[Nexus] The Black Dragon's Den XIII

[Morty]

The goblin quirks an eyebrow.

"His name is Kullervo. One of my employees tamed him and helped me train him. It's only fitting for a goblin of my stature to have his own riding wolf... or two. My name is Dipsnig Razortooth, by the way. Although if you haven't been here long, you probably haven't heard it yet."

[Orm-Embar]

"Wish I could have brought a mount of my own," Bo replies, "but they would never have fit through the portal. Flying mount, too much wingspan." He sighs. "Ah well. I suppose if I want to fly I'll just have to do it the hard way."

"Anyway, I am called Bo. Pleased to make your acquaintance, Dipsnig Razortooth. What do you mean by stature - rank? Sorry for all the questions, but as I said, I've only recently arrived in this place. Most of what I know about it came from old reports. Unreliable things," he adds.

[Morty]

Dipsnig wonders briefly it that was a height crack he heard.

"I'm the leader of MERC. The biggest and oldest mercenary group in the Nexus. I've been one since forever, really."

[Orm-Embar]

(Not a crack, just a clueless question, not knowing if he meant wealth, social position, government job, military rank... )

Well. That's something to chew on, all right. Bo finishes half of his rum while thinking it over. "Guess I work for you, then, or with you, or something. I just recently took out a MERC license."

Pretty embarrassing for someone who's had rules drummed into them forever, unknowingly drinking with and questioning the boss. Bo knows one way to deal with discomfort though. His smile fades away and is replaced with a perfectly calm and blank expression.

[Morty]

Dipsnig's ear twitches.

"Hmm. Yes, I think I remember the description of someone like you pass my desk recently. You made the right choice by signing up with us. A mercenary's trade is a dangerous one, and we make sure it's a bit less so."

[Orm-Embar]

Bo shrugs. "I like the life. And it's just about the only honest work I know how to do, for now."

[Morty]

"A mercenary's life is a good one. Of course, I haven't been that active in a while. Nowadays I'm a businessman. Who sometimes shoots people," Dipsnig says. "Do you have an interest in becoming a full-time member, or just licensed work?"

[Orm-Embar]

Bo nods and raises his glass, saying "Here's to business."

"The thing is, I just got out. Feeling free for the first time ever. I'm starting over. And we don't know much about each other yet. So my thought was to go out and work independently. I've got a couple of leads on small jobs. If it turns out we get along, time enough later to talk about something more permanent."

"In the meantime," he adds, "keep me in mind if there's work I can help out with. Military magic, and if that fails I know which end of a sword to hold." Although he's not actually carrying a blade.

[Ashen Lilies]

The twi'lek has since ordered a Romulan ale and is sipping the bright blue beverage... carefully. Her demeanor suggest that she's not eavesdropping intently, but with how close she is it's probably the case that she's at least casually overhearing the conversation, though she seems to be content in her own space.

[Orm-Embar]

The human seems to be done talking for now. He takes out a cigar and sticks it in his mouth, and it seems to light itself. He exhales the sweet-smelling smoke and watches it drift and pool in the air about the bar as if the random patterns mean something. In fact he's gone back to considering some of the odd jobs he's heard of. Small-time stuff, and in this neighborhood, they tend to have somewhat sinister associations. Like the debt collection thing... what they really want is a leg-breaker... easy enough... or...

There's the bodyguard assignment... sounds boring, but you never know.... trouble won't start when you think you're ready for it... best to openly carry a weapon or two... look the part...

Or the warehouse job... loss prevention, they called it... definitely hinting at some kind of criminal gang... like the sound of that one, keep the intelligence gathering sharp... learn about this place too...

That bounty hunting advertisement... no, looks like it might be a front for something else, probably slave-catching... contemptible... not going near it, unless it ends with burying slavers in shallow graves...

In other words, Bo is getting lost in his own thoughts.

[Morty]

"I'll certainly keep you in mind, then. Now, it's been a pleasure, but I'm afraid I have some business to attend to," Dipsnig tells Bo before turning to the Twi'Lek. "Hello there. I believe we may have a mutual acquaintance."

[Ashen Lilies]

The twi'lek smiles slightly. "We do." She says, her voice a rich buttery caramel. "We can talk in a private room. Do you have one booked?"

[Morty]

"I have. Follow me," Dipsnig says, and leads the way to the back. There, he takes a seat behind a table, which is the room's only real furnishing. His wolf sits on the floor next to him.

[Ashen Lilies]

[---> Private Room]

The twi'lek follows, looking around at the room when they enter. As Dipsnig takes a seat, the twi'lek pulls a round device off of her belt, and places it in the air, where it quickly rotates, then flies off to a corner of the room. There's a light on the device, and a flicker in the air, and a full-sized hologram of a hutt wearing a flamboyant orange vest should appear in the middle of the room. Unlike most Star Wars holograms, the image of Attila is full-color instead of a monochrome blue, though the color is slightly washed out. The twi'lek leans against a wall.

"Ah hah!" Exclaims the Hutt boisterously as he appears. "Forgive me for not appearing in person. I thought sending Captain Vellia here would be more discreet." He gestures in the direction of the twi'lek leaning against the wall. "Good that we finally meet!"

[Morty]

[Private Room]

"Given the circumstances, discretion is only to be expected," Dipsnig says. He takes the appearance of a hologram in stride - he expected the Hutt to use such means of communication. "Our meeting, indirect as it is, is indeed fortunate. I believe we have much to offer each other."

[Artemis97]

A young woman takes a seat nearby, ordering a mug of... coffee, of all things. Her dark red locks trail down her back in a french braid, bangs shading her right eye slomewhat. With jade irises the freckled woman looks about the den, her lightly tanned skin clad in a backless black dress that shrouds most of her thighs and lets crimson stockings do the rest of the leg covering. White boots with black heels shield her feet, snow-white sash encircling the woman's waist.
If raril's nose is particularly good, he may catch the scent of blood upon her.

Raril's nose was indeed keen enough to pick up the scent of blood. He sniffs a bit, his red eyes soon honing in on the woman. Had she been fighting? Was she injured? Or was she a vampire? She was drinking coffee and not ichor, so the last was probably out. Strange, she seemed just fine.

The drowess guarding Raril wondered why he was staring at the human woman, then rolled her eyes, figuring he probably found her attractive in some way. Raril noticed this and shook his head at the guard then muttered a single word in drow. Blood.

That caught her attention and she tensed, dropping her hands to the swords on her belt. Raril held up a hand, signing something, and the guard relaxed, but only a little.

[Arkhosia]

Raril's nose was indeed keen enough to pick up the scent of blood. He sniffs a bit, his red eyes soon honing in on the woman. Had she been fighting? Was she injured? Or was she a vampire? She was drinking coffee and not ichor, so the last was probably out. Strange, she seemed just fine.

The drowess guarding Raril wondered why he was staring at the human woman, then rolled her eyes, figuring he probably found her attractive in some way. Raril noticed this and shook his head at the guard then muttered a single word in drow. Blood.

That caught her attention and she tensed, dropping her hands to the swords on her belt. Raril held up a hand, signing something, and the guard relaxed, but only a little.

The woman sips her coffee with relish, eyes and ears keenly surveying her surroundings. Her back straightens subtly as she catches the movement of the guard in the corner of her eye, wariness in her jade eyes.
As the woman crosses her legs and takes another sip of the caffeinated brew, Raril's wary gaze may detect the source of the smell: the patron's black right heel bears a shine to it.

[Artemis97]

Ah so that was it. She'd stepped in something. Or stepped on someone. Heels could do nasty things to a man. Raril shook the thought clear from his head and pushed himself up from the chair by the fire and walked over to the lady.

"Excuse me, Miss." Raril says, producing a clean hankerchief from his pocket and offering it to her. "I'm afraid you must have stepped in something unpleasant on the way here." And he'd just scrubbed the floors, too.

The drowess guard watches them both from where she stands, thinking the woman was observant, if a bit paranoid. She hoped she didn't react badly to Raril approaching her. She didn't want to defend him. Would be funny to see him get slapped, though.

[Arkhosia]

Ah so that was it. She'd stepped in something. Or stepped on someone. Heels could do nasty things to a man. Raril shook the thought clear from his head and pushed himself up from the chair by the fire and walked over to the lady.

"Excuse me, Miss." Raril says, producing a clean hankerchief from his pocket and offering it to her. "I'm afraid you must have stepped in something unpleasant on the way here." And he'd just scrubbed the floors, too.

The drowess guard watches them both from where she stands, thinking the woman was observant, if a bit paranoid. She hoped she didn't react badly to Raril approaching her. She didn't want to defend him. Would be funny to see him get slapped, though.

The woman flinches at the first few words startled by his approach. She raises an eyebrow at the offer. She glances at the heel of her boot, nodding
It appears I have. If you insist i use your hankerchief I shall, but if the liquid's from what i think it is, I don't think you want any of what's on my heel upon your hankerchief.
The woman coolly responds.

[Artemis97]

The drow shrugs. "It's only a bit of fabric. Though, if you would prefer, I could clean it up with a small spell?" He offers.

[Arkhosia]

The drow shrugs. "It's only a bit of fabric. Though, if you would prefer, I could clean it up with a small spell?" He offers.

The woman shakes her head, accepting the hankerchief.
It's not worth the effort to cast a spell.
She responds, the cloth soaking crimson as she dries the heel.

[Artemis97]

"It's only a cantrip. I can cast those all day." Raril explains casually.

"And yet you've been scrubbing all day long." Says the drowess behind him.

That gets a chuckle out of the male. "Yes, yes I have. Sorry, my name's Raril. I own the place." He introduces himself, offering the woman his hand.

[Arkhosia]

"It's only a cantrip. I can cast those all day." Raril explains casually.

"And yet you've been scrubbing all day long." Says the drowess behind him.

That gets a chuckle out of the male. "Yes, yes I have. Sorry, my name's Raril. I own the place." He introduces himself, offering the woman his hand.

The crimson-haired damsel shakes raril's hand, a small smile upon her lips.
I'm Linde. Nice to meet you.
She responds.

[Artemis97]

"Well met." Raril grins in a friendly fashion. "Sorry about disturbing you. Just thought you'd want to know. Enjoy the coffee." He says beginning to turn away.

[ThirdEmperor]

There is a tug on his leg, and a cough a little too long and involved to be called 'polite'. "Someone to see ya, sir. Keeps asking for our janitor." He snickers, nodding his head towards one of the discrete little doors along the far wall, the neat little private room beyond. "Little guy."

[Artemis97]

Raril chuckles at that. Janitor. Perfect. Wait until his sisters heard that one!

"Right, got some business to do. I'll be back." He says most pointedly to the guard that was following him. Raril shut the door in her face.

[Private Room]

Raril stopped just inside the door with a smile and asked, "Someone looking for a janitor?"

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room]

Well, there is quite a mess. The contents of a plate of ratbird sausage, runny eggs and copious puddling grease has been rather savagely mauled, the yolky viscera dripping off the beak of very small creature. He's.. Well, he might be a dragon, but he's very poor one. Polished as they are, his scales are only an unexciting sort of marble gray, the kind that heralds a very obscure kind of breath attack, and no terrible teeth has he. Instead, a bone white beak that stretches back across the top of his face to rise into a crest shot with veins of purple and gold.
Long-necked and perched upon only two legs, the little fellow could almost be a very ungainly sort of bird. But there's intelligence in the eyes, a certain predatory curve to the claws that sprout from the bend of his wings - a secondary set folded beneath the first, both leathery and batlike. He coughs conscientiously as Raril comes through the door, running a knuckleclaw across his beak to wipe up the worst of the mess, and scalding the talon clean with a little tongue of flame. "Yess, greetings.. You would be the proprietor as well as the maid, yes?"

[Artemis97]

[Private Room]

The drow bows with a flourish, "Raril Xar'Cha at your service. I'm the owner and, for now, grunt worker in this place." He takes a seat in an armchair and leans forward. "What can I do for you?"

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room]

"Oh yes, I noticed. It happens I have need for the latter." The wyrm pecks casually at bits of sausage, curled around the plate, flicking them high with a toss of his head and snapping them out of the air. His tail flicks, casually taking stock of this beer-splattered drow with his ridiculous bows. "I do hope your companion isn't listening, because I need you to smuggle me all sorts of things out of drow territory."

[Arkhosia]

"Well met." Raril grins in a friendly fashion. "Sorry about disturbing you. Just thought you'd want to know. Enjoy the coffee." He says beginning to turn away.

It's fine, and thanks.
The woman responds. amicable in tone.
Oh, one last thing. Is it rude of one to ask what clan they belong to?

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