with frozen and numb fingers. Even though he had been in need of money that time, he valued his freedom more than a couple of coins.

Sal had fallen silent and had taken his position at the thief’s side once more, arms crossed and his gazing into space. “You look more like an off duty Shinya than he did, you know. And just for the record,” the Kelvic grinned, enjoying himself “I did not even touch you that day. You merely tripped over yourself, don’t blame me.” Further than that he did not take the joking around, the man would probably not be happy with being laughed at, though a smile could not be forced off the thief’s face.

“But anyways, I have decided to help you. You can call me ….. er …. You can .... call .. me ….. Djas.” A fake name, obviously, no parent named their child in the Ancient Tongue anymore, though whether Sal knew the language of old was not known to the bat, so perhaps…. “So Salamander, you mentioned a redistribution of funds, yes? Also, you want to right a wrong, a man that took another’s money. Yours by any chance? Or a friend’s?” Brandon’s black orbs narrowed as he glanced at the person next to him out the corners of his eyes. “So basically, what you want with me is to set things right and return the stolen coin? Hiring a thief to steal from a thief, huh? Interesting.”

A challenge was laid before him, thieves were no ordinary people, they were cunning, vigilant and swift. They had contacts –not all of them did though- and knew all shortcuts, alleyways and side passages. Furthermore, they were usually concerned about their money as well, keeping an eye on it at all times. Though this task was not impossible, it would be hard. Very, very hard. Probably.

“Well, care to give me the details?”

Credit goes to Engghaen

[Sal Mander]

It was true that Sal had perhaps got a little hot and bothered by the exchange so far, but now he was glad he had not just walked away. Besides, he had to stay with Brandon for a few moments more, to see if the young one would take the bait. Offering that snippet about the off-duty shinya had been a lie, one that he had intended to throw the bat off guard with. Now the thief was doing the talking, Sal was ready to close the trap.

Despite his earlier outburst, Sal offered a half grin as the two men recalled events in the alleyway only days before. True enough, Sal had fallen over in his haste to get out of the bat's way, but somehow he still made that out to be Brandon's fault. No matter. It was not like he had fared any worse than that other guy. "A snake would have tripped over himself in that ice," Sal added. After that, Brandon made known his acceptance of Sal's request for help.

He was inwardly pleased at this for two reasons. Firstly, he had correctly surmised that he was ill equipped to undertake the mission alone himself, and it was only good sense to employ a more skilled and experienced person in that area of expertize. Secondly, he had followed his own judgment with regards to Brandon, piecing together what clues he had to successfully conclude the fellow was indeed a thief. It was a minor victory, but one that could strengthen his confidence in his own observational abilities. He noted however that complacency could of course undo that good work. He needed to tread lightly and not let confidence run before it could walk.

Brandon had opted for a fake name, one that was a little too close to Djad for Sal's liking. Alarm bells were ringing, but he honestly had not expected the thief to offer his real name. That would have been foolish on Brandon's part, and yet further evidence that Sal was no thief himself, having offered up his own name freely. It occurred to him now that he wished he had used a fake name too. Too late for that, but no harm done. He hoped. Sal almost laughed at the name, on the verge of proclaiming he knew it was fake, but thought better of it. Just roll with it Sal. He's already agreed to help, he thought. The snake was charmed, so no need to go poking the nest.

It was time to get down to it. There was talk of funds, rights, wrongs and thieves, but did any of it really matter to Brandon? This was where Sal's personal opinions did him a great disservice. It was easy to assume that Brandon as a thief was interested in nothing more than getting his cut. And while that might have been true to a certain extent, it was unfair to dismiss him as anything more than after a payday. If he was a good thief, then of course he wanted details. After all, a thief with no plan was not long a thief. More a corpse or at least a someone who called a cell home. No, Sal corrected himself on his assumptions and decided that, in this case for now, he needed to afford Brandon a certain amount of respect. If things turned sour, they could walk away. But for now he was going to have to trust Brandon's judgement, as perplexing a concept that was given the circumstances.

"The name Burton Tally ring a bell?" Sal began. He hoped the thief had heard that name, for it would have made explaining who the 'target' was a lot easier. In truth, the chances were good that Brandon had knowledge of the man. Tally was not without a reputation, as the eagerness for certain individuals to get in on his card games had proven. It was a bragging right amongst peers and colleagues in particular circles, to claim that you've played a hand with Burton Tally. Of course, those that had played tended to part with a large pile of coins for the privilege, and not always in a fair and honest manner as Sal had found out. Or at least his friend had.

[Brandon Blackwing]

Burton Tally? That name did indeed have a familiar ring to it, he’d heard that name before, and slowly but surely a face took shape before the bat’s mind eye. An ugly mug it was, with a hooked nose that could make birds of prey jealous, and beady eyes. That face, the bat recalled, was part of a greater whole, a body that held a lot of similarities to a skeleton’s. Brandon had seen the guy many times, mostly merchandizing one or other useless trinket that fell apart after two days. Not the trustworthy type of guy, one Brandon called “The Rat”, referring to the man’s eyes. Little did he know that that was the true nickname of the guy in the circles he was involved in.

“You mean the invincible card player? Rumor has it he was caught cheating a few days ago… That’s what I picked up anyway.” He had indeed, some things are hard to keep a secret, and the more famous one is, the easier it becomes to spread rumors. Too bad for Tally, but the legendary winning streak of the man was just that: legendary. Everyone in Lhavit had heard of it at least once, some merchants –fools they were- told their customers proudly they’d been invited for Tally’s game and declared with even greater pride that, even though his skill was indeed as high as rumored, they had managed to pressure him. Later however, they had to admit they were defeated all the same.

However, due to his status as legendary player, the rumor of his cheating had been spread faster than anyone could have imagined. For one or other reason people liked disgracing and bad rumors more than benevolent ones, like vultures feasting on a corpse they absorbed the information, be it false or true –it mattered not, and spread it across the city. Heroes and legends were always the first to fall. People simply did not believe one could win that many times in a row with a game of luck, though they were in awe as long as there was no hint of a fishy smell. However, as the stink started to increase and spread, they claimed to have known all along –and proclaimed it to their friends and families.

Brandon himself had not heard from such an unreliable source though, he had contacts that did not know they were the ones that informed him. Apparently, one belonging to a circle of merchants Tally had played with earlier that particular evening had been sticking around for a drink, close to the backroom door, so he could follow the match even though he wasn’t allowed to stay and watch. The noise in the pub and the door being good at its job interfered with his plans, though when he had been readying to leave, he’d heard a person screaming that he’d seen that card fall out of Tally’s sleeve, calling him a cheat. The cheat had silenced the guest with a couple of words the man assumed were spoken, since the other guy stopped causing a ruckus right away and left furiously only half a chime later.

Of course Brandon did not get his information first hand, rather second hand. There had been –before the rumor had reached the whole population of the city- a couple of merchants whispering the story to each other, thinking that they would not be heard by others. While that might have been true, that general idea of ‘out of hearing range’ did not necessarily apply to the Kelvic thief who had been snooping along, at first trying to palm an apple or two, but choosing to act as a customer inspecting the wares carefully instead, which allowed him to hear the whole story. It wasn’t really surprising that when the tale ended, the other merchant had said dead serious: “Hm, I’m not surprised. I’ve always found that guy a little odd. And that winning streak? Impossible without cheating, if you ask me!” About a day later the entire Azure-visiting population of Lhavit had hear a version of the story.

“So, let me guess. You want me to go retrieve that lost money? How much are we talking about, ‘cause that guy is dangerous, you know. Not only does he have bodyguards, but he is fast with the knife too! That’s what I’ve been told anyway. I don’t really want to risk my life for a mere thirty Kina or so, this should better be a sum well worth it.”

He crossed his arms over his chest too, imitating Sal, and indicating that there would be no discussion about that. It was a large sum the man wanted retrieved or he should find himself another fool to do his bidding. Brandon turned his face towards the older man, one eyebrow raised in question and saw coincidentally Burton Tally shake hands with some fat guy who had something familiar, only ten or twenty meter away.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if he would indeed prove to be a rat one day,” the bat muttered.

Credit goes to Engghaen