Get The C U U U B E (Graded)

[Oberan]

The 11nd of Vhalar 719

The spire provided an excellent overview of the Circle. High up, out of sight and reach of those nasty spiders Sintra had no doubt scattered all over. Perhaps there would be found within its walls, but not outside of it, where Oberan was perched. The air was cooler here, or perhaps he simply imagined it was. It mattered very little, for the thief was only concerned with the absence of Sintra’s tiny spies.

Perhaps it had something to do with his mother’s domains, but Oberan did not like the feeling of being watched. Unless he chose to make himself visible, of course. The circumstances could not be compared. In general, the Mortalborn enjoyed being invisible and unnoticed. Sintra had made that very difficult. Despite its radical views on Immortals, Oberan had felt at ease within the city. He lived his life as one of the masses, hiding a secret no Etzori could imagine. Who would ever expect one with Immortal blood to walk among them? Who would think mingling with folk that would lynch you as soon as they found out was a good idea?

He did, obviously. Because it was thrilling. Because it was inconceivable, and thus very exciting.

Perhaps he’d have thought the same of Sintra’s plan, if he’d been on her side.

He wasn’t though. Nor had he chosen the side of Etzos. In fact, if not for Audrae’s meddling, he’d simply have left. Etzos was no longer a safe place for him. Why stay? Oh yes, hiding under Sintra’s nose would be quite exciting indeed, but that sort of thing only stayed fun for as long as he wasn’t discovered. No longer did he feel unseen though. Perhaps it was paranoia. Possibly. Logic dictated he could not hide forever. Sooner or later he’d be exposed, and it would be all over.

Then Audrae had come. Filled his head with talk of a conspiracy, which had turned out to be all to real. No surprise, given Sintra’s domains. Grabbing Etzos surely was a first step for the Immortal. Just the first of many. Destabilize Etzos, use them to kill Lisirra, grab a weakened Rhakros… From there, with two cities under her control, she could possibly conquer others. Crush them under the combined might of both armies.

In a way, that did not sound on brand for the Immortal of Manipulation. However, had she not admitted to being in league with Raskelan? Not to mention, more followers equaled more power for Immortals and Mortalborn both. No surprise Audrae felt she needed to interfere via proxy.

Oberan had done his part, he felt. Into Rhakros, he’d slipped. Evidence, he’d gathered. Passed to a scapegoat, a bell-ringer who seemed more than willing to risk Sintra’s wrath, persecution by the Spider’s followers to create awareness within the Etzori populace. Now, all he could do was wait for results. Results that would impress Audrae, convince her of his competence.

Which was why he’d sought out a spot up high. A nest to search the streets, scan for signs of gatherings. Speeches to rouse the masses. Protests. Anything. There was nothing of the sort to be seen from here though. Despite the excellent view on part of the Circle and the Perimeter. Only people going about their business. A slow-moving colorful stream of tiny mortals walking through the streets. Sometimes parting for the odd cart or blackjack patrol.

He’d remain for a while longer, observing, before moving on to another lookout with view on a different part. Maybe he wouldn’t see her at all. She might have opted for secret meetings, inviting a couple people to spread the word to. Out of sight, keeping a low profile since Sintra was around. Then again, Sintra had eyes everywhere. She’d catch wind of it soon enough. It might be more efficient to reach as large a crowd as possible before the authorities, Sintra, or her supporters censored her.

Eh, as long as word got out. In case anything happened, Oberan was ready to step in. Re-gather the evidence taken from the woman, distribute it to someone else. For that, he needed to keep an ear out, naturally.

Speaking of, there was a noise behind him. The familiar sensation of someone being too close for comfort. Most unexpected. Quickly, the Mortalborn swiveled around, ready to face whoever had followed him up here.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

11 Vhalar, Arc 719

The night of the tenth of Vhalar, Llyr had locked the door of his bedroom and told all who might bother to leave him be. He proceeded to pace, back and forth, in the cluttered space while he thought and he contemplated and he considered all that he knew about Etzos, about Sintra, about Rhakros, about Emea, and more. Everything and anything were fair to include among his many thoughts.

He drafted several scrolls of notes. Many of which he promptly tore up into tiny bits and pieces. He created a small table map of the city and tried to recreate the outlying areas like he’d seen in the Mastermark’s office. He placed tiny pebbles to represent different people and set them in different portions of the circular map… but a flat drawing was not enough. He needed more…

So he created a three-dimensional model instead, made from leather and bits of wood, and other such things. It was far more difficult to put together while awake in Idalos than it was while dreamwalking in Emea, but he wanted a representation in the waking world while he kept track of the night going past. He walked around the table and fixed spots until finally, he had the uprising circular formation of the city of Etzos, set in the center of his bedroom, to observe and examine.

He took a moment to cross into Emea, craft tiny figurines to represent different people he knew, then returned with each to anchor them into the waking world. This pleased Llyr immensely, the very process of it, and he repeated it in application to his model city. Soon, he had a near-perfect replica of Etzos with little figurines as representation of the people within.

But it wasn’t enough. Llyr poked and prodded the tiny figurine of Sintra before setting her underneath in the layer meant for the underground. He realized he needed to find a map of that place, for he didn't know the routes. He pinned large swaths of draft vellum to his walls, took out a set of charcoal sticks, and proceeded to sketch shapes and symbols. Most of all, he recreated sketches of the item he’d seen in that woman’s hand… the artifact…

…the cube.

Cubes upon cubes, he sketched the geometric shapes in charcoal on the thin vellum sheets. Could he recreate it from memory? He tried to get as accurate as he remembered the box when the agitator had held it up to be seen. What if there was another cube inside the cube... nested boxes within boxes... he wildly drew these ideas in sharp lines that smudged while he moved to draw more and more.

Unending cubes. The drawings went past the vellum and onto the bedroom walls, then the ceiling as he levitated to reach the empty and unused space to trace his thoughts in varied symbols that would mean nothing to anyone but himself. Charcoal smudged his face gray like soot where he rubbed away sweat, and his fingertips blackened with stains he couldn’t wash off.

By the time morning came, his eyes were lined red from no sleep and constant staring at the various things he’d created overnight. Yet Llyr didn’t feel exhausted. He didn’t even feel a little bit tired! He felt invigorated. He felt… alive.

But another trial approached, which meant there was business to conduct. He washed quick and changed his outfit to simple leathers, then closed his bedroom, locked the door, and warned the household to not go inside. Llyr grabbed the quick breakfast provided by his slave servant, Oceta, though he ate it on the way while he climbed up a buildingside. He jumped between rooftops to reach the familiar meeting place where Lochlann provided him with morning news and exchanged information, and Llyr directed him to what he needed to find out next.

Of this morning's briefing, there was little change to matters, and Llyr spent most of it telling Lochlann about the box. He told him of the woman. And he told Lochlann to immediately send someone to inform him if either cube, woman, or similar rumors were heard of in Etzos. With that, he parted ways from his contact.

Feeling so upbeat and alive, Llyr decided it wouldn’t hurt to allow the enjoyable swell of his pleased sparks to lift him even higher, in mood and literally. Drawn to climb, his spark of transmutation encouraged him up a new spire he had yet to explore. His wings aided his climb to go swift, and once past a certain vantage point, he made use of his ethereal limbs to move from spaces that otherwise had no grip. The shadowy insectoid legs hooked into the stone with ease and he flipped upward the rest of the way until he stopped at a perch, with sudden awareness that someone else was there.

How unusual that was.

He hovered in the air, not by wings, but by the spear-pointed legs hooked into the ledge… one could say similar to a spider, though only six limbs were there, rather than eight… but the black oily sheen of bounded shadows didn’t lend to a pleasant nor reassuring appearance. Especially since he wore a similar black suit of tailored leathers and soft cotton. For once, in Oberan's limited experience with the mage, a mask didn't cover the lower half of the biqaj's face.

Llyr settled to his bipedal ordinary feet. The insectoid legs retracted back into his spine with a flurry of ether, vanished from sight. He stared at the man who’d swiveled around to face him…

…then he smiled sincerely and brightly, with irises of yellow-orange color, and he said, “Oberan!”

“You're alive! I mean… Mister Milldeck, or was it… Martin?” he laughed nervously, then flipped his airy blond bangs. The glance of the carved vertical scar at the center of his forehead glistened grave-gold. “What are you doing up here? Come to get some fresh air too?”

“I thought you died in the tunnels under Rhakros. I didn't even make a miniature you. I'll have to do so. What a great thing you’re still alive, I’m so pleased to see you. Did you accomplish your mission? Here, let me…” he patted around the belt that hung low around his narrow hips, then he retrieved a shiny silver tin.

“Do you smoke? Would you like a smoke? I have plenty to share.” He took out a cigarette for himself, placed it between his pale lips, then held out the open tin of rolled tobacco sticks for Oberan to take one if he wanted.

“Go on,” he said. “I won’t make you pay… for it, or anything.”

[Oberan]

“Oberan!” the lanky mage exclaimed.

“Magpie,” the Mortalborn responded with way less enthusiasm.

He dropped the beginnings of a defensive stance, though his wariness did not decrease. Magpie was not exactly someone he trusted. Especially when faced on top of a spire overlooking the city. How the hell had he made it up here in the first place? Could those wings of his actually launch him that high into the air?

Part of him wanted to play dumb and pretend not to know who this Oberan person was, but it was quite obvious that Magpie wouldn’t fall for it. Likely the youth had known from the start who he’d been dealing with, and had played along to further his own motives. Whatever those might be. Graeslin’s orb, if he recalled, but was there anything else?

“I am not dead, no. I told you I had my talents. They never even knew I was there.” He smirked and crossed his arms. “Besides, I’m the slippery sort.”

Something caught his eye down on the street which caused him to glance over for a couple moments. Just a busker. No speeches being made to rouse the public, make them aware of Sintra’s scheme. Magpie was busying himself with a tin case when Oberan turned back.

“My mission went pretty well, yes. I got what I came for. Now all I can do is wait. That’s my least favorite part, waiting. Time passes too slowly. It always rushes past when you’re busy, but now it’s taking its sweet … well, time.” A shrug.

He considered turning down the offered cigarettes, but changed his mind halfway through. Free goods were free goods, which were only second best to stolen goods. “I don’t smoke, no,” he said, grabbing one of the tobacco sticks. “But thank you.” He twirled it between his fingers for a few moments, tilted it into his palm, and flicked his wrist. The cigarette was gone. In his other hand he held a small box of matches.

“Need a light? Also, that sounds too ominous for my liking.”

Once again he focused his attention on what was going on below. The busker had begun playing an instrument, from the looks of it. Some children were dancing to the tune while grown-ups stiffly stood around. Not really the signs of a developing riot.

“Magpie, what did you mean with ‘making a miniature of me’? Have you taken up sculpting as a means of passing the time. Crafting a mini Etzos filled with everyone you know to be alive?” There was a slight pause, enough for the answer that may or may not come. Then the real question came: “You vanished in the tunnels, with… what’s his face on purpose, didn’t you? I heard no booms. How did you do it?”

While he kept his eyes on the street, Oberan’s focus was on the mage behind him. Magpie’s motives had always been somewhat murky and obscured, but perhaps faced with the right situation, he might let something slip.

“Did you hear? Sintra’s going to make some public appearances in light of the successful effort in Rhakros. How do you think it’s going to go? She’s probably going to try and get us to warm up to her. Maybe she’ll begin her speech with something like ‘I know you hate us Immortals, and with good reason. Blah blah, you’ve been wronged by my kind, blah blah. Please give me a chance’.” He chuckled briefly. “I’m willing to bet it’ll be something like that. Don’t you think?”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

“Oh? A slippery sort, you say? In and out, just like that, yes?” teased Magpie in an obvious tone of amusement, to match the smirk of the talented and not-dead man. He retrieved his cigarette case, to offer one of the smokes.

“Ah, indeed, time is time.” Magpie smiled when Oberan accepted one of the cigarettes. It didn’t matter to him that the other man didn’t smoke yet took one anyway. It was the gesture, after all, that was the point of it. Oberan proved perfect etiquette in that regard. He glanced at the display, his eyes brightened in violet specks when the cigarette disappeared, and a box of matches revealed in the other.

“Ohh,” he gently laughed at this parlor trick, then shrugged. “How kind of you. Yes, a light would be appreciated.”

Magpie placed a cigarette between his lips, returned the tin to his belt, then moved closer to the other man. He waited to see if the matches would be handed over or if Oberan would strike one himself. No impatience on the matter though, he glanced down at the street as well, then returned his attention to the dark-haired human.

A wry smile showed on his pale lips when Oberan accurately guessed as to the reason behind the mention of a miniature him. Very accurately. The silent smile was all the answer he gave though. He felt amused more than paranoid about it. Since they’d met and talked in Old Slim Jim’s pub, despite the tension of Rhakros and the older man’s brusque manner in the tunnels, he was in a good enough mood to focus on how much Oberan’s very presence amused him. He truly was glad to see him alive. Something about the man… a curiosity or perhaps… something else. It wasn’t anything to pinpoint or pick apart to identify, nor was there any reason to conduct such analysis.

He focused on his cigarette while Oberan inquired about his departure from the tunnels under Rhakros. Magpie tapped at it, thumb against the wetted spot where his lips had been. He answered, “I have my own talents.”

His gaze raised in a mischievous look… or was it flirtatious? It would be difficult to tell. Either way, it displayed an inappropriate warmth toward the other man. “I’ll tell you my secret, if you tell me one of your’s.”

“I could teach you how to do it,” offered Magpie with a restrained twitch of a smile. “Can do it anywhere… in, or out, without even being noticed by those nearby. If I felt so inclined, that is.”

He returned his attention to the cigarette and found a seat on the spire edge to look over the city. Magpie glanced over when talk turned to Sintra. He thought of his conversation with Tagley just the trial before. A quiet hum while he listened to Oberan’s theory on what the Immortal’s speech might contain, then he shrugged. He crossed legs at the ankles and leaned over to look straight down the edge of the tall structure. His wings outstretched, shimmered in the light of both the sun and his halo.

“Why would I have a clue?” Magpie watched as a woman ushered a few children fast away from a busker. “She’ll likely say whatever she thinks is most appropriate, as anyone in such a precarious position would.”

“I can only hope it goes peacefully.” He leaned back, one hand behind him and looked over at Oberan. “Wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt, right?”

“Have you been spending a fair amount of time up here?” asked Magpie. He considered for a moment, then added, “Your talents that you mentioned, are they for hire? You’re waiting right now, does that mean you might be available?”

[Oberan]

Oberan struck a match upon confirmation, holding the little flame under Magpie’s cigarette. When it was lit, he snuffed it out with a couple quick motions of the wrist. Then he flicked the half-burnt stick off the tower. His box of matches disappeared into his coat.

As expected, Magpie was evasive in his answer. However, the youth offered to teach in return for a secret. Or at the very least he’d expose his trick in exchange for one. Oberan was quite certain that Magpie would name another price for tutoring. Still, the Mortalborn was interested. Especially since it was something that could be learned. Magpie being a competent mage, the likelihood of it being magic was high. That said, apart from Rupturing –the magic used by the Orb—Oberan knew of no Domain that was used for near instantaneous long-distance travel.

“A secret told is a secret no more, my father used to say,” the thief spoke with a sly grin. In actuality, they’d been Gallan’s words, but surrogate-father did not have the same ring to it. He’d heard the phrase often when asking Gallan to teach him some magic tricks. The man had refused to teach the tricks he’d developed himself, but the basics of street magic and sleight of hand were not off limits. “But I am interested, yes. What sort of secret would you have me reveal?”

Magpie exposed a little more about his ‘vanishing act’ claiming he could do it anytime anywhere. Very interesting indeed. If true, that would be most helpful. “Is it magic? Actual magic, I mean. What do you people call it? Domain?” He had to refrain from sneering at the word. Domains were reserved for Immortals and their spawn. Domain magic, though powerful, was nothing but a pale imitation. One that was still too much for a Mortal to handle. Their bodies morphed and twisted, their being, their essence warped. Fundamentally changed. He couldn’t help but glance at Magpie’s halo and wings.

No, Oberan would not learn it if it was Domain Magic. Why should he rely on something inferior to his innate abilities? Why try and copy the abilities of the Immortals in a form that was too volatile for the mortal flesh to handle? Blessed heritage aside, his body was not dissimilar to that of an ordinary man. Tangling with Domain Magic would mar him all the same.

“Perhaps she will,” Oberan agreed. “Perhaps she won’t. You seemed to get along with the spider guy. I figured you might have a better idea than most.” He kept Magpie in the corner of his eyes while he continued watching the busker below. The tiny figure flourished and curtsied for the crowd. Shiny specks caught the light of the suns. “Will they then? Get hurt, that is. I honestly don’t give a crap. As long as I’m not there when it happens, half her audience can keel over dead for all I care.” Shoulders moved up and down in a shrug. “It’s up to the city officials to keep that from happening, no? They let her in to begin with, and they’re responsible for everything their decision results in.”

He went back to watching the ant-like figures scurrying through the streets. Their behavior was nothing like that of the organized insects though. Too chaotic, not working towards one common goal. A good thing, for the most part. Would that change with Sintra’s prolonged presence? Or would things mostly stay the same? Audrae might know, but Oberan doubted she’d show herself before the Spider Queen was driven out of the city.

“Some,” he replied. “I like the view.”

Silence.

Then came Magpie’s most curious words. Oberan quirked an eyebrow and actually turned towards the younger man. He crouched, knees bent, heels against his rear. Eye level with the mage’s lounging position. “They are,” he responded after a brief moment of thought. “Or rather, they might be, depending on what you’re offering. Are you in the business of acquisitions? Need me to make a delivery? Help with a jammed door? Leave someone a message? Do some bookkeeping?” He spread his hands inquisitively.

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Llyr observed the older man closely, while he smoked and listened about fatherly advice given about secrets. He hummed, and tried to imagine what kind of man would raise a fellow like Oberan. It was interesting exercise of imagination. He wondered what kind of mother the man had too. He mentioned, "Funny, you strike me as the sort to be an orphan."

"As for what secret to exchange... hmm..." he hummed in thoughtful consideration of this. He would return to it, later, when better timed and when he had a specific request in mind. Of course, Oberan came back around to inquire about it anyway - likely in hope to figure out the technique for himself by doing so. Llyr glanced over, then he answered, "No. It is not formal magic. It doesn't require a spark like other magics."

Conversation turned to Sintra. His wings fluttered behind him, then settled again. He settled against the spire edge, without concern for the vast height below, and he continued to smoke his cigarette in long, eloquent drags that were more for the enjoyment of it than the addiction.

"I get along with plenty of people," he mentioned in a flat monotone. His gaze flicked over Oberan in a visual survey. "Not everyone gets along with me, though."

"You honestly don't give a shit if other people get hurt?" inquired Llyr, and the monotone dipped into an almost hurt-sounding waver. The irises of his eyes turned to an ocean blue while he stared at the human. "You're... an unusual person, do you know that? I thought this city was your home."

The exchange between them lingered.

Then... Silence.

Llyr considered for a few trills, then he inquired as to whether the other man was for hire. He looked at the other man, their gazes level with one another now. A wry smile slanted his lips at the various job descriptions and the inquisitive attitude. Oberan was Etzori enough to snap right into focus when a job for coin seemed to be involved.

He took a final drag from his cigarette, then flicked it for the discarded embers to fall down from the spire to the street below. Llyr set his hands behind him, leaned back, and looked at the sky. He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes for a moment to enjoy the air. The blond kept his eyes shut as he said, "Acquisition."

"There's an object I want... no, not want. Something I must have. It is of a sensitive nature, though." Llyr slowly opened his eyes, but he stared at the sky instead of observing Oberan's expression or gestures. "I am aware that you were able to swipe the orb from Captain Graeslin. I would need you to do something similar, only far more... discreet. There is a woman with an artifact, a box of little worth but great potential. She likely entered the city yestertrial with it."

His gaze slid over. He looked at Oberan, not a hint of amusement or jest in his attitude now. Llyr's eyes warmed into a topaz yellow color. "Acquire it for me, without her knowledge as to where it has gone. In fact, I want no one to know where it has gone. I want it to disappear, into my hands. If you accomplish this for me, I will teach you my trick with no other exchange necessary... in addition to adequate payment. Is this something you might be capable of?"

[Oberan]

“People aren’t born orphans,” Oberan stated the obvious. Despite his mother still being alive and kicking, the Mortalborn might as well have been one. There wasn’t and hadn’t been a lot of contact between the two of them, after all.

Though Magpie was careful not to reveal too much, he did confirm that his trick was indeed not Domain Magic. It required no spark, and thus wouldn’t warp the flesh and soul. Oberan wondered if this was a secret discipline, as he knew of no magics that did not alter the host in any way. Perhaps the blonde was simply messing with him, talking out of his ass in order to stave off boredom.

One of Oberan’s remarks did seem to break though the mage’s usual unflappable behavior. He half-turned towards him at the slight tremble in Magpie’s voice. Irises had turned blue. What did that mean? An emotional response for sure, but in what way?

The Mortalborn considered Magpie’s assumption as well, brow furrowed. Home, eh? While Oberan couldn’t say he disliked Etzos, he wouldn’t exactly call it home. Though at times he might forget, the city had an intense hatred for Immortals and their offspring. Wariness was ever present, he never did feel quite completely at ease. However, the stubborn independence of the Etzori was something he admired and respected. They were a ballsy lot, relying on their own ingenuity and prowess instead of a divine patron.

Or at least, they had until now.

He found himself disliking the willingness of some –especially the authorities—to embrace Sintra. To throw the ideals the city had clung to for so long out with the dirt. It felt as if Vuda had taken the Etzori pride with him when he fled the city. No backbone remained. Only flexible cartilage that allowed the bowing and kowtowing underneath Sintra’s arachnid heels.

Maybe it was for the best that the Etzori went extinct before succumbing to an Immortal –any Immortal. Surely he’d feel the same if it’d been his mother trying to gain control?

Talk of business snapped him back into the moment.

Ironic for the Magpie to choose acquisitions. Oberan chuckled for a moment or two, then collected himself.

“Oh, I know you knew about lil’ Graeslin.” It wasn’t like the mage had been very subtle in his probing on prior occasions. “But let me get this straight: if I hadn’t wanted her to know, she wouldn’t have. I simply spotted an opportunity to teach her a little lesson, and so I did.” He grinned sharkishly. “In the future, she maybe will remember not to force people into participation. Some characters like to try and counter your efforts purely out of spite. Also, she was being a haughty bitch with a patronizing streak and needed to be put in her place.”

“But back to the business at hand.” He stroked his goatee with thumb and index. “I will admit I am intrigued, but I’ll be needing some more details. Usually, boxes are of little worth, and their great potential is kept in their belly. What kind of box is it? Small, large, non-descript, or special? Recognizable features? Anything you can tell me about its contents? Same for the woman. Descriptions would be nice.” He paused long enough to take a breath, but too briefly for Magpie to interrupt. “I mean, I can easily bring you a box that belonged to a woman, but my guess is you want me to get you a very specific one.”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

Magpie wasn’t usually one to care when people stated the obvious. Sometimes the obvious wasn’t so… well, obvious to everyone. When he heard the response to his comment about Oberan seeming more like an orphan, he glanced over with the slightest narrowing of the eyes and that was the only hint of a glance of annoyance. He suspected that the older man knew that wasn’t what he’d meant by the comment, but he didn’t delve any farther in that direction.

The conversation continued on, like conversations tended to - with words exchanged and little displays of emotion here and there - and Magpie inquired into Oberan’s seemingly apathetic view toward his home and the potential for his neighboring citizens to be hurt in the coming assemblies.

Then, conversation turned to business rather quickly after that. Magpie couldn’t get the thought of yestertrial out of mind. Connecting what he needed with the talents he knew Oberan likely capable of… it was a simple jump of logic to ask the man for hired services.

The blond biqaj glanced over Oberan’s expression when the topic returned to Graeslin. Oberan’s sharkish smile, the absolute remorseless enjoyment of his stealing and treachery… it was all very interesting to Magpie. A quiet laugh sounded from him when the other man called the pirate queen a haughty bitch. He placed a hand over his mouth as if to catch the laugh, then shook his head.

“If only your lesson had stuck,” he interjected casually. “Women with shadows for blood are a stubborn and insufferable lot, though.”

He nodded in simple acknowledgment to get away from the unfortunate subject of their mutual acquaintance and back to the relevant topic. Magpie brought his legs up, crossed them at the edge of the spire, and nodded. “Yes, of course a specific one. I can draw it for you, if you’d like. It has moving symbols over the shape of it and has been covered in webbing. I am uncertain if you will be able to recognize the feel of it, as someone without a spark, but it feels unstable.”

“There should be a force around it, within it, and either way… I’ll know if it isn’t the correct box,” he mentioned with a glance over Oberan. “It should be straight-forward enough, once the individual is located. I know not her name, nor whether to trust by the appearance she gave. She spoke as an Etzori would and unless she turned around and changed her mind, she should have arrived in the city yestertrial with a caravan. Ask around for a woman who speaks loudly against Sintra, about her evidence involving Webspinner letters and this artifact. Given her reckless nature that made me aware of her, it seems as if her plan is to find safety among crowds... it is only a matter of getting the box away from her without her knowing where it went.”

The blond paused for a moment, then he added, "I don't care if she thinks the authorities took it from her. As long as it cannot be traced back to me, or you. I require secrecy in order to fully study the object and cannot have people following your trail to my doorstep in search of it."

"In fact..." he smoothed out his sleeves, and glanced over the city ahead of him. "I will consider it a favor if you did make it appear as if this box was taken by the Tower. However you manage such a thing. A favor of no small significance, as well. There are many things, beyond the trick you're so intrigued by, that I might be able to help you with. I have several other tricks, Oberan. Are you... Is your blade for hire as well? Or... nevermind. I know someone better for that. So, the acquisition of this box. When might I expect results?"

[Oberan]

Magpie started describing the box of his desire, speaking of details and specifics that sounded all too familiar to the thieving Mortalborn. A box with webs covering it, fashioned from materials that seemed jittery in one way or another. Not of this plane of existence. Different. Out of focus. Not belonging in this reality. Alien.

Curiously, the mage mentioned that to his spark, it felt unstable too. Did that mean that the box truly wasn’t of this plane, but had been brought and locked in here through some divine or arcane power? More importantly was the implication –both overtly spoken, and hinted at between the lines—that Magpie would recognize the item as genuine or fake.

Oberan’s plan to have a counterfeit created was discarded immediately.

As expected, Magpie was trouble. Moreover, the man was on Sintra’s side now, it seemed. The Mortalborn hid an expression of displeasure at the reveal.

“Everything to make the Arachnid Queen feel welcome here, right?” he muttered with some disdain.

Be it Sintra’s machinations and manipulations, or simply bad luck, but the Mole Oberan’d helped free from the Webspinners had run into one of the worst people possible upon arrival in Etzos, so it seemed. Or perhaps this was a stroke of good fortune. After all, Magpie had chosen to come to Oberan. Now he knew of the situation, the possible peril the Mole –and especially her gathered evidence-- was in. He could act on this information, warn her, or keep a closer eye.

What to do about Magpie though? Why did he only want the box if he was on Sintra’s side? Why not the letters, the other evidence? Did they think that the Etzori wouldn’t be convinced by letters and easily falsified documents, but they would believe the Mole when she showed the cube?

In that case, the cube needed to be kept out of the hands of Sintra and her agents at all costs.

“I think I know who and what you’re talking about,” the Mortalborn said. “Why the interest in the box? You think her story is plausible then? Sintra extended the ether storms to make Etzos vulnerable, goaded Lisirra into attacking, and then made use of the situation to take the stage as a protector to Etzos, starting a ploy to gain control of the city in the process?”

He glanced at the mage’s face, gauging his reaction. “I figured it sounded like a very Sintra thing to plot, sure. Believable enough. But what kind of stupid fuck would put spiderwebs on an artefact that supposedly belongs to the Immortal of Spiders!” He chuckled for a moment. “Unless that’s what she wants everyone to think. That she is being framed, while it actually IS her artefact.”

He shrugged then. “Well, if Sintra takes over Etzos it’ll be Etzos’ problem, not mine. There’s other places in the world.” Oberan’s voice turned wistful. “Although, it’d be a shame for the last bastion of Mortal power to fall… Anyway, what do you plan to do with the box once studied? Destroy it? Keep it? What if the woman who has it now turns out to be right after all? What do you intend to do?”

There was a certain intensity in the questions. Oberan kept a close eye on the mage, on the lookout for any hints to his intentions. This was important information, crucial in the decision he needed to make.

“I don’t have a blade, let alone one for hire. I’m not an assassin.” He rolled his eyes when Magpie once again hinted at his connection to Kasoria. Was it a subtle warning or just a simple train of thought? Not that it mattered, Oberan was confident he could hide from even the Raggedy Man if he needed to. While Kas had a knack for completing his underworld contracts, the Mortalborn’s expertise was stealth. No matter how good an assassin Kasoria was, he couldn’t murder a target he couldn’t find.

“It’ll take a couple days at the least if I just take the box. Depends on how careful I need to be, and how difficult she is to track down. For your more elaborate request… well, I don’t know. Depends. Maybe a few weeks?” A shrug. “I’ll give it my full attention, so I might not even take that long. But I don’t want you to hold on to unrealistic expectations.”

[Llyr Llywelyn]

While an expression of displeasure might have been hidden, the moderately disdainful question made itself more than known:

“Everything to make the Arachnid Queen feel welcome here, right?”

Llyr merely shrugged. He gazed out at the city. Unaware of what was going through the other man’s mind, he looked over with slight surprise when Oberan mentioned he had an idea who the woman was and what the cube might be. His eyes widened, a light purple color to the irises, and he listened to the question. How could Oberan know about someone who only just arrived to Etzos for less than a trial’s time? There were only a handful of possibilities…

When Oberan inquired as to whether he thought the agitator’s story was plausible – just like Tagley had pressed him on, the trial before – Llyr displayed his young age. He rolled his eyes, tilted his head back, and groaned with exasperation. He didn’t have to keep as much poise with the roguish thief who had as much mystery as interesting connections; not as much as Llyr had to with members of the Council and those who influenced the political landscape of Etzos.

Leaned back on his hands, he stared at the sky instead while he felt Oberan looking at him. He listened to what more the mortalborn had to say. His youthful reaction gradually faded while he watched a few wisps of clouds cross the blue expanse.

How did Oberan know about this woman already?

How did he know the story she was sharing?

When had he found out?

Though he agreed with the assessment of spiderwebs on an artifact, the blatancy of it, he didn’t allow himself much resonance with the other man’s amusement. He felt his good mood drain away. Nausea gathered in his stomach. He lowered his gaze onto Oberan, and he frowned while he heard the other man wax philosophical about the significance of Etzos as 'the last bastion of Mortal power'.

Llyr scoffed. He turned his gaze away. He snapped, “It’s none of your business what I plan to do with the box. I’m hiring you, not making you a partner in my research.”

“Whatever I do, it will depend on what is discovered so I couldn’t say, even if I wanted to,” added Llyr. The tension in his body faded some. He fixed his posture and crossed his arms. “The point of the matter is that it will be under my possession and kept safe. What needs to be done with it, will be done.”

Upon the answer to his inquiry as to how long it would take for Oberan to accomplish the assignment, he nodded. He scratched his cheek, in absent consideration. “A few weeks, then. I’d like to see if the Council includes me or not in this matter, on their own volition, but I do not wish to wait forever or leave it up to chance. In the meantime, you can acquire the box for me and perhaps I might create a counterfeit for you to place somewhere by that time.”

“If it eases your sensibilities in performing your job, given your... prior comments, I do not intend to hand it over to anyone once it is in my possession.” Llyr stood up. He brushed off his clothes in a light pat-down. His wings outstretched and refracted light around the spire edge.

“As a foreigner, with my silver blood and proclivities, I have very little sway over anything in this city. I only wish to research an artifact that has a great deal of potential, rather than have it destroyed due to some reckless slag. After all, if the artifact itself is what it is claimed to be… it is the reason why I was unable to access my magic for the season of Ymiden. In that regard, separate from the politics of this city and this Immortal, I have a great deal of interest in the object itself.”

“Consider me a neutral party, in this matter,” mentioned Llyr in a calm tone. “It is far closer to truth than the nonsense so many Etzori currently obsess over. I am far more aligned with what you say… there are many other places in this world. Though in my view, Etzos is not the last bastion, it is merely an extremely rich one. In many ways, this city has already fallen from its former height.”

“We will meet in this spot again, on the 31st of Vhalar. There is a beggar girl who sits in the Northeast Outer Perimeter, who wears a black scarf with a white lily stitched on it. Give her a copper nel, then tell her of any updates or if you need to meet sooner.” Llyr folded his hands behind him, and stared at Oberan with obvious expectation of agreement.