Legend of Ransera

Searing 18th, 118

At the amount of support he had got, his family had given up hope. Oliver decided it was best if he took the gauntlet his grandfather once stood for, knowing how much he needed to save, not only his family but also the world. Out in the open, there were people who would use these magical artifacts to inflict harm upon the world, if they were found. This was one of the reasons why it was important to Alexander, it has now become an defining factor in Oliver's career. He knew that unlike his family who stubbornly continue to rot. He wasn't going to let that happen.

In Alexander's journal, Oliver had found linkings to an artifact that has been in lockdown ever since the Age of Clockwork, although it was going to be a difficult journey. It was said to belong to one of the greatest artificers of all time: Duh'Nahra. She built her machinations for war, but there was one dark secret that she had kept from the world. It had been the reason why Oliver had travelled to Zaichaer, to uncover that information from an old colleague of Alexander's. Yet he was greedy and cruel when it came to his expedition rites. Perhaps Oliver might show him the true meaning of karma; if anyone believed in such a fantasy, it was him.

What comes around, goes around.

Oliver knew that he wasn't going to blast the richest archaelogist in Zaichaer. He knew their culture. To be metrosexual and snobbish, before the tasks of war. As an gentleman from the Imperium, he didn't need to that to feel worthy; maybe thats why most of the Zaichaeri cities have more coven activity within their undergrowth. No matter how illegal it was, Oliver took risks to get what he wanted.

He found himself in a bar in the darkest corners of the East End. An underground where coven activity would go on, at least where no one would knew. It was secret, but Oliver needed to blend in and listen, knowing it would be the perfect spot to find people who were expertise in magical theory; it was within a coven witches' nature to know about things that are magical, it was the least he could hope for, knowing he was going on his hopes.

He wasn't going to give up.

Oliver was just beginning his journey.

This wasn't Aurin's first time in Zaichaer, but now he was better equipped to stay safe. He wore clothes fit for a man of means in Zaichaer, but not so wealthy as to attract every last pickpocket. He wanted to find the covens, wanted to have that connection with Zaichaer, but stay in the safety of Kalzasi. He had a good gig at the Velvet Cabaret and he wasn't trying to spoil it, but Aurin got bored and had to go digging up secrets. It was his character flaw. Well, one of them.

Aside from his costume, he was using all he had learned of his seeing trick to mask his own Runes. It was unlikely anyone with the same trick would be looking at every person sitting in every bar, but the Order of Reconciliation did a good job of making it seem like their eyes and ears were everywhere. Mists, they were even in Kalzasi, where magic was lauded and most deities were accorded their due reverence. It occurred to him that he ought to let the right people know he had his tricks, but he hadn't figured that out yet, how to show the right people but hide it from the ones who would incarcerate him and torture him for information. That was only all right when he did it.

In any case, he had followed a lead to this bar and was just getting settled, halfway through his first drink, getting the lay of the land. There was a man who caught his eye, both because he was handsome, but also because there was something not right about him. He couldn't say what it was, but he had learned to trust his intuition. It kept him alive. And so he tried to surreptitiously observe him to see whether he was a possible new lead, a possible Reconciliator, or just didn't quite fit into this place. Neither did Aurin, but he was practiced at blending in.

He did miss the free drinks back home, though.

Moving through the crowds proved hard for the Imperium lad. The rustle and bustle of the underground wasn't something that Oliver witnessed, through his familiarity of Zaichaer. He was rather use to seeing women with high hair and men with surprisingly higher hair. The pompadour as they would call it. What a joke. From what he knew about his father complaining, they were men who simply made like porcelain dolls. There was no surprise that such things would break with a simple wack. Atleast, that's what Oliver recollected from the sudden complaints of his father's uneventful military days. Well, anything to be a paragon of the New Atheist movement that was brought upon both the Imperium and Zaichaer's nation.

Oliver would make his way to the bar, eye contact remained for a moment as he looked over at the auburn haired lad that caught his eye for a second; perhaps a patron of one of the great covens? Who knew, the only way was to simply blend in. Be friendly, be natural. You never knew what you could get with a simple gesture of kindness. He signalled to the man as it was noisy and crowded as he pretended to swig from a glass; his way of asking him if he wanted a drink in such an noisy environment. Since it was deep underground, no one had to worry about a bunch of Reconciliators waging war with them. The bards from the Myshalarai played their music and performed their illusory shows, whilst the Railrunners were trading access to cities through the mastery of their portals, through the night there was something useful to be gained as he gestured forward.

Culture had it's form of entertainment for Oliver, but he wasn't here for a cultural visit "Aye! Do you come here often!" He shouted to the unknown auburn haired male. He was attractive, but yet he also seemed lost in the place. Perhaps as lost as he was.

When the handsome man caught his eye and signalled like he wanted to share a drink, Aurin smirked. He wasn't shy about it, either. Perhaps his boldness was charming, or intriguing, or it would get him punched in the face. At least he wouldn't be forgotten, and he had to make a bit of an impression if he wanted to get in good with the covens. And if he didn't get in good with the covens, there was no way he could ever hide in Zaichaer. While he could change his face and hide his Runes from most people, even he had to sleep, and even he needed allies, even ones he could only trust so far.

He walked over to stand next to the man. Perhaps he was a witch or perhaps he was a foreigner. Either way, he didn't fit in, but he didn't smell like a cop. Aurin was certain he wasn't a Reconciliator.

"I don't," he said loudly, but just loudly enough to be heard over the din. He was a past master at gauging his volume such that he could be heard in a crowded bar, but not overheard.

"You don't either, I'll wager," he said, leaning against the bar, hip cocked out. Hazel eyes looked the man up and down, taking his measure. "But aye, you can buy me a drink and tell me what brings you here. Perhaps I'll reciprocate with my story."

Or perhaps he would charm the man out of his pants and into a bed, or at least prone with limbs akimbo. They didn't need a bed to fuck and suddenly Aurin felt like a good fuck.

"But you really have to come up with a better line. That face will only get you so far without a better one." He winked and then turned his gaze toward the bartender, nodding when they made eye contact so it was known that an order was ready to be taken. Then he looked back at the man, an eyebrow quirked high in curiosity and challenge.

"What do you desire?"

Lore: 8 each

Points: 10 each, Aurin may use for Semblance

Injuries/Ailments: None

Loot: None

Notes: Sad this didn't get to finish.