Taylor
Salen's position shifted as he heard the man in the crowd scream. His reflexes kicked in for a moment, he sank his pose down, both hands moving towards his hips. He looked around nervously, pulse quickening. Once he realized it was nothing to be concerned about, he raggedly sighed. Salen straightened up, his features were obscured from Varis' view. His face was a mask of worry, eyes, flicking out over the crowd. The altmer pushed himself up against the wall a bit, into the shadows of the overhanging roof. 

"That's... Different, more complicated. Bodies come easy, live ones don't. It's no secret that the Dominion is, efficient, when it comes to political prisoners. What you are asking is for me to risk my neck. Something that I am not willing to do, unless I am guaranteed a worthwhile reward." There was a tinge of fear in Salen's voice. He knew exactly the torture proceedings that a specific justiciar at the embassy was capable of. It was gruesome, effective, and sickening to watch, even on a human. 

Salen let out a frustrated sigh. "The trader I know is already unpopular in the eyes of The Dominion... And.." He hesitated, thinking of his mother getting in an even worse situation because of him made Salen feel worse. His voice wavered, a hint of emotion that wasn't some form of bitter rage. "And not someone I can betray. Or risk" He clenched his hands into fists and stared at the cobble ground. He couldn't believe he was doing this.
Mitchell
The Wizard did not take his eyes off of Salen now, only moving his eyes, while his irises continued to follow and track Salen's features, face, and body language. Varis rubbed his facial hair idly, as he nodded to Salen's answers. "Very well. Your reward for obtaining live specimens for me would have to equal the prospect. Thus, I will make your task easier for you." He snapped his fingers.

The noise around them became...*Muffled*. It was as if they had just been encased in a silencing *Field*. Within the field, the Altmer might notice his magic would feel quite diminished, as if he could bring it to his fingertips, but it would do little besides fizzle out. 

Varis turned his head back to the crowd, watching the guards come around and begin to escort the man he had ruthlessly invaded, and driven to mental collapse. A smile spread over his face. It brought a special pride when he collected new specimens, especially when they were lackluster thieves. The number of lousy ones were dwindling by the day. 

"So long as you are capable of entering the Keep regularly, I will give you an amulet. Once it detects that it is inside of the keep, and is unseen by any fellow Justiciars, it will release a *Pet* Of mine. It will cling to the shadows, diminish light, and seek out its target. She will find any victims that are still alive, and have already been tortured, and simply *Collect* Them. She will leave behind a false replica of the corpse. Unless your comrades take special interest in, *Playing* With the dead, they will not notice the different, and by the time the corpse ends up on a corpse pile, it will diminish back into Oblivion."

Varis looked back toward Salen. "From there, she will come back to the amulet, and all you'll have to do is bring her back to me."

"As for the merchant you refuse to betray," Varis shrugged and said, "Fine. Though, I would remind you, I am not a fan of selling illegal merchandise. If your merchant cannot convince their Dominion Superiors that another stream of income would be a good thing for your Homeland," Varis shrugged. "Then that would be that, and I would merely seek out another person to connect me. You would lose out on thousands, and you would watch one of your comrades rise, rise, and *Rise*."

Varis looked back toward Salen. "And I know that kind of envy *Well*. I don't recommend." He nodded as he looked back to the crowd, tilting his head as he scanned it, listening carefully to Salen's response.
Taylor
Salen was quiet for a moment, working his jaw as he thought. He twitched his head as the field fell upon them. He looked down at his hands, running his index over the scarred cuticles of his thumb. Salen considered what Varis was saying. And the Dunmer had struck a chord with mentions that one of his comrades would rise.

"What do you mean by that, Dunmer. Is there another agent of the Dominion that you have in your sights..." He questioned, looking straight ahead at the throng of people crowding around the thief. Despite his, assumptions that the other races of mer weren't as magically adept as the altmer. Salen knew in his gut that Varis, the Telvanni mage. Was capable of delivering on his promises when it came to the power of the supposed amulet. He could do that. It would be easy, no one would be the wiser. He bit down on the inside of his cheek as he remembered what that justiciar could do. It was risky still...

"I... I am considering the trade for the prisoners. I, however, don't think my merchant can be of aid. She's is, special to me. Not someone I can easily sacrifice. And definitely not one that is worth what you can offer." Salen's voice reeked of hesitation. As if his internal battle was too much. Years of complete and total loyalty to the Thalmor were being tested. He was spineless, Salen knew it, and Varis knew it.
Mitchell
The Sorcerer's eyeballs turned in his head back toward Salen as he asked about another agent of the Dominion. An eyebrow rose. Did Varis sense genuine curiosity, or worry? Or perhaps, a sort of vanguard instinct to protect his order? The last one did not feel correct, but the other two? Oh, they had to be played. This man could be tempted. After all, why come here if his previous words had not struck a nerve? 

Varis remained quiet, and observant, as Salen came to a sort of conclusion about the merchant. Varis had secured a steady stream of subjects from Northwatch, now, he just needed to prod the last defense. 

"Ponder what it takes to be a Thalmor. You have come to mainland Tamriel, as distinguished, but secretive, crusaders against a false God. That much, I admire. Though, consider it from another spotlight; your organization came to Tamriel, and stomped on a religion. With oppression, religion becomes stronger. Deeper. Hidden. Held so tightly close to one's heart, it becomes their entire identity, and when only those who know how to keep secrets are left, the religion *Flourishes* Like no other. I know this, because, coming from Morrowind, my parents can still tell me stories of the Tribunal, and their rampant assaults against believers of the True Gods."

Varis grinned, "Now, ponder all of your comrades. Who among them is willing to oppress a false religion, which I have no sympathy for, and sell out their own? There is only so much living in an Embassy, facing countless threats from Nords and other races, before something begins to give. Something begins to break. Perhaps the walls remain in tact. The food tastes delicious, and is abundant. But, the minds within a place begin to falter. They begin to grow weak without constant change and rotation. Who among you has been here so long, that they are ready to hear my offer, just as you were?"

Varis chuckled a little, "Prospects are abundant, my good sir. There is a Thalmor office, just above the Castle Dour. Your people are not far away. Not at all."

The Wizard leaned back into the bench and raised his eyebrows. "Thus, I suggest: Consideration. This contact of yours, this merchant, is precious to you. So, if you want to protect the ones close to you, do you not require power? Legitimate power? Wealth and domination over your enemies? Destroy the hopes and dreams of all that would harm your special merchant. Bleed them, their coffers, their *Destinies*, until you and your merchant are *Untouchable*."

Varis raised his eyebrows. "That sort of protection? It requires wealth. Influence. Irreplaceability. So, I suggest; become irreplaceable."
Taylor
Salen sighed and stepped closer to Varis, looking down at the sitting wizard. It was not a threatening posture, rather one of resignation. "That may be so... I have gone thirty years with stagnation in my career. What is another thirty more? Stealing prisoners is simple. They've already been stuck and bled of all they have." Salen shook his head. 

"My loyalty to the Thalmor is absolute. Yes, truly, absolute... But my loyalty to my contact. That, is, that is something else. The truth of everything is nothing that can grace your, heretical ears. You offer me power, growth, prosperity. You tempt me with honeyed words and promises." Salen speaks coldly, he knows he is a hypocrite. The words he speaks contradicts his actions. But saying them brings him a comfort, in a sick sort of way. 

"There are things about me that prevent any sort of upward momentum. I will supply you flesh, perhaps to test if you can really do the impossible. But this is my final refusal to get you trade dealings with my contact. Had it been someone else I might have faltered. Might have been a weaker man than I already am. But some things are sacred. Too sacred." Salen's voice wavers, emotion pouring into it. It is almost a plead to Varis to stop with the pressure. Salens blind eye stares forward from beneath the hood, His good eye hidden behind a tilt of his head. 

"I ask you this, Varis Xai'Shen. What is your end goal here? You seem to be attempting a power play in this nation, one you have no loyalty to. Why ingratiate yourself with these beasts? Surely these people, are beneath you?"
Mitchell
The Wizard looked up at Salen, and held his chin up, leaning back a tad as he allowed Salen to express his thoughts. Varis crossed his legs and set a hand over them, a coy grin spreading across his features as he listened. The man was stronger than Varis had expected. Perhaps he would not be so easy to win over. Or perhaps he had gone too far to indirectly question his own loyalty. Whatever the case, the possibility was still there, and it only proved how much more precious the contact was to him. 

Varis nodded, looked toward the nearby crowd, and chuckled as Salen asked why Varis was in this land. 

A soft sigh left Varis's lips as he glanced back up toward Salen. He was seated, that much was true, but, did he truly have a position of resignation, as he watched Salen with eyes that could devour the weak? 

"All things that are sacred, when in the way of progress, is no longer necessary."

He turned his head back toward the crowd. "But, if you truly decline, *Very well*." Cold turkey. Allow him to *Believe* The offer is *Gone*. The entirety of the deal, diminished to a simple capture of flesh for experiments, with meager, minor rewards, for minor services. Perhaps he would feel relief, but in time, as he continued to ponder his station, the brutal reality of another thirty years in this place, with no real way out... Varis was patient. He did not have to break a club over someone's head to get them to see his way of things. 

"As for my end goal, well, it's all rather obvious. I'm sure you've seen surveyers out in the wilderness near the embassy. People plotting measurements and getting statistics and research of the wildlife. As though they were preparing to *Build* Something there. These projects are cropping up all over the city. New renovations, improved housing, larger buildings to fit larger amounts of people."

He looked about, "Already, the whispers of a city rising even higher is leading more foreigners to come here, seeking work for projects ready to hire their labor." The crowd had a myriad of faces, not many too different from what Salen would have seen, but there were a few more Dunmer. A few more Khajiit, and even an Argonian here and there. "Let the rabble see me as a vile conjurer of cheap tricks and minor illusions. Let the guards think me a mere provider of enchanted weaponry. Let the nobility see me as a wealthy investor, whom they can bring projects to, and find an ally. Let the royalty see me as an asset to this city, as I reinvest my profits, and maneuver it toward a flourishing environment. So much can be done in a matter of weeks, with the proper work ethic, and the prodding of certain pressure points."

"Like a human body, an economy, a population, has points of least resistance through which things can flow. If you open up a blocked path, and it is a better flow-space, then things will flow into the proper channels. My goal is progress. Unending, glorious progress. In my homeland, my people are already on this path. Centuries of sorrow and pain have made us unimaginably powerful. Devoted. Incessantly determined." 

Varis looked toward Salen, placing a hand beneath his chin to prop himself up on the bench's armrest. "I do not need to have loyalty to anyone, to ensure they prosper. When they prosper," He gestured to the crowd. "Skyrim does. Tamriel follows. And I, the benefactor of all their *Accomplishments*, reap the rewards."

A soft chuckle left his lips as he said, "It is a long, *Long* Game I play. You say I tempt you with honeyed words and promises. This is incorrect. I provide you with directives, and eventualities. Such is the *Proper design*."