RP:A bloody transaction - Nemo delivers Kuzial's consignment

Background

A little over a week earlier, Nemo received a commission from the drow, Kuzial.

After much travail, expense, and no little discomfort in visiting a particularly repulsive alchemist to procure the more obscure reagents and equipment required, Nemo completes the creation of a single dose of the 'Distillation of Death's Feast' - a rare combination of alchemy and toxicolgy, resulting in a slow-acting, tasteless concoction suitable to the drow's needs.

The meeting was arranged. However, the transaction wasn't without perils of its own

A letter is delivered to Kuzial in Cenril Inn's most expensive suite

Kuzial entered the room, this time without his escort of a scared servant. Whether Nemo was prepared for him, or the owner just decided drow business was not a type he wanted, the dark elf was alone. He walks across the room, eyes taking in each detail in both the normal and infrared spectrum. Satisfied he is alone, he pulls forth his ebon blade and stands with his back against a wall - the door clearly visible and his body disguised from any who would look through the window, unless they were dangerously close to it. Idly he pulls out his small crossbow with his other hand and inspects the fine workmanship with a lazy air, though his tense muscles betray him to be anything but complacent.

There is the soft, uneven patter of footsteps - not the measured approach of a warrior, but perhaps the cadence of a servant unwilling to perform the task appointed them. They get closer to the door, then pause. A moment later, if nothing untoward occurs, a fine parchment envelope will be pushed under the door. The envelope is sealed with black wax bearing the sigil of an hourglass, and on it is written "Now really, old bean, did you think it would be quite so easy as the last time?" A more detailed letter is enclosed, ready and waiting to be read.

Kuzial does not move for many a moment as he suspects Nemo of a trap, before he slides against the wall, leaving it only to pass furniture, until he is close enough to the door to extend his sword and pin the envelope beneath its razor sharp tip. With a flick of his wrist he impales the paper and brings it close enough to be torn free from the blade. He reads the writing on the outside before letting off a string of drow obscenities, none at all complimentary towards humans. When his short burst of rage has passed he opens the letter and reads Nemo's words.

Written in an elegant yet efficient script is written the following: "My respectful greetings to you Kuzial, Patron of House Stavret. If the wax seal is broken prior to your receipt of it, I would suggest killing any who have seen the envelope - namely the manager and bellboy of this Inn. They know the price of betrayal, so it would come as no surprise. But on to business: I have determined a more private setting for our next little get-together. Somewhere scenic, with an appropriate ambience. Do come alone, though. I'd hate to waste more bolts on your minions - it would be uncivil, after all. I do so hate being uncivil. As we are both seekers of a peculiar sort of knowledge, I chose the Cenril Library as our meeting place. I look forward to a mutually beneficial conclusion to this transaction. Yours in the shifting sands of time, Nemo." A neatly drawn hourglass follows the salutation.

Kuzial screws up the paper in one hand as a snarl comes to his lips. He stalks across the room, before leaning his back against the wall beside the door and gently pushing it open. Sure that no one is waiting outside, the drow brazenly makes his way through to the inn. As he enters the lobby the look of barely disguised anger on his face is enough to cause the owner to become so pale he leans a hand against the counter to stop from passing out. The drow demands from him a piece of paper, and is hastily given one. The drow grabs a pen and an ink-well and goes about writing his own little message. When done, he drops a small handful of sand over it, drying the ink, before he folds it shut - not even bothering to seal it with his insignia. When done he barks a command, "Bring me one of your servants. Young, fast, and not stupid." Nodding comically, the innkeeper shouts for a young man, and he soon arrives. Kuzial places the folder letter into his grubby hand and speaks clearly, "If you read this, boy, I will hunt you down, tear out your eyes and feed them too you. Deliver it to..." The drow flashes a glare at the innkeeper before whispering to the boy, "Deliver it to the Cenril library. Someone will either meet you there, and hopefully not kill you.. but if you don't see anyone, leave it in plain sight. Go, boy. And be quick!" The young servant sprints from the room so fast the drow smiles in satisfaction, before he exits inn.

A shadowy meeting near the northern vista of Cenril

Nemo had carefully reconnoitred the rising path towards the Cenril Library, and judged a section of it perfect for the task at hand. In the shadows of a park's small arbor he would be afforded a clear view of the ascent to the library. It was a shame, the assassin thought to himself, that the cold sea air of the dark hours would not be enough to conceal his heat signature, even if his cloak let him blend in with the natural shadows of the arbor. Nemo therefore takes up position in a tree, so that only a small part of him might show to one making the ascent up towards the library. He does not expect it to fool the keen senses of a drow Patron if Kuzial's gaze passed directly his way, but at the very least the tree made for a damn good shield and vantage point. To reach the Library, Kuzial would have to pass within sight of this place. Nemo just had to be ready to see what, or possibly who, the shifty drow bastard might have brought with him. Still, when he saw the bellboy race past to the library he almost laughed. The servant could easily take an hour in his fruitless search for Nemo through the library's labyrinthine rooms full of shelving. In the meanwhile, the assassin waits with the patience enforced by his past's cruel necessities. He would learn much of the drow's nature this evening, no matter the outcome. This, he could tell with the certainty afforded him by experience.

Kuzial was following the close behind the servant boy, but far less openly. As Cenril eyes would look at the running lad, out so late, face white with terror, the patron dark elf would use their confusion to sneak past them; blending into shadows with uncanny skill due to his stealthy nature and magical piwafwi. His movements are like the whisper of death; so silent that citizens close enough to touch him would never even notice he passed them. In truth, he is using the boy to show him where the library is, for he rarely comes to the surface unless it is for business, or death. As he spies the building and the winding path leading to it he cannot help but smile in appreciation. Were he to lead a foolish adversary to their death, this is a place he too would pick. But this is a game he does not want to play, not tonight. So he slips back around a building and silently makes his way to where he has a good view of the library side on. His gaze shifts to the infrared spectrum and he makes a careful note of everything that moves; a stray cat silently stalking an errant mouse; a small rabbit bounding across the road, fleeing imagined terrors. He does not yet notice Nemo in the tree, though he is sure the crafty man is close. He can almost smell him. So the patron begins to make his way forward, using every ounce of his innate skill to silently shift from shadow to shadow, making his way ever closer to the library. It is not until he is almost upon him that Kuzial notices Nemo's heat in the tree. Whether or not he had been spotted isn't known, but Kuzial enacts his natural ability to levitate and floats silently to a branch opposite the toxicologist. There he speaks in a whispered tone, "When you said we were after the same sort of knowledge, I didn't think you meant peeping at undressing whores." For it is true, in the distance the tree has offered a fine view of a Cenril lady undressing before bed. "I think our... desire for knowledge comes from different places, Nemo."

Nemo would have missed Kuzial's approach entirely, save for one thought: "What would I do, were I in Kuzial's place?" Admittedly, he wouldn't have used the bellboy, but a different kind of disturbance - the principal, though, remained the same. When the road showed no strange accumulations of pursuing shadow, the assassin cast his gaze about the arbor, knowing the drow to be as comfortable in the dark, nay, more so, than Nemo himself. It is when a shadow starts to float off the ground that his suspicions are confirmed and the assassin prepares himself. Nemo's response to Kuzial's taunt is preceded by a soft chuckle "Your greeting is strange, Kuzial. Almost... childish? Curious. Still, courtesy demands clarification. My vantage point, you will note, faces in the direction opposite to yours, affording me no such distraction. Still, one supposes you wouldn't be the first drow to find his eyes diverted by a surface-dweller's pale flesh." His posture, as always, seems relaxed, although the contents of his left hand are concealed by clever placement of his right arm. Nemo's eyes gleam behind the black mask, shifting slightly to maintain awareness of his surrounds and to warn him of any drow minions Kuzial may have following him. Another soft chuckle "Different places indeed. Still, commerce prevails, and in such things one must be flexible of perspective. How fares the fortune of house Stavret?"

Kuzial replies in dry tones, "Clarification sounds more like defending a practical hiding place with an extra incentive. And, no..." He carries on in conversational tones as his own eyes shift from the man to the surrounding area, ensuring they are alone, "Flesh found under the sun is crude and offensive compared to the wonders beneath. Though, I fear you'll have to take my word on that. I doubt you'd find the ministrations of a female drow, more so a priestess, quite to your liking..." He blabbered on for just enough time to ensure they were alone, at least to his keen gaze, before shifting his voice to a more serious tone; pretences of camaraderie gone in the blink of a crimson eye, "House Stavret grows in power under the leadership of Kuzial, I assure you. But stronger too will it be with the assistance of Von Penzance and his unique skills. I take it by all this preamble you have finished my poison, Nemo?" From the moment he spoke his right hand had never left the hilt of his fine dagger - a weapon more suited to close quarter combat than his fine ebon sabre, and ever is he ready for any signs of treachery - signs he fully expects to see from the dandy turned businessman...

Nemo's smirk is well concealed by his mask. To the cold-blooded 'remover of obstacles', that the drow was riled enough to require the last word confirmed the prize of first blood was Nemo's. Never one to gloat over a victory - much preferring to dwell upon such in the leisure hours - Nemo ignores the drow's banter and instead focuses on the business at hand. "Indeed I have, Kuzial. The time constraint proved a challenge, but an element of fortune has swung things in favour of your schedule. I will not bore you with details of the complicated equipment and reagents required to complete this commission. Suffice it to say that there is enough for a single use. It will be up to you to seize the correct moment." Nemo nods in the drow's direction, confident that, in this respect, Kuzial would find little difficulty "One warning, though. Any who eat of the meal containing the 'Distillation of Death's Feast' will suffer extraordinarily unpleasant effects. It does not kill instantly - there is little mercy in this concoction. When successfully isolated and injected into food, those who dine, will begin several hours thereafter to succumb to a slow but inevitable paralysis. It begins at the face, causes in its victims slurred speech and the appearance of intoxication. The paralysis then spreads to the chest, and the lungs - breathing becomes difficult, and eventually impossible. The victims, amusingly, remain fully aware of the discomforts inflicted upon them, as their mental faculties are unaffected - only their ability to speak and breathe. When in their weakened state, if you can succeed in further envenoming them with extract of nightshade, you will expedite a more rapid demise." The assassin's eyes gleam "A final admonition on the use of this toxin: Do not let this go into food that is to be cooked, or that has any great heat applied to it. Like many dark destroyers in this world, fire is a nemesis to its efficacy." A slight shrug "Now, with regards to the final transfer, I shall need to give further instructions - once I am certain I am in no... immediate danger of treachery"

Ambush: a murder of Drow assassins appear

Kuzial smiles darkly; the look lacking any passion that is not hatred, any joy that is not born within someone else's profound suffering. The poison would allow the matron to be aware as her empire crumbles around her. She would know the moment Kuzial blinded her, before enacting his foul vengeance. "You insult me. You do not trust me, Nemo?" The drow would begin to laugh at the absurd statement, before he hears little more than a whisper of cloth on flesh, followed by the heavily muffled twang of a disguised crossbow bolt, well used amongst the raiding parties that come to the surface. But it is enough for the paranoid, psychotic drow. He leaps from the tree as he draws forth his sabre in his right hand and his left pulls out one of his fine daggers. His weapons slash through the air, striking a bolt mid-flight and sending it hammering into the trunk of the tree he once occupied. He snarls in rage, before sibilantly whispering up to Nemo, "House Orbb Quar'Valsharess. I hope you have not grown soft, for drow are upon us!" Without waiting for a reply the young patron leaps away from the tree and readies himself. Sure enough, within moments three drow silently tear themselves away from the dark shadows of their conjured orbs of darkness, the only reason they were invisible even in the infrared spectrum. One holds a small wand, the other two are armed with a fine drow blade in each arm; their lengths slightly curved and glowing with enchantments that enhance their edge. They do not seek parlay, instead one warrior leaps at Kuzial, the other at Nemo's tree, while the wizard begins to speak a web of arcane words. The drow who went for Cornelius runs for a few steps before enacting his levitation. Were Nemo to leap from the tree, the drow would simply end his spell and continue on his brash attack: His two blades are crossed before him, ready to defend any projectile fired from the black-masked human assassin, and are only uncrossed when he is close enough to put them through a series of dazzling thrusts and slashes, each aimed to take down the toxicologist permanently. The drow who runs at Kuzial comes in with a powerful double-thrust high, then low, then mid routine well used in the Underdark against lesser opponents. A non-subtle insult, one that Kuzial is quick enough to rise to. And all the while, the wizard continues to chant...

Nemo does laugh at Kuzial's statement, but any further response is likewise interrupted by the twang of a crossbow bolt. A swift shift of leg moves the assassin to one side to evade the bolt, which, fortunately was aimed at Kuzial. Laughter swiftly turns to a muttered curse as the three drow appear. Nemo's movement has left his stance deep along the branch with left arm gathered at his hip - ready to brace against the recoil of the preklek bolt-launcher he carries. His right hand fidgets with a barely-noticeable cog on the device as the drow begin moving, causing a small half-crescent blade to snap out of the weapon's stock. Then he notices the mage. His decision is made in an instant: ignoring for now the incoming warrior, Nemo braces his wrist and follows Taikahn's instructions - The weapon fans its tripods out with a click to send one bolt, then a second, and a third flying in rapid succession at the chanting bastard with the wand. Ideally, Nemo would like to think of the drow as stabled to the afterlife through cranium, gut and groin. However, despite the bracing, his precarious positioning allows the recoil to throw his aim slightly off - only the next moments will tell what damage the bolts do. As the levitating drow warrior reaches him, Nemo grins behind his mask and lets the recoil of his final mage-bound bolt push him backwards off the tree-branch and out of reach of the drow swordsman's initial attacks. A single flip through the air and the assassin plants his feet in the dirt, knees flexing before pushing him to a backwards roll. Nemo comes to his feet by another tree with bolt-launcher and a dark-steel dagger in hand. "You do have the nicest friends, don't you Kuzial. What did you do to annoy them? Tell them one of your jokes?"

Kuzial had met his opponent's three strikes with well rehearsed defensive positions; his blades crossed high to push the thrusts above him, then his sabre is slashed downwards as he steps back from the low thrusts, pushing his brash opponent slightly off balance so when he makes his final mid-section thrusts Kuzial is in the position to slash his sabre across in a double parry and step forward. His dark elf opponent recovers quickly, so Kuzial cannot finish his strike. Instead he slashes his blade across the drow's eye line, as a visual block, before lifting his right leg and kicking out at the drow's mid-section. The solid hit is announced by the woosh of air escaping the assassin's lungs, before Kuzial leaps backwards, spinning so his back is against the tree beside Nemo. "I was told light hearted comments bespoke friendship on the surface.. are we not friends?" He flashes the toxicologist a grin, showing he is not too concerned about the attempted assassination. "Shall we?" Without waiting for a no doubt barbed response, he spins back around and catches his stealthy opponent off guard. He begins to put him through a series of thrusts slashes, swipes and stabs leading him ever closer to the wizard, to ensure the man has been silenced eternally by the dandy's bolts... slaying swordsman is one thing, but those bastard wizards are a tricky lot. Nemo's opponent had lowered himself from the tree, and though his true mission is to slay the patron Stavret, he decides surface scum is always fair game, so he goes again for the black-masked assassin.

Nemo chuckles "If this is friendship, then pity our enemies. Do lead the way, Kuzial" As Kuzial pushes towards his opponent, Nemo's quips are cut short as he finds himself on the back foot under the second drow warrior's assault. Armed with but dagger and bolt-launcher, the assassin is forced initially to purely defensive movements, his feet step swiftly to the song of the blades as his body weaves in a sinuous dance. The drow chain under his outer vesting of black cotton is revealed by several glancing slashes - a souvenir from Kuzial's henchman of a week ago. A small cut opens up on his left thigh from a descending blow. As Nemo spins and dances away from his ever-persistent assailant he calls out "Before I get started, I wish to know: did you need a prisoner for interrogation?"

Kuzial keeps his opponent off balance with carefully disguised strikes; twisting him in and out from a variety of dazzling directions. Finally he is close to the wizard, and he disengages long enough to stomp on the fallen man's neck... or what used to be his neck. It seems one of the toxicologist's bolts found the man's throat, leaving his head all but severed. Kuzial is impressed, and doesn't mind the squishing sound his boot makes when it meets sliced flesh. "A fine shot." Again the sound of blades clashing resounds out as the patron goes back on the offensive. This time with less flashy strikes - he pushes his opponent back with powerful blows from his ebon sabre, followed by parries with his dagger. He flows closer to where Nemo fights and speaks again in his euphoniously lyrical voice, "Kill him if you can, human." The drow Kuzial fights shows shock that he would side against his own race against, of all things, a human. But the Patron of House Stavret cares for only profit, and he has not yet received the poison.

Nemo had learned much of drow combat psychology from his previous encounters with Kuzial, knew that with each evasion he made, the fighter facing him grew arrogantly self-assured in his sense of superiority, and that soon he would press for a more conclusive attack on the black-masked assassin. As Nemo calmly throws his body around with whirling movements, constantly shifting the depths and lengths of his stance, he passively takes in his opponent's body language. There is a physical disposition and language peculiar to warriors, Nemo knew, and much to be discerned from the slight shift of a shoulder, the force with which a foot is planted, the attitude behind each incoming attack. Each exchange of blades formed a bond, allowed Nemo a deeper understanding of his opponent, and when the drow finally shifted his weight to press a more vigorous attack Nemo seized the moment. Another click, as Nemo stepped back and to the side of a cruel slash, sent a bolt through the drow's foot, catching in the bone and temporarily pinning the drow to the ground. Another sidestep to avoid the drow's reverse slash and Nemo presses in, jolting his left shoulder against the drow's right, jamming his dagger in the line of the drow's second blade. At this point Kuzial's words are heard, and the assassin nods. With a quirk of his hips, Nemo shifts his position slightly to create space and send his left elbow crashing up at the pinned drow fighter's chin. As the drow's head snaps back, the assassin uncrooks his elbow to let the small crescent blade in the bolt-launcher's stock draw neatly across the drow's throat and through the artery. As soon as the crescent passes through flesh, Nemo springs back, dagger deflecting to the side the drow's last desperate attempt to take the surface dweller with him into oblivion. "Killing some peon is hardly a challenge, Kuzial. Still, it did give me a chance to properly test out some new equipment, so I shouldn't complain. I take it these were from one of the houses which disapprove of your rapid ascent in status?"

Kuzial was spinning his opponent through a rapid series of attacks taught to all drow in the Underdark. Yet unlike the teachers in the academy for fighters, the patron of House Stavret's movements are little more than blurs - his status as former weapon master, and one of the finest fighters anywhere in Trist'Oth is rarely disputed, and all who have are now dining in whatever Hell their twisted goddess has been damned to. So he pushes his out-matched opponent back with an air of superiority; moves flowing now into each other, his seeming disadvantage from having only a dagger and sword instead of two longer blades is immaterial when set against his vicious fighting style. And now his opponent realizes without any doubt his fate his sealed. He leaps back and screams in the drow tongue, "Slay the human, return to the Underdark, I will say your life is no more... you will be..." His words stop as a perplexed expression forms on his face, before his body falls to the left and his head rolls to the right. While he talked Kuzial stepped forward and severed neck from body in one vicious, horrific slash of his ebon sabre. Without pause the patron Drow spins into a crouch and eyes Nemo, ready to defend from the human's attack. But none is forthcoming, and it seems both drow assassins died within moments of each other. Without returning his blades to their fine sheathes he nods his head to the toxicologist, "They are a warning, sent from below. Eyes watch my movements." The drow turns and kicks the head, sending it rolling away, leaving a sanguine trail in its grisly wake. "We drow have our own way of separating the wheat from the chaff, as you humans say."

The transaction is concluded

Nemo crouches to clean the crescent blade on the drow's trouser leg as he replies "Ah yes. 'The curious nose gets quickly cut off', as the saying goes in certain sections of society." A surreptitious press of some part of the preklek bolt-launcher causes the now-clean blade to snap back inside the stock. Then, much as the blade had, the weapon itself disappears with a subtle shifting of right arm over left. The assassin seems unconcerned by the drow's still-drawn blades as he stands and examines the damage to his outer layer of clothing "Not bad stuff, this chainmail your people use, one must admit." He nudges the drow cadaver with his foot "Well, I suppose we had best conclude this transaction before more of your disgruntled detractors come a-visiting. I'll have these idiot corpses cleared away before the night gives way to dawn."

Kuzial returns his ebon sabre to his engraved belt, but keeps his dagger in hand. He makes his way closer to the human, spending his time between staring at the man and ensuring there are no more drow lurking in their impenetrable darkness. Satisfied, he replies, "Everything drow make is fine." The patron comes to rest with his back against a tree, assuming a relaxed look that is hardly deceptive with his fine dagger held ready in his dark hand. "But yes, our business. Where is this poison you promised me. And what exactly do you require. You were vague, Nemo. I will not take you below, but can acquire what you need at no mean cost to myself. You may be a fine fighter, but you would not survive in the lightless world that is my home.:

Nemo nods, the movement almost indiscernible in the darkness of the once again quiet arbor "Very well then. I shall speak as plainly as you did when you commissioned the toxin. It is my intention to make something orderly out of the currently chaotic underworld of Cenril. There is a long history of failure in people's previous attempts. However, it is my belief they failed because of their narrow vision and feudal tendencies." He gestures with a languid hand, the movement reminiscent of a university professor "Empires, both legitimate and covert, are built on blood and bureaucracy. In the early stages I will wish to trade for, or purchase, equipment for the men who work for me, to better pay the necessary tax of blood. In the later stages it is my intent to create a functioning black market, and I would have trade links with the Underdark through your house - thus funding and supporting a criminal bureaucracy made legitimate by the external acknowledgement such trade would represent. My price then, in short, is a trade alliance between myself and House Stavret." A soft chuckle then "Naturally, if I died, House Stavret would have no obligation to continue the alliance with my subordinates unless it profited you."

Kuzial does not answer quickly. He spends a long moment looking at the masked human, calculating profits against the potential dangers of opening a trade route with the surface. During his deliberations he returns the dagger to his belt, though his hand never leaves its hilt. Finally he nods, "If you died, the contract would be void. I will accept under conditions, Nemo. They may seem obvious, but they must be spoken: You will never speak of this to anyone. No matter how drow the items you acquire are, you will say they were made somewhere else. I care not where, it means nothing." The drow draws a deep breath, "As long as your gold is good, the items you need will be supplied." Again Kuzial pauses, to ensure the seriousness of his final words, "And if ever this agreement is betrayed, you will die." There is a finality in his words, spoken they are without his usual arrogance. And strangely, this seems to give them more weight than anything else he has said.

Nemo simply nods. For the assassin, such tenets are necessary aspects of how he conducts business "I agree to those conditions. We will need to arrange a secure method of correspondence. Drop-off points with pre-determined collection times to reduce the ability of others to disrupt our communications. An agreed-upon cipher for our communications in case our agents are intercepted. I recommend a book-and-number approach - difficult to break, easy to use, easy to alter if the need arises." He points along the road back down to Cenril. "Accompany me, Kuzial. I shall take you to where your prize, and your enemy's downfall, is secured." Nemo wraps his cloak about him, shadows once more drawn to him and obscuring his outline. He moves with silent precision through the shadows of the arbor and then onwards towards Cenril proper.

Kuzial nods his head at those words, "Wise." Is all he replies, before getting into step beside Nemo - quite assured neither would want the other walking behind them. If ever tonight the drow seems ill at ease, it is now - complacency has been the death of many a dark elf, so much so that it is what they try to inspire in their enemies more than anything. Kuzial idly wonders if that is why such weak warriors were sent at them this eve', but he shrugs with his arrogant grace. They were probably fine warriors, bested by swordsmen, or bowmen... or whatever the hell Nemo is... of greater skill. He smirks, before speaking quietly to the masked human once more, "How soon until your underground is ready for my products? It will take time to get them, of course."

Nemo also remains wary. Kuzial's presence seemed a harbinger of certain drow-attack these days, and the assassin was disinclined to examine drow toxins from a first-hand perspective. "It will take me a small while to establish a proper foothold. These are such delicate affairs. Move too fast, and one attracts too much attention. Indeed, what my men loot from those corpses shall keep us amply supplied in the short-term while I stamp my mark on Cenril's shadow world. Speaking of which, please wait here a moment." Nemo takes a minor detour to knock on the door of a small shack attached to a burnt-down old house, a rapid, coded sequence, then whispers "Three. strip them, toss the bodies off the cliff. Try not to get killed. Wait five minutes, then commence." Nemo then returns to Kuzial's side and continues expounding his plans "The first stage will be petty turf warfare. Dull drudge work, but necessary for the foundations of the organisation. The men working for me will need their concept of what is possible adjusted and expanded, and it is best I show them with my own hands." He waves a hand back at the arbor "Killing what they deem 'unkillable' opponents is a good first step. When their respect and loyalty is won, I can begin constructing the nascent structure of the fledgling organisation with my most competent followers as lieutenants. As our successes pile up, so will our numbers grow. There are numerous ways to fund such an organisation, and I shall be very careful with which ones are utilised." A slight sigh escapes the mask "So much work to do, and it must be done from scratch. At times like this I miss the easy days of my youth, when such networks were already established for my family. But one plays, bluffs, and cheats with the cards dealt to them." Nemo leads Kuzial through a path chosen for its constant cover of shadow and darkness, and the two pass undetected with ease until they reach another burnt-out shell of a house. "Wait one moment." Nemo grabs a scorched plank, and removes it from the outer wall. Removed, it reveals both new nails, and a small glass vial in a carved-out depression. Nemo takes the vial, and holds it out to Kuzial "Be careful with this. Despite its appearances, it is not water. I recommend mixing it into a cold dessert or beverage of some kind. Remember: do not let it be heated."

Kuzial listened in silence as Nemo told him his plans, or at least an outline of them. The two move with complete stealth effortlessly through the city, and never once are the drow's eyes stationary; each shadow is checked as he listens to the human speak. At the first stop Kuzial allows himself a small smile. He wonders why Nemo would tell him his plans, before realizing the simple truth of it all. He is a patron drow of a powerful house; he cares nothing who runs these ugly streets, and surely the masked human would know this. If any ever captured Kuzial and put him to torture, they would care even less for the fate of a forgotten city on the surface. So silently he applauds the human again - this veil of apparent trust a fine net to gain the trust of House Stavret. As they move on again, the dark elf nods his head at Nemo's words, and occasionally adds an affirmative nod. When the toxicologist gets his final prize, the light of joy burns deep within the crimson eyes of the drow. He takes the vial carefully, one hand as ever on his dagger, before slipping it into a pouch on his belt. The pouch is made of the softest leather, and it seems the only other thing within it is a small purple aconite bloom. One the toxicologist would recognize were he looking - a strange thing for the drow to have. "I will return to the surface in a week. If you are ready to discuss business with me, stick a crossbow bolt into the tree we were in earlier. If not, I will return a week after until you are ready." The drow very carefully taps his pouch, "A fine transaction - profit all around. You have done well, Nemo."

Nemo offers a bow in acknowledgement that such compliments from a drow are indeed a rarely granted privilege "At our next meeting I shall have created the primary cipher for our future communications. If time permits, I shall include some secondary ciphers for additional security. We will then need to determine potential courier routes, drop-off points, and schedules. Nothing will be needed in stone so soon, of course, but it is best to lay the foundations for such things as early as possible" Nemo gauges that, by this time, Korax and Vander would have completed the stripping and disposal of the drow corpses. "As much as this has transaction has been a rare pleasure, Kuzial, I must needs ensure that my men do not fail in their tasks. They are still untested, from my perspective. I will also need to evaluate my unsuspecting apprentice's attempts at covering their traces this evening." Nemo offers one final bow "Honours to your House, Patron Kuzial Stavret, and death to your enemies." Nemo would then slip back into the shadows to pursue the other tasks demanding his attention.

Kuzial replies to the human, "Woe to the conquered, Nemo." Before he too fades into the shadows and silently makes his way out of Cenril, to plot and plan the downfall of House Orbb Quar'Valsharess, made easier by his transactions this day.