Jared
The Telvanni Wizard's hands were attached to his back, wrapped about one another in a clawed grip, as his filed nails with jeweled bangles and rings with chains connected to each one provided a pseudo-gauntlet, joining the assemblage of necklaces, amulets, and other jewelry adorning his silk robes. He was certainly a sight to behold, with his face of tattoos and scars, a goatee expertly groomed, and his hair pulled back through a bone-mold ring, flaring about the back of his head. Two bone-mold tablets, engraved with symbols of the Reclamations, particularly of Mephala's iconography, hung from his earlobes. 

Though, the most striking part of Varis' form was his purple-toned skin, as if a grey-blue Dunmer wasn't enough of an oddity, and instead of ash-stained reddened eyes, his were an Azuran purple, like the glow of two spherical soul gems against Cadbury seas of dark ink. 

His nostrils flared as he moved through the Palace, allowing the scent of the day's fine meals to enter his senses. He bowed his head to the courtiers and nobles who passed him, and offered short greetings to those he did business with. To those who witnessed his dance among the habitants of the Blue Palace, he would seem well-connected and engrossed in the political-economic sphere of the city, particularly its upper echelons.

Thus, as Varis dipped away from the limelight of the open lobbies and high ceilings, it would be all the more surprising to find him meandering through dimly lit hallways with few guards. These channels through the Palace were better meant for maids and servants, and yet that seemed to be exactly what Varis was looking for. The Sorcerer made his way through the halls until he came across a small window that allowed light through. Varis made his way toward the window, and looked out at the Sea of Ghosts. It was a small thing, possibly chiseled out long after the construction of the Palace was completed. Perhaps a place for servants to find solace in the chill wind that blew through, or simply gaze out at the sea on a pleasant day while being close to their chores and tasks. 

Varis looked through it, his hand idly holding open the little shutter that concealed it with the rest of the wall. He was in somewhat plain view, not that he aimed to be hidden. 

His mind, during his time meandering through the halls, had crept into the subconsciousness of the servants he witnessed, as scarce as they may be. He whispered rumors into their mind, that the wizard was seeking Whisperers. Just a rumor, heard from nowhere, yet somewhere. That he might pay well for a loyal servant. And yet, the first who had heard of such a rumor, had no idea where it came from. Simply a blip in their imagination, that felt real enough to warrant investigation, truth, or merely pensive thought.

For a wizard like him, he would pay plenty for a good spy, would he not?

Whether the servants gossiped or not, he waited by the window. Eventually, one of them would seek him out. The rumor offered much to the one who came forward, but one had to speculate if it was even real. A conversation with Varis would dictate whether it was a real rumor or not, *For the right person*.
Homer
Myfanwy, her arms full of clean linens, paused— she was supposed to return immediately to one of the rooms to replace its bedding. She couldn't help but stare a little at the striking Dunmer, a crease between her eyebrows as the faint whisper of a rumor entered her mind.

"Ser," She started, approaching the mer, barely peeking over the bedding she carried. "I believe I heard a rumor of you needing... Help?" She was a rather short young woman, a typical servant, barely worth a second glance in the Blue Palace— but even so, there was a keenness to her eyes. 

Myfanwy hadn't had much experience dealing with magic beyond what little she'd been taught during school, and her natural skill as a Breton. But the subtly of his spell completely went over her head, leaving her merely curious of the nature of such a whisper. 

She wasn't able to articulate it, but there was a gravity to his presence that commanded a certain respect, even if it wasn't necessarily in her nature to grant him that. 

"My name is Myfanwy, ser," She said, managing a small curtsy even as she kept the pile of linens in her arms. "I would be interested. Depending on the payment, of course, ser."
Jared
The Telvanni's eyes shifted from the Sea of Ghosts in that small area beneath the Blue Palace, toward Myfanwy. She had been soft-footed to come across him. His spell had been ambient, and she had picked it up. She was direct. 

His eyes bore into her's, staring down at her with a certain level of cruel intensity. Like a researcher inspecting a mineral, rather than two people interacting. His focus softened as he lifted his head, rolled back his shoulders, and watched her from the side of his eyes, before he took them away and looked out the slot-window again. 

His lips moved to produce a soft, sultry voice, trained over years in service to the Goddesses. "Direct. I can admire that."

"*Myfanwy*," The name slithered off his tongue, as if he toyed with it, his eyes searching the sea beyond for a place where the name might be from. "Hm. An elegant name." 

His eyes shifted back to her, down to the linens she carried, then back up to her eyes. "This rumor you heard, I might be willing to honor it." His fingers snapped. 

Suddenly, the air around them seemed far more quiet. 

As if all outside sounds from down the halls, any pitter patter of footsteps above them, were all *Silenced*. As if a field of silence had enveloped the two of them, and his words were that much *Clearer*. "Varis Xai'Shen. A pleasure to make your company, Breton." The name of her race, it exited his lips casually, but with a form of superiority behind it. It was not particularly uncommon to find a Dunmer looking down on the races of man, even half-men. "This rumor you heard, I imagine, entails a certain need for information. That, I might require someone who can observe from the shadows. Would you say you fit this description?"
Homer
She furrowed her brow, an all-too serious expression on her gentle features.

"I would say that people often overlook me," Myfanwy said, dropping her demure guise, typical of a maid. Her eyes darted around, a little put off by the sudden silence, but quickly grasping the nature of this interaction. He was powerful— probably more powerful than anyone she'd met before. A part of her was desperately curious, wanting to ask endless questions about this mysterious stranger, but that wouldn't serve her well in a situation where she wanted to be taken seriously, and not as an excitable girl. 

"Servants are regarded more as furniture, I'm sure you can imagine. All sorts of things get said in front of us. But I also have a unique ability to find myself in places where I'm not strictly allowed, if you catch my meaning. If you want a set of ears in the palace, I will listen— and if you have need of specific information, I'm sure I could manage." Myfanwy tilted her, slightly, giving him an evaluating look. 

"If you have the coin, that is," She concluded.
Jared
The Wizard watched her, observing her eyes, her guise, the simplicity with which she could contort her face from doe-eyed and polite, to observant and cautious. *Excellent.* He thought to himself. He had to admit, Bretons had always been phenomenal test subjects, for their durability to magic, and subsequent magical aptitude. Far better specimens than puny Altmer cadavers and living subjects. 

Thus, he had to admit, she was already off to a good start for that simple fact. Even if he did look down on her kin. 

Though, as she spoke, he seemed increasingly impressed. Not that his poker face would show it, but in his body language, as he brought a hand to his elbow, and the other hand to his chin, stroking his beard pensively as he listened.

"Hm. Very well. I am willing to provide you a wage, rather than piecework compensation. Instead of paying you per rumor or whisper you hear, I want constant reports, updates, etcetera. And subsequently, I will pay you constantly, routinely. To pick up your earnings, come to the Winking Skeever once per week. Find me, and I will pay you. I will provide you enchanted items, to make your job more efficient, more effective. That much, I can guarantee."

Varis allowed the hand stroking his goatee go limp as he raised his eyebrows, "The rate will be decided at the end of the week. Get me enough information, and your pay will be certain. Though, as a down payment, to assure you that I am no liar,"

The Sorcerer reached into his robes, and plucked forth a pouch. He held it up, and as he did, it jingled with the sound of septims. "One hundred septims. Accept my offer now, and they are yours. Succeed at the job, and there is plenty more to come."
Homer
Myfanwy's eyes went wide, her eyes immediately snapping down to the sound of the jingling septims.

"I accept," She said, quickly. "I assure you, with how many people are bustling around the palace these days, I'll have plenty of information to give you." Her fingers twitched with the urge to snatch away the pouch of coin, but she refrained, instead shifting the pile of linens to one arm, resting on her hip. 

She nodded, committing his instructions to memory. The thought of possessing enchanted items, of being paid as generously for paltry work was more than pleasing to her, but one thing still nagged at her.

"If I may ask," Myfanwy started, "Why? To get a leg up on the others? Or something else?"

She was familiar with the underhanded nature of the powerful, but it didn't feel like that, to her. Undoubtedly, Varis was an outsider of sorts, here, and she understood how that felt, to say the least.
Jared
The Wizard watched Myfanwy, the way her eyes snapped, the way her fingers twitched, he was incredibly observant. He had to be, as a Telvanni. Anyone could conceal a knife and whip it out at any moment. Let alone a spell. 

Though, Myfanwy's question caught Varis off-guard just a tad. He raised an eyebrow, holding out the pouch for her to take. She had accepted the job, and thus the payment was just, and provided. 

"Hm. I'll tell you this much. I have no need to be a celebrity. I have no desire to be a King. I have no wish to be a tyrant, ruling from a throne of bones. All that superfluous trash, is for the near-sighted. In my homeland, Telvanni Wizard Lords live for thousands of years, huddled inside of the tops of great mushroom towers, holding dominion over their lands not through being an executioner, but by knowing everything that happens around them."

"Knowing a plot of rebellion before it starts, is advantageous to a ruler. But, it is *More* Advantageous to a ruler's advisor. Especially if the advisor can twist it into something much different before it ever begins."

Varis placed his hands together behind his back, after Myfanwy took the pouch of septims, and said, "Besides, a network is valuable. In time, you will see more of my Whisperers. Always keep a piece of parchment, an inkwell, and a quill on your person. Write what you see, collect what you must, copy letters left scattered on tables. Learn how to write like the wind. Keep them close to your person."

He glanced to the linens. "Perhaps between those, or your garments. Whatever the case, you will see a collector of mine. He will look like a wood elf, but he will have no ears, a bald head, and pale skin. His eyes will be pitch black, and he will be draped in robes, all while a foot shorter than you. He is sly and quick, and will *Let* You see him when the time comes to collect. When you see him, he will turn his head, allowing you to see his eyes beneath his cloak, and his earless scalp - to prove who he is. At that time, provide your documents and parchment to him. He will take it, and bring it to me."

Varis tilted his head. "Do you have questions?"
Homer
Her expression was pinched, as she gave him a quick once over and then a wary glance over her shoulder. "I most definitely have questions, but I'm not sure that you answering them will make me less curious of you. You're a Telvanni, then?" 

She considered his words, and was grateful she didn't take him lightly. She knew a little about Dunmeri culture— enough to know of their dealings with Daedra. In his employ, she was sure she'd encounter the strange and the magical, and though it frightened her, a part of her was almost excited to see what the world had to offer. 

"I understand— and I'm sure I can figure out ways to smuggle information. But... How do I know if I find another of your Whisperers? Do you already have some placed in the Blue Palace? In Solitude? And just how old are you, if Telvanni Wizard Lords live for thousands of years?"

Myfanwy quickly realized how many questions she ended up asking, when she was intended to restrain herself, somewhat. Her cheeks flushed and she gave a little huff. "Apologies. You don't need to indulge me."
Jared
Varis listened attentively, nodding when she asked if he was Telvanni. More questions followed, like the whereabouts of other Whisperers, and his own age. A chuckle followed, as he said, "I prefer to remain modest about my age. Trust me, it is by no means measured in centuries, but, I have no need to make it shorter than the average Telvanni lifespan." A grin formed on his face as he sucked in some breath through his nostrils and added, "As for other agents of mine, you might see them, if you are attentive, but they will have no insignia, just as you do not. Instead, being aware of your new job, might make you aware of rivals' agents. You might see more of your fellow laborers peeking through keyholes and holding ears up to thin walls."

"It is the nature of Court. Many of the servants in this Palace have already been bought, or made loyal. I have been watching closely for some time now, during my visits with the Court Wizard."

"As for the rest of Solitude, there are *Plenty*. Thieves get thrown into the dungeons all the time, and yet the recidivism rate... It has been falling. One, because I and the Captain of the Guards share a deep distaste for sticky fingers. And, Two, because a thief can be useful, once *Made* Loyal."

The way with which he said *Made*...It was malevolent, and had plenty of venom forced into the word. 

Varis looked at her, and smiled sweetly. "But, I trust you are more light of foot than those that get tossed in dungeons. No need for all that pesky paperwork to break you out, I trust?"
Homer
Myfanwy stilled, her eyes widening slightly as she gave a little nod. His threat was clear. She swallowed thickly.

"Yes," She said, quietly. "Of course. I try my best to avoid foolish mistakes— as much as anyone can avoid them, naturally. I assure you, my loyalty is firmly in your hands." 

She got the very strong feeling that Varis wasn't the sort of man to cross. Or to disappoint. She couldn't afford to take this lightly and misstep, here. It wasn't just her life on the line, but the well-being of her family, back home in High Rock.

"I was jailed briefly, when I was younger, and I have no desire to return," She continued, frowning. "But trust me, I have refined my skills since. I'm far from the best, but I am capable— and again, no one looks twice at a scullery maid."
Jared
Her words seemed to appease Varis. Despite his sickly sweet smile, a sort of aura of satisfaction came over his expression as he held his shoulders back, held his hands behind his back, and nodded. His smile became a tad broader as he said, "Excellent! I will await word of your success. You have the whole week to impress." Varis nodded his head toward her, held up a hand, and snapped his fingers. 

The field of silence vanished, and noise returned to the world. The breeze blowing through the window returned, the sound of pitter patter above them, the ambient noise of palace life down the halls, it all returned. The warmth of reality was far better than the cold calculation of Varis' spell-work, that much was not disputed by those that interacted with the Mage. 

"Tidings, my lady." He said politely, despite her not being a noblewoman, nodding his head with the briefest angle of acknowledgement, before he turned on his heel and started down the hallway. Should Myfanwy let him go, he would continue, moving throughout the palace before disappearing from view. 

The window they had spoken next to remained open, allowing some light to trickle through, with the shutter swaying softly, prepared to be latched closed once more.
Homer
Myfanwy didn't pursue him, instead staying rooted to the spot for a moment, looking at the bag of septims in her palm before she pocketed them. She gave another wary look around, hoping she was unobserved. She closed the window, latching it neatly before she continued with her day-to-day work, heading off to some noble's room to dress their bed in fresh linens and take away anything soiled or used, like she was an unseen service and not a person laboring after another.

But throughout the day, her mind kept returning to the strange interaction— and as instructed, she kept a keen ear out, and jotted down anything that seemed interesting, ending the workday with a list of kitchen gossip to scraps of Thalmor intel. 

She didn't know entirely what being a Whisperer would entail, but as long as she maintained her status as a sort of fly on the wall, she was sure it couldn't be too difficult, right?