Two Gentlemen of Kalzasi (Urs)

[Aurin]

The High City of Zaichaer
24th of Searing, Year 122 Steel

In many ways, the Brass City was the antipode of Kalzasi, but its people were just as on edge.

But opportunity rarely knocked twice and if the times were perilous, well, that was nothing new. This trip had been in the works for some time, but it was a tip from Torin that had helped it manifest. His predecessor at the Theater had maintained connections with the covens of Zaichaer, helping them extradite members for whom the city became too dangerous. He wanted to renew those ties, but he wasn't Celisa, and they were slow to trust. But now he had Urs Wardell, a scion of the covens. They put their knowledge together, and now they had a much better idea how to track them down. And Aurin had something Urs didn't have—the goodwill of the new First Minister of their city-state's enemy, the purported enemy of the state, Brenner Dornkirk.

With a little careful correspondence, he had secured them entrance into the city, flying from Kalzasi to Shemashk and thence to Zaichaer, a much less complicated route than they would have had to undertake without an in. But customs had treated them with great respect, Master Aurin Kavafis and his assistant, Urs Wardell.

En route, they had spoken plainly to each other because they needed to be on the same page to do the work they wished to do while under the aegis of the First Minister's good will and Aurin's artistic license. They had discussed their magics and their mundane skills. They were a team, at least until they quit Zaichaer. They had to know what the other was capable of. Between their writ from Dornkirk and their Semblance tricks, they didn't even need to receive licensure for magic.

Aurin had gone to the Pfenning Theater and dropped what he hoped were clear clues that he was looking for the contacts with the underground railroad that he was seeking to reinstate the Kalzasern terminus and that he was there investigating with only the best intentions. He intended to profit, of course, but he would deal with the covens in good faith should they deign to speak to him.

Now, he would follow up on a few leads—some his, some Urs'—and see whether they found the covens or the covens found them.

He glanced sidelong at the man, his sharp jaw and generous lips.

"How did you bed the elf?" he asked, a barb of challenge in his question, but more than a hint of good humor. "Don't get me wrong. He's a fine looking fellow, but he seems rather... sexless."

[Urs Wardell]

The city of brass felt like it’d never been alive.

Urs hadn’t been entirely sure what to expect - not of Zaichar, nor of Aurin Kavafis. He’d been warned about the city. The great soulless beast to the south. The supposed enemy of feathered Kalzasi. All steam and metal and nothing magic about it.

Urs’ spell scoured the area, here and there, folding into itself when he caught brambles of attention. There was magic here, wards and the like, even if the people liked to pretend there wasn’t anything of the sort. Delusional. There was no fighting against magic - not without magic. Mother hadn’t been felled by some mundane poison and she certainly wouldn’t have died by steeled blade. No witch worth their word would.

And yet, somehow, the Zaichari people had cowed the great covens of the south. They’d been reduced to simple traffickers. Merchants hidden by conjured shadows.

This city was dangerous, somehow, and to him especially, and yet Urs found himself wishing more that somehow had warned him instead of Aurin Kavafis - the supposed fox of Kalzasi. Or so Sivan had said.

“Then you’d be surprised,” Urs said, his eyes searching for the places his magic caught, “If you ever get the chance, I’d recommend it. I don’t think I’ve ever been fucked better.”

He snorted.

“Sexless? Or did he just reject you, I wonder.”

He’d been on edge since arriving to Zaichar and Aurin hadn’t been the least bit of help to soothe his nerves.

[Rune]

Valencia Grey was a serving maid. Had been for five years, at the manor house of a noble family (not that Zaichaer actually had nobility, but the old class from the Imperium was loath to let the idea go). She knew how to curtsey and lower her eyes, kept herself modest, clean, and respectable. Her days were spent keeping the upstairs bedrooms in order, tending the fireplaces, cleaning the linen. She even helped in the kitchen on the rare occasion that the elderly lord of the manor and his wife held a dinner for friends.

Today she was off to the market to purchase buttons and other small items that her Lady needed. She was a good girl.

At least, that was what anyone who looked at her would see.

Valencia Grey was neither good, a girl, nor a servant. But no one knew that, or few enough that it amounted to none. Today was not to be a hunt for a haberdashery, but rather, for a man. A contact, really, but he was also a man. Probably. If there was one thing Valencia had learned in her many years as a Railrunner, it was not to judge anyone on appearances.

News had come to her, through the normal channels, that a little fox had been nosing about for a contact. No one higher up seemed to be taking the chance to offer him any bait, and it had been a slow season for Valencia. One of her main contacts in Kalzasi had gone silent, and with the conflict between the two cities looming it did not feel like a good time to be lacking.

Watching the two foreign men, one dark, the other enflamed, making their way through the market was easy, more so for the magic, but not needed. One learned not to employ power in Zaichaer unless it was needed, legal or otherwise. When they were close she stepped out into their path, shoulder bumping into the dark one, jostling him a little.

"Oh," Her gasp was small and fragile, "Oh, Sir, I'm so sorry. Forgive me." As she'd bumped, and began to fall, she'd caught hold of the young man's hand, and was now holding it, looking at him imploringly, but keeping both her hands there on his, where they could be seen. Through her fearful, clutching hands pour tiny sparks of Mesmer, adding to her play-acting and nudging both men into a place to look kindly upon her. The magic was not really needed, her ability to manipulate sentient beings was the study of more than a hundred years, but if they were, as they had been reported to be, they would see her use of aether, and understand.

"Please, let me buy you a meal at this inn?" She gestured, still holding the darker man by one hand, to the building they were not in front of, "Or a drink?"

Tugging on the hand with girlish enthusiasm she led the one into the inn, hoping the other would have the sense to follow.

The place was large, and surprisingly cool for the season (modern technology, not wicked magics), and smelled of well-spiced cooking more than it did of ale. The stocky, well-muscled man behind the bar nodded at Valencia almost imperceptibly and made no motion to either aid nor hinder nor serve. Valencia made her way to a back table, even though the place was almost empty at that time of day, and settled in a chair, leaving the bench that back the wall for the two newcomers.

"Now then," She smiled, all the innocence falling from her as she arched one pale brow, "What is this I hear about a fox in the henhouse?"

[Aurin]

Aurin laughed at Urs' response. His comment hadn't been laced with malice. He liked the elf well enough that he didn't mind Torin sharing some of his secrets, after all. But if Urs didn't like his humor, he wouldn't press it. He just hoped the physician knew about Torin and the elf and how deep their friendship was. Aurin didn't feel threatened by it, and Kalzasi had legally established non-monogamy, but there were people, like Arry, who got jealous.

For his part, he was trying to balance his use of his Semblance trick between hiding his aura from prying magical eyes and getting a deeper sense of his surroundings. Urs was a bit more aggressive with his searching, but seemed quick and cunning about it, avoiding notice. A part of him was impressed and paying attention, wondering if he could ape the technique later with some practice. Witches and Circle mages and most magic users seemed to be taught their craft; Aurin was self-taught, for better or worse. He didn't know if the witches would admire that or sneer.

He felt an itch between his shoulders. His trick didn't register anything, but he was being watched.

It was difficult to con a con man, and he was instantly on alert when the woman bumped into Urs. He even sensed the familiar manipulations of Mesmer, but the woman's magic isolated the spike of rage it triggered, soothing him and urging him to follow. He told himself he could stop and turn around if he wanted to, but he wouldn't ever know for sure because he followed her, followed Urs, and walked into the inn's taproom. Clever eyes noted that the bartender was an accomplice of hers, though he couldn't bring himself to think ill of her.

"Don't do that again," he said softly, when he felt her relax her control. He stretched his neck from one side to the next, then settled himself, smiling with all his charm and glancing sidelong at Urs to make sure his charge wasn't still under her spell. Then he looked back at the woman. With a quick nod of his head toward Urs, he said, "His mother was a witch and he's looking for his family. My predecessor helped marked mages make new lives out of the reach of the Watchers. I want to negotiate a similar pact with the lovely witch covens of Zaichaer. You can listen to my symphony all you like and know I speak without guile."

[Urs Wardell]

The magic felt like ice sliding along his skin. White-eyed fear trembled from her fingers, in droplets, staining his magic where she touched. It spread like fire, a bloom of smoke pretending to be an aura.

Urs frowned.

Effective, if annoying. He remembered, vaguely, about illusionists and charmers, sorts of magic he’d never cared to study. Urs imagined all their spells to be such fragile images, lies strained by even the simplest of truths.

And yet - here he was, a talented Semblance user, and even his Sight was polluted by whatever witchcraft the woman cast against his. Urs wondered if all the witches of Zaichaer were so talented; it’d make sense, now, that Mother had fled here when she’d lost her space at the Tower.

He used his magic like a hammer against her enchantment - breaking the pretty story, worsening whatever cracks he could. And, if that failed, well. There wasn’t much choice but to follow. If this was a trap, well - they’d already been caught. Urs recognized that, at least, and only hoped the supposed Fox was clever enough to see tricks that his spells missed.

The buzz of technology polluted the tavern. Great fans spun above their heads and something like ice breezed along the windows and walls. Strange. Urs wasn’t opposed, immediately, to such things, but he hadn’t the faintest idea why someone would choose steel over the reliability of bewitchment.

“She wasn’t, no,” he says, frowning at Aurin, “But originally of Kalzasi, I think, before coming here with a woman named Agatha. Unless that too, was a lie. And then, she fled for some reason with me by her side, settling for the Midden - below the city. I want to find out if I still have anyone here who remembers me.”

[Rune]

Both were runed, but then, both came from a land where magic flowed like water into the hands of any who held them out for it. Grey eyes moved from face to face, but more than that, grey aether, that of Semblance, and gold, that of Mesmer, flowed over them. The witch did not invert her weaves, not there, in a place already inverted from prying eyes. Let them see, let them understand without her having to say.

She let her manipulation fall away, delicate as it had been, there was no reason for it any longer. Both men were speaking freely of what they had come seeking, and their symphonies sang to her as their auras spoke more plainly. They each wanted something, and that was what the Railrunners did, find what was sought and deliver it. In this case, neither request was in the form of an item. Non-physical requests were trickier.

Valencia liked trickier. The trickier the better, really.

The redhead first. His desire was, after all, what had drawn her in the first place.

"He is looking for his family and you want to protect mine? And what would you want, for helping the kin who can no longer sustain themselves in the heart of the machine? I will not question the goodness of your own heart. In fact, I don't think your heart is any part of this. I won't even ask what you did with Celisa." Her smile was something this fox would recognize, had he ever spent time in front of a mirror. She would wait to hear his terms and they would barter for a bit. Then she would go away and find out everything there was to be known about him and decided if the terms were still to her liking.

Before he could answer, she turned to the darker one. Doctor his symphony whispered, but there was more; layers of song that flowed deeper than most she encountered. Looking at him was like listening to a drop of water falling a long, long way. It hadn't landed yet, and the anticipation made her instincts twitch.

"Agatha?" The name was familiar, but not familiar enough yet to trade. The tale was an interesting one in its own right. A Kalzasi witch fleeing to Zaichaer, of all places, and then fleeing again, back, and hiding in the Middens. There was more there than the boy was saying, probably than he knew, if he was here looking.

"I can find this woman, if she ever was in the city. What do you offer for the finding?"

Valencia was not in desperate need of payment, but she was very interested to see what the young Doctor had to offer.

[Urs Wardell]

Mesmer.

Gold and gray, cold and colder. Magic spun its own history. A smoke, smog, opaque. Urs wondered, sometimes, about the sorts of people who played in and with hearts. Necromancers were supposed to be the most vile sort of witches. The worries of a bound soul, he supposed, were greater than the worries of a bound heart or mind.

“Apologies,” he said, his own practice creeping away from in - the bar was no man’s land, it seems, or free enough from the ever watchful eye of Zaichaer that there wasn’t any obvious concern, in regards to spellcasting.

“I know where Agatha is, and she isn’t in this city, if that’s who you meant to find - and Mother, if that’s who you’re referencing, is long dead,” he says, “Who I need to find is anyone who might know her or the woman I called Mother. Or, if they’re still alive, my family.”

Prices. There was always a cost to these things, power and information and magic.

“I have a book,” he says, slipping Mother’s diary into view, “And it has stories. Nonsense, I thought, but if you look closer - I met Witches from Zaichaer, before, and some of the tales could be referencing you all. It might be a clue. I am not sure what this is worth.”

[Aurin]

Though she addressed him first, he let Urs precede him in responding. Thus he was able to observe the woman while they did their wheeling and dealing. It didn't show on his face, but he wished Urs had given him the book. He could have cracked the code and figured out what the book said, giving them much more leverage for negotiation, but it didn't matter in the end. Urs was useful in and would likely get what he wanted if he could pay the witches' toll.

But Urs was a friend of a friend of his boy, so he tried to help him out by cutting in with his own negotiation, hoping to throw the woman off her game a bit.

"Celisa retired from the Theater and trusted me enough to tell me about the underground railroad," he said. "I know the Pfenning Theater is another link in the chain, and I've spoken with agents of the theater here." He shrugged. "If I'm denied, I'm not about to go to the Order about it. But I want to reinstate that avenue of escape, which may be all the more necessary with war brewing. Surely the Order will crack down hard in order to make the citizens feel safe from the evils of Kalzasern sorcery. I help you get your people to someplace safe where they can get back on their feet even if they leave with nothing but the shirt on their back. In exchange, I get credible information out of Zaichaer.

"And I want to be an honorary member of the covens."

Aurin was confident he could negotiate the first. The second was a shot in the dark, but he had always heard the witches of Zaichaer had tricks up their sleeves that no other mages knew. He wanted that edge when his past came back to haunt him. He had people to protect now, and so he would protect others in exchange for the tools to protect himself and his people. He maintained steady eye contact rather than glance at Urs, though the fussy doctor was one of those people now by default.

Urs was important to Sivan, who was important to Torin, who was important to Aurin. When one cared about someone else, there were always strings attached. But that was probably how the covens worked, as well, so perhaps she could empathize. He wasn't trying to obscure his aura, though, not from her. She could measure him as she would, and with luck, she wouldn't find him wanting.

[Rune]

Valencia wondered why, if the boy knew where this Agatha was, why he did not seek her out. She would still try and find the woman, even if she was not being paid for it, even if he was right. Affording to look into things simply because she was interested was within her budget.

The book was interesting, obviously magical, though not in the traditional sense. Not in the normal ways one made a book magic. It sounded like the book was being offered as both clue and payment, and, without further study, Valencia could not know if it was valuable as either. She could afford to take the risk, and, if it proved to have no value to her she could simply not do the work. Acknowledging this also required to to acknowledge that if it was a good clue, she likely would look into it regardless of its value.

Eyes flitting from study of the book up into the younger set of hazel eyes she said,

"If blood is what you seek, blood will be required."

There were various ways to locate who was related to someone, but blood was expedient, not to mention having many other uses. She laid a hand lightly over the apparently hand-written volume, not in ownership, but in a suggestion of it, should the witch's boy agree.

Valencia's eyes returned the the redhead, who saw himself as the leader of the pair, despite the fact that the diminutive, darker one had a clear mind of his own on the matter. Perhaps it wasn't that he thought of himself as the leader between the two of them, perhaps it was that he considered himself in control of whoever and wherever he happened to be. His symphony took on a note of desire, for the book she was offering to claim, thankfully, and not Valencia herself.

Although... She let her eyes run over his form without aetheric augmentation for a moment. A thought for another time.

The music that flowed from the coppery man did not whisper of lies when he said that his predecessor had retired, nor when he spoke of her sharing her secrets with him. There was... something there. Not a lie, but not whole truths either. The entirety of his being whispered of half-truths, some so old and ingrained she would be surprised if he was even aware of them. His explanation was what she had been expecting, right up until he named his price.

One of her pale brows actually rose at the confident arrogance of such an idea. No one had ever been a member of all the covens. Being a member of even more than one was exceedingly rare. Not to mention the fact that 'the covens' was a fluid concept. It wasn't common knowledge, but new ones, or branched version of old ones were popping up all the time. Usually they were put down by the Order, ended by a more powerful coven, or swallowed by the same. There were the ones that stuck around long enough to earn a reputation, of course, and that was likely what this man was referring to. A smile curled over her lips that held genuine amusement and genuine respect at the gall of the request both.

"The testing to join many of them is enough to kill most who try. But, then, I suppose as only an 'honorary' member, you'd want to skip initiation?"

Shaking her head, dismissing the idea for the moment she addressed his first request,

"Information, you can have. I can draw up a contract and we can add specifics; how much information, concerning what topics, in exchange for which services." She waved her hand to imply 'et cetera'. The contract would be magically binding, of course. If he was not expecting that then he had no business attempting a deal of this kind. She would sign it too, though, so it wasn't his risk alone.

"I will even commit to introduce you to people who could gain you entry into some covens, though I can't make commitments as to your suitability or to their looking kindly upon your application." She was still amused, very, but it wasn't mocking, or, if it was, it was gently

[Aurin]

One eyebrow rose like the wing of a red hawk when she mentioned blood; he understood that, of course, though he had left his compass behind, not wanting to risk losing it to some poncy Watcher of Purity. He had the First Minister of Zaichaer's goodwill, but he didn't know how far that would go all things considered, though he had covered his tracks well and didn't expect there were any tailing him other than Valencia and her ilk, whom he had sought to flag down in any case. Urs would make his decisions and, whether he lost a little blood or not, Aurin would endeavor to get him out of Zaichaer with his skin intact. His skinny ass was keeping Sivan happy, which meant the elf wasn't taking up so much of Torin's time that he hadn't any to spare for Aurin himself. He always had reasons and reasons for the things he did.

While Urs mulled that over, Aurin continued negotiations.

"Of course, tit for tat, and all that," he said, smirking with amusement rather than malice. "I expect you have at least one person among you with the requisite skills to create magically binding contracts. And as for the latter, I didn't figure you could negotiate that on behalf of all the covens. But I think you can tell which magical tricks I have up my sleeves..." Literally, he almost added. He had limited intelligence on the covens, though there were a couple that seemed aligned with his worldview and his skills. They could teach him their variations on the trick, and he supposed others could initiate him where necessary.

"I don't know what goes into your initiations, whether a mark is enough or..." He shrugged. Though he had some idea, he didn't want to give up the slight advantage of her not knowing everything he knew. He was acting in good faith, but this was still a preliminary negotiation and he could still get the short end of the stick if he wasn't careful. "But meeting with their leaders would be enough for now. Let them hear the song my soul makes for your trick, let them vet my abilities to make good on my side of the bargain. I could be a good person to have among your ranks."

Of course, far from Zaichaer, he would operate without a great deal of oversight, which suited him just fine.

"Then the information would be staying within the covens, right? Then I would be helping my own people. This could be a win-win situation."

In that, he wasn't lying. He wasn't even dissembling. He had a desire to help these people stick it to their unjust overlords, but he needed to be getting something out of it as well. That seemed only fair, even to a con man.