The Market
27th of Searing, Year 122 Steel
Aurin grunted as he twisted, stretching sore muscles, before taking a seat at the bar, his back to the wall so he could keep an eye on his surroundings. He figured he was safe enough among the covens. If they were going to kill him, well, they outnumbered him and he was on their turf. But it seemed as though they were coming to accept him. Even now, he had another meeting scheduled. This pub was less intoxicating than the domain of the Myshalarai, but he wanted to keep his wits about him in any case. They had been more forthcoming, at least, which spoke to a growing rapport and trust. He had been told a representative of the Railrunners and another from the Kindred would meet with him.
It had occurred to him that, if he was successful, they might have to work out a schedule for his initiations. Masquerade and Semblance had been awful, mostly because they came simultaneously and he was fed some alchemical solution to blunt the effects of threshold sickness that only made it worse in some ways. But as long as they accepted him, he would consider it a win. With the largesse of the First Minister, he ought to be able to travel freely between the cities depsite the growing tensions; he could get his hands dirty helping targeted coven witches out, and perhaps they would complete initiation when he got them safely to Kalzasi.
There were plenty of ways things could go, though he supposed if things went well with the Railrunners, that ought to be his priority given he was trying to become a terminus for their underground railroad.
But he tried not to overthink things before there was something to think about. His eyes surveyed the room, wondering from whence his contacts would come.
27th of Searing, Year 122 Steel
People say I'm crazy
Doing what I'm doing
Well, they give me all kinds of warnings
To save me from ruin
When I say that I'm okay, well, they look at me kind of strange
"Surely, you're not happy now, you no longer play the game"
Doing what I'm doing
Well, they give me all kinds of warnings
To save me from ruin
When I say that I'm okay, well, they look at me kind of strange
"Surely, you're not happy now, you no longer play the game"
Aurin grunted as he twisted, stretching sore muscles, before taking a seat at the bar, his back to the wall so he could keep an eye on his surroundings. He figured he was safe enough among the covens. If they were going to kill him, well, they outnumbered him and he was on their turf. But it seemed as though they were coming to accept him. Even now, he had another meeting scheduled. This pub was less intoxicating than the domain of the Myshalarai, but he wanted to keep his wits about him in any case. They had been more forthcoming, at least, which spoke to a growing rapport and trust. He had been told a representative of the Railrunners and another from the Kindred would meet with him.
It had occurred to him that, if he was successful, they might have to work out a schedule for his initiations. Masquerade and Semblance had been awful, mostly because they came simultaneously and he was fed some alchemical solution to blunt the effects of threshold sickness that only made it worse in some ways. But as long as they accepted him, he would consider it a win. With the largesse of the First Minister, he ought to be able to travel freely between the cities depsite the growing tensions; he could get his hands dirty helping targeted coven witches out, and perhaps they would complete initiation when he got them safely to Kalzasi.
There were plenty of ways things could go, though he supposed if things went well with the Railrunners, that ought to be his priority given he was trying to become a terminus for their underground railroad.
But he tried not to overthink things before there was something to think about. His eyes surveyed the room, wondering from whence his contacts would come.