The streets of Ravinca buzzed with the usual perpetual murmur of life. On a small mesa on the outskirt of the main city center, life was only a little less hectic. This mesa was an unaligned district that no guild claimed and was home to peaceful folk. The only truly noteworthy was part of this district was the nearly famous Mourning Mirrodin Tavern. Locals do not understand the name, but its name is like a lighthouse in the fog to wanderers of the Multiverse. The tavern is open all day and all night. During the day it is a calm meeting area for locals but as night approaches the usual night life creeps in and the fun begins.

The Mourning Mirrodin Tavern is a multi-story building. The first two floors are available for entertainment with bar and food and usually a bard providing live music. The third floor contains many well-kept high class rooms for patrons to rent for a night. The locals do not spend the night often, but for those looking to spend time alone, or from across the city, enjoy these comfortable logging. The fourth floor is the private residence of the Tavern owner, Alexander Pax.

The Mourning Mirrodin is known for good food and drink, honest deals, and always accepting of the strangest of individuals. Those looking for quick jobs with big rewards can be found frequenting a large bulletin board on the first floor managed by the tavern owner himself. One the first floor, there is a large stage for live performances and the main bar where Alexander can most often be found bartending. There is a large open area to allow for dancing and a few tables to rest and enjoy a good meal. The second story has a smaller bar with a smaller selection of beverages. The second floor has plenty of dining tables and secluded venues. There are two gambling tables up there. Across both floors a 3-inch layer of fog covers the floor and sometimes flows down the stairs. This only adds to the atmosphere of a friendly, dreamlike feel to the tavern. It is often a prank told to new patrons that one would get a reward if they ever located the fog machine the obviously must be generating the fog.

Now, the Mourning Mirrodin is not entirely what it seems. Some have speculated him linked with the Dimir guild for he seems to get information for the oddest and obscure jobs from across Ravinca. Some say that he has deep connections within the Orzhov guild as he often ignores extensive tabs to certain patrons. Guilds even post jobs and recruitment in the tavern aimed at the unaligned. Coins that fall on the floor are rarely ever recovered as if the fog immediately whisks it away. Ravinca is a very mixed place, but some of the patrons to this establishment are exceptionally abnormal. In truth, these are often planeswalkers from all over the multiverse, but planeswalkers are wholly unknown on Ravinca except for the more learned individuals.

-----

Now, this is where the tale of planeswalkers begins. Slowly growing in popularity, the name Mourning Mirrodin has attracted many planeswalkers. Here planeswalkers come, eat, plot, and plan. To what end and how their glancing and passing meetings will shape the multiverse, no soul can predict. The Mourning Mirrodin is always open, always accepting, and always neutral ground.

On the stage, a beautiful young human woman plays her small lyre. As she switches songs, she points her finger and swirls her wrist. Her hair changes from a deep brown to a bright green. Her long hair raises and ties itself into a big bun. Her dress also changes color from a warm red to a matching bright green. Her dress lengthens, growing from where its hem was mid-thigh to the floor. Her lyre changed to a small wooden guitar. The goblin drummer behind her on stage began to give a beat. The Elf next to him began to play his flute. Strumming her guitar, this young woman began to seen in beautiful common native to Theros. For the non-planeswalkers, her ballad could only be understood by the beautiful tones of her voice and the blue illusions that danced at her feet illustrating the legend of the first dog of Theros, a lonely wolf crying to the goddess of the Hunt for a new pack. That pack becoming the humans.

Alexander Pax was not once phased by the magic of his bard. He tended to the patrons at the bar and greeted all who entered the Taven.

A tall and somewhat slight human entered the tavern, seeming a bit weary and completely disinterested in the stage show. He leaned slightly on his staff as he walked, the upper end of which bore the white and gray sun insignia of the Orzhov Syndicate. Anyone who didn't live under a rock with the Gruul clans cleared some extra space for him as he walked through the foggy tavern. The cloak draped over him bore the same symbol on his back, a symbol he had come to learn demanded respect of some and fear of many, even if he did not wish for it to be so. He would seek redemption in turning corruption to piety, even within his own small place as a cleric among the Orzhov. An opposite progression of what he had seen in his life and what he learned had happened in his time away from home in Innistrad. Even if he could pull the planeswalker card and take command of the Syndicate, for the time being, he elected not to and decided to at least earn some respect first.

Until he could reform the Syndicate at least back to its tradition of actually functioning like a church, he carried a name which raised him up as a symbol of the Orzhov's sway in Ravnican financial matters and their willingness to exercise it. The Cardinal of Calamity. It was no official title since he still bore the official standing of a cleric. As he did not exercise the greatest extents of his power and his power didn't have great extents regarding spirits to begin with, he was deemed rank-and-file in the eyes of the Obzedat and the Advisors. More or less, another attendant to the Church of Deals, another accountant in clergy robes ruining lives and afterlives alike. Still, he was a bit more notable than others from his constant presence around the city and his tales of strange places beyond the City of Guilds. Some thought him crazy. Among those folks, they thought it made him more intimidating.

He took a seat at the tavern bar and kept one hand on his staff, staring a bit longingly at the end of his staff with the sun symbol. Some shock still resonated within, and he snapped to attention once he realized he was no longer looking at anything in particular and had let his mind wander off to events far from where his body resided now. Even as he turned to greet the bartender, someone he knew more by name than anything else, he still seemed a bit despondent and his eyes half wandered and half drooped.

"It is nice to sit down once in a while here. To actually relax and not talk to someone just to get them to pay. Might need bigger or more drinks if I actually dealt with that part of the process. How has the place been while I was away, Mister Pax?"

Two-One had very quickly seized upon a system for navigating the busy streets. Certain individuals seemed to glide through the crowded marketplaces and bustling avenues, doing with status what others would have to do with a lot of shoving. The meaning of the symbols these people tended to wear was lost on Two-One, but their value was obvious. When one of the symbol bearers made his way towards the tavern, Two-One quietly slipped into the wake he left behind him. A short bundle of tattered robes, beneath the notice of most, following along silently behind the man with the sun on his cloak, who would lead him straight into the Mourning Mirrodin.

Now safely within the interior, the little construct - his nature hidden, for the most part, by the layers of robes he draped over his frame - paused to peer down at the fog that flowed back to fill the space carved through it by Lanestol. Fog was, in his experience, an outdoor thing. It had something to do with clouds and large bodies of water. Two-One crouched down slightly to get a better look at the fog, which didn't reveal much of anything about how the fog came to be there, nor what kind of purpose it served. It would be a mystery to solve later, as the man he'd followed in had already made his way to the bar and, if Two-One was going to blend in, standing still by the entrance to look at fog was not going to help.

So Two-One carefully made his way over towards the bar, growing in confidence with each step that he wasn't going to be walking into some sort of trap obscured by the fog. Fortunately, nobody else had decided to sit next to Lanestol at the bar. Two-One clambered up on to one of these unoccupied stools and, after perching himself on the seat proper, he looked about. Underneath the layers of robes, he couldn't really see much of anything, save for what was below him. The fog swirled ominously around the feet of the stool.

Two-One shuffled a little on the stool, pulling his attention away from the fog, and did what he'd done every time he'd found himself in an unfamiliar tavern in a place he didn't understand. Like travelling in the wake left by others, it seemed to work in most places.

"I'll have," his voice, and the quiet clicking noises that went along with every word, were rather muffled by the robes, "what he's having!"

@Protoman@Hylozoist

Alexander was wiping out a a metal mixing cup as Lanestol came up and sat down. Approaching his patron with his smile, Alexander set the mixing cup down and began to make Lanestol's usual drink. "Ah, Father, it is a pleasure to see you. Things have been fairly smooth since I last was graced with your presence. Now, is 'Salvation through Debt' not having a profitable day?" Alexander says in a very casual tone for someone of Lanestol's station. "Anyways, Are you here for work or pleasure, Father? I am expecting a contact from the Orzhov for another patron. That would not happen to be you. Last time, they wanted to use this tavern as a meeting, they sent a thrull. Yeah, after paying the damages the Thrull made, I know they will never send another." Alexander slide a stone mug of the Lanestol's usual drink to him and continued, "You looking for something to eat?"

Alexander took notice of the cloaked figure that sat next to Lanestol immediately, but he did not address him until he made a request. Alexander immediately began crafting another drink as requested. With a polite smile, Alexander addressed Two-one, "I do not believe we have met yet, good sir. Welcome to the Mourning Mirrodin Tavern, We accept all manner of beings and This place is the the most neutral location in the whole of creations. Now, i would be happy to serve you, but I cannot allow new patrons wear hoods. A fairy tried to assassinate a patron of mine last week and ruined that privilege for a while. Please, remove your hood."

Lanestol looked up to accept his drink, an odd brew someone from the Izzet League had purchased once they called Niv-Mizzet's Failed Experiment #5043. He had liked it, though after he tried a second Failed Experiment it with the alcoholic components of a Rakdos Revel, he found it a perfect balance.

"Business has been on the lighter side today, as far as I have seen. More people paying a visit to the Maw to pay with life than with coin. I am aware of who they will send later today and they did ask me to assure you the agent they send will be much more intelligent than a thrull. They cannot guarantee if they will be dead or alive--that agent is...meeting with an Advisor. That's all the business they asked me to come for for now.

"I am just here to have a drink and maybe something to eat as well. I do not know what exactly yet; I will have a look over the menu." He took one up and started to browse their offerings for the day. "Personally, I had come to unwind from a...rather confusing trip home. The business information was because Advisor Karlov asked me to tell you."

The bustle and hustle of the city was an irritant to most, a blessing to some, and impossible for others. Today though, the throng split like water as a tall dark skinned woman stomped through the streets. Wearing animal pelts and leather and sporting two off white wicked looking double headed axes on her waist, the woman practically screamed fury. Her anger palpable, Aspasia cut a swift course through the hustle and bustle that impeded so many. A few brave souls stepped behind her, zipping out of her wake as soon as they could.

Damn it! Damn it all! she though furiously. First she got blindsided, unsatisfying beat the shit out the elfs that did, and planeswalked to the wrong part of this city. Shit. Aspasia grumbled as she stomped over the bridged onto the messa and bee lined for the tavern. She picked out twigs and leaves strewn through her hair and clothing. A few people glanced at the multiple cuts that adorned her arms. Wouldn't be snickering if they got caught in the damned Roil. she grumbled inwardly. Zendikar and all its splendor. She really did need another mana stone from there though.

She flung the door open with a bang and stomped inside, glancing as the bard spun her tale and scowled. Aspasia still hadn't returned to Theros. In fact, she adamantly avoided it. No need to involve herself with a malicious god again. A small twinge ran through her stomach as if to say "That's not why you won't go back." And it's true but she wasn't going to think about that. Her friends were probably upstairs at the gambling tables. She'd be there soon, whipping their butts easily. But first, a drink. Or seven. She slumped down next to the curious little thing in robes, rags, something or another. She'd learned prying wasn't really her thing.

"Oye, Pax! Get me a few shots of anything that'll make me drunker than an Akran in celebration! Pay from that damn weasel good enough to last me a long time. And after that assignment, shit I need something hard." She frowned slightly as green mist tricked from her hand up her arms, closing the nicks and cuts. "Also, damned weasel failed to tell me about the Mul Daya involved and that apparently the Joraga nation had an interest in those beasts! I got so pissed when a damned Mul Daya archer fucking appears, practically teleports!, into existance, shoots me in the leg and her head gets taken off by a Joraga warrior resulting in my wolves deciding Joraga tasted more delicious than a dead corpse. So I said screw it. Y'all wanna play with big dangerous creatures for fun, I asked. Fine have a hydra or two. A wurm for good measure. And then the gods would have it, the Roil role right on in. Like Morgis himself came up and decided AGAIN it was time to die. So damn done! Ran a wurm right under the tree a branch of the Mul Daya and a seven headed hydra ate the closest Joraga clan for good measure. No one is touching those birds for a long long time. Showed them exactly why they call me Nature's Wrath."

She frowned the rest of the people inside. What she really needed was a good fight to stretch her muscles but beating those bastards upstairs would help quite a bit. Last trip to Innistrad taught her some interesting tricks. Trappers were such devilish people, especially when they suprised you as a werewolf. Good thing their hides made such nice clothing. She absently rubbed the fur on her armor.

Two-One happily listened to Alexander address the robed man, even if the way the fog swirled about the floor continued to nag away at him. The robed man was a Father - which could be a religious title, or that he had offspring, or both. There were Thrulls, weird things made out of dead flesh, around here. That was something to watch out for. They served food here. There's something called an Orzhov. They make contracts. It was difficult to form an opinion on all these things, but Two-One prided himself on having an opinion, especially such that one day he might be able to disagree with somebody else about the things he had opinions on.

He was in the middle of trying to figure out what his stance on an Orzhov was when the bartender turned his attention towards him, interrupting his train of thought. The demand to not have a hood seemed reasonable enough, his explanation of the circumstances sounded believable, and as for the promise of accepting all manner of beings? It'd be bad for business to turn away customers, so from a business point of view, that stood to reason. He cast one quick, final glance towards the door, plotting out what might be his best escape route if required, then reached up to pull down his hood.

The Alloy Myr had seen better days. A slight patina of rust was beginning to form around the tip of his beak-like head. Two of the lights were cracked, and glowing far more dimly than the others. Two-One turned his head to one side, blankly regarding Alexander. There were emotions going on inside that dented and dull head of his, but Two-One had few ways to express them non-verbally.

"I can explain," he began, keeping his hands held up, "I saw the name, I think it is called homesickness, th-"

His explanation was cut rather short by the arrival of Aspasia. Sat here, with the hood pulled back, Two-One initially felt quite exposed, but it soon became very apparent that the lady was busy ranting about something involving wolves and weasels and wurms. Wurms. Two-One had an opinion on wurms. He had been chewed on by them before.

"-I do not like wurms. They have too many teeth and too few limbs."

@Achronum @MarsAdept

Alexander nodded gratefully hearing Lanestol give his explanation. He was a little upset that Lanestol was not the contact he was expecting for another patron. "Let me know if you see something to fit your fancy, Father," Alexander said as he grabbed a stone mug to fill. He turned away to grab a fresh bottle to make a mix for Two-One. He made the mixed drink then turned back to Two-One just to see the myr looking back at him. In a jolt of fright, he dropped the stone mug. It hit the floor with a thud and spilled. The shock left him as soon as it came because Aspasia burst into the tavern with some commotion.

Alexander turned around and grabbed a half empty brownish green bottle from one of the higher shelves. He slammed the bottle down on the counter with a thud. He added a shot glass next to it. With an aggressive tone unusual for pacifist tavern master, He spoke, " Aspasia! This bottle is straight from Dominaria, harvested from a vineyard fed by the ash from Shivan Volcanos. You are going to have to pour you own. Try to preserve the bottle please, I get a discount on a refill. I would like to hear more of your story later, but right now i have matters to attend to. The new waiter, Dianna, is upstairs and should be able to handle your orders."

Alexander turned away from Aspasia. He did not mean to seem mean and rarely did he offer extra-planar drinks so liberally. Looking down at the stone mug he dropped into the fog on the floor. He kicked it into the corner of over the the side so he would not trip on it. He leaned in closely to Two-one. Angerly and just above a whisper he addressed the myr, "You answer me honestly now. Do you have the blight? Have you been corrupted by that Blasphemer oil?! Lie to me and you would be the first on Ravinca to see my wrath." Alexander referred to the Phyrexian oil that preceded the invasion and conquest of the Mirran people.

@Hylozoist@Achronum@Protoman

Two-One shrank back a little from Alexander's questioning, shuffling further back on the stool to try and put what little distance he could between them. He knew what his answer would be, but it probably not exactly what the man wanted to here. Feeling the edge of the stool with his feet, he snatched another look down at the fog, before twisting his head about to stare, with one eye, at Alexander. The plan, if it should come to that, was to take that final step backwards, tumble to the floor, and run.

"Honestly. I hope not. Haven't seen the oil come from me, still think correctly, but have never been taken apart to check," Two-One lowered his head, meekly, in an attempt to convey an apology of sorts, "so cannot be certain. Just hopeful. I do not want to be taken apart to find out. I do not want to take you apart to find out what is inside you either. We are in agreement?"

@MarsAdept

Lanestol had been hearing the conversations between Alexander and the other patrons present. He had looked over as a rather imposing woman entered and vented about what seemed to be her latest endeavor beyond the plane of Ravnica. Sounded to him like the type of assignment he would rather not get involved in. Any number of things could go awry, from what he had previously heard of Zendikar, and with the sorts of things that could come about, even his own protective powers would not be completely reliable. He did happen to notice the fur coat over the top of her armor and its familiarity struck him.

Seems like she's been to my home at least once...doesn't look like she's been there too recently. That looks like normal werewolf fur. From what I heard from the survivors the last time I went, if she went there now, she might still come across one of them who were corrupted and come back with something half covered in tentacles or with a coat fit for someone with seven more appendages than usual.

He had glanced back the other way to see the short hooded figure pull back its hood as it had been asked. Upon seeing a Myr, he started feeling a churning unease within his stomach. He tried to discreetly continue listening and keeping the Myr in his peripheral vision. He had not been to Mirrodin personally, though another planeswalker he once talked to had been in the early stages of the blight's conquest. At Alexander's the first mention of the oil, he started to regret coming to drink as his unease sent his heart pounding. He began to take another drink to try to steady his discomfort. Overhearing the Myr say it hoped it didn't have the blight, he halfway choked up a moment on the drink in his throat and halfway spat up what was in his mouth. He placed the mug back on the counter and gripped his staff tight with both hands.

"You hope you don't have the blight!?" Lanestol interjected. "When was the last time you could have been exposed?" The end of his staff began to glow as a protective aura surrounded himself.

Alexander stated hard at the myr. Slowly, the corners of his lips begin the rise. Returning to his cheerful self, he backs away and throws his arms open wide like he was going to hug the myr. "Glory to you, child of Mirrodin! I remember the debates as a young boy about the intelligence of the myr. You are proof all my peers were wrong. A true testament to your kind." Alexander said with great excitement. Dropping he arms, he quickly moves to grab a stool ladder.

A woman wearing a crimson red dress with black trimmings enters the tavern. After looking around at the tavern bard, who was in the middle of magically changing her outfit, she comes and takes a seat on the stool next to Laneslot opposite of Two-one. She looks at the Cardinal of Calamity and proudly addresses him, "So, Are you supposed to be my contact? I am not sure why the church does not want to keep this in house, but wanted the meeting here." She offers her right hand to Laneslot.

Alexander rapidly returns with the stool ladder and sets it up. He quickly climbs and pulls a polished metal bottle from the highest shelf. Decending the ladder, he grabs two wine glasses and returns to Two-one. He explains, "I think think the Izzet here keep clean water flowing well, but it has never tasted right." He pours a small amount of blue water that seemed to glint in the light like it was metallic into both wine glass. He hands one of the the glasses to Two-One, "I have to say it does not have that healthy metallic taste like it had on Mirrodin. So, What do Myr use as names?"

Spotting the woman in crimson sit next to Laneslot, He moves and hands the wine glass he poured for himself to her. Smiling he says, "Look, Victoria! There is a myr!"

She looked surprised at Alexander's excitement. She takes the wine glass with the blue metallic liquid with her left hand and asks, "Are you making myr now, Alex?"

"No! It's a planeswalker! Can you not feel its spark?!" ALexander exclaims as he pours himself a new glass. He raises the glass. The metallic blue fluid swirled, "To Mirrodin Restored!" He took the liquid in a single gulp. Victoria mimicked him with enthusiasm, "To Mirrodin Liberated!!!"

@Protoman@Hylozoist@Achronum

"I hope, because I cannot be certain, Father," Two-one's attention was dragged away from Pax, as the rather incredulous question demanded something of an answer at the very least, "just as you might carry some fleck of disease in all that meat and not know of it until you fall ill. It is much like that. I hope I do not carry some oil, and you hope you do not carry some dis-"

Alexander's gesture of throwing his arms open and exclaiming in joy made the Myr jump a little, and it was only a sudden and rather ungainly amount of scrabbling and arm-waving that prevented him from tumbling off the back of the stool. After steadying himself, and shuffling along back to the centre of the stool, he bobbed his head in thanks to Alexander and took a hold of the offered glass.

"Two-One. It is short for Two One Nine Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero," the Myr bobbed his head a little more as he kept count, "Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero Zero. Zero. You can see why Two-One is preferred. To Mirrodin restored!"

Two-One joined in with raising the glass, and then somewhat sheepishly went back to clutching it with both hands. He took a shuffling step closer to Alexander and, in a much quieter voice, whispered up to him as he set the glass on the bar.

"It is not my intent to offend. I cannot drink. Could you drink that for me? I am appreciative of the gesture."

@MarsAdept, @Protoman

Lanestol held on a moment longer, pondering what the Myr said before lowering his defense and taking his right hand off his staff. "Very true. I have greater fear of coming across the blight than any other illness that can befall a creature. Most diseases do not compel service to one of the most vile wretches in all the realms. Seeing as how you have not tried anything yet, I can take you on faith for now, at least." His attention turned away once another sat on his other side and questioned about the Orzhov's anticipated meeting at the tavern.

"I am not privy to the exact reasons why our leadership insist on meeting their patrons where they are at rather than inviting them to the Church of Deals, where we are at," Lanestol responded to Victoria. "Perhaps to project an image of openness. In reality, it may be because too many dealings at the Church itself would invite too many of the kinds of people the Orzhov don't care to have poking about. The sorts of people as there are in the Azorius Senate or the Boros Legion or the kinds of people who would, in turn, attract their attention. They take no chances with alleged House Dimir agents poking about, even if they have already intruded our ranks.

"To answer your question, no, I am not the contact. They just gave me some information about the meeting and to assure the liaison will be of greater intellect than the thrull we mistakenly trusted last time. They did want me to warn you in case he meets you and seems...a bit less lively than usual. An Advisor met him to speak about that meeting and his debt problem."

A small celebration had broken out upon Alexander's acceptance of Two-One. Seemed to him they would carry on for a bit with it. In the meantime, he finished off his drink and decided to strike up conversation with the woman Alexander referred to as "Aspasia". He hadn't seen her before, though the fur covering her armor had caught his eye and he figured she would at least be worth a talk with.

"When did you get that? The coat over your armor. How long ago was it you got that?"

@Achronum

Aspasia's eyebrow rose as Pax whirled around and slammed the drink on the counter. She cast a glance over the little metal creature. Myr they were, if she recalled correctly. She snatched up the bottle and, ignoring the shot glass, drank directly from the bottle. Damn, that wasn't half bad. Her eyes glinted excitedly as Pax crowded the little metal creature and whispered threats. Rooting for his anger, her fingers twitched towards her axes just in case. As the tension built between them, a feral grin unfurled as the Orzhov made his own demands and she... sat back with a huff as they seemed to drink happily together. Damn.

A woman, dressed in red and black, slipped up to the bar. Taking another swig, Aspasia rolled her eyes as it came to light she was another member of the church here. She seemed interesting at first too. Aspasia turned her attention to the little myr.

"That tends to be the opinion on wurms. However, thoughts change when they're on your side. Ever fought on the back of one while the Roil is whipping the winds around you? Best rush you'll ever have!" She chuckled and emptied the bottle and slammed it back on the table, "I prefer Hydras. Much angrier honestly." She stood to leave but stopped as the Orzhov male spoke up, "When did you get that? The coat over your armor. How long ago was it you got that?"

"Not sure. Don't really keep track of that. They over stayed their welcome in the forests so I found them and stuck my axes in their heads." She shrugged and leaned back on the counter, "Didn't steal it if that's what you're wondering nor is it for sale." She eyed the man carefully. She spent plenty of time avoiding the Guilds of this plane. She wasn't exactly comfortable with a member of one speaking directly to her.

@Protoman @Hylozoist

Alexander stepped away briefly to refill a pint for a local patron, before returning to the group of planeswalkers. He took up Two-One's glass and gulped it down. Putting the glass in a pile, he spoke, "Well, Two-One, I am unsure exactly how to serve you. I would gladly host you here in the tavern. There are rooms up on the third floor, but I am obligated to provide them to paying consumers. If you need money or are just bored, There is a bulletin over there." Alexander points to the far side of the first floor, "They are good honest jobs, except for maybe the Dimir ones. It is hard to read what they want and they like it that way. If you see a job that says to ask me for details, I promise those ones take place off of Ravinca. There is one up there right now about rat troubles. It is a job I got from an informant on Kamigawa. I would send Victoria because she likes jobs like that, but No, she has guild business..." Alexander looks over at Victoria for a reaction.

Victoria looked over at Alexander and replies, "Don't be like that. I enjoy being a enforcer. Especially when the debtor fights back. Hey, Do you still have that wine from Theros?"

"You are on the job, you can drink after." Alexander replied as though he knew better than she did.

Almost as if on the devil was mentioned, a Orzhov Cleric stepped through the tavern door. He approached Alexander and said "I am here to speak with a planeswalker..."

Alexander laughed, "Really? Take your pick, You are surrounded by planeswalkers. You are my contact from the guild right?! Victoria is the one you seek." Alexander gestures to Victoria.

The Cleric glares at Alexander, "I am a man of status and report, I do not like being Inter-"

"Then do not pause for dramatic effect!" Victoria interrupted with a smirk. She stood and motioned the cleric to join her at a small table. She sat down glaring at the cleric impatiently.

The cleric saw Laneslot next to Victoria where was sitting, He bows respectfully to Laneslot, "Cardinal, I was not informed you would be here. You have my respect for your station." He said other formalities before joining Victoria at her table.

Alexander treated another patron before turning attention once more on the three planeswalkers, "Laneslot, Two-One, Aspasia, How can I make your evening memorable? Food, drink, share stories, point you in direction or work?"

@Achronum@Protoman@Hylozoist

"So I would guess it was some time ago, then," Lanestol responded to Aspasia. "I was not looking to purchase it. Had it not been for recent events, I could have gotten one like it. In fact, I did have one like it for casual attire just after I graduated my village academy, just of lighter color. The hard part was sufficiently turning a trap on him so I could stop him cold and siphon out his life. I would have definitely lost a straight-forward battle and the way I did it guaranteed the pelt stayed whole. Not much risk of tearing it with a weapon, though for some, that gave it a bit of charm or room to sew in a pocket. These days, werewolves of Innistrad are mangled abominations, far beyond how twisted they were to begin with. You may want to keep that one intact as long as possible. It is not replaceable, as it is. You could get another if you not mind the next one coming with tentacles or other unnatural appendages."

Lanestol turned to acknowledge the contact who had finally come to meet with Veronica. Upon hearing the messenger's contemptuous tone toward Alexander and Victoria, his demeanor took a sudden turn. The ruby pendant flashed for a moment before his eyes turned the same shade of red, and a wicked smile curled as he made direct eye contact with the messenger cleric. He stood from his stool and walked right to the agent as he bowed before him. He leaned in and whispered in the contact's ear, a disquieting anger concealed as he grit his teeth.

"I would have hoped you would treat your hosts with a bit more respect, especially considering your current status. It is not one which commands respect or draws envy from anyone. If this goes poorly in the Advisor's view, you will be fortunate to stand in line for the Maw. If you do hold respect for my station, act like it and be a more gracious guest or you will be no one's guest again."

I could have told him something like that myself without the threats.

Someone with his arrogance needs a good whip now and then to know his place. He needs to know just how little control he has of the situation. Whelps like him are why I wonder you still don't just blow them all to the aether and become the Guildmaster.

I would be no different from him, flexing my power to control people. That, and I know that would motivate you to try to take control of me permanently. I only tolerate you since I cannot exorcise you yet. If you drive me to it, I will seek someone else to send you on your way. For now, I wish to have command again.

With his own message given to the agent, Lanestol stood and returned to his seat. His pendant flashed again and his eyes reverted back. His face had also returned to its usual forlorn stare before he faced Alexander upon his query.

"I suppose some work would be in order. At least, after I eat. My stomach has settled from the nervous moment earlier."

Two-One watched Alexander gulp down his drink, admiring the way the human body knows, seemingly by instinct, how to shut off one tube and open another to allow liquids to pass through it. The Myr decided that his opinion on the matter was that it was quite remarkable for something seemingly taken for granted, and added it to his growing mental pile of things that he had an opinion on. Thinking about it distracted Two-One a little, and he snapped his attention back to Alexander, catching the tail end of something about rat troubles.

"Rat trouble? Two-One is a hero. Sort of. I can help with that, look," he squirmed about, freeing one arm from the loop that held his makeshift backpack upon his back and, after wrestling with the thing for a moment, pulled it around and placed it on the bar. Two-One rummaged through the contents, setting out scraps of metal, oddly shaped stones, bits of broken pottery and assorted other pieces of junk until, finally, he wriggled free a short sword. It looked sort of like a sword, though the blade was pitted and dull, the hilt was made by wrapping some fabric around the bottom of the blade, and the cross-guard was just a small piece of wood tied with string to the makeshift sword. As far as weapons went, it was pretty pathetic, but Two-One positively glowed with pride.

"I have a sword. Two-One shall deal with your rat problem! Heroes do it because it is right to do. Money is good too however. Two-One needs to buy things. Things to make new Myr."

Two-One held the "sword" aloft, turning it slightly so that, if it were a proper sword, it might catch the light. All it did was shed a flake of rust or two. As an inspirational gesture, it left a lot to be desired. Two-One gazed admiringly at the sword he'd made, then placed it on the bar, next to the backpack.

"Work then stories. I am fond of stories. I can tell you of heroic deeds against the rats. Then we hear story about riding wurms from Aspasia and stories about home from Pax and Two-One shall get homesick and then we shall have a disagreement and then the Father will tell a story and it will be less sad and I have not considered what events after that would make the evening more memorable."

Two-One didn't always believe in punctuation, especially when it came to thinking about what he wanted to do.

@Protoman @MarsAdept @Achronum

Alexander look Two-one's dull sword. Worry could be visibly seen on his face. There was a conflict within him whether he should push this myr into the mission. The Nezumi of Kamigawa are sentient creatures so they could be reasoned with, but their actions had been aggressive and violent as of late. Alexander pivoted on his heels to avoid giving an immediate answer. He moved down the bar and grabbed a small basket of bread rolls and a small bowl some spreadable butter. He placed them in front of Laneslot and said, "Father, chicken is our meet of the day. I will get some to you shortly. I hope this bread will hold you till then."

Having gathered his thoughts he turned back to the Myr, "The Rat men call themselves the Nezumi. You can find them on the planes of Kamigawa. They live in Takenuma Swamp. For reasons unknown, they have begun raiding villages outside their swamp territories. Whenever the Samuri show up to repel the rats, they are nowhere to be found. The request was made to find the reason for the attacks or to instill fear enough in the Nezumi to stop the attacks."

The bard lady who had been singing stopped and dismissed herself from the stage. The goblin drummer quickly stole the vacated spot on stage. Looking around with a mischievous smile, The goblin began to pound out an fast upbeat tempo that was good for dancing. The elf smiles and grabs a small guitar and joins the goblins drumbeats. The bard lady magically changed her outfit as she walked from the stage to the bard. Her dress morphed into a more practical pants and blouse. Her hair change from bright green to a natural brown. She came over and leaned against the bar. She spoke in a heavy dominarian accent as to make it difficult for Ravincans to understand, "Alexander, I could not help but overhear what Victoria was up to..."

"It is guild business. It has nothing to do with us." Alexander answered.

"I over heard Ector El Aizred be brought up. Don't you think that makes it our problem?" The bard said coolly.

"Nope! He betrayed her not us." Alexander replied, "I need to go check on our chef. Rachel, take care of the bar." He leaves through a door to a back area.

The bard, Rachel, moved around to behind the bar. She looked at the planeswalkers arrayed before the bar. Smiling happily, "Victoria would never ask, but I promise she will pay out of honor. She does need help with him."

@Hylozoist@Protoman@Achronum

"Thank you," Lanestol said, taking a piece of bread offered and spreading some butter in the middle once he broke it before placing the halves back together and eating it. "I will have an order of your special."

Chicken? Sounds delicious.

Well, too bad you won't be the one around to try it, now, will you? Don't mess with my business with others. Especially my business in dealing with other Orzhov members. You are not in an enviable position, either. You are technically dead. It is only a matter of releasing your soul from mine that you have not crossed over.

Quiet...I heard something about Nezumi...let me have control for a bit. I can offer them more information.

Fine. You go back when that talk is over.

Lanestol started to overhear the conversation between Alexander and Two-One about the alleged rat problem. His eyes had switched back to red as he leaned in closer to pick up the details. He started clutching his staff harder in anger when Alexander told of the Nezumi invading other villages around Kamigawa.

"Damned rat bastards...sounds like the sentries have gone soft since I left them. They let their blades dull and rust in the pursuit of peace, tranquility and enlightenment," he said in a mocking tone. "Feh. What wisdom we had was good enough. That wisdom included how to drive those thieving, backstabbing garbage incarnations of living garbage. I would be happy to accompany you on your mission. I am fine with either approach. I would prefer to just cut the lot of them down, though we can see what to do once we arrive. Not to pressure you too hard. I just really want to go home, test my blade against one of their so-called 'warriors' and see just how well they stand up. And you can feel free to take them apart and have a look at their insides. It would make for very interesting study."

You're stalling for that chicken, aren't you?

Well, since you already forced me back once, it'll be a while longer before you can do it again.

Gods help me. Whoever and wherever they may be.

It was difficult for Two-One to look disheartened, but as Alexander explained the situation, the Myr slowly shrank back, folding his arms up a little closer to his chest with each new piece of information. By the time that Victoria replaced Alexander behind the bar, Two-One had mostly retreated all the way back into his robe, save for the tip of his beak-like head that poked out from underneath the tattered cloth.

Then Lanestol began talking, and while it did very little whatsoever to assuage the fears that Two-one harboured (rats are small things, easily chased away and fuzzy, rat men sounded far more dangerous), the promise of help was well-received. The array of lights on his head glowed a little more brightly.

"It would be help-helpful," Two-one began, his voice stumbling over the words slightly, "to go with somebody who knows about these rats and to see what ratman insides look like and to ha-have company. Normally I make company as I go. Talking is important, so you can have disagreements."

Two-One didn't radiate confidence, but in what passes for a heart, Two-One knew that he was a hero. And the most important part of being a hero was to be brave, and that involved overcoming fears. Therefore, to be a hero, one must have fears to overcome.

"It is good to go home too. Supplies! We need supplies," the beak turned slightly to point up towards Rachel, "and disguises and the other things th-that heroes use. Can I get food for Lanestol to take with us here? Such as more of the bread and more of the butter to go in the bread?"

@Protoman @MarsAdept