Closed We call it 'Negotiations'

[Fallon]

18th Winter 514AV

The humming started in the morning, low and careful as she focused. It was that same tune, with the furrowed brow that Fallon once more found herself pacing the corridors of the Quarters, blades at her waist and attempting to look as professional as possible. For the meanwhile however, there was the curse of waiting for the right moment, something that seemed to take a lot longer than she was willing to let it. And so Fallon continued to pace, brow furrowed, a chew upon her lip as she attempted to contain herself - which only proceeded to fail. Fingers writhed within their gloves, the letter that had been given to her continuously being worked between the digits and the jaw firmly setting into a line.

She was unsettled, and not doubt the other members of the Scars could read that - it was an energy that seemed to ooze off her form no matter how much she tried to find some level of control. But beneath that all was fear, the thrum of the unknown, or the apprehension as to what was to come. Hunt, kill, murder, it was something that only the Scars and herself could perform - something different. Or perhaps it was the want to simply avoiding their own dirtying of hands. Fallon turned once more on her heel - having come to the end of the corridor, and begun to pace back. Soles pressed to the stone, the fingers tightened, clenched, and finally relaxed.

"Nuit," she exhaled after a moment, "Sure know how to leave the living in anticipation." It was a poor attempt of humour, more so with her own sense of disgust of the kind. Her skin gave a prickle, the carving sensation causing her to writhe. It took some effort to drag her thoughts into something cleaner. She was after all Sunberth's Red Wolf, Bitzer of the Scars - she could not allow herself to falter.

Pausing, she pinched her brow, a long exhale out of all the torment that was kept up and within her. It whistled, her feet planted upon the spot as she managed to lock down upon her self control. Cooler air was sucked in, the fires dying down as she centred herself to the oncoming negotiations. She needed etiquette, but also needed control - obtain the upper hand and not simply allow herself to be a tool for their desires. If not for herself, then for the other members of the Scars - besides, this was merely answering the call, a formality. They still had power to deny the contract - correct? "Soon, hopefully. Else I worry old age would be upon us," she gave an attempted smirk then, her hand resting upon the pommel of one of her blades, "Fear the decrepit. Even if it is just a meeting. We ready gentlemen, to be on your best behaviour?"

[Noven]

Noven focused on the stillness. On breathing in and out and appreciating how the floor was blessedly not swaying. It was a bit difficult, watching Wolf Girl pacing back and forth, humming some nameless tune as she worked the letter in her hands and chewed her lip, but he did his best to block out the lingering traces of nausea. Not that it was too difficult. Between the anticipation and their leader's restlessness, the cook had attention to spare for little else.

The journey to Sahova had been a complete debacle for Nov. He stumbled about the deck now and then, trying to remember what walking on land felt like. And whenever he did manage to stay still, it was because he was dangling over one side of the ship, puking his guts out. No sea legs at all, the sailors had joked, and apparently no stomach for sailing either.

Suffice to say when they finally threw down the anchor at the docks, Nov could have wept in sheer relief. Except, of course, he didn't. Not in public, anyway. But immortal gods above, how he did grow to hate the open sea. Never in his life had he ever been made to feel weaker than a babe and greener than mold all at the same time. An entire day had already passed since their arrival and he swore he could still feel the ground swaying beneath them and the occasional bought of seasickness. Just thinking about the trip home brought on a fresh wave of nauseating dread.

Noven closed his eyes and rubbed at them with the heel of his palm. Now was not the time to be green with sickness. Now was the time to uphold the Scars' reputation, to make the strongest impression possible to a room full of walking, talking corpses. Failure was simply out of the question.

Bitzer spoke then, putting to words what all of them were currently thinking. Looking up, the older merc offered a faint smile, recognizing her attempts at levity. It was sorely needed in a place like this; all dark and grim and run by the undead. At least, that was how he saw it. Nov's smile probably still had a bit of a sickly tint to it, courtesy of their recent ship ride, but he did his best to answer in similar spirits. They were all in this together. With only three of them present to see this contract through, they couldn't afford any weak links or lapses of competence.

"No need to tell me twice," he smirked back, straightening a little as he spoke. "I'd be lying if I said this place didn't put me on edge the moment we set foot off that ship."

Nov glanced at the third member present and added, "But fear or no fear, you know we're always ready. Isn't that right, Uncle Palaren?"

He didn't know much about his fellow Scar. Not yet, at least. The cook had, after all, spent most of the journey retching into the uncaring sea. But the three of them quite literally had been, were, and would be sitting in the same boat. Danger and risk alone were enough to instill a sense of camaraderie.

When no requests for their meeting to commence were made within the next couple of chimes, Noven sighed, crossed his arms, and resumed leaning against one of the cold, stone walls.

"Old age indeed..."

[Pulren Marsh]

Leaning against the wall, Pulren watched Bitzer as she made her paces back and forth. She seemed very tense but that was natural enough in such an obscene place. The Zeltivan wore a smirk due to the complete irony of the situation. He had left Zeltiva because a Nuit ran it and Nuit took dead bodies and shipped them to Sahova.Now he was standing on Sahova, preparing to be conscripted to work for the Nuit. The situation was really so ludicrous that only laughing would do, but he wouldn't dare risk embarrassing himself or his compatriots. There were only the three of them and they had to stand strong.

He felt bad for Noven. A strong and hearty fellow in all other matters, the poor guy just didn't have sea legs at all. The trip to the island over water had been Pulren's favorite part as he inspected the ship they had traveled on and spoken with the sailors. In fact, the moment that they had embarked and he could hear the winds in the sails, he immediately missed his Zeltivan home. He looked forward to the trip back and even considered seeing if he could help out in the process, learning what he could for when he did return to the port city. Sooner than later at the current rate.

A customary huff of laughter came with the waiting comment. Dead guys could literally wait forever. He was glad to see her stop moving and plant herself in a spot. He wondered how so much energy could be contained in her wiry frame without just sparking and flaming out. He listened to Noven, nodding with him when spoken to. "Indeed, indeed. Not just Nuit but Wizards. I'd be wary of even whispering too much about them. This whole place is a big laboratory and guess who might be the subjects?" A deep breath, his anger mostly contained. "All that aside, my best behavior is yours, Bitz."

[Ink]

A young girl scuttled up the stairs. Skinny and dirty, her green eyes, human and alive, but devoid of spirit. She could be any urchin on the Sunberth streets, except that ones this small and weak rarely survived long. Soil soaked trousers and tunic hid the worst of her malnutrition and there was no way to guess her age. She might be an adult stunted by lack of food or a child still struggling to grow against adversity. Her grimy hands twisted together in front of her, as she scampered up to the three humans. “The Council is ready for Mistress Redwulf.”

Turning and half running half tripping back towards the stairs, the girl stopped in a jerk at the precipice. “Follow me.” The mane of black curls hung in clumps over her bony shoulders, “You shouldn’t be late.” Just before she turned back to the stairs a hint of fire, the spark of survival, glinted in her eyes.

She led them through the passages and corridors, down into the courtyard and then into the Gug Andjak. Each time a Nuit shuffled by, the guide girl stopped and jumped to the side giving them full use of the hallway before leading onwards. At one such juncture, an alcove and the girl led the trio into it. “D-do you know why you’re here Mistress Redwulf? Who are they?” a broken-nailed finger pointed at Pulren and Noven.” The Council doesn’t like surprises.” Though she offered the excuse, it sounded pathetic even on the slave girl’s lips.

[Fallon]

Noven did not look his finest, Fallon managed to reason with a moment of heavy frowning. Lips pursed, an almost disapproving hum escaping from her lips as she listened to him speak. Exhaling she let her gaze slip to Palaren, a glance up and down to him before she at last shook her head, "I will not lie to you both, this place... frightens me. I appreciate that you two both stepped up to come along with me on this task. So thank you." A brave smile, and a final approving nod, "Good, I need you to both be. But, if you think the situation is going to turn sour, please do not play hero. I do not want you to throw your lives away unnecessarily, you hear me?"

When the girl appeared however, the smile fell back behind a still mask. The internal walls rose, shifting and solidifying into that of cold, hard logic. A blink, the gaze hardened, sucking back the usual warmth as she fell into a neutral, unmoving expression. She barely batted an eyelid when she looked, drinking in the frame that was barely held together by skin - but within she knew and understood the torment. Fallon breathed, "Excellent. Gentlemen," She gave an incline of the head to follow the girl, "Let us depart."

Fallon let herself hum in the silence for the moment, watching and flickering her gaze to and fro within the stone walls, more so when there was that pause at the alcove. Why had they stopped? Was something wrong? The hushed voices, did the walls have ears? Fallon gave a glance over her shoulder, squinting at the walls and then looking to the men. The walls did not actually have ears, right? Her gaze swivelled back.

"I am here for the Council has asked for the assistance of myself and my organisation. The rest, is the business of myself and the Council only," her hand gave a flick of the letter, before she begun the process of sliding it deep into the interior folds of her coat, out of sight and away. Her hands fell back onto the pommel of her blade, and her back straightened out - she would walk tall, thrum the confidence and boldness that she was forced into adopting. She was Bitzer Redwulf, leader of the Scars and she had a part to play in this court of the dead, "Why? Is the kitten curious?"

Laughter rolled out after that, a flicker of teeth to the comment of surprises, "The world is full of surprises. There is no escaping them no matter how much one may resist. They come in any shape or form, taste and event. By simply rising in the morning, one is leaving themselves in the potential path of surprises." She paused in her words then, thinking upon the citadel and the direction they were going exactly - and what was the best way out, "Even with experimentation there is always a chance of a surprise. The Council know that. Besides," She raised her chin, "If they did not want I to bring my associates, they should have stated it so."

[Noven]

His eyebrows rose a fraction in surprise as Nov looked up at their leader. She had just openly admitted to being frightened...and while it was somehow kind of comforting to know his own sentiments were shared, it also didn't bode well for their immediate future. Whatever the Nuits had in store for them during this meeting was clearly a mystery to everyone present.

Well, shyke. The cook had been hoping at least one of them knew what the hell was going on. But, apparently, none of them did. This meeting was to be a true test of their mettle, then. And no one would be exempt.

"No need to thank us," Nov responded, "I just came for the soothing boat ride and lovely scenery." Their situation, it seemed, as daunting and hazy as it was, had brought with it a strange sort of humor usually reserved for finding oneself between a rock and a hard place or flying face first towards death. Nov sincerely hoped it wasn't the latter.

As for Bitzer's final statement...the cook gave a non-committal sort of grunt. She and Palaren were literally the only souls he knew on this whole gods forsaken island. The last thing Noven planned to do was bail on either of them, for any reason, be it pain or death.

But hey, no point in telling that to Wolf Girl now. She was anxious enough as it was. They all were.

There was little time for more conversation anyway once the waif of a messenger appeared. She was so starved and pitiful looking that Nov was certain she'd make even the most flea bitten urchin in Sunberth feel fortunate. Wouldn't last a day out on the streets, and even if she'd been lucky enough to find a spot in Sunset Orphanage, she would have been endlessly picked on. The smallest, scrawniest ones always were.

The waif addressed Bitzer as Mistress Redwulf and told them to follow her. She even went so far as to warn them not to be late. So, it seemed whatever was currently waiting for them in that meeting was more threatening to a malnourished slave than three fully armed, hard bitten looking foreigners.

Ye gods, the day just got better and better.

As they walked, he noted how well the girl played the part of a properly broken thing. Whether she truly was or not, only the waif would know, Noven reasoned. But she bowed out of the way and flinched whenever her superiors passed by, even stuttering when she addressed Bitzer once more. Certainly made all the right sounds and motions. It was only when they stopped, seemingly for no reason, that the merc began to question who this lass really was. What kind of slave interrogated her master's guests? He supposed she could have been doing it out of fear, knowing the messenger was shot far more often than the source of bad news.

Puzzling...the word just about summed up all of Sahova thus far. Wolf Girl did a thorough job of explaining herself, though. Feeling it was neither the time nor place to throw in his two coppers--which would have went something along the lines of "the council can go petch themselves"--Nov kept quiet and focused on their surroundings instead.

There were good reasons as to why Bitzer did the talking and he mostly waited around to do the smashing.

[Pulren Marsh]

Well, at least they were on the move. Standing around in Sahova seemed like one of the many terrible ideas one could come up with on the wretched island.The Scars were in good spirits, though, ready to face whatever their fearless Wolf had signed them up for. Pulren felt pretty confident with his trident in hand. Even without it, he wasn't completely unarmed. Where he might lack the finesse of magical power, he had the ferocity and will to be extreme if needed. Hopefully not, however, as it appeared only a little walk would be necessary.

His eyes fell upon the servant girl as one might examine a rabid dog or a three legged rodent. Some mix of pity and revulsion, as this creature no doubt served the Nuit on a voluntary basis. Maybe not, but she seemed feral and off of her leash with the twitching and jagged fingernail pointing. Really, with all of their advancements no one could cut the poor creature's nails? A disgrace. He was all out of quips of his own, glad to see that Bitzer was ever full of one liners and retorts. She was quite the speaker. Of course, compared to Noven, Pulren himself could teach a University class on Public Speaking. There was nothing wrong with him. He was brutally effective and that was what was generally needed.

Polite smiles shivered out of his mouth as Bitzer continued her response to the little rat girl. Pleasantries, pleasantries. They would no doubt be over with soon in the presence of the Undead. As the trio stepped in the alcove, Pulren gripped his shield tighter. It was a move out of discomfort and a bit of fear. It would do little to no good against any opponent within, but damn it, it made him feel better. That's what counted in this dank dungeon.

[Ink]

The young woman asked nothing else, and led them forward. No evidence that she took Fallon’s rebuff as anything but an answer. She scuttled to a stop before a door, this time when she gazed back at them there were streaks of purple in her emerald irises. Each of the charges were still present, although her eyes stayed on Fallon the longest, obviously the most relevant to her Master.

The dirty hands pushed against the double door. Inside five ancients rested behind a table. The central Nuit was slightly elevated than others either due to height of his vessel or a trick of carpentry. He scrutinized the robed Wizard at the center of the room. Slowly he enunciated his verdict, “You will have your funding, but you time frame is unacceptable. Five years will garner results not a decade.” There was no room for argument, and so the Wizard shuffled out a door on the other side of the room.

Unlike during a judgment, there was no audience. These meetings were largely bureaucratic and remarkably dull. Aside from that with such a small population sniffing out other’s business was not entirely difficult but worthwhile pastime.

To the leader’s right sat a congenial looking Nuit. His eyes were far off, gazing at the ceiling at some philosophical phantasm infinitely more relevant than the proceedings before them. Until the little slave guide rose her voice several levels and added backbone that had been missing, “Mistress Redwulf and Two Surprises.” She announced before scampering off behind the Council’s table.

The day dreaming Nuit turned his gaze onto the trio and smiled. “Welcome Scars.” Everything about his demeanor was welcoming and there was no fault to find with his words, except for that spine tingling chill that came from being looked at by an undead creature who was born centuries before the citadel they stood in. “I am so very glad you came to our summons.”

The Nuit on the leader’s left, stared at them without blinking. He said precisely nothing but the way his gaze followed them, trailing their each muscle movement hinted at the same unrestrained fury of a chained dog. If one tried, imagining the foamy saliva dripping from his pallid lips was no leap of imagination. Fortunately Nuits couldn't drool. At the far ends of the table neither councilor was feigning ignorance, they watched the Pulsers studiously.

The central Nuit watched them somewhat bored. “Ah, one of of Farke’s ploys come to fruition. By all means take the lead.” The leader’s clouded gaze turned on his lackadaisical councilor.

He gave an airy nod, “Of course, my friend. Mistress Redwulf, you have came to negotiate a contract for your band of ruffians in Sunberth. It is simple in its essence, more like a bounty than a contract on your end. You see from time to time Wizards decide to leave without permission. When that happens it is part of my purview to retrieve them. I cannot be in so many places at once, but I can place agents there, you see? I would provide you with mage bounties and you will return them for reward.” Though he had denied the existence of a contract he pulled out thickly rolled scroll of vellum. “What we would negotiate here, if you accept this duty, is what you wish in reward?”

[Fallon]

Fallon's skin prickled, just for a moment as those eyes peered at her and the inevitable came forward. The council were there to inspect and decide beyond those double doors - and the weight of that knowledge rocked upon her consciousness and the thought on if this was truly a wise plan. They could be trapped her, lead to their doom among the undying and never see the light of day ever again. Her fist gave a clench, tightly grasping as she clapped them behind her - and remained quiet as the present proceedings came to an end. Still, she tried her best to keep the air of confidence there, the mind steady and focused on what was before her - business. There was a long, respectful nod to the various Nuit that sat inspecting and perhaps already silently damning them all. Clearing her throat she spoke, "Greetings Council of Sahova, pleasure it is for myself and my two surprises, number one Noven," Her hand gestured to the Sunberthian and then slid round to Palaren, " and number two Palaren, to make acquaintance with you on the subject of business. I must apologise that surprises three and onwards decided to stay in Sunberth."

Lips gave the smallest of curls, before her hands once more returned behind her back letting the pleasant introductions sink in and the nuit talk among themselves. Farke was the first name that came to the fore, and in response her eyes slid around to the speaker, listening carefully to his words. The tell tale clues, the little points and features that could give her an answer to what he was actually thinking - subtext behind the scenario. Toes flexed upon the floor, her eyes flickering to the other faces - seemingly interested but remaining quiet. Was this the way things were going to continue, or was there really no interest besides observation to be had by them?

"You have my attention, Councillor Farke. For now at least," She spoke slowly, carefully picking through her words and the questions that swelled there, "So, you wish for myself, with the Scars to lead a retrieval service for your pet wizards that decide to venture too far? That is, if I understand you correctly?" Fallon licked at her lips, "I see no fault in your idea, least not at present. An extra set of anonymous hands is always useful in a world such as this. But it does lead to a few questions, like the exact nature and personality of these mages... and if they have to be returned functional," She gave the smallest of shrugs, letting the implied question hang there, before continuing, "Or even if resources would be supplied to assist in the reclamation of your little lost pets." She paused, "What can I say? I like knowing these things."

"Regardless," she brought her hands forward then, and brought them resting upon her belt, "These rewards, are they articles per head? To which then, how much do you value these wizards?" Her finger flickered around the room, "I know little on what Sahova could offer as a reward. Call it the perspective of a common street thug and their lacking. I know you specialise in magic, it oozes it,"[b] She paused, [b]"But beyond that, it is an unknown. So, my counter question. What can Sahova offer me for doing such a thing?"

[Noven]

By the time their eerie, purple and green eyed waif of a guide had pushed open the double doors and led them inside, another had just received the final verdict from five of the most ancient Nuits Noven had ever laid eyes on. The merc tried to avoid meeting any of their undead gazes and focused almost solely on following behind Bitzer. He wasn't terribly keen on attracting attention to himself before some of the most powerful corpses on this island.

What could he say? They were creepy.

His attempts to remain as little noticed as possible were made in vain, however, when Wolf Girl decided to introduce her two companions. Nov kept his face carefully blank as his name was given. There was no sense in appearing anything other than competent; he'd heard the disdain with which some of the Nuits had uttered the name 'Pulsers."

One of the members looked friendly enough, though Nov knew better than most how appearances could be deceiving. The rest were a dismal bunch at best. One of them was eyeing the Scars like some kind of rabid dog and it took every inch of will power for the merc not to growl back.

He listened as Bitzer and the Nuits began tackling the details of their contract. Mostly everything he was hearing now was news. Noven had gone willingly but also hastily on this little mission of theirs, desperate to get out of the city even for just a handful of days. Having gone on more than one skirmish with Wolf Girl meant a good deal of trust had been built. Hence, his lack of questions. Plus heaving chunks every ten or so chimes over the side of the ship worked like a charm in keeping his mind off of serious matters.

But now was the time to remedy. By the time this meeting was over, he hoped he would be caught up relatively to speed. Nov was never the type that needed to know every who, when, where, why, and how of a job. He just did his part and went home with mizas in his pockets. This particular gig, though, was a bit different. For one, it was being run by Nuits. That in it of itself gave him enough cause to avoid remaining in the dark. For another, there were lives other than his own at stake, which meant he needed to be doubly aware.

Nov noted that Bitzer addressed one of them as Councilor Farke and inspected the Nuit from a distance, trying to commit its particular visage to memory. At the same time, he absorbed the information being thrown back and forth between Council and Scars, slowly piecing together this complex puzzle of supply and demand.

So, it seemed the Council needed them to retrieve stray wizards. The cook wasn't entirely sure how well he'd do pitted against a desperate, possibly half-mad mage, knowing as little as he did about magic in general. But the others would do well enough, he reasoned. Or else why would they have been enlisted in the first place? Hunting down people wasn't anything new to his line of work at the very least. It was mostly his Sunberthian upbringing making a clamor in his mind, resisting involvement with any and all things magic.

When Bitzer began the first steps to their bargaining dance, Noven's focus intensified. This was perhaps the most intriguing part of their contract. A part he possessed no inkling as to how it might unfold or entail, because everything in the Citadel was as foreign to him as he was to it.

What could Sahova offer these three Scars?