Late into the evening, a cloaked figure stalked its way through the creaking doors of the tavern and, without bothering to announce its arrival, found purchase of a lone table near one of the far walls. It hefted a conspicuously large carrying case off of its shoulders and onto the floor, sunk wordlessly into the nearest seat, and did not move even slightly until the better half of an hour had passed. The thing looked more like a discarded piece of clothing than a person in the building's stifling atmosphere, and one of several serving girls passed it by three times before a slight motion finally caught her attention and caused her to hesitate.<br/><br/>The cloak's hood was fixed in her direction, and though the smoke and dim lighting obscured any significant features beneath, it gave her the unsettling feeling that she was being watched. She stopped to listen for a hailing over the unrelenting din of conversation that permeated the establishment, but her attention was met without any sort of detectable response. Eventually, she ran out of patience and marched forward to meet the thing directly and either force an answer out of it or content herself with the knowledge that she could spend the rest of the night ignoring that corner of the room.<br/><br/>"Is there something you need, sir?" she asked, although she was in truth completely unsure of the patron's gender even at such a distance.<br/><br/>"Yeah," a voice answered from beneath the hood; nasally, definitively male, and surprisingly well-suited to the character of the establishment. "Lotta sumfins I need. Less start wit' a drink an' maybe den I'll git down to<span style="font-style: italic">bizness</span>."<br/><br/>He leaned back against his chair, hung an arm by the elbow over it, and crossed his legs. His previous focus on the woman vanished and his attention drifted elsewhere, as though he had only just then realized that she was not a person of vast significance.<br/><br/>The waitress blinked quizzically. "Business?"<br/><br/>"Ain't nunna yer bizness wut my bizness is, lady," he quipped, glancing around the room. "Gimme sumfin'<span style="font-style: italic">sweet</span>to cure me woes quick-like a'fore I start sharin 'em wit' dis whole damn place. Innat why youz 'ere? Go on, den," he said, waving her off with a gesture. She departed without complaint, leaving him to direct a lengthy sigh at no-one in particular. His previous inactivity did not return even though he was alone, replaced instead by an idle twiddling of the hands and swaying of the feet.<br/><br/>In time, the waitress returned with a mug of something which appeared distinctly more colorful and<span style="font-style: italic">transparent</span>than the beverages she normally ferried about her tavern, setting it down on the table in front of the man. If he had any suspicions about it being watered down, he kept them to himself as he sat up and dug through his pockets for payment.<br/><br/>"Five coppers for this one," she stated in a practiced tone that brooked no room for argument. "Will that be all?"<br/><br/>"S'pose I bin robbed fer<span style="font-style: italic">more</span>," the man grumbled, dividing her sum from a fistful of other coins which he had emptied onto the table's surface. He seemed happy enough once the mug was in his hands, however, and made no complaints about the taste of the drink even though it was utterly unfamiliar to his palate. Lacking any sense of urgency, he finished it in slow sips, studying the tavern's other patrons from underneath the folds of his hood.<br/><br/>Agathor would be an appreciable challenge following a lifetime of familiarity. Some of the differences were obvious immediately; a certain tint of the skin, an air of confidence and security, a laziness in the stride... the Wraith could see a bounty of details from his seat in the corner of a crowded, smoke-filled tavern, and he took careful note of each one. He was in the Darmlands no longer, but he also knew that he was only looking through a single keyhole into this new kingdom. There were other places, other<span style="font-style: italic">perspectives</span>to be explored, and he would need to visit many more before he could make a convincing show of<span style="font-style: italic">belonging</span>. The confessions of one dying bounty hunter could only take him so far, even if they had already led him to another continent altogether.<br/><br/>"Hey. Pankey, right?"<br/><br/>A fairly large, muscular man in a tidy leather jerkin had approached the table this time. His appearance matched the description for one of Verse's subordinates - a capable fighter, more intelligent than he seemed, but not someone whom Pankey had ever truly spoken to. That was good. He was attempting to catch a glimpse of the Wraith's face, but found his efforts frustrated by a strategically turned head.<br/><br/>"Whooz askin'?"<br/><br/>"Your<span style="font-style: italic">employer</span>," the man answered, pulling a seat over for himself. "Take the cloak off; I need to see your face."<br/><br/>Reluctantly, the Wraith pulled his hood up and grinned sarcastically at the man. He had dark pits under his eyes, a mess of short brown hair, and a slightly crooked nose. His front teeth stuck out like some matter of rodent, and it was clear that he had not shaved in weeks.<br/><br/>"Now if only th' girlies was so eager te lookit me, eh?" he joked. The man did not receive it well, but he did seem convinced of whom he was speaking to.<br/><br/>"You know, I could have found you a lot sooner if you didn't dress up like a damn curtain."<br/><br/>"Jus' wanted a drink 'fore we 'ad our little chat," he answered with an apologetic shrug. "Time wuz, Verse'd talk t' me hisself widdout any o' dis secrecy, but now he sends 'is<span style="font-style: italic">goons</span>t' meet me like I's some kinda taffer... like he don'<span style="font-style: italic">trust</span>me anymores."<br/><br/>"...Ain't right," he added, making a show of picking up his mug only to realize that it was empty a moment later. He set it back down.<br/><br/>Verse's man continued, undeterred. "He told me there would be two of you. Where's the other?"<br/><br/>"He don' exist."<br/><br/>"You mean you couldn't find him."<br/><br/>"I meen<span style="font-style: italic">he don' exist</span>," the Wraith snapped back, glaring. "Dem Darmlanders iz nuts, and so'z Verse fer thinkin' one guy kin do haffa wut dey sez 'e does. Now I wen' dere like 'e asked - took jobs, got paid, pudd'on dat fuckin' mask n' got paid<span style="font-style: italic">more</span>... an' all the whiles I's askin' folks, '<span style="font-style: italic">Hey, you seen dat freak who steals yer face an' pretends e's you?</span>'. I got nuttin' fer it. All they's tellin' me 'bout is stuff I done meself. I 'ad a...<span style="font-style: italic">suspectishun</span>dat maybe 'e wuz real an' dey jus' made stuff up about 'im, but naw. Sure as I'm sober, dere ain't no such thing as dis Wraith. E's jus' a scam dat dey'll pay good coin t' keep believin'."<br/><br/>The man looked skeptical, and more than slightly annoyed. "I'm supposed to believe an entire country - a country<span style="font-style: italic">stuffed to the gills with mercenaries</span>- is handing out bonuses to the ones who show up in costume to collect their payment just because they<span style="font-style: italic">want</span>to believe this myth is real? Don't be ridiculous. What about the fakes who get caught?"<br/><br/>"Prob'ly offed by dere bosses. Pay 'em first, 'den knock 'em dead-like when they think they's safe. One'a dem even tried dat trick on<span style="font-style: italic">me</span>."<br/><br/>"And the 'bosses' who refuse to pay?"<br/><br/>"Don' take anythin' spesshul t' slip sumfin'<span style="font-style: italic">nasty</span>into anudder man's drink. Plenny'a reesin too, if he ain't paid yer."<br/><br/>"...Right," he muttered, still uncertain. That was acceptable - the true aim of the Wraith's argument was to convince Verse and his men that "Pankey" believed what he was saying. Whether they could be made to believe it themselves was, comparatively, of little consequence to him.<br/><br/>"Wut's Verse doin' dat he needz a guy like dis fer anyway?" the Wraith inquired, leaning close. "'E wuz all tight-lipped about it befores."<br/><br/>"Hmph. You're lucky he told me to give you an answer to that," the man scoffed back. "But before I say anything, I'm going to need you to return the investment he left you with, as agreed."<br/><br/>The Wraith reached into his cloak and produced a jingling sack of coins, which he handed over without so much as a single twitch of hesitation. It was a carefully measured amount, kept separate from the rest of his finances in preparation for just such an exchange. The other man looked mildly surprised once his counting was finished, most likely having expected the bounty hunter to have "misplaced" some amount of his advance payment along the way in an attempt to cheat his employer.<br/><br/>"Ain't nobody ever gunna say dat Pankey ain't good on 'is word," the Wraith stated as he grinned over the table.<br/><br/>"He did say you were reliable," the man admitted, looking like he had only just begun to believe it for the first time. "Fine. The job is to start a war - a civil war,<span style="font-style: italic">here</span>. Verse is hiring sellswords to make it happen and letting them work out the particulars for themselves. He's going to leave most of the fighting to the nobles, so there's no need for an army; just a few specialists to push things in the right direction and keep the conflict going. He's been looking for thieves, con-men,<span style="font-style: italic">swords</span>men... no doubt he'll be disappointed to hear that you couldn't find this 'Wraith', considering."<br/><br/>For several seconds, the Wraith fell silent. He nodded and, his true thoughts briefly running parallel to the facade, made a genuine display of thinking things over. Even by a passing description, the job was<span style="font-style: italic">fascinating</span>; enough so that he would gladly have accepted it simply for a chance to put his skills to the test, but it was also dangerous. He did not work for anyone whom he did not choose to reveal himself to, and the terms he enforced upon those select few others were ironclad. Verse had offered him no room for such luxury, and by all rights he had traveled to Agathor to make an example of the man, but... a flood of fresh questions were acting to stay his hand.<br/><br/>The foremost among them remained, "What would<span style="font-style: italic">Pankey</span>think?"<br/><br/>"Izzis' fer de ole king?" he asked, confused. "Wuts a for'inner like Verse care 'bout dat?"<br/><br/>"He doesn't," Verse's man responded, "and it isn't. The only objective is war. How it starts, who wins, how soon... doesn't matter. I don't know what his angle is, and I wouldn't tell you even if I did, but it sure as hell isn't a favor for the old king."<br/><br/>"An' the pay?"<br/><br/>"...Would make this look like a pittance," he said, shaking the Wraith's coin pouch in the air. "Why? Interested?"<br/><br/>"S'pose I iz," the Wraith answered, making an effort on both fronts to seem less so than he actually was.<br/><br/>The man stood up and nodded. "I'll let the boss know. Good day," he said, and then strolled off as casually as he had arrived. The Wraith remained there in the tavern for a while afterwards, motionless as he had been before. Eventually, he called a waitress over and ordered another drink.<br/><br/><div style="text-align: center;"><a class="postlink" href="http://www.seventh-house.org/wp-content/themes/naota/images/NavDivider3.png">[ img ]</a></div><br/>Verse's operation began a week later in the very same tavern where Pankey had been instructed to report on his task. The Wraith was given little more information than a date, a room number, and a hint that he would be meeting his allies there; presumably, they were to devise a plan together, or at the very least learn enough of each other's individual plans that interference would not be an issue. Both likelihoods were something of a concern to the Wraith, who could reveal few details of his actual intentions without confirming his identity along with them, but he reminded himself that he was in a foreign land, and that Verse himself was likely the only one aware of his reputation. Unless the three people speaking amongst themselves inside the room were close acquaintances of his, they would not be a great threat.<br/><br/>He had not expected to see another Darmlander as he opened the door. He could not have possibly prepared himself for it to have been Pete Girly.<br/><br/>It was fortunate that the Wraith did not announce his arrival, as it took a moment for him to assume a neutral reaction. His entry in the room drew some attention nonetheless, but he had his face in order before it should have been noticed, and he took advantage of the opportunity to study his so-called allies while their eyes were on him. Even though he knew better, none of them truly looked the part of mercenaries.<br/><br/>"...Now dis can't be da righ' room," he said after a period of silence. "You up-dress'd<span style="font-style: italic">fops</span>dunno a guy 'goes by th' name'a Verse, do yaz?"