[Nexus] The Black Dragon's Den XIII

[Orm-Embar]

Bo sees the private room's door slam shut and looks at the drowess with not just one, but both eyebrows raised. To be so unceremoniously separated from her prisoner - ! Or whatever Raril is to her. He looks mildly amused, but then he looks like that most of the time.

[Artemis97]

Clearly grumpy, the guard leans on the wall next to the door to the private room. "Lord Raril Xar'Cha is the eldest living son of House Xabaresh Chaeron." She explains a bit tiredly. Shouldn't people know that already?

[Private Room]

"Scry blocked." Raril says, leaning back to tap on the wall behind him. "And that sounds like something fun to do under my sister's nose. "

[Arkhosia]

Clearly grumpy, the guard leans on the wall next to the door to the private room. "Lord Raril Xar'Cha is the eldest living son of House Xabaresh Chaeron." She explains a bit tiredly. Shouldn't people know that already?

apologies for my lack of knowledge, I've not yet learned of the drow houses and society within the Nexus.
Responds the coffeeholic, sipping her cup shortly afterwards.

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room]

"Good." He nods his head to the booth alongside the table, to the crisp white envelope waiting. "I can make that nose a little farther away. There's a concoction in there I made, and on the envelope, a little spell. It'll go poof into whatever sealed bottle she drinks out of. Very discrete."

[Orm-Embar]

A slight shimmer distorts the air around the human's eyes and ears, as his senses are enhanced for sight and hearing. Apparently he's enough of a newcomer to be interested in the drow warrior's story as well.

[Artemis97]

"House Xar'Cha is the most powerful House in the Nexus." The guard explains. "They rule with a firm but kind hand over Delmah Phor."

[Private Room]

Raril gets up to examine the envelope. "And this spell does what exactly?"

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room]

It rustles faintly, powder sliding inside with the tilt of his hand. "The spell does what I said. What's inside is love potion, very subtle, works quick. Seeing as she's still a problem, it figured we could skip trying poisons. This will keep her reporting." The wyrm shrugs his wings. "Jusst leaving a few things out on your behalf."

[Artemis97]

[Private Room]

A queer look crosses the drow's face. "Are you suggesting I use a love potion on my sister?" He couldn't possibly be suggesting that. Right?

[Arkhosia]

"House Xar'Cha is the most powerful House in the Nexus." The guard explains. "They rule with a firm but kind hand over Delmah Phor."

[Private Room]

Raril gets up to examine the envelope. "And this spell does what exactly?"

Linde thinks for a moment.
I think I'll look into learning more about the city soon. Unless, of course, you're willing to share.

((Btw, i have a little idea for a drow intrigue plot if you're interested))

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room]

"No, your guard." Sighs the scaly fellow, his staring yellow eyes rolling with exasperation. "It's a chaste love draught, I might add. You are simply going to be absolutely her favorite person ever."

[Artemis97]

"Fine." The drowess sighs. "What do you want to know?"

[Private Room]

Raril laughs, loud and long, leaning on the table for support as he catches his breath. "Woo... ok, good that's... sorry, heh, that was some misunderstanding. Right, my ladyfriend out there will have to drink something at some point, provided she doesn't resist the spell. That'll buy us a day or two tops. Maybe more if she's smart, before she gets replaced." The drow explains. "Because she's reporting directly to my sister, and if anything seems off, I'm back to square one."

((that might be neat, Arkh, discuss it in the OOC thread?))

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room]

The dragon does offer an indulgent chuckle, but when Raril regains himself, he'll find those bright eyes waiting expectantly. Patiently. "More, I'd pride myself." He really would, from the little swell of breath in his chest as he explains. "That's precisely why I chose this method, simply making her complaint would make her noticeably dumb. With any luck this one was chosen for being bright."
"I can offer more satisfactory freedoms later, when this business is underway. Until then, what I can give you is a stipend of favors and small miracles to round up whatever help you'll need. Gold, only if absolutely necessary."

[Artemis97]

[Private Room]

"Alright, I'm interested." Raril admits, returning to his seat. "Don't worry about gold. I've got plenty to last me. Small miracles, though, I could use some of those. So, if you don't mind me asking, what exactly are you smuggling? I don't trade in people anymore." It was a life the drow had left behind long ago.

[Ashen Lilies]

[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."

[Private Room]

"Indeed!" Says the Hutt, chuckling a little. "I always appreciate new chances for business. My current pickings grow quite stale..."

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room]

"Alchemical ingredients, especially those related to all those interesting poisons your people hoard beneath the earth. I hope you haven't left those behind." The last of the breakfast vanishes from the plate, the dragon fastidiously polishing his claws against a napkin. "I'll provide the full list later."

[Artemis97]

[Private Room 2]

"What route do you want to take?" Raril asks. "And how much risk do you want? I could probably arrange to smuggle it right through Delmah Phor's Underdark gate. I've also got a tunnel leading to Underside right down in the basement here. In Delmah Phor there's more risk of being caught, but less connection to you or I. Here, the opposite would be true. I'd be putting a lot at risk, personally, but your delivery boys will be less likely to be... how do I put this... in trouble with customs? Though if I can persuade the Matron in charge of the custom house to look the other way, you could move a lot with very little trouble at all."

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room 2]

"One way or another." He remarks calmly, supremely unhelpful as he scans the plate for surviving nibbles. "You ought to decide, if you're the one putting your cozy little bar at stake. As for delivery boys, I will be leaving that to you, save for their compensation, of coursse. Magic and bribery, I will provide."

[Arkhosia]

"Fine." The drowess sighs. "What do you want to know?"
((that might be neat, Arkh, discuss it in the OOC thread?))

((Sure, sounds good!))

Just a summary of the city and its houses, really.
Linde sips the brew she so loves, jade eyes shining with interest and calculation. She had to learn how to read people in order to survive, and it's become almost subconscious by this point.

[Artemis97]

The guard begins an overview of the political situation in Delmah Phor, the drow enclave within Inside, the main city of the Nexus. House Xar'Cha was on top, of course, with several houses serving, or claiming to serve, her. The guard herself was from one of those minor houses. Most came from Menzoberranzan, in the underdark of Faerun, but there were other drow houses from other worlds, and some rooted in the Nexus itself. Relations between those families and the 'native' drow was uneasy, but trust, such as it was, was slowly being built. Trust too, had been built between Delmah Phor and the city of Inside. House Xar'Cha and others provided soldiers to patrol the streets and bolster the numbers of the local police force.

[Private Room]

"I'll try with the matron first, see where we get. You can move a lot more product that way. If that fails, we'll pull things through here. I'll need a little time for this, though. Say a week? Do you want to contact me again, then, or is there somewhere I can reach you?"

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room]

"A week will do fine. I will have you the full list then, and any small details besides. The point of delivery included." He pushes the plate away, business concluded, and rises to stretch out his wings. "Is this room proofed for teleportation too, or can I leave that way?"

[Artemis97]

[Private Room]

"Oh no, pop in and out as you like." Raril told him. "Before you go, could I ask a favor, however? My wife, I haven't seen her since... all this stuff happened with my family. Can you tell her I'm not hurt? That I'm allowed to be here now, at the Den." The drow's shoulders sagged, and his expression grew sad, desperate. "I mean... if it's not too much trouble."

[ThirdEmperor]

[Private Room]

"I will do my best." He even tries for a conciliatory note, but it's an awkward attempt, full of sympathetic embarrassment for the rapidly collapsing man in front him. There is a twist of smoke from around the dragon's legs, rising higher and thicker as fire glimmers in his scales.
In moments, blue-white fire has overcome the little dragon's shape, a searing shadow in the smog. And then he's gone.

[Morty]

[Private Room - MERC]

"Indeed!" Says the Hutt, chuckling a little. "I always appreciate new chances for business. My current pickings grow quite stale..."

"So have mine," Dipsnig admits. "Well, of course we have a constant, steady stream of revenue from the licenses, now. But I wouldn't be where I am now if I was willing to go complacent with it. Which brings us to my plans for Skyside. As I understand it, you're willing to help with those... discreetly."

[Orm-Embar]

Interesting. The sorceror folds up his spells and puts them away discreetly, scatters a few coins on the bar, then stands and walks out like a man with an appointment somewhere else.

[Artemis97]

Raril picks up the envelope and tucks it into a hidden pocket in his shirt. He then cleans up the plates left behind by the dragon's breakfast and exits the room.

"It was a mess in there." Raril declares, grinning at the guard as he glides past to put the dirt plates in a bus bin behind the bar. That done, he quickly washes up, before returning to his seat by the fire.

[Murkus]

((Closed scene))

Everything has a soul. The Den has a soul, its walls, the bar, the bottles tucked behind. To each object, to each individual thing, there is a will and a mind. A small one, maybe, or a quiet one, but it is there beyond any shadow of a doubt.

This is a beautiful thing to know, and a knowledge shared by a special few. There are some who do not know it so much as they feel it, sense it with an instinct so deep and primal that the spirits can be seduced to their will.

One such person is the lady Zillia, who sits here on this night in a circle of ruffians, chittering bug-faced gangsters, and shadow-squatting monsters of every stripe. She is almost shoulder to shoulder with the very worst the Den and the ghettos of Inside have to offer, and she is handing their asses to them as hats. If one had knowledge, if one understood spirits, these undesirables might accuse her of... cavorting with their deck of cards. The kami - the spirit - inside is an easily coerced one, they'd say, and she's a dirty cheat.

As it stands, she lays out another handful of aces, and the entire table shrivels in a chorus of disbelieving groans and whines.

"Looks like I've won again!" She says, without a trace of smugness on her tongue. "You darlings could use more practice."

There is a moment of rather hilarious silence. Then the table erupts.

"Listen, lady, you--"
"I'm gonna--"
"Woman, you dare--"

"Which is why you can have it all back," Zillia says, holding up her right forefinger. "As charity. For the less fortunate." She winks at the table, and pushes one dainty wrist into the castle of gold before her. The stacks of money fall down and splash out over the table with a sound that could set a tax-collector drooling.

The men look at eachother. As Zillia stands up to take her leave, the table explodes again, though this time with threats, arguments, and demands for a fresh game.

Zillia makes a beeline for the bar, swaying gently on her feet. She stands about four foot nine, delicate, with vivacious curves that fill out her toga-esque a bit too eagerly. The thin garment is cut and tailored with diamond-shaped holes in a number of places, skin on the pale side of fair showing through each window. A skinny neck is the mount and swivel for a very slight jaw, a shapely mouth, eyes of blue. A blush is upon her cheeks, one not born of just excitement from the game. Hair of autumn red erupts from her head and cascades down over her ears like a lava flow, a twin curly lock falling onto either shoulder. The rest is bound up in a sort of giant tail, tied off in seven-inch sections as it tumbles down the middle of Zillia's back.

Zillia purses her lips and rattles her finger on the bar counter, scanning the menu with easy indecision.

[UncleWolf]

At the bar

"Try the Hearth Brew Mead." A man says from next to Zillia with a bit of a smile as he drinks his own. "It's perfect for those who don't mind making fools of ruffians and can look as sweet as you do while doing so." He adds with a grin. Should she look, she'll find a fairly tall man seated next to her, perhaps six foot or a little less in height but broad shouldered and dressed rather neatly in a rather utilitarian dark blue polo shirt and khaki pants. He wears plastic framed glasses and despite the odd red-orange and brown short hair on the top of his head, he sports a bit of salt and pepper scruff on his cheeks and chin, having not shaved for a few days. Overall he looks nice and rugged despite his attire and his amused smile might put her at ease. If she's particularly observant she'll see that he has a nice looking leather banded watch on his left wrist as well as a wedding band.

[Murkus]

At the bar!

Zillia looks at the strange man, her mind a million miles away. Then she does a rather abrupt double take, glancing between her admirer and the menu before settling on him. "Oh! Oh, my, you're trying to flirt with me aren't you?! Let me see if I remember how to do this..."

The strange old nymph looks this man up and down. My, they certainly make these mortals large. He's taller than she when sitting, even if it is on a stool. He wears some very nice shiny things. He's...

"You're very handsome," she starts. One of her curved eyebrows arches. "No, I suppose I don't remember how to flirt at all. But that was very nice of you to say." Zillia smiles. Men have fought wars over lesser displays of teeth.

[UncleWolf]

At the Bar

The man can't help but laugh a bit and he grins at the pretty woman. "It's perfectly fine. I've been out of the game a while myself." He admits before turning on the stool to offer her his hand. "It's a pleasure to meet you. Call me Max." he says. She'll notice that he wears a white leather glove on his right hand for some reason. "And thank you, you're quite beautiful yourself." He adds, his bright blue eyes looking her over closely, practically undressing her with his gaze before he looks up at her eyes again. "So is this all you do in your evenings? Making fun of poker players?"

[Murkus]

At the Bar!

"Max. I am Zillia," says the spirit-creature, extending her hand to fold in his. Her grip is almost electric, live with magic. Her handshake is stiff and heavy on the shake, making her dress shift. The thin garment looks like it would be incredibly easy to peel off, though Max's hungry eyes don't quite seem to manage. "Oh, no, not at all! I am utterly in love with your city, darling. Mortals give me such nice things, play games with me, buy me drinks... Why, what is it you do?" She's sure she's been missing out on lots of things.