Closed [Job]Petching Rufus! Get Your Act Together!

[Vann]

36th Day of Spring, 514 AV

Sunberth was a city that truly came alive after the sun went down. Dark figures stalked shadowed alleys, whores plied their pleasurable trade in dens of ecstasy, and the desperate partook in every drink, drug or sin at their disposal in their attempts to escape reality in a haze of ignorant merriment. Lives were ended, children were conceived, and life in Sunberth went on as it always did. The Drunken fish was busy this night, as it was most nights, and the usual mix of sailors, pirates and seaside ruffians graced it with their presence. A lone figure, dressed in black, sat hunched over the bar. Emerged in the sea of activity that stirred around him, yet somehow not swept away, the man was an irregularity.

Vann had retreated from his floundering attempts at magic. Five days. Five days spent struggling. Five days spent trying to interpret the wisdom of a madman. Five days spent staring at furniture, looking for signs of something Vann wasn't even sure existed. Nothing. Absolutely nothing.
Petch it all!
Vann found some solace in the taproom; the familiar atmosphere of the large space lightened his sour mood somewhat. He had been neglecting the place, absorbed in his pathetic excuse for practice. An occasional meal here, the odd drink of water there... In his haste to achieve results, Vann had shut himself off. Five days. Five days of missed rumours and lost opportunities.
I'm a special kind of stupid.
Ale helped, and Vann drained the lingering contents of his most recent mug. He was not so depressed as to drown himself in the drink... well, he was, but an evening spent drunk was an evening not remembered, and Vann was determined not to waste another night.

Vann's purpose in The Drunken Fish extended beyond self-pity and frustration. The storyteller closed his eyes and concentrated on the buzz of conversation that clotted the room. It was a method of intelligence gathering that partially required good technique, but ultimately depended on a stroke of luck. He heard more of the same; snippets mostly, but the words "Svefra" and "Laviku" were repeated often enough, albeit in a variety of slurred dialects, to garner suspicion.
Well, clearly something's happened.
The smallest of scowls momentarily touched his lips. The trend in conversation served as a harsh reminder that Vann had been missing out on a few things. With a slight flick of his wrist, he tilted his mug... still empty. Vann turned in his stool to search for Father Manowar in the crowd. The generously proportioned man was easy enough to spot as he made his rounds. The Drunken Fish was his, and many would argue he enjoyed its services more than most. Vann called out to grab his attention, and the inebriated ex-sailor began to delicately close the distance between them.
I'd best get myself filled up... then see if Manowar can fill me in.

"Hmmmm? Oh, the Svefra? Whole crew of them sailed through a few nights back. Harmless really, though they caused a bit of a stir with their tales and whatnot," Manowar answered as he refilled Vann's mug; when it came to local gossip, the older man seemed content to repeat the mumblings circulating the grapevine. Occasionally he'd throw Vann something juicier, usually by accident, but Vann was always careful not to overstep his bounds in his questioning. The storyteller nodded in thanks, and Manowar resumed his patrol, leaving Vann to contemplate the information.

A gentle tap to his shoulder prompted Vann to turn around, lest the culprit try again with a chair instead of their hand.
"Can I help yo-" he cut his sentence short and narrowed his eyes in suspicion. After his run in with a certain flirtatious hypnotist, Vann developed a caution for members of the opposite sex, and the middle-aged woman he was facing definitely fit the bill. She was too plainly dressed to be a whore, they generally liked to attract attention. She also seemed to lack the... qualifications. Her frame was wiry, and there weren't really any curves to speak of. She wasn't ugly, but her face was all hard angles and sharp lines. If it weren't for the dark, frizzy mess of shoulder-length hair, Vann might have likened her to a vulture.
"Oi, the priest said you find stuff out for people, that true?" Her nasally voice made Vann relax, for he figured that no amount of hypnotism could make him feel attracted to the woman.
And if I start undressing her in my mind, I'll know she's up to something fishy.
With a small flourish, Vann tilted his hat and allowed a broad grin to spread across his face;
"You heard right young miss! The name's Vann, storyteller extraordinaire!"

Despite his flashy introduction, the woman did not seem impressed. Unfortunately, the frown that graced her features did nothing to improve her appearance.
"I ain't need no petching storyteller, I need someone who can find out if my petching husband is seeing another woman behind my back!"
Can't say I'd blame the guy if he was...
Vann would not have picked the woman as married. Still, business was business and it was time to get to work;
"Ahhh, so you expect the scoundrel is sleeping around. It sounds like quite the tale! Shall I go learn it so that I might tell it to you properly?" Vann considered his approach to business rather charming. A true story was just information's more attractive cousin, and he seemed easier to market.
"Petch the story, just find out if he's fooling around. His name's Rufus, works on the docks he does. I'll come back tomorrow. If you have anything good, I'll pay you." With that, she left, and before Vann could stop her she dissappeared into the crowd.
She seems like a nice girl, I can't POSSIBLY imagine why anyone would cheat on her...
With nothing but a first name, an occupation, and a description of his wife, finding Rufus to begin with was going to be a pain. Vann shrugged his shoulders and turned back to his ale, he needed to consider his next move. It would be bad for his reputation if he didn't finish this job... useless client or not.

[Zandelia]

There were many reasons that one could spend their time in a tavern, there were many dotted through the dirty wooden landscape that was Sunberth and each catered to anyone and everyone whom could step through the door with coin and manage to not burn the establishment to cinders by the time their unsteady feet hastened towards the exit, returning to the rest of the world and its myriad problems. Many, she knew, came to forget their lives for a few Bells, to revel in the suspended reality that ale often stole into the hearts and minds of its partakers. It was a curious method that she wondered whether could be used to garner traction for her own schemes – both personal and professional. To take the world with the promise of lost horrors – an attractive premise but unruly. She would need more finesse than ale could provide.

Which is where the people fit into the grand scheme, the network, the web. The name I use might as well be an advertisement and yet so few manage to see it as such. Small minds, captivated with their problems she sighed internally as she cast her gaze about the interior of one of the few taverns she didn’t frequent all too often.

She had left Fallon to her own devices for a few days, scant words had been spoken between the pair of them since the day of the promise. It had been a lonesome time, if not unproductive. They both required their own space, time apart within which to actively work and thrive. Shared time was a new concept to her, isolation had been her way before the other woman had been discovered. She had learnt quickly whilst they had been trapped upon their sea journey that too much time proved to be more damaging than constructive. She had thrown herself into the work – the cultivating of eyes and ears of use. Thus she had heard a whispering within her ear, close and quiet, of a man whom could be found suitable for partnership. She had decided to look for herself, she didn’t trust any other enough at this formative stage in the game.

So she sat, half-empty mug before her as she watched the denizens of the delightfully titled Fish Bowl and ruminated. The man she sought had merely sat at the bar so far, intent it seemed upon his own drinking – though he had touched little as far as she could ascertain. As her gaze took in the dark clothing, the hunched posture and solitary activity she wondered if he was waiting for something. She frowned and, against her better judgement, tried to relax her muscles and access that part of her possessed of magic. She was still not overly sure how it worked but she sat but a handful of paces away at a table and she had nothing else to use – she would rather read him without pushing him first to see his merit.

The Djed came slowly, trickling in a myriad of lines through her that reminded her of veins and arteries. Perhaps it passed through real ones, she didn’t know. She did know, however, what it could do and as it began to reach its critical mass within her head reality seemed to fade and instead was replaced with something else – something hidden. The colours came first and she focused her attention upon the man in question to find that there were few swirling of colour and hue this time. He seemed calm, collected perhaps and she reasoned that this might be why there seemed so little change within him. Mostly greens and blues of darker shades, fading into each other like slow breaths of smoke curling into each other in still room. She sniffed and over the ale she could smell freshly cut grass. She studied him intently, sensing no threat and nothing untoward. No feeling of darkness flickered, that sense of unease that she knew meant trouble. She smiled and let the magic go slowly, easing it out of her and back whence it had come.

One day I will sit down and properly research this power, when I have the time. Barely scraping the surface I think but soon…perhaps with Fallon. She knows something about it I know. She has that book she began to muse but it was ceased by the belligerent woman that prodded, poked and harassed her target until it was clear that his profession was a firm base for her ideas. He’d have to learn how to deal with people better though.

She stood up once she was gone, slipping upon a mask of calm stone, a veneer to hide her interests. It was a matter of moments until she was leaning upon the bar, mug in hand and facing him. She looked him up and down and tapped the bottom of the mug upon the wood to gain his attention surreptitiously.

“Woman trouble eh? I understand, difficult creatures aren’t we? Still…could find someone better than that my friend. She seems more ox than woman. Still…interesting request. Is that what you do then, solve marital affairs” she asked softly, she feigned a lack of interest but if he were smart enough he could read between the lines.

Let’s see how smart he really is she told herself as she looked at him, eye meeting his firmly.

[Vann]

Vann's musings were short lived, torn asunder by the distinct rapping of a mug on the polished grain of the bar. It was a sound he was all too familiar with, a sound that demanded his attention. Mentally sighing, the storyteller straightened his back and turned to face the-
Well, aren't I petching popular tonight.
As Ovek would have it, Vann found himself face-to-face with his second woman of the evening; the fact that they shared a gender was likely the only similarity between the two, who appeared as different as night and day.

The woman was blonde, a person's hair colour was usually the first thing Vann notic-
Breasts!
Two of the big differences between this woman and the last swung into Vann's peripheral vision, and a quick flick of his eyes confirmed their existence. Almost immediately, he dismissed the thought, and returned his gaze to the woman's face.
Don't let yourself get drawn in by feminine charms.
After his earlier encounter, Vann came to the conclusion it would be too time consuming to judge each person individually to determine if they might be using hypnotism and whether they were safe to talk to. He had been told that the magic's weakness was awareness, so he figured if he assumed it was being used on him, then it wouldn't work. Of course, that assessment wasn't entirely correct, but it soothed a lot of Vann's worries.
It's not like I can just shut myself away until i figure this aura thing out anyway.

The storyteller made eye contact with the woman, and the milky-white sheen that glossed her left eye came to the forefront of his attention, as did the scar that had obviously caused it. Such injuries were not uncommon in Sunberth, or anywhere really, and the single, emerald eye that remained bore into him;
A pity too, she's actually rather pretty... her lips look so... No! Get your head out of the gutter Vann!
At the woman's comments, Vann raised an eyebrow,
Was she watching all that?
A small smirk tugged on the corner of his mouth; could it be a second woman had come to him seeking information? Vann bowed his head and tilted his hat in a movement that almost perfectly mirrored his earlier one;
"You heard right young miss! The name's Vann, storyteller extraordinaire! I can tell any story; from the simplest of tales to the grandest of legends! When that woman returns, I shall tell her the story she requested. If that helps her marriage, so be it. If not, so be it. Stories are powerful things, and no one could ever truly predict how they will be received, but I am always willing to share them... for a price of course." Vann had extended his self-proclaimed impressive introduction. If the woman had been listening in then the storyteller doubted she'd be impressed with an exact repeat of something she'd already heard.

But of course, there's no way to know for certain how it will be received.

[Zandelia]

She resisted the urge to try and slap some sense into his skull, his gaze immediately wandering over her form like so many other lecherous men found within the city, a poor reflection upon him but one she assumed was no fault of his own. A biological weakness perhaps, she had exploited it often enough but wouldn’t do so here she swiftly concluded. If she was to learn of his worth, weigh his abilities to see if he was an acceptable link in the chain that she was creating…well…it wouldn’t do well to get him focused upon that he could spend all night pursuing without acceptance. Besides, it would have been a shame to have to kill him in exasperation if she allowed him into her nets because she had allowed him the license to of ogling her at every opportunity. She settled for a pointed look that warned of future visual caresses being met with more than the incorporeal - she was here for business after all, for her trade.

The greeting came next, well rehearsed and consummately acted by rote. As the bustling conversation and the creaking of footsteps echoed around them she rather enjoyed the small island of theatrical display. It was different, a unique little moniker that made him stand out along with that supremely large hat of his. Truly she now understood why her own little eyes had spied him, plying his trade and attempting to bedazzle others with pretty words and gestures. She tilted her head though, it was too similar to the last one she had observed - it spoke of much use, which was a point in his favor, but inadaptability. Not necessarily a negative but a small wriggle of concern. She reserved judgment.

Just met him after all and he is rather special for a Sunberthian. Few enter our trades and do well enough to survive and he’s well turned out, speaks decently and drinks ale as if it were reserved for him. Wealthy enough to get by with some enjoyment and so at least marginally profitable. Clothing seen better days but then so has everyone’s in this city. A possibility… she told herself as a smile broke out across lips, a curl as she decided how to play this game.

He liked words and she had many, they were subversive weapons if used correctly and could often win a victory before the dancing of combat had even begun - mental and verbal combat this day of course. She pulled the pipe from its satchel at her waist and thumbed a small portion of tobacco into its bowl before lighting it from a small candle upon the bar. This smoke curled up around her face, shrouding briefly as she inhaled before blowing it aside with the rippling of the drug’s small buzzing. She puffed a few times to get up the heat before she held it to one side, surveying the man before her, choosing her words carefully.

“Well that’s a first,” she adopted an affable tone to put him at ease with her, his gaze had lingered upon the scarred eye too long to be comfortable with it she thought, “I suppose it’s true what they say. Storytellers are charming liars. I’m old and you know it, no use pretending differently” she continued smoothly between small intakes of smoke.

“Yes…stories. They can be interesting indeed when told well, with style. Better if they have a kernel of truth within to sell them so they say. Though they say many things. Information can be so deceptive at times. A tricky beast. Especially those in the market of supply and demand. Perhaps they simply invent it out of ease?” the question was posed, was he really a secret seeker or just a pretty face with a glib tongue?

“As for me…I prefer to be the musician. Or the narrator. They both can lead the audience and the teller to their rapturous conclusion when employed correctly. To know when the beat should change, the anticipation should build. Perhaps a storyteller would be in pressing need of such devices?” the teasingly created phrases were designed to make him think, to gage and try to understand if he could.

She had no use for fools but for those with talent she held a soft spot for assistance if it were asked for. He seemed the intelligent sort, quick to discern and question. He would need to be if he were to garner her full attention. For now her eye flickered lazily around the crowd, ears straining to hear to fog of words and separate the useful from the immaterial. She drank from her mug slowly, relishing the taste perhaps but really she was giving him time. Time to decide what it was he truly wanted. She had offered him something more than his usual fare, though perhaps cryptically.

It would be up to him to stretch out and take it. If he did then she would see where their paths were led and whether he would be a reputable contact for both herself and the newly forming Scars.

[Vann]

Vann's spirit drained slightly, for the woman did not seem as impressed as he'd have hoped. If not for his already sulky mood, the storyteller would easily brush off such a display, but to be exposed to it twice in one evening... there was only so much a man could take.
Petching women, aren't they supposed to like this kind of stuff? Bah!
That particular line of thought was interrupted when she produced a pipe. There was something intriguing about the familiar way she handled the object, and the action tickled his curiosity. Whether people submit to the call of the bottle, the pipe or any other addiction... they all have their reasons. Private reasons, usually; secret reasons, tucked deep away in their memories. As the woman exhaled her first breath, and thin fingers of smoke gently caressed her cheeks, Vann saw her in a new light. The scarred eye, the hard expression... who was this woman? What was her story? Vann had a hunch, a feeling, that it would be a tale worth telling, though he doubted he'd ever get to hear it. It was, Vann decided, the worst aspect of his craft; no matter how hard he looked, or how long he searched, he would never be privy to everyone's story.
Undoubtedly, such a thing must be reserved for the Gods.

She spoke between every intake of smoke, her words slicing effortlessly through the barrier of theatrical shyke the storyteller had surrounded himself with. No, this woman was not your average, run-of-the-mill patron... her words were too refined, her sentences were too well structured. Vann grew suspicious, despite her shift in tone, but heard her out all the same. Inevitably her cryptic string of speech drew to a close, and Vann took some time to consider what was said.
What do you want from me?

Without breaking eye contact, Vann slowly reached for his mug of ale and took a long, deliberate sip. As he spoke, he would occasionally punctuate his sentences with a sip from his drink, mirroring the woman's use of the pipe.
"I must say, you have exceeded any and all of the expectations I may have formed. Despite this, I find myself curious. Assuming, for the moment, that we are indeed in the market of supply and demand... and assuming I do have a pressing need for what you can offer, it begs the question: what do you want in return?"

Call it paranoia, call it whatever you want, but Vann felt weary around the woman. Despite her charm, despite her intrigue, despite everything, Vann knew absolutely nothing about her, and that was dangerous. There were few things the storyteller firmly believed in, but one of them was that no one ever did something for nothing; people weren't good enough for such selfless acts, himself included. One thing he was certain of was that he needed to maintain control of this conversation; he couldn't let her steer it.
She approached me after all... she must want something.

[Zandelia]

She watched him imitate her movements, though he himself used his cup rather than a pipe of his own. She smiled, wondering whether he was merely predicting or actually adapting to her own movements. She tested the theory, pipe rising towards her lips but just before reaching its completion she let it fade back down as if she had just had a striking thought. Brought it back up, down again. Finally let it slip into her mouth as she drew upon the smoke and inhaled, blowing it out slowly. He was thinking, that was a progression. He wasn’t rehearsing now, he was adapting and mirroring. It was a good talent to have though it was done in a simple manner. She wondered if he could disguise himself also, to slip unnoticed and thus become far more useful. She watched him watch her and tried to look into the mind.

I cannot be sure what he thinks but he is weighing me, considering and asking himself questions. That much is clear, but are they the right questions? Does he see me as a threat? Competition? Or something else perhaps she mused as she pulled the pipe out, drank from her ale cup and placed it back down once more.

She gave him the time to ruminate of course, there were always things of interest to be noticed within the pauses of conversation if one knew where to look. She flicked her gaze towards a man in the corner, slumped over a cup in defeat. She supposed that he could be a drunkard but then the movements were too fluid, not sluggish enough when he did shift. His hand kept straying to the side, almost as if seeking comfort and thus she could assume that though she was unable to see it for the table a weapon existed. He was worried then, perhaps scared. Drinking to try to ease the nerves? Her assessments were pulled back by words closer to her ears.

“The right question, though dangerous to lead with. Still, it was well asked and thought out and deserves a response,” she spoke softly, pulling her pipe away then to dispel the smoke after a few moments and thus limit the haze between them, “nothing” she stated, slight curl of the lips in accompaniment.

“You had no expectations of me though you could perhaps suppose that I have some for you. I ask nothing but to see how good you are at your craft. Call it professional interest, personal curiosity, it matters not. I want no gold, no favors. I offer you my aid and ask nothing in return. Does that scare you?” she asked pointedly, gaze sharper now and piercing to discern his react before slipping back into a lazier medium.

“Your task is a small one, easily done and I could probably answer it already for you if I were feeling amiable to do so. It’s not hard to surmise given the evidence that has already been placed before you Vann. Still, you lack what is the core of the tale and that is the kernel of truth. All stories have truth” she repeated as she tapped out the dying embers of the pipe against the wood of the bar and slipped it back into its pouch.

“Think of it like this, you get to do half the work and might even gain something in the art of your storytelling. In exchange all you have to do is be watched and you seem to like that no? So what could be better?” she clapped her hands together jovially.

“So, my own question now…where would you start your searching for this tale? Are you clever enough to see bait when you see it?” she asked with a slightly teasing tone.

He was proving to be both bold yet cautious, charming and yet retreated. He was a contradiction and they were always interesting. Already he had captured some interest from her mind and he had all the talents if his claims were true - to show her his worth. It was an interview, of sorts, and so far he had acquitted himself well enough. She finished her ale and placed the cup down with a faint, hollow rattle.

“So Mr. Storyteller, where do the adventurers begin? Oh and you can assume that this is a test, it would be foolish to pretend otherwise. If you pass then you may grow to appreciate the success. If not, then you will never hear of me again” she smiled disarmingly.

“May I suggest that it is not within this tavern?”

[Vann]

Vann watched. He listened. The woman's words danced carelessly, though perhaps seemingly so, between contrasting ideas. A sprinkle of praise, a dash of mockery; irritatingly cryptic, painfully blunt; bold in her asking, generous in her telling. A smile here, a movement there, everything seemed so... calculated, so precise. It almost was as if she saw Vann as a finely tuned instrument, one familiar to her, and decided to play a song. She dangled propositions and hinted at hidden secrets;
A most masterful performance.

For what else could it be? Trust was a valued commodity in Sunberth, primarily because it was so scarce. Supply and demand. Odd that, more and more, this woman was asking for that which was difficult to sell and expensive to buy.
For what? Her assistance? She was correct in that this should prove relatively simple, I myself would wager on the outcome... and yet...

A test. A test for what, exactly? Despite common sense demanding he simply dismiss the woman, Vann's curiosity urged him forward. She was not ordinary, he was beyond certain of that. His ego, his greed, every vice within him screamed in a cacophony against the thin veil of reason, already shaken by ale, that he'd wrapped carefully around himself.
PETCH IT! Ovek help me, but petch it!
The dam shattered, and the storyteller threw caution to the wind. All of his stories, all of the interesting ones, stemmed from hyper-exaggerated tales of his youth in Syliras. All things considered, his time in Sunberth had been too tame. It was time for Vann to be part of a new story, something grander, and he suspected the woman could show him the way.

So, he laughed. He let go. The biggest pay-offs required a bigger gamble, and the die had been cast. Vann's laughter wasn't hysterical, it was a self-mocking chuckle that coexisted pleasantly with the large grin that once again claimed residence on his face.
"You've convinced me miss- hm, I never did catch your name; no matter! I accept your offer!" The storyteller spread his arms wide and gave his proclamation, his dramatic flare ever-present. Appropriately, he gave the appearance of coming to sudden realisation, and his tone grew more sombre, his arms returning to a more neutral position;
"I am impressed, truly... though I feel I must correct you, for what you ask of me is so much more than nothing; you ask for a piece of my story. You ask to be apart of it, and that carries with it its own implications, though you admitted to them easy enough. To observe me, to test me, to learn about me... such information would normally come at a price, and you've offered me not gold, not the alluring jingle of mizas, instead you offer yourself- well, your assistance, anyway." Vann paused and reached for his mug, draining the small amount that remained, and smacking the empty mug onto the bar with a loud sigh.

Making a point to obviously glance around The Drunken Fish, Vann leaned in close to the woman before continuing, albit in a subdued voice;
"Of course, I've already told you I accept, but as to that last point of yours, I'm afraid I'll have to disagree; this is the perfect place to start looking. Take those three over there," Vann gestured to a table relatively close to the door, upon which three thick-armed walls of muscle sat, "they come here most nights, dock workers, the lot of them. Never spoken to them personally, but..." Vann gave the woman a moment to absorb what he'd said before he continued; "There are a lot of places we could start looking, but perhaps they could point us in the right direction."

"If you're going to be my assistant tonight, I think I'll bow to your judgement on this one." Vann stood from his chair and waited for the woman to follow suit. He'd agreed to let her help him, so he was going to do just that;
A test of my own, if you will.
Vann gave his most charming smile.

[Zandelia]

A slow smile this time, one of satisfaction that her sources had not been entirely blind and of the fact that something was being built that was effective. Only just forming, newly budding perhaps but there all the same. It had led her to this place, to Vann and now hinted at future possibilities that with each cautious step he was proving to be more than a back-alley trader in simple trinkets of verbiage. He knew enough to know that confirmation of a name was worth something – whether it was feigned or otherwise. It was a moniker to find her by, useful for others too. He also knew his location, easily spotting the men who would be dockhands and reeling off what he knew. It was a collection of simple facts but that didn’t matter – ability could be taught.

Genuine interest though, that is harder to give to people. Better to find it in someone and given them the skills and he has both. After a fashion. Good. Less work for me and more to the prize she told herself as she let her gaze shift to the three men.

“Web, you can call me Web,” she responded thoughtfully, “and well done. You know your tavern well and the people in it. A point to the positive for the Storyteller. But, I wonder, how deeply do your eyes see? Let’s have a look at these men before we dive in. Don’t look directly at them though, use the side of your vision” she suggested as she looked not at the three but to the side of them, using her peripheral to scan them without garnering their notice.

It was difficult for one with a singular eye but not impossible, it gave her terrible headaches after extensive use and the daily grind of having to focus and refocus everything meant that she clenched her jaw until the muscles there complained abominably – for the evening’s task though she was willing to suffer slightly. She saw better garb than most workers, not the finest but certainly decently serviceable cotton and wools. Underneath the table she could see some gathered fabric, though difficult to tell what kind at her distance – hints of the cloak perhaps and that meant they earned more than most. Jackets and the healthy glow of those not overly starved of sustenance added to the picture. All of them were bearded and rough bear-like hands curled around massive cups – they knew their ale and liked to drink it. Currently they were deep in discussion about something, gesticulating and tapping their mugs upon the rough wooden table. One was stroking said beard mightily, all of them were armed with what appeared to be cudgels or clubs.

“Smugglers, perhaps, but certainly better off than most dockhands. Decent clothing, well fed and cloaked by the look of it. Weapons are rough and poor though, not mercenaries or fighters by nature but requirement. Off-shift guards perhaps looking or more coin or just simple protection or those as can afford to have it,” she murmured, loudly enough that Vann could hear her but few others unless they stepped in closely enough to catch the words, “big and strong but not stupid. Not overly smart though either I’d wager or they wouldn’t flaunt their wealth by stacking piles of gold and silver in front of them without a simple gambling game in sight. So arrogant possibly, or they just feel untouchable. Could use that no?” she asked simply, a pause.

“I think they would be all talk in a fight, all that muscle but little speed. And as to how silver tongued they are, well we won’t know that until we speak to them but you have seen the first portion of my methods in the looking before the leaping. You passed the first test by noticing them and so I give you what I see to help you with showing me the first stages of your methods,” she grinned at him, “the one on the left with the black hair and shortly trimmed beard is arguing with the other two. Given that I am a woman and there may be disagreements involving one of them storming off to the bar, very soon by the looks of it, how would you use your assistant this evening?” she asked the question.

She had shown him what she did, how she saw things and that was price enough for now. He had earned a portion of her approval but not the majority of it. Would he be willing to make the tough call of asking her to use herself for the gaining of information? Would he shy away? What sort of person was he, underneath that mask of an act?

[Vann]

Web: A name that appealed to Vann's dramatic tendencies. A false name, perhaps, but a name that spoke volumes. Web: A spider's domain, spun ever so delicately, so that nothing may slip through. Web: Prey caught by its sticky strands is drained dry by the spider, and the spider uses it for what it will. Web, as in a web of information... Vann grinned;
An appropriate name, indeed, he thought. The storyteller's smile was cut short by Web's next question; was she doubting his description? All the same, his natural curiosity came to play and he followed her instructions. Vann wasn't totally unfamiliar with the concept of using one's peripherals to look at a person unnoticed, but it was a technique he seldom used... though this was definitely attributed to his general familiarity with his hunting grounds. A regular patron glancing around the taproom between drinks wasn't the most conspicuous sight in the world. Perhaps he was trying to spot a friend? While scratching his chin as if considering something, Vann shifted his gaze towards the three men.
I imagine doing this for too long is a god way to get a headache. Even after just a few moments, the storyteller found himself going cross-eyed, and-
How in Ovek's name does she manage this with only one eye? For the briefest of moments, his attention returned to the woman he knew as Web... Despite being genuinely curious, he wasn't drunk enough to risk asking. Instead, his gaze began to subconsciously wonder towards her generously proportioned bre-
Aaaaand I should probably get back to the task at hand! After scolding himself, Vann flicked his vision back towards the dockworkers. Big, sailor-type men who were fond of their drink. Same old, same old, really.

Web, however, came to a very different conclusion, and Vann couldn't help but be impressed. The smallest hints, the barest whisper of a hidden truth, and she was able to reveal it. Now that it had been said, the three dockworkers did seem somewhat better off than average... why hadn't he noticed it before? A slightly raised eyebrow was his only physical response and, absorbed in his thoughts as he was, he almost missed Web's first question.
"Perhaps," he said softly, not trusting himself to say anything more without sounding foolish. It was dawning on him that the myserious woman before him was in a league far above his own.
So why... WHY is she bothering with me? it was a maddening conundrum, but one he was determined to see through to the end. Web's grin was reassuringly playful, Vann thought, and he replied with his own before speaking;
"You're a lot more than what you seem, aren't you?... I think I've got an idea. Don't worry, I won't make you do everything. Just stay here, watch me work, and keep looking beautiful." Vann gave her a brief moment for any parting comments while he picked Manowar out of the crowd. After gesturing with four upraised fingers the storyteller winked at Web, strode towards the table of three, and pulled up a chair.

"Evening gentlemen, what do y-"
"Petch off!" The smallest of the three interupted him. A series of hands moved unconciouly to the weapons hanging at their owner's waists... except for Vann's. He merely smiled and continued;
"...but if I go, who am I going to share my ale with?" Using his neck, the storyteller gestured towards Manowar, who was now filling four pints at the bar. The promise of alcohol stemmed any immediate violent responses, but did nothing to quell their hostility.
"Wha' do yer be want'n?" It was the smaller of the three; apparently he was the spokesperson. His Common was very broken, Vann noticed.
Well, his 'petch off' was quite fluent, actually. resisting the urge to smile at his own wit, Vann spread his arms in an innocent gesture.
"Truthfully? I just struck out with that girl over there: the blonde at the bar. I was hoping for some companionship whilst I drank my sorrows away." He'd grinned as he spoke the last few words, and pointed over his shoulder with a thumb towards Web's general location. As if to accentuate his point, it was around this time that Manowar set several frothing mugs of ale onto the table. It was time to see if his gamble paid off.
Come on Ovek, help a man out.

OOCI'll leave it to you to play out the 'smuggler's' responses. We'll let this play out organically and see what happens. Worst case I'll just have Vann turn down any offers you may or may not make down the track.

[Zandelia]

“We are, all of us, more than we seem. The surface is what we show to the world, what we want others to see. It’s all a game Vann, stories within stories you might say,” she looked away and into the middle-distance slightly in thought, “the day you think you know someone completely is the day you lost the taste for living. There is always more…of everything” she finished in a subdued tone, reflective and perhaps slightly reverent.

“Take yourself, a simple storyteller. A romantic life of traveling and revelry. Yet you solve other’s problems and sell information to the highest bidder so I am told. You help people…why? What do you gain beyond more gold to spend on more hangovers? You are more than you seem, though you may not think it yet” she looked at him directly then and nodded at his words.

“How should I try and continue pretty? I thought it was something I couldn’t stop doing. You’ll have to tell me how to be ugly one day, could be useful” the corners of her lips turned up ever so slightly and she gestured her head to the side.

She let him go then and considered the words that had been pulled from her, from somewhere within and without hesitation. She was not one to give out pearls of wisdom, she was far from wise she knew but given the right situation she had been known to teach - to impart her own personal perspectives. Every so often, usually on a superficial level she had to admit to herself. She had never really had anyone she could trust implicitly to be that open with, who she knew wouldn’t knife her for their own interests as soon as her guard was down. It was a tiring task though, to keep it up every moment of every day. Always searching, never resting. She had never taken overly long to sit and simply be, she suspected if she did she may not like what she had become. And so she kept running on, pressing forwards and seeking out what others thought was unknowable.

It was a pretty distraction. At least her business this day had a purpose beyond herself. She was beginning to enjoy the fact that she was working for a goal that went further than the next meal or the next target to puzzle-pull to pieces. She watched as Manowar poured out the ales Vann had indicated and nodded to herself at the gambit, it was a smart one. Drinking men were always more inclined towards unknown company if said company provided free drinks. A simple expense but one that opened doors of opportunity. She approved and merely leant towards the bar, twisting her head slightly to keep Vann in sight and her ears pricked for the conversational snippets that would hopefully be produced - it was one thing to ingratiate but another to get information out of a target.

We will see how he does and take it from there, I will get involved if needs be but for now it’s his show. Another way to show his worth and he enjoys it too. He likes the theatrical it seems she noted to herself as she wondered how best to appear unassuming yet notable enough to prove a distraction.

She flicked her cloak to one side of her body so that it draped across her upper back but left the small of it and the lower portion of her body in sight. Men, men were easy when they were drunk - they liked to get perhaps three things in their sights and then pursue them until they were theirs. It was a shame really, she knew many decent men but drink always seemed to make a mockery of the majority of them. Leaning into the bar further now she placed her feet close together and bent, ever so slightly, so that one of her more admirable traits - though she said it herself - was on display. She had no qualms about using her form for attaining goals, in some respects her posterior should be copied and kept for posterity in sculpture for the amount of information it had managed to gain her over the years. A true trooper to the cause. She caught one of the men looking at her even after Vann’s jerked thumb had died down and she gave him the best of a demurely enticing smile that she could. He was ugly, no doubt about it, grizzled and weathered. Clearly he never had much chance with the lookers unless he paid but she would give him a chance, dangle herself before him. She turned and leant back into the bar now, arms spread wide and body stretched slightly. She crooked a finger at him and he began to walk over.

She would leave the others to Vann, this one was hers even though she thought she was his and he would pay for it. She was, at times, a Lusher of a different kind she knew. She didn’t want gold, never really needed it beyond the necessities. What she demanded in payment was far more precious - information.

Behind the man approaching her she saw the others gesture for Vann to sit with them and laughter echoed at their friend’s back as they presumed his imminent failure. She would show Vann how far one had to be willing to go sometimes and see just how he reacted. She needed people willing to get a bit dirty in the darkness. She saw Vann sit and begin talking an then the table was eclipsed by the giant of a man before her. She smiled up at him and petted the wood of the bar to her right.