RP:Business and Bovver

Background

A regular day's business at The Hanging Corpse Tavern ends in a somewhat peculiar reunion, and... a spot of bovver.

The Cellar of The Hanging Corpse Tavern, Vailkrin

Svilfon is sitting cross-legged in the middle of the cellar. He seems to be having an argument with himself, and sadly, he seems to be losing it, "But I told you! One eye, two feet, some of that goopy concoction you steal from the rats.. THEN put in the dragon eggs. You're an idiot!" Svil doesn't respond too well to this. He begins to curse with rare flair - words that would make sailors blush. He ends the tirade with, "Bah, fine!" Before he turns and notices the fine owner of this tavern has made her way down. The wizard flashes his gap-toothed smile and tips his pointy, and faintly charred, hat, "Greetings lady. I pray you are well?"

Jolie was still on the stairs, third step from the bottom, where she paused to peer into the smoky confines of her cellar, looking for Lokthull and finding instead the smouldering wizard. “Hello, Svilfon,” her nose was wrinkling, “Having fun?” Steel-heeled boots made more decisive tick-tick-ticking progress down the stairs and across the black stone floor, as she strode toward the ruin of hat and endeavour both. “What an awful stink. And it’s been some time since I saw you. Wanted to catch up with you, really…” Her pale green gaze shifted to the troll’s nest, then, it’s crates of manky rubbish and off meats of dubious source. “Also, have you seen our janitor about? Troll. Peculiar. He’s needed for cleanup…”

Svilfon gets to his feet with a painful grunt. He stretches his back as his eyes follow Jolie's around the room, before he looks back at the Lady Darkness, "Fun... Ah, it will be! A cycloptic, foot-armed, sticky lizard mount will be most entertaining. Gotta clean the top of the mage's tower." He flashes her another smile, "And this seemed the best way." He takes a step towards her, before speaking again. "I see the big bastard down here sometimes, but not for a while. I think he said something about being hungry? And little children?" The young wizard shrugs, "I'm not sure.. But yes, it has been too long, lady Tenebrae. Shall we go for a drink?"

Jolie nodded, though clearly her mind was preoccupied – she was staring at the wizard in a vague sort of way, “You know.. I have been making creatures. Out of parts. Maladroit..” the hell gaunt, who was presently forty feet under water somewhere off the coast of Cenril, his bullet-shaped featureless, eyeless head canted in blank fascination toward a school of squid. “…or his body, as it were, is my greatest success. We really ought to compare methods.” The acuteness snapped back into her eyes, then. “And yes. Drink. Wonderful idea.”: Her brows knit, and she’d shoot a last flash of irritation toward Lokthull’s untidy corner of the cellar. “Upstairs. But you’ll have to pardon the mess.”

Svilfon can't help but snicker at Jolie's comment, "Ah, my dear lady, what I do can't really be called methods. I slap together things in the order they should be done, I speak the words, I do the motions, and I end up setting myself on fire. Maybe I should get you to do it.. I will pay well, of course." The wizard flashes his crooked smile, "But that's for another day. The grumpy drow can wait." He makes his way towards the stairs, before waving his arm upwards, "After you, lady Darkness."..

The Hanging Corpse Tavern

As they make their way into the tavern Svil seems unconcerned with any mess. Hell, the wizard is the epitome of a mess: A few crooked teeth, singed remnants of hair, one eyebrow and shabby robes with burn marks throughout them. With the owner beside him, he decides it pertinent to pay for his drinks instead of stealing them like he normally does. He orders his usual, before asking Jolie, "What'll you have, lady? And what is it you wanted to discuss?"

“On the house, Svilfon. Make mine whiskey.” While they waited for Steadman to fetch the drinks, the sineater perched on a barstool and leant an elbow to the counter. “Well, it’s to do with the grumpy drow, really.” She grinned. “He isn’t so grumpy, with me. I was hoping to talk to him, and with Rheven also, regarding the role of necromancers within the Mage Guild.” With the arrival of her drink – a bottle, opened, no glass – she paused to eye the end of the bar where dark stains blotted the timber and evidence of a recent bloodletting still puddle below the stool there. “Excuse me … Steadman, you have forgotten something.”

The barman followed her gaze to Colton Black’s regular seat, and he was hasty to place another bottle there, as if the dark man himself was present to drink it.

Satisfied, Jolie turned back to Svilfon. “What was I saying? Oh yes. I hoped to discuss my ideas with you. And that you’d support my bid to bring necromancy to a higher level of activity and order, in the Guild.”

Svilfon seems to take the bottled offered to the absent man stoically, as if it were normal. In this place, it'd take a lot more than that to make the young wizard blink. He picks up his whisky bottle, waving away the non-existent offer for a glass that Steadman didn't make with a small, sardonic smile. As Jolie speaks, Svil nods his head slowly, "Necromancy within the ranks of the guild..." He takes a deep swallow without visible effect - at least he's learned how to drink properly, "Do you want to incorporate it for personal gains, or for shared learning, lady Tenebrae?" The question is asked without real fear of offense being taken. Considering what the two have been through together, it is an honest question asked. "Regardless, for what I owe you, and what we have done, I will add my voice to your corner." He grins, before it is drowned in another deep drink of his whisky. "Hell, having some of you no-good undead-makers can add spice to the place." He winks at her, and smiles a wry little smile.

Jolie grinned, in return, and swigged her own bottle, a clench of teeth to follow the burn of the liquor before she spoke. “I appreciate it. And well, the Guild already –has- a necromancy branch.” There might be a slight look of disdain on her face, as she continued, “Not that it amounts to much. Basic stuff. Raising skellies and wotwot. My plan…” And here, she broke off, to study the wizard, while reply to his question was thought about, “…I have enough avenues for personal gain, Svilfon. Quite enough. And if I was the type to grasp for titles, well…” Pale eyes held an icy edge, perhaps a hint of avarice, “… I’d have taken them by now. What I want is avenue for seeing to it that proper training comes about. And I have new spells. New branches of the art, which I would see imparted only to those willing to do the necessary work to ensure they don’t bugger it up and unleash…” her frostiness melted into something approaching dark humour. “…something they can’t control.”

Ranok remarks as he casually strools into the room, "If de knowledge iz dat dangerous, maybe it might be best to schtay forbidden, hm?" The man is, as he always is, covered in his typical armor, and rests a hand on the hilt of his blade like one would rest a hand in a pocket. And his stride is not what you would call a stroll, the distinction quite intentional. It is something in between. A sort of graceful flow of contained control, the feeling that he could snap a hand out to break a neck while serving tea and not break that flow of his movement. It is not a stride, nor a stroll, but something entirely his own, hence the strool. Jolie’s teeth bared slightly. at the unsolicited opinion put forward by the smith, but she did no more than turn a chill gaze his way briefly, and then returned her attention to Svilfon.

Svilfon spends a short moment wondering if Jolie is taking a backhanded jab at his various magical... episodes. But in the end he realizes it doesn't matter either way. So he grins and nods, "Aye. I went for some of those lessons when I was only an Entered Apprentice. I would not call them necromancy. Spending fifteen minutes incanting spells to raise a single skeleton, that fell apart when.. someone... " A devious flash sparks across his pale eyes, "Casts a small fireball at it didn't seem worth it." He takes a deep drink of his whiskey, "And let us be honest. The amount of idiots running around waving their wands and casting spells needs to be brought under control. You will have my full support. There are few now in the guild higher ranked than I. Sati, Tiph and Rheven. I will get the support of the lesser teachers, and leave you to discuss with our honorable sublime master and ever-absent archmage." Was there a hint of bitterness in his voice? A touch, maybe.. "I am sure it will go through. Will you offer yourself to lead this branch? You might have to kill the old bastard who leads it now - but then you can resurrect him; that'll learn 'im good!" The wizard snickers at himself. As he hears Ranok speak, he thinks he understands, at least in part, what the man meant. So he replies, "You do not understand magic if you make such a statement. It is like a narcotic - driving you ever further; deep within its archaic midst until you can lose yourself to the powers you seek to master. There needs to be guidence; for whether or not you, who is ignorant, agrees - study down that path will happen anyway."

Ranok waves a hand, "Yeah, Hy know de addiction knowledge und power giff. Zumone vould onearth de knowledge hennyvays. Betta to head dem uff at de pass den to hallow dem to blunder about und release zum gott from de far reaches, or zumddink. Doze tinks alvays ruin my day." He continues his approach into the bar. Not quite like he owned the place, but like he wished to be there, and damn anyone that told him he couldn't. "SCHtill, tough. It makes me vonder de visdom uf makink it henny easier to kommund dese incredibly dark forces. Not like ve need more korpses runnink around, ve already hef enough vampires." Those gray eyes, uncaring in whatever daggers Jolie may throw with hers, latches onto the patroness of the tavern they reside in, "Schpeakink uf tinks betta left alone, Hy recall dat hyu vanted zum herdvare for de rouf uf dis place. Hy'm here to discuss it."

Jolie kept her silence, punctuated by the odd half-grin at several of his comments - while Svilfon - far more patiently then she might have - gave his explanation. When he was finished speaking, she said, "I shall approach Tiphareth and Rheven, both in turn, and Satoshi as well. To me it only makes sense to bring these secrets into a controlled environment." Her brow creased, while she formulated her next words, "I would be willing to head it up. For a time. Only because .. well. There's some fairly rabid sorts among my vocation of choice, and I'd want to make sure whoever controls that knowledge has a level head and no hidden agendas for turning such a branch of the Guild into their personal army." And looked quite serious when she added, "I believe I'm equal to that task. I do have a structure, to put forward. Ranks to attain. Perhaps more of a sub-Guild, if you like…" she cut her gaze toward Ranok, then. "Yes. But I'm currently discussing something else. And am shortly off an.. errand, which - Svilfon, I'd be rather pleased if you joined us? Cornelius and I, I mean," and with that aside spoken, looked again to the smith. "I want harpoons. On the roof. Big ones. Ones that can punch through steel," she smiled, "Or dragon scale. And a mechanism for operating them from inside, if necessary. I thought of perhaps one capable of multiple firings…" her expression had taken on that dreamy cast it often did, when discussing potential violence. "But it'll have to wait, I'm afraid. Perhaps that's enough to get your own thoughts flowing, for when we do have time for such a discussion."

Svilfon speaks just a few words to Ranok, though they are laced with under-currents of barely veiled threat, "I will say this once. This is guild business. Your opinion of it, or opinions of any magic, means nothing to me. I have spoken all I will on the subject with you." He nods once, before looking back at Jolie - his mask of joviality replaced almost instantly as that crooked smile plays along his lips, "Aye, I think you would fit the task. You have my support, and the support of those below me. I can also speak with the ice queen - we have business to discuss involving the guild, anyway." He nods again, before he starts to take a long drink of his whisky. As Jolie requests his presence, he decides it best to rope in his drinking a touch, so he replaces the bottle on the counter and nods again, "Aye, I will join you. It's been a while since I saw the dandy, and I have little else to do today. When do you plan on leaving?"

Ranok turns a palm up, "Vat de hell do hyu need dat sort uf firepower for? Siege engines like dat hain't easy to make, brace, or operate. Und an internal fire kontrol system? Jegus. Hyu don' ask much, do hyu?" The man paces slightly, then ambles about the room, glancing upwards, "Hy vill need several tinks. First und foremost, de real reason vy hyu vant ballista on de rouf. Yah, ballista. Herpoons kan be trown from dem, und Hy'm not devisink a pressure kontrol system for dis place. Hyu'd hef to make too mhenny modifications. Maybe. It kould vork...for a decent price." He's obviously thinking, thoughts spilling and turning. His tone is musing, half there. But his stipulation that he know why Jolie required the hardware was solid. The man taps a wall, "Vat kind uf vood iz dis? De vood iz nev, at least. No vorries uf rotten timbers on de rouf. Don' hef to rip hall uf it up for de bracink. Hy need de schematics for dis tavern. Dere iz no odder vay Hy kan chust bolt zumddink on top viddout knowink de supports. To say noddink uf kuttink holes for an internal fire kontrol."

Ranok snaps his gaze to Svil for a moment, "Don' get schnippy vith me, Tooddless. Hyu discuss 'private business' in a tavern, ekspeck to hef a peanut gallery. Hyu ought to know betta." With that, he resumes his amble about the room, taking in its dimensions and the roofing. The man mutters in his native tongue, still seemingly musing. He's taken his own advice, it seems.

Svilfon waves his hand in a dismissive gesture at the smith, but otherwise doesn't bother to reply.

Jolie raised an apologetic palm to Svilfon to ask for pause while she addressed Ranok. She stared blankly at the wall he patted. "It's stone. Blackstone. Enchanted blackstone. Nothing short of an apocalypse is going to bring that down." The walls had of course survived the fire, and the new roof had been engineered to bear weight and damage. "As to my reasons? Defense." The tight set of her lips after that word would be some indication that even that much information was a gift, and not a topic to be further pressed. "The rest, I'll see about when we next speak. And..." Her, her gaze grew flinty indeed. "Have some respect for the Guild, Ranok. And its officials. Lest you bring wrath upon yourself that you are not equipped to handle."

Jolie said to Svilfon, "I would be glad for you to speak to the Ice Queen." She continued their conversation blithely, " And again, I am glad for your support. I had thought to break the branch into two basic levels - a general sort of underclass for potions and poisons relevant to.. well. Death. And such things as any mage may benefit from. But above that - Adepts only. Dedicated necromancers. I have the use of the Black Library, also, for the more advanced students. Redhale kindly allowed me the back tombs." Svilfon nods to Jolie, "I will think on what you have said, and offer any ideas I might have, too." He flashes a gap-toothed smile, "But we will discuss it later. I'll leave you to sort out your defences with the smith." He tips his hat, before resuming his drinking in silent contemplation.

Ranok has by now more or less finished his inspection, gleaning what information that he could, "Defense. Ekspectink to be sieged? Hy'm not chust a mindless drone, Jolie. Chust like hyu vant you knowledge to be guided karefully und safely to ensure against misuse, Hy, too, vant to see dat dese tinks Hy might build for hyu hain't ripped uff de rouf und used to go attack zum kity, or zumddink. Tough if hyu hit up Larket Hy might be konvinced, as long as hyu aim for de kestle. Regardless." He puts up two fingers, "Find de schematics or blueprints for dis buildink. Firink siege engines kreates schtress. Flat out. Doze are de rules dat hyu hef to follow. Physics makes everyone her bitch, no matter vo. Second, hyu vill need to tell me vat schpecifically hyu vant to defend against. Not chust so Hy know, but for de schtrength. Aerial dragon schlayink reqvires onbelievably mobile joints. Aimink at lumberink giants less so. Onderstund?" The hands lower, "As for de Guild...Hy giff respeck in de amounts doled out to me. Noddink more, noddink less." His expression was calm as ever. Not antagonistic, though his words were more or less uncaring. He didn't have a beef with Svil or the Guild, and for all intents and purposes, did indeed to simply be returning what was given to him.

Jolie stared at the smith "You're the one who butted into our conversation, unasked. You're the one calling a high-ranking member disrespectful names. You will apologise for your rudeness, Ranok. Or our conversation is at an end."

Ranok just raises his eyebrows slightly, "Dis komink from de voman vo regularly insulted my intelligence. De irony kan be tasted."

Jolie continued to stare, with lips of string.

Svilfon turns to stare at Ranok, his expression unreadable.

Ranok said to Jolie, "Hy'll take you apology before Hy dole out mine. "

Jolie dragged her arctic and wolfish perusal from the smith and returned it to Svilfon with no suggestion of the chill ire displayed only seconds before. "There's a rather interesting .. person... I'd like you to meet. Corny and I..." she frowned, "Where -is- he? Anyway. An apothecary, alchemist.. foul little creature, I recommend a tussy-mussy or a peg for your nose. But fascniating. We had thought him dead..." there was a mien of disappointment on her face, as she spoke that. "But no, he's still kicking. Have you use for a supplier of alchemical goods? I had thought you might have." Ranok may as well have been part of that black stone wall, at that point.

Svilfon stares at Ranok for a moment longer, before returning his attention to Jolie. "I always need one. My last stopped serving me after... well... Let's just say they were picking up pieces of him for days after I made a suggestion of how to make a new, more powerful potion." The wizard grins, "I'll be more careful this time, lady darkness. And as for the dandy, I can go find him if you want? I feel the need to leave this tavern - otherwise there might be pieces of idiot sprayed all over the walls."

Jolie nodded her assent. "I'll see you both shortly, then."

Jolie swivelled around on her seat to face the smith. "I am not employing you to do so much as mop my bloody floor, if your arrogance and lack of manners is to continue intruding on my other business affairs."

Ranok didn't seem bothered in the least by Jolie's cold shoulder. He wasn't here to make friends, after all. Before he turns, he offers Svil a wink. Could that be amusement in his eyes? Perhaps it wasn't about an apology at all. If the man treated that like he does most other things, being forced to utter an insincere apology would be done with the calm attitude he uses for everything else. For now, his eyes turn towards the ceiling. Again that musing tone, "Tink Hy might hef to break out de book for dis vun. Valls look tough, but dey hain't takink de schtress. Hm. Vonder vat trees are natiff here. Schippink in oak from Kelay vould be a pain in de ass. Defense, eh?" Again the strange language from his homeland, continuing the low toned musing. A problem has been presented, and his mind is working at it, regardless of whether the device will be built or not. You swivelled around on her seat to face the smith. "I am not employing you to do so much as mop my bloody floor, if your arrogance and lack of manners is to continue intruding on my other business affairs."

Svilfon nods once to Jolie before getting to his feet, "I'll bring him back, lady." He tips his hat to her, before wandering outside. If he noticed Ranok's wink nothing of it shows.

As Svil leaves Ranok faces her fully, "So far, as long as Hy've known hyu, hyu've paeed me increasinkly rude returns. Ignorink, schtallink, vat hef hyu. Noddink heard uf de svord Hy made. Und den hyu tell me vith a schtraight face dat Hy interfere in you business? Really?" A shrug, "Dust in de vind. Hy herdly giff a fook. If hyu vant eksessiff politeness, Hy'm afraeed dat Hy'll hef to charge ekstra. Odder den dat, it's chust business."

Jolie chuffed a sigh of long-suffering patience that she pulled out of... who knows where, really .. and said, in a rather final tone, "Your unprovoked rudeness to a ranking member of the Mage's Guild has nothing whatsoever to do with any chagrin you may feel toward me, no? The two simply do not correlate. Your crassness, I can overlook because you are at times useful. But it was not me whom you called names, and mine was not the only business you stuck your face into. If you cannot see this, well." She slid off her seat, and got busy with some bar-related task or other, and did not continue.

Ranok twirls a hand, "Oh, very vell. Nekst Hy see him Hy'll remember to address him as a proper mage uf his schtature...such as his schtature iz. Heh. Regardless." He begins to pull out the leather bound book out of a bag that couldn't possibly hold the tome that's taken out of it, "It doesn' hef to be only business. Hy decided to brink a karrot dis time. Hy em beginnink to learn dat prearranged business meetinks are radder useless ven it komes to me. Zumddink more interestink komes up. So. Dis time Hy uffer incentiff. Hyu vant to look trough dis, yah? Den hyu vill actually hef to meet vith me. Simple, yah?"

Jolie narrowed her eyes, as her inner steam valve dropped pressure, and nodded. "I'd not mind a look."

Ranok holds the book in one hand firmly. The smell of fresh binding once again wafts through the room. How it's maintained its fresh scent like that despite its confirmed age of a few months is just another mystery. The man holding it smiles slightly, "Business before pleasure. Hy'll actually get a kontract out uf hyu yet. Ve meet und hesh out dese...defenses uf yous, Hy'll let hyu look trough de book vile Hy'm inspectink de blueprints hyu vill be givink me." It may sound presumptuous of him to assume that his getting the blueprints to the tavern, should they exist, is a done deal, but a moment of thought may reveal that without them, the man cannot do his job. Just as a doctor isn't told to sew on a new body part on a creature he's never before seen, so is an architect not expected to modify a building before first knowing its skeleton.

Jolie hesitated only slightly, before she vanished below the counter. The sound of locks whirring and clicking ensued, and she duly popped back up again with a scroll of parchment, set upon the counter a moment later. "Basic blueprint," she explained, "It's all massively fortified with magics that I am not at liberty to discuss with you. If we cannot work around that fact," she shrugged resignation. "But this is the physical structure." Minus a few secret spaces that were nobody's business but her own, and thus remained unmentioned.

Ranok strools over to the counter to pick it up, "As long as doze magics don' remoff de ability from dese beams to bear veight, it von' be a problem. Hy very much doubt dat dis iz de real, up-to-date tink, knowink hyu...tough, to be fair, Hy vouldn' eksactly be puttink my tricks in de public print eidder. Regardless. Dis vill do." A touch of compromise in his tone. 'It will have to' went unspoken. He knows when there's no more blood to wring from a stone, after all. He examines the prints for a moment, "Do hyu hef a kopy or are dese de original? A glance iz hall vell und goot for a konsultation, but Hy'll need dese for reference schould ve settle on a kontract."

Jolie said, "A copy. And needless to say, should they fall into the wrong hands, you'll very likely wind up a decoration on the spike out front." Which, he might discern from her frank look, was simply business, and not an idle threat. "I must see to something, upstairs. May I have the book?"

Ranok rolls up the prints the way they were originally, tucking them into the bag that the book came out of. One can assume that they're about as safe as he can make them. The book itself is set down on the counter. His hand rests on it, "A glance, noddink more. Giff hyu fiff minutes or so, to be fair. It doesn' leaff my sight, Hy'm afraeed. Hy trust dat hyu vouldn' tear out de pages...not ven Hy kan find out right after, but Hy'm not so sure about hyu managink to make kopies. Hyu get more ven ve hesh out de kontract." If Jolie assents to this in word or gesture, the book is slide forward slightly and his hand released. It would be in the same language as it was always in, which is to say, certainly not common or any language written in these lands. Packed tightly the words would be, endless in their complexity and paragraphs. Save for the occasional diagram, perhaps the only thing that could be understood. As the book goes front to back there are less diagrams of mechanical things, levers, cranks and gearboxes denoting something words can not say, and more into what is probably formula of some sort.. As each page is turned one would find a crisp feeling to them that only a new book can have.

Jolie eyed that bag. "And you have five minutes with my blueprints. And then I'll have 'em back." Quid pro quo delivered, she pored over the book, turning the pages carefully, brow puckered in concentration. In what she guess was about five minutes, she closed the book - noting it to be not quite the same as the one she'd first seen - and used a fingertip to push it toward Ranok. "Interesting. Now. My blueprints, please."

Ranok shrugs, pulling them out and offering them back, "Alright. But if Hy kan' hold onto dem, no vork from ontil nekst ve meet kan be done. Chust so hyu onderstund."

Jolie nodded, she was fine with that. And once they were locked safely back in her vault, she pardoned herself. "I have things to do. In the cellar. Cannot wait, I'm afraid."

In The Cellar of The Hanging Corpse

Jolie wasn't hiding. No, sir. She was... inspecting. The cellar.

Jolie was satisfied with the paucity of cobwebs down here. The troll was certainly fulfilling his end of the bargain. She'd perch on a barrel, after a while, and study the cages thoughtfully.

Leifong is here, watching Jolie from the shadows like some creepy peeping tom.

Jolie knows Leifong is there, of course, but says nothing. Perhaps she just likes being watched.

Meanwhile, Elsewhere in Vailkrin

Cornelius was strolling the ever-dark streets of Vailkrin with a continuous sense of growing familiarity, even as that sense of familiarity fuelled the strange combination of emotions caught in the undertow of his displeasure. The fountain in particular is looked at as one might gaze upon an unpleasant addition to one's shoe. That glance fountainwards, however, yields something of a pleasant surprise for all of Cornelius' dark musings, and he throws the shadowy cloth of his hood back as he approaches another point of familiarity: an unmistakably pointed hat. "Svilfon old bean! Come to wander the playground of undeath known as Vailkrin?"

Svilfon was muttering to himself as Cornelius makes his dandyrific entrance. As he hears the man speak out a bright smile exposes the many gaps in his teeth, "Cap'n Corny!" He pushes himself off the fountain and claps the fop on the back, "It's been too long, Gentleman Reaver." He smiles a sardonic grin as he remembers their past adventure, "I was just looking for you. Lady Tenebrae wants us to go meet someone... And I am often here, comrade. I just lurk in the ever-present shadows."

Cornelius chuckles "I'm only a captain while on The Wave Cleaver, or when it bedevils someone to distraction. Jolly-girl, for example." He lets Svilfon guide them to wherever Jolie was holed up. "So, she's about to get you caught up in another celebration of destruction, eh? Anytime one needs to visit the person she has in mind, it can only mean something drastic. Too many obstacles to visiting the old bastard to otherwise make it worthwhile." Cornelius doesn't describe those obstacles, as they would become readily apparent "One warning, though: don't make any sudden moves or reach for objects inside your robes. He's the most paranoid sod that ever did foul the earth, and we could all find ourselves blasted into our component bits." He adjusts his cloak around the cuirass and gorget he wears "So what is new? I have not seen you for what seems like aeons"

Svilfon snickers at Corny's words, "Aye, but I like to think of us as pirates anyway." He begins to walk towards the Hanging Corpse Tavern slowly, clearly in no rush to return there, "And aye, I think you are correct, comrade. She spoke of him as a useful sort - potions and whatnot.. But I'll heed your warnings. I blew up, inadvertently I might add!, my last alchemist, so I need to woo another." He snickers again, "Hopefully this little venture ends better than the last one. Blowing oneself up is not considered good wizardry." As they stroll the dark streets, Svil tells Corny about his recent venturing deep within the mage's guild - studies of obscure and twisted magic, killing a few people by mistake, and generally ruining the good name the guild has for higher powered beings. The words are all spoken with a hint of self-mockery and a dash of wry humor, as most of Svil's words are. When done he asks, "But enough of that, good sir! What about you? Been skewering anyone with that fine blade of yours?"

Cornelius grimaces "Indeed, my good man. Jolie went gallivanting into that damned fortress, which was a quagmire of chaos at the best of times, with the intent to have a to-do with the damn pool. Not a pleasant time. Then a recent mis-interpreted ritual of hers did something to my usual sanguinity. Further to that I committed something of an indiscretion. Nothing to morally regret, of course, but which will likely come back to make life difficult." He smiles darkly "Needless to say, I need more dragon's blood, and some weapon containing the essence of flame would be desirable" He shrugs as he keeps in step with Svilfon "Other than that, the Wave Cleaver is under Glaive's oversight for now, I've had some interesting times in the Xalious region, and will eventually pay a visit to the Northern Outpost on a new form of transport, once I can figure out how to communicate with the dashed thing."

Svilfon claps the dandy on the back as he replies, "I might be able to help you with that. I have been doing some study about imbuing weapons with elemental magic." For a moment the wizard wonders if giving Cornelius something he imbued is really something a friend, or at least comrade, would do. But he dismisses these doubts with an almost imperceptible shrug, "Let me know if you want me to try. I have a dagger that was made by the finest smith in Larket. It could be used..." Svil shrugs again, "But it does seem like you've been busy! It is good to hear... I would suggest being wary of you ship, though. Pirates at the best of times are not known for their loyalty to an absent captain." As the two near the Corpse Svil slows down, "The lady is inside with an..." He struggles for the right words, "Annoying idiot. I would suggest being wary of him. He has a habit of spouting nonsensical nonsense." The wizard opens the door for the dandy, and waits for him to enter before he does.

Cornelius grins "Oh, I expect I'll have to give Glaive another go when the time comes, but I don't see anything wrong with that. The man has the right to make that challenge. It's in the new articles." He thinks about what Svilfon said "Definitely fire. Daggers can be useful when alight, but I feel that if the time comes I really need flame, I'll want the two-handed sword used in judicial bouts. Crossguard, lugs for the halbschwert, the standard affair. If it can be made so I can bring the fire out when needed only, that would be ideal. Such would have excellent and necessary tactical versatility." He nods as Svilfon opens the door "Much obliged, my good man" and walks in.

Svilfon wanders in behind the dandy, replying to him as he does, "Hmm, I will slap a few things together and we can see how it works. Worse comes to worse, I can get the archmage and sublime master to add their considerable talents to the task. Though, it might be expensive that way. But you pay for quality, no? And never know when it'll save your life." He grins again, before making his way to the counter. There is a half empty bottle of whisky sitting there, which Svil picks up and resumes drinking, straight from the bottle, "Damned if I know where the lady went." He calls out, "Lady Jolie?" Whether or not she replied, Svil would offer Corny a drink, "Whatever you want, good sir. On me, of course."

Jolie's ears perked at the call of her name, though they were not currently elongated, and called up, "I’m…inspecting the cellar. But head on down."

Cornelius smiles tightly "I have once more become cautious as to what I drink from these cellars. Jolie finally managed to even an old scorecard, with Steadman's assistance, on the night of the masquerade." He retrieves a silver flask and tumbler, pouring himself a small measure of brandy "No offense, old bean, but I trust Jolie's liquor about as far as I'd trust Urghdak not to kill and eat an orphan if hungry. Or not hungry. And it is so deucedly time-consuming to make the usual checks without it being obvious, you know? Dashedly inconvenient, but what can you do?"

Svilfon bursts into laughter, "Ah, yes! You forgot to leave that out of what you've been doing recently. I heard about it through the grape-vine. Quite the ladies man, you are." He snickers some more, "You're wise to be wary." As Joles calls out, Svil returns his bottle to the counter, "Shall we?" He waves his hand towards the cellar.

Cornelius downs his brandy and cleans the tumbler before returning both flask and tumbler to his satchel "Sure thing, old bean. The scorecard shall balance in my favour soon enough, fear not. She's one up on me, since she married me to Leifong. She really is a rotten little bitch, you know. You should watch out for that "

Svilfon stops in his tracks and turns to face the dandy. His mouth forms a near perfect 'O'. "Married... you... to... Leifong?" For a moment he is still, before once again laughter bursts from the wizard. He doesn't try to disguise it. That is a stroke of genius and should be applauded... well... to everyone other than the fop.

Cornelius grits his teeth "Yes. She's earned something... special, for that. For now, I take out my frustrations on my... new wife. Are you ready for calamity, old bean?" Cornelius descends to the cellar

Svilfon wanders down the stairs still snickering, behind Corny.

Once more in the Cellar of The Hanging Corpse

Jolie would hear the others approaching, and rise from her seat on the barrel, forsaking her intense scrutiny of the cages. Not looking Leifong's way at all, she said, "Leifong? We have company."

Leifong is still wondering whether or not revenge is in order. Or rather, whether it was worth it, as it was most definitely in order. Damn... footsteps... it would have to wait.

Leifong said to Jolie, "So it seems."

Jolie offered the priest an almost perversely fond smile. "Would you like to join us, for a walk? There's somebody I'd like you meet."

Svilfon spends a moment looking at Leifong, before he offers the deceased priest a tip of his hat.

Cornelius notices Leifong lurking. "Ah, my dearly beloved wife. Our day of wedded bliss is almost done! Or perhaps the first of one thousand days. Jolly-stupid's ritual wasn't too clear on that point." He returns to Jolie one of the many 'looks' she has given him over the years. "A visit to Jobbie, is it?" Cornelius appears nonchalant and complacent, but he is anything but. He has a word ready on his lips, and his mind is already taking in the room, making of it a mental chessboard.

Leifong shows little regard for the presence of the new arrivals, making a point of not even setting eyes on Cornelius, or acknowledging his idiotic comments. Oh, revenge would be sweet, just as soon as he was sure that terrible things would not happen to himself upon exacting it. "Fine." he replies shortly to Jolie, and says nothing else.

Jolie nodded a cordial re-salutation to the wizard. Her attention to Cornelius was less .. cordial... to begin with. "There's no time for bloodshed, Corny, so let's keep it civil and .. bloodless. And yes, Jobbie." She addressed the other two with a sweep of gaze, to include them. "Alchemist we know." Her expression was that of a person who smelled something vaguely horrid wafting from the bottom of her boot. "Unfortunately, the best. We needn't take the stairs.." Of course, most if not all of her company would be aware of the tunnel leading to the street, and it was this she gestured to.

Svilfon tips his hat to Jolie by way of re-greeting. "Aye." He makes his way to the tunnel.

Cornelius murmurs "There is always time for bloodshed. History has proven this over and over again, Jolly-girl. But I shall desist. Even if death is preferable to subjecting my delicate nose and palate to the olfactory experience which is Jobbie." He strolls into the tunnel.

Jolie would insist Leifong preceded her, and flapped a hand to indicate such.

Leifong just follows without any further discussion.

Jolie flapped that hand again.

Leifong grumbles and moves ahead.

Jolie hurried after the men. "Varen knows we're coming, the hatch is open."

Vailkrin Coffin Maker’s Shop

Jolie waited for the others to ascend and settle into the coffin-maker's shop before greeting the coffin-maker himself. "Varen," she said, warmly. "A pleasure, as ever."

The mute offered her a gummy smile.

Jolie said to Varen, "I trust our little.. storage.. arrangement has worked out nicely?"

Jolie took his silent nod for the affirmation it was. "Marvellous."

Leifong circles the room quietly, obviously in a sour mood. Though, that was normal.

Svilfon enters silently. He grins at Varen, but otherwise remains quiet.

Cornelius strolls in, and proceeds to examine the more upmarket coffins in a leisurely fashion.

Jolie hooked the dandy by a bit of hem, knowing that would irk him, and tugged. "Just passing through," she said to Varen, and headed for the door. "Let me know whether you'll be needing more ice." With a wave, she exited to the street.

Cornelius murmurs to Jolie "Don't make me regret my decision to behave, Jolly-girl." as he is pulled by the sleeve away from a particularly lush model with ebony panels and a moss-green velvet within.

On Nightshade Avenue

Jolie led the way in relative silence - well, relative to her erstwhile 'shadow', Leifong, to whom she chattered away as though they were all off on some jolly shopping-tip. Which, in a way, they were.

"And that statue?" she pointed, waiting for them all to catch up. "That's a vampire I know. We never got along, for centuries. Funny how one can warm to people, in time." She glanced about, and then said to Cornelius, "Remember? The old market was here. And down there..." Her forefinger indicated a narrow and dingy alleyway leading off the east, "...Garath's old hideout. Jobbie has it, now."

Jolie would step that way, mindful of strewn and heaped rubbish that made the alley something of a challenge to negotiate in places.

Svilfon wanders behind the group, his loquacious nature quieted as a stoic mask replaces his typical one of joviality. He almost seems nervous, but darn it - it's so hard to find a good alchemist after word has gone around he tends to kill people who he tries to help. So he remains silent, ready to meet this man and see how good his wares really are.

Cornelius shudders "I knew I would regret this. I do not want to see what he has done to my old room. My only comfort is in knowing your old room will have suffered a similar fate"

Jolie made a face, wishing Corny hadn't brought it up. "I wonder if our peepholes are all still there."

Leifong is a dark cloud among the group, sulking heavily and ignoring most of what is said or done.

Jolie stepped over what looked like the battered remains of a dress shop mannequin which poked out from a bank of cardboard boxes and old papers as if groping for its life.

Svilfon looks around and can't quite resist the urge to ask the question, "This place is a.. dump. You sure this guy is good?"

Cornelius finds his eyes casting about carefully, seeking out ambushes, tripwires, and other unusual defenses "So what on earth possessed Garath to give the old place away to a dyed-in-the-clothe maladjust like Jobbie anyway?"

Jolie said to Svilfon, "He's the best. Just.. a terrible slob. And paranoid, with it." Which might go a way to answering Cornelius' question, too. They were making good progress, despite the collective jumble of detritus filling the narrow passage, among which the sundry tripwires and henchmen and poisonous darts aimed from slots in paint-peeled, boarded-up doorways had all been disarmed or told to stand down, since Jolie had let Jobbie know they were coming. "He found a better place. Too much traffic for his liking."

Leifong is not terribly enthused by this journey, nor the filthy path they were forced to take. And if the walk up was any indication, their final destination would only be worse. So far at least, the priest was thoroughly unimpressed.

Jolie said to Leifong, sidling up to him, "Cheer up. There'll be poisons. And knives."

At The Residence of Jobbie F. Bunglewort, Esquire

Jolie halted, shortly after, before a door that had once been painted a very bright scarlet, in mocking brazenry against the more lawful members of Vailkrin society, as it was assumed - and rightly so - that few if any would ever have made t this far down the alley alive, back in the day. "Righty-o. This is it." She canted her head up, to study the one grimy window high above, its glass a clot of dust. "You always were jealous," she said to the dandy, "That I got the room with the view."

The dandy is quite frankly glad that he forwent fineries today in favour of fashionable function. "So just how long has he had to turn the place into a cesspit?"

Jolie shrugged, then. "Not sure. He went quiet for about seventy years or so. I only discovered him again through Varen. His .. eccentricity.. has not improved." She knocked, sharply, three times, then four. Then whimpered like a dog denied walkies.

Svilfon steps over something foul, that seems to be twitching in time to an unheard music. "If you say so, lady Tenebrae, I will believe you." The wizard is oblivious to the traps that were once so deadly, and the holes left in certain walls to allow men to shoot their poisonous darts. This would be indication of his skill, were the wizard rather unobservative when walking with such powerful company. As they stop outside the door, and Jolie does her secret club knocking, Svil can't help but snicker, "To be honest, I like this guy already." He appealed to the wizard, though why was anyone's guess.

Cornelius doesn't bother to stifle the grin as he comments "You do that so well, Jolly-girl" And even though the dandy has a fair idea of what shall face him, there is a pleasing familiarity in the sound of bolts unclicking, one after the other. For about two minutes the clicking sounds continue. The door doesn't open then - there were chains yet to come. While the chains start to be unhooked and slid back, the dandy steps back and to the side, examining the door. "Ah, he's made the usual reinforcements I see. The red paint largely obscures it, but the door is definitely of that peculiar alloy he likes so much. How he gets the stuff made and installed is anyone's guess" There is another click from lower down on the door "Alright people, step back, and don't make any sudden moves" Cornelius pulls a pomander from his satchel, a strong stench of roses coming from it, and places it over his nose as the final chain and bolt are removed, and the explosive traps deactivated. "Hello there, Jobbie old bean"

The creature who'd peered, with one cloudy eye and then another, less cloudy, through the waist-height peephole embedded in that edifice so cautiously reconstructed to resemble the former door, would possibly come as a shock to the two familiar with him, and likely moreso for Svilfon and Leifong. For while clearly of halfling decent, Jobbie F. Bunglewort, Esquire, who'd always been corpulent even for a hobbit, was so grossly fat as to make his sausagelike fingers and toes appear to extend directly from the bulk of his body, a tent of fatty tissue that descended floorward in many bulges and rolls. Atop this globular frame sat a head to match, the hobbit's eyes almost hidden among the folds of fat surrounding, his mouth a purse of lips among buttock-like cheeks.

"Owzyer, then, girlie," Jobbie wheezed to the sineater, who managed not to gag at the foetid rush of malodour gushing past the alchemist and out into the alley.

"Hullo, Jobbie," she gasped. "Brought a couple of friends along. Customers." She studied him a moment, hardly able to disguise her disgust. Eternal 'youth' had not been kind to the hobbit, who'd used his extra centuries of life thus far in such nefarioius ways as to corrode his flesh, so that all but a few tufts of hair were missing from him, and deep pitted scars pocked the visible portions of his face and body, where various cankers and scabs competed for space.

"Right then," but he did not move aside, only wobbling in a nervous fashion as he studied wizard and 'shadow' suspiciously. And then his piggish gaze alit on Cornelius. "Blow me DARN!" he cried, and undulated back, limbs flailing. "He's dunnit, innit? He's bleedin' bloody well gawn an' dunnit, th' limey bastard! Gordon! Enery!" Gordon and Henry were the men suddenly looming behind the four visitors, bearing long-knives. "Bring 'im in. Alive. Dun care 'bout the rest of 'em!"

Svilfon spends a few moments picking his jaw up from the ground as his pale eyes fall upon the obscenity that is Jobbie. The wizard is so awe struck by his physical disgustingness, his putrid stench, and the almost languid motions of his flab rolls shuddering, he is caught unaware by the two men who appear as if from nowhere. Instinctively he goes to reach his hand into his robe, to pull forth his powerful new wand. But he halts. He remembers what Corny said, and what Jolie has said. So he waits. Seemingly unconcerned, but very ready to cast his explosive magic if need be.

Cornelius grins wider as the pomander disappears up his sleeve "Same Ol' Jobbie." The dandy assassin steps deftly and swiftly to the side of Gordon, hand snaking out to grasp and twist the knife-bearing wrist against its natural inclination, a silver dagger appearing in Cornelius hand as he completes his movement with Gordon's arm twisted up behind him and a knife to the man's throat "You should know there isn't a mortal man in Vailkrin as can take me one on one, Jobbie. Even two on one was stupid odds. Where're the rest of them, eh?"

Leifong was more interested than disgusted by the... was it a man? By the... thing which greeted them at the door. He'd seen great horrors in his life, which was comparatively short when put next to Jolie's, but the grotesque 'Jobbie' was not one of them. Apathy is an interesting thing, it allows such an interesting perspective, and at the current moment Leifong was more intrigued by what this awful creature could do for him than what he looked like. And besides, he had an advantage on the others, not requiring the use of his lungs and therefore not suffering the pervasive assault on the others olfactories. What was more, the halfling seemed to hold no love for the dandy they'd traveled with. What's the saying? The enemy of my enemy is my friend? Well it was something like that, to a lesser extent.

From cardboard castles and broken windows, from the rusted gutters of rooves overhead and the chinks between bricks, a subtle clatter sounded - the rest of them. Urchins and thieves, murderers and slovens, all paid well to keep vigil on the hobbit, all armed with a deadly array of toxins and sharp edges, or both.

Jobbie snarled, his near-mahogany brown snaggleteeth showing, "Come quietly, limey. An' you lot, an' all. Or there's gonna be bovver."

The hobbit wriggled back into his den, flattening discarded food cartons with his square-ish, fat little feet.

Jolie rolled her eyes, and would be the first to step over his threshold, wishing she had a pomander, and leaving the others to follow or engage in brutality, as they saw fit.

Svilfon does his best to stay close to Jolie. He has no idea what he should do, and even lets a small hand sneak into his robes and relieve him of some gold coins. He could have enacted a spell to freeze the little bastard, but he doesn't want to cause more bloodshed. So he remains close to Lady Darkness, his spells prepared in his mind if anything goes too awry.

The dandy's grin takes on a cheshire edge to it as his knife draws blood dangerously close to Gordon's arteries, a mad gleeful thing which the Hobbit might well remember from the last time he had tried to enforce a change in the terms of an agreement "I happen to like a spot of bother, Jobbie old bean. And the more of it there is, the merrier I am. Shall we shed blood this day? It has been a rough week, and I am parched for the red stuff." Cornelius shifts Gordon slightly, improving his strategic position, and lets his mind go into the cold dark place of his training.

Jolie turned briefly to glance at Cornelius with a faint grin, and then beckoned to Svilfon as she followed Jobbie's caterpillar-like motions into the main room of the hovel. It was, as to be expected, an utter rubbish tip, though several shelves containing skulls and other zoological and botanical samples dried or pickled in jars were fairly neat. The benches, however, on which a stunning array of glass containers conjoined by a maze of tubing bubbled and squeaked and dripped fluids of all colours and odors, were just as much a mess and something was possibly smouldering on one, up the back, and just as possibly screaming feebly.

"I bloody well wanna know how he dunnit," snapped the hobbit. "Nobody's dunnit but me, an' I..." he’d discovered the elixir by accident and evidently wanted to know how Cornelius had apparently done the same. "I'll 'ave the lot of yer murdered, if ye dun tell me it. Just see if I dont."

Jobbie snapped, toward the door, "BRING 'IM IN, I TOLDYA!"

Then there was .... bovver

Cornelius laughs at the hobbit then "Nemo me impune lacessit, Jobbie. The House of Penzance has not yet fallen in its entirety. Very well then, let us re-establish the terms of our relationship" and cuts Gordon's throat with callous efficiency, propelling his blood-spurting form towards the nearest lunging urchin. A dancing, weaving step in the meanwhile brings Cornelius to one wiry man wielding a poisoned dagger. Cornelius spins into his movement, grasps the man's wrist with his left hand, his lapel with the right, and spins him dagger first into a man wielding two glistening screwdrivers. It cuts only lightly, but within seconds the man is screaming as the toxins begin their work. A further step in, spin, slash, and the dagger-wielder wears a smile to match Gordon's. "Three down, Jobbie, and I'm just getting started."

Svilfon lets his eyes go wide with a genuine impressed glee as they look around the rubbish tip that is this disgustingly amazing hobbit's home. He sees so many things he needs buried beneath layers of filthy, frothing, flapping... things. He is already doing the maths for how much it'll all cost him, though he is careful to not get too close to anything. The last thing he wants is to set the flabby little bastard off again. He doesn't seem to be paying attention to Jolie and Jobbie's discussion, though every word is noted and remembered. Questions can come later. The young wizard does his best to ignore the screams of pain and rage coming from outside. Damnit, this is the wizard's heaven, and he ain't little a little death and destruction stop him from looking at all the marvels.

Leifong follows silently and surely, not paying much heed to the fates of the others, and for the most part he is left alone by the scores of ruffians. There was just something about him, that none of the men would be able to describe if asked about later, that said to leave him be. Besides, one in such modest attire did not usually carry the sort of riches to make troubling him worth their wiles. But one of the men seems to not be quite so intelligent, and lunges for Leifong as the hem of his robe is following Jolie over the threshold to that hellish abode. The knife slides easily into the priest's cold flesh, and he makes not a sound or complaint as it does so, just keeps walking. But that was apparently not an obvious enough clue, for the thug makes as if to strike again, and as he does so Leifong turns swiftly to put a single hand upon his new victim's chest. The man stops cold, as though he'd hit a brick wall, and fear suddenly floods his eyes, for a great bulge had begun to grow beneath the spot where Leifong's palm sat. It continues to grow, and grow, and grow, but the man remains unable to move or cry out, until that bulge splits apart and a sickening mixture of what had once been flesh and what had once been bone spills onto the floor in a great pool. With his aggressor's insides liquefied, his life ended, his disgraced and broken body hitting the floor, Leifong was done, and he then continues on his path into the hovel after Jolie.

Cornelius narrows his eyes slightly at Leifong's display, and recalculates the nature of the weaponry he'd require for his third 'wife', even as his dagger finds a temporary home in the face of a man almost as filthy as Jobbie, if nowhere near as ugly. He borrows the man's dagger to send it hurling into the neck of an approaching street-rat armed with an old four-by-two pierced with a truly impressive array of nails. A large man comes barreling in then, and Cornelius is forced to weave out of the way. As more close in, Cornelius swiftly follows the momentum of the burly gent who has just missed him, launching himself forwards and upwards, planting a foot on his back, pressing down to land the other on the man's shoulder. He crouches on the man's shoulders as he finds temporary purchase, hooks his left hand into one of the man's eyesockets, and severs his arteries with a swift slash of his dagger. Coiled legs then unfurl powerfully, and Cornelius' hands find purchase on the roof as a rusty knife whistles past. A single heave and the dandy assassin is on the surface of what was once his home away from home.

It was 'Enery' who next came flying through that doorway, one side of his face split and his right hand a bloody claw of broken fingers, "E's killin' us, Bunglewort! I'm buggerin' off, bugger this! And bugger you!" Then Henry fled, possibly back into the clutches of a fop.

Jolie took a seat upon what used to be an armchair before the rats moved into it, shifting aside sheaves of papers and a clock made of bird-bones to do so. She gestured to the other two to likewise be seated while Jobbie flumped into a beanbag-like construction he'd had made, being too fat to fit into a chair anymore. Or, indeed, get out of house.

The ruckus outside had not improved the hobbit’s mood, and nor had the dandy's uppercust jibes, so he would continue to snarl as he spoke, "Two hunnert an’ forty-six years I been tryin' to copy that formula, an' that f-" a crash of splintering wood obscured the word, "…is somehow walkin' about fresh as a blummin' daisy." His aggrieved glance fell on Jolie. "You're gonna tell me how he dunnit, girlie. Ain't ya?"

Jolie smiled. "Jobbie, dear. It's not longevity. He was cursed, is all. Turned into a statue." He thought the hobbit might be cheered by the next bit of news, "And was pooped on by a thousand generations of pigeons." The hobbit grumbled, but said nothing further on it. The necromancer went on, "I'd like you meet Leifong. And Svilfon." The two were gestured to, in turn. "Both good customers. And really, better gold in the hand than bones in the river. Am I right?"

The hobbit scowled some more, and while free of the desire to want the dandy dead out of greed for the lifespan-prolonging elixir that had become his white whale, would as yet leave Cornelius to battle on through his minions as he replied, "Yeah, 'spose."

Svilfon spends a long time looking around the 'shop' before he takes the seat offered by Jolie. The disgusting hobbit is offered a tip of his hat, and a crooked, gap-toothed smile, "It's a pleas... well.. it's nic... no... Good to meet you, Jobbie. Svilfon, of the Mage's Guild." He gives his name again to the man; he wanted to be remembered, before he reclines back looking comfortable, though something is digging into his back.. and it's squirming... But he hides his disgust and merely smiles.

Leifong places his feet carefully, and through some miracle manages to make his way through the house without stepping on anything disgusting. His cloak on the other hand, picked up all sorts of filth which were fairly unspeakable. He decided to burn it later. Without a word or expression or motion of greeting, Leifong chooses to stand rather than find himself a seat, and observes the halfling with his cold eyes, as though studying a fine work of art, or a grizzly triple homicide involving children. Jolie was doing a better job speaking than he would anyway.

Cornelius plucks a dagger out of the air as it passes by him, sends it flying back into the man who threw it, even as he casts about for the old entrance "Ahh, there we are!" He ducks a stone thrown to unbalance him, and carefully inspects the trapdoor. "Tsk tsk. Call that a pressure trap?" He shifts out of the way of another airborne object and gets to work with his dagger and a strangely carved spoon fished from his satchel. He notes with dismay that the acrobatics had dislodged and displaced the orderly nature of the contents. A short moment, and three evaded daggers later, the trapdoor is opened and Cornelius peers inside only to curse to himself "Really Jobbie? Is all this necessary?" A rock pings off his cuirass, and in a moment of temper Cornelius turns, intercepts the next dagger, and hurls it into the ugliest assailant he can see "Do you bastards -mind-? I am bloody -busy- here! Sod off!" Muttering to himself, Cornelius examines the array of tripwires laid through his old crawlspace.

The dandy assassin is once again disturbed by an ill-mannered but agile man who has made his way to the rooftop in pursuit of what promised to be Jobbie-sized reward if he could knock the grey-haired bastard out. Cornelius glares at the man "Look, you deuced lackwit, what part of 'I'm Busy' can you simpletons not comprehend?" As the man charges him the dandy sighs "We make use of the tools we are given one supposes" and shifts his bodyweight down and to the side, hooking the man's leg with his own and sending him off balance. A carefully timed grab to the man's arm and turning step helps propel the man headfirst down the crawlspace, activating several of the wires even as Corny rolls away from the entry. To the dandy's surprise there were no explosions, just a sequence of clicks and slight 'splishk' sounds accompanied by the victim's short-lived screams. The lack of any kind of kaboom meant the wires weren't Jobbie's work, Cornelius mused. Returning to the crawlspace he pulls the man out, to find he is more hedgehog, riddled with small bolts. The dandy evades another thrown dagger and squats to clean his own on the dead man's shirt before sheathing it. Stepping up and back his sabre arcs swiftly out of its scabbard and descends on the man's neck, severing it neatly.

The hobbit bellowed an order for his remaining - if mostly mangled - minions to stand down, while Cornelius entered the welter of boobytraps that Garath, Jobbie and even Corny himself had set along its path. "You there," he grumped to Svilfon. "Dun touch nuffin'. Private property, innit." He didn't like the way the mage was devouring his research with his wizardy eyes, but the hobbit would look more kindly upon Leifong. "An' you there, Deadeyes, got the look aboutcha, you do." Wiping a glop of spittle from his chin with the back of one pale, pudgy hand the alchemist grinned, a sight worse than than his snarl by about fifty per cent. "Got a few items y'may find useful, an' all. Cost ya, but," he added, eyes narrowing to obese slits. "Now, what was it y'wanted to see about," this was wheezed to Jolie, who was breathing through her mouth.

"Oh… " she said. "I need a special delivery. For Buckley."

At mention of the elven trader's name, Jobbie gibbered silently, his cheeks wobbling. "I see, I see, right bit o'hows yer favver, innit. Welly well. Well, well. Well, then…." And so on, and so on. Eventually, Leifong was tossed something grisly. It was shrivelled, and smelled of pepper. "Freebie for ya Deadeyes. On th'house, fink of it as a sample," he said. "Curse purse, I calls it. Y'can whisper anyfin' in that, wiv a name o' the intended. Bit o' hair. Fingernails, the like. An' your mark'll be dead as a plank before th' sun goes dahn."

Svilfon reassesses Corny silently as the bodies have piled up. Maybe next time he won't be so quick to harass the dandy when miss Jolie plays her pranks. He is musing along these lines when Jobbie barks his order out to him. The wizard turns and for just a moment glares at the fat hobbit. A flash of the rage that burns deep beneath the young human's jovial face is shown. But in the next moment it is gone, and he merely smiles, "As you wish." The wizard sticks his hand behind his back and pulls out a spazzing little half rat, half lizard kinda thing - an animal with none of the positive qualities of each creature, and a disturbingly large amount of negative qualities neither possess. Svil drops it with a grunt, and returns his attention to Jolie and Jobbies discussion.

Leifong catches the little thing without any hesitation and examines it only briefly before stowing it in an interior pocket. Though what he thought of it was as much of a mystery as whether he felt flattered by the hobbit's comment about his 'look'. The question firmly on the priest's mind, was whether or not the hobbit had engineered the thing in such a way as to make himself invulnerable to it's power. "I take it you fancy yourself the clever sort." he says more to himself than anyone else, answering his own question, but it's not spoken in an entirely disrespectful tone. "And what about the 'less-free-bies'?"

Cornelius ducks another rock as he grabs hold of the quarrel-cushion which was once a man's skull, and sends it careening down the crawlspace. With a chorus of satisfying clicks and splishks, Cornelius drops into the crawlspace himself, and slowly proceeds along it, carefully checking for other traps. Halfway down it he stops, and hooks a fingernail into one of the boards above the crawlspace. Satisfyingly, there are two simultaneous clicks, a slight shuffling sound, and another sliding sound. Producing another dagger, Cornelius opens a secret trapdoor of his own design and craftmanship. He'd never had a chance to use it before an audience, and now seemed a good time. with a grin he loosens his sabre in its scabbard and lightly drops down, unsheathing the blade as he alights down behind Jobbie, rising to press sabre against spine "Dragons Blood is what I am after, old bean. How have you been, Jobbie. I've -so- missed doing business with you"

Jobbie 's fat face puckered into a wince at the feel of the fop's cold steel in his back. "Calm dahn, Guv. Just precautions, innit?" The hobbit was sweating, in thick beads that dribbled down his brow to the tip of his nose. "An' blood of the ole horse'n'wagon, eh? Not easy to procure, sonny jim, I'll tell ya that for nuffin’. But I'll give 'alf orf, if y'get that bloody knife out me back and siddahn. Make me nervous, wiv all yer stabbin' an trouble."

Jolie was watching the pair with a rather bored look, as if waiting for them to get on with it.

Jobbie would then reply to Leifong, "Arm an' a leg, but my stuff's guaranteed. Untraceable. Undetectible. Slow, fast, magnetised… if I can cook it up, it's for sale." He snickered, a snortling sound. "Special this week's bear grease surprise. Stop y’ flesh rottin' off yer bones, that will." Eying Svilfon narrowly, he said, "Guild, aye? Hain't been inside that hall since I was were a sprout." Since they'd thrown him out for acts of treason on a national scale, he meant. He was still on the most-wanted lists. "Be ten percent extra, for you lot."

Svilfon has apparently had enough of slights against the guild this day. He speaks quietly, with a sureness that betrays his supreme confidence. He does not boast, nor is his tone arrogant, and this seems to add weight to his words, "You will take what I offer." His eye twitches, but he refrains from speaking further. Jolie has business, and he will not ruin a second transaction for her this day. He nods once to the fat hobbit, before returning to his silence. The only sign of his irritation one of his hands tapping an impatient beat on his leg.

Leifong remains quite dead and stoic as he responds in a cold tone, making his humor somewhat of a surprise. "If all you want is an arm and a leg, I'd say that's quite a bargain. There's got to be near a dozen out there whose owners won't be needing them, now our mutual friend's been through with them. Though maybe we'd best ask him if you'll be living long enough to receive payment." The priest hovers quietly behind the other two of his companions, figuratively speaking, a slight smirk building on his face. "Though... maybe it would be best if I found someone more suitable for the procurement of curiosities, given what you've so far shown and offered."

Cornelius murmurs to Jobbie "I'd not advise harassing the mage, Jobbie old bean. He blew up part of Sage Forest and half the stupid elves in it when they pulled a similar thick-necked stunt. Behave, eh? For old time's sake. No need for a repeat of explosive introductions" Cornelius then sheathes his sabre with a smile "Glad to hear of my discount though, old bean. I'm sure you'll find a way to replenish my stock. You were always reliable in the past." He remains cautiously aware of his surroundings, but adopts a non-threatening posture. If only because the hobbit's sweat was more viscous than palm oil and had a worse scent than skunk essence when the fat bastard got nervous.

Jobbie huffed a loud exhalation on his release, "An' none o'this wyvern juice they're sellin' dahn in Alithrya," he assured the dandy, rubbing his palms together in anticipation of a deal, discounted or not. "Lost four men, acquiring' this little lot. Golden dragon, an' all, just a pup but potent? Cor, not 'alf." Another vile grin, and he said to Jolie, "Be a love, willya, and fetch's up a few things?" It would save him getting up again, not an easy task for the corpulent alchemist.

Jolie smiled, "Of course."

Ignoring Svilfon, Jobbie stared the priest up and down, as if making up his mind about something. "Ere, Deadeyes. Got just what th'doctor ordered for ya. Bit o' malarkey, like." He told Jolie where to find it.

She scrambled among littered bottles and jars of fungus a moment, "The black box?"

Jobbie nodded, and a moment later Leifong would be handed the item. "Light trap," explained the hobbit, peeling a flake of skin off the underside of his chin. "Makes shadders, where there ain't none." He'd leave the undead to examine that treasure, and then went into a series of apparent convulsions, which was really just Jobbie attempting to find his pants' pocket, despite that he wearing a necessary muumuu, so it took him a few extra wobbles to sort that out. Finally, he tossed something Svilfon's way, his gaze narrow. "You tell me what that is, Grand Poobah, an' I'll give y’ what ya offer for it."

Jobbie gave 1 bezoar to Svilfon.

Jolie was next instructed on where to find a dark leather case that Cornelius would know the look of.

Svilfon snatches the small stone out of the air with the same hand that was once tapping an impatient rhythm on his leg. He stares at the hobbit for a moment, before nodding his agreement. Pale eyes look over the stone for a long moment before the wizard speaks - more to himself than the hobbit. " A difficult item to find, hmm. Or at least a disgusting one." The wizard snickers dryly, "Used for certain poisons - to detect in their liquid form, and also believed to neutralize their toxic effects, though this has been proved inaccurate by some. Detection, though. A useful item indeed." The young wizard deftly puts the small stone in one of his pockets, and from the same pulls forth a bag full of coins. It bulges; a small fortune for such a small item, but bridges should be mended for a man who can so casually supply such useful items. "Bezoar is the name, Jobbie. And that is my price." The transaction done, Svilfon seems happy as his mind flows through various things he can use it for.

Svilfon gave 1000 gold to Jobbie.

Jobbie smiled, the awful and happy expression he most often wore when gold changed hands and the receiving hand was his own. "Jolie, m’ dahlin', shove that bag over 'ere..." He'd watch her pert behind as she did so, the smile turning to a leer.

Jobbie said to Svilfon, "They ain't trainin' idjits dahn the old Hall. Not like it was in the olden days. Pack o'smarmy.." he'd grumble a bit. "But a feller like yourself, clever an' all. You tell 'em Jobbie sends his love, never tell 'em where to find me, an' I'll do business wiv ya. Good business. And… inaccurate? My arse. That's what 'appens when they let amateurs at it." More grumbling.

Svilfon refrains from pointing out the only way Jobbie could have gotten into the guild was if they were allowing 'idjits' in, and instead merely nods his head and lets the implied and less-than-subtle insults slide. He returns to his silence, allowing the conversations to flow around him, though he does curse his over-sight of not shoving something up his nose. That insidious smell was really starting to get to him.

Leifong busies himself with studying the light trap, prodding and poking at it crudely before getting down to more arcane and useful means of examination. For all he could tell, it's construction was not so complex. But it was... strange, and the priest could not rightly identify the exact means through which it produced authentic shadow where none existed. At least not without testing it thoroughly. He himself could create darkness, but it was not of a true sort. It did not behave like true darkness, did not serve as real shadow. He had found an alternate method through which authentic shadows could be produced en mass, but it was outside the area of his expertise, and taxed him more than was really necessary. If the box did as it was meant, as it for all intents and purposes seemed, then it would be worth the "Price?" He inquires shortly, eyes flicking up from beneath the hem of his hood to rest solidly on the hobbit, as though by simply looking long enough he might be able to steal all the little man's secrets. He wanted them, badly. Would tear them from the little creature if he could... and perhaps soon, he would be able to. But for now.... "A unreasonable one, I assume."

Leifong 's mind did not exactly think of tactful persuasion before it jumped to murder.

The hobbit gave Leifong a sly look - or rather, particularly sly - and shook his head. "Nah, me old son, quite reasonable, for what it is. Only ten thou." He'd let that sink in. "Or...." The look grew even more sly. "Five thou, and half yer pinkie finger off yer left hand." Jobbie added, with a phlegmy chuckle, "I'll even show y’ how to use the thing."

Jobbie was careful not to use colloquial slang for coin amounts when Cornelius was around, having been lumped with several large hoofed mammals in the past.

Cornelius has noticed the change, and remembers well the savings that error on the hobbit's behalf had granted him.

Leifong said to Jobbie "And for the whole pinkie finger?"

"Only need half, innit." was the hobbit's reply, as he gouged some lint and a few loose scabs out of one of his neck folds.

Leifong suddenly has a wicked little dagger in his right hand, one edge straight and razor sharp, the other edge serrated and vicious looking. But if any of those gathered were to try and recall when it got there, they would come up lacking any memory of it. Without hesitation the priest sets to work on removing half the pinkie finger, setting his left hand down on a nearby desk and leveraging his knife in between it and the other fingers. It is an awkward process, but after a quick slice with the straight edge, and then a brutal sawing with the serrated, issuing forth a series of crunching, snapping noises, the finger is severed right at the first knuckle. Through the whole affair, Leifong shows no emotion of any kind, nor any reaction of pain, though whether it is due to him not feeling any, or due to great discipline on his part, is uncertain. "There you are." the priest states in a detached manner, no pun intended, as he tosses the thin stump which had previously been a functioning digit to the 'portly' little halfling. "The lady will cover the monetary side of my debt." he continues, flicking his gaze to Jolie only briefly.

Jolie gave Leifong 1 highly-unimpressed stare.

Cornelius raises an eyebrow when Jolie finally locates the black case he had been hoping to see. "Cheers, Jolly-girl. Much obliged." He sets it down on a pile of unmentionables and opens it to see neatly packed rows of vials held down with black satin ties. An unusual affectation of the hobbit's supplier, Cornelius had always assumed. "Excellent. I'll take them all."

Jobbie grunted at the dandy, "Five hunnert gold each." No mention of mules, or any other barnyard creature, as he offered Cornelius quite a vicious stare. "Gold. Pieces."

Cornelius nods "A reasonable price." It isn't really, but he is aware that for some products there is such a thing as a bulk mark-up to punish monopolies. Cornelius pulls out a small writing box and retrieves a bank promissory note. He dashes off a figure, signs it, then pierces his finger with a letter-opener. Blotting the paper with a drop of the red fluid, he stamps it with the Penzance signet ring, and hands it to Jobbie.

Cornelius gave Jobbie 6000 gold

Jobbie had caught that severed pinky-end, more deftly than his grossly obese frame might allow one to suppose. Slipping it to a pocket of some sort deep in the reaches of his muumuu, the alchemist snorted, "Insurance." He'd seen that covetous look in the priest's eyes. Then to Jolie, "Five thou. Or...." he leered again.

Jolie said, hastily, "Five thousand is fine." With an inward shudder as to what the horrid halfling might ask from her in lieu. "I'll have Urghdak drop it 'round in the morning. You know I'm good for it."

Cornelius cleans signet ring and letter opener with a cloth left in the box for that purpose, and stows it away again.

Jobbie's face grew still blank, and reddened a little, then. This ruddy-faced contemplation continued for half a minute, until from between himself and that bean-bag-like seat came a flubbering, wet sound. The hobbit sighed relief and said to Jolie, "Poppy extract, usual portion, right?"

Leifong had thought of that possibility, insurance and all. It was to be expected after all, and the priest had not made his decision without weighing all the options. Truth be told, he had more than enough gold to not only pay the five thousand himself, but to pay the full ten and not bat an eyelash. He was payed well for various tasks, or rather, payed himself well from the pockets of dead men and sinners, and given that he needed no food, nor water... no earthly pleasures of any kind, even a room to sleep in, the sum had continued to add well. No, this was a tactical decision, and one that even those who understood his reasoning would have a hard time understanding. With a slight grin playing out across his lips, Leifong grabs the remaining stub of flesh on his left hand, and a great searing heat wells up within his palm, cauterizing the would which slowly oozed near black blood, already half congealed in the veins. "Prime quality that digit, if a bit used." he was quite happy with himself right now, but why... that was to remain secret.

Jolie tried and failed to hold her breath and speak at the same time, and wound up nodding instead and she rose to flee the stifling odours of the room, "Urgh'll pick that up too..." She would not inhale again, until she was stepping over bodies in the alley outside.

Jobbie stared after her. "Flighty bit o'fluff, that 'un. Needs a good f-" another flubbery, moist explosion spared them the rest of that statement, if not the smell.

Cornelius produces that pomander from his sleeve, and places it over his nose "Well, old bean, it has been a pleasure as always. Glad to rekindle the old working relationship, wot."

Jobbie said to Cornelius, "Yeah, yer highness. Piss orf, then."

Svilfon has had enough. Without any sort of goodbye he gets to his feet and flees the room, not stopping until he is free from the entire rubbish-filled area. And damn him to hell, he was going to remember something to shove up his nose next time.

Leifong remained standing there rather unphased by the awful stench coming from Jobbie, though he somewhat balked at the idea the the halfling had ever in his life given anyone a good f- "It seems that we are to leave. But you must show me how to use the box before I do."

The halfling made a grabby-hand for the item, and when it was given to him felt about for a hidden button at its base. "Under 'ere, Deadeyes. Y'push it, see? Then..." he flipped the box open, and pointed it toward a corner of the room free of his endless glass tubes and bubbling potions. "Now, press the button again..." What dim light there was, afforded by a cheap tin lamp, suddenly seemed to warp toward the box, as though being drawn into it, in the manner a white sheet might be pulled through a narrow hole, and what was left behind was the absence of light, a deep and inky patch of dark with ragged edges, as if the corner of the room was a painting with its edge torn off. "Light trap." he said, a little smugly, in the ensuing gloom, and tossed the box back to Leifong. "Dun last long, mind. But long enough, for most things that need doin' quick-smart."

Cornelius finishes watching Jobbie's demonstration for Leifong, then strolls out of the cesspit in an unhurried fashion, pomander still over his nose. He then produces a small spraybottle of a peculiar Alithryan fragrance which replaces your current scent, whatever it may be, with something else - a handy artifact when you stink of Jobbie's Den. Admittedly, after applying it on this occasion he smells disturbingly like a fresh ocean breeze, but what can one do? Nagas have weird taste sometimes.

Leifong nods his thanks and takes the box back ever so gingerly, as though it were made of glass, and makes to head after the group he'd arrived with. No more interest in the hobbit at all, now that he had what he wanted. "We'll be seeing each other, I imagine." he states calmly, and as he rounds the corner into the hallway, he lets his fingertips trail ever so gently along the walls in a most deliberate fashion. Little tendrils of darkness slip from under his nails, and like tiny little worms they crawl along the walls, seeking out any and all open bits of molding or cracks in the ceiling and floor which they might bury themselves in. As he finally exits the door, he makes haste to catch up with the his associates, trailing slightly behind them.

Jolie had hung back after Cornelius and Svilfon had left, and was standing near that vampiric statue and its eternally flowering lilies, wondering how she’d ever get Jobbie’s various levels of reek out of the leather she was wearing, and hoping that the mere mention of the name ‘Buckley’ had been enough to jog the revolting halfling’s memory as to what it was, exactly, that that almost equally eccentric trader would want from the alchemist. She certainly wasn’t going back to ask, not a second time today. Peridot eyes would lift toward the alley’s dingy mouth in time to see Leifong make his exit from it.

Leifong strides slowly and purposefully out of the dark alleyway, holding this little box which he'd bought from Jobbie very gingerly, as though he were afraid to touch it. "That little beast got his sweaty mitts all over the thing." he says to Jolie as he nears, but rather than upset, the priest sounds positively ecstatic at this fact. "Perfect." he continues, and as his silent footsteps draw to a halt just before he reaches the woman, his free hand pulls a little glass vial from his pocket.

Jolie … well it wasn’t that she didn’t –trust- Leifong... Actually, she didn’t trust him at all, really, despite that he was ostensibly her bodyguard, which somewhere and somehow in the necromancer’s labyrinthine skein of illogical logic made complete sense. But this wasn’t why she was eyeing that vial, nor casting the same doubtful look upon the box. There were a lot of people she didn’t trust at all who nevertheless she was quite fond of, even if she would murder them in a blink were they to pose her any serious threat. Like Jobbie. And yes… Leifong. But moreso Jobbie at this point in time, who wasn’t quite as useful to her as the priest, and so she frowned. “Careful. The hobbit might be a genius at alchemy, but he’s several ghouls short of the boneyard, so to speak. I trust him as far as I could throw him.” Which, considering his bulk, was not very far at all.

Leifong chuckles quietly to himself as he uncorks the little vial "I trust him to be exactly what he is. And so should you. Painfully predictable." as he speaks, he raises the little box and eyes it carefully, turning it about so that the light glints off the numerous beads of oily sweat. "A little help?" he finally asks, "Just hold the box, if you would. Carefully, you don't want to get that goop on your skin."

Jolie really didn’t. She’d shrug her sleeve down lower so enough extra fabric was available to allow her to use the cloth as prophylactic against possibly toxic hobbit-sweat. Gods knew what the little freak had his system after three centuries of breathing poisons. The necromancer returned to her narrow study of Leifong, then. “I’m supposing you know why he wanted your finger. I warn you again, priest – he’s a lot more dangerous than he looks.”

Leifong 's face is full of spiteful glee as Jolie takes the box from him, "Tilt it just a bit." he instructs, guiding her hand so that a corner of the box is facing the ground. "And of course I knew why he wanted my finger. Even before he told me." Leifong takes the opening of the vial and lines it up with that bottom corner of the box, and then pulls the same knife he'd used to cut his finger off from wherever it was normally stowed on his person. "Damn, hold on." he says, setting the little vial on the ground as he cleans his knife off in the same manner he'd cauterized his severed finger. "There we go, lets try this again." and then once the vial is in position again, Leifong draws the straight edge of his blade across the box, using it to corral Jobbie's sweat down the box's side and into his vial. It was no more than a couple drops, but that would be more than sufficient. "Now, assuming that I knew why he wanted my finger. Why do you think that I would part with it so easily."

She knew. Or thought she did. “Sympathetic magic.You’ve something planned, with that sweat.. insurance...” But she had to wonder about the finger, and her brow creased faintly while she put a bit more thought to it. “It’s undead,” she said, finally. “And yours, or was until you gave it to him. Reanimation? Attack of the killer pinky?” This is what she liked about the priest – he was full of surprises. That, and he was damned near as nefarious as she was. Which would probably become a major problem one day, but for now she was allowing herself to simply enjoy it. Her peridot gaze met that of the aptly nicknamed ‘Deadeyes’ in frank curiosity.

Leifong doesn't confirm nor deny his mentor's suspicions, instead keeping them to himself for the time being. She was on the right track, and that was enough. "Something like that, I think." he responds idly as he then scrapes the box one more time to get the last remaining drops of sweat before corking that vial and stowing it away. His knife was then cleaned again before it too found it's way back to where it belonged, and he reclaimed possession of the box. "Now, perhaps you can help me with another little project." and he begins slowly making his way up the street, assuming that Jolie would keep pace with him. "I need to to figure out exactly how this box functions."

Jolie looked vaguely pleased that she’d got it right, for the most part, and wrinkled her nose at the sleeve she’d been using. The shirt was for the incinerator when she got back to the tavern. She’d scoot along behind Leifong’s longer strides before catching his side. “He showed you how to use it, didn’t he? Looked easy enough.” But she was learning, pretty quickly, that the priest was often a lot more literal with his words than casual, and cast a sidelong look his way, “You want to make one for yourself, don’t you?” Her lips quirked into a smile, as she thought of the applications for such an item. “Wouldn’t mind one myself. But don’t let Jobbie catch you trading items off his menu. I’d also take care in poking about with that thing’s insides. He has a passion for boobytraps.” She could still feel the bruises of her last encounter with one of Jobbie’s ‘surprises’ despite that she’d fallen victim to it several human lifetimes ago.

Leifong shrugs. "That's why I need the help then, isn't it? You have experience with his traps already." It just figured, didn't it, that Leifong would rather have Jolie getting hurt than himself. "The gains would be rather worth the risks, if we can figure it out, wouldn't you say?" the priest eyes his companion subtly as he picks up the pace, excited to be getting back to the Corpse, so that he could change, and get to work. "We'll speak more at the tavern. I'll meet you there." and with those last words spoken, the priest melts into nothingness.

Jolie watched him fade, exhaling a ragged sigh. The priest had so, so much to learn… Like, for instance, that all this fading in and out was exciting and made travel faster - but it took a terrible toll on one’s magical reserves, reserves that could be needed suddenly. And that usefulness was far often greater currency than fondness, in the necromancer’s world and the world beyond it, too. Shoving her hands deep in her pockets, she started the walk back to The Hanging Corpse.