Let's Get Down to Business (Lyra)

[Franky]

Searing 33, 122 - Really, really early

Franky was in the passenger seat of a wagon he'd rented this morning, long before the sun was set to rise. The driver didn't speak much, he was one Franky hired often, and Franky was paying five times the rate he normally gave out. Franky was sipping cold coffee from a canteen, feeling the difference in the road, the wagon no longer bouncing wildly over the uneven cobblestones of the Knob, riding smoothly as they made their way west, as fast as they could travel without having the local guards stop them for disturbing the peace. Franky was already down two hundred colds, having woken and bribed an official from the Business Licensure Board. It had taken even longer since apparently he was at his mistress' home, but Franky had been subtle in his questioning the man's wife on his whereabouts. Emergency business application.

He had received the address of Lyra's home on West End from her business application.

Franky was racing there now. Dalma had received her vision of the destruction of Zaichaer last night, and Franky had spent the better part of the night questioning what she saw and formulating his plan. There was no stopping this, they did not know the source and according to Dalma, none could stop Fate. One just survived it, or not. So that was the play, get as many people to survive this as possible and go from there. And the first stop was to find Lyra. Franky had already purchased a large number of custom antimagic jewelry from her earlier in the season to better protect his staff at the Gobbler. They were not close by any means, but he suspected she at least knew that when he spoke, he was serious, and that his money was just as good as his word.

Because this was not going to be an easy conversation.

A gruff, "We're here."

Franky looked up at the large manor. Old money acquired by a new buyer, it seemed. Franky had always considered buying an estate on this side of town, but these days, less so. Franky stepped down from the wagon, setting the canteen in his seat, walking with determination up to Lyra's front door. He was not in his suit that they had met in last time, but rather his bartender garb, a white shirt, sleeves rolled up and simple slacks.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Franky worked to compose himself, he knew he was in a panic, but now was not the time for this. Too much work to do.

[Lyra]

The night was always long for Lyra. It was a time when the mortal races slept, taking flight in the land of dreams and nightmares to explore parts of their consciousness they were not aware of during their waking hours. Sometimes Lyra liked to imagine what that must be like, to close ones eyes and be whisked away by fanciful visions until dawns next coming. It had been thousands of years since she had last had the pleasure of dreaming. Such would have been a relief in her prison, but of course that was denied her as well. Instead Lyra spent her nights reading, recording notes of the days events, and working on smaller projects that she hadn't the time for during the day. That was why she was awake and alert when the knock came.

Using a thin ribbon Lyra marked her place in the book she was reading by mage light, setting the red covered tome aside and standing to walk to the door of the study. As she leaned out the door her butler, Salem, was already creating their sudden guest. His greeting was a simple question of who it was that called on Lyra this late, and what their business was. Once that information was collected the silver-haired half elf shut the door and turned to find Lyra waiting for him in the hallway.

"Who was it?" Lyra asked, looking passed the man to the now closed door.

"A hobgoblin called Franky." Salem said, "He says he has something of great importance to speak with you about."

"At this hour?" Raising an eyebrow Lyra searched Salem's silver eyes, but the man had nothing else to offer in the way of explanation, "Very well I will see him now. Let him in to the study, and prepare tea and a light refreshment."

With a bow Salem turned to do as he was instructed, and Lyra returned to her place in the armchair next to the unlit fireplace. She reopened her book, the language inside of elvish script, but like the rest of the books on the walls the books themselves had no tittles. When Franky came in Lyra indicated for him to take the seat opposite her, finishing a sentence before closing and setting the book aside once more. She did not wear her typical gold and black robes, but neither was she dressed in a nightgown or in any way that suggested she had been asleep until just moments before. Her dress was a light blue, made of good quality but not of fine silks. Her hair was down and brushed, hanging over one shoulder. Artur was not present this evening, though there was a place for him on the table beside her chair where he might have curled up on the small cushion there.

"To what do I owe the pleasure of this nightly visitation?" Lyra asked, leaning on one elbow as she studied the hob curiously, "Were it anyone else I'd have sent them away under suspicion of impure thoughts, but I doubt you would call on me for a tryst so suddenly."

Though she did not say it, Lyra noted the clothing of the man, and subconsciously began to search his surface thoughts with thin strands of aether. What she saw there made a frown appear where a small smile had once been.

"It seems you do have something to tell me. What is it you require?"

[Franky]

An elf answered the door, skeptical eyes for a visitor at this hour. Franky gave his name and told the man that he need to speak to Lyra on a matter of urgent and grave importance. He waited as the man closed the door, presumably to speak with Lyra herself.

The door was opened and Franky was escorted into Lyra's manor. He did not take the time to appreciate any of the adornment inside, moving with determination to the chair that was designated for him by Lyra. A quick glance suggested that Franky had not interrupted Lyra's sleep. A fellow night owl.

He listened as she teased him with her greetings, something Franky would've normally appreciated were he under any other circumstances. "Apologies for the late disturbance, but I am bringing you both grave and urgent news." Franky leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his hand running over his bald head, his new ring glinting just a bit, looking up at her, the weight of what he was about to say more than evident upon his normally jovial face.

"I am aware of great devastation that will befall Zaichaer, tomorrow. I know this because one of the only people I genuinely trust in this world is one of Galetira's Seers. It is Fate and unavoidable. It will come in the form of a storm the likes of which I have never seen, one that Zaichaer is entirely helpless to stop. Buildings crumbling to dust, people turning into horrible, twisted monsters. I do not know why this is happening, just that it will."

He sat up now, reaching into his jacket pocket, pulling out an envelope. He set it on the table, "I have come to ask you to come to my tavern, and do everything you can to protect it and everyone within it from this coming destruction. There's one hundred thousand gold notes in there as payment, up front and in full. I do not know how you perform your craft, nor do I need to know. My staff will be aware of the situation and if you agree, will assist you in any way you deem fit."

He sighed, "If I am wrong, and the storm fails to come, so be it. You'll still be all the richer for it and have my enduring gratitude for the effort made."

Franky's eyes bore that fire he carried as his younger self, "I cannot stop this, but I can see that as many of us survive it as possible."

[Lyra]

Franky did not seem a man to jest, and at his words, her frown deepened. There was more information in those few sentences than she had time to truly unpack. A mention of a wife raised the name "Dalma" to his highest thoughts, and a connection to one of the most frustrating divine Lyra had come across. Talk of fate, disaster, death... These were words that did not belong on the lips of a man so humbly dressed, yet there they were.

Lyra glanced down at the envelope as it was set on the table, but her eyes showed little interest in the currency it contained. She was quiet for a long time when Franky finally finished, long enough for Salem to return with two cups of tea steaming with heat. At last, she sat back, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap.

"Why come to me?" If she believed him she did not show it outwardly, but watched Franky intently, curiosity showing on her features at his answer.

[Franky]

A simple question, forward and direct. Cut right through it all. She remained impassive in her face, but Franky was not interested in her believing him. He just wanted her expertise. "Gut instinct."

Franky looked her in the eyes, not hiding emotion, but rather baring them all freely. "I learned of this earlier this night. I pride myself on getting to know people, on having good intuition when it comes to who I meet. And from when we met on your opening day, I could tell that.."

A slight downward turn of the brow, a flareup of something deep in his eyes, "You did not found this business for the money it will bring. Which I'm sure will be plentiful. Just as I did not open my tavern for the money."

The look was gone now but his eyes were still fixed on Lyra, "People who operate only for money are simple creatures, never aspiring to more, never having a real belief in something greater than themselves. I do, and I'm sure that you do as well."

He sighed, "I come to you, again, out of necessity. You're the only person I know that has any expertise on the world of magic and protection that I know naught of."

A shrug, "Why you? Because you answered your door at two hours past midnight for me. Why you? Because you deal in a world beyond my understanding. Why you?"

A soft smile, "Because I built a world of friends and loved ones and I will do anything to not lose them all. I will ask anyone who can do anything to help."

He looked at the envelope of money, "Keep it, burn it, I don't care. If we're all dead tomorrow, it won't matter a bit."

He looked her in the eyes once more, tears in his own, "Do this for me, and I will answer my door past midnight for you, as many times as you need. I will give you the kingdom I have not yet built, the very last breath I bear."

He looked down at his hands now, smiling softly, tears falling on his slacks, "I hate this city, but the Knob? This is my home. And I will not abandon it or any other that calls it as such."

[Lyra]

There was a chill in the air as Franky spoke, a cold that cut through bone and raised the hairs on the back of Lyra's neck. His words spun a cord of longing through the air as his melodies resonated with every utterance, and Lyrielle found herself enthralled. Desire was too pitiful a label for what this man felt. What his symphonies sang of was an absolute conviction.

Lyrielle had thought to play with the man for a time, to stretch the conversation to tease out each and every drop of passion the man contained, but Lyra saw that it wasn't necessary. The words of one of Galetira's Seers was near absolute, but even were she doubtful Lyra would have found herself swayed. For the first time in 10,000 years, Lyrielle felt... sympathy. An outrageous, incomprehensible emotion which was as much a shock to her as the man before her, but Lyra could not deny it. Would not deny it.

Impassiveness blead away something close to compassion before Lyra blinked and looked down at her hands in her lap. They were curled ever so slightly, the nails neatly trimmed and painted black as usual. Perhaps she was at a loss for words, but again Lyra waxed into silence. Thoughtful, and biting her lip she shook her head and then sighed.

"Naila." The word echoed in the room unnaturally for a moment, and then one of the curtains rustled as a half-elf woman with dark hair stepped into view. She wore the leathers of a warrior, daggers strapped to her hips and arms crossed.

"Make preparations. Bring me my stylus and ink, and paper to write on. Then reach out to our connections to be ready to receive instructions."

Naila raised an eyebrow, glancing at Franky before nodding and walking from the room with unhurried steps. Lyra watched her go, her expression now returning to its former expressionless visage when she finally looked back at Franky. Then she smiled.

"I have met others like you. Strong in their belief, desperate to protect the things they love. I have seen such men and women crack once the pressure became too great. They cast aside the things they claimed most dear, and in the end they perished along with everything they had tried to protect." Lyrielle stood, stretching her arms over her head but her eyes did not leave Franky's, "I wonder, will your spirit survive what is to come? Or will you shatter like all the rest."

It wasn't a question, or a statement. Lyrielle spoke as if she were thinking aloud. Her dress made soft whispers against the floor as she walked barefoot across the floor to where Franky sat, trailing a hand along the arm of the chair as she circled around it to look at Franky from the other side.

She reached out with her magic and gently caressed the man's emotions, raising the notes of apprehension and unease. As she leaned farther to better see his face, her black hair falling in strands over her unblinking eyes, Lyra asked softly, "Are you afraid of magic, Franky?"

[Franky]

Franky waited on baited breath, and he watched as her impassive body, guarded and protected from giving away any emotion shifted. He saw the biting lip, the curling of hands, the downward gaze, and well the sigh was more than extremely obvious. Her defenses were asunder. Which was not necessarily Franky's intention, but if it served his purpose now, he would accept it. And tearing down defenses was what the Imperium trained him to do. To break down defenses and invade. In his military days, that was literal.

But now, Franky did not invade, even with Lyra's defenses exposed, even as she had already begun to try and build them back up. He let her do so. He watched and listened as she went into action immediately. He saw a warrior woman slip in, Naila, it seemed. He was not afraid for his own safety, he was well past the point of needing to defend himself from every physical threat.

He saw the eyebrow, the glance, the quick turn. Someone who followed orders but would ask questions later. A perfect subordinate and companion. Those types were to be cherished, they were far more rare than one might think. At Lyra's pondering, Franky smiled, "I've shattered before, I will shatter again. Won't keep me from trying."

Then she was moving about. Her motions, soft, considered, deliberate, dangerous.. harked back to his time in the swamps of Sangen. The predator was regaining her footing, and Franky did not protest. She asked him a question, and Franky responded truthfully.

"Yes."

Franky was somber, "I do not understand magic, but I understand power. I know that power without discipline or control gets oneself and so many others killed. I know that power left unmatched destroys more than it creates. Yes, I am afraid of magic. But I'm afraid of those who wield it like one might wield a knife more."

[Lyra]

The answer was one she might have expected, especially from a man as experienced as Franky. Lyra didn't refute him but straightened and walked to stand directly in front of him once more. By now the mask was once more fully in place, and that odd feeling was once more tamped down to a deep, recessed part of her mind. It was a moment of weakness. No, not weakness, she had simply come under the sway of this one's own emotions. The Hob held within him a powerful ability to resonate with others with words, and he transferred his emotions as effectively as Lyra herself even without magic. Truly it was not magic that should be feared, but men like Franky who could turn even words into a knife.

At last, Lyra looked down at the envelope on the table beside her abandoned chair. She considered it, arms held behind her back in a relaxed posture.

"You are wise to be wary of what you do not understand, but I do not take you for a fool who fears the unknown." Lyra looked back at Franky, "Your insight is uncanny, and you are correct. The gold matters little to me beyond a means to an end, so your payment will go towards needed supplies and resources, but nothing else."

Lyra leaned forward, tilting her head slightly, "It is my understanding that you care only for the Knob, and your people within it. Would it hurt your soul if the rest of the city were to burn?"

With a motion of her hand, the shadows in the room shivered, and the door closed with a soft click. Candles near the windows winked out one after another, a dark tendril passing over them to extinguish their flame and the light they gave off. Lyra left the few candles that burned on the mantle and table alight so that darkness did not fully consume the room.

Sitting in her chair once more Lyra made herself comfortable before continuing, her voice business-like though her tone held barely contained hunger.

"I will fulfill your desire, but what I demand in payment will be costly." She searched his symphonies as she posed and spoke, shadows causing odd distortions on both of their features as the flickering candlelight danced.

"You speak of a new kingdom... I shall have it, and an oath from you to serve my interests when they do not conflict with yours." Her eyes did glow then when she leaned forward, hand resting on her cheek, "Such an oath would be binding, for it is old magic. Older than this city. Older than this age. Older than dear Galetira. You are right to fear magic, especially magic such as this, but still..."

Lyra extended her hand, palm up to show the tattoo of a stylized eye there. Its pupil was that of a coiled serpent, "If you do this, I will ensure what you hold most dear will survive what is to come."

[Franky]

And the other shoe dropped. Just as Franky would've done had the roles been reversed. Would it hurt Franky's soul? He did not know to what she was alluding, but he suspected it was more than a lack of saving the rest of Zaichaer. He watched as she locked the room down and darkened it, and was already weighing the costs, literal and figurative, as she spoke her terms.

Another devil, another deal. This was Franky's new normal it seemed, and his only realistic option to get everyone through this. So be it. He'd take on this burden of debt as well. Franky saw the extended hand, the eye upon it, and his mind was made up. Sacrifices had to be made, and there was no such thing as a clean victory.

He took a deep breath, his eyes closing. Another breath.

His eyes opened, fierce in their determination. A decision made without an ounce of wavering. "Burn it all. If that's the price to save the Knob, then so be it. They had their chances to care for my people here, too many chances. Burn it and I will rebuild from the ashes a greater kingdom than any other."

His brows furrowed a hair more, looking deep through into Lyra. "I accept your terms."

[Lyra]

Lyra's smile grew wider and she stood, clapping her hands together, "Excellent."

Soft whispers began as Lyra extended her hands, dark liquid beginning to flow over her palm, and as it fell it expanded into a curling smoke that hovered at their feet. Quickly the smoke spread, nearly filling the room as it began to rotate in a steady circle around the pair.

"What we do here, you will speak to no other. The words I teach you, you should not speak unless you know the consequences." Her words were echoed in the whispers, a thousand voices of a thousand different people repeating in varying degrees of brokenness. She then leaned toward Franky, breathing out a plume of smoke into his face. In an instant, the whisper flowed into Franky, in his mouth, nose, and any other opening it could find. Pouring more and more aether into the sliver of her essence Lyra repeated a technique she had recently relearned thanks to the little pup back in Glade. The whisper dug deeper, causing no physical pain as it weaved itself into Franky's melodies, his thoughts, and further into his soul itself.

"By the High Orders of Elis'la, in the name of the Elder Kin and the giants that first bore contracts with them, these terms are accepted." Her words came out in a flowing tongue older than any written language. Despite this, Franky could understand their meaning through the whisper which translated the intent, not the language itself. As she spoke the air seemed to tremble with power and the clouds of smoke spun in faster circles, tendrils of black twisting into odd figures like glyphs as they traveled.

"I, Lyrielle tu Kovash Elmari, last of the Dinor'afiel swear by the blood of the Dark One, he who is master of vengeance, that come the dangers of tomorrow I will protect the Hobbled Gobler and those within it with all of my power and expertise. In exchange, I will have the kingdom that you will build in the wake of this disaster, and your cooperation in my endeavors whenever our interests do not conflict."

The spinning clouds stilled and the air reverberated with echoes of the oath made. A weight settled on them, and Lyra felt a flutter in her heart as the shadows around them reached upward. She had chosen the carrier of the oath with particular care. It had to be a greater power to enforce such an oath as this, and she dared not call on Akrivar's name again until her current oath on his blood was fulfilled. Instead, she made the oath in Em'bra's name, looking for his attention, desiring it, and knowing that what she planned for Zaichaer would also be an enactment of his will. To bring vengeance upon a city whose people cried out for retribution. A selfish desire, a terrifying impulsive decision that Lyra regretted and would do again a thousand times over. The shadows sank into their skin, bleeding into their bodies, and then the world returned to normal as the pressure in the room ceased entirely.

"It is done." Lyra said in common, settling in her seat once more as she pulled the smoke from the room and gathered it into her palm. It formed a small spinning figure, vaguely hobgoblin shaped before it dispersed when she clenched her fist.

There came a knock on the door.

"Enter."

Naila had returned, items in hand which she set on the table after a quick glance around the room. Lyra ignored her and focused on Franky, "Rest assured. We will keep to the oath." She picked up the envelope and handed it to Naila, who for her part seemed uninterested in checking its contents before tucking it away in her vest pocket.

"I will gather my resources immediately and begin the work at your tavern. You may attend to the rest of your duties as you see fit."