From One Business Man to Another (Quest Participants Only)

[Seth]

15th of Spring, 511 AV. Syndre- It had been a completely random day for Syndre. He had gone about trying to make the boring day interesting, by perhaps picking the pockets of the random passerby, or trying to pass off his drug on an unsuspecting citzen... heck, he had even tried poking a city guard in the seat of his pants with the very tip of one of his many hidden blades... and even that hadn't brought forth any excitement. Stealing was slow, the drug trade was slow, and like always, Ravok's City Guards were especially slow. The street rat had easily heard the rumors that were circulating, of some sort of rebellion led by some sort of group... the rumors held many names, and cited many purposes for such a group. Whatever their goals were though, they had started out with freeing slaves. That was the most obvious result of such a group. Various slave owners had been attacked during the night, or even better, had simply had their slaves stolen out from under their noses. Lost in thought, looking for fun, thinking about his cute little lady friend (Nyd), Syndre would suddenly be accosted by a rather violent collision. It came out of nowhere, a somewhat small and frail man bumping into his chest, tangling his legs with the graceful Syndre, and awkwardly bringing them both crashing to the ground. It was in the middle of the street, there were onlookers, and it was actually quite shameful. Before Syndre had a chance to react to even this, he was basically used as a methods of helping the other man up. The events were all occuring so fast, that it was hard for even the usually-quick thief to comprehend. If he tried to lift a hand to support his stagger up, that hand was elbowed, helping the other man prop himself up. If Syndre managed to find a steady base for his boot to anchor to, he would find that the man placed his own boot on top of Syndre's, only tripping them both up even more. "Sorry! Sorry! Excuse me! Sorry!" The man babbled apologies as he tried to scramble up, only managing to keep him and Syndre down that much longer. Then, suddenly, he was gone. Syndre would be left on the ground in a cloud of dust, bewildered, trying to figure out what had happened. Two things would be immediately obvious. First of all, he had a sealed envelope sitting on his chest. Second, his right boot felt the fraction of a hair lighter. It was something he would likely notice first, as that boot was missing one thing that was always there. The hidden blade. Syndre, As a business man to another business man, there are events that are occuring in Ravok that we are both likely aware of. While I am sure you don't care one way or another, these events are of particular importance to me... and I want a hand in them. How this involves you... well, I am sure you don't care about that either. But, if you want your blade back, you will come to the third house down, behind the Spicy Lass. Two knocks will suffice. Also, check your back pocket. <3 He had been humilated, and pick-pocketed from. If he checked his back pocket, he would find that his meager earnings of the day were gone. If the humilation didn't matter, the signature on the note would. It was the seal of the Nitrozian family. __________________________________________________________________ Karc- The wayward Drykas was in for a strange time. Even though he had not been here very long, and he wasn't at all familiar with the dark and poetic streets... there was one thing that he would be familiar with, and it was something that was familiar to him alone. It would be luck that caused him to notice, but... Ravok had some Webbing. It was really just a random occurance. He would be busy spending a drunken evening in the Silver Sliver, when something would just happen to catch his eyes. It was the slightest of faded strings, the most invisible of threads... and his eye just barely managed to catch it. In his drunken stupor, he would struggle to realize what it was, but it would eventually come to him. Webbing. If he tapped into his magic, and made a concentrated effort to check it out... He would find that here was an intricate series of Webs running through very small and specific locations within the tavern, a minor network of information and connected points and places. A single brush of the web would be enough to link upon the Webbing system. It was mostly connected to a few waitresses within the tavern, signalling that whoever this Webber was, he was tracking the employees of the Silver Sliver. A strand could also be found at the entrance, and at a next-door small stable, apparently where the owner kept a horse or two. Karc would be able to visit the Tavern often, and would find himself doing so, tapping into the Web for his own curiosity. It would be fairly easy for him to track one or two of the Waitresses at a time, if he decided to. Nothing was really special about it, but the surge of magic to his brain would prove to be addicting. It wouldn't be long before he found himself coming back again and again, just to watch these barmaids flit about their business. It didn't take long for something odd to happen. Magic was a suspicious and mysterious thing, and one couldn't even begin to predict what would come of it. One day, he touched the webbing, and a message instantly exploded into his brain. Third house down, behind the Spicy Lass. Two knocks. Whoever the owner of the Web was, they had apparently sensed him... and directly contacted him. Would he be able to resist the allure of meeting another Drykas, or perhaps someone who was much more skilled than him at the art of Webbing? Perhaps it would be both!

[Syndre]

At the point in which he had been slammed into, the rogue's mind reeled

with the flight or fight instinct. Hitting the ground with a bit of force and a
body crashing down upon him, he quickly realized that flight wasn't an option.
Wincing as his tall frame collided with the stone street, a leather coated hand
immediately reached for the cold-iron blade upon his right boot. A wiry hand
came strait down atop of his, stopping him from obtaining his main weapon. A
string of apologies came from the man that was struggling over the downed thief,
and what seemed to be clumsy attempts to rise kept Syndre pinned to the ground.
Either he was ill fated this day, running into the most graceless citizen in
Ravok, or he was dealing with someone with a considerable amount of skill.

Becoming increasingly frustrated with his lack of success in retrieving

any of his weapons, Syndre began to maximize his physical capabilities. Gauntlet
strapped arms worked furiously to gain some type of advantage, and as soon as he
thought he was gaining an edge upon the awkward intruder, the man was off and
sprinting from the scene. The assaulted rogue immediately sat up and both gloved
hands swiftly patted the numerous pockets sown into his dark attire. That son of
a whore The gold rimmed coin he had stolen earlier in the day had been lifted
from his rear pocket and his hollow pommel dagger was unclasped and missing from
his buckled boot. He twisted his upper torso, using his hands as leverage against
the street so that he could hop up into a readied crouch.

Something had slipped off his form when he had risen from the sitting

position, but the loss of his possessions had momentarily distracted him. An
unsettling feeling overcame him as he scanned the busy avenue for any sign of the
other thief, and when he couldn't find the thin man he angrily snatched up the
sealed envelope off the ivory stones. It was far too late to pursue the quick
individual, so he settled on ripping the envelope open instead. He carefully
read the piece of parchment and crumbled it within a single hand when finished.
The creak of stretching leather that issued from his tightening glove was
evidence of his displeasure. Syndre liked to be in control of others, but it
would seem as though he was becoming a pawn himself. What would the Nitrozian
family want with him? Was his slowly growing business coming under scrutiny by
a larger organization?

Rising from his crouching stance, the rogue sneered at those that kept

their eyes upon him too long. There were plenty of lingering stares and indeed
the humiliation of what had just transpired bruised his sensitive ego. He knew
there were plenty of cut throats out there that were more experienced at playing
the game, but never had he been handled so easily. Having a gawking audience
in attendance made the encounter that much worse, he wasn't use to this type of
attention and the feeling of being utterly exposed sent him in motion. His black
wool cap slipped over the top of his head as he moved toward the Eastern section
of the Merchant's Ring at a steady pace. A black bandit mask worked around the
tip of his nose and across the center of his cheeks, trailing down below his
chin to hide the recognizable portion of his visage. Once it was secured with a
firm knot, his hurried steps transformed into lengthy strides.

He was further away than he had first thought, but he felt as though time

was of the essence. He knew he was probably being led into a trap, and he wanted
to give the man as little time as possible to prepare for his arrival. His
light weight frame and long colliding steps allowed him to achieve an impressive
speed thru the narrow allies and over a number of arcing bridges. His breath was
heavy by the time he reached the Spicy Lass, and at a much slower pace he
slipped into the alley between the spice shop and the Defiled Blade. He had the
distance of three houses to take a quick inventory of his remaining weaponry.
Satisfied that everything else was in its place, Syndre examined the surroundings
around the third building. Nothing on the outside stirred his senses, but it was
what was waiting for him inside that troubled him.

Turning the corner to the front of the structure, his leather shrouded

knuckles rapped against the door twice.

[Karc]

It had been a busy five days for Karc. Arriving in Ravok, a Tavern Brawl, Getting a house and job. Then having to act as a street thug for three days had taken there toll on Karc, he was a bit more "streetwise" now, though he still had a lot to learn. He hadn't got any time to himself(or his animals) at for the last few days, so there he was grooming Mist, and Aero sat atop the beams of the roof of Silver Silver Tavern's stable. "This place is different Mist. It's going to take time to get use to it." He quickly finished up, and sat down in a pile of hay. Mist gave him an accusing look, he shrugged "What's mine is yours..." He leaned back breathing in the stench of horse, and animals. He decided he needed to practice his magic while he was here, no one was around at the moment anyway. Crossing his legs, calming himself, he brought his palm facing upward, he could see the lines in his hand, every groove, filled with dirt from his labor. He closed his eyes focusing and calming himself, reaching deep inside himself he pulled on the power from within, he pulled his Djed, concentrating and compressing it into the palm of his hand, finally expelling it in a glowing substance which he knew was Res, he slowly expels more shaping and forming it into a form of a ball, a glowing green ball, when finished he has it hover over his hand admiring his handiwork, he then lights it. It bursts into flame, bathing all in light, warming the Drykas's palm, but at the edge of his mind was that nagging feeling the thing he had noticed earlier, in the week, the webbing of the Silver, pushing this from his mind, he tries to focus his connection, but it was already to late the ball flared then, went up in a puff of smoke, leaving nothing. "Shyke!" He calmed himself breathing in and out, calming his nerves, he sat like this for a long time, slowing his heart beat. Finally his eyes opened, he decided to attempt something else. Walking over to Mist's water trough, he concentrated his Djed in his palm, and extracted it with the other hand he started to spin, pulling and stretching the substance to become silken strands. Again, the nagging on the edge of his mind, he stopped his spinning feeling his anger rise he pushed it down again, calming himself. Closing his eyes, he lent on the trough face looking down towards the water, remembering the first time it had happened. Once he had calmed himself watching the liquid. This time he calmed himself, reaching out he contacted to the web, he was shocked when as he came in contact with the web, a message exploded in his brain. Third house down, behind the Spicy Lass. Two knocks. He stumbled backwards falling to the ground, his head hurting his mind whirling. Wha-What was that? As soon as he stopped hurting he ran from the stables, barely remembering to lock his stall. Soon, he was home. He quickly putting on his armour, and strapping on his weapons, putting his cloak on to cover it all. He then stopped. What was he doing? He didn't know who had sent the message or why? Was I meant to hear it? It must of been the person that set the thread up in the Silver. Why though? Could it be a Drykas? It definitely was a Webber, he shrugged he wasn't going to get any answers, like this. So thats how he found himself standing before the Spicy Lass breathing heavily, cloaked and lower face wrapped in linen to hide it. He slowly turned down the alley stopping to let his eyes adjust to the darkness. He quickly walked towards where he want to go, stopping when he sighted a man at a door. The man knocked twice. Karc, slowly walked towards the man, a tilted smile on his face. "Two men met in an alley..."

[Seth]

There would be a few moments of silence after Syndre rapped on the door, as nothing would actually happen. This would give the two men ample time to discuss things with a few short words, if they so desired. Syndre was likely on edge after what had happened on the streets, so who knew how he would respond to the sudden appearance of a strange and armed man who suddenly approached him. That, and it seemed like the stranger was searching for the same door that he was. After a few moments of stillness, the door would finally swing open. It was an old wooden door that led into a small little rundown building, one that was currently under reconstruction. Several tools were laying about the inside floor of the building, and several wooden beams had been propped up in various areas. It looked to have once been a small shop or restaurant, as there was a long table on the wall across from the door, much like a bar that had drinks served on it. It would only take about a dozen paces to reach it. There was a single candle sitting on the bar, casting a dim amount of light throughout the room, leaving shadows on the walls and corners. On that bar, sat a single man. He was an older man, with long white hair and a wrinkled face. He had light blue eyes that were cold and unfeeling, shining un-naturally with the glow of the candlelight, a small frown settled into his features. He was shirtless and massively fat, folds of skin sagging all over the place, only wearing a pair of loose britches. His big and meaty hands were crossed over his lap, his fingers looking like rather large sausages. All in all, he was a big man, both in weight, and height. He was pushing around six and a half feet. "Get your arses in here, and close the door behind you. I am assuming you are both here? The timing couldn't have been better, really. What a streak of luck." So this was the old man who had written the note? For being an old fat bastard, he sure did have a lot of guts. Did he have anything to back it up with? He looked pretty petching helpless.

[Syndre]

Syndre had caught the sound of quickly paced footfalls down the

same alley he had just came from, causing his cobalt voids to draw thin with
caution. Being mugged just moments ago had set his mind ablaze with numerous
thoughts and schemes, but it had also risen his level of alertness. Once the
hastened steps had slowed considerably he knew the person was close, though his
gaze was kept upon the aged wooden door. If the person coming up behind him was
part of a trap, he wasn't doing that well of a job keeping quiet. The rogue
continued to listen to the man's approach as he gave the door two firm knocks,
holding on to an unraveling string of patience.

The door did not open immediately, increasing the validity of the notion

that this was indeed a trap. -Two men met in an alley... The spoken words drifted
over his ears and in that moment, Syndre quickly reached behind his back while
turning around upon a booted heel. Azure pools swiftly scanned the other man as
the bundle of leather tucked within his gloved hand began to uncoil rather
maliciously like an unwinding ebon snake. The man wore a blanketing cloak and
his countenance was half shrouded with wrapped linen, offering the same effect
of concealment that Syndre's black mask provided. The length of his serpentine
whip finished spilling against the white hued stones of alley, the leather
surrounding his nimble digits creaking audibly as his fingers tightened around
the stiff handle.

"...and only one walked away...," the thief finished the stranger's line

with his own hushed words, his tone spoken in a threatening manner. It was
apparent that Syndre thought Karc was here on unfriendly terms, and he was
determined avenge the humility that he had suffered in the street. Though the
rogue's unlawful deeds would be considered "small time" in a city as large as
Ravok, he still had a reputation to uphold. It was difficult to achieve a
notorious status within the Underworld without being known, and his unrivaled
arrogance was the driving force that strove for recognition. When a thief steals
from another thief, the situation becomes a bit more personal than some random
pick pocketing. Perhaps this was why Syndre had shown such aggression toward
Karc, for he was not only a potential threat, but maybe even a little redemption
for the humility.

[Karc]

Karc, eyes darted to the door waiting to see if it wold open...it had not, yet. His eyes darted back towards the man as he spun around his hand behind his back, something unraveling, or growing out from behind him. Karc assumed it was some sort of weapon. Who was this person? Was he the person that had sent the message? Or could he be someone else that had gotten the message? How else would he have know when and where to go, and what to do? He seemed to be tense, almost thinking Karc to be an...enemy? "...and only one walked away..." The stranger's line confirmed that he felt threatened or that he was here to hurt Karc. Karc was only a small time mercenary. Why would anyone want to kill him? Sure he had some money, but he was sure there where other people with much more. So Karc summarized that this must be someone else that had gotten the message. Karc smiled and laughed, "Your words. Not mine. I was thinking more along the lines "...they left there as friends..."." Showing his hands, he faced them palm forward towards the man showing him that he meant no harm. Slowly making sure the man could see what he was doing, he flipped his cloak away and reached behind his back pulling his curved short sword from its sheath slowly and placing it on the ground. He followed the procedure for his crossbow(also on his back), and his kukri that hung at its belt. "See? No harm done." His hands still facing the man in a peaceful manner. He had done that in the hopes of mekine friends or atleast learning something about the person that had sent the message. He also knew that in a fight he still had his hand-to-hand combat skills, and his reimancy. "Hello, my name is Karc, whats yours?"

[Syndre]

Syndre stood like a shaded statue, the corded sinew of his lean frame

tensing with anticipation. Narrowed blue eyes watched as the stranger slowly
retrieved his small arsenal, lying the weapons down against alley's inlaid
stones. Karc's actions created a bit of confusion for the suspicious rogue, for
a sane man traveling the back ways of Ravok would never willingly disarm
themselves, especially when confronted by a shady presence such as Syndre. Two
explanations worked over his mind: Either this man had just arrived in the
floating city and didn't know any better, or he was an extremely talented
individual who didn't need the aid of weaponry to ward off danger. Karc's
overly friendly demeanor suggested his initial thought was more accurate.

The thief felt an overwhelming urge to strike the man with his unraveled

whip for his foolish decision to disarm, just to teach him a lesson on surviving
in this wicked settlement. Syndre refrained from manifesting his thought into
reality, instead he stayed true to his readied stance as the man introduced
himself and questioned him about his own name. The old wooden door creaked open,
causing the rogue's effervescent gaze to immediately shift to the entry way.
Though the entrance to structure had been opened, he couldn't see who had swung
the door to its current position. These were the type of games Syndre liked to
play on others, and now they were being played on him and he didn't like it. A
slow breath of air filled his lungs, calming his nerves while he began folding
the leathery expanse of his whip back into an accessible bundle.

"Pick your damn weapons up before you get yourself killed...," his tone

shifted from threatening to simply aggravated. His name wasn't offered in
return, thinking Karc to be some random tourist that wandered into the wrong
alley. Syndre clutched his bunched weapon firmly and stepped thru the doorway,
giving the taller man a cautious glance over his shoulder to make sure Karc
wasn't going to rush him from behind. Once entering, his azure pools dissected
the chamber that was currently being constructed or remodeled. It was quiet,
except for the sounds Karc was creating as he gathered his weapons from the
ivory hued stones. The black cloth mask that lingered pass his chin rippled
softly with each exhale of air, his examining gaze following the path of the bar
to where the obese man sat. He heard Karc enter the building and the sudden
words that came from the aging man.

I am assuming you are both here?... So the man behind him wasn't some

random fool as he thought, he had been summoned here just as Syndre had. There
were many questions that needed to be answered, and the thief believed that
this half clothed pig was about to enlighten them. The sound of the door shutting
sent a faint jolt along his already stricken nerves. Syndre shot Karc another
slitted stare before returning his attention back to the candle illuminated man,
his strap tightened boots taking him a few steps closer to the counter. "Start
explaining old man... or your streak of luck won't last much longer...," his
tone was low, barely above a whisper. He was still armed, leather digits
practically squeezing the gathered rolls of the black whip as if keeping a pet
serpent at bay.

[Karc]

As the other man stood there carefully trying to seizing up Karc, the door swung open. Both mens gazes swept to the door. Karc couldn't see anything from his view, he wondered if the other man had it differently. The man seemed to relax slightly, as he wound up his weapon. "Pick your damn weapons up before you get yourself killed..." the man seemed to be aggravated instead of angry now, he walked towards the doorway. Karc smiled dramaticly, placeing his hand on his chest in "shock". "I didn't know you cared." He smiled, then slowly moved gathered his weapons, the man twirled around a suspicious look on his face, Karc simply showed his hands palms forward an innocent look on his face. He gathered his weapons, and headed towards the door. As Karc entered the building, he glanced around cautiously as he sighted the half naked fat man, he grimced. I hope he wasn't a Drykas once. "Get your arses in here, and close the door behind you. I am assuming you are both here? The timing couldn't have been better, really. What a streak of luck." Karc closed the door slowly, the stranger gave him a dirty look, before turning back towards the other man. "Start explaining old man... or your streak of luck won't last much longer..." the mans tone was low, barely above a whisper, his hand tightening around the whip handle. Karc gave a nervous laugh. He would come up behind Syndre putting one of his hands on his shoulder, "What my friend here means is "Hello Sir, can you explain why you called us here?"

[Seth]

The door shutting was the beginning of it all. It hadn't been swung open by some minor magical trick of the fat man sitting on the bar in front of them. It had been tugged open by someone hidden in a corner of the room, safely tucked behind the open door. Syndre stepped through, and didn't take any notice. To him, the room would just be a collection of shadows and light, although some of those shadows might make him suspicious. He knew the dangers of such shadows, and how easily certain people could lurk inside. But the person behind the door, he had taken an easier route. He had simply hidden behind an object. When that object was swung back shut, that would be when he made his move. The dark figure would simply flow by Karc, who hadn't at all been ready. They had both been distracted by the fat man. Syndre would be his first target, and Syndre would only take notice of him when he abruptly turned, suprised by the sudden shutting of the door. Instead of turning to shoot Karc a glare, he would turn to meet a palm in his face. At the same exact time, he would feel a boot stomp down in front of his own leg. All at once, the man would grab his face and shove, and the boot in front of Syndre would be a tripping point. Roughly and violently, Syndre would get slammed into the floor, by a man he would readily be able to remember. It was the man who had gotten the best of him earlier in the middle of the street. He stood them, crouched and ready, dark eyes flickering back and forth between Karc and Syndre. His hands were held out, ready to react to any sudden movements by any of them... yet by his show of speed and hand-to-hand skill, he might be more than a match for the two of them combined. The fat man spoke, his voice oily and soft. "That was just so you don't think twice about any stupid moves. Just keep this formal and friendly, and everything will be alright. After all, this is just a business deal... but from what I have seen out of the two of you, I wouldn't go into such a meeting without some protection of my own." The man shifted a bit on his bar, looking slightly uncomfortable. "Syndre, you are trying to promote some sort of drug in my tavern. Threatening one of my better barmaids, getting her to distribute it... tell me a little more about this drug of yours." So this man owned the Silver Sliver? "And Karc... you happened to stumble upon my Webbing. It is a safety measure, you see. I like to keep an eye on my employees. However, I don't like people knowing that I have such a skill. You, being alive and well, and containing such information... well, it isn't a good thing." The danger was now obvious to Karc. "...However. I believe I recently saw your name listed for hire. As a mercenary, correct? Perhaps we could discuss... a deal."

[Syndre]

A brief cloud of dust drifted off the wooden floor boards, suddenly

disturbed by Syndre's unexpected collapse. The rogue had been caught off guard
once again, taking a opened palm to his masked visage, which had caused him to
trip over an extended leg and spill to the ground. Hitting the hard surface with
enough force to bring forth an escaping grunt, Syndre managed to kick his booted
feet up and over, using the burst of momentum caused by his legs to roll backwards
and away from immediate danger. He rose from the backward tumble before the
floating dust particles had a chance to settle, crouching four feet away from his
familiar attacker. It was almost like looking into a mirror, for the assailant
was also in a similar crouching stance between the thief and the mercenary.

The oversized man then spoke with quiet words, though they were loud enough

for everyone in attendance to hear. So I don't think twice about any stupid
moves?... He thought to himself as he slowly rose to his full height, his left
hand calmly returning his bundled whip to the small of his back while his right
appendage extended out in front as if to ward off any more attacks. There was a
long moment where Syndre didn't respond to the obese man, instead he simply
considered what he had to say while cobalt slits stared angrily at the menacing
foe but a few feet before him. Gloved digits gently closed into a leather
stretching fist, then a lone index finger uncurled and pointed directly at his
talented enemy. "I won't forget your petching face...," his voice was a threatening
hiss tainted with verbal venom.

Where the hell was Robert Cithon when he needed him?... His personal bodyguard

would have helped turned the tables, where Syndre in turn would have gained
control of this unpleasant situation. He couldn't always be in control, but the
young rogue always had a strong desire to run the show. A This particular encounter
had his back against a wall with no where to run, and the other stranger that
came along for the ride didn't seem like he would be much help. With no escape and
facing an opponent that displayed skills greater than his own, Syndre would have
to opt for the only remaining avenue: It was time to talk business. If they had
wanted him dead they probably could have accomplished it in the street or the
alley, and since he was still alive that meant they had need of his services.

"If you want to talk... keep your petching dog at bay...," the masked thief

warned the fleshy man while taking a couple backward steps toward the bar counter.
His black shrouded forefinger curled back inward to form a complete fist once
again, though the length of his arm remained locked at the elbow and extended in
the crouching man's direction. Crystalline orbs never strayed from the man that
stood between Karc and himself, taking the utmost care to keep him in his line of
sight. His carefully placed strides soon brought him close to where the heavy man
resided, keeping a comfortable distance five stools down from where he sat. When
he felt one of the wooden stools touch the back of his booted heel, he ceased his
movement and hooked the toe of his left foot around one of its thin legs. The tall
chair slid out from under the bar and the now overly cautious rogue slipped his
lean frame upon the hard seat.

"If you're looking for a cut of the profit... you can kiss my pale arse...,"

his attention seemed as if it were on the large man as he shot the remark, though
he partially focused on his recent assailant through the corner of his azure eye.
He awaited any sudden movement, a lone leather enriched finger playing lightly
over the mechanism that triggered his teethed gauntlet's hidden knife. Third times
a charm, and if he was attacked again he would definitely be ready to defend
himself. "If you're looking to make a business deal... I want everything on the
table... no more games unless you're ready to play as well...," the underlying
threat was evident, though spoken in a subtle way. If this encounter did not end
well and Syndre was able to make it out alive, there would be no ends to his
scheming against them.