RP:Time and Intrigue
Part of the The Seven Sins of Sagittae Arc
Summary: Seteth reveals much about his mission in Lithrydel to Raphaline. The bard, intrigued, formally allies with the thief.
Kelay Tavern
Seteth | Whether by chance or cleverness, Seteth always seemed to arrive at the tavern in Kelay precisely when the dwarven barkeep, Mesthak, had cracked open a fresh keg of ale. Seteth was not a habitual drinker of ale, but there was something about Mesthak’s strongest brew that satisfied. It even tasted good enough for the young thief to risk the enhanced impact that alcohol seemed to have on his body now that his vitality regularly drained into the unkind magics bound within the cuffs strapped around both his wrists. There was a sick irony in all this that didn’t elude him; he drank to forget the pain even as the pain swelled from the drinking. ‘It matters little,’ Seteth thought to himself, absentmindedly eyeing a comely elven woman with thick raven curls and a smile that could make him even weaker. ‘I’m either going to die on this job or I’m going to die after this job; I might as well enjoy my final days.’ It wasn’t something he should be thinking, young as he was, and he knew it. But with the bloody barons as his forceful backers, Seteth could scarcely imagine how he was going to get himself out of this mess. The best he could do now was to put together a crew and keep both sharp ears attuned to even the slightest hint as to what those sought-after crystals were and where they could be found. As it happened, a crew was slowly being assembled -- piece by painstaking piece -- and the first bit of good news about the damned crystals had just hours ago graced his ears.
Raphaline doesn’t usually come to the kelay tavern unless she is in need of a strong drink and doesn’t want to make the trip to the dwarven city or Cenril. Kelay is too keenly predictable, or at least, after eight years of coming and going in these lands, she finds this tavern the most constant. There is no lacking for interesting company and creatures venturing in and out of the bar, nor the brawls that pop up over something she isn’t ever sure about. Either way, she is here for a tall whiskey, a nice break off her feet and possibly some good company to drink with tonight. The bard slips into the tavern with her violin in tow and heads straight for the bar counter. First she carefully sets down her violin and then turns to Mesthak with a wickedly charming smile and asks, “A tall of the usual, please?” She even adds on a playful wink as she roots around for a couple coins and possibly a clean stool to sit on. While she is procuring one she spots a certain, familiar thief at the counter. “Hello, Seteth. Come to drink your troubles away as well?” She asks with a teasing, playful tone as she snatches up a stool and takes a seat. She tucks both her legs under the seat and out of the way of stumbling patrons while she sizes up the one-time met acquaintance.
Seteth had never been able to break the habit of keeping his eyes forward to conceal his awareness whenever a familiar face arrived beside him. It had been a useful trick for downplaying his perceptive skills when he was playing at crime on the grimy streets of Sagittae and it still had its advantages in more recent times. Yet there was no reason to behave so callously around someone he was cordial with and he knew it. Nevertheless, it was only when a slight smirk formed on his light face that Seteth tilted to address the visitor head-on. “Raphaline,” he responded. It wasn’t much of an answer but he had more immediate things on his mind. “Good of you to come. I’ve heard a few interesting statements from even more interesting persons. I think you’ll be as intrigued as I am.” Under other circumstances, the thief would have offered to pay for the woman’s beverage; modest displays of kindness -- and coinage -- had their winning moments. But Raphaline had already proven herself above such blunt maneuvers, and Seteth hardly had the coinage besides. This prospective business partner was truly going to be a partner, he believed, and that meant equal footing and openness. It was openness that Seteth now prepared to share -- the information that could reverse his fortunes and make Raphaline a richer woman, indeed.
Galina , the slithering miner slithers in wearing her brown shirt and takes position at a table against a wall, she coils beneath it before leaning her more humanoid half up against the seat of booth. If and when a server comes her way, she asks for some tequila that she had tried previously by the aid of Raphaline a few days ago. "Tequila Please." She would say in her soft calm voice.
Raphaline happily exchanges her coin for the tall glass of whiskey being offered by the barkeep. Taking a good, long sip of the amber liquid, she rolls Seteth’s words over in her mind before turning to him. With a fiery brow raised in interest she pursues tonight’s choice topic. “Do tell? Is this about the thing you vaguely mentioned some days ago? I do hope there is something substantially shiny involved.” She takes another helpful sip of her glass before finally setting it aside and turning her body so she may more easily lean towards him and keep their words hushed and between them. Too many ears to overhear and too many tongues that could easily wag. To dissuade anyone from thinking there is anything other than casual conversation and a bit of easy flirtation going on between them, she settles herself in a somewhat languid position on the stool, her gaze and head tipped towards the thief and charming little grin tucked into her lips. From the outside, most might assume she is merely playing at either his purse strings or his tunic strings.
Galina passes a few silver coin to the waitress and as if to pay for the trouble. She seems to have just come for the little sound of conversation, and the glass of tequila, she slithers out the door without much notice.
Seteth recognized Raphaline’s adept movements and echoed them with his own. He puffed up his shoulders in a poor man’s bid at cliched masculinity; it was something bigger men did more successfully while at bars looking for a good time with the locals. The fact that Seteth was smaller than those sturdy-backed sentinels only aided his disguise, for there was nothing more ordinary in all the taverns in all the lands than small men feigning more impressive sizes. The thief took a gentleman’s sip of his ale and subtly clenched his jaw in response to the pain sweeping through his arms. “I make no promises to the degree of the shine as of yet, but if I am correct the prize will be something shinier than a river of gold beneath the beaming sun.” His smirk returned as he whispered. “I hail from a realm called Amyra. To tell you where it is would be arduous; suffice it to say that it is not closeby. I had received word of seven mythic crystals of great power and still greater worth -- all right here in Lithrydel. My curiosity got the better of me and now I search for proof.” It was hardly the precise truth, which made Seteth’s decision to offer openness with the bard suspect. But in Seteth’s mind, it was as open as open needed to be. Admitting weakness would reduce his position. Everything in thievery invariably traced its roots to proper positioning. Like his comically puffed-up shoulders, Seteth needed a display of the grandiose as he unloaded his tale. “For a time, I began to doubt the claims. Was the myth only myth? How could seven powerful crystals go unnoticed for so long?” He drew himself slightly closer, amplifying the mystique. “They didn’t. Only, the denizens of this fair land have no idea what they harbor. At least one of these crystals is in the private art collection of a very wealthy man named Andor Sprague. My contact in Larket has drawn me a peerless representation of the item. It matches my acquired sketch of one such crystal -- the “Gaian” -- almost perfectly.” Seteth paused for effect. “I’d like to see it for myself. Would you?”
Raphaline listens with complete interest in his story, silently taking note of who is mentioned and especially what. Crystals, huh? And power? There is some interesting stories behind those. Or behind why he is looking to get them. This question she decides to pose to him, “And for whom are we retrieving these things of power for?” That is the more important topic to her at the moment, even before the talk of money and gold. She might not be so keen on the laws of any realm, but bastards with power is something she isn’t too keen on. Casually she reaches across the distance between them and playfully brushes her fingers over his cheek. She had caught a few patrons at a near by table leaning a bit to closely to them, so she feigns absolutely innocent but lustful intentions with the thief. “Shall I sweet talk myself in then? I imagine a few honey words from an infamous bard might grease the door hinges and roll out the carpet of information, no?” She takes her hand back and turns her head ever so slightly as she picks her glass up and takes another draw of the whiskey. The warmth of the liquor fills her with a bit more chesire-like spirit as she turns emerald eyes back to him. “You could be my assistant that comes with. I don’t think it would be too difficult to at least gain an audience or two with him, at least long enough to case the joint, aye?”
Seteth | This was what Seteth had hoped to see. A bard with a silver tongue and a sterling sense of genius. Already, Raphaline was contemplating a plan. Already, she was prepared to rely upon her charms to achieve what Seteth himself might not have been as well-equipped to take care of on his own. She even knew exactly what to do when nearby patrons grew nosier than he’d have liked. Seteth blinked once and gave off a very different impression upon opening his eyes; he kept his eyelids closed slightly, relaxed his shoulders, and altered his breathing to suggest that his passions had been enkindled. By the time the nosy neighbors gave the pair another glance, Seteth’s and Raphaline’s demeanors had shifted so convincingly that that was the last unwelcome glance they received. “It’s a smart plan suited to a skillful woman. I had half a mind to mention it myself. The bit with me masquerading as your assistant, however -- now that had not crossed my mind in the least. I approve.” He sipped his ale slowly, giving himself time to answer the bard’s more dangerous inquiries. “Ostensibly,” Seteth began, hoping to convince not only Raphaline but himself, “we are gathering these crystals for a collection of hungry individuals in my native Amyra.” The emphasis he gave to “hungry” was likely enough for a bard to understand the word association therein. “But I am not a great fan of their hunger, and I wouldn’t be opposed to outwitting them.” He wouldn’t be opposed, but he wasn’t confident that it was possible.
Raphaline laughs with that silvery-timbred tone for a moment before she says, “You flatter me once more Seteth. If we hadn’t business between us, I would begin to wonder if there weren’t something more you wanted from me?” Again, she chuckles as she languidly reaches for her glass and finishes off the liquid. While she drinks she rolls over the other information he has gifted her with and readies her response before she even sets the empty glass back down. “Hungry? Well, I wonder if their hunger is the kind that is never sated. You know what they say about a taste of power?” She lets him fill in the rest of that thought as she motions for Mesthak to bring her another whiskey and if Seteth would like, another of either ale or something more brisk. “How soon were you thinking of trying your hand at getting into his house? Do we know where the crystal might be hidden there?” She asks as she places her cheek into her upturned palm, stringing together what she might want to look like and how she would go about getting them an invitation to visit. She didn’t think it would be any harder than a mere passing of conversation maybe? Depending on where this fellow might live. “Where in the region does he live? I bet he has a local haunt I might be able to easily run into him at, make casual conversation and maybe offer to come play.” She purses her lips in thought but sets them aside as Mesthak deposits more drinks before them. Grinning, she downs a bit more whiskey.
Seteth didn’t mind the woman’s more intimate inquiries. He wasn’t blind; she was easy on the eyes and he was shamelessly unopposed. For Seteth, romance meant ships passing in the night. There weren’t homes; only ports. Women came and went when a man never stayed in one place for long. The difficulty arose when the thief’s expectations didn’t align with those around him. It was why he seldom allowed himself to express interest in those he sensed were exclusively looking for something more meaningful and permanent. In this regard, it was simple to see why Seteth had known more than a few bards, and scarcely a single baker or embroiderer. “I’m always interested in gleaning as much from a business partner as time and intrigue permit.” He accepted his refilled ale with a grin. “But time and intrigue are the order of the hour, now aren’t they? Sprague spends his days in a stuffy den of iniquity called -- you’ll have to admire how on-the-nose this is -- Sprague Manor. From what I’ve been told, the Gaian is kept within the confines of a glass display in the northwest corner of his grand gala. An entire wing of Sprague Manor is dedicated to his collections. How he collected them is a question I hear is best left unasked.” Seteth gathered together his palms contemplatively. “He’s a recluse,” he said, “but it matters little. People have been lining up to get in his good graces for a while now. Good people, bad people, neutral people, even bat people, apparently. Sprague hosts elaborate balls every second Sunday of the month. The policy is BYOS -- ‘Bring Your Own Sycophant’ -- the way I hear it said.”
Raphaline grins wickedly as she reaches out and briefly takes a hold of his chin. “You wouldn’t be the first to say as much to me. As much fun as it would be to step into that fire, I agree, our business of intrigue takes precedence.” She releases his chin and sits back, drinking a bit more of her fiery whiskey. A smirk crosses her lips as she finds the place and coming event just so convenient. Setting the glass aside once more, she says, “A ball? Truly? He is making this even easier for me. Balls are a bard’s cake and frosting and I especially thrive at them.” She begins to lightly tap her fingers along the rigid, wooden counter of the bar as she rolls over a few ideas. Again, she poses another question. “Well then, I believe I can be your sycophant ticket in. How are you with formal events? I bet this is going to have high up military personal, aristocrats and any merchant with some sense. I even imagine we might uncover a deal or two going on as well.” This turn of events was exactly what she needed; things had gotten stagnant and boring there for a moment.
Seteth finished his drink. When he was done, he tugged at the corners of his leather tunic dramatically to produce a sharp, upright style. This simple act would only take him so far, of course, but it did lend him a certain fashionable air. “You needn’t worry about my mindful manners,” he said in silken tones. “One has a tendency to indulge in the excesses of the rich with relative ease when they have been raised in dirty streets. I, too, have a dash of… hunger in me.” The plan was set. There were details in need of addressing, but the young thief felt good about their odds. This operation would either prove to be a sweeping prelude to their adventures to come or an abrupt end to the trial phase of Seteth’s steep ambitions. Either way, it wasn’t likely to be a bore. The Amyran stood upright and bowed with surprising decency. The pain throbbing through his arms was beginning to turn untenable. “Right now, that hunger is as trite as sleep,” he said by way of excuse. “We shall speak again. And soon. Time and intrigue are both on our side now.”