[Nexus] The Black Dragon's Den XIV

[Recaiden]

"Do I understand that you're serious? The place on the maps are the ones changing?"
Telue actually scowls at that.
"I suppose I had best get going. Track down an arcane cartographer who can actually help me find places."

[CosmicHobbit]

Jack nods. "Sometimes it's random, sometimes it seems like the world likes confusing people."

He offers his hand for a handshake, saying, "Well, it was nice to meet you Telue. If you ever need my services, just ask around here or Trog's Tavern. Most people know me." Telue might be able to tell that Jack is exaggerating greatly when he says most people know him.

[Recaiden]

Telue shakes his hand, fairly weakly.
"I will remember that. Thank you, Jack."
Even if people don't know him, there can't be that many pumpkin-headed freelance guards around. Right? Right?

She stands, takes her purse in hand, and departs the Den at a slow walk.

[Ashen Lilies]

Cass steps in, slipping quietly through the door without much fanfare. The pale-skinned dark elf is wearing a simple, unpretentious outfit: dark shirt and trousers, soft boots, and a dark hood, with a small sword displayed prominently at a belt at her hip - bare, unsheathed steel gleaming dangerously in the dim light.

She pauses at the edge of the common room, taking in the atmosphere. She had been... avoiding this place, just a little bit. But regardless of how uncomfortable she might feel, she couldn't afford to stay away for too long. Any good mercenary needs connections - and the best way to keep a finger on the pulse of the underworld is to be right there in it.

She wanders over to the part of the room where games are being played, slipping a silver and some coppers to a waitress along the way and grabbing a black shadow and a shot of something noxious looking off her tray. She takes the shot, grimacing, tapping the empty glass down on a nearby table without looking at the owner, and skirts around the rowdier dice tables, taking her cocktail with her to the slightly less chaotic card games.
"Deal me in," she murmurs, in her usual hushed tone, glancing around the room, with an eye on the door. None of her usual contacts here tonight, but she recognizes a few faces from the underground mage mafia, and a pair of tome smugglers connected to Skyside that she can try and get talk to, later.

[Reinholdt]

Ilpholin walks in, heading straight to the bar and asking Blackeye about Raril. He's understandably hesitant at first because Ilpholin doesn't exactly look the way anyone would remember her. Her skin is so incredibly pale, but she doesn't look sickly. Rather it looks unearthly, as if she were almost glowing. Her waist length purple hair seems natural at first, but the observant and experienced bartender would note quickly that it is actually artificial. Mostly though, Ilpholin's eyes stand out, as the sclera have turned completely black and contrast greatly with the emerald around her pupils. At least her clothes look fairly normal for the nymph, wearing a practical and carefully fitted officer's uniform with no trappings to indicate any nation or cause.

Fortunately for Ilpholin, Blackeye is easily swayed by coin and the lack of any actual hostile intent for his employer.

[Artemis97]

Blackeye accepts the coin and walks over to the door next to the fireplace marked "Private." It's not one of the rooms for rent, rather Raril's office, where he does most of the bookkeeping, and occasionally lives out of. The goblin raps heavily on the doorframe, not the door itself, and calls out "Oy, Boss!"

Shuffling sounds come from inside, then footsteps, and finally the sounds of locks being turned before the door is opened. Raril stands there, looking a bit drawn. He's dressed for adventuring, in muted greys and blacks. His signature hat is missing, replaces with a simple bandana. His usual assortment of weapons, and the leather belt they hang from are missing. At his throat, is an ornate symbol of House Xar'Cha, the golden spider sitting on its sapphire web, bright metal clashing with the subdued colors of the rest of his outfit.

The drow gives Blackeye a questioning look, and the Goblin hooks a thumb over his shoulder, indicating Ilpholin.

Raril looks up and is surprised. Last he'd seen her, his daughter had rejected her Nymph heritage and was living as a drowess. Now he sees that's been reversed, maybe with the help of the amulet he had given her? "Ilpholin! You... You're practically glowing!" The drow tilts his head, though, noticing the small details that weren't quite right, still, he was smiling. "To what do I owe the pleasure of your company?"

[Reinholdt]

Ilpholin allows herself a subdued smile. After everything, it was relieving to see Raril still here, unharmed and away from the looming threats. Perhaps even reconciling with the family to some degree, depending on the purpose of his jewelry. Mostly it was just good to see him again. She probably could never thank him enough for the amulet he gave her. But maybe today she could try.

"Haha. Am I? That's funny." The nymph's smile turns briefly into a smirk, a trait she inherited more from her mother than her father. It fades quickly though as she starts casting suspicious, even openly hostile glances around at the patrons of the bar. The demonic threat could be anywhere and she had to remain ever vigilant. Ilpholin couldn't afford to let those filth find out. "Well I suppose a lot has happened. I kind of wanted to catch up really. And I bring news. Uh, for your ears alone."

[Artemis97]

A flash of concern crosses Raril's face. Was his daughter being followed? He checks the room himself and doesn't see anyone too out of sort, well, not for this crowd anyway. He steps back from the door and beckons Ilpholin to come inside his office. "We can talk in here."

Inside, a heavy desk was laden with paperwork. What wasn't numbers had notes in drow script and goblin. Order-forms existed in various languages, one even in Abyssal. Some of those specialty ingredients had to come from somewhere. One corner of the desk held a tray with a decanter and some tumblers on it. Ilpholin might recognize the liquor as Cormyrian Fireamber, a favorite of her father's. Indeed, a glass of the stuff sat unfinished on the floor next to the old couch that had been shoved to one side of the room. A lumpy pillow sat at one end of the couch, and a fine Drow Piwafwi cloak was haphazardly thrown across the back. In the corner behind the couch, Raril's weapons and hat hung on a coat rack, beside his Namean lion fur coat. In the other corner, an odd bit of decoration, a small potted tree that looked to bear many different kinds of miniature fruits. A gift from his wife, back when she ran a pet shop and used her magic to create and shape life.

Once Ilpholin entered, Raril shuts the door behind her and waves his hand in a pattern over it. Ilpholin might feel the tiniest spark of magic in the air for a moment as a trap sets itself. The drow gestures for her to take a seat, either in one of the chairs in front of the desk or on the couch if she liked. He takes the seat behind the desk, a cozy armchair, picking up his half-finished drink along the way. He downs the glass in one swallow and sets it on the tray. There's a tiny ting and the last of the alcohol in the glass is cleaned away, and it's left shining and new. Raril shuffles through the papers on his desk, producing what looked like a paperweight made of pink quartz. He tapped it twice and a slight humming filled the room.

"Alright, we can speak privately. Though I honestly can't guarantee Danube won't be scrying on this." Raril says tugging at the jeweled collar on his neck. "What is it you've come to tell me?"

[Reinholdt]

[Raril's Office]

Ilpholin follows her father inside, taking a good deal of time just looking around as Raril goes through his various security measures. She found herself briefly wishing she could take a drink as well, but forces herself to abstain. Not that the filters in her body would let her get tipsy anyways.

The nymph takes a seat in the chair across the desk and fiddles with her hair nervously as she considers Raril's warning about Danube. There was a lot the drow had to answer for, particularly with the Draegloth, but Danube isn't a sell-out, she's a manipulator. Anything she could learn here, she'd seek to leverage, not expose. The secret itself can't last long, so there wasn't much to lose if Danube was scrying on them. As far as Ilpholin could figure.

"That's fine." She says, regarding Danube as she continues to hesitate and stall.

Something she dislikes, so Ilpholin takes a deep breath and looks Raril in the eyes. "I'm pregnant."

[CosmicHobbit]

Oliver enters the Den and immediately looks around the room for that investigator who hired him.

[Artemis97]

[Raril's Office]

Raril's eyes go wide in suprise. So he wasn't imagining that glowy skin of hers. His face breaks into a smile. "Congratulations my dear." He says warmly. Then his mind starts racing and a frown forms. "This is reason to celebrate, yes?" In Menzoberranzan, a birth was always a good thing, a source of power and prestige for the mother. On the Surface, though, in the Nexus... it wasn't always so.

[Reinholdt]

[Raril's Office]

Ilpholin smiles and nods to him. "Yes. It was by my choice and no less. I truly think the child will bring great glory to the Xar'cha family some day." Though Ilpholin is still suffering from first baby nervousness syndrome. But maybe that's just the hunger.

"I just felt you deserved to know before it came to term." A surprise grandchild a few months or years down the line is too jarring.

[Artemis97]

[Raril's Office]

Raril isn't sure what he thinks about bringing glory to the family name. He certainly didn't do that. Maybe that was for Danube's benefit, if she was listening in. Inwardly, the drow sighed. If his sister got her hooks in this new baby somehow, that would be even more hold over him than she already had.

Still, Raril chuckled. "I'm going to be a grandfather. I wasn't sure I'd ever live to see that."

[Reinholdt]

Raril's Office

Ilpholin always personally thought Raril brought honor to his name with a thriving, hardy business and popular recognition. But she also idolizes him a little bit.

"Heh. Well, to be fair, neither did I. I nearly didn't live that long even. As you can probably tell." Ilpholin runs a finger along the back of her hand, feeling the somewhat synthetic skin. "It's a large reason why I made the decision to have a child. I might not have had the chance if I waited any longer."

[Artemis97]

[Raril's Office]

The elder drow looks concerned. "What happened? Your hair, it's a wig? You had such beautiful hair..." Raril frowns. He knew the pride women took in their appearance, especially their hair, and Ilpholin's had been very long and uniquely colored. Now it was... artificial, in some way. Was she ill? Had someone shaved it?

[Reinholdt]

Raril's Office

Ilpholin looks at Raril shocked and for a moment, bursts out laughing. "A wig?! Oh heavens no. It's an upgrade." Some of her hair starts to twist and writhe, stretching out and wrapping around the empty glass Raril put down earlier, lifting it off the desk. The whole of her hair also starts to shift colors, fading to a sandy blonde before growing to a bright red.

"The demons almost killed me when they invaded Riverside. I... played a gambit to take down their capital ship and it didn't pay off. A Phyrexian rescued me though and cured my injuries and then some. I've never felt more complete."

[Artemis97]

[Raril's Office]

Raril blinks in surprise. "Oh! Oh wow... That's something alright!" He declares. "Demons huh? I heard a bit about that, but what can you tell me?"

[Reinholdt]

[Raril's Office]

Ilpholin puts the cup back down and her hair turns back to its preferred purple. Her face becomes exceptionally dark and full of hatred and spite. "They're a blight. We need to come together and eradicate them thoroughly and forever. Or by myself if I have to. Most of them are vulnerable to silver and you're in deep trouble without any. Regardless, they invaded Riverside to steal a flying castle. Brought along golems three stories high and on fire. They've teamed up with AMEN as well."

[Artemis97]

[Raril's Office]

Raril stares a bit blankly. Three story flaming golems? how do you even begin to fight that? Nevermind the host of problems demons cause on their own. and then AMEN was in the picture? It was a bad recipe all around.

"I'm sorry." He says finally. "That sounds... pretty insurmountable." Ilpholin was getting angry talking about this. He decides to change the subject.

"Ah, so...Can I ask who the father is?"

[Reinholdt]

[Raril's Office]

She definitely has a hatred for the demons above and beyond what one would imagine from just this incident. "Well it was a good benchmark for understanding my old limitations at least." Ilpholin lived and learned.

The phyrexian nymph takes a breath and leans back. "Oh. You probably have never heard of him. The King in Rags. He's an ancient fey lord of a long crumbled empire. Ugly, but good in bed. And powerful. Very powerful."

[Artemis97]

[Raril's Office]

"A Fey King? That's...good catch" Raril says nodding. "Sounds like he'll be able to protect you and your child." From Danube at least. He wasn't sure about those demons. The Fey would probably protect the baby, at least, if not Ilpholin too, as long as it needed her. "Fey can be tricky sometimes, though. Did you make some sort of deal with him?"

[Reinholdt]

[Raril's Office]

Ilpholin smiles, glad for Raril's approval. "I don't know if he's at all interested in protecting the child, but I would hate to be the one to test that theory." Vengeful fey lords are quite terrifying.

She nods as well. "I did. He wanted me to do something for him and I made the baby my price." She pauses for a moment before realizing Raril's concern. "Oh nothing terrible. I didn't give him any memories or emotions or anything weird like that. It was simply a diplomatic issue involving an old subject of his who didn't want to be as loyal as he wanted. Contract work, the type you might pick up here or at MERC."

[Artemis97]

[Raril's Office]

So it was Ilpholin who wanted the baby from the Fey lord, not the other way around. Interesting. And for some simple intimidation, or possibly assassination?

Raril looks impressed. He smiles. "I'm proud of you."

[Reinholdt]

[Raril's Office]

"Th-thanks." Ilpholin says, glancing away in a surprised fluster and lightly blushing.

"Anyways, I go see the doctor later and I'll keep you apprised of the due date. I'm not really sure when myself since my physiology is... different from the other drow. But I'll find out soon enough." She rubs an arm with one hand feeling suddenly tired. A subtle yawn probably gives it away too.

"Enough about me. How have you been?"

[Artemis97]

[Raril's Office]

The old Drow smiles at his daughter. She'd cared enough to bring him into the fold on this. She'd obviously distance herself from the family too, making her own way. She was a Nymph again, at the very least. Could he be honest with her?

Raril picks up a glass from the tray and fills it from the decanter. He settles back in his chair and sighs, suddenly looking very tired. The drow takes a sip from his drink before speaking. "There's another threat to the Nexus. This one aimed at its very heart and soul. Otherworldly beings are fighting for our plane. Fey, Empyreals. Creatures made from the stuff of imagination and the stuff of true hard reality, respectively. They want to split this place apart, use it to fuel their games. I'm working with a few keyblade wielders, and Magtok, to find the heart of the Nexus. They're uniquely suited for the task, it seems. As for Magtok, he's been here even longer than I have. He knows things. I... I don't know what'll happen if we're not successful. Things are going to get worse before they get better, I think. These games... they're attracting some powerful players like..." He stops, his breath catching. "Like Zee." He finally says, before knocking back the entire contents of his glass in one quick swallow.

[Reinholdt]

[Raril's Office]

Ilpholin stares at Raril for a while with raised eyebrow. "You sound like a wizard, prophesying the end times and sending the chosen one on their quest." Well... It didn't sound any less crazy than what she was describing moments ago with fey lords, demons, and phyrexians, so she can't tease him too much.

Plus Raril was talking about Zee more than all the rest in there. Ilpholin could tell. "What'll you do if you find her?" She asks somberly.

[Artemis97]

[Raril's Office]

"Oh, she's back actually." Raril says. "Except, it's not her anymore. It's her personality, her memories, but...her soul is gone. This otherworldly thing is wearing her face like a mask. My wife is dead." He finally admits, his voice cracking.

[Reinholdt]

[Raril's Office]

"I... I see." Ilpholin says quietly. She's not entirely sure how to respond. But she roughly knows what she wishes someone would have done when Darcy had been ripped from her.

Slowly Ilpholin stands up and walks around the desk to give Raril a tight hug.

[Recaiden]

Oliver enters the Den and immediately looks around the room for that investigator who hired him.

The detective can be found in a dark corner, looking rather worse for wear.
His face is bruised, his hat is gone to make way for bandages, and his trenchcoat had a few new cuts in it.
There is a large flagon on the table in front of him.
"How'd it go?"

[CosmicHobbit]

Oliver drops the puppets on the table, then pulls the flash drive out of his pocket. "Managed to get these weird puppets whose eyes followed me, as well as this flash drive which has a copy of everything I found on a computer." Oliver's face shows concern for the detective's injuries, as he occasionally glances at them, but he doesn't say anything.