Closed Spinning A Gilded Web (Aldus)

[Riken Avadur]

7th of Winter, 513 AV Orchid Street, Syliras. Riken took sincere pleasure in his work, despite what little reputation he may have. He had not been in Syliras for terribly long, but since his arrival he had done his best to cement a foundation with the merchants and business-owners of the citadel. Exchanging favors and information, he pressed his rewards into further connections, expanding his reach. Living in near-squalor was of no concern to the Sunberthan, but even that phase soon passed. Now, while still not as renowned as he'd like, Riken is an easily found fellow, with a solid backing to his name. In fact, few have the privilege of knowing his true name, and those that do have firmly earned the man's trust. For all of the others he is known as Ouroboros, an homage to the man who created the monster Riken symbolizes. Anyone interested in more 'obscure' information, whether benign or otherwise, is told to seek out the 'Twisted Snake.' Having no office to speak of, Riken holds a different meeting spot each week, and leaves a note at each of the major taverns and marketplaces, advising them of his locale. Attached is a small donation to their business, as a way of thanks, as well as the trustworthy promise of his continued and dedicated patronage. This particular week the note reads 'The Twisted Snake resides beside the maiden of roses before the sun makes it's escape.' Always a somewhat poetic fellow, Riken preferred having a small amount of fun with his games. Still, having his meetings move from place to place was always a preferred situation, and the florist usually made for pleasant conversation. As for the man reading this note, the path should have been somewhat clear, and all that was left was to let his feet carry him to the stranger who held many secrets. Meanwhile, Riken had just returned from a mundane stroll around the Grand Bazaar, with little to no result. His plain leather attire was as non-descript as could be possible, After stopping to make small talk with Atta, the most genial old lady in Syliras, it seemed Riken's 'office' had been just as productive. Resigning himself to the usual waiting game, the man sipped water from his pack as he discussed poetry in the brisk winter air, smiling politely as they conversed. Riken stood with a hand in his coat pocket, a coin being flipped between his fingers as he chatted. Thinking on his leads, and tasks, and ploys, the man did not expect much out of this day, dwindling away into the evening. But the very moment Riken heard the footsteps approach, the coin was caught in his palm, and his posture shifted to face the potential customer, either for Atta or himself...

[Aldus Beaumont]

* "The Twisted Snake resides beside the maiden of roses before the sun makes its escape...The thief had committed the phrase to memory, the desire for a more worthwhile score calling to him like the sweet song of a female bard. Years of living in the city, and all he had to show for it was a pile of mizas filched by common means. Pilfered from unwary patrons at the tavern, pick pocketed from the coin purse of shopping civilians on the overflowing streets of Syliras, and and, his personal favourite, swindled by wordplay. It was usually a long shot for him to earn anything doing this, but occasionally he would don his spare attire and pose as the homeless, coaxing coins from the rich out of sympathy. The rush of misdirection had, more than once, steered him from gaining employment in the city, which was why, until recently, all leads and possibilities had ultimately been fruitless endeavors. Aldus was far too invested in his own diversion than in the security and monotony of finding a job. Of course, to be a bard would erase this monotony completely, but he decided not to dwell on the point. Rather, he would allow a laugh to escape his lips, his posture righting itself as a grin etched upon his chiseled features. Excitement gradually worked itself beyond the simple expression, Aldus' steps becoming longer, strides quickly weaving him through the everflow of Syliras foot traffic and towards his destination. The thief found it to be odd that an enigmatic source would choose such a common, public place to meet, and before nightfall, no less, but ultimately, that settled any doubts he would have had of this being a setup. Pragmatic as he was, Aldus decided to work through his doubts logically. The being, for the thief knew not if it were human, wove his location through code, he chose a place hidden within plain sight, and he kept his identity under guise, communicating only behind a shroud. It sounded legitimate, in the underworld sense. Eyes of dark chocolate would cast their gaze about the streets until he found the shop detailed in the code, a bright smile cast at the elderly florist before he carved his path through the place, searching carefully for signs of... Ouroboros. It seemed like such a silly name, the history of the marking after which the contact took his name nothing but a droll. Aldus preferred to keep his attention on more practical matters, leaving the loftier heights of intellectual and historic pursuits to the scholars and mages who took to it to live their lives within the pages of a book. Not that Aldus would ever consider himself to be an idiot, or one who undervalued the pursuit of a skill, but Aldus saw not the virtue of isolating oneself from the world and obsessively pandering one's bloated desire for personal power or prestige. The thief preferred a life among the people, speaking to them, taking from them, watching the nuances of everyday life, the complexities of a world that only one of social acumen could comprehend. The flow of mizas, rather than the flow of... Djed, was it? The lore of the land, not of the spell. It seemed utterly pointless to push into a power that could endanger one's life when there were other, far more intriguing ways to endanger one's existence. The cold edge of a blade, the sheer face of a cliff, the bitter cold of winter. All were much preferable ends to that of the self-destruction the pursuit of the loftier range wreaked upon the practitioner. Shaking his head to clear it of thoughts unrelated to the matter at hand. "Ouroboros." he'd mutter, quietly enough that the doddering florist could not hear him.

[Riken Avadur]

Riken held a vivid flower in his hand as a whisper touched his ears. Ouroboros. Every time he heard the name, something stirred within him, and such was the it's purpose. A memory forever repressed, but constantly disturbed. Spinning the stem between his fingers, coins gently slid across the wooden counter as the man smiled to the soft-mannered woman. His other hand tensed beneath his cloak, his mind always awaiting the day that the man speaking his pseudonym would be less than friendly about the event. As he turned to face this new acquaintance, Riken was at the very least pleased that the day would not be as uneventful as expected. As soon as his eyes made contact with the man, they were already put to work. Riken's mind gathered what it could from such a cursory examination, and created a mold for the stranger to fit within as Riken's words stalled. His pitch of his voice was raised artificially by the small device fitted within the back of his throat, another precaution in his profession. He had long since gotten used to the strange feeling of speaking with a voice that was not his own, and what came out of his mouth sounded perfectly natural to a stranger who had never met the man before. "The one and only, as far as I know. And I pride myself on knowing more than most... Who do I have the pleasure of speaking to on this fine evening?" Taller than Riken by a decent margin, the client stood firm and straight, a note despite the obscurity of his coat. The true mark was the deliberate arc of his neck, a piece of body language usually uncovered, and easily observed. His features were sharp, but not offensively so, and there was an obvious aura of confidence and congeniality to the man. But there was something missing, a chink in the armor that Riken could not place, and it annoyed the agent's mind ever so. Forcing his line of thought back onto the work ahead of him however, Riken let the sensation pass as he continued speaking, returning to the task at hand. "And more importantly, How may I be of service?"

[Aldus Beaumont]

* Several things would strike the young thief as odd as the one called Ouroboros was presented to him. First was what seemed to be jumpiness. One accustomed to the life of an underworld agent, at least in Aldus' mind, should be more confident, or at the least, calm. The next was the man's voice. Higher and sharper than what seemed to be natural, Aldus scrunched his eyebrows in annoyance, a hand rising to rub his temple as he took a step forward. The third was how small the man was. Not that it mattered in the slightest, but the accumulation of oddities were at the least, slightly offsetting. For a moment, Aldus would forget the objective that he had come to the place for in the first place, his train of thought lost. When the second question was posed, Aldus would return to reality, a soft cough escaping his lips to clear his throat before he replied, "How wonderful. I've come to the right man, then. My name is Aldus." While it did occur to Aldus to use a false name, he decided against it. Firstly, it seemed unnecessary, seeing as he was an unknown in the city of Syliras, and furthermore, definitely a stranger to this fellow in particular. Besides, in a big city, a first name meant little, as there was a strong likelihood that there'd be one or more persons sharing the name. And even if that wasn't the case, it mattered little. "You pride yourself in knowing more than most? Well, I've been itching for a worthwhile score for quite a while. Not so much because I need the income immediately, but because... I don't see the fun in filching things off the selling surface of a stall. And sure, picking pockets is a rush, but I want a... challenge. That's the word." The monotony of city life would be maddening without a way of releasing the pent-up stress that was the constant... consistency of happenings. Bards always told their tales, something Aldus loved and relied on for diversion, people came and went, moved and sat. Life went on, but the buzz of excitement was lost along the way. For Aldus, it seemed that only the rush of misdirection and thievery could scratch the itch that plagued him so. "Life isn't worth living if limits aren't pushed, right?" Aldus added this with a laugh, a hand reaching into his coat pocket as he fished a miza from inside. Clasping it in his palm, he flashed a grin at the man called Ouroboros, curious to see his reaction.