A True Work of Art. (Open)

[Seidaku]

"Oh, ah, Seidaku," he said, shaking Rafaelle's calloused hand in one that was noticeably less so.

"It might not be as, ah, ideal as a patron," he said as the artist trailed off, "But merchants in the, umm, the Bizarre will pay well for, umm, Alvadan works for trade."

It was then that he noticed that they were no longer alone, or as close as the term could have been applied on the crowded streets. The man now inspecting the painting was as bedraggled a fellow as he had ever seen. Even more curious was his speech. There was something familiar about it. The man spoke slowly, with strangely clipped and harsh consonants.

Then there was the fact that he had distinctly heard two words that were not Common. Vasat? Dayk? No, not dayk... Daek. He had dipped into the Old Tongue. Most curious.

His attention stolen from the painting, he tilted his head quizically to inspect the ragged looking old man. Like everything else in the city he called home, it appeared that reality was more than met the eye.