RolePlayGateway™

Tiresias balked at the junker, still disbelieving even in his most intellectually vulnerable state that the sword could have possibly come from legitimate means. Whether or not the blade came into her possession through peaceful means was largely irrelevant, just the fact that a foreigner like herself had such an object was reasons enough to spark the innate xenophobia in any Selekusion, but particularly Eudemonians. Casting an incredulous look from the sword, to Skogul, and back to the sword he played off the object as best he could

Right, it’s not like a foreigner to Selekus would even understand the importance of that sword, anyway.

He said, more reducing the importance of the blade than casting any doubt on Skogul’s background. He knew very well, or at least had an inkling of her experience with Selekusions, otherwise she wouldn’t have presented the xyphon to begin with. Still, his façade of his true motives was beginning to run thin. Pouring them both another round of the liquour, he shrugged, obviously attempting to pass off the whole thing as a coincidence

Small world, who is to say how the Fates’ fibers intertwine these days? Such things have always been a mystery.

He said with an almost sardonic grin, not even believing the bullshit himself. Such talk was reserved for Ardren, and completely uncharacteristic of most Eudemonians. The reality was far simpler than any esoteric collision of the fates. The intelligence sequence wanted someone familiar to the junker to monitor her, just as a bit of insurance to make sure she wasn’t the source of the SNAFU earlier. Tiresias was expendable enough, and the collection of sensor data on his person had more than established him as the best candidate for the job. Really, Tiresias was the bait, the Eudemonians largely using him to see if his presence so soon after the earlier events would trigger some sort of violent action or paranoia on the part of the Junker.

The statuesque silhouette of a man, garbed like a person who knew the best dealers of clothing articles in all of the Hub, broke the evening haze coming through the Bar entryway and stepped into the establishment to be bathed with dim lamplight. The man, probably in his mid-forties of years, wore a dark-brown canvas duster over his general regalia, a pair of well-polished boots so well taken care of that one couldn't even tell if they were for dress or for work, and of course a fedora over a jumble of wiry, short black hair that would otherwise move in untamed licks in every which direction it so chose. He was a man too hurried on certain days to comb it, so hat hair could do the trick, he figured. In any case, the man stood at quite a distance over six feet of height and had probably the most neatly grown mustache on the hemisphere, one that was bushy and full but obediently knew its place on the man's face.

His immediate priority when entering the working-class cantina was to scout for his contacts, and finding that they were no place to be found, he immediately seated himself at bar next to a woman who he couldn't quite say he had ever met. It was with some reluctance, at first, he didn't normally like to sit with total strangers in a bar that he wasn't a regular in. He had shown up in the Pilot's Bar maybe four times in the prior years for one reason or another, most particularly to find a more silent drinking escape than the ever-crowded Club Inferno. Next to the stool he had chosen was another person, a woman named Annora, of course he didn't know that himself. Quite frankly she didn't look much apart from the many Hubfolk that poured in and out of the streets before his window upstairs the Club each night, which wasn't necessarily her fault. In any case, it wasn't a normal thing for Graven to do, sitting next to a stranger in a place like this, but given he had probably an hour or more to pass waiting for his crew he needed some kind of entertainment, and he hadn't quite inspected the surroundings well enough to notice Miss Eir (as he so properly and unnecessarily called her) with her justifiably subtle junking nature, at the bar or else he might had approached her both on the casual and on the prospect of business. A lot was going through his head now that he had left the Club briefed and quite frankly, he needed some goods.

In any case, it wasn't alone the idea of finding some kind of entertainment during his wait that drove him to sit next to Annora at the bar, especially since he could simply entertain himself with the buzz of liquor while taking a secluded corner table. He was just about already there, having had quite enough scotch and whiskey already back at the Club within the meridian while doing business with his new associates, and the last thing he needed was to impede his focuses with inebriation. It was simply that Graven had a rather wicked sense of humor. The woman was clearly drinking and, unless Graven's eyes had been damaged by his earlier career, probably attractive to some degree. He had doubts there was any time to take her to a bed, and to be honest he was somewhat above doing that, a stark contrast to his younger years. It was simply the image - when his associates would come in that he hadn't seen in perhaps a year and a half, they would see him at the bar conversing with her and the rest of the night there'd be an innumerable amount of humorous allusions to Graven's charm as they prepared for their mission.

Graven's sense of humor, then, was what dictated that he sit next to the woman enjoying her beverages with a declining sense of restraint. He didn't at all contemplate letting her speak first when he sat down. No, after sitting he had promptly removed his fedora and set it down, giving her a curt greeting in his gruff voice that was sickeningly low due to a history of smoking, much like his appearance that transcended his age by maybe ten years in total. Graven had tan skin, naturally, and always some discolored stubble in addition to his flawless mustache, the rumored source of his power by his peers.

Annora had since received another Heineken, which she savored this time whilst eyeing some of the more expensive drinks. After hmming softly to herself, movement beside her took her attention away from the wall. Turning her head, she allowed her eyes to casually trail over the newcomer for a moment.

Hiya.

A brow raised and then she turned back to her drink, working it down a bit more.

As Tiresias was now beginning to realize, she did in fact have a good deal of previous experience with Selekusions, particularly the Eudemonian sort, which probably had something to do with her being nominated for the meeting that catalyzed all this. She was intrigued by their culture and history, as well as finding their isolationist shells fun to try to crack. And crack them she did, or else she would not have as much “luck” obtaining their goods in her travels as she demonstrated with the blade, simple as it was. The effect was exactly what she wanted; she had knocked the man off balance with that unspoken revelation and he would undoubtedly begin to rethink the way he went about accomplishing his motives with her, whatever they were. It was not a malicious thing to do, she wasn't that sort. She had a fondness for Eudemonians, and a growing fondness for this one in particular, despite not knowing him very well or for very long and wasn't much able to explain just why. Perhaps they were not quite as different as either of them may have thought, maybe she enjoyed the company or maybe it was just the alcohol.

It did leave her to wonder, though, why he didn't just shoot her to be rid of the loose end she would inevitably create back there in the cantina? Especially once he fell into that berserker mode. Easier to simply kill off a potential source of trouble than to have to keep an eye on it later, she thought from a more Eudemonian sort of perspective. Something else had to be in play here. This one was different than the others who shared the same lineage she had dealt with before. He was more complex, harder to predict and understand... but she liked a puzzle to solve now and then.

Fate, indeed. The answer did not satisfy her in the least, and all but confirmed her suspicions that he was following her for one reason or another, either connected to the events earlier in the day or for some personal reason. With a light shrug, Skogul was glad she had decided to stop off at this bar instead of heading straight off to her “home”, as it were. Better to be shadowed in a public place than lead someone to her doorstep, although knowing the Eudemonian penchant for paranoid information gathering, her ship was more than likely on file and monitored whenever it was docked in the city. Just the idea made her inherently uncomfortable but it wasn't altogether threatening... yet.

Yeah, sure, whatever you say. Careful now, you're starting to sound like that fruit basket Illuminator.

As another entered, she took yet another serving of the Thebvae spirit Tiresias so eagerly poured, now rivaling the man's speed in ingesting it. Her attention lingered on nothing for a moment, her reaction time slowing from the amount of alcohol flooding into her bloodstream all at once, only getting around to investigating the newcomer after he had sat down next to that Annora woman, who seemed to be attracting men's attention like mad. He seemed awfully familiar, but in her increasing haze, she couldn't quite place him based on what she could see from this distance.

Graven had this strange way of speaking, particularly when the idea was to speak quietly in such an indoor setting such as this. It was the way his voice sounded, the way he uttered words, his tone, inflections, yes, but above that it was also the way his demeanor looked. He always had something of a sincere face, not by practice but by being, and the mustache that occupied his upper lip like a dormant black caterpillar seemed to filter the sound of his words, making them seem more becoming than the larynx of a smoker could muster. "The name's Graven," said he in that very manner of speaking, and the last syllable of the last word trailed a little, the depth of his voice giving this illusion like a printing press active in the mind.

He eyed her Heineken, but only briefly as to not give off the idea that he was there looking for a drink, particularly from her. The truth was he wanted another - Graven had a lot of problems to overcome in his life but only in the perspective of he or she who calls alcoholism a problem. To him, it's simply being a boisterous connoisseurs of various liquors, particularly of the hard and tasteful variety, but he was never above a good beer, he liked the flavor in fact. Although, of course, Earth beer wasn't something he got a taste of often, partaking more often of something more along the lines of Hub Lager Twenty. Earth Beer wasn't rare here, it was merely rarely featured or asked for in more prominent places like the Club. Graven, though, did kind of want it - the will to drink, the need to have something between bits of conversation, of some cold glass bottle in your grip, drinking was an interminable act night and day, making reality more 'real' to him when he has the buzz, and more unusual, unbearable, when he isn't.

Graven brought his left hand, opposite the woman to his right, up an scratched the region below his tufts of black hair and then gave his neck a rub. A barber visit may be in order - he could use a closer shave just for the feel, and his hair was reaching that point where it grew to look ridiculous, and -then- he dealt with it, rather than safely before. Tendencies of an old man looking to die in adventure so he doesn't have to live old age in boredom.

Annora nodded her head at him somewhat, setting her bottle down in front of her.

I'm Annora.

She then sat back a bit, back aching from leaning forward on the bar for so long. Spinning around in her stool, she now leaned back against the bar instead. Her head throbbed slightly, a minor headache coming on. Her body seemed to not be happy about ingesting so much alcohol so quickly.

Annora eyed the man for a moment, finding him a bit handsome, but yet not really her type. She was more into... Geeky/nerdy guys. She couldn't help it, it was a fetish or something.

This seemed to be the popular place for the night, as all sorts of critters seemed to be scurrying towards the light of the pilot's bar. One entered, and then another. The sight brought a crooked smile to Helm's face as he rubbed his gloved hands together like a greedy old uncle set to write his poor nieces and nephews out of his will and leave the remainder to a busty blond that he just married for fun. Helm decided plenty of people had trickled into the bar and now seemed the right time.

Chomping away at his crumpled unlit cigarette, he prodded a tinted pair of sunglasses up along the bridge of his nose and hoisted a huge black square box onto his shoulders, trudging across the not too busy street to make his own dramatic entrance.

Ok, maybe it wasn't quite so dramatic, considering the edges of his pack got caught in the doorway, and he had to spend several minutes wrestling himself free before he popped out of the door frame and stumbled into the bar. Righting himself and smoothing up the collar to his coat, he resumed a more, sophisticated walk, or at least what he assumed to be of one, heading to the counter and line of bar stools and rapping his knuckles upon the bar.

"Ahem. Your finest glass of milk, if you please."

Hard.core.

Aluria's errands had been finished, and now that he was he done returning a possession to a trusted friend, he had a chance to return to finish his personal business with some, how would one put it, newly found acquaintances.

When Aluria entered the bar, only the sound of the door opening could be heard, his oddly shaped feet carried him silently across the floor. His thick dark colored skin, looking like it was made from some kind of synthetic material was covered by a large sleeveless coat, which didn't have his arms through the holes meant for them, which reached down to just past his knees. Aluria looked towards the floor as he walked, doing his best to shield his face from view. Aluria's face had taken on the structure of a dark skinned male looking to be in his twenties, his head smoothly shaved, a stark contrast in appearance compared to the state of the rest of his body. The currently slate gray colored visor over his eyes had been clicked shut, granting cover for the fast paced moment of his eyes.

He walked over to Tiresias and Skogul, moving as quietly as he could so as not to startle them with his approach. He stepped closer to the male of the pair, and leaned to speak to him in a rather casual tone. He didn't bother saying hello, he felt confident in the fact he didn't need to remind Tiresias of who he was.

I decided it would be rude of me not to stop by and thank you for earlier.

Tiresias lingered with the drink in his hand, faintly taking a sip as he noticed a vaguely familiar man enter the room, no doubt recognizing the man from a recent intelligence report from one of the many agents in the Hub proper. Eyes trailing from the grizzled man to the junker woman, he gave another look to the blade, fixing his eyes on the Vergina sun on the hilt of the ceremonial weapon. Staring at the symbol with a bizarre sort of serenity, he continued speaking to Skogul, eyes never drifting from their point of interest

Perhaps, or maybe I’m following you.

He said as his eyes darted up, staring at the woman with a sort of severity. Several moments passed as he looked at her, no, through her with an expression bordering on the mechanical. They both knew very well why they were here, and he never did gain an appreciation of the little games people play with one another. Eons seemed to pass between the two when the mixed blessing of the cyborg who had so generously graced them with his presence at the Cantina suddenly appeared to break the steely gaze of Tiresias.

Quickly shifting his body towards the man, he gave him a more thorough inspection than what he had previously been allowed, noting the man was of a rather unusual build and, if his cybernetic visual assistant hardware was to be believed, a cybernetically enhanced being himself.

Rude probably doesn’t approach the level of destruction visited upon that place

Tiresias coldly stated, shifting backwards in his seat to lean against the bar, his right hand obviously shifting near his coat. The message was an obvious one, as Tiresias, even in his most drunken, state never lost the tinge of paranoia so typical of Eudemonians.

But your help was appreciated.

He added as a small gesture of his genuine gratitude, seeing as things could have gone far worse without the man and his presumed accomplice’s presence.

The name is Tiresias, I’m a merchant from the forest-hamlets near here.

Graven looked in the opposite direction, it was a habit of his to be better accustomed to making observations without actually observing during their construction. He had a lot going on in his life, in his mind, and in his breath that wasn't well-helped by the liquor. The buzz was dying down but there was debate in his mind if this was a positive or negative thing. He had a crew to wait for and needed to pass the time hopefully with as little liquor in his system as possible. He turned to look at Annora, and spoke again that voice with a questionable inflection in his tone and a geezer's wince of skepticism.

"So what's a looker like you doing in this kind of bar?"

He was, of course, referring to what he thought was something of a working class bar. This wasn't like Club Inferno, surrounded by other commercial venues, it was a liquor oasis in the middle of an industrial desert. Graven was over-dressed for it, even, but there were reasons for that. If he had actually looked around, he would reinforce this generalization with the folks that are about - union workers, a junker, etcetera. It was an odd place for her, or perhaps he had misjudged her character but Graven had the experience to know what he was saying at least half the time. He had grown up in Hub, but Hub had grown up around him and was totally different, so the other half could not be accounted for.

Laison grinned brightly behind the cover of his motorcycle helmet as his high powered unicycle came around a corner. As he brought himself to the entrance of the the bar, he arched his back to put his cycle into a slide to a parking space in the lot out front. He stepped off of the cycle and pulled his helmet from his head, setting it down on the seat of the bike. The cycle shut down on its own and thanks to the protein scanning system used to activate the machine he wasn't worried about someone stealing such a high quality piece of craftsmanship, he just hoped no one was going to be a jerk and take his helmet.

Laison raised his hand and unzipped the front of the jacket of his riding suit, or at least the suit was made to look like one. He looked around the bar as he stepped inside and his smile soon turned upside down. He walked over to Aluria and stood next to him with a calm expression on his face, doing his best to hide his displeasure at Aluria's presence.

I thought you were going to lay low for a while? With what Eryku has done it's becoming very hard to trust you guys.

Laison was one of the members of the tribe who wasn't so hot on the idea of allowing the remaining Arana to remain with them after the war. After all, allying with the Arana had cost them a great deal of the own people all for the sake of a false sense of freedom. He did however understand their plight, and considered that the act of not helping them would only make the situation worse. He was doing the best he could to keep them under control while trying to help them achieve their goals. Arana seemed to have no ability to contain themselves in what they do.

Heh...If you're a merchant then I am researcher.

He flicked his head to the side to allow the hood he was wearing to stop covering his face, so he could he simply turn his head to look at Laison. The visor over his eyes clicked open and he glared at the young man, or at least he looked like a man. He was a machine, a being who had traded in his existence as a human to live the rest of his days a machine, a walking encyclopedia of information no one cared about. However, Aluria respected all data and even the random knowledge of old video games and long canceled sci-fi television shows had a place in own personal banks. The more knowledge the better he thought and it didn't matter where it came or what it is.

He shrugged his shoulders at Laison and spoke with a voice made to mimic the same hint of anger that Laison had in his own.

Don't worry about me, I don't even have anything to lose.

The thought of which wasn't something he really felt all that great about. And Aluria knew that his master's lieutenants would not be so kind as himself in what they were doing to gain power. He had to be the first to complete his mission, if he wasn't, things for him and his friends could quickly take a turn for the worse.

Interesting. Indeed, they both knew why they were there, neither of them were stupid and both obviously spent a great deal of time dealing with these shady circles where truth was hidden in plain sight through concealed word games and gestures. Such was the nature of the underground of the Hub. It was too easy, however, for the agent to resist for so long and suddenly essentially come out with the bare facts and she doubted it was just the alcohol after he bored through her with his gaze. Now, suspicion began to evolve into paranoia. Perhaps he was supposed to kill her and, that being the case, saw no point in continuing with the barely maintained ruse he staggered into the bar with. If that were the case, she would give him a run for his money, if not, she would get the whole truth one way or another.

Tiresias may have tired of the game but it was far from over, the stakes had merely been raised. Distractions arrived in the form of that odd fellow from the cantina, the one who liked to stare at people and do bizarre, inhuman acrobatics. He had a companion, meaning his attention was focused elsewhere as well... perfect. She made no immediate move, avoiding attracting the alarm of those around her. She stared sidelong at the Eudemonian, his back now all but facing her; she caught his hand move to hover at the obviously concealed weapon in his coat for safety. In the back of her mind, she questioned the amount of cybernetic augmentation this one possessed and whether or not he was able to monitor her even though she was well out of his field of vision.

Her attention still focused on everything but the truthfully meaningless action, she poured another round for herself and the disgruntled Eudemonian, using the cloak of invisibility despite being in plain sight that the recent distractions provided to silently grasp that xiphos by the aged, worn hilt and turn on her stool, as if to serve the freshly refilled glass to the man next to her. In reality, Tiresias would no doubt feel the dulled, but still dangerous point of that relic from his very homeland gingerly press to the base of his skull, where the cranium met the spinal column. Simultaneously, with perfect synchronization in such a sly and unobtrusive way, his arms would be seized, yanked down slightly and away from the reach of any weaponry by those gnarly tendrils growing from the salvager woman's own skull.

Skogul leaned in close, but in such a way that a patron of the bar would not immediately expect foul play without taking time to properly examine the scene, her free hand fluidly moving to grasp the bristled jaw of the agent to hold him against the threat of the blade. Her gaze leveled on Aluria and his companion, as if she were daring them to act against her as she, in a roundabout way, confronted the Eudemonian.

Funny an upstanding merchant such as yourself should speak of being rude. Come, Tiresias, we're all friends here, let's dispense with this cloak and dagger bullshit. We're not characters in a spy novel.

The point was quite literally driven home with a bit more pressure applied to that ceremonial sword. She could fell him where he sat, that much was obvious. She preferred not to, as it would be a waste of a good drinking companion, but if he refused to cooperate... Her tone changed, laced with a feral toxicity she didn't often employ. She was rather serious and she wanted him to know it.

If I really wanted to kill you, I would have by now. Be glad I enjoy your company enough to give you a chance to tell me what your esteemed masters want with a lowly barbarian junker. Follow me all you like, but I'd at least like the courtesy of knowing for what purpose.

Tiresias had overplayed his hand, it seems, too drunk to care and too careless to do the proper job. His expression did not change, however, as the knife pressed against the back of his skull, nor did he break down into cowardly pleas for his life. Staring straight into space with not an expression, it almost appeared as if this whole thing was expected. If Tiresias were a more open man, he would probably explain to the woman that death, in all honesty, would be a release. More dignified than suicide, and at least dying for the last vestiges of respect he had for Eudemonia, it was preferable to wasting away as he was, though he did wish he could see Thebvae once more.

Tiresias, however, was not an open man. Seemingly undeterred by the assault, he spoke in a manner more suitable for a technical briefing than such a life threatening situation

Well, it appears one of us has outed themselves, Junker. I’m guessing they wanted to see what reaction you would have should you become obviously followed like this, and this is probably one of the contingencies in place.

He would laugh, if it weren’t a bluff. He had an inkling he was indeed bait, a sacrificial lamb to determine the motives of the Junker, a notion one gets from seeing the same thing happen now and again to those agents were simply weren’t a “goof fit” with the sequence.

You see, if I was a Eudemonian picking up data from an agent, and let’s say… something like this happened. I am going to assume, no, absolutely believe the one who started the initial hostilities not only has something to hide, but entirety of their employer has equally nefarious motives. It doesn’t matter if it’s the truth, you see, just what the evidence shows. And right now the evidence shows a suspect holding a knife to a Eudemonian, one that saved her life, no less. Tell me, junker, how does that look from your perspective?

Now that there was a break in his conversation by being interrupted by Laison he turned back to talk to Tiresias and what did he see? He could have sworn things were better between them earlier, but he obviously thought wrong. Then again, it is not like he has gathered a decent history about this pair. He moved a hand to pull a small stun pistol under the cover of his coat, and put his arm out of the arm hole and aimed it at the junker woman. He was a good shot, and the incredibly short range would make an attack hard to avoid. Of course he wouldn't be able to stop her before she could harm Tiresias, but he wasn't concerned with that, considering the fact the man just lied to him.

He was able to gather earlier that the woman had some kind of spiritual connection with her surroundings, but he wasn't too sure if it would be strong enough for him to use for his own designs.

Why don't you just calm down and we discuss this like right honorable folk?

While she did not exactly expect him to start blubbering like a child and begging for mercy, Skogul was impressed and surprised that once she applied very real pressure, Tiresias pushed right back. He either had a deathwish or he had something in mind. The further this went on, the more he intrigued her. Not many, men or women, would remain steadfast in such a situation, especially when intoxicated or in a similar vulnerable state, even if it was a bluff. In Skogul's mind, she had met her match.

Those strange green eyes narrowed, their pupils fully contracted and brow furrowed, she still stared at Aluria, now aiming a gun at her and her captive, gritting her teeth but her attention was still on the man in her clutches. She kept the knife exactly where it was, though her grip on Tiresias' jaw tightened ever so much. She was calling both of their bluffs at once.

Her words were practically spit like something most foul tasting; the venom in her speech was genuine now. Her business was not with the construct pointing his pistol at her and she did not appreciate him interrupting her “discussion” with the Eudemonian agent. She spoke directly to the latter.

For all your high-mindedness, you Eudemonians are quite dense sometimes. You think someone wouldn't be unnerved by being tailed by a known operative they dealt with in a disaster not long before? The only thing I have to hide is this sword resting on your spine. I work for myself, the guild has no sway over me. Does that really justify this kind of thing for your government?

Her adrenaline was pumping now, her breathing rate increased and her heartbeat was probably audible to both her and the man whose life she held at knifepoint. The clarity of the chemical response overwrote the hazy effects of the alcohol she so recently imbibed. Her composure was close to crumbling and if not for the cocktail stirring in her veins, she would not be able to maintain this bold gambit. As the tendrils that trailed so strangely from her head kept themselves coiled around the man's arms like segmented, armored pythons, the circi began their agitated click-clack rhythm, despite her best efforts to remain level-headed.

You may have saved my life and I do appreciate it, but I do have to ask you why. Wouldn't your job be easier if you'd just plugged me in the head back there? You had every opportunity to do it, so what stopped you? You're hardly the chivalrous type or a simple lapdog. What're you getting out of this?

Annora rolled her head and popped her neck, then looked over to Graven. She shrugged her shoulders a bit.

Heard about it after my recent mission. I'm sure there are fancier places here, but this was where I happened to land.

Hearing something, Annora glanced to the side towards Skogul and Tiresias, brows furrowing slightly as she noticed a slight commotion. Suddenly feeling it would be best to ignore it, she looked away and focused on the doors of the bar and watched the occasional shape pass by. The glass was dirty so it was hard to tell what those shapes were. Her slightly blurring vision probably wasn't helping much either.

Tiresias drew a blank as he was pressed to express his motives. Did he have any? Certainly some sense of duty caused him to follow her, but anything beyond that certainly escaped Tiresias’ limited powers of introspection. Did he have a death wish? Was the woman some sort of escape for the man? Who could tell at this point? Considering his attempts to hide the truth were what got him into this mess, he decided to go the opposite route and tell the plain truth, making no efforts to dress it up in any fashion

Well, I’m not sure…

He remarked with an almost disturbing degree of impartiality, approaching the situation from the perspective of an outside party than someone very much embroiled in the situation. Continuing in the same tone as before, he noted the presence of the armed man, certainly a positive development given his situation

But as the gentlemen has indicated, we can settle this in a far more civilized manner.

Laison looked to Aluria with a puzzled look as he had drawn a weapon and aimed it at the pair that wasn't too far away from him, locked together in some kind of serious negotiation as far as he could tell. He decided he wasn't going to get involved in that, if he could avoid it anyway.

Suddenly, a beeping noise came from the side of his head and he reached up and gently squeezed one of the piercings in his ear. He hoped the message he was receiving was good news. He listened to the inaudible voice that was communicating with him for a moment, nodding in silence before he lowered his hand from his ear.

A grin of relief came across his face, and he leaned over to Aluria and whispered into his ear.

There is an exhibit being held at a temple not far from here. according to Trace it has something to do with those Aiden fellows you were speaking of earlier.

Aluria snapped his head to the side for a only a moment to give Laison an evil eye and then turned back to Skogul and Tiresias. His visor slowly clicked close and pushed back into place. He rose the weapon his holding at a more ready position.

Not interested, tell Trace I'll pay him whatever he wants for whatever he can collect for me.

It would be foolish for him to go there himself with what he had in mind, he decided it would be best to follow Laison's advice in that manner and lay low when it came to getting a body out of the Aiden. He also felt it would be a terrible mistake to try and go collecting in the middle of one of their sanctuaries. In fact, the only reason he would even consider such an attempt was because of the desperate nature of the Arana that almost forced them to do whatever they could regardless of the consequences to others. Maybe because the main consequence was on himself more than anyone, was he able to calm his inner spirit and focus on the current situation at hand. He pressed a button on the side of the stun gun, turning off the manual safety of the device. The name stun gun probably wasn't a very accurate title, as the gun didn't shoot electric darts or bursts of electricity. It was a weapon that could fire up to three plastic non-lethal rounds. They could easily stun someone, so the name was somewhat correct, and at this range, he had to be careful where he aimed. He certainly wasn't out to kill anyone but he had no qualms about hurting someone to get what he wanted.

I said let him go, I will not ask again.