Closed We call it 'Negotiations'

[Pulren Marsh]

Pulren found it best to remain in guard stance, a state of being that reminded him somewhat of what Aoren had called meditation before he had left Zeltiva. His trident was a vertical pillar in hand, his shield in font of him and held at a perfect cross angle to the trident. He had stood in such a position for hours in Zeltiva and it was a common stance for a guard to take. Be aware without looking. Focus on a point in the distance without looking at it, let your ears become your eyes. He could hear the Sergeants at the Wave Guard Headquarters telling the squads as they stood in formation for a bell at a time. Some would faint away, getting laps to run for comfort and not the rest and water they sought. Pulren found it easier to do, especially in the company that they kept.

The Nuit were disgusting creatures and he held no regard for them, even in their hallowed halls of decay. He was there to perform a service; to guard his leader as she attended to her business. Would he be able to defend against whatever damned magicks that these creatures could summon if they chose to? Probably not, but he would enjoy himself ramming his trident deep into their unliving throats, watching the green gurgling ichor stream from their necks. It brought a slight smirk to his face while his eyes remained at attention. He could feel their visages upon him but he had no interest in returning glances. Whatever contracts that Bitzer crafted would affect him but how he would only be able to guess at. She was his superior and he remained stoic and humble as this was the case.

Was it a grand surprise that they would be hired to seek out errant Wizards? with the news of such a thing, Pulren wondered if the Gods hadn't put him on Mizahar for just such a thing. He thought back to the fiery, gas belching bitch that he had pinned to the deck of the Maiden's Voyage. That gave him some kind of experience in matters such as these, though again, he had no place in negotiations. He only hoped that she would garner him some pay. Something to make the trip to Sahova worthwhile.

[Ink]

Qiao's was the voice that answered Fallon's first inquiry, “No assets need return in serviceable form.” It was a clipped command, but the foreboding psychology behind it was warning as well.

Farke amicably nodded his head, “Any renegade is simply a traitor to his word and oath, they could no longer be trusted. Few things matter in Sahova more than the letter of one’s commitment.” Tread lightly was the message. The councilors were making the assumption that the humans wouldn’t understand their politics; in a word patronizing. Haughty or not though, they were attempting to broker a deal which best fit all of the parties and a a hamstrung mercenary group was no better than none at all.

The single woman present added in a brusque fashion, “Evidence will be necessary if life has been extinguished of course. “

The Nuit with eyes swimming in the void grinned, “Good luck proving the death of a Nuit.” He cackled. The Mad Master of the abyss between realms was a specialist at precisely the opposite.

Farke seemed not at all aggravated by the added voices, lending to the idea that this was the norm. “Sahova has resources at its disposal that other cities cannot fathom, but we are not rich in natural resources. If you ask for rations or gemstones, you will be disappointed. However there is much that lacks obvious value but transcends common comprehension. We will pay with each success; you are as of yet unproven. Reputation is worth only so much when it was garnered off of Sahova.”

The quiet one finally spoke up, the little figurine perched on the table before him shifted to her feet along with the wispy voice. “We have given you our bargain, but what is it that you want? We have seen centuries pass, and each man has had a price. So what is yours Mistress Redwulf; power, money, or time?”

Wayza tilted her head speculatively, her eyes shifted to a cat-like gaze before filtered back towards human. A short rumble slid through the room, a full chime passed of the rumble before it became clear it was a purr. The disturbing purr of a tiger with a gazelle’s leg under fang. “Or little red wolf, is your vice your pack? Is faith and loyalty your indulgence?” The brutal woman turned her attention to the men, scrutinizing them in turn before returning to Fallon.

[Fallon]

There was only the slow nodding from Fallon as the councillors begun to work their way around their words and answer her posed questions. This was business, she needed the answers and for her own to remain aware for the small social cues that may be placed - something that was seemingly harder to detect with the present opponents. Old, dead, no doubt seen and lived for years more than a normal human. Her eyes gave a flicker, catching the shapes and forms as they spoke. They all however, still had their own personality behind them, a spectrum of civility, to bluntness to something else forming up into a collection of numerous abilities and possibilities that worked together as a single body.

"Very well. Expect a few severed limbs if they are... incompliant," Her lips pursed into a line then, eyes coming down into narrows as she felt that strange weight fall upon her shoulders, "I am sure that I can find a way to supply evidence of death. Maybe courier a body back to you." She was thinking then, nostrils flaring as she continued her listening to what could exactly be offered. Occasionally her gaze flickered back to Palaren and Noven, a pause of consideration as to their own expressions - a glimmer to what they thought. It was not exactly something she could decide solo was it?

"An interesting offer," she begun slowly, mind filtering through the possibilities, "Time is merely a concept and a measurement, no? You mean to extend it somehow? One's lifespan?" she felt her skin writhe slightly then, orbs falling onto the nuit bodies and then withdrawing - she believed she knew the intention of such an offer, "Money? A useful coin, buy, sell, trade, gather - a tool for influencing, and a potential stimulant of greed. And power, only safely wielded by those that can maintain their focus... but how long would that last for? Power corrupts, and absolute power corrupts absolutely. Though, the question of course is what format does said power come in. It is an elusive beast that requires a wise mind to use it truly.."

A rumbling laugh clawed its way out of her throat, rough and wolfish, teeth bared as she listened to that purring voice, "My vice, is gambling. Perhaps one day you will humour I and partake in a game of cards? I am quite partial to portraits myself, but if you so wish to play another game then I shall graciously accept." She met the stare of Wayza however, feet squaring out on the floor to stand her ground. Chin lifting she held it there, and the slid the gaze to Farke. A long pause, another glance back to the faces of her 'pack' as she hummed in consideration, "You have my interest in power. Indulge my pack and I in the information of it." Her head turned back to her men then, brow raising, "Unless you think differently?"

[Noven]

The Sunberthian listened in pensive silence, watching the interactions swing back and forth between Bitzer and the Nuits. It was simultaneously subtle and overt, rational and unsettling, their words brandished like tools of negotiation one moment and then needles of threat the next. He wasn't sure if they were being toyed with or genuinely needed for their services. Probably both. Maybe neither.

Overall, their given objective seemed simple enough, at least. This wouldn't be Nov's first job in retrieving small fish that had somehow pissed off the bigger fish. It wouldn't even be his twentieth, or fiftieth, and it certainly wouldn't be his last.

He did find it interesting that the Nuits valued one's word and oath so highly. The man had just assumed they were all backstabbing, sorcery wielding, extremely difficult to kill politicians. But apparently he had been wrong about this one aspect of the Citadel's leaders. Nov kept that in mind, storing away a mental note to thread the grounds of reputation and keeping one's word extra carefully.

For the most part it sounded like the same old same old. The renegades, as the Nuits had put it, were to be hunted and returned, dead or alive. If they were exterminated, proof was required. Seemed straightforward enough. Minus maybe the bit about Nov having no idea what attempting to kill a Nuit might entail and why one of the council members had cackled after wishing them luck. He supposed they would just have to find out later. And by that, he meant he was hoping fervently that either one of his fellow Scars knew what they were doing.

At last came the terms of their bargain. When Farke spoke at first of gems and rations, Noven felt himself hesitate. He had no need of riches nor expectations that the cuisine here would rise anywhere above basic necessity. But food and water were harder to come by, with or without coin, and the orphanage could use any help it could get.

As a result, he wasn't sure whether it was selfish or reasonable of him to find his interest piqued at the mention of power. And to pay with each success? How would that even be arranged? What sort of power were these Nuits promising to begin with?

Unable to answer any of his own questions, Nov snuck a sideways glance at his leader, trying to gauge her reaction. He didn't need more money, and he didn't trust these council members enough to tinker with something as abstract as time. The only logical option left to him, personally, was power, for it was the sole boon he would have found worthwhile. The single reward he would willingly sacrifice for if it meant giving him an advantage over his enemies.

What was meant with all that shyke about vice and loyalty after a particularly creepy, rumbling purr from one of the Nuits, Nov completely failed to comprehend. But Wolf Girl was ready with a reply nonetheless. She gave voice to the Sunberthian's own thoughts well enough.

A longer life span at the cost of looking like one of them? No thank you. Money? Useful, but in the grand scheme of things inconsequential. And power...yes, it was an agent of corruption, and an elusive one at that. But as a means to an end, Nov well and truly cared only for the end. So it was that when Bitzer turned to ask if her compatriots thought differently, he was more than ready with his answer.

"I don't," Nov responded without hesitance. "My interests are the same."

[Pulren Marsh]

Were Nuit so lofty in their own collective mind that they believed that all other races were there to serve them? He had never met one that did anything but manipulate and stare with its ghoulish countenance. Was it a surprise that the Scars were to be little more than fetching dogs, sure to bring a Master's strays back to heel? The whole thing soured Pulren's stomach and he couldn't wait to get out of the chamber he was in. He wasn't too keen on being sized up like a piece of meat either.

Weren't these creatures once human? Weren't they something? No way these things were ever born, considering the majority looked like they were on their way out, not in. Power brokers and supposed masters of men, it was somewhat surprising that Bitzer bowed so easily. She was definitely one to please, however. Anyone so entwined with the workings of Web had to be one to change temperaments and faces with the wind. Being a mercenary wasn't just about strong-arming another or drawing blood. There were many levels of fine manipulation down in the dirt of the occupation.

Before he knew it, there seemed to be attention from the Wolf, mostly of a ring of compliance from her own pack. Noven was quick to agree and when it was his own voice, the words came out like they would for a Sergeant in the Guard. "Your orders, Boss." His attention remained fixed and perfect. He looked forward to standing at attention in Zeltiva again. The few Nuit that populated the harbor were nothing compared to this lot. He would make sure never to overlook his blessings again.