RP:The Art of Negotiating - (Do's and) Don'ts

Summary: Thamalys makes his way toward the Barracks, seeking to secure the services of none other than the Matriarch of the Steel Collective. Unfortunately, he decides to put her to the test by basically attempting to cleave her in two - classic Tham - to which the Flaxen Lady reacts with a whole flurry of skilful blows. Bloodied and battered, the Avian still manages to strike a deal - albeit Aarika’s last insult is bound to result in some nasty twist, at least according to the Ageless Black…

Xalious Mountain Range: The Steel Collective Barracks

Thamalys devoured the short distance separating him still from the huge gates by means of a couple of long, measured strides, only to be abruptly interrupted by the outstretched arm - and hand alike - of an oddly slender half-orc, the greyish-clad shapes of the latter almost seamlessly mingling with the stony surroundings. “Oi, ya’ big bird! D’ya think you can just show up with your feathery arse in here? No invitation, aye? Purpose of your visit, then?” inquired the impromptu keeper, a moment before being silenced by the consequent gesture of the Avian, casually shoving three pieces of shiny solid gold into said hand. “The same of the vast majority of those that dare to enter this sodding place… now, get off me…” growled the Blue while stepping forth into the lengthy yard, not even caring to take notice of the mildly astonished expression building on the lumpy face of the half-orc, presently still holding his hand mid air. For one thing, the Spellblade was not exactly in the highest of the spirits - he had to walk in there, as he could not find the place by just looking down from his beloved skies. What a dreadful annoyance indeed, as testified by the irritated look of a massive Red Kite - Nebb, for the few who could call him by name safely enough… - perched on the right shoulder of Avian, there where an ample, dark-green shirt, embroidered with silvery motifs of stars and moons, hung loose covering much of his tattooed skin. In tune with his very mood, the Blue sported pitch black leathery pants, tightly wrapped along those impossibly long legs and frankly quite at odds with the knotty mass of his waist-long dreadlocks, ivory-white braids cascading across his back and chest in an untidy chaos the Winged Beast seemed absolutely not to care about. The dreadful extent of those silver-clad wings, ominously tinkling into the murky air, was kept neatly furled, framing the towering features of the Gossamer Halberd, squarely laced across his back. Solid blue eyes scrutinising the scene in front of him, the Blue thus proceeded to traverse the full length of the yard - barefooted as always. He did not bother to any subtlety at all - he learned that no matter his efforts, he just tended not go unnoticed. A number of onlookers were presently intent to spar each other - and very few stopped to acknowledge the entrance of the Winged Beast. Some of them clearly new to the noble art, some others, the Spellblade himself would have had most likely quite a hard time to overpower - “Most excellent…” he muttered in a sort of whisper, nodding slowly. He made his way till the Barracks for a reason, and he sincerely did hope he was not to leave that sodding place without something - somebody, that is - in his bony hands. Unhurriedly, he paced himself through the fairly crowded space, trying to pinpoint the most promising candidates, much as a seasoned shepherd would probe with a single experienced look the finest samples of the whole herd.  

Thamalys' coin not only bought him passage through the large iron gates of the Steel Collective's barracks it also bought him a tail that was issued by the half-orc with a jut of his scarred chin. The energy about the sellswords home base was buzzing men and women worked, some polishing their blades and sharpening their iron, some mastering their aim with arrows and others practicing close quarter combat. In the middle of one of the sparing circle stood a slender woman; her flaxen hair had plaits twisted and secured from her bight blue gaze that was glued on her two opponents. She wore a leather body suit with an intricate breastplate and sturdy leather strips made up her 'mini- skirt' that fell to her thigh. She faced off with a larger man, nearly six foot with deep green eyes wielding an ax, he could have been more intimidating if it were for the baby face. The third was a young brown haired woman with a short sword tight in her grip; her body moved side to side trying to keep her intentions unpredictable. The man lunged first sweeping the head of his ax wildly at the blonde who was quick to bob and weave waiting for the perfect opening. Her fingers coiled about his hand to pull him close while a twist at her core brought her elbow across his jaw then back just as quickly; a double tap. She'd release him just in time to slip from the path of a well swung sword. The metal cut through air with a whooshing sound the blonde sucked in her stomach while leaping backwards the tip of the blade barely grinding upon her metal armor. Both the woman smiled egging one another on before the brunette lunged forward; the blonde dodged the initial assault and forcefully grabbed the assailants wrist with one hand then dealt a quick strike to her head with the other hand to throw her opponent off balance allowing a quick leg sweep as she pulled the brunette down by her collarbone. Aarika smiled as she rose offering to help her pupil up from the flat of her back, "Keep practicing you two and you will have your earring soon enough." The matriarch smiled and dipped her flaxen head to both opponents before excusing herself to follow the avian with curiosity, "Can I help you with something?" She finally addressed Thamalys' with a smile in her voice in turn relieving Lenny of his baby-sitting duty.  

Thamalys kept walking, assessing, probing, pinpointing. Of all the ongoing miniature battlefields, though, he could not miss the threesome featuring amongst others the axe-brandishing gentleman, presently dealing - or trying to deal, that is - with a fair headed that plainly dripped an aura of authority. “That’s a start…” he mumbled in his softest pitch, nonetheless trudging still along the yard. He was aiming to complete is jaunt by reaching the very end of the ample space, if only said flaxen lady would have let him - which seemed not to be the case. Thus he halted, two whole steps away from her, canting his head to a substantial extent toward his right side, blinking thrice, only to engage right after in an absolutely awkward - by all standards but for those of the Blue himself - silence, punctuated by a rather intent stare, scrutinising the SellSword from feet to head. Not the slightest hint of malice exhumed from those eyes, though - in fact, the Winged Beast was simply evaluating a merchandise. He had very little respect for mercenaries, hence he was not to show any - for now. “Why, that would be entirely up to you, m’lady…” he begun offering a stiff bow, his left hand actually engaging into an elegant salutation, his face an unintelligible tattooed mask. “Say, is that… great Sven, is that a - pixie - ?”  he genially continued, a genuine expression of astonishment surfacing onto his bony lineaments, in fact even pointing the index finger of his right hand toward her left shoulder, in the meantime rising from the bow with a spiralling gesture of the whole of his left arm. Whether or not the Fair Headed One fell for the feint, the ink on his skin came to life soon enough, droplets of liquid blue fire sizzling into the air, shaping themselves, following the winding motions of the hand of the Blue as well as a short string of words in a language long ago forgotten, into the flaming features of a massive harrier, presently aiming squarely at the SellSword face. Judging the scenario probably not cumbersome enough after all, the Spellblade did not wait for the outcome of his magic at all, but indeed he would have seized with a single, fluid movement of his right hand and arm alike the elerium-embroidered metal of the Gossamer Halberd, in less then a second - the flaming harrier still flying mid air, in fact - swinging the whole extent of the bladed pole from across his shoulders down where the Flaxen Lady was, the sharp head of the blessed weapon singing along a merry melody of death. Within this sodding mess, the Blue was already considering the possible outcomes of his moves: a feint, a flaming bird, a downward blow… yes, most likely a worthy challenge - he needed one perfectly capable to deal with much more than that. Obviously, the fact he was a complete stranger to the whole lot, and more importantly that said lot was wholly armed and not necessarily happy to witness a direct attack toward their leader, barely brushed his thoughts - for now…  

The merriment of the matriarch is quickly lost with the attempted misdirection of the faux-pixie. She knew better then to fall for elementary tricks. Thamalys bow was mirrored with one of her own being the well-bread creature she was, as she recomposed her posture the avian began his smoke and mirrors, "Sir, foreigner magic isn't permitted on the premises unless requested. As you and I both know you have not been invited for such." Her tone was stern however still civil. Other's in the yard had paused their training to observe the current interaction between the two. The blue fire drew the sell swords in like moths to a flame. It was clear this man lacked respect, continuing his will with out a care to his surroundings and those around him. The large harrier paired with his -could be-  decapitating blow dropped Aarika into a forward somersault on the ground. She was annoyed, out raged even. He dare come into their territory and without more then a sentence attempt an assassination, even for trying the 'merchandise' this was no way to interacted with the battle brothers and sisters. Thamalys had sealed more then one fate with his actions, the orc that was bribed for entry would undoubtedly be executed for such careless greed, his head would be loped off to insure a torturous afterlife without the Gods, forever in limbo and dying without honor. Before Aarika completed her full rotation back to her feet she did two things, her left hand collected sand and her right unsheathed her boot knife with a soft metallic grind. Two archers already had their bows drawn taunt and without a second thought they began to fill the bird like a pin cushion while Aarika rose casting the grit right for the avian's eyes, freeing her hand to attempt to stabilize his weapon from further motion while her dagger aimed to rapidly and repetitively shank the man in his gut, he would no longer be the only one who could fight dirty. Regardless of the outcome the duo would be surrounded by warriors with axes, swords, bows, spears and nets -should Thamalys try to fly away-. The avian would get to see first hand how well organized and how unforgiving this Collective was.    

Thamalys barely frowned in response to the earnest rebuke of Flaxen Lady about where exactly magic was allowed or not - he rarely took notice of regulations anyway. In fact, even if he was to answer to that particular statement, only very little time he had to counteract the swift chain of events unraveling before his blue eyes. He was expecting some acrobatics from the Fair Headed One and quite a reaction from the rest of the SellSwords as well, sure, but he may have underestimated a couple of details. First things first, he was quite taken aback by the precision by which the onlookers moved at once to close onto him, especially those pesky archers - no, he was not particularly enthusiastic about being around arrows of any sort. But then, he would have never anticipated the Matriarch would have tried to stab him properly, as in his head the whole business was just a thorough benchmark of her skills - well, he was never one particularly well known for being able to judge whether a line was to be crossed or not. The whole of this reasoning flashed in his thoughts rather briefly, though, as most of his mental effort had to be devoted to try not to get hurt - too much, that is. Despite the fact he felt most of the warriors in the yard were already converging on him with a diverse variety of weaponry, he did not really spot those archers throwing at him, as the handful of soil tossed by the Flaxen Lady hit him squarely in the face. He did not flinch, but he was forced to close his eyes - and his mouth, very rarely hung open anyway, but he sealed those grey, thin lips as well, before dropping on his right knee, the entire length of the Halberd letting slide into his hand till the blade met his palm. Such motion would have normally required ages - but the Gossamer Halberd was so light, the whole movement took less than a split second, the same time window, in fact, he needed to unfurl those colossal wings and arch them to envelope his shapes and those of the Matriarch alike, in a silver-clad cocoon gleaming ominously around them. Head low, the countless dreadlocks cascading between Spellblade and SellSword, he trusted Artia’s magic - and for a good reason: while the flaming harrier vanished into thin air, quite a few arrows reached his feathers, only to be denied by the metallic enchantment covering his wings. Off they bounced, possibly with quite some disbelief from the fiery archers - nothing could get past that immense shield. The Blue would have smiled, feeling the bolts dying away elsewhere, but whatever expression he was planning to show off, it never arrived. The moment he managed to open his eyes the Fair Headed One already pierced his tattooed flash twice. Not his gut, as he kneeled, and not his chest either, as he did wear a mithril breastplate beyond the fabric of his shirt, so that in the end it was his right shoulder, right above and below his collarbone, to suffer the bites of her blade. Most astonished, the Avian let go of the Halberd, the pain building rapidly while a seizable blossoming of crimson soiled his garment. The odd couple still hidden by his silvery wings, the Winged Beast would have eventually seized the wrist of the Flaxen Lady, hopefully before she managed to transform the Avian into a feathery colander. “Very impressive indeed, m’lady - albeit I did not expect to have to resort to my healing skills today…” he begun with a low growl while rising to his feet, her wrist most likely still squarely seized in his left hand, his solid blue gazed nailed into her eyes, a rather unsettling mask lacking even the slightest hint of empathy evaluating the blood profusely running down his chest and right arm alike. “Ten thousand pieces of gold, now, I would be gladly offer for securing your aid in a rather nasty business I will have to deal with soon enough… plus the same amount, if we ever succeed. What do you say? Ah, to which I will subtract the cost of a new embroidered shirt for me… you pretty much torn this one into pieces… and such things do not come cheap these days…” he went on in a perfectly calm tone while arching his huge wings back, outstretching them to their full extent  across the yard, so that everybody could appreciate Spellblade and SellSword alike standing there, more or less unscathed. He would have presently let go of her wrist, finding himself basically unarmed right in the middle of a whole bunch of angry mercenary - he did not care, those absolutely still eyes never for a moment letting go of her. “If you feel you need more, possibly to compensate the hassle I apparently managed to stir… just name a fee. Everything and everybody has a price in this room, after all…” he would have commented loudly, disgust plainly dripping from those words. He saw goods and services, not people and lives. While waiting for an answer, he would have brought his left hand to his right shoulder, a gush of flames coming to life and getting deep down the wounds, cleaning what was soiled, rebuilding what was broken, sealing what was bleeding. He did not even spare a look at the actual scar, knowing very well his tattoos would have taken care of it soon enough.  

Aarika had lived through several assassination attempts and to her this was another. She wasn't accustomed, nor could she think of anyone who was, to being attack by a stranger and in her domain, over a simple question. Thamalys encircled her slender frame with his wings as her knife pierced his marked skin. She felt no remorse, in fact the blood seemed to be whispering to be relieved from his veins, a wish she would have happily granted if he hadn't captured her wrist. For him the experiment was over, for her she was still in danger, now in his grasp while enshrouded with bullet-proof wings so to speak. He rose, her wrist still in his talons, she twisted in his grasp bringing her arm forcefully down attempting to break through the weak spot where fingers curled around to his thumb. Her other hand thrust a palm up threatening to break his nose as words filtered from his thin lips. If she made contact that would jerk his head back the next strike would be to his throat to possibly collapse his larynx, she'd love to try to see him speak another spell after that one. His words would only register after, "Impressive?." Her expression twisted into dismay, "What is this?" The matriarch was far from amused, repulsed even, "Are you offering us work?" She was flabbergasted, her expression proved still thirsty to spill more blood, "Who the hell taught you social interaction?" She growled, eye's flashing like blue lightening. The distance was closed between the two, even after he drew back his wings. 'everything had it's price' the words stung her ears, she lived and would by the sword, she wasn't in the business for gold, "Do you really believe you are above those who work the dirt and the streets?" Oh how this avian riled her metaphorical feathers, "I will shake you from your branch, tear apart your nest, break your skinny legs and pluck you for my pillows." The knife she held was thrown to the dirt and both her hands shoved him for the nearest exit. Her shield brothers and sisters watched on with amusement, some laughing along with her threats others looking a tad disappoint to be declining a new contract. It would take the entire escort to the gate for her to defuse even a hair, "The price has doubled after your little stunt." She snarled with a final push to assert where her territory was verse where he stood. If there would still be business to conduct it would unfold here, Aarika and company blocking the entrance.   

Thamalys thought his words to be more than sufficient in order to quench the hostilities and secure some sort of a deal, so that when the SellSword kept going down the route of pain and blood, he was rather surprised - and annoyed, in equal measure. He would have discarded the twisting move of the Flaxen Lady by just seconding her gesture, no matter the resulting pain in his hand. “By the Wind, enough, I say!” he spat loudly enough to encourage the whole of the blue ink covering his skin to erupt into a thin layer of liquid blue flames, dancing wildly across his feathery features. || Careful, now…” || chuckled the Ageless Black inside his head, his deepest voice suggesting control had to be maintained in that tight spot the Spellblade was, so tight in fact that even the Dragon within him would have thought necessary to tame the magic of the Avian. Lost in the attempt to try not to set the whole scene ablaze, the hand of the SellSword found the Blue off guard enough to connect with his nose, a squashy sound filling the air, thin gushes of crimson blood erupting at once from his nostrils. The Spellblade was starting to feel he had enough of the Matriarch - and yet he badly needed her blade… so that he would have just tried to parry the upcoming blow to his throat with his left hand, hopefully sending the jab to land somewhere on his chest. “I. Am. Offering you work…” snarled the Blue while bringing his left hand to his bleeding nose, an awful sound of cartilage being snatched back into place following shortly after. “And I do not give a bloody damn about social interactions - albeit even I would dare to say that stabbing a potential customer is probably not the best of the bargaining strategies… anyway.” He stated plainly enough, some more flames directing deep into his nose, trying to fix the worst of the damage - he did not cost much energy to him at all, but it was  far from being a pleasant experience. “Also, I - am - definitely above those who work dirt or streets or both. Literally and not. Since when SellSwords care to engage in issues of ethics? For pity’s sake, I need a blade, an excellent one, and you quite clearly qualify fully for that post. Would you take the bloody job or not? I have been told you people were good, but you are not the only ones out there for sure…” he continued, hopefully managing this time to step back at a slightly safer distance from the Raging Lady, blood everywhere on him. And yet he was not done with her, not quite: “Oh, and one more thing…” he kept going, some proper fury presently building into him, eyes streaked by tears of gold while pointing a bony finger to her neck, “…no need to to tear branches - which we hate, or nests indeed - as we have none. Who do you think we are, some sort of brainless birds of pray? Our race is the noblest one, the one that ruled the whole of Lithrydel far before any of you puny creatures of the ground came to soil it - and you dare mock me with legs and pillows? Here!” he would have ranted on, producing a rather heavy satchel from his belt and consequently tossing it to the very ground where a fountain of gold spurted from it. “Five thousands pieces, that is everything I have on me now. Take them. To buy your sword - and your silence as well. I am - not - to slay the Oldest of the Dragons in the company of a pesky human complaining about my manners!” he concluded loudly enough to be heard from anybody in the yard.

Aarika wouldn't dare hide the satisfaction she felt as her palm thrust collided with his beak, she was still hung up on the fact he so freely walked into the barracks and attacked her with out so much as a warning. Blood spilled and his tattooed skin erupted coating the now flaming man, he was fed up. Hell they both were, it was clear as day, the matriarch had so forcefully removed the mangled bird from her domain. The physical portion of the fight seemed to be over though Aarika still had a fire cooking in her. "Offering me work?" Her jaw dropped with the incredulous look that trailed after her sentence, "You are pretty daft for not being some..." She picked her words straight from his mouth, "Brainless bird of prey." Both her hands rose to rest at her hips while her oceanic gaze dissected the man with distaste as he showered her feet with gold, was he trying to insult her further? "I will accept your contract when you get on your hands and knees and pick every last coin up yourself." Now her pointer finger cast down to the golden mess at her boots, who did he think he was? She was stubborn as a mule and this negotiation would be one she would not budge on. So the avian had a choice did he want her sword or not.

Thamalys listened, absolutely still, an immobile statute of tattooed white marble soiled in dust and blood. “Kneel, and bow, and pick the gold… very well” he stated simply in an odd, cheerful tone, his grey thin lips arching in a broad snarl. Shortly after, the Blue would have dropped to his knees indeed, a loud thud filling the murky air, the very rims of his wings trembling from the impact. Slowly, without showing any sign of haste at all, the Spellblade proceeded to collect said gold, each piece painstakingly putting back into the satchel, that grin on his face squarely set upon his battered face still. || Oh, most excellent, Silly Bird… best served cold, they say, aye? We shall see… || noted the Ageless Black chuckling within the head of the Winged Beast, absolutely delighted at the prospect of some more blood to be spilled in the aftermath. It took a while indeed, but eventually the last coin fell into place. With an elegant move, the Avian swirled on his feet again, presenting the whole satchel to the Flaxen Lady with a courteous bow. “There you have it. Would that suffice, m’lady? Shall we have a deal after all? Oh, but you are very right, manners have to be satisfied at this point, I guess. Thamalys the Blue, at your service. Am I right in saying I am offering my gold to Aarika, Collective’s Matriarch?” he inquired, no irony detectable at any rate.

Aarika held her flaxen head high and pulled her shoulders back as he complied even if he did move slower then a snail in molasses, she had a small victory. Perhaps he still held a grudge, why wouldn't he? But for her this was a start to mending a bridge, "Thank you." She would not gloat nor smile, her features stoic. Her body dipped with the transfer of weight and a twist of her core had her handing the satchel off to Henry, that mossy eyed young man who stood protectively beside her. A nod of her head and extension of her arm had her accepting the contract, "Deal, and yes, I am Aarika, matriarch of the Steel Collective." Introductions probably would have been a good start to this whole ordeal.

Thamalys canted his head toward the left, smiling ever more. “Terrific. You shall receive a proposal of a contract within the next few days. Feel free to modify it as you see fit - I am sure we will reach an agreement in no time. Now…” he went on turning that much he needed to assess the situation behind him. “Would I be allowed to make my way back?” he asked, right hand gesturing toward the mass of warriors whom did not exactly look as if they were willing to just let him pass through the gates - not after that rather nasty negotiation.

Aarika gave a second nod of her head, though this one was clearly an order as the Avian gained more space. "Yes you are free to go. I will be awaiting the contract." Now she finally broke that serious facade with a smirk, "Try a different approach next time you come around." With that she turned on her heels disappearing through the crowd of sell swords.

Thamalys nodded slowly, before twisting wholly with a clinking litany of silvery feathers. “Will do, m’lady…” he spoke softly, the Black laughing relentlessly. || Next time? Ah, the irony… || Indeed, the whole business would have made anybody smile - after all, the Blue needed her sword for the exact purpose to extinguish that very voice within him… what a sodding mess. Desperately trying to keep his unwelcome draconic part at bay, the Spellblade would have carved his way to the crows, nothing but the gates eying. A matter of instants, and those long, measured strides would have brought him to eventually breath some pure air, the wind tickling already his eager ink. He gratefully exhaled, as nothing stood between the Winged Beast and a soothing flight back to the Frozen City. Swooping an awful mass of chilly air, the Avian soared upon the pointy cliffs of Xalious, climbing the breeze till his feathery shapes managed to mingle as one with the frigid sky.