Bordering On Brokering

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Closed to Nevfriend and Sketchy!

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Radasanth! The city of trade. The city of the Citadel.

The city of Fenn’s favorite black market.

As was typical of his voyages into the city, the little fae was here to sell. Wandering deep into the seedy underbelly of the sprawling city-state, Fenn skipped from street to darkened street with the sort of cheerfulness that typically came with gaining shiny coins in dirty ways; hooray for thieving fingers and unaware passerby! Already he had pawned off a few easier items -- some broken rings, some rusted necklaces. There was a suspect jewelry shop that took those sorts of things and melted them down for scrap metal. Now, all he had left to pawn off was… well. The one item he snagged from the funny shop that had gotten rid of Daugi’s fleas and almost hallucination-drug’d him to death. Fenn wasn’t really sure what this potion was.

Wouldn’t stop him from selling it though.

The folds of his cloak formed a nice barrier between his skin and the glass; it was best that he didn’t freeze the potion inside before he tried selling it, probably. It was this pretty indigo colored liquid, all shiny-clear and bright-like. Not warm magic-brightness though, just ordinary shininess. He guessed this was just some ordinary remedy Nevin hadn’t needed to put any magic into. Since he hadn’t understood the handwriting on the label, Fenn had just kind of… peeled it off. Who knew what it actually did now? As far as Fenn’s coin-hungry satchel was concerned, this was now some fantastic magical panacea he could sell to some unsuspecting non-magic-sensing sucker. Ordinary stuff didn’t sell half as well as the fantastic did on the black market.

Soon enough, Fenn came upon a squat paint-peeled building with a rough sign outside bearibg the word “SHOP” and nothibg else. The door groaned as Fenn pushed it open. Inside the dim space, lit by the unwashed windows and a weak candle lantern, were several splintery crates that formed a rough counter-ish surface. A scruffy dude with a long beard and stupidly mismatched clothes snored with his head on this makeshift counter. Scrounger Scourge was a guy who you could sell stuff to straight-up, and he would resell the items to shops he knew would accept them. He didn’t exactly pay top dollar. However, he was a safe place to pawn off the most suspicious of stolen stuff. That, and he wasn’t too bright. Fenn sighed and set his potion down on the crate-counter with a resounded clonk. The doozing man woke with a start.

“Wha- oh. ‘S you. Ey. Welcome back, ‘lil puck,” Scourge muttered, his voice groggy as he wiped the drool off his lips. “Whatcha got for me this time?”

Fenn tapped the counter, sending a quick spray of frost across the wood. UNICORN BLOOD, he scribbled in the ice crystals.

“Th’ fuck kid?”

IT LIKE YOUR LIFE-NESS. MAKE MORE ENERGETIC. Fenn’s grin widened in a way most unnatural. HOW YOU THINK I STAY YOUNG? MAGIC. EXTRA BOTTLE, YOU HAVE SELL FOR MUCH MONEY.

Scourge smacked his lips tiredly and picked up the potion for a closer look. “Really? How d’ya even get this stuff? Like, you kill a unicorn and bleed it out or something..?”

Fenn shook his head. SECRET. VERY RARE. HOW MUCH MONEY YOU PAY?

The merchant seemed… almost convinced! Again, Scourge was not the sharpest sword in the armory. His brows furrowed together thoughtfully. “Gee. Lemme think it over a squinch.”

Nevin was walking down the back streets of Radasanth, making sure there were no other traces of the corrupt version of the Church of the Crimson hiding anywhere in the city. He was also checking out the sights, familiarizing himself with the new city that he seemed to be spending and unexpected amount of time in. It was down one of these back roads that he saw someone that looked familiar and he frowned before heading after them.

There was no reason for the boy to be here in the city, but that had definitely looked like Fenn from what he had seen, the off-colored skin and the blonde hair were fairly distinctive. Nevin was just thankful that there was no sign of the massive direwolf that accompanied the Fae - the beast would have caused a mass panic here in the city.

Still he was curious as to what the frozen Fae was doing here in Radasanth, especially in the disreputable portion of town. Hopefully the boy wasn't pursuing a source of the numbing agent to use it to get high again - while the thing normally wasn't addictive, Nevin had already learned that it had a different reaction for the small blonde.

So after him he went, and trailing the Fae as he made his way with a disturbing amount of purpose. Whatever Fenn was here for, he had obviously been here before. Cobalt take it, had the boy actually gotten addicted? If he had that would be a problem - other than taking the boy in and watching over him to make sure he had no access to the chemical, Nevin had no idea how he'd approach getting the boy past the addiction.

So when Fenn headed into one store, Nevin slipped in quietly behind the blonde, taking a moment to let his eyes adjust to the interior lighting of the place. When he could see clearly, his eyebrows rose to his hairline. The Fae child was quickly jotting words down on the counter, trying to sell the man a lavender potion - a potion Nevin recognized as one that had gone missing from his store. So that's where it had gotten to.

He stepped up silently behind Fenn, the old child focused on trying to pawn off the lavender potion. The other adult's eyes flicked to him for a moment before back down to what the Fae was writing, apparently dismissing him out of hand. That is, until Nevin cleared his throat loudly above the blonde's head.

"In actuality, good air, the potion is one I designed that is meant for medicating an individual who is suffering from distress of the stomach." The man looked at Nevin with a confused expression, and Nevin sighed. "It helps with the runs."

Sketch was walking down the back streets of Radasanth, trying to walk off a large meal. The dark haired man was used to feeling overly full for an hour or so after sating his hunger, and then suddenly, feeling famished again regardless of how much he'd eaten before. It was strange, he usually ate three or four full servings of food and yet he was massively under weight, as if the food just went into a void in his stomach.

As the feeling of being over full left him, he straightened up his suit jacket, and tightened his tie. He'd originally came to Radasanth to search for a weapons instructor with a friend of his named Nevin, and had run into him several days earlier.

As he walked down a back alley, he caught a flash of red hair out of the corner of his eye. He ran, trying to catch up to Nevin, as he saw that the alchemist followed a blonde child himself. Nevin's eyes didn't look happy while he followed the boy, and Sketch wondered what had taken place with the two of them. Normally Sketch would have rushed to a child's aide, but he trusted Nevin as a judge of character, so Sketch just followed from a distance.

The boy walked in to the shop, and Nevin followed in after him. Sketch didn't like the look of the shop, it seemed dirty and seedy, unsafe. What could possess a child to go to this part of the town where they could be hurt? He hoped that Nevin was here to help the small child, and if that was the case, then Sketch would back him up. He grinned at the thought of taking on a group of thugs with his friend near by backing him up.

He walked in behind the alchemist, hearing him say that something the boy was trying to sell was actually made by Nevin as a digestive. Stealing- the small boy was a thief. Sketch's heart broke at the thought of a child resorting to such lengths to survive. He stepped into the shop's lobby, right next to Nevin. "Young man, I know your life's been hard, but you can't resort to stealing. What if the potion that you took was meant for someone specific? What if they're lives depended on the very drink you stole? You don't seem like a bad child, and I think you just made a bad choice, I'm sure that if you apologized to Mr.Nevin, he'd be more than happy to buy you a nice warm dinner. Right Nevin?"

Sketch was sure that his appearance would startle the both of them, but he wasn't going to let a child stray down a dark path if he could avoid it. Nevin was a good man, and he knew that he wouldn't hurt a child, but maybe if the two men had the chance, they could talk some sense into the boy to change his life for the better. After all, what was the point of stories if they didn't help people learn right from wrong?

If Fenn had been a cat, his fur would’ve stood on end.

Standing behind him in the flesh was the red-headed alchemist himself -- with significantly less hair than usual. Yet, nonetheless, it was him. What by Banrion’s damn divinity was Nevin doing in Radasanth? No! He lived in Stonevale. Fenn lived everywhere. He felt moderately offended that the alchemist had barged out of Stonevale to invade the everywhere where Fenn was — and for no other reason to call the boy’s bluff. Yikes. An grey flush tinged his skin, and he puffed out his cheeks in pure irritation.

NO, NO NO, Fenn wrote stubbornly as his stomach did flip-flops pure panic. He could practically feel the potential money draining out of his hands. UNICORN BLOOD, VERY REAL DEAL. GOOD FOR BITALITY.

“Sir, this child is lying. This is a simple digestive aid. It isn’t ‘unicorn blood’, and it doesn’t restore ‘bitality’ — whatever that is.”

MISPELL. VITALITY. He was too taken aback to keep his letters straight.

Nevin sighed, looking faintly as if he had a headache coming on. “That doesn’t negate the fact that you are lying. I would know, I made that potion.”

As the scruffy trader glanced confusedly between both arguers, he scratched his beard and shook his head. “Aye, sorry kid, but if ‘taint th’ real thing you claim, I don’t think I’ll buy,” Scourge said warily, setting the potion down. “Don’t like it when these sorta disputes come up. Can’t do.”

Fenn’s jaw dropped in disbelief. But- how- what? His most intimidating glare was shot Nevin’s way. The alchemist didn’t seem all that frightened. Worse, before he could find some better way to make his wrath known, the situation became slightly more bizarre.

The boy nearly jumped out of his skin as someone new pushed the door open and stepped up next to Nevin as if they were old chums — probably, they were. Tall and lean, darkly green-eyed, but not mean. Normally, Fenn might have taken a liking to someone with such geniality. It matched his usual state of enthusiasm, certainly. What came out of beanpole’s mouth rather ruined that though. A lecture on stealing? The boy listened with a distinctly blank look on his face, all interest wiped off clean. Ho-hum. As if Fenn hadn’t heard all the different iterations of “thieving bad, don’t do”. Yes he did have to steal to survive… but he also kind of stole a lot more than he strictly needed to get by. There was a rush to it. Who could blame him? Shiny objects were mesmerizing, and anyone who let their guard down around goodies was begging to have their loot liberated. No other trade was half as exciting. Well, but for treasure hunting. And that was basically stealing from dead folk, wasn’t it?

The real question was, should he stick around for the promise of a free meal?

Fenn picked up the potion through the folds of his cloak and sighed. It wasn’t as if he were going get this sold now anyway. With the sweetest, eyelash-batting smile he had, he offered up the sloshy bottle of liquid up for Nevin to take. With his other frosty hand, he scribbled on the counter. SORRY. BAD FENN. SUCH REGRET. DINNER NICE; YAY NO NEED TO THIEF. ALL SOLVED! If his kiddy cherub face could get him out of trouble, then Fenn supposed it wouldn’t hurt to turn up the charm a bit. If not for Nevin’s sake — he already knew the truth — then to quiet beanpole’s dramatic lecturing.

Nevin blinked slowly, his eyes drifting between the boy, the scruffy looking fellow behind the counter, and his acquaintance who apparently was practicing to be a ninja before he lifted one hand up to rub the bridge of his nose, trying to dispelled the mild headache that was threatening to build up there.

Somehow, coming back here to make sure the Fae wasn't addicted had spiraled wildly out of control - and he had caught the flash of irritation and the roll of the eyes as Sketch spoke, and he decided to head that off at the pass before anything got worse because of it. He cleared his throat, shaking his head.

"That was not and indeed is not my issue. While yes, I would prefer I was not the target, thievery is as much a profession as many others. I raised an objection for one reason alone - I made the potion and I do not like seeing my wares misrepresented. Whole I don't have 'Unicorn Blood' I do have potions that are meant for vitality and vigor - if this was one of those, I would have gone along with the ruse. Now then - where shall we go to obtain food?" He had seen the way Fenn's eyes lit up at the offer of free food, and even if Sketch reneged on that, he felt he should treat the Fae, as he had cost the boy a sale.

He also wasn't about to give away the truth about the 'boy' and his age. And Fenn didn't seem to mind being mistaken for a child, or a human child at that. So in that regard, he would let sleeping direwolves lie.

Sketch frowned at Nevin, “I have to disagree Nevin, taking from someone else isn’t profession, it’s a moral sickness. You build up karmic debt everytime you do something wrong, you know.”

Sketch tossled the blonde boy’s hair playfully, he could tell that the child wasn’t a bad kid, he just needed some direction. Fenn’s skin seemed cold to the touch, which wasn’t unusual he supposed, since he manifested frost to write. Sketch felt a since of accomplishment at having helped a child in need.

“Nevin, the poor boy is freezing, let’s find something warm and spicy to help take the chill off. The cafe around the corner makes the best spicy pepper and sausage stew. We’ll get that with a mug of warm cinnamon apple cider. That’ll be the perfect thing, I feel.” Sketch whispered to Nevin, beeming at the prospect of helping the pale young man get a nourishing meal, he’d read that spicy food was good for blood circulation.

The tall man opened the door and waited for the pair to follow, hoping that the boy would change for the better. Once they got outside, Sketch pointed in the direction of the cafe, hoping to get the group there without anymore involvement with the seedy element of this part of town. After a few minutes, they’d cornered the block and the cafe was in view.

The group sat down and Sketch motioned for the other pair to find a seat and he’d get the food. He walked over to the hostess and said to her in his rich voice, “I’d like to order 6 of the specials please, four would be for me, and the last two for my friends. Send over a few mugs of the cider if you would please.” He paid the lady, and walked over to his friends and sat down.

Since Nevin hadn’t taken back the potion, it found its way back into Fenn’s bag. If thievery was a moral sickness, then the little fae probably had moral leprosy. Maybe that was why bad shit was alwa- ooooh, these forks were shiny. Gingerly, Fenn prodded the shiny silverware. A slight, searing sting greeted him, as if he had brushed his hands over a hot stove. He snatched his fingers back immediately and hissed softly at the obviously iron-wrought cutlery.

Inconsiderate human venues...

Derived of a shiny to distract himself with, (or slip into his bag,) the boy fidgeted in his seat. It was warm and cozy in here; this cafe, a good spot on an otherwise blighted area. Fenn suspected it was one of those venues that was too good to mess with. As such, obtaining food from here was guaranteed to be great. Lost in his own thoughts, the boy missed half of what beanpole was blathering about — except for the end of his order, that was. A puckered frown pinched Fenn’s face. How come beanpole got four whole things of food, and he only got one? Unfair! He was a growing boy— er well, perhaps not either of those things, but definitely a hungry imp. The imp decided against registering a written complaint though. At least he wasn’t paying for the one platter he was getting.

Though, since he was sitting by a flat surface now, he actually could join in the pre-meal conversation. There wasn’t much else to do until the whatever-beanpole-ordered arrived.

WHY THIEF BAD, BEANPOLE MAN? Fenn noted with a huff, writing in a dapple of frost he had made on the tabletop. WHAT IF THIEF TAKE FROM WORSE PEOPLE? NOBLE PROFESSION! LIBERATE THE OBJECTS!

To Nevin, he directed; WHAT ARE YOU DOING IN THE EVERYWHERE?

“Excuse me?”

OUTSIDE STONEVALE. YOU ARE IN MY EVERYWHERE. And, judging from his squinty stare, the young puck was displeased by this. Highly displeased. People belonged where they lived so that Fenn could do the unexpected visiting, thank you very much!

Karmic debt was a disgusting idea to Nevin, in a way his face took on a distinctly displeased expression for a moment when Sketch mentioned it, though he swallowed the response he wanted to eject there. The world was very much not interested in an sort of balance - rights and wrongs were balanced by the people involved, not some supernatural force that oversaw things. If there was such a force, surely it wouldn't let things like -

He shook his head sharply, instead biting his tongue. No need to get into that. Sketch would be convinced of what he was sure of, and there was no way of proving or disproving either point of view. No, for now the debate would stay locked up on his head. Instead he joined the other two - asking only for some sweet bread and water isn't wad of the food that Sketch was ordering and folded himself into a chair.

When Fenn brought up the stealing from 'worse people' Nevin did raise an eyebrow and interject. "He has a point there my friend. Do your own tales not contain stories of noble rogues trying to help others? Simply labeling all thievery as a moral sickness is remarkably narrow-minded of an orator such as yourself." It was as their food was arriving that he noticed that Fenn had asked him a question, and after the clarification he raised an eyebrow and folded his arms across his chest.

"I am an explorer, Fenn. While I do maintain a semi-permanent place of business, that is to an extent merely for the sake of convenience. I do much of my work out in the field, exploring and discovering new things. Stonevale isn't even my home - merely where I live currently. I'm not from Stonevale, nor even Scara Brae or Corone itself." The alchemist took a sip of his water before tearing out some of the innards of the bread he had been brought.

Sketch thought the boy’s question over for a few minutes. Eventually he spoke up, “Let me ask you, Fenn. In today’s situation, was Nevin a “bad guy”? Had he wronged you in anyway? From what I’d heard, he’d tried to help you when you’d gotten sick, correct? Eventually, stealing, even from bad people, grows into a habit that is hard to break. There are many stories about people going so far to punish people that they in turn become just as bad as the villains they set out to punish.”

“Please don’t think me harsh or judgemental, lad. I don’t mean to talk down to you, I just need you to know both that you are more than the situations in which you find yourself, and that how you act impacts others. You had no idea what that potion did correct? What if that man had bought that vial from you, but it was in fact something dangerous, like foxglove-it’s use can be medicinal in the right dosage, but lethal in large amounts. Now think forward a bit, if your shopkeeper friend managed to sell it as your “unicorn blood,” to someone who was trying to regain their vitality. Like an elderly person. That situation could easily have occured, or something like it.” Sketch gave a slight frown.

“You have a great amount of skill son, if you were able to take a bottle off of a shelf like that with no one noticing. But that skill needs to be tempered with wisdom. If this was some evil baron or a man who beat his wife on occasion, then you should use the gains you stole to help people rather than line your own pockets, or else your just doing it to help yourself, and no better than the person you stole it from.” Sketch nodded to Nevin, hoping that his statement would be an answer for Nevin too.

“Now, if it’s pranking, or mild mischief, that I can fully endorse. Just as long as no one could get seriously injured, that’s when I have to draw the line. And yes, that includes Nevin, as his potions are how he makes a living, and his reputation allows him to help innocent people.” Sketch tried to give a smile to let some of the tension ease in the conversation.

The waitress brought over the food, including Nevin’s sweet bread and water. Sketch looked to the boy and said “I have a situation where my body consumes more calories than normal, so I always order more than I need. Feel free to help yourself if you want any extra.” Sketch said and began to dig in.

Fenn… would have used the excuse of “oops, habit” if beanpole hadn’t already brought it up as an example of bad-ness if one were to steal too much or something. Instead, the young puck looked mildly uncomfortable, as if he were sitting on a bed full of nails. He didn’t like to think too hard about the theoretical consequences of his actions. That just made him frustrated and fraught with unwanted patches of ice.

OOP. VERY TRAGIC POSSIBILITIES. SO SORRY. LESSON LEARNED. NOT HAPPEN AGAIN, he wrote with a muffled snort, not sure how else to dismiss Beanpole’s words. How did he get trapped in this lecturing limbo again?

Oh, right. The promise of food.

Speaking of which, the waitress brought it over with a kindly wave. The boy’s ears pricked up at the sound of dishes clinking against tabletop. Finally! For Nevin, there was boring bread and some water. A sort of dark soupstuff and several mugs of mysterious cider were dropped before Fenn and the Beanpole man. Gleefully, two bowls of the soupstuff were stolen over to Fenn’s side of the table. His free hand tapped out a patch of frost for him to scrawl in. I CONSUME MUCH TOO. BEANPOLE NOT TELL NAME. TELL NAME, he wrote hurriedly. Ignoring the (stupid iron-wrought) utensils, the boy lifted one of the steaming bowls up to his face and took a gulp of his free meal. His bottomless stomach was met with…

...chili and sausage stew? Fenn gasped and put down his bowl as his mouth watered. Spicy! Spicy enough to melt the poor frostchild’s tongue, or at least that was what he made of the taste. He expressed this displeasure with one out of the two sounds he was capable of making.

“Hisssssssss!”

Immediately, he grabbed for his cider and took a swig. A swig which was just as quickly spat out in surprise, leaving a frozen patch of cider on the tabletop. Cinnamon? Who the hell thought it was a good idea to make drinks spicy? An ugly grimace came to the boy’s face as he sat, stunned, wondering how on Althanas he was supposed to put out this hellfire that danced over his tongue. There was just enough self control within the little fae to not pitch a complete fit about the sorry semi-painful state of his mouth. He did not, however, possess the same self control over his magic. As far as his magic was concerned, this was a fucking attack upon his tongue! A cold breeze fluttered about the fae, snowflakes flickering into existence. A thick sheen of frost built up on anything Fenn touched -- his seat, his section of the table, and his awful horrible no-good spicy surprise soup and cider. Possibly, it was spreading to the other’s parts of the table too, but the boy was not currently concerned with that.

If Fenn weren’t worried about giving his direwolf a taste for human flesh, he would’ve probably promised right then and there to let her gnaw up the bony Beanpole bastard if the two were ever within gumming distance.

Nevin had, unlike Fenn, paid attention to what Sketch had ordered for them, though he hadn't thought the Snow Fae's reaction would be this violent. With a slight chuckle and a shake of his head he took the cinnamon drink and swapped it for his mug of water, and pushed the uneaten half of his bread over to the small man-boy. He pulled the stew over as he shook his head.

"Take some of the bread, chew it,
and swallow with the water. It will help calm down the burning in your mouth. Miss, can we get some milk as well?" He took the proffered rag as the waitress nodded, her eyes wide as she stared at the spreading sheen of frost. He shooed the woman off with a wave of his hand as he refocused his gaze on Sketch, shaking his head.

"I didn't mention earlier, but Fenn isn't human. As you can no doubt tell now." A tilt of his head indicated the frost that coated a fair portion of the table now. This would also change things, he hoped, in terms of the morality that Sketch was preaching. Different races, and especially the Fae, had different views of morality because they didn't live the same lives.

Sketch watched in smiling amusement as the small fae boy guzzled down Nevin's meal, a mirthful laugh escaping him as he stared at the scene. He'd noticed that the boy wasn't normal, but he never suspected that he was one of Mab's kin. Mab he thought, where did that name come from? He wasn't sure he knew any Mab, at least not one he could remember clearly. He knew stories about the powerful fae, they spawned more Grym than any other stories, that's why they were called "Faerie Tales."

As far as Sketch remembered, Mab was tied heavily into the winter courts somehow, and was one of the gods in the Merlin sagas. He wasn't terribly sure if they were connected to a real being or if they were just a story, but Sketch thought he may ask the boy one day.

"Sir Fenn, may I please apologize for my rude treatment earlier. It was impolite of me to lecture you as if you were a mere stripling, and for not realizing you're true nature sooner. My name is Sketch, and I'm known in a few small circles as the "Speaker of the Grym". I'm sorry about the mix up with the food, I'd thought you simply a cold child with perhaps some small magic over frost. Please accept my humble apologies." Sketch gave a deep bow, with the utmost sincerity, his hand over his chest as was his custom.

"I'd never have suggested such fare if I thought it would offend you sir. Now knowing your history a bit more, I can see how you were able to sneak off with one of Nevin's potions without him noticing you. In some small way to make it up to you, may I order you some fresh honey, milk, and bread to replace the offending meal? I'll ask them to switch out the cutlery as well." Sketch smiled, seemingly unfazed by the turn of events, as if he didn't mind that the blonde boy was actually a powerful, timeless being of winter.

He walked over to the bar and apologized for the inconvenience, and took out some coin to pay for the new meal. He then walked over and started to clean up the mess that was caused during the incident. He spoke to the group "The owner of the cafe is a somewhat fan of mine, he goes and listens to my stories at the inn I stay at. The hostess said that there's no harm done, and she'd be happy to give you some copper utensils Sir Fenn. She also said she'd bring over some more bread and milk for you Nevin." Sketch took the rag he'd cleaned the table with and tossed it in a bucket that was lying in the corner of the room.

Unabashedly, Fenn dunked the half-loaf of sweetbread into the water and stuffed it in its entirety into his mouth. Stupid dumb stew. Nevin was thanked with a grateful nod and a suffering squeak.

Beanpole — Sketch now, Fenn supposed — never seemed to quiet. Even as the fae lay with his chin on the table miserably waiting for the awful, awful spice-taste to leave, the storyteller was chattering away. Thankfully, not in lectures. Apologies now. Eloquent ones. They somewhat more bearable, even if the sudden shift was a bit off-putting. “Sir Fenn”? Well, that was something new.

One would think that the promise of real not-spicy food would appeal to Fenn. And it did! Of course it did. It just came alongside a twinge of unease. He knew just enough about his kin to know that milk, honey, and bread together were traditionally offerings to appease faerie wrath. It reminded him that there was a lot about his people — and himself — that he was distanced from. Much as he'd like to say he was an adult, was used to mimicking and being treated as a human or elven child. Not a spooky, dangerous fae.

It reminded him that he needed to ask Banrion a bit more about what him being “Changeling” meant.

Actually, there was a lot he needed to ask her.

Fuck.

APOLOGY ACCEPTED, Fenn reluctantly scrawled in the vast swath of ice that was already on the table -- partially scrubbed away, and slowly receding as he calmed. HONEY AND STUFF GOOD. COPPER TOO. YOU STORYTELLER? MANY STORIES? KNOW STORIES OF FAE? TELL. LIKE TO HEAR. CURIOUS. There was a nearly guilty lilt to Fenn’s writing -- how silly was it to inquire a bit about his own kind, even in such a roundabout sneaky way? Yet, it seemed right to ask. If he was to stick around this blabbermouth long enough to get a new meal, might as well steer the conversation in directions that he’d actually bother to listen to. IF HAVE FUNNY STORIES ABOUT NEVIN, ALSO TELL. RUMORS ARE VERY ENTERTAINING, he added.

Fenn... may or may not have started an intentional one about Nevin being a pirate. Stonevale was a gossipy, gossipy town. Those were the best towns.

"My beverage was water, Sketch. The milk I asked for was for him." The orator's panicked reaction and rushing off was a bit amusing, to be honest. He tried to act decisively and quickly, which was indeed a good trait to have, but sometimes he acted a bit too hastily. Ah well, at least he wasn't going on about morality lectures anymore.

And it seemed like the knowledge of Fenn's true nature had drastically shifted how Sketch was handling the boy. Nevin wondered absently what stories the man had about the Fae that were making him act like this - did he know something that Nevin didn't? In truth that wasn't hard to achieve, as Nevin himself barely knew anything of the Fae. They were a topic he had not delved into in his research, so what he knew was what he had run into in dealing with Fenn.

So he was sitting back to wait when he read Fenn's hasty scrawl in his frost, asking for stories. At first Nevin didn't mind - and then the blonde boy asked for funny stories about him and Nevin sat forward with a snort. He leveled a flat look at the blonde and then the storyteller.

"I keep to myself. I'm sure there aren't that many rumors in town that you haven't already heard of, Fenn."

Sketch chuckled at the thought of all the rumors that circulated about the young alchemist. There were several rumors about his alleged marriage to a cat-girl, and had a young daughter. There was another rumor that he'd seduced the young lady who'd fought with both him and Sketch when the goblins invaded the town. He'd known several other young ladies that Sketch had never met, and the storyteller hoped that at least one had captured Nevin's heart. The young man had professed celibacy for the last 7 years, and Sketch hoped that if that was true, it would break soon. The young chemist was still in his prime, and Sketch wanted him to enjoy his youth while he still had it, there would be time to play the celibate hermit-scholar once he got older.

Sketch turned his thoughts to the young fae, Sketch knew that if he really was one of Mab's brood, the boy may never grow out of his childish looks. The boy wanted stories, Sketch knew quite a few, but he was hesitant of telling any that may offend Fenn, having so recently only returned to his good graces. Sketch despised being on anyone's bad side, he liked making friends. He mulled over the epics of Queen Mab, the Sorceress God from the Merlinic stories, and of the stories of Titania's beauty, and discarded both. He didn't want to tell any stories that would either offend Fenn by bringing up someone who opposed his court, or misrepresenting someone as powerful as Mab.

His eyes glittered as he thought of a story that would please everyone. He moved over to the barmaid that was playing hostess, and whispered into her ear. The young lady smiled, nodded her head, and ran to the center of the room. "Ladies and Gentlemen, we have a special treat today, Master Sketch,
from the Whistling Pig, has agreed to tell a story for us tonight! So, I'll ask that everyone order their drinks now, and sit and listen!"

After the room settled down, Sketch stood upon a wooden box that had been brought from the back and cleared his throat. The owner of the cafe, and aged old man with a crooked back and sparse grey hair, walked out and sat down on a stool, a grin wide on his face. "Ladies. Gentlemen. Anyone else who managed to sneak in, lend me a few minutes of your time as I tell you a story of Oberron, the Trickster King. His exploits are legendary, and his antics are revelrous,
but none of the stories about him match the one where he earned the very ire of iron itself!" Sketch waited for the cheers to quiet down before he continued.

"Long ago, in a time before man, the Earth was lonely. It's surface was covered by numerous oceans, in which swam infinite creatures, in it's forests lived many magical beings, and in it's skied flew thousands of birds. Yet, in it's heart, it truly loved none of them. The Earth desired something made from it's heart, that it could love as a mother loves it's children. One day, the Earth took it's own heart and molded it into a stone man. It labored for eons, molding each aspect of it until it was perfect. Once the statue was finished, it poured all of its love into the heart of the stone, and granted it life. The being created from the stone was called, a "dwarf."

The dwarves were loved so much by the Earth, that it taught them the secrets of stone and metal, of fire and forge. It gave them great valleys of gold, and chasms of diamonds. The kingdoms of the dwarves were legendary and prosperous, eclipsing the greatest kingdoms that came from any other race. Their coffers grew so full and heavy, that they soon had more gold in their empire than the rest of the world put together.

Eventually, the other races grew intensely jealous of the dwarves, yet none could stand against the might of their armies and war machines. The other races soon learned to ignore the stout folk and leave them in their dens under the Earth.

One leader on the surface, a wyld fae named Oberron, had learned that the stout folk had been unbeatable in both war and trade. He decided that if he wanted to take their gold, he'd do what the fae do best, and outsmart them. Oberron used the illusory powers of his people to create a great mountain, encrusted with precious stones and metals, larger than a city. To every sense, the mountain seemed real, and he made sure that his people were ready to create other illusions in order to make his scheme work.

Oberron, a king in his own right, ventured to the dwarf kingdom alone, and was greeted as a royal dignitary. He was welcomed by the dwarf king, and ate and drank the most opulent foods and ales. He engaged in merriment and drunken revelry with the dwarves, encouraging the dwarves to drink deeply, even for the dwarves.
Once the king was good and liquored, he walked up to the king and spoke to him.

"My dear king, let me ask you something...Your people are the strongest miners in the world correct? There's no stone the dwarves can't cut. I have a challenge for you, we have a great mountain in our kingdom, as large a city. The mountain holds precious stones and metals enough to make your riches seem like a paupers wallet.

My game is this... I'll wager our mountain and all that it contains versus all the gold in your kingdom. You and your miners have three chances to remove a pebble from our mountain. One small pebble is all that it takes for you're kingdom to gain such riches as it's never seen before."

Now, the dwarves were still trusting of the other races, young as they were. The king eagerly agreed to the challenge, thinking that his men could easily pass the test of the fae. He gathered his greatest miners, chemists and engineers and they created a plan to attempt to break the mountain and claim it's treasure.

On the day of the contest, the dwarf king strode out on the the playing field, and greeted Oberron with a chuckle. He moved to his team, and they began their attempt to take part of the mountain.

He first had his strongest miner, wielding a large, heavy pickax attempt to break it with one large powerful spring, but the magics of the fae, subtle and concealed, made the illusion appear undamaged, and the they broke the ax. To the onlookers, it appeared as though it had broken upon the mountain, and not a scratch showed on the rock.

The second time, the king sent his best chemist, to use explosives to blow the mountain to bits. The dwarf mixed his chemicals, and lit his wicks. The long trail from a safe distance slowly burned towards the bomb, and when it finally hit the charge, it created a giant explosion, so intense the earth itself shook. Yet, again, the magics of the fae went unnoticed, and the mountain stood pristine.

The king raged, growing red in the face. He finally ordered his engineers forward. They brought out a gaint drill, its engine creating such billowing smoke that it blocked out the sun. It's giant treads moved forward, and this time, the magics of the fae couldn't hold out against it's great mass. The spinning drill broke through the massive illusion, shattering it into pieces.

The king stood there, completely confused at what had happened. Oberron, cocky and confident walked over to the dwarves, laughing. "It looks like I win the bet, my stout chums. You tried valiantly, but not a single pebbles fell off the mountain, for indeed, it had no pebbles to begin with. Your three chances are gone friends, and your gold belongs to me."

In a sweep of his arms, Oberron summoned up the dwarves gold into a giant pile, laughing all the while. The dwarf king stood and let his rage boil. When he could no longer take the anger any longer, he let out a shout so loud, that it dwarfed the sound of earthquakes, thunderstorms and volcanoes. The Earth heard the scream and grew angry at the Fae's trick. The Earth turned all of the gold into a base metal, yet to be seen. The metal seemed to seethe with the anger of the Earth. The metal bit and burned the fae. and Oberron raged at being cheated out of his gold. And to this day, Iron has never forgiven the fae."

Sketch gave a grand bow, and allowed the crowd to clap for him as he stepped down. "Sir Fenn, I hope that story was informative."

Even as he clapped, a little tiny part of him was disappointed. It wasn’t that the story wasn’t good — it was a very good by Fenn’s standards. Sneakery! Wiles! Deceit! All recipes for fascination. He'd make a mental note of this story, as he did all entertaining things. But if there was one thing he could discern about it, it probably wasn’t a truth truth, but a storysake truth. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected anything else, come to think of it. The veracity of a storyteller was… limited. They were entertainers by nature, not strict historians.

INFORMATIVE EH. DID LIKE. STRONG VOICE, GOOD STORY, Fenn scrawled on the table — and glanced up as his arm bumped into a plate. What was this? A jar of honey, several glasses of milk, and a platter of bread arrived. Oh! During the performance, his food had arrived. The gleeful, greedy fae took a moment to shove several pieces of bread first into the honey jar, and then into his mouth.

As he did so, he kept writing. There was no such thing as talking when your mouth was full when one was voiceless.

HAVE TALES TO TELL MYSELF, the boy-puck wrote, chest swelling with pride. STOLE FROM DRAGON. BESTED KELPIE. ESCAPED CREATURES OF OTHER WORLDS. LOOT OF SPOOKY PLACES. VERY CUNNING, CLEVER. Most people would not agree with that last statement. YOU MAKE TALES YOURSELF, NEVIN, SKETCH?

Briefly, Fenn wondered why beanpole was called Sketch if he was a taleteller and not an artist. This question, too, was jotted down.

Sketch's story was interesting to say the least. Not very useful for an Alchemist who was interested in knowing what medicines would affect someone in some way, but maybe it would help the youngling out. Nevin frowned. He would need to see if he could track down anything more about Darcy Clements - she'd had a history of researching the strange and unusual, and Nevin hoped that she had had some information about Fae in general, even if she hadn't finished her book on the Snow Fae before vanishing.

Nevin tilted his head as he considered what Fenn had scrawled in his frost. So far, the child had not lied to to him about anything, so he was willing to believe the Fae's list of deeds, even if that belief was tampered with several grains of salt. Instead of replying immediately, he sat back and drummed his fingers on the table as he thought.

Turth be told, he had been involved in quite a few things at this point, even though he hadn't expected to be. Fighting the Goblins and their totem beast, delving into the mines, being captured by the Bounty Hunters - he needed to ask Stare if she knew anything new about those bastards, he intended on crushing the pricks as much as he could - and most recently the battle against the beast in the Church of Crimson. Sketch would know of... The mines? And fighting the Goblins, though not of the abomination he had fought as Elthas rescued the captives.

"There's been a fair bit of things, yes. Mostly wrong place, wrong time in my circumstances. I'm not suited for combat, so I am searching for a trainer. I have a lead, but nothing solid yet. Sketch?" In the end, Nevin was a private man.

"Well, Sir Fenn, Sketch is the only name I can remember, I came out of the woods and I walked naked into a town near by. The family that helped me gave me their spare cloths to help warm me up, and their grandchild said I looked like their scarecrow, whose name was "Sketch". The name mostly just followed me around, and eventually I ended up think of myself as such." Sketch replied to the last question that the frost fae asked. "As for tales, there are a few, the pair of us, Nevin and myself, helped fend off a goblin attack on Stonevale's mine, and I found a new ending to the story of "Little Red Ridinghood"and I got the ability to call her if I need to. One time, we also went down to a mine and gathered up some material to make weapons, but that's not terribly exciting."

"As far as stories about Nevin, he seems to get himself involved in some of the most awkward situations that end up causing a large amount of misunderstandings with young ladies, but it's not my place to talk about that." Sketch flashed Nevin a mischievous grin, knowing how often the chemist had to explain himself. His friend always got some good humored ribbing about his luck, or lack thereof.

"The stories you have, Sir Fenn, seem much more interesting than our own, and I'd love to here about them at some point, though I think maybe when we have a better medium for you to write with than frost on a table. No offense of course." Sketch liked the fae, he seemed to be a pleasant sort of person, and he hoped that the stories of the winter-court's supposed cruelty was exaggerated. If Fenn was any sort of example, they seemed to be more pranksters than monsters. They seemed very close to some of his more developed Grym, now that he thought about it.

Sketch hoped that the next time Fenn had an adventure along the lines that he described, that Sketch would be tagging along, after all, the story teller liked adventures, and being there first hand allowed him to add the porper details to make them the best stories they could be.

The bread offered to Fenn very quickly vanished from the plate. So did the milk from his glass. Soon enough, he was scooping tasty golden honey straight from the jar with his fingers, trying not to freeze it too much as he went along. It was better when it wasn’t gummy and hard.

Nom.

He thought a bit about the two’s replies. Nevin had a way of answering questions as if he were… directing attention away from the asking, almost. As if he were hiding something. It reeked of secrets. Fenn gave him a stare after his short-clipped reply. It was the sort of look he gave to doors whose locks resisted his fine-tuned picking. Secrets were their own kind of treasure, and the puck had a ceaseless(ly careless) knack for digging them up.

Meanwhile, Sketch’s knowledge had no barriers hiding it. Just ask him anything and the taleteller would happily hand over his answer. Mmm, which was better? Knowledge freely given, or that which required effort to pry out? One was pleasantly lazy, one was fun.

With a honey-free hand (licked clean), Fenn wrote a little more down. YOU VERY SCARECROW-ISH. FROST BAD FOR LONG TALK YES. HAVE TO WRITE FAST. HARD TO GET FULL MESSAGE ACROSS. He sighed, sufferingly, and wrote the next bit with a fair amount more care. I can write like this, but it’s slow. Don’t like slow. SURELY NEV HAVE MORE TALE TO TELL THAN WHAT HE HAS SAID? IS NEV SECRETLY A GOOD STORYTELLER TO OR ONLY GOOD AT POTIONS? WANT TO KNOW, YOU NOT TELL MUCH. DO PEOPLE ASK FOR ODD THINGS LIKE LOVE POTIONS OR THINGS THAT MAKE THEM SEE COLORS?

Come on. He had to have something to say.

Nevin sipped quietly on his water as Sketch spoke. So his tall, gangly friend had taken his name from a scarecrow? There was something that seemed... fitting about that. Scarecrows were meant to warn birds away from fields, and Sketch's tales almost always had some kind of cautionary bent to them, something to invoke fear or unease - at least the ones he told to summon the Grym did. Cautionary tales from an ancient warning symbol? Hm.

He watched as Fenn slowed down in his writing for a few moments. That was.... A rather good point. Hmm. The Fae needed something he could communicate with that didn't make him come across as childish. Nevin could already see a problem with most paper - it would freeze in the boy's touch, rendering it useless for writing. Perhaps some kind of alchemical treatment? Make something that could be inscribed upon, and utilize the cold to allow the graphite to be washed off? That was an experiment he'd have to run later, either in the colder months or with Fenn's help. It was always a shame to see a cunning mind dismissed because of surface level communication problems.

But. His own stories? Nevin sat back and drummed his fingers on the table, dark eyes focused upon Fenn. It made sense he supposed, that it was the thief, someone who sought out secrets and things hidden, that would hound him. Sketch obviously thought his... Woman troubles... Were the extent of his misadventures that the other man hadn't experienced first hand. But there was a squirming, wriggling mess of eldritch things that was dead that put lie to that fact. So Nevin merely took another sip of his water and smiled politely at the small Fae.

"Unlike Sketch, I am a rather poor teller of tales. I find actions tend to speak louder than words."

Thread Title: Bordering on Brokering
Participants: FennWenn, The Crooked Knight, Nevin
Judgment Type: No Judgment

FennWenn receives: 830 EXP and 100 GP (inclusive of sticky fingers ability bonus)
The Crooked Knight receives: 530 EXP and 66 GP
Nevin receives: 836 EXP and 77 GP

Congratulations!

All rewards added.