11th of Spring, 515 A.V.
As Rhov entered through the double doors which marked the entrance to the Spinning Coin, the sounds and smells of the harbor all but vanished. A choking fog of smoke drifted lazily through the building, replacing the clean, salty air of the sea. The foul smell of blood and alcohol pierced through the dark atmosphere of the Coin, and uproarious cries of both laughter and anger echoed nosily throughout the spacious warehouse. Shifting forms of men and women alternating between watching the fights and gambling their savings away crowded the half of the building that was not taken up by the massive stage.
Rhov hated the city. It was just so...crowded. The sights, the sounds, even the people all vied for his sense's attention, and they only succeeded in clustering and confusing him. The people were the undoubtedly worst, their huddled forms setting his fingers on fire as his natural senses attempted to compensate for the constant disturbance. Even Eria, his Guardian and constant foil, found the city distasteful. Neither Rhov nor Eria dealt well with walls, both of them missing the unabated freedom the wilderness promised.
Just, for once, take it slow Rhov. We don't know the people here, but I doubt they would be impressed with your, well, more direct approach to conversation. Subtlety is key. Find your prey, and stalk it quietly. Eria's song-like voice tinkled thoughtfully, knowing full well that Rhov was more like to abandon her advice than heed it. She sat poised and graceful on his shoulder, Rhov's opposite in both appearance and personality.
I know how to track my prey Eria. I am not a youngling on his first hunt. He replied with an internal growl. Rhov, while naturally abrasive, was particularly put-off with his Guardian recently. As she had not graced him with her presence during his first bounty hunt, Rhov maintained an annoyed attitude towards his spiritual mentor. It appeared to him that Eria only cared to comment on the mundane instances of his life, leaving him abandoned in the moments where he actually needed her guidance.
No need for rudeness! I was only trying to help. She huffed in response, her injured courtesy turning the eagle's voice painfully sharp. She knew of Rhov's recent annoyance with her and attempted to mend the rift with a cautious word or two, but she had absolutely no patience for the mule-headed boy's lack of manners. With a shrill cry of disapproval, she vanished from her perch in an instant, leaving Rhov to his own devices. She hoped he would heed her advice, but Eria knew better than to expect such wisdom from her charge.
Rolling his solid, black eyes at his invisible Guardian's scorn, Rhov proceeded forward with a casual air about him, attempting to mirror the gait of those around him. While he found her perplexing and overly concerned with how others perceived him, her advice was sound. This was a new environment, filled to brim with unknowns and variables. A certain type of urban camouflage was required to blend into the background inside Stormhold Castle. Hiding in plain sight, as it were.
The hurried movements of people rushing towards the spectator seats as another round of cage fighting began sent Rhov's senses spiking again, and the Chaktawe grit his teeth in aggravation before sperating himself from the swarm of people. Damn crowds, he thought to himself as he placed himself roughly on one of the bar stools. His eyes narrowed reflexively as he saw who was speaking gruffly to the bartender. Gene Duval.
A man's reputation often proceeded them, and Gene Duval was no different. Mean, cruel, and according to general consensus, incredibly well informed. Gene Duval was the type of man Rhov needed if he was to stay employed as a bounty hunter, a man who could find and direct Rhov to criminals who needed capturing. As much as it irked the fledgling hunter, Mr. Duval had contacts that Rhov would be dependent on.
Collecting himself as well as he could manage, Rhov cleared his throat to gain Duval's attention. "Mr. Duval, a word. Please."
I even managed a "please". Eria should be happy.
The bear of a man raised a single, bushy eyebrow before motioning Rhov to follow. Rhov's eyes trailed after Duval, the onyx orbs attempting to glean any possible information out of the man's gait. Duval's gait was aggressive, his steps more akin to stomps. He strode forth with confidence of a man who has seen battle and come out victorious. He knew his abilities, his strengths and weaknesses, and his steps proved self-assured that he could handle anything that was thrown at him. A man not to be trifled with, but a warrior that Rhov could deal with.
Once the two were a respectable distance from curious ears, Duval turned sharply towards Rhov, his angry eyes giving the bronzed foreigner a once-over. "What do you want kid?" He snarled, his annoyance at being disturbed almost palatable.
Rhov bristled visibly at the comment, half-tempted to respond to Duval in kind before reigning in his anger.
"I am no child, and what I want is very simple. You have contacts, I have skills. I am a bounty hunter, but I need someone to alert me of upcoming contracts, to keep me informed. I think it would be profitable if worked together."
The man's features curled in surprise, obviously expecting a different sort of conversation when he pulled Rhov aside. Turning to face the crowd, Duval mulled over Rhov's proposition carefully. In their silence, the rise and fall of the crowd's cheers filled the warehouse with their thunderous sounds. Yet, even in their uproarious upheaval, the blood-curdling sound of a death-rattle pierced the barrier of sound like a knife. In that caged arena, one man lie dead, and another stood victorious.
Duval's eyes flashed with a cruel spark of intelligence before turning back again to face Rhov. A fanged, wolfish smile curled upon his face, and the rough facade peeled back to reveal savage joy.
"That was my last fight of the day. Tell you what kid, you hop in the cage and you survive, I'll take you up on that offer."
