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Snippet #2394487

located in The Crimson Fox, a part of Althaea, one of the many universes on RPG.

The Crimson Fox

A tavern owned by Selwyn Austaire, the Magistrate of the Merchant District and holder of the Merchant Throne.

Setting

Characters Present

Character Portrait: The God-Queen's Knights Character Portrait: Cordelia Ightlor Character Portrait: Selwyn Austaire Character Portrait: Ianthe al-D'Γ©on Omar
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Ianthe was not at all surprised with the silver Knight's brusque manner. He knew her type: driven by a indefatigable sense of duty and obligation, loyal almost to a fault, and, perhaps, a bit guarded. Not the best, necessarily, at mingling at a function such as this. Perhaps she felt it superfluous, needless; why drink the night away when there was critical work to be attended to? Of course, the world needs people like this. But some people, from time to time, need an opportunity to unwind, to enjoy themselves, whether it be by losing themselves in drink or passing the night in the chambers of a breathless young serving wench. Though Ianthe, and, he assumed, the silver Knight, preferred neither. In this regard, Ianthe thought, we are doubtless alike.

Ianthe was, however, not one to pass such quick judgments. He met her stony glare with a broad smile, "Ah, a blonde you say? I've seen more than a few, though none, as far as I know, had the look of a Knight about them. Doubtless she is hereabouts, since this is, after all, a celebration for the most esteemed Knights of our God-Queen." He lifted his cup as if in toast, but did not drink. He continued, "I know that you must presently be occupied with more important affairs, as befits one of your station, but...might I trouble you to share my company for a moment? Your compatriots will no doubt find your blonde heartily enjoying her evening, perhaps not very willing to be disturbed. And, I must confess, I am rather lonely. I have only recently come to the Merchant Quarter--I am a jeweler by trade, and dabble in some commodities as well: pelts, teak and sandalwood, damasks, fine porcelains, the like --and I'm afraid that I've not yet made a single friend. You know how "these" people can be, I'm sure...Please. I assure you I'm much more accommodating than the more...what's the word? Lascivious party goers that you are liable to encounter." With a raised eyebrow, Ianthe gestured to a bear of a man bouncing a caramel haired serving girl on his knee, one hand eagerly exploring the hidden regions beneath her skirts.
(Posting here since it ended up in space)
---

Naya wore a slightly crestfallen expression at the news that the man could provide no intelligence for her. She was very prepared to deny him her company- after all, she was a Knight, and he, while perhaps a noble in his own lands, was here merely a foreigner. Even her former life on the streets didn't put her on the same level, she felt.

Her interest was piqued when he mentioned he was a Jeweler. She was not one to be taken with jewlery- but it might help her catch a certain someone's eye...
"Jeweler," she states, trying to show interest. She pulls up the chair across from the man and sits in it, her slight form nearly consumed by the thick, lavish material. She wasn't sure she wanted to know what he meant by accommodating, judging by what his gesture was directed towards.

"Tell me of your trade," she practically demands. A social butterfly she was not. Sitting like a proper lady ought to, she unconsciously brushes the folds of her dress smooth, staring intently at her opposite.

--

Calvin had begun to sweat ever so slightly. Selwyn had him by the balls, metaphorically speaking. He'd called his every move and then some. Calvin was quite tempted to say bugger all to Honor and just take the man's offer for drink and women and be off. The only trump card Calvin had left to play was an actual message from Gabriel, and that helped keep him going- by the seat of his pants.

"W-Well, My Lord, Magistrate," he begins, trying to compose himself. "Thank you, firstly, for your generosity and understanding! And I must beg your apologies. You see," he pauses briefly. "I had taken a great deal of time preparing for this most..." he pauses again, trying to get the word.

"Auspicious occasion. As you can see, and have so generously complimented me on." He bows his head to the circling man, starting to get a slight iota of his confidence back. "Just as I was leaving, Gabriel asked me to deliver a message to you." In truth, he had been ordered to deliver the message the moment Gabriel had found out he was going, since he had been unable to catch Cordelia. Still, semantics.

"In all honesty, it's probably not even that important," he admits. And that was the truth; he genuinely had no idea what was written on the missive, which he withdraws from his tunic. It bore the symbol of Iracot, and Gabriel's personal signature. "But he did seem pretty eager for me to get it to you, and for you to read it," he says, offering it to the man with a bow.

He'd been keeping the entirety of his attention on Selwyn, not daring to look at Cordelia. He could feel her eyes burning on him, though. It was for her own good, he told himself. And for his jealousy. But mostly her own good, and Magnus' faith that he would protect her.

The contents of that missive would probably shock both of them, if either were to read it- it was brief, but to the point; 'The Wards have fallen. -Knight Commander G. Envictus.'