Timothy
"...I must apologize. I've been meandering on about nonsense this entire time to distract myself from how irritated I am. A collector is merely a thief by a different name. Though, I guess one could make that comparison about any sort of career if they connected enough dots and leapt forward in logical thinking enough times."

Sütcleff sighed, crossing his arms. Whilst objective reasoning wouldn't hold it against an individual to lay claim to a seemingly abandoned weapon, the nigh-ancient vampire had grown into an... Uncharacteristically emotional man in the past few4 decades. 

"My sister fancied herself a prospective dragon slayer. That's how she died, believe it or not. I'd never met someone as talented with a blade, and I doubt I'll encounter anyone that surpasses her anytime soon."

Sütcleff pauses for a moment, stopping in his tracks and staring at what he assumed was the front door of the collector's abode.

"I'm not giving this acquaintance of yours a single drake in recompense. As far as I'm concerned, we are retrieving a purloined gravemarker."
Michael
The Wizard, after a period of relative silence and peace, looked at Castor as he spoke up about his internal thoughts. Varis looked forward, kept his hands behind his back, and narrowed his gaze. As he listened, he mauled over a few thoughts. Perhaps a collector was a glorified thief. Perhaps all careers were. After all, he made a pretty penny off of stolen goods, from time to time. He was a small time fence, but a well connected one. A light shipment of expensive, deceitfully procured goods is always welcome in the hands of an ammoral collector or businessman. 

He did not wonder his thoughts on the matter, as he looked back toward Castor when he explained his sister, and hinted toward how she had died. His eyebrows furrowed a little. Did this mean that he had met his sister back when Dragons were out slaughtering people in villages, cities, and streets? Or... Perhaps, even earlier? Back before the Dragon Wars, or whatever these bleating Nords went on about in their old songs. 

Varis tapped his chin, pondering his words, as the two stopped, and Varis looked up to the door of the man they were meeting with. A smirk formed as he said, "I understand. Do not worry, you will not have to pay a septim. Though, I should likely do the majority of the talking. Unless, of course, he asks you something. He's... Very peculiar, about asking people things."

Varis walked up the steps to the door of the manor, and simply had to stand there for a moment. He did not knock or make any noise.

Thus, the sound of stomping feet rushing to the door made its way behind the threshold, locks were undone, and the door came swinging open.
Matthew
In the brightly lit interior, a man of many wrinkles and yellow eyes peered out at the two. His face was angular and long, obviously an Altmer, but his ears seemed rounded, and if Castor looked close enough, he would see there was stitching there, likely from a previous injury. The wrinkles of his face seemed to mask scars in between them, as the grey haired Altmer leaned out of the door, and more of his wardrboe was revealed.

Uldavin wore a long arrangement of robes that dragged on the polished floor behind him, as jewelry of ancient times and stone designs adorned his body on nearly every limb and place one might find such baubles. His flared collar coming from his foremost layer of silk nestled his head like a soul gem in a recepticle, and his yellowed teeth became visible as his thin lips split apart into a nervous grin. 

"Greetings, Lord Varis! It, it is a pleasure to see you again!" His words, they seemed forced. Whatever favor this man owed a clearly younger mer, or however the man knew this Dunmer, it inspired a great deal of fear. His yellow eyes, the greenish eyeliner on his bottom eyelid rubbing its powdery dryness against his dryish eyes. He stared at the disguised man accompanying the wizard, and his lips closed to swallow a bit of saliva before it drooled from his lips, as he added, "And, who is this?"
Michael
"The pleasure is all mine, Uldavin." It was clear he did not respect this man. This man was probably more of a Lord than Varis, at least. But, his tone was light, and polite. "This is an acquaintance, you may call him Castor. I invited him to come see your collection."
Matthew
A grave expression came over the Altmer's face, as his eyes darted between the two, and then darted up and down Castor's body. "Is he...?"
Michael
"No. But, keep that in mind. At the forefront, if you would."
Matthew
He leaned back a little, closing his lips, as he walked behind the door, and gestured for the two to enter. "Be welcome, then."
Michael
The Dunmer looked toward Castor and gestured for him to go first.
Timothy
The relationship the two Mer had seemed... Strained, to put it lightly. Even Sütcleff could glean that from the way the two interacted. It was of no importance to him, at least not in this moment. 

Stepping into Uldavil's home turned "Museum", the Imperial's eyes drifted to and from each and every angle of the displays.

He stops before a glass case containing an assortment of Akaviri and Blades relics alike, ranging from historical passages printed on parchment weathered by age to battle-damaged pieces of armor. Nestled among the artefacts, almost as if it barely held enough signifigance to be included among the other pieces, rested a sheathed katana with a tsuba resembling a pair of serpents biting down on one another's tails.

"Is there an enchantment placed upon any of these displays? I assume you'd have a safefuard in place to ward off **Thieves**."

Try as he might, Sütcleff could not wholly mask the venom lacing his tone.
Matthew
The man shut the door behind Varis, and placed his hands within the sleeves of his robes as he followed the duo, Varis keeping near Castor. Uldavin was about to explain some of his collection, as it was neatly, and somewhat disorganized, all throughout his home. It was a vast collection of artifacts, most of which probably would have taken a lifetime to build up and procure. But, when the acquaintence of the Dunmer asked his question, Uldavin's eyebrows furrowed a little. 

"Well, yes, of course. All of these display cases are sealed with an arcane lock. Keeps grubby lockpickers off my goods. If someone were to take my stuff, they'd have to use a spell, as I would."

Uldavin walked toward the display case and glanced into what Castor was looking at. "Ah, a fine collection of swords. One of my favorites," He gestured to the blade with a tsuba resembling a pair of serpents biting down on one another's tails. "I acquired it from a Scamp, who said he'd come from Morrowind." He whisked his hand, "He gave me a lecture on the sword's history, but the fact it came to me from the hands of a Daedra," He nodded, grinning a little. "Now that, alone, makes it quite valuable. As for its history, I... Hm, I'd say it dates back to one of the early Tsaecsi Invasions of Tamriel. I have often wondered, about whether it was carried by a mannish hand, or, a scaly hand, attached to a full bodied serpent-creature."

He shook his face a little, "Such a fascinating race. If only I could meet one," He nodded, and looked toward Castor. 

His eyes stared at the man as he asked, "Hmm... Imperial Nord?" His eyes widened a little, as he inspected the disguise Sütcleff wore. It was if he was inspecting skin tone, down to the pores, and then the muscles beneath, and even the shape of the man's skull.
Michael
The Wizard glanced over with a raised eyebrow. 

He glanced toward Castor. Varis shook his head, surely the man was not a Nord. Though, the very idea did make Varis narrow his gaze as he inspected the man, but he looked away, toward a totem of sorts depicting a variety of tiger-like faces.
Timothy
"A Scamp? Hailing from Morrowind? And you say it dates back that far, eh?" 

Sütcleff's voice was shaking as he questioned the scholar's claims. It was only after he burst into a hearty laugh that it became clear his scuffed inflection was a result of disbelief as opposed to righteous anger.

"I suppose Ashuri would be honored to hear how closely her craft resembles the works of those her clan idolized. You'll have to excuse the Scamp's dishonestly, what with its tall tale of acquiring it in Morrowind. Daedra aren't ones to be trusted, after all."

Sütcleff wholly disregarded the comments on his race. The man himself knew almost nothing of his birth parents, with the exception being that his mother was an Imperial and his father had been a Nord. Sütcleff was also acutely aware of what the Dawnguard paid the couple in exchange for the child they couldn't afford to feed, as it was used to viciously mock him when he fell short of his mentor's expectations.

"Open the case."
Matthew
The man seemed taken aback, as his eyebrows furrowed with a flash of fury. The man had not answered his question. He had dove right into mocking the collector's tale. Though, when a name was provided, and that it was crafted by that person, Uldavin's eyebrows knitted together, astonished. 

"Huh..." He stared at the man, and frowned as he looked toward the case. He looked at the sword, and his eyes narrowed as he leaned down and looked at it. "Crafted... By frauds?"

He closed his lips and brushed his fingers over the display case, and his attention snapped toward the man as he was commanded to open the case. 

The Collector suddenly stood up straight, and looked down, his height easily seven feet. The Altmer gave Castor a look of surprise, mixed with challenge. Did this young man dare think to steal his artifact?! Who knew if that cock and bull story was even true?!
Michael
The Conjurer held his hands behind his back as he walked toward the two, and said softly, "*Remember, Uldavin*." His voice was almost song-like.
Matthew
Immediately, his disposition of defense and courage *Shattered*. He glanced toward Varis, gulped a little, and almost whimpered, "*But, it is mine!*"
Michael
Varis only grinned, as he stepped back, and looked toward Castor. "Careful. He's useful to me." He looked back toward Uldavin. He would let this play out. If their interaction ended in blood, Castor was warned.
Matthew
He looked toward Castor, and that look of conviction, that the sword was his, returned, only as a whispering presence, as he hissed a little, "*Its mine!* What gives you the right to take what is mine?!" Even though the Imperial-Nord had not said anything regarding taking the sword, all signs suggested it. The way Varis and the man came unannounced, the way Castor demanded the case opened, after perscribing such a ludicrous story to it... Uldavin's mind whirled with paranoia, and he seemed more fiend than mer in that moment.
Timothy
It was almost amusing, the scene playing around him. Sūtcleff was tall for an Imperial (but probably a smidge below average for a Nord), and this Altmer fellow was certainly uaing his natural height advantage over him to try and make himself appear more intimidating. Sütcleff was no stranger to displays such as this. He didn't even bother to turn to look at Uldavin when he responded to the collector's posturing.

"I can certainly empathize with the frustration you must be experiencing."

Sütcleff raises his left hand slowly, only to hover it over the display case just before the coveted blade. He lightly pushes onto the glass with his pointer finger, tracing out the general shape of his sister's blade in quiet contemplation.

"Dear sister... Tell me something, collec- no, Uldavin. Do you have a family?"

Sütcleff composed himself before finally turning to face the angered Altmer. He didn't show it in his face, voice, or body language... But he was deathly furious.
Matthew
The Altmer stared at Castor as his eyes narrowed. When he asked if the Altmer had any family, the man seemed to ponder it for a moment. The Collector actually had to consider it for a moment, before he looked back toward the man, and his lips twitched. Was the man attempting to threaten Uldavin's family?

"In the most technical sense." His voice was gradually hardening, as he began to lose focus of Varis' presence. Perhaps even Castor would cease to sense Varis, as the wizard had seemingly made himself as quiet, and small, as possible, simply observing the scene before him from a dark corner. 

Uldavin delicately placed his hand on the display case like a spider's legs, looking at Castor with wide eyes. "Explain yourself, Nebarra Bet," If Castor had spent enough time around High Elves throughout his long life, he might recognize the term Uldavin had called him. It was a hissed phrase, typically, roughly, translating to: *Unwelcome Beast*.
Timothy
"It matters little how you answer me. As long as you are aware of the gravity of what I shall soon say."

Sütcleff exhaled in a smug manner at the collector's attempt to insult him. 

"It seems we both have demands. Seeing as how this is your home, however... I shall afford you an explanation."

Sütcleff's gaze is pulled once more to the display case. His agitation is alleviated somewhat by the close proximity of his sister's beloved heirloom.

"This sword was forged from the remains of a handful of Blades armaments unearthed in the Reach by a clan of Forsworn. Ashuri melted down all the viable material she could scavenge, then honed the resulting slab of metal into a wholly new creation. The tsuba was particularly difficult to get just right. The serpents are meant to resemble some archaic illustrations of dragons that were also found in the cache of Blades and Akakiri memorabilia. The saya was crafted from Spriggan wood, a tribute to the disdain we both held for the creatures."

Sütcleff smiled to himself as he recounted the blade's history.

"As talented as she was at using a sword, she had no idea how to take care of one until I taught her basics of weapon maintenance. Within a month of picking up a whetstone for the first time, she had advanced to the point that I would come to her for help when something broke."

The Imperial once more looks into Uldavin's eyes.

"To put it bluntly, *Serce*...That sword isn't yours. It wasn't the Scamp's when they brought it to you. It isn't even mine. That sword's owner is dead, and she wished for it to rest in the shadow of the Eldergleam."
Matthew
The Altmer stared at Castor, and listened begrudgenly as the tale was told. His lips twitched and he mauled over some ideas as the man explained the sword's history, or really, lack thereof. The conviction with which this man spoke... It almost convinced Uldavin. As he stared at the man's lips move, he became increasingly aware that this could all be a front. That perhaps, Varis had hired this man, this convincing man, to swindle an exceptionally original, genuine artifact from his collection. 

And so, as Castor spoke, Uldavin's expression became ever more irritated, until, Castor finished, and the man scoffed a little. 

"Even if all that is true, let us say it is, then, let us follow the logic, hm?" His eyebrows rose, as he placed his hands together in front of him. "A dead woman, placed a sword, in a supposedly sacred place to the Nords... A people who are always infighting, and in need of good steel. This sword cuts. It can kill. Thus, you want the sword, to put *Back*, in the place it was taken from?"

His eyes widened a little. "This would imply that ownership remains with the dead." 

Uldavin looked around his home and held out his hands, "All of the owners of these items are long since dead." He looked toward Castor. "These artifacts, were acquired by grave robbers, and sold to merchants, who sold them to bidders and those with an eye for things. Finally, it winds its way through however many channels, until it reaches people like me."

Uldavin held up his chin and he sneered a little. "If I gave you the sword, it would only happen again. Perhaps, you have the constitution to do it over, and over, and over again. Until, eventually, your small, flimsy, non-Mer life would fade out, and no one would bother to retrieve the sword again."
Michael
In the corner, obscured from all light, Varis simply smiled. *Oh, you poor fool. Well, if you die now, I'll just take your house. Old fool never really was one for reading the fine print of a good contract.*
Timothy
The Altmer had a point, bringing up the fallacy of expecting one's possessions to remain untouched after they die. Uldavin's collection was the physical embodiment of that fact, if anything. However, the relic hunter had failed to realize a crucial detail: Sütcleff cared deeply for the person who once possessed the item currently being disputed over. 

"Playing nice - and make no mistake, I have been playing nice thus far - has never worked for me once. I'm starting to think I shouldn't even bother. Varis, make good on our deal and have this fool hand over the sword."

Sütcleff had considered utilizing an Illusion spell to get his way. Unfortunately, a tempestuous mental and/or emotional state made the passable utilization of such magic nearly impossible.
Matthew
The Collector stared at Castor, eyes narrow, as he waited for a retort, but, instead, the man called upon Varis. 

The Collector turned his head toward Varis, and watched as the Dunmer stood up from his chair, placed his hands behind his back, and walked up to the duo. 

"Lord Varis... Please. You know how I feel about losing anything from my collection!"
Michael
Varis only smiled a little. "Hand over the sword, Uldavin."
Matthew
Once the command was set, it was immediate. With a wave of the Altmer's hand, the case was unlocked with a whishing of ethereal ribbons and lights, the Altmer opened the case, and took a step back. His face was sullen and he gritted his teeth, before looking toward Varis.
Michael
The Sorcerer nodded, kept his hands behind his back, and nodded for Castor to pick up the sword. In the mean time, he looked toward Uldavin, and said, "Keep up the good work, Uldavin."
Matthew
He stared at Varis with raw contempt, as he said, "*Not for y-*"
Michael
"Daia'felaven Ghisheraon Imbezasaraz." The words slithered from Varis' mouth, a binding set of words. They were not mystical, for the incantation provided no visible effect. They were not in any language of mer or men that Castor would recognize, but they clearly meant something to the Altmer. This was knowledge, a code. The phrase alone sent Uldavin stepping back, looking between the two, before he hurried himself out of the room and deeper into the manor.

Varis sighed through his nostrils as he watched the Altmer leave. "Well, that was a useful card in my hand. A shame I had to play it so early." He shrugged. "He'll remain a pawn for a while longer."

Varis said this almost to himself, ruminating, before he looked toward Castor. "Satisfied?"
Timothy
Ghastly circumstances aside, Sütcleff was relieved to finally have the blade within his reach. He pushes his hands up underneath the weapon and lifts it from the display with a gentle reverence.

Stepping past Uldavin, Sütcleff stopped for a moment upon showing the Altmer his back.

"You made a good point about some things, collector. Most noteworthy being the eternal cycle of death and repossession. I'll carry my sister's blade with me from this day forward so that I can have some say in where it ends up, at the very least." 

As for Varis' inquiry, Sütcleff stopped to answer the Dunmer only once both of them had exited Uldavin's den and found themselves back on the streets of Solitude.

"Satisfied with the end result? Yes, though I care not for Uldavin's greedy posturing and your ominous methods. However, it's none of my business what you and that glorified hoarder get up to. On the topic of business, ours in concluded. If you'll excuse me, I wish to be alone for a moment."
Michael
The Sorcerer walked out of the Collector's house, and smirked a little when the man provided some insight into what would happen to the blade, and how Varis conducted his business. Varis placed his hands behind his back and nodded, "I'm glad my methods are ominous. It would not do if I was a wholly honest businessman." He looked toward Castor. "How else would I twist the necks of the other deceitful ones?" 

Varis smirked a little, finding amusement in his statement, as he looked forward. "But, you're right. Ours is concluded, until I decide to claim that favor." He looked back toward the man and extended a hand to shake. "Pleasure doing business with you. And, if you ever come back to Solitude, feel free to find me. Perhaps we'll share some netch jelly and kwama eggs."