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Dim, green-yellow torches flickered nervously in their black lantern cases, shining an eerie verdant glow against the sandstone and rock alley walls in the buried bowels of the City of Dust. Even in the brightest hours of the day, only the highest paths of the Gray District were scarcely illuminated by a deep shade of crimson, soaking up the faintest hints of the sun’s rays before they had a chance to plunge any further into the depths of Glimhollow. A lone figure shuffled through the cramped corridors of the slum’s streets, pausing from time to time to glance about before rubbing a stick of white chalk against any subtly protruding bricks in the walls, moving then to the next passageway, never stopping to observe its work.

Each etch of chalk was little more than a short, lopsided curve, wide at one end and tapering at the other to a sharpened point. To most, the marking would hardly stand out as much more than a scratch, a minor blemish against the roughened walls that were regularly riddled with marks and scars from years of wear. To some select few, the scrawl bore a much deeper meaning – the mark of a white talon, the symbol of an impending gathering of a gang of thieves, criminals, and cutthroats. But the drawing of the talon carried with it an even deeper significance, as this was the first time it had appeared on the surface of any sandstone in well over a year.

The figure worked its way through the winding narrow lanes in a gradual descent, avoiding all prevalent pathways before turning sharply at the fringe of a sewer trench, walking along the edge with a gimping swagger towards the single bright glow beaming out into the darkened boulevard. As the green and yellow lights grew brighter with each step, so too did the cheerful jeers and drunken chortles echo louder into the sewage ditch below, an unnerving contrast to the miserable silence flooding the surrounding neighborhood. The cloaked frame pushed past the blubbering patrons of the Drunkard’s Compass toward the main bar, settling upon an open stool as the barkeep padded over with an open bottle.

“’Right, Val? Be makin’ the rounds ‘gain, eh?” The stocky half-dwarf pulled a glass from beneath the bar and filled it with a thin layer of a deep brown filth, reminiscent of the bile churning outside, and held it out to the character with a heavy grip.

Adnos Valrel glanced impartially toward the glass before reaching a chalk-stained hand out to grasp at the brew, stirring its contents about in a subtle swirling motion before shrugging and pounding it back. Grimacing, the disheveled man shook his head as he bared his teeth, placing the glass on the bar with a firm clunk.

“Gods, Bruto, th’eavens you put in your shem?” The man hacked as the half-dwarf began splitting with laughter, swiftly pouring the glass back up with a healthy portion of the cloudy booze.

“’Tis me mum’s secret, goon! She’d ‘ave the rot stew ‘bove the ditches; give it a nice stink don’ it?” Still cackling, Bruto popped a cork back on the brown bottle and stowed it on the rear rack. “Think I got me brewin’ from me late pa? Man couldn’ even ‘old ‘is ale – think shem may ‘ave right killed ‘im!” After another quick round of guffawing, the barkeep wiped a tear from his eye and leaned against the counter, fixating on the Dusthawk leader. The humor had all but retreated from his voice, as a serious tone set upon the pair, separating them from the surrounding gaiety. “Don’ think I ain’t ‘eard word, Val. I got ears just as quick as yer’s. What’s up with ‘em scratches?”

Valrel let out a brash cough, leaning in closer to the half-dwarf before letting out a hiss. “Perhaps some secrets are best kept just so, eh?” The man slouched back in his seat, twirling his glass in one hand and raising his voice just enough to pass through the noise of the nearby patrons. “I’ve got it on good authority that an upcomin’ job may be a bit more… Significant than usual,” Valrel’s eyes stayed fixed on his drink, gazing on the chunks that whirled about in the deep brown liquid. “Some of us are gettin’ tired of complacency… Can I blame ‘em? No…” He leaned forward again, his gaze lifting back into the bronze eyes of the bartender.

“But… I know I’ve been at fault for th'tanglin’ of our role in these happenin’s… I’m hopin’ now to make my position quite clear.” Valrel cleared his throat, lifting his glass in salute and proceeded to shoot the bile back, cursing in disgust as Bruto leaned back and smiled.

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As the sun continued to sling low on the horizons, a young woman seated behind a large redwood desk was forced to reach out to activate the spark lamp that rested on the heavy object, casting the white papers strewn about in an eerie green glow. As always, Arelia was working the figures of her husband Volux’s business to ensure all dues were up to date and any upcoming payments from customers were categorized as appropriate. It was a tiresome job, but it was one she had grown particularly good at throughout her years working for the Bastion Automaton Company since her hand with the finer tools of building had not been a good one despite her husband’s attempts.

Once she had finished scanning the paper with verdant green eyes, she pushed it aside and reached into a drawer with even more papers inside. Letting out a sound of mild annoyance, she pushed them aside and pressed down at the bottom of the drawer to reveal a false bottom where far more warn papers were hidden. Pulling this out, she scanned them quickly before placing them in one of the many inside pockets of the blue vest she was wearing and stood up to look out the window. In the amount of time it took for her to finish the business work the sun had disappeared giving way to the starlight sky and reminding the Noble that she had further business she needed to see too.

Moving away from the window, Arelia left her office and headed towards her boudoir, intent on ensuring she would be able to leave without disturbing Volux who had retired to bed early after having pulled an all nighter to finish an automaton ordered by another noble. Unlocking her private chambers, she went inside, locked the door behind her, and immediately moved over to a large wardrobe inside. The room itself was spotless, though it was kept so by her hand alone as she refused to allow any servant within the room, claiming that is were her area to be let be and do as she pleased. While there was no bed, there was a lush couch that was large enough to lay on if she pleased, the material a soft cotton died a deep burgundy color with golden weave patterns throughout. In front of the large couch sat a darkwood intricately carved tea table with a delicate porcelain tea set resting at the center, the bright white a stark contrast to the almost black wood.

Around the rest of the room sat numerous bookshelves against the walls, the far back wall being the only one with a bare area where the hearth was set into the wall. Her wardrobe, large as it was, sat tucked as close to the hearth as anyone dared put anything made of wood. As she approached the large wooden object her heels let out a consistent clicking noise against the Lapiz flooring, the sound only dulled for a brief moment as she walked across a large area rug that covered the center of the room, the pattern matching that of the couch though the stitching of gold was far thicker and far more intricate. Opening the Wardrobe, she pushed aside every day clothing and pressed a well hidden latch at the back, causing it to slide down and reveal a well organized array of disguises.

As she took a survey of her items, counting stone purses and inspecting clothing for any tares that were out of place, she took a brief moment to look out the window. At first, the darkness of the night seemed to swallow everything, her eyes picking up nothing out of the normal, until a streak of white caught her attention. Frowning, she set everything back as it was before clothing the heavy doors to the wardrobe and strode over to the glass to peer out with far more concentration. On a far wall only easily seen through the window of her Boudoir she finally managed to make out the white object she had thought was a simple streak slowly take form to that of a talon.

Biting down on the inside of her white cheek, she strode back to the wardrobe and began to pull out an outfit and grabbed a coin purse before stripping down where she stood. Setting to work on her disguise, she bound her chest and pushed her long hair back in a more popular style for males before pulling on a pair of black pants, a black shirt and a long dark blue coat. Adjusting everything so it fit properly, she slid on a belt and attached her coin purse to it before pulling on a pair of boots. She had originally planned on taking the night off and resting up after a day of work and taking her children out, but it seemed the leader of the Dusthawks had something else in the cards. Arelia could not say she was too happy about it, but the noblewoman had a loyalty to them that no one could really completely understand.

Moving swiftly, she slid open the window and maneuvered herself out, utilizing the thick vines that grew along this side of the building as a means to reach the ground before she made her way to the Nest, taking the ferry and slinking along the dark alleyways within the Grey District. It had been a year since the last meet up, she could not help but wonder with mild excitement what this meeting would entail.

---

Luca walked with a swagger down the gloomy street, lit only by the dim glow of spark-lamps. The narrow street was little more than an alley, one of the hundreds that wound through the Gray District, lined with tall, narrow and lopsided houses. But Luca paid the houses that he passed no attention, instead continuing towards the imposingly built gates that stood at the end of the street, blocking the path to a sprawling house. Two equally imposing figures stood before the gates, rough looking thugs with short, wicked knives and spark pistols in their belts. If Luca was intimidated, he did not show it, smiling at the two men as he came closer to them, his voice echoing down the street.

“Good evening, lads. I’m here to see Baldo Gabor.”

The two thugs glanced at each other, before the shorter of the two spoke, his hand going to rest on the handle of his pistol. His voice was thick and hard-edged as he all but spat out the words.

“Who the hell are you?”

Luca’s face was a mask of exaggerated shock as he stopped, three paces away from the two figures.

“You wound me, sir. Valeriano D’Ascanio at your service.”

His deep, exaggerated bow was met with blank stares for a moment, before the taller thug frowned slightly and nodded slowly. His voice was thin and nasal, unsuited to his hulking frame.

“You’re that lord aren’t you? The mercenary that everyone keeps talking about in the Drunkard’s Compass?”

“So you have heard of me! I’m glad. But I do prefer sellsword, more charming don’t you think?”

The two figures glanced at each other again, both frowning and unsure of their next move, until the shorter of the two seemed to remember something, turning back to Luca.

“What are you coming to see Baldo for?”

“To kill him.”

There was a moment of silence, Luca smiling confidently as he watched the two thug’s faces, almost able to see the cogs frantically wheeling, until the shorter one finally found his voice.

“You what?”

“Unfortunately your employer has made some powerful enemies. I am, as I said, a sellsword. And they pay well.”

By now both of the guards had their hands on their weapons, and had taken a step back towards the gate, given confidence by the hardened metal at their backs. The taller man spoke again, his voice suspicious.

“What are you telling us for?”

“Because you have a choice, my friends. Which do you value more, your lives, or his?”

The two thugs glanced at each other, but they seemed to remember themselves, and the shorter one grinned as he pulled the long, wicked-looking knife from his belt as he turned back to Luca.

“Baldo pays well too. More than enough to kill some lord who wants to play as a mercenary.”

Luca frowned and shook his head, almost apologetically, even as the second thug also pulled out his knife.

“It’s sellsword. And you should spend more time listening in the Compass. Such a shame.”

With a flourish, Luca pulled the long, thin blade of Rosa free from her sheath, and swung it a few times through the air with ease, before levelling it towards the two guards. He gestured with his free hand, a smile on his face again.

“After you, gentleman.”

The shorter thug came at him first, charging forwards and swinging the knife at his head. Luca moved almost effortlessly, the heavy swing soaring past him and the momentum sending the thug stumbling past. The taller of the guards was more hesitant, but Luca didn’t hesitate. The rapier flashed through the air, slicing across the thug’s hand, leaving a deep slash and causing the knife to clatter down to the cobblestones below. The hulking figure staggered back, but he wasn’t quick enough, Rosa flashing through the air again as Luca drove the blade through the man’s neck. Pulling it free with a flourish, Luca left the thug to crumple to the ground desperately clutching at the blood spurting from his opened throat.

Luca turned to face the remaining guard, who stood a pace away, a look of sheer disbelief across his face. The smile never left the sellsword face, and he beckoned mockingly with his free hand. Hurrying backwards, the knife falling from his hand as he grabbed desperately for the spark pistol in his belt, panic filling his eyes. Luca closed the gap in an instant, the rapier plunging into the thug’s stomach, the point protruding from his back stained with blood. Luca pulled the blade free, the guard sprawling across the cobbles. Looking down at the man at his feet, Luca shook his head apologetically. Kicking the knife and the pistol away from the thug’s reach, he dropped to one knee, leaning close as he placed his free hand on the man’s shoulder.

“You should live. Do your best to stop the bleeding, I’ll be back soon.”

Leaving the first guard trying to stem the blood seeping from his belly, Luca stepped over the still corpse of the second, pushing open the gates and striding quickly towards the house at the end of the narrow path. Rosa still unsheathed and clutched in one hand, dripping blood as he walked, Luca opened the simple wooden door of the house with a solid kick that splintered the lock. He stopped for a moment, listening in the doorway, and heard raised voices in one of the rooms up the rickety stairs. Bounding up them, he reached the door at the same time as Baldo Gabor began to pull it open. Slamming his shoulder against the door elicited a cry of shock from Baldo as he fell back, and a scream from further in the room. Continuing his momentum into the room, Luca pinned Baldo to the floor, a boot pressing down on the man’s chest.

Baldo Gabor was a fat man, his thin hair quickly receding, and there was absolute fear in his bulging eyes as he looked up at the sellsword. And he was naked. Luca held Baldo’s wild stare as he brought Rosa’s point to press against his thick throat.

“The Bevrek family send their regards.”

The rapier was so sharp that it took only the slightest pressure for it to slide through Baldo’s throat. He struggled feebly for a minute,
before lying still. Luca pulled Rosa free, and looked around the room. Obviously a bedroom, a large bed dominated much of the space, in which cowered a beautiful, young woman, desperately clutching the sheets to cover herself and as naked as Baldo was. Luca nodded towards her, smiling slightly, before wiping his sword clean and sheathing it.

"Good evening, sorry to interrupt."

The girl nodded frantically, watching him with terror as he turned and strode from the room.

By the time Luca had returned to the gates, the surviving guard had dragged himself to almost within grabbing distance of the spark pistol, leaving a trail of thick blood behind him on the street. Luca sighed slightly as he strode towards the miserable figure. Taking the spark pistol from the floor himself, Luca leant close to the man again, his voice low.

“Valeriano D’Ascanio, try and remember the name this time. Tell your friends what happened here.”

With that, Luca rose to his feet, tossing the spark-pistol away and striding back down the street, whistling a jaunty tune as he went. A dark figure stepped out of the shadows, glancing up and down the street before it spoke in a hushed voice.

“Is it done?”

Luca nodded, holding out a hand as he flashed a winning smile.

“As promised.”

The figure placed a purse of stones into Luca’s outstretched hand before melting back into the shadows, hurrying away down a narrow alley. Luca continued his tune as he carried on down the street.

His whistling stopped suddenly, and he backtracked slightly to inspect a white talon marked onto the street wall. A smile crept across his handsome face as he set off again, his tune forgotten, and his pace doubled as he wound through the streets of the Gray District, towards the ramshackle cabin known as The Nest.

Had Galinai assumed courier work to be mellow and trivial, he would have been an utter fool. This thought alone occupied his mind as his and his pursuer's footsteps cut the dead silence of the Gray District's dense maze of alleys. Thin, decrepit houses of plain rock and lithified sand formed the walls of these nondescript backstreets in which the random thug now gave chase to the half-elf messenger. Gal's cloak concealed not only his face, but also the weapons holstered on his tunic's belt which a slender hand now searched for along his waist. He whipped around the corner, his fingers finally touching cold metal. Withdrawing the metal with a firm hand, Galinai quickly flattened against the wall and pointed the handle at the ground. His other hand reached into his satchel to make contact with a leaf of parchment.

The other ruffian's footfalls neared the corner, and Galinai lowered himself into a stance, prepared to pounce in an instant. Gal's thumb triggered the handle mechanism and unsheathed the blade hidden inside, glinting in the chartreuse flicker of a lantern. He closed the satchel, and he trained his eyes on the wall's edge, where the chaser would emerge. Heavy steps drew ever nearer, their pace not wavering the slightest, and Gal leaped in front of the pursuer, baring his knife. He pointed the tip at the delinquent.

"What 'ave ye?" Galinai demanded, jerking the switchblade.

Galinai's eyes stole a short glance at his satchel. He had a message to deliver. The other man remained silent and jerked his arm, a knife sliding from his sleeve into his waiting hand.

Gal undid the clasp of his cloak, and it easily slid off his shoulders to a heap on the ground. He angled his body and lowered into a defensive stance.

The other man took his chance and lunged at Gal, swiping at the half-elf's face. The knife grazed across Gal's cheek, and in this window Gal reacted by snapping a kick into the other man's gut. The man stumbled backwards and Galinai touched a finger to his cheek. He saw red on his hands when he looked at them.

The man rushed the youth again, this time with a set of thrusting motions. Gal stepped aside and walked back on his heels, angling his body to evade. Then, he caught hold of the man's wrist with one hand and tugged. In close range, Gal landed a few knees into the guy's stomach. Galinai stabbed into the man's side and kicked him, creating distance between them.

The man coughed, a hand instinctively going to his side. Backing away slowly, he aimed his blade at the half-elf threateningly. His hand trembling on its grip. Gal stared back, unamused, his brow set forward in annoyance.

The pursuer bolted in the opposite direction, and Galinai gave no chase.

Donning his cloak once more, Galinai sauntered his way along and spotted a white bird on the stone.


Galinai arrived at his destination, an unnumbered doorway in a back alley. A broken lantern, its light snuffed out, perched above the door. He knocked in the manner he was told. The instant he finished rapping on the door, it abruptly swung open to reveal a slimming Human girl no older than twenty-five, with deep blue eyes and dirty blonde hair pulled into a ponytail. He rustled through his satchel and quickly handed her the letter without a word.

Her thumb traced over the wax seal, and she flipped it over to scan the other side. Satisfied, she nodded and looked up at Galinai. "Wait there." The woman disappeared into the abode, closing the door behind her, and Gal stood in the dark silence for what felt like ages. The doorway muffled the raucous discussion occurring at the meeting inside, between some thirty-something voices.

The attendant reemerged, opening the door and tossing a small sack of stones into Galinai's waiting hands. "Thank ye," she said, passing him another letter, a different wax seal on its envelope. She glanced him up and down and retreated into the house again, this time for just a second.

Gal put the stones and the letter into his satchel as the woman was returning with a wet rag.

"C'mere," she said, grabbing his chin and pulling him closer. She turned his face to the side and wiped the blood from his cheeks. He closed his eyes while she dabbed the grime from his skin and added pressure to the wound. "Rough out there, innit?"

"Verily, ma'am." Galinai replied. She released his jaw, and he stepped back. "Thank ye, ma'am."

"Hand off that letter before the night's done." She took another good look at him. "I hear you folk are havin' yerselves another meetin', so it should be easy. Take care o' yerself, boy."

He nodded, bowing in respect. "Yes, ma'am." The young woman waved him goodbye, receding into the residence where the group continued its meeting, no doubt up to their own business on this end. The door closed with a click, and their words became again indistinct chatter.

Galinai descended the steps and an old elfen song caught on his mind. He would hum its long lost tune as he ventured towards the Nest. It had been a great while since the Dusthawks last assembled; Gal sensed something precipitous in that occasion. The night left Gal a ghost, drifting in the alleys while thoughts of what lay ahead rested on his mind.

There was something to be said for the darkness of the Deepwell, not just the lack of light but the sheer immensity of it all. To those fresh from the surface, their eyes used to the never ending blaze of the sun, the Deepwell was nothing more than a huge pit of blackness that they could feel rather than see. For Sabina it was the endless promise of something fantastic and unknown, always lurking just past an invisible horizon, beckoning a wandering soul every onward to oblivion.

She scrunched her toes against the wooden deck of the Steelbrow, the wood cool beneath her bare feet, polished to an almost marble like smoothness by years of hard grinding with a holly stone and Dwarven muscle. Even beneath the world, a breeze tugged at the ends of her blonde hair, tickling her lower back as it curved toward her buttocks. Her hands gently rubbed her belly, the slightest bulge hinting at the child she carried beneath her heart, and she felt the warm glow she always did when she thought of the love that had brought her such a gift.

Behind her, several hundred yards away, the Beacon, or the Marina to those above, glowed beneath the sunlight that pierced the darkness here, and here alone, in the Deepwell. The Steelbrow was anchored in a section of the Harbour known as The Roads, an area rarely used due to its distance from the docks. What it lacked in connivence, it made up for security. No one was going to risk a long swim that might leave you lost in the darkness, or worse, dragged beneath the surface by any of the dozens of predators that lurked in the inky black water. Occasionally a shape, faintly outlined by phosphorus, would slid through the water before vanishing with a quick flick of a tail into the deep.

Steelbrow himself had gone ashore with the remainder of the crew, and Ty was gone to run an errand or two in the upper world, leaving Sabina alone on the boat. She had taken the opportunity to have a sponge bath, carefully heating water over a spark crystal stove until she could pour it in to a small bronze tub that doubled as the vessels dish washing basin. It was not a relaxing process, and one that she never did around the rest of the crew, even Ty.

She dropped to her hands and knees, slowly stretching out one leg, then the other, as she sank to her elbows, her core tightening as she dropped her head to keep her spine straight. She began to count slowly in her head, eyes fixed on the faint light that danced on the deck of the Steelbrow. She had never missed a chance to exercise, something easy to see from the muscles that rippled down her body as she held herself motionless in a plank position.

When she hit a count of sixty, she pushed herself back up onto her hands and began a set of pushups. Her arms were pressed close to her sides, hands beneath her shoulder blades, breathing quick and easy in time with the rise and fall of her body as she worked to the count of fifty. Sweat was beading her brow by the time she was done and she could feel a heavy burn in her triceps as she rolled her chest forward and upward, stretching the small of her back.

"I could watch you do that all day..." Ty's voice sounded behind her and she smiled unseen in the dark. She had noticed him leaving the Beacon before she began her routine and knew that he would, as he always did, try to sneak up on her.

She didn't reply as she held the pose, her face upturned toward the unseen roof of the Deepwell. She could feel the vibration of his steps on the deck through her toes and smiled as he bent to kiss her gently on the mouth. He smelled of desert air and the crush of thousands of people, a sharp and dry scent so strange, and yet so familiar, it elicited memories of her time in the world above. She heard rather than saw him remove his travel cloak and boots before be sat next to her, near enough he could speak to her without getting in her way, waiting patiently until she acknowledged him. She had always appreciated that about him, he gave her time and space when she needed it.

"Did you have a good time?" She asked finally as she sank down until she was lying flat on the deck, the smell of the wood faint but pleasant as she rested her cheek on her arm.

"I suppose..." Ty grunted as he leaned back against a large bollard. "The usual nonsense, pick pockets, Juggernauts throwing their weight about, sell swords, cut throats, yadda yadda. I can tell you I am very happy to find my way back down here and, best of all, to find my lovely wife naked as a dune mole."

"I hope I don't look like one!" She snorted laughter and turned to look at him. The spark boat lanterns, as dim as they were, still allowed her to throw him a teasing glare.

"You know, sometimes I am not sure, it's so dark down here..." He had moved onto his hands and knees and began to slowly tap his way across the deck toward her like a blindman. "If only I could lay my hands on you to make a proper comparison..."

She giggled and allowed him to tap his way over to her before snaking out a hand to grab the front of his tunic. She gave a sharp tug and dragged him down to lie beside her on the deck, kissing him fiercely as she did so. For a moment their bodies intertwined, his hands running eagerly down her sides and across her buttocks. She ran her tongue across his lips and then suddenly rolled away and leapt to her feet, hands planted on her hips as she stared down at him.

"Just a minute, mister, you better have what I asked for, or there won't be anymore of that!"

"You tease..." He muttered, patting around at his waist for one of the dozen pouches he carried until he found the one he was looking for. He drew out of it a small red flower, that even in the darkness of the Deepwell, seemed to glow. It was the Calerian Flower, popular for its colour and smell, but also its uses as a contraceptive. Sabina knew how babies were made, but wasn't sure if she was still fertile while pregnant and she didn't wish to risk any complications. He was about to hand it to her when he snapped his fingers, a common gesture when he remembered something he had meant to tell her earlier.

"I saw the White Talon."

Sabina hissed between her teeth. It had been some time since the Dusthawks had been summoned, at least publicly like this. No one ever thought to come into the Deepwell to alert those who lived below, but what could you expect from a bunch of surface dwelling thugs.

"I had better get some clothes on then, sorry love." She bent to kiss him, deeply and with promise. "Later." She tapped one long white finger on his chest and then vanished below.

---

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“Sandstorms’ve been brewin’ in the east,” Bruto glanced out at his patrons, casting a curious gaze upon the crowd as if he wasn’t sure he should speak freely. Valrel nodded, the hidden message sinking in as he gave his rebuttal.

“Kevol have been through ‘em before; the goods will make it home safe.”

“Aye, lad, but when?” The half-dwarf leaned forward on the counter, blocking up any space that could allow the next words to drift to curious ears.

“Reckon we’re going to have quite a show on our hands, soon enough,” Valrel glanced to his left at a disheveled man whose eyes had drifted too close to their conversation, and the raggedy figure took the hint to turn back to his drink. Bruto let out an exasperated sigh.

“Jus’ what we need down ‘ere… Now I ain’t one to get involved with freedom fightin’ ‘n’ all, y’understand, but when Lex was talkin’ 'liberation', I don’ think his half-breeds were thinkin’ of gettin’ offed like they are,” Bruto peeked out at the mob before barking an order at one of his guards – a scuffle had started between some of the patrons that grew a bit too unruly for his liking. After one was thrown into the gutter and another onto the road, the barkeep shook his head and rejoined the pondering leader.

“Y’ear ‘bout them Prime Paragon?” The half-dwarf stifled a cough as Valrel gazed up from his drink, his silence serving for an answer.

“Well, they’ve locked themselves away in their ivory tower – not even the Council can get up to see ‘em,” Bruto stepped back to survey his shelf of booze, finding a thin, short bottle toward the back which he took gingerly into his hands.

“And let me guess – they plan on stayin’ after they get voted out?” The Dusthawk snickered at his own remark, but the barkeep turned around slowly with a serious expression on his face, eyes still fixed upon the small bottle as he continued.

“Now I ain’t a learned man, Val, but I got a bad feelin’ ‘bout it all… Them blue lights people been seein’? Bad business, I say,” Bruto uncorked the vial and poured a few drops into Valrel’s glass, causing the deep brown sludge to thin into an amber nectar. Valrel lifted his glass in salute, tilting his head back to finish the drink and stood from his seat swiftly.

“Fairy tales from looneys, Bruto. I wouldn’t trouble so much.” Setting his glass down at the bar, the man shuffled about in his bag for a moment before drawing out a single Rose stone, nodding to the half-dwarf with a forced smile as he turned away.

The evening had worn into the night, and the streets of the Gray District turned all but black as any light from above ceased to shine into the underbelly of the city. Valrel pushed his way out from the crowd at the Compass, now doubled in its size since he first arrived, and sauntered through the dimly lit canals toward the bottom-most reaches of Lower Shenul. Every other abode he passed appeared to be abandoned, a sure sign to the deficiency plaguing the Underfolk that presided in this part of the city.

Valrel meandered a bit in his journey to the Nest, never too sure that he wasn’t being tailed as he crossed disparate alleyways that would sometimes lead him in the opposite direction he intended to go. Eventually he found himself at the door to a humdrum hut, though it stood apart from those surrounding it in that there were no windows nor sparklamps set against its outer wall. Slowly he combed through the contents of his satchel, lifting a copper key from the leather and sliding it into the lock. Carefully, quietly, Valrel pushed the door into the darkened space, placing an ear against the frame as he reached a hand toward his belt, grazing for the hilt of his dagger as he took a step into the darkness.

Fully submerged in shadows, Valrel shut the door behind him as he tiptoed through the musty interior over to the hearth before cranking a knob on the wall, alighting the fireplace in a bright chartreuse. He glanced about carefully, finally becoming satisfied with his loneliness as he crept over to the bar, placing his satchel upon its surface and withdrawing a lockbox from underneath. Inside were an array of candles which he sorted through before plucking a shorter one from the group and brought it over to the fire, lighting it, and carried it back to set on the bar. He then shuffled through his bag, withdrawing the numerous sheets of parchment and gazed at them all, content to wait throughout the night as his Dusthawks flocked to their Nest.

---

---

A female voice sang softly and melodically, accompanied by the sound of charming flute that resonated throughout the small dwelling, that was the home of Tolthe Kelsys. The gentle smell of freshly brewed, floral, herbal tea swarmed the home in it’s soothing embrace, completing the mood of the evening as the two siblings, Tolthe, along with his sister Tanulia, shared the moment of complete serenity.

As the last lyric left Tanulia’s lips, Tolthe completed the line of music with his flute before gently putting it down on it’s intricately carved stand on the mantelpiece. The music seemed to still hang in the air among the steam of the tea before it too faded away, leaving in it’s wake the gentle hum of the water that ever flowed through the Deepwell.

“This tea is truly rejuvenating Hanno, I thank you.” Tanulia’s eyes caressed her brother warmly as she spoke, her voice as naturally melodic as it ever was.

“Oh Nèsa, it is with only the deepest pleasure that I give it to you. Having you reunited in my life has been a true honor, as I have often said.” Tolthe matched her gaze, his voice, deeper and just more masculine then his sisters, still had that sheen of rhythm, though was more commanding and firm in it’s nature, without being degrading or condescending.

“I must ask, that I burden you with a matter that has been weighing heavily on my mind of late.” Tolthe made a slight adjustment in his seating after he spoke, his eyes remaining on his sister.

“You know you don’t need to ask Little Tolo” Tanulia smiled warmly, reminiscing for a moment of their childhood and how many times he has said similar things to her in order to speak his thoughts, in spite of how close they were and are.

“You see, There is a certain group I have become involved with that I feel will strongly make a difference in Glimhollow.” He clasped a hand around the book he always had attached to the belt on his hip and gave it a squeeze as he took a breath and continued. “This group has just been called to a vast meeting, a meeting of great importance that we have been planning. You see, I am a bookkeeper of sorts for this.. group.. and while I am in Ernest to the result of such a group, I fear that the path laid out to reach the spoken of result will be somewhat unclean.”

Tanulia, somewhat surprised at the topic of discussion, listened carefully. “Go on, Hanno.” She said after a long pause, then took a sip of her tea, keeping it cradled in her gentle, long fingered hands.

“Nèsa, I do not wish anything bad to happen to you.. or to anyone.. I do not want to see any more suffering which is why I feel so strongly and hope so deeply that things will change.”

“I do not believe the meeting of the Dusthawks will result in as catastrophic a path as you would seem to think it to be.”

Tolthe stood up quickly then once again, sat down slowly. “How is it, you knew of what I was referring?” His voice drowned as each word was spoken, resulting in a near whisper at the utterance of the last of them. He knew exactly how she could know of the meeting, he knew why her information was always so current and how she was so well informed and yet, there were still those moments of surprise.

Tanulia’s eyes flickered for a moment before she took another sip, put her mug down on a small table tucked between the stone seat she was sitting on and the hearth. Her eyes met his as she crossed her hands on her lap and fixed her gaze, “It matters not how I know, the matter is in how you, Tolthe, came to be so deeply involved in such a group.” Tolthe looked at her pleadingly. Her voice was not disappointed, though it was slightly stern and her eyes, though fixed, were not unkind. “If you are involved, I have no doubts in how well the methodically this whole affair has been planned. Have faith that I believe in you with as much depth as a sister can bestow on her dearest brother. Please, tell me how I can be of assistance.”

Tolthe released a breath he did not realize was held then placed his own mug down before intreating, “Do not get involved with the Dusthawks, do not associate with anyone you know is partnered among them. This is what I ask. Please Nèsa, I do not want to see you getting in harms way.”

“I cannot do that, I have little power over whom shall cross my path. I cannot be rid of those involved entirely.”

“But, Tanulie..”

“I cannot Tolthe, do not ask it, for it is something I am unable to give you. Do you not thing it would be easier for me to avoid danger if I am more aware of the dangers that surround me rather then shield my eyes from it.”

“Please Nèsa, you don’t know grasp the danger you could be put in.”

“My Hanno, my dearest Tolo, do not fear for me. Do not allow your fear of my circumstances distract you from your mission and duty to your group.”

Tolthe did not respond, he simply looked down at his hands, around the arch that surrounded his door in Elvin calligraphy and culture then back at his sister who stood now, taking a final sip of her tea. Her blue dress shimmered with the movement against the light of the spark crystal hearth before it was covered by the dull gray robe that encased her from head to toe when the hood was raised as it was being drawn now.

“I must leave you now, Tolthe, please take care until we can visit once again.” She stepped towards her brother and placed a kiss on his forehead then stepped in a glide from her brothers home.

---

The evening was young as she left the abode of her brother, her shoes tapping softly against the stone that made up the alleys and streets of the Deepwell with each step. As was the usual for this time of day, there was near not a soul to be seen as most who lived there were either busy nearing the end of their work on the docks or off to the reaches of the water on a ship.

She made her way to the lift, watching every corner and hearing every sound and echo from the streets so as to be weary of passing folk then found to her always great relief that she would house the lift without company. Her stepped in, set the lever to deliver her to the Scarlet Quarter and felt the pulse and burst of movement as the mechanism began, lifting her up in it’s steady clutches to her home.

Tanulia peered out over the Deepwell as she rose, seeing the dock and those who worked it in the distance, the smell of fresh caught food that was regular to the area begin to abate as she went higher up. She glanced at the tightly compact stone homes, most without light peering from the windows and some with illumination as wives hummed songs while they set about preparing dinners or doing chores. The area went dark, then brightened once again in the startlingly more colorful area of the Scarlet Quarter where the doors opened and Tanulia stepped from the platform.

The Scarlet Quarter was one she knew well as it has been her home for many years now. She weaved her way through the people that were about, the crowd growing as the evening did, until she found herself in front of the door painted with a deep red rose and ivy. She opened it cautiously in case an unknowing person was standing on the opposite side and stepped into the lively and bustling kitchen that was the back room of Isabels Brothel.

“Kela! You’re earlier then usual today!” cried a somewhat portly but beautiful woman who stood in front of a large stone table, carrying a try of snacks to set down. “My goodness you look like you could use some eat’n. Here!” She said, picking up a hand held vegetable pie that still warmed Tanulias hands with it’s touch, it’s fragrance of being freshly made wafting into her senses. “These jus cooled ‘nough to eat, so get to it!” The cook smiled again and winked before turning around and continuing to prepare food for what promised to be a busy night.

Tanulia removed her cloak, revealing once again the beauty and elegance of her blue gown she wore. Her legs, exposed to the air with each step, prickled in thanks at the change in temperature. She set the cloak on a hook attached to the wall next to the few others that already hung there. In that moment, a few other girls made there way inside, giggling and laughing. They waved happily with exclamations of, “Kela!” as they hung their own cloaks, grabbed a vegetable pie for themselves and ran off towards the ever growing louder chatter of the girls in the powder room.

Tanulia finished her pie then made her way into the busy room herself. Girls were piling in as each moment passed, some in front of mirrors, putting on a fresh coat of make-up, some were partially changed into that nights attire while others helped. The room was seemingly a madhouse of giggling girls, gossip and chatter but Tanulia would not have it any other way in this make-shift family of theirs. She reached her mirror and adjusted her natural curls just so, applying a soft gloss to her lips and fixing the Elvin headdress she that was her signature piece at this point. The beautiful heirloom given to her by her mother.

Everything was in place, everyone was just about ready and the room began to clear as the girls went to work. Tanulia followed with the others, making conversation and hearing tales of interesting and exciting things that the girls did or witnessed with their last client. The scarlet red curtains that made up the partition between the clients and the mistresses parted ways as the girls began to file out. Some met with regular customers, some began to work their magic on lost or interested patrons and others filed into the streets near the brothel, always staying nearby to find their work. Isabel, the beautiful headmistress of the brothel kept up with the crowds, keeping everyone in line and entertained while her few employees that worked more as wait staff brought out trays of finger sized food for the customers who had already payed.

Tanulia took a moment to take it in before making her way to the headmistress to see who the lucky winner was for this moment of her time of those who no doubt, had lined up as they often had.

---

The door closed gently behind Tanulia as she left his home, leaving behind her an emotion so mixed, he couldn’t quite place it yet. With his mug of tea back in his hand, he gazed out the window towards the water taking sips as he listened to the water, his thoughts still, if not more, fearful then ever. He knew where his sister was going, where she always went when she left him and how she lived. He still hadn’t mentioned any of his findings to her and still had no intention to.

With the last sip of his tea consumed, he stood up, reached in his pocket for a small bottle and with a heavy sigh opened it and downed it’s contents in a single gulp. He then arranged his garments on his person and left his home, making his own way to the lift. The streets had picked up a few users since his sisters departure and was now crowding with the tired dockworkers making their way about the town, some heading in the same direction as he as his footsteps led him to the lift.

When he arrived, the lift was nearly packed full this patrons, all going to various different regions of Glimhollow. The smell of sweat, fresh produce and water overwhelmed the crowded lift as if rose, leading its captives to their destinations, taking Tolthe, to the Gray District.

The doors opened, people came and went, never slimming the crowd and pushing those waiting for later stops towards the back of it’s carriage until finally Tolthe landed at his requested destination and got off. The streets were full of people of all types, surrounded by the sounds of shouts and wails, breaking bottles, excited introductions and clattering footsteps. The gray stone that lined the walls was uneven, dirty and poorly maintained as some buildings had unintended windows and extended entrances that were not part of the original design.

Tolthe found himself heading towards a tavern for a quick meal and a cold drink. There was one in particular he enjoyed visiting that lay halfway between the lift and the Nest. It was named The Sleeping Lantern, after the giant hearth that glowed in the center of the great room. The elf stepped up to the counter and ordered his food, the soup of the day and a cold ale, dropped a few coins then sat down at the edge of the bar. To his left were two dwarves debating on the proper use of a specific type of stone. Behind him sat a husband and wife arguing about the husbands most recent actions and before him was the gaunt human male bartender that listened carefully to a slightly intoxicated young man, laying out his soul about a girl who stole his heart then left it to the wind, as his glass was filled again with an amber liquid.

The bartender, still listening to the young man as he worked, picked up the bowl of soup and placed it in front of Tolthe, then skillfully pulled out a glass and filled it with ale. “Will that be all for you there, Lotkey?” Tolthe nodded in the affirmative and began eating his food. It didn’t take long before he completed it, ready to continue with his evening, anxious for what it would bring. He left a few more coins, stood up and left the building, making his way towards the nest.

Valeriano quickly crossed the Gray District, and before long he was standing in front of the simple, rundown shack that served as the headquarters of the Dusthawks. He glanced up and down the street for a moment, one hand resting on the hilt of Rosa, before striding to the door. He reached up and quickly knocked three times, although as he did he wondered if he might be the first to arrive.
There was an air of silence that persisted shortly after, but soon enough a shuffling was heard echoing against the closed door from a stir within the house. Briefly, silence fell once again, before finally the door creaked open enough for a beady eye to gaze out. After recognizing the face of the rapier-wielding warrior, Valrel swiftly opened the door to allow the man inside.

“Valeriano! Surprised to see you here so quickly,” the Dusthawk dawdled on his way back to the counter, pausing to drag a chair from beside the hearth along with him. “Pardon the mess, if you will; been gettin’ things in order before we begin.”

Valeriano smiled widely as Valrel pulled open the door, following after him as the leader of the Dusthawks as he moved further inside the dimly lit shack. As he stepped inside, Valeriano glanced around at the rundown interior, lit only by a crackling fire, and a short candle burning by a pile of parchments in the corner. Turning back to Valrel, Valeriano smiled again.

“I was in the area, Valrel, and I thought it would be rude not to make an appearance! Mind if I ask just what it is you’ve called us here for?”

“Ah, now I wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise!” The disheveled figure eased himself into the seat as he glanced at the various sheets cluttering the counter in front of him. Shrugging, he pulled the few aside that he had plans of reciting before piling the rest back into his bag, setting it behind the counter with nonchalance.

“Though, if you wouldn’t mind my asking, what are your feelings on our current… Status?” Valrel cleared his throat as he spoke, gazing up from time to time to observe the almost dignified figure that stood before him. It was strange, he thought, that such a man of stature would acquaint himself with the likes of criminals, but that was of little matter to Valrel now.
Valeriano pulled a chair from one of the clustered corners of the shack, setting it down by the fire and lounging into it as he held his hands out absentmindedly, looking across the room towards where Valrel was sorting through the piles of parchment.

“It’s hard to say, Valrel. I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t surprised to see the talon after all this time, but the Dusthawks are still legends in these parts. And I’m never going to complain about a chance to keep being a legend.”

The Dusthawk leader let out a light chuckle as he listened, satisfied finally with how he sorted the few pages he set aside. “Ah, that’s right, a legend…” his voice trailed off as he lost himself in thought before finally meeting the sellsword’s gaze.

“I suppose one thing I can admit, Valeriano -- with what I’ve been keepin’ up my sleeves these past few years, you can bet a hundred Tarn that ‘legend’ won’t be doin’ us much justice soon enough,” Valrel leaned back in his chair, lifting his hands behind his head as he stretched out his tense muscles. He didn’t want to reveal too much, but he was getting restless, regardless.

Valeriano couldn’t hide his excitement as Valrel continued, leaning forwards as a grin spread across his handsome face.

“Enough teasing, Valrel. Out with it man!”

---

In time with Valeriano’s last word came three humble knocks at the Nest’s western entrance. Galinai paced back and forth before the threshold as he waited for his passage to be granted. Removing the hood of his cloak, the young courier took this small moment to fix the minutiae of his appearance. He touched a hand to his cheek, the minor scrape now clotted, and another hand combed through his lightly tousled hair. As he adjusted the brooch on his cloak, Gal pondered the reason for this clarion call. In his short stint with the Dusthawks, this was only his second.

Sabina rounded the corner and almost collided with Galinai, managing to sidestep at the last second, blinking up at him from under her eyelashes, squinting against the light. Even here, in the darkness of the surface world, she was almost blinded by the moonlight and general light pollution of a city filled with hundreds of thousands of people. An arm snapped out to catch hold of the door frame as she smiled at the courier.

“Hello Galinai, been a while.”

Gal jumped a bit, broken from a brief trance. Curtly, he replied, “Aye, g’d eve, Sabina.”

---

Sitting up with the first knock at the door, Valrel smiled at Valeriano as he shuffled his way over to the entryway to see who the new arrival was. This time there was significantly less hesitation in his proceedings, as the presence of the sellsword gave him a sense of security.

“Ah, Gal! Sabina! Not the pair I was expecting to see. Come in, come in!” The door was opened wide for the two of them to step inside, before swiftly being closed and latched to keep out the chill of the night.

Sabina grinned and ducked her way into the room, glad that only the fire and a couple of candles had been lit. It was still rather bright but at least she could block it out a little bit by sitting in a corner. She tossed a pleasant “Hello!’ to the room and then swiftly darted over to sit down in the deepest shadow she could find.

Galinai followed suit more timidly, slipping out of the evening and into the warm glow of the Nest. “Eve, Master Valrel,” Gal said, bowing politely before their leader. “‘ve post fer you.” He shoveled a hand into his beaten cloth satchel and procured the wax-sealed envelope which he had received just shortly before. He presented it to Valrel with both hands, still bent at the waist out of respect.

“Careful you don’t start kissin’ my boots, Gal; I’d be one to gettin’ used to it,” Valrel plucked the missive from Galinai with a smile. “But thank you, nonetheless.” He sauntered over once again to his seat beside the counter, placing the envelope into his satchel directly on top. Whatever it was, he didn’t want to stress over its details until after the night’s meeting was over.

“Yessir.” Galinai simply nodded in response as Valrel took hold of the letter and thanked him. He gave a very faint upturn of the lips, which was quickly suppressed into a thin line again as Valrel paced away. The boy in turn strode to the other end of the Nest, and he perched along the wall closest to the crackling hearth, his brown eyes disappearing again in the chartreuse glow.

Valeriano frowned slightly at the interruption, but his annoyance quickly faded as Sabina Vala Calista stepped through the doorway. He raised an eyebrow in appreciation. She was far from the redheads that haunted his dreams, but he couldn’t help but admire her good looks regardless. Watching her move to sit in the corner of the room, Valeriano barely heard the conversation between Valrel and Galinai as he rose from his feet and strode over, dragging his chair behind him. Setting the chair down beside where Sabina had taken up perch, he slid down into his chair, flashing her his best charming smile.

“It’s good to see you again, Sabina. Still married?”

“Hello Val,” Sabina returned the smile, enjoying as most women did the handsome face before her. “I am, it seems we are still doomed to be but two little hawks passing in the wind.” She laughed. The two had some chemistry, there was no denying that, but she was devoted to Ty and her relationship with Valeriano had been contained to light flirtation and the odd inappropriate joke.

“Still out there making friends with your long steel?”

Valeriano’s face was a picture of woe as he held a hand up to his face in mock despair.

“Poets will write of such doomed love.”

As she continued, the smile returned to his face, mischief dancing in his dark eyes for an instant.

“You know me too well, Sabina.”

With that he leant back, managing to tear his attention away from the fine figure beside him as he turned back to watch Valrel, suddenly remembering the promised adventure.

The door to the back room of the barroom of The Nest opened and a lithe cloaked man stepped in. Riker had never liked to use the front door and sometimes it was best to just sneak when people might be looking for you. He didn't suspect any of the Dusthawks would try to turn him in or collect on his considerable bounty, but, it wasn't just Hawks here was it? No, indeed, there was that prancing little lordling with his sword and swagger to think about. Valerano wasn't the type to back stab, but, he was the type to get his reputation pushed up by claiming to have killed Two Cloak. Now that he was already inside the bar, and, at a good angle, he'd have a good shot on anyone who tried to do anything outside of his desires.

"Don't worry, Val," Riker said in a tone filled with amusement and good humor, "I didn't break a window on'y this time. Nothin' needs replaced." he walked quickly over to the bar itself and vaulted the counter, instantly starting to search for glasses, drink, and, other mixes.

Riker quickly began to busy himself mixing a drink for everyone in the room, plus two more besides. The fare they had wasn't great, but, he sure he could put together something interesting. He spoke as he worked, his words directed mostly at their leader, though, Riker had little more than a freelancer's deference to the man. He had been in for ten years now and his old friend had been the former leader. Val was a fine pickpocket and decent taskmaster, but, Riker couldn't help but still see him as just a youngster with too much lemon and not enough salt. "I saw the mark. Took a trip on up to the fancy part of town and left one for our mutual rich friend to see. I'd expect she'll be joinin' us," he paused in what he was doing and looked up to meet Val's eyes, flashing an inhumanly white smile, " 'Les she's got something better and more interesting to do." with that he let out a laugh that was all too enthusiastic and loud. It was just a feint though. As he caught their attention with his laugh and smile his hand quickly sent a dash of powder into each and every glass.

He had been experimenting with this new powder lately. He found it gave the heart fits and numbed out the lungs when taken in strong dose, but, the effects were very different with alcohol. With a bit of drink and a small dose of the stuff it filled you with energy, a bit nervous, but, still good. The double vision was quite bad if he messed up the dosage, but, he was practiced at this now. He didn't fancy trying out things like this on his partners for the first time. He had already drugged nearly a dozen random patrons all over the Gray and now it was time to put that practice to the test.

Riker slid the finished drinks in the general direction of each Hawk and then picked up his own glass and took a sip. He leaned on the bar and eyed everyone in turn, his grin still fixed, "New brew I found while wandering the Gray. I find it is something quite special and not hard to make. Enjoy," his predator's eyes then tracked over to Val, "Alright, Val, the marks are up, who is you need dead?"

---

Tolthes footsteps on the stone roads that paved the way in the crowded gray district were drowned away by the accompanying sounds of carts being rolled by, chatter among the citizens and larger, heavier footsteps of patrons running here and there. It was not until he began to near his destination that crowds started to thin and eventually die away, leaving Tolthe with his naturally light steps, alone as the seemingly rundown shack peeked into view.

The door was quickly approached now, sealed from the outside with only a muffle and no articulation to the voices speaking inside. With a hand outstretched before him, he opened it, letting in the soft glow of light from the exterior and illuminating the space just a little bit more. He looked around, nodding at the few patrons that had already gathered in hello, offering Valerano a slight bow of the head before to began to walk about the room.

The bar of the nest lay along the side of the shack, arranged with an assortment of ales with mostly the same aesthetic as the rest of the building in that it was rustic, slightly damaged and gave the appearance of being abandoned as the contents of the bar were brought then removed before and after each use of the nest. Tolthe made his way to the side of the bar typically reserved for employees and without delay, began to step up his blank tablets and ink so he could be sure to document everything as was his role among the Dusthawks. With the limited supply of parchment and ink, he was often able to summarize everything said in a short amount of verses, always writing in the very uncommonly known Elvin tongue to retain the secrets of the guild, should his tablets ever be compromised.

This was how he waited for the remainder of the Dusthawks to arrive and the official discussions to begin, idling his time by observing and watching the others mingle among each other, making note of new faces, new scars and new stories.

‘Minty’ Yames sat opposite Hoekstra with the look of someone trying very hard not to look nervous, but in so doing managed to look very nervous indeed. Despite his thin build, Minty stood full foot taller then the Dwarf yet he couldn’t help but be unsettled by the scar-faced racketeer. It was how he sat, with his right elbow resting on the back of the plain wooden chair and head turned in such a way that the milky white orb stared Minty down until the man could hear his blood bumping through his ears. Minty perked up when he heard a bubbling sound, looking to the small cooking hearth on the other side of the room.

“That’ll prol'ly do it, sir,” declared Minty with a nervous smile revealing his namesake. Minty’s teeth shone a pearlescent white with a hint of green, similar to a rich childs candy; a sure sign that he partook of Denner’s Resin, one of the many ways a person could ‘escape’ the toil of lower city life. It bleached a users teeth, but also worked it’s way into their brains slowly bleaching their memories as well.

“Let’s see it then,” stated Hoekstra, adding a bland gesture towards the hearth. Minty used a towel to pull a clay pot off its rack and brought it to the middle of the floor. He poured the contents through a wire strainer into another such receptacle, steam rising gently from the transfer. Leaving the pots on the dirt of the floor, Minty brought the strainer to the rough, waxy topped table in the centre of the small workshop they stood in. Inside were a collection of seamingly strange objects: a bronze ring, a small knife, several colours of stone coins, a bacelet of silver chain and most valuable of all, a tiny spark crystal.

"See?" declared Minty with enthusiasm. "Y'see Mr Hoekstra? Everything's in great shape, knife still sharp an' all. The wax melts at so low a temp'rature that even a spark crystal won't set off, but when it's hard it's so tough that even your proper Jugg captain-type wouldn't bother digging through to the bottom. Juggernaught's are lazy, y'know."

The man looked at Hoekstra with the hopeful eyes of a puppy as the dwarf ran the silver chain gently through his fingers. It had a slight dullness of wax instead of it's proper sheen, but was otherwise in fine shape. Reveling for a moment in how Minty's hopeful expression began to drain the longer he remained silent, Hoekstra eventually tossed the chain towards him. Minty grabbed it out of the air hungrily, relief showing on the set of his shoulders for a moment before stuffing the treasure quickly into his trouser pocket.

"Well done, Yames," congratulated Hoekstra illiciting a bright grin. "I'll admit I was skeptical at first, but it seems as though you're on to something. A man could move quite a few things this way... This is your sister's shop isn't it? Name of Gwin?"

"That's right, sir" nodded Minty. "Gwin's my half-sister. She's a Mul - er, a half-a-dwarf, sir. No offense meant. She makes candles for all over, mostly tallow down here, but she uses proper beeswax when she can. Wants to start making fancy candles with different colours and things for the nobs higher up."

Hoekstra took a moment to look at the candles on the workshop walls, and hanging from wicks along lines strung between the rafters. Most were simple, guttery things made from used and used again tallow fat, but he could see the workmanship used in others of the smooth wax variety that were cut and carved in flowery patterns. Some had stripes like an exotic cat and he suspected the use of ash or charcoal used as colour. It was impressive work for Lower Shenul, and he felt a moment of empathy for the woman who wanted to do better then this place. The dwarf placed the bronze ring on the table before Minty.

"Be sure Gwin get's this for her troubles as well, then," he said, knowing that Minty James would never pass something of value on to anyone other then his Denner source. Hoekstra had not intention of dealing with the man, and would come by the shop tomorrow to purchase a few fine beeswax candles for his office, and have a chat with Gwin in person. As a middle man himself, Hoekstra was quick to cut out anyone trying to fill the same roll, especially unreliable leeches like Minty. He stood from his chair, patting Minty on the shoulder by way of goodbye and left to his next appointment.

- - - - -

The white talon od the Dusthawks hadn't been seen in some time, and while curious, Hoekstra hadn't paid much mind to the chatter about town. It wasn't until he'd returned to his home and office for dinner that day that he'd seen the curved chalk mark on his own door. It was a curiousity; while Hoekstra often worked closely with the members of the gang, he wasn't himself a full member. Certainly not enough to wear the yellow colours of the group. Still, an invitation to the Nest was not something to be idly ignored and, forgoing his meal, the dwarf went swiftly to the meet.

He certainly wasn't the first to arrive, and the Nest had begun to look like more of a crowded rookery. Hoekstra saw a few unfamiliar faces but most he knew, returning a few nods as he entered. In a situation such as this, in which he found himself in a large group waiting for the leader to speak, it was often best to keep a low profile. Being the only dwarf, that was both easy and difficult at the same time. Naturally a suspicious person and now surrounded by a veritable gallery of rogues, the canny dealer chose not to partake of any offered drinks, instead waiting patiently and -strangely for him - quietly for Valrel to enlighten them on their purpose there.

---

After slinking around the Grey District for some time before she finally reached the entrance of the Nest, the outside nothing to really look at, but she knew it was needed to not attract attention. As she walked the streets, she garnered no attention seeing as she looked like a man, just the way she liked it. Arelia was excited to see who would be there, knowing full well that she would get to see her sister again whom she loved with everything she had. Feeling a bit theatrical, she shoved the door open with a bang, "Hoooooooney I'm hoooooooooooome!" she shouted before vaulting into the building and nearly tackling her sister out of her chair.

Sabina had only had a few seconds to even be aware her sister was incoming, managing to throw her arms up just before impact. The two women went over backward in a tangle of shrieks, giggles, curses, and flapping clothing to hit the floor with tremendous crash. Sabina managed to hook her sisters head under one arm in a headlock and began to rub her knuckles vigorously across the silvery blonde scalp.

There was more laughing as Arelia tried to get out of her sister’s hold before finding that she would just have to tickle her sister’s sides to free herself. ”Hey! Don’t go messing with the wig!” she exclaimed, still laughing while tangled in the limbs of her sister, ”Now, where is that Sexy boss of our’s?”

Finally managing to extract herself from limbs and cloth, she stood up and brushed herself off before helping her sister to her feet. ”I know better than to tackle you now get over here so I can give you a proper hug, or be chased about until I get what I want.”

Sabina drew her sister into the hug quickly, her arms curling beneath Arelia’s armpits and around her back so that she was lifted slightly off the floor. “It’s so good to see you. YOu don’t come visit enough.”

She slipped one arm out from under Arelia and waved it toward Valrel. “He’s right there, not a very good boy for hide and seek.”

The sudden commotion shook the Dusthawk leader from his relative ease, giving his heart a jolt that he had been trying to subdue throughout the evening. Seeing the pair wrestle about and then focus their sights on him stirred a spurned irritation with the whole ordeal -- surely, wouldn’t such antics be better reserved for after they had finished their meeting?

Valrel cleared his throat forcefully, sitting up straight in his chair as he addressed the new arrival. “Ah, Arelia… I heard you’d be joinin’ us this evenin’,” there was a surly tone in his speech, though he tried his best to suppress it. “Good to see you in such high spirits. We’ll be needin’ ‘em, once I make my statement to everyone here.” He glanced around the room quickly, taking note of a few pairs of eyes fixing on him as he spoke. “Which I suppose should be happenin’ fairly quickly…” He muttered his last words, glancing down hastily at the scribbled notes laid out in front of him.

Noting that he did not move closer, nor did he move away, Arelia practically pulled her sister along and yanked Valrel into a twin sandwich of a hug. ”You know me, I have all the energy in the world,” she told the man as she and her sister gave him a tight squeeze of a hug. Boss or not, she really did like Valrel, he was a nice enough man to her and she enjoyed making him uncomfortable from time to time, and what better way to do that than to have both she and her sister hug him at the same time?

”Now, business is a thing we must discuss and as much as I like to smoosh you with hugs that involve boobs, I know you need to get your thoughts together to get things moving. I think I’m going to go harass Riker for a bit while you do what you must.” With that said, she patted Valrel on the shoulder, gave her sister a kiss on the cheek, and headed off towards the assassin who seemed to love messing with people in a variety of ways. ”How is my favorite Assassin doing?” she asked once she made her way over there, picking up one of the cups he had in front of him and sniffing at it.

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The night carried on as the Nest gradually filled with the disparate collective of swindlers and swashbucklers who knew to arrive promptly, as the meeting would likely be brief; the young leader had made a point of keeping such gatherings short and concise since taking control of the organization. The unkempt figure leaned back in his chair as more characters flooded in through the front door, nodding to them in greeting as they settled into their respective nooks around the cramped room. It was an impressive turnout, he thought, though given the scarcity of their meetings of late, Valrel knew better than to be surprised by the number. Soon enough, it would be time to begin – he could feel the nervous energy crawling along his skin as he pondered how best to deliver the news.

Shifting in his seat anxiously, Valrel shuffled through his notes another time before glancing to the scribe Tolthe who sat beside him, opening his mouth as if to say something before snapping it closed, turning his gaze back toward the assembled group. Feeling he had stalled for long enough, the leader stood from his chair, stepping his way around the bar deliberately to give him one last chance at gathering his thoughts. Finally, he began.

“I’d bet you’re all eager to hear what it is I have to say,” Valrel cupped his hands behind his waist, standing as stoically as he could muster. A sneer came from the back of the room.

“Nay Valrel, we jus’ come ‘ere for the free booze!” A few Dusthawks let loose a fit of laughter as the leader smirked at the comment, feeling a weight lift from his shoulders as his thoughts began to clear.

“And I’m sure everyone will love to pay the two Jet for a drink from now on, thanks to your observation!” Valrel let out a chuckle as groans and curses filled the room. As the commotion subsided, Valrel began to pace in front of the bar slowly, letting the tension seep into the Nest’s occupants as they awaited his next words.

“You should all be painfully aware of the ruckus goin’ on in our cozy corner of the city… If y’ain’t, I’d feel inclined to ask where you’ve been these past five years. But, I don’t even care what ditch you rolled out of this morning, so it doesn’t matter to me either way.” The leader stopped his pacing now to stare out into the crowd. “The truth is, this ‘resistance’ deal has been a pain in my neck since the day we got involved without our askin’… Now, I know a good number of you lot only got involved with us crooks 'cause of our forced marriage to Lex’s group of freedom fighters, and I can’t complain to have been graced with you’re cheery, toothless smiles thanks to that clever little union.” A few chuckles were heard in the audience, but most remained silent.

“But I know I haven’t been fair to you all in sayin’ just where we stand in all this fightin’… The Jugs’ve been keen on keepin’ out of where they ain’t wanted lately, and I say that’s been pretty good for business… But the Resistance thinks they ain’t done, and they’re thinkin’ of goin’ big… And goin’ big soon.” A few murmurs in the crowd, quickly stifled to silence. “Now I wouldn’t want to give away too big a surprise, but I think Lex has been gettin’ a bit cocky recently… Which is exactly why I’ve gathered you all here tonight.”

“On with it, then!” An irritated brute called from the crowd just as the leader finished his last word. Valrel’s gaze shot out at the speaker – a half-dwarf with a heavily scarred face, one ear deformed beyond recognition. Though Valrel’s figure wasn’t nearly as imposing as the half-breed, the piercing glare in the man’s eyes sent a shiver across the room, and one Dusthawk beside the hearth turned to play with the switch for the fire.

“… The Resistance has given us Dusthawks more esteem in this city than we’ve ever had before,” he continued, as if he hadn’t been interrupted at all. “And until recently, I hadn’t a clue for what to do with it. We’ve been keepin’ our heads down these past couple years to try and slink back into the dark, but the truth is, if everyone knows there’s a rat in the room, they’re gonna know when the rat lifts their biscuit – don't matter how sneaky the rat is about it.” Valrel moved back behind the bar, glancing quickly at the top piece of parchment before staring back toward the group.

“Some of you folks will know who I’m talkin’ about when I say the Blood Thorns. We scrapped with their lot a few times back in the day, but we’ve been mindin’ our own businesses recently and been hopin’ to keep it that way,” the Dusthawk leaned against the bar, curling his hands together as he set them upon the counter. “Turns out our Resistance has decided to strike a bargain with these curs, knowin’ it would set us off. And I don’t plan on sourin’ any expectations.

“The Resistance has agreed to hand-off Spark Rifles, which they so eloquently purloined from one of the Jug departments, to the Thorns as an offerin’ towards their future partnership. They mean to get themselves a new sort of Dusthawks that they think they can better rely on. I think it only right to let these revolutionaries know they’re makin’ a serious mistake, in more ways than one.

“Now, I’m not askin’ for you all to go out there and start killin’ Thorns and Resistance left and right, lest we get a bigger fight on our hands than we’d even be ready for. What I’m lookin’ for here is a little more tact. Some of you lot will be makin’ sure the Thorns don’t run away with the goods, while others are goin’ to have the more important task of gettin’ those Rifles sent back to the Resistance, as a token of our own… Goodwill… Wouldn’t want to be makin’ enemies with our friends now, would we?”

Valrel sat down in his chair at that, waiting for some of his Dusthawks to voice their reaction to this long-awaited motion.

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Arelia took some time to consider what was being proposed by their leader, the words rolling over in her mind as she dissected them and attempted to come up with a plan as to how she could help. There were things she could do of course, but that would also involve trying to come up with an explanation as to why should would need to be away from home for a time, and that wasn’t exactly the easiest thing to do when one was a Noble. She could probably spin a tale of needing to assist some friends with moving, or better yet, maybe doing some charity work in the Grey District as she was known to do from time to time. That one might actually work out more come to think of it, it had a solid base and since she already had a history of doing such things it wouldn’t be called into question nearly as much as helping a friend move. After all, none of the nobles were planning on changing location and her husband knew the same circle of people she did within that world so it would be far too easy for him to check on her story. With the Charity, there was no story to check as she rarely had anything to do with the organized ones as she much preferred to just do what she could without other nobles trying to make themselves look better.

”I could sneak into their ranks,” she finally offered up, ”Wouldn’t even really have to make myself look too much different than I do now. Small changes in how I dress and maybe dirtying my skin up a bit should work, a slight change in how I talk and how I walk and I could just merge into the background. Of course, there is also coming up with a reason as to why I would want to join whichever side you think I would best fit into.” The Dusthawk leader gazed at her for a moment, pondering.

“We could figure a way to get you into the Thorns -- it’d give us an inside man, and a better means at intercepting the dupes when they finish their trade. Of course, you’d have to convince them to send you on such a deal… Though, that shouldn’t be an issue for someone of your capacity, I’m sure.” Valrel smirked at his last words, prodding for a response from the noblewoman.

She raised a brow at his words listening to what he had to say and then laughing, the sound bursting forth from her throat with such force that it caused a few around her to jump in surprise. ”You flatter me Valrel,” she said with a smirk of her own, ”It makes me wonder what else you want of me with your honeyed words, or are you simply suggesting I draw attention to certain assets that I have in an attempt to make their brains short circuit a bit to get me where I need to be?”” It wouldn’t be the first time she did something like that, even if she had to look a bit grimy, it didn’t mean she couldn’t enhance a few of her natural features to draw a certain type of attention to herself. There was also the fact that she wasn’t an airhead, not that the women within the Dusthawks were in the least, but she could act like one easy enough, but that would not be the mission for it. This mission she felt she would need to be on top of her game to get what they wanted and how they wanted it. A little bit of physical distraction tied with a few fancy words to prove that she would be a valuable asset to send would not be a bad idea.

Valrel chuckled as he shook his head at the proposal. “If they’re still the sods I knew them to be back in the day, I’d imagine bawdiness will win their hearts just as easy as a sack of stones.” Leaning forward in his chair, the Dusthawk locked eyes with Arelia with a grin on his lips. “‘Course, you’re the one makin’ the suggestion, not me. I’d do whatever seems to fit the leader’s judgement. Best you remember that, in case sultry feelin’s ain’t their impression.”

She snickered at that, ”I guess we will just have to see where their leader’s brain rests now won’t we?” she asked with a mischievous gleam in her eyes, ”Shouldn’t be too hard to figure out if they listen to reason or if they listen to what they see. Probably one of the easiest things to determine more often than not, if we know what gender the leader is that is?” She raised a brow once more with her inquiry, she was still relatively new to the Dusthawks and she was still learning everything in their store of intelligence, but she felt she had hardly made a dent. There was so much that the organization had learned throughout their years of existence that it was sometimes hard to retain it all.

The leader coughed brashly, leaning back in his chair as he spoke. “The head of the Thorns, last I knew, was Naham Sutter, a half-breed elf who is known to be quite the womanizer, and a drunkard to boot. However, this is old news, and I’ve heard stories of a brutal dwarven lass by the name ‘Forberya’ leadin’ some of their hits of late… I suppose my suggestion would be to prepare for anythin’,” Valrel put his hands behind his head, glancing around the room as if he were searching for a new speaker. It was a habit of his to keep his conversations short during the initial briefing, as those who craved the finer details knew to speak to him afterwards. While he understood Arelia’s inexperience, this wasn’t going to be an exception to that standard.

She nodded her head and leaned back in her chair, legs crossed as she began to turn over a variety of ideas in her mind. She would either have to go in expecting someone who would want to try to get in her pants, or she would have to go in expecting to slap some people around to get her point across. Either way, it wouldn’t be too difficult and if she could figure out if it was a female dwarf, she could just go in as her charming male self.

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@Vashonn

After a bit of small talk with a Dusthawk or two, Valrel finally started to say his piece. Hoekstra hung on every word, for it was in the details that he thrived; you never knew what you could learn by an inocusous phrase, or even the words that weren't said at all. The news of the Resistance wasn't news at all to the dwarven crook. Indeed, he'd done plenty of business with them and acted as a middle man for Valrel and the Dusthawks. Stone, weapons and even things as mundane as clean silk for bandages and lasting foodstuffs flowed into the Resistance safehouses, and there was good money and contacts to be made in facilitating such things. The gang had done well in these deals as well, gaining wealth, and the recruits and prestige their boss had mentioned. The admission that Valrel didn't know what to do with with such things smelled of weakness at first, but Hoekstra knew better. Adnos Valrel as a clever man, and chose his words carefully and had not gotten to where he was by showing cards he didn't want seen.

The true anouncement brough a smile to Hoekstra's scarred face. There had been a young Blood Thorn named Orten Hall, a foundling and aspiring tough lad who had a long way to go. He'd bragged too loudly about a big score he'd been allowed to help in - a trade deal with the Resistance. That conversation had been heard by the publican of the bar known as Thumb, who'd mentioned it to Hoekstra while he'd popped in to check on a last minute delivery of crockery to replace what had been broken during a brawl the night before. Hoekstra had made inquiries with the Stoneleg twins; dwarven members of the Resistance that had been introduced to their current mistresses by Caradoc at a mutual friends gathering. They'd confirmed the nature of the transaction: Spark Rifles to the Blood Talon gang. Hoekstra had immediately sold this information for a fat fee to Tamas the Snitch under the condition that Valrel of the Dusthawks was the first to learn of it, before Tamas invariably told everyone he knew for as much stone as he could gather. Shortly after, white chalk marks had begun to bear around the lower districts of Glimhallow.

The plan was what made Caradoc Hoekstra furrow his brow. It didn't seem like good business to get into a scrap with the Blood Thorns, steal their swag and then just give it up to the Resistance for no fee of any sort. Was it a power play to show Lex they were the true force in Lower Shenul? Was it part of a larger scheme that Valrel hadn't deigned to share with the majority of the gang? It was certainly possible.

The first to speak was one of the most stand-out members of the gathering. Arelia Bastian held a complicated place in the mind of Caradoc Hoekstra. He loathed her for her upbringing, envied her for her wealth and status and yearned to be in the Sky District, whereas she seemed to delight in slumming it. On top of that, he occasionally found himself competing indirectly with her endeavers as she worked the business side of gang affairs. Hoekstra listened as she and Valrel began on the start of a plan, that of getting a hold of the Spark Rifles themselves. Before adding his voice to their efforts, he had questions.

"This all seems well and good Valrel, and I'm certain Miss Bastian is up to the task," he began, the flattery grudgingly honest. "Surely the Blood Thorn's shouldn't have these rifles. It would shift the balance too far in their favour should they use them against us or any of the other gangs. Worse, those fools might have a go at the Juggernaughts, and as soon as Spark Rifles are brought to bear on them, then the Jugs will crack down on all of us!" Hoekstra looked about his rooms, making an inclusive gesture with his hands and illiciting a few nods of agreement.

"Acquiring such goods is obviously in our best interest," he continued in his characteristically businesslike manner. "Yet I wonder why you would turn around and simply give them back to Lex? Surely the Dusthawks could benefit from such an arsenal, or if you've no desire to have such volatile goods in your care, then at least we should sell them back to the Resistance! As a... tax, for trying to undercut the Dusthawks and push us out for the Blood Thorns of all people."

Hoekstra had moved forward through the assembled gang, and now stood before Valrel and those who'd been closest to him in the room, looking up at the man as dwarfs were forced to do, Caradoc put on a friendly enough smile on his scarred face. This wasn't the time to be undermining Valrel's authority and he'd kept his tone conversational, but nor was a stock of Spark Rifles something that should be idly given away.

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Hoekstra’s words were exacting of a fence of his status, illustriously structured for the sole purpose of profit. Valrel knew better than to begrudge the dwarf of his most accomplished quality – it was that very apt way of haggling which kept the Dusthawk’s returns in excess with every shady dealing. However, this was much more a political matter than Valrel would have preferred, and in spite of the fence’s point, he knew that there was only so much criminality that would win the Resistance’s favor.

“While I would normally agree with your notion, Hoekstra, I’m gonna have to refuse this once. Remember, they’re practically givin’ these guns away already, so us showin’ them an inklin’ of forgiveness may very well put a wrap around the wound we’re about to be cuttin’,” The Dusthawk tried his best to sound affable to mimic the dwarf’s tone, though he knew there was a deeper frustration floating in the air between them. “Though, if you think we’re lettin’ Lex off that easy, you’d be mistaken. I never did say we’d be givin’ the rifles back in one piece – beautiful thing ‘bout spark wheels, my friend, is that you can take them apart.”

Valrel reached inside of his jacket, pulling out the spark pistol that he kept hidden there. Holding it lopsided in one hand, he diligently pried the clips from the plate which covered the glowing green disk, turning the gun over to shake it loose from its resting place. He held the coin-shaped spark crystal up between his thumb and forefinger, keeping his eyes fixed on the dwarf.

“As I’m sure you know, these little devils will fetch quite the profit in and of themselves. And with the sheer number of rifles I’m expectin’ in this transaction, this lift should more than pay for itself,” Valrel set the disk down on the counter, its verdant gleam bouncing off the dark surface with an eerie sheen. “It’ll be a nice surprise for Lex to see we gave him back his toys, only to find out we nabbed the most important piece. That should be enough warnin’ to be sure he doesn’t pull anythin’ like this again.”

The leader of the Dusthawks gave Hoekstra a smile, deviously set in a grin that betrayed his typical distant demeanor. “Oh! And since I’m glad you brought the point up, I see it only fair to give my dearest fence the prodigious role of managing the return of these rifles, as well as handling the disks we’ll be filching from the affair.” Valrel’s grin cracked into a beam, and he resumed his lounging as he scanned the room once again, eager for more discussion from the remainder of his crew.

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Valeriano couldn’t hide his grin at the news, and he moved his hand to grasp the hilt of Rosa as he almost believed that she had started to sing. It had been too long since he had had a proper fight. Long months of simple missions had bored him, too many soft targets who never put up enough of a fight. But here was something that he could really get excited about. The attractive Sabina was long gone from his mind, despite her rolling around on the floor with her sister just moments ago. When there was blood to be shed, there was only room in Valeriano’s heart for one woman, Rosa.

His life since leaving the life of Luca behind him had been a never ending rush, of blood, of drink, of wealth, and of women. But Rosa was the only constant through them all. He knew that she was not originally his, that that spoilt little lording had her first, but the two had come to understand each other. She yearned to be used, and he was all too happy to grant her wishes.

He’d only been half listening to the couple of other Dusthawks that had been voicing their concerns, but now that his blood was pumping, only one thought was on his mind, and he grinned again as he glanced at Valrel.

“If you want to make sure they don’t run, you know I’m the man to make sure they can’t. Rosa’s been thirsty for a long time, and I’m not the sort of man to leave any woman waiting.”

Regaining his swagger for a moment, Valeriano smirked, glancing around and catching the eye of Arelia and winking before continuing, his hand still resting on the hilt of his sword.

“The rest of you can worry about how to get the guns, and what to do with them once we have them. Just point me in the right direction, and I’ll handle any Thorns. How many of the bastards should we be expecting?”

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The Dusthawk hadn’t figured there would be any shortage of brawlers ready for a fight, though seeing as this foreign noble was all-too-eager to meet the Blood Thorns with the end of his rapier, Valrel couldn’t help but feel the enthusiasm emanating from Valeriano. He regarded the sellsword with a smirk of satisfaction, though his words were deliberate and severe.

“It’s no secret to most of the District that we Dusthawks are plannin’ somethin’, so I’d be disappointed if our adversaries weren’t on high alert… I’d reckon we’d have quite the conflict set out for us, with at least six or seven men on either side makin’ the trade. However, I wouldn’t undermine the wits of the Thorns as much as I’d like to, and I’m sure that they’d have a fair number hidden in the shadows for their whole walk home – exactly how many, I can’t say, but we’ve got precautions in place for that sort of thing,” Valrel glanced in the direction of Riker for a moment, careful not to meet the peering gaze of the half-breed.

“With operatives such as our Two Cloak, we should be able to make short work of any shadows that we don’t want tailin’ us. ‘Course, I hope you wouldn’t mind, Valeriano, if I won’t be sendin’ you out there by your lonesome? Not that I doubt your ability, but there ain’t nothin’ wrong with a bit of prudence.” Valrel swept his eyes around the room at the gathered members, sighting out any characters that looked eager to join the fight. After a slight turn of silence, the Dusthawk stood from his chair, fumbling with the parchment on the counter as he set it aside, finally regarding the whole audience with a subdued expression.

“The trade-off is set to occur in two days’ time, late in the evenin’ by Sidhole Cross. All you lot that’d think to lend your sword-arm or are bored enough to take apart a few Tarn-worth of spark rifles, feel free to stay late and I’ll assign you a role. For those of you needin’ a mark but ain’t interested in this little affair, let me know and I’ll be sure to give you somethin’ befittin’ your qualifications… This meetin’ is now adjourned.” With that, Valrel lifted his satchel from the ground and began stuffing the loose parchment inside, remembering the missive he had grabbed from Galinai when the runner first arrived. Placing the note on top of everything else in his bag, Valrel wrapped the cover of his satchel over the opening and walked over toward Tolthe, looking to get the affairs of the meeting properly documented.

A fair number of Dusthawks began to walk their way out the front door, careful to pause their exiting intermittently so as not to draw too much suspicion to the hideout. Some characters set beside the fire traded stories back and forth of recent marks, while others stood along the walls, looking on toward the shrinking crowd with distant expressions. The noise of the small hut gradually died down as a number of members spoke to the leader about new marks before shuffling themselves out the door, leaving only the small group of figures interested in the heist strewn about the musty abode to prepare for the task ahead.

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Hoekstra smiled broader, and their was a hungry glint in his eye at Valrel's explaination. Spark crystals were as good as stone, and in the small sizes required to put the fire into a rifle they were easy to transport and sell. He gave an understanding and acquiescent nod, hooking his thumbs on the wide black belt that kept his patterned navy overtunic in place. Having his suspicions proven true - that there were alterior motives involved in the transaction ahead - Hoekstra could proceed in a well informed way, maximizing his chance of success and gain.

"It is always my pleasure to serve the Dusthawks in capacity, Adnos," said Hoekstra in a honeyed tone. "I'll surely be able to facilitate the less bloody side of things." Valrel had nodded in return, then continued the discussion and the dwarf made his way out of the centre of the room. The discussion continued, until the gang leader layed out the details of the commodities exchange, peaking the fence's interest once more.

“The trade-off is set to occur in two days’ time, late in the evenin’ by Sidhole Cross. All you lot that’d think to lend your sword-arm or are bored enough to take apart a few Tarn-worth of spark rifles, feel free to stay late and I’ll assign you a role."

As the majority of the Dusthawks filed out in staggered singles and pairs, there was a few minutes of quiet socializing amongst the crew. Stone changed hands twice between Hoekstra and yellow coloured 'Hawks, once for services rendered and once for money owed. In time, it seemed as though all who were going to leave had left and Hoekstra approached Valrel and his beancounter, Lotkey.

"Quite a score you've found us, Valrel," began Hoekstra in a less formal way, making a point to pay the elf no mind. "Well done, that. I reckon you'll need two houses - one to disassemble the rifles and as a fallback, and another to lay in wait for those gutter rat Thorns. I reckon I've got a bead on a place near enough to Sidhole Cross that would suit with a few kind words. You have a location in mind as a sorting house, or shall I use my wiles to secure that as well? It should be easy enough sorting a meet with a Resistance contact soon enough after we get the goods to pass on the dead wood. That said, you have an idea on what to do with the crystals once you've got them?"