The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, beating down heat to the great walled city of Baldur's Gate. While citizens and enforcers doted about their daily tasks, both the mundane and recovery from the attacks of the most recent assailants, a new figure entered the gates and started to wander. It was a fairly tall creature, a little over average height, lithe and strong, and it carried a traveling backpack with camping supplies strapped to it. It was armored lightly, though colored as if it came from the shadows themselves, a black hue that hurt to look at with accents of violet and sanguine. Those openly saddled blades at the form's hips swayed as it walked, catching the sun with their similarly dark metal. There was an aura about this one, one that did not cause fear, but did warn of danger if crossed the wrong way. That hood was pulled down low to help hide the being's face, but even with that protection, that dark skin peeked out from underneath. Not that Baldur's Gate was unaccustomed to this one's suspected race by now, but ingrained prejudices and fear could easily turn a simple traveller into the focus of a massacre. Not that this one would mind. It'd make her life easier to not have as many annoyances to deal with.

The woman traipsed through the streets, not at all bothered by the winding roads and sprawl of the buildings. She had been here long ago after all, working as a mercenary for the Flaming Fists. Her road had taken her up north though, towards Neverwinter, where she had found plenty of more interesting work, including fighting against the demons of Avernus that so recently occurred. Up there though, she worked for a stronghold and family name, oblivious to the other events happening in other areas of Faerún. How far she had come since emerging from the dark hold of her birthplace! There was much to explore up here, wealth to be gained, power to obtain, and skills to perfect. After dealing with the fires of Avernus, she found her eyes had stung less in the typical daytime glare, so she didn't stumble on her way to one of the old taverns she had visited: The Blushing Mermaid.

Looking at the building now, the woman furrowed her brow slightly at the expansion. A lot had changed since she had last been here. She'd have to do more than just ask for rumors with a drinking mug now. With a huff of a nasal sigh, she entered the renovated tavern, and took in her surroundings.

She entered into a large room, a dividing wall ahead of her with a fireplace embedded in the center. To her left, on the opposite side of that wall, was the bar itself, though it appeared the tavern continued on behind it beyond another dividing wall. Large tables occupied the space ahead in this room, sitting six or more depending on how many seats were brought to bear, several already taken by some groups. Some adventuring types it seemed to her, but they were of no interest beyond that. The cowled drow moved towards the bar, her long, loincloth-like skirt swishing with each step. She passed a round table on her way, and spied another at the far end with what looked like another exit door, though clearly not as grand as the main door she just entered. She marked those spots mentally, just in case.

The woman leaned onto the bar at an open space, taking out a few gold for a drink as a start. She had plenty of money, though only carried a small pinch of it openly. It was incredibly rare for someone to be able to steal from her, but letting down one's guard was a stupid move. If, and that was a big if, someone were able to pilfer her gold pouch away, they'd barely touch her real vault. The woman placed the gold on the counter and pushed it in front of her, offering it for whatever she could get with that amount. A silent exchange, and one the bartender caught onto quickly after greeting the new woman and hearing no reply. Only those red eyes stared back at him, a friendly and inviting gaze with some dark fires behind them. These eyes have experience, and a certain kind of hunger, of lust, but not for paltry pleasures of the flesh. It was something more... threatening, a promise made under the guise of pleasantries. The bartender moved, offering a simple bottle of ale in exchange for her coins. She gave the bartender a nod, and unhooked her face mask from inside her hood, revealing that full face of one of the many accomplished adventurers of Neverwinter.

She was pretty, but not beautiful, with a rounded nose tip, chin, and narrow jaw. Her skin was light, even for a drow, but still obvious enough to claim her race as such. She had somewhat heavy eye makeup, black eyeliner and eyeshadow, only heightened by the tattoos sweeping across her high cheekbones under and to the sides of her eyes. There was also a scar across her nose bridge trailing towards and across her left cheek like a glancing blow from a jagged blade or claw. A little tuft of silvery hair had been loosed by her mask removal, curling around her neck like it was nabbed by her glove. The woman took a swig of her ale, playing the part of a traveling adventurer seeking a small amount of respite, but she was more focused on listening to other patrons and getting a feel for the status of the city. They went through a significant struggle, but those details were unknown to her still.

Undulations of power coursed through the Undercity, remnants of the energy that pulsated violently just several months ago still ripe for understanding, harnessing, collecting. It was difficult to ascertain how to control each strand, but nevertheless, the slow, methodical extraction of what lay beneath the recovering city would absolutely be worth the trouble. He would need to delve deeper into the Undercity, however, which would prove to be drastically difficult considering the amount of guards that the Grand Duke had posted at every entrance, grate and doorway.

Although...

He knew of the trouble that the Grand Duke faced. There were others who could sense the power he did, yet their purpose for harnessing it were malevolent, twisted. He had to find a way to thwart this new collective, one that could threaten the very fabric of a city trying to rebuild once again. He would answer the call put out by the Duke. Indeed, he would put a stop to whatever threat was lurking in the shadows and ensure that this mass of energy, of sheer cosmic force, would be utilized only for the stability of the Weave.

A broad shouldered frame seated in the northwest corner of the Blushing Mermaid rocked back against the seat it was in, eyes snapping open, breath coming in ragged gasps. His eyes narrowed, breathing returning back to normal as onlookers expressed a gamut of reactions from apathy to chortling at what they supposed to be a staggering drunk choking on his fourth pint. There wasn't much that the frame could say to thwart their opinion: he sat at a round table with four other chairs surrounding it, all empty, seven tankards drained of any liquid that had once been in them and his sense of time was slightly...distorted to say the least.
"Never could snap back to it." The frame mumbled, reaching into the pocket of his black and grey trousers to find his time dial, a circular object slightly bigger than a gold coin powered by just one of his patron's many powers marked with various lines to indicate what time of day the user was currently experiencing, indicating it was mid-day. He had sat down, what, maybe soon after the sun was rising? A chuckle, remembering his purpose for being in this hole in the first place. A missive had been posted at the Basilisk gate, stamped by the Duke himself, asking for assistance in rooting out a major threat to Baldur's Gate and any of those who were willing and able to convene in The Blushing Mermaid. He had indeed met with a cohort of about six, including one Flaming Fist Commander named Lark, who informed the group of what the Fists believed to be worshippers of the very Illithids who sought to enslave the Coast. The worshippers had formed into two major groups, The Harbingers and The Conquerors, both of which were attempting to recruit followers with promises of a life free from the confines of a dying society as well as wealth, the latter of course being much more of a draw. Lark noted several skirmishes between the two groups in the Lower City and on the fringes of the Undercity, hence the heavier security in both areas. Those who had answered the Duke's call (them) were to, by any means necessary, find out more about these groups, their motivation for worshipping the Illithids and their source of funding and/or resources. Notably, Lark omitted a great amount of detail, such as how the Fists knew about the Illithid worshippers in the first place, what intelligence they had already gathered and whether or not the cohort would receive any kind of official backing from the Fists. Of course, the reward was enough for all in the cohort to accept the missive's directive without question (5000 gold was enough to fund an entirely new life, which, based on the appearance of his fellow adventurers, could use).

When the meeting ended, he had decided to descend into meditation as a way to do his own investigative intelligence, which apparently had led to several hours passing. It would be high time for him to leave, except for something...no, someone's presence was causing him to pause...

Ah.

From his table, he spotted a lithe figure come to the counter, her eyes visibly aflame from where he sat. Her stance was relaxed, yet coiled, tight, ready to shed blood at a moment's notice. Was this the one who posted the note? Or another wanderer that would imbibe, sit menacingly for a few minutes and then leave? The energy that her presence cast was unmistakably ominous, yet alluring, as if she simultaneously invited one's doom with all the pleasures of the realms. In other words, he found her captivatingly dangerous, a label he had come to understand to mean that there was something of import happening or about to happen. Her presence here was no accident, but how to discern if she was here on the same missive as him? A simple test: the classic "a drink is on me if you're willing to sit at my table".

After a server was notified and brought a glass of Debella's Vintage over to the lithe form, the frame waved, a half-smile crossing his features. Let's see if she would bite.

The shuffling of feet came to her, and a bar wench shimmied up as close as she dared to the hooded drow. "From a patron," She informed, gesturing off to a corner where a man waggled his hand their direction. Red irises glanced the wench's way, but she was already scurrying off to the next customer. They then eyed the man, just within the borders of her direct eyesight, and then the offering. She felt like rolling her eyes, disregarding the suitor and retiring to a room then and there, but a second glance at him gave her pause.

She hadn't hidden her entry into the tavern, nor into the great city, yet she still kept her hood over her multi-layered hair, that point always visible hovering at her forehead. Unless someone was directly interacting with her from the front, it'd be more difficult to determine her skin or see that flash of red. What was it that tipped this man off about her, that brought his attention focused on her? It was probably just as simple as a feminine form and allure, but that expression he showed, the way he waved, it wasn't some fantasy that drove him. It was... something else.

He was testing her.

Probes for information were no stranger to the woman, and neither was courtship or romance. They each had their own ticks, their own universal giveaways. She didn't sense any of the lustful ones off the man, at least, nothing that was blatantly the reason for his watchful eye over her. So this was instead a test of purpose, a call to why she in particular was here, and she doubted he'd accept something as simple as her actual reason for being here. It was pretty mundane after all, even to her own standards. There was something else about him though, something that felt familiar. Perhaps it'd become apparent if she took this offering and got a little closer.

What did she have to lose?

With a slight sideways tip of her head giving her a better angle from under her hood, she sized up the man afar a moment longer. He wore no heavy plate or armor that indicated strength as his main asset, which led her to believe he was either a sly rogue or a mage. Both could be dangerous, but then again, so was she. The corner of her lip turned upwards as she recalled her last proposition from a lone and unaffiliated patron. Perhaps this was exactly what she needed during her break away from the constant political warfare and monster attacks up north. Besides, if he decided to try to get under her skin, she'd just live up to her title once again.

The drow pulled away from the bar and swiped the offering with delicate fingers clawing its lip. Those long blades at her hips barely shifted as she came to his table, that skirt of hers in sync with each step she took. Her approach gave pause to another customer of the tavern, forcing him to almost stand at attention as she crossed his intended path. She could feel his tipsy stare as she finally broke her summoner's perimeter and set down that offered drink at the table's edge.

She could feel an aura of power off this one, leading her to believe he was more magical than sneak. It reminded her of an old party member, back long ago, with a penchant for the ladies and power in the magical arts. He was fun, and if this new mage was anything like the old red wizard, she'd certainly find her time spent with him worthwhile. Closer now, she still eyed him, with that long, salt and peppered dark hair and experienced eyes. That scar already told a story that happened long ago, and the slightest of wrinkles under his eyes told his general age. Another human mage, summoning her for some purpose yet revealed. It all felt too familiar.

The woman kept her fingers on the neck of her bottle, hovering at the table's edge opposite of the man. There were plenty of empty chairs nearby she could have sat in, but she chose to stand instead, giving her the appearance of being intrigued, but not bought just yet. She finally spoke, after eyeing the man for several moments, a voice quiet, sultry, teasing, and somehow airy like a snake's hiss. It fit with her overall dark appearance and aura of danger, like a whisper to bed that would instead lead to one's death. "You called?" She asked, speaking in that Common tongue so many here communicated in.

As she approached, the energy that naturally emanated from her presence grew in sweet intensity, a thick mire with hands emerging from it, one motioning for him to experience everything she could give while the other twirled a dagger soaked in blood. The vision came and went nearly instantly, but it was staggering enough that the man was left speechless for a few moments, the whites of his eyes briefly making an appearance before his steely hazel irises returned, finding her across from him just as she broke the colloquial ice with a leading question. Fair enough; he had been the one to get her attention.
"In a way." The same half-smile formed on his face, motioning for her to sit across.
"I wasn't wont to try and cross the tavern only to find that you weren't interested in a conversation, however brief or long it might have been." A flash of a chill crept up his spine. His patron wasn't particularly happy he was talking with the presumed Drow; interesting. An observation to file away.
"I suppose your decision on sitting is dependent on clarifying my purpose. A fair exchange." The man nodded in greeting.
"Cailyn Drae at your service. Baldur's Gate isn't home for me, but I frequent it enough to where I'm comfortable treating it like home, which including doing some housekeeping after unwelcome guests make a gigantic mess." He pointed at the floor with his index finger, a slight ripple of magic inadvertently flickering from the fingertip.
"If you haven't heard, Baldur's Gate was nearly turned into the Illithid capital of the coast and probably the entire multiverse as we know it just a few months ago, yet there are some in the city who think it wise to not only think the creatures were our 'only' chance at grasping true power for all, but now worship them." A derisive guffaw.
"Quite remarkable, really." Cailyn leaned to his right, rifling through a canvas satchel and placing a copy of the missive issued by Duke Ravengard about the cultists.
"Five thousand gold pieces for the removal of Illithid cultists as soon as able. Sealed by the Duke himself." He gave the Drow a once-over now that she was closer, noting the sheen of her daggers and the lithe form that her apparel highlighted in certain areas; this one seemed primed and ready to be a viable companion in his endeavor. The question that rattled around his brain was whether or not she would be receptive to such an offer, especially with the guise of a bumbling wizard potentially being shattered upon using the powers he drew from his patron. He doubted seriously that the woman cared deeply about his patron's aims and motives, but then again, he had been surprised by some of his former companions and their own desires that ultimately clashed with his own. A frown creased his features, shaking some of the unpleasantries of his most recent escapade from his cognition, choosing to focus instead on his gambit. With the emanations she currently was...well, emanating, she would be a great choice for a dangerous romp through the Undercity, but nothing would prevent her from stabbing him in the back and making off with the gold for herself. It would behoove him to incentivize her with something potentially more alluring. Maybe...
"I'm not as interested in the gold. I'm looking for something...specific to add to my list of trinkets and baubles as any wizard is prone to do and that something specific happens to be lodged in a very dark, dank, dangerous part of the Undercity. You, my friend, look able to slice through danger quite well..."

Those red eyes traced the motion of his hand, but she didn't move to sit as he had indicated. She'd be patient for now, but if he babbled on about nonsense, she'd need a quick way to walk, especially with his aura of magic floating about his person. She didn't have access to magic herself, at least not like he seemed to have, but she could feel that ability from here. If she rejected him and he sought her out, it'd be an interesting showdown, of which she expected to win with the right preparation.

"...A fair exchange," He was saying, diving into an introduction. Ugh, boring. She had to fight the urge to roll her eyes at his sappy story, though the shift in the air at his finger caught her eye for a moment. Which type of magic did this one specialize in? She forgot the names of the schools, but could remember back to her travels in this region before, and a flash of a memory came to her: The waving arms in the air, the words of power chanting freely, and then a tear in the fabric of reality, claws pushing their way through into their plane of existence. Was this wizard also a conjurer?

A slight sneer curled at her lip. Mind-flayers. She remembered the stories when she was but a child, a dangerous race to deal with but also a useful one if one was clever enough. All she had seen was a squishy and bulbous head, those tentacle appendages that reached for one's face with voracious hunger, and magic beyond most people's understanding. The drow had faced few Illithid during her time, but those she did encounter were not of a fond memory. These cultists that dared worship them were in over their heads; The octopus heads deserved to perish, not have their egos stroked further.

Cailyn summoned from his pack a message, an offering to show her what he spoke generally of. Five thousand for a cult removal? It wasn't bad, though she didn't really need that amount. Gold was always useful though, so she wouldn't say no to something that paid well. With the focus of Illithid lackeys, there was that higher potential for magical treasure or artifacts, which was also a fair bargaining chip for the woman. That sneer disappeared by then, and that precarious grip on the bottle lip loosened. The drow let go of that bottle, stepping up and around the table a little closer towards Cailyn. When she was able, she snatched up the missive, quick like, and scanned it over as he did her.

Indeed, the Duke called for adventurers and others to help reclaim the city from these cultists, and stated that reward of five thousand clearly. She swapped her gaze from the parchment to Cailyn once again though, the wizard finalizing his offer with his own personal goal. A magical trinket did sound entertaining, and with the danger presumed surrounding it, the woman was quite intrigued.

Yet...

Those bloody orbs narrowed at the mention of the word 'friend', but she didn't make a move towards him this time. It'd be a shame to be kicked out of the tavern after arriving so recently, and she doubted they'd enjoy the new bloodstains on the floor. Instead, she flung the memo into the air, a toss back to him and the table on her right side, as if it were merely an unwanted drawing from a child.

"And how many other 'friends' have you recruited for this errand?" Her eyes were piercing, boring holes if they could into Cailyn's own. It wasn't that she was against working with others, but being strung along by someone else's incompetence or hurried away from the potential hidden loot was something that irked her heavily. Besides, more people meant less share of the rewards. Why should she risk herself for a lesser amount of gold if there were more people? She could just go and do it herself at that point, even take the trinket he sought for her own. She had the skills to hide herself, she had the poisonous blades, healing items, and if things got too heavy, the concealment grenades and natural ability to summon darkness would help as well.

A jolt of malicious intent came from the Drow's eyes followed by a cynical question about the potentiality of set up; again, fair. He was exhibiting extremely suspicious behavior and as someone who dealt with suspicious characters quite regularly (see Waterdeep's latest report of a massive heist), he was thankfully more than prepared to deal with a healthy dose of "Are you trying to pull one on me?"

"First, if you look at my immediate surroundings, you'll note that I have no 'friends' with me nor do I intend to accompany the various adventurers that met earlier today with Flaming Fist Commander Lark had briefed (along with me) about dealing with the cultists. Nay, I prefer to do my work alone or with a small group of individuals who have agendas that coincide with one another." He chuckled slightly.
"I assumed, unhealthily perhaps, that based on the weapons that dangle from your waist and the purposeful shrouding of your appearance that you might fulfill my criteria for someone who might be interested in a bit of adventuring that could fund your other ventures or, like myself, desire to find some trinkets left behind from our would-be Illithid conquerors." Boy was he feeling pedantic today.
"I'll also reveal that my desire to have a working partnership with someone as dangerous as yourself is rooted in a touch of self-preservation. As a wizard, I may have options to protect myself, but I'm expecting quite a bit of resistance, so much so that I won't be able to survive comfortably without some assistance." His eyes darkened.
"There are whispers of who's signed up to these cults: Sharrans, Necromancers, Bane worshippers and a host of others that, if left unchecked, could make all of our lives a living nightmare." Cailyn locked eyes with the Drow.
"If you're looking to shed blood, make some coin and delve deeper into secrets beyond your comprehension, I would suggest you consider joining me." The last bit of his final offer was tipping his hand far too much for his liking, but the longer he had talked, the more a chill had gripped his heart; if he was reading his patron's signs correctly, the Architect was telling him that there was indeed far more at stake than met the eye and that the Drow, despite the initial objections, could play a part in facilitating the long-term goals that the being had.

That or the Architect was just annoyed at Cailyn's insistence on talking to the woman.

In either case, he wondered how she would respond to his offer, seeing as she could just as easily laugh and walk away. No matter if she did; at least the offer was on the table and if he was reading her character properly, they might ultimately cross paths in the Undercity and Cailyn would have the opportunity to see her in action and recruit her after all.

She could understand that. Working with others that share similar goals was typically the most efficient way to achieve them, if one didn't try and tear the others apart near the end for greater glory. Trinkets and magical items from the mind-flayers could be useful, if not foreign and collectible. Would probably fetch some pretty coin if sold to the right buyer too... but there was the real reason - protection, self preservation, throwing someone else to the masses so his pretty pretty robes wouldn't get splashes of blood or gore staining them. Just like the Thayan.

Her drilling stare softened, morphing into more of a hungry intrigue. Dark forces like those religious zealots or defilers of the dead weren't so much of a concern for her, but that taste of knowledge, of secrets left behind by the tentacle heads or others, drenched in the warm liquid which gave them life - That was what enticed her. If she learned anything from her emergence, it was that this world held many secrets, and no amount of bodies would stand in her way to acquire them. Having a useful tool like this one would be worth the trouble of his predicted complaints, no?

The drow turned, scraping some fingers along the table surface as she returned to that opposite side, back to that bottle left there. She paused, as if thinking, then deliberately took the bottle at the base into her hand, turning halfway to regard Cailyn over her shoulder.

"You've a deal, wizard." She officially accepted his offering, putting bottle to lip, and taking a long swig. "However," She continued, placing that container down and turning further, a 3/4ths facing towards him now. "If for an instant I am unamused, you're on your own. I will leave you to the dark, to the slime, and to the so called mercy of the denizens below." That dreaming smirk confirmed her fantasies, hinting at the images flashing in her mind about his numerous possible demises. With that look, it was obvious she may even stay to watch the spectacle before going about her own way.

"When to leave?"