"And who would this be?" Pyreclaw said, turning to face his latest visitor. This puppeteer figure looked mysterious indeed. Half his face was obscured by a mask, and he wore a hooded robe that draped him head to toe. Mordrake's herald, Teissar 'Kof, flanked the new arrival, himself dressed in a flowing red garb. The half dragon already felt annoyance at the puppeteer's impertinence, entering his throne room without so much informing him of his arrival.<br/><br/>Immediately after entering the room, Teissar fell to a single knee and bowed his head in respect. This however brought to Mordrake's notice, that the visitor was not kneeling. "Such audacity. First, you enter Azkha Gharak without so much as letting me know of your presence, and your only excuse here is Teissar having escorted you to my chambers. Why you are not kneeling now, and how you got to know Teissar, are the only questions barring you from a quick death."<br/><br/>The puppeteer didn't even show a veneer of fear. Instead, he smiled and bowed politely, speaking as his head was level again: "Well, keep those questions in mind as you will benefit from the following conversation."<br/><br/>Mordrake almost laughed, amused. "As I was saying?" he asked Teissar again.<br/>"A representative of the armor smith I had hired for you months ago, my lord," the elf said, still prostrate.<br/>"That answers a question," Mordrake said, turning his head to the thin man standing before him. "If you will, please present the...items."<br/><br/>The man lowered the sack onto the ground, undid the butterfly knot tying the cloth sack shut, and extracted a helmet from the sack. "This is your armor, originally made to withstand the intense shock of battle. It is made by the sacred elven blacksmith, Vrael Synther. Perhaps you have heard of him."<br/><br/>"Vrael Synther. Of course," Mordrake responded, nodding. "I didn't expect for the work of such a great master to come into my possession. I was expecting something somewhat more..." he paused. "Humble."<br/><br/>"Oh, but the best is yet to be seen," the man said, straightening his robes and standing straighter. "In addition to the enchantments woven into the very steel itself, I have provided regenerating wards. Runes engraved into both the inside and outside of the armor. It will protect it from blades and arrows, and until the magic wears out or the rune itself is deformed, a field of energy will continuously deflect bladed weaponry along with siege weaponry. However, a fist or claw will not drain nor be stopped by this field."<br/><br/>"Most interesting," Mordrake said. "Name your price."<br/>"I name no price, not yet at least," the puppeteer smiled. "To maintain my honor as a man, I would ask you to test the helmet itself." The man holds out the helmet with a single gloved hand, a glint in his eye.<br/><br/>"I'd rather...something less important," the half dragon replied, rejecting the helmet with an open palm. "Teissar. Bring me one of the vambraces." The elvish servant immediately complied, crawling on all fours to the cloth and selecting two opposing plates of metal, crawling further forward and holding the pieces of armor high with his head still bowed. When Mordrake took the armor, he crawled backwards and pressed his head to the floor again.<br/><br/>Mordrake scrutinized the armor for a long second before turning to look at the puppeteer. "Excellent worksmanship," he said. Puppeteer nodded slightly, smiling. "I would hate to disappoint, wouldn't I?"<br/>The half dragon looked at the top half of the vambrace again. "And either the smith knew his customer was a dragonborn, or..."<br/><br/>"My little touches. Please, don't flatter me," the puppeteer responded, smiling again. The vambrace had been crafted such that even the stubs on Mordrake's forearms would be shielded by the armor. The measurements were so precise, so deliberate, the Dragonborn would have told the armor had been crafted specifically for him, even without puppeteer having admitting to the fact.<br/><br/>Carefully, Mordrake strapped the black pieces of armor on. It was chased with silver, inscribed with single, large archaic runes on every side. Very advanced magic that even a master mage would find hard to replicate. Silver patterns carved into the armor served to make it very aesthetic. Obviously, the maker of the armor wanted its wearer to stand out on the field.<br/><br/>"Now that you are ready, with your permission, please defend yourself with the vambrace," the puppeteer held a hand out, and a knife formed out of the black mist floating about his palm. Mordrake barely had time to prepare himself before it shot like an arrow directly towards his face. Through draconic instinct, Mordrake's arm flicked upwards, and deflected the knife harmlessly. It clattered across the ground before dissipating into black mist once again.<br/><br/>"Impressive."<br/>Immediately after having finished his word, a second knife came hurtling towards Mordrake's torso. Again, his arm flickered downwards and deflected the knife. It spun head over end, a mere inch away from the top of the puppeteer's head before smashing into the stone wall behind the man and bouncing off. Mordrake smiled.<br/>"Most impressive."<br/><br/>"Good," the puppeteer clapped, before reverting immediately to formality. "For payment, I do not require gold, silver, the quaint little objects that everyone is out for these days..."<br/>Mordrake listened attentively, removing the vambrace carefully meanwhile. "To discuss the price, we must be left alone."<br/><br/>A hint of suspicion lined Mordrake's thoughts for a second. Could it be an attempt to assassinate him? The puppeteer seemed a competent fighter. Arrogance set in the next moment and pushed those thoughts away. "Leave us," he gestured at Teissar. The man stood, bowed respectfully, and departed, closing the two doors behind him.<br/><br/>"Good," the puppeteer clasped his hands together behind his back."Now, the price for this masterfully worked suit of armor, is simply a deal, from which both of us will inevitably...gain."<br/><br/>"Don't play me for a fool. Speak, and to the point this time," Mordrake responded, clenching a fist. He had little patience for smooth talkers. All seers were to be direct in their speech. Anyone who used more words than he needed to was punished.<br/><br/>The puppeteer shrugged. "I shall indulge you, I guess," he said, pulling his hood slightly further downwards before continuing. "I will provide you information of the surface-dweller's movements and plans - after all, you intend to conquer them, no?" Mordrake's eyes widened in amusement. The thin man knew a lot more than what he looked.<br/><br/>"And what would you ask in return?" he replied.<br/>The puppeteer laughed, clapping several times, before going back to a state resembling normalcy. "A few of your<span style="font-style: italic">pure-blooded</span>black, dragon scales..."<br/><br/>"A scale? What use of it would you have?" Mordrake was a curious creature at heart. This man was intriguing, he decided. One of the most interesting figures he had seen in a while that hadn't been tortured and wasn't dead.<br/><br/>The puppeteer threw his head back and laughed again. "Of course, I have my purposes!"<br/>"Very well then, a payment most fair," Mordrake replied. He extended his hand, the back of it exposed to fulfill his end of the bargain. The man before him muttered a few words, far too quietly to be comprehensible, and Mordrake was no lip-reader. For the next second, he could not feel any sensation from his right hand.<br/><br/>Painlessly, two of his pristine black scales pried themselves free of his flesh and drifted over to the waiting palm of the puppeteer, who drew a side of his robes open and put them carefully in a pocket. "It's a done deal then," he grinned. "Try not to damage the armor, as Vrael Synther rarely repairs items he sells...and it is rare indeed for him to produce a masterwork such as this."<br/><br/>"I have my methods," Mordrake countered. "But now that we're done..." he reached backwards and gripped the handle of the Talon, sweeping it forward an inch away from the puppeteer's neck. The man didn't even flinch. "What's to stop me from killing you now and ensuring Azkha Gharak's location is known to no one outside of the underground?"<br/><br/>The puppeteer grinned. "Oh...everything. Kill me, and I shall return at the exact moment, the fifth cycle of the seventh arm of the Nebula District. And we will have a reckoning." Before Mordrake could respond, the man faded into a black mist. He swung his axe at the mist to no avail, and he could only watch as it drifted beneath the doors and passed through the gap.<br/><br/>"Oh, a reckoning there will be indeed," Pyreclaw said, curling his right hand into a fist. The missing scales grew out of his flesh, and locked back into place.