Shadar
01-19-09, 03:32 PM
“The master will see you now,” the weathered doorman intoned in a voice like hooves over gravel.
“Master,” Shadar repeated with a bemused shake of his head as the artfully engraved door clicked shut behind him. This room, like the main shop below, was deceptive. Despite its cramped size, it gave the impression that one was entering a vast gallery, so much that he almost expected the latches’ click to echo. The effect was born from the disorienting combination of a pompously vaulted ceiling and shelf upon shelf of items that defied definition, causing Shadar to lose himself for a moment as he remembered the exterior view; a simple, barrenly adorned two-story shop with a creaky hanging sign, ‘Vidane’s Curiosities‘.
“Explain how you know me. I don‘t like entertaining this late,” came a snide voice from Shadar’s right. He turned toward a silver gilded desk where the speaker rapped his knuckles impatiently, though his eyes were locked on the shelves and their changing contents. In the span from the door to the desk, the assorted curios gave way to trophies, then artifacts, and finally treasures backing the owner’s seat. There was a pair of pitch black horns, curved so wickedly that their previous beastly host must have been in danger of impaling itself, and tightly bound cloth in spools that filled an entire shelf. Shadar blinked, realizing that the soft light in the room was emanating from that very spot, for the cloth sparkled as if every stitch held fast to a miniscule jewel, warmly lit from within.
“Sashel, you’ve done well,” he whispered in awe, his eyes wide as he wrung his gloved hands together and swallowed the old banditry urges.
Vidane (or Sashel) wasn’t appreciative of the compliment. “I said, explain.” There was a fury in that face now that Shadar remembered, though the face had rounded out, and so had the gut that met the desk’s edge. To his tailor‘s credit, Vidane’s wardrobe didn’t fall far short of his treasures, making the extra weight seem trivial. “It’s been years since I’ve heard that name, and now twice in five minutes. Apparently, you’re anxious to meet my security,” he barked in the absence of his guest’s response.
Shadar had to pry his eyes from the oddest of the treasures, a bulbous suit of armor that towered behind Vidane’s shoulder. “It’s quite the step up from the old alley,” he chuckled. With a showman’s flourish, he pulled a black, wide brimmed hat from the air and swept it onto his head, then tipped it in greeting.
“Shadar Logath!” Vidane blurted in a tone somewhere between relief and amazement as he slapped both palms heavily on the desk, “I’ll be a sewer rat.” Just like that, both his face and his voice lost the King-of-Enterprise airs.
“It’s just Shadar, now,” the silver haired man said as he pulled the hat off and threw it back into the nothingness from which it had come. “Stick to that, and I’ll call you,” he made finger quotes, “Vidane”.
“I thought you were dead, you bastard,” Vidane rambled on, harkening back to their days of shadier business when ‘bastard’ was as close to an endearing term as anyone dared use.
Shadar pulled out a chair, shifted his sleeveless coat, and plopped down into it with his feet landing on the desk’s edge. “It’s better than hoping I was dead. I’m sure quite a few people-”
“Oh no, you were too small time for the big players back then to even remember you,” Vidane laughed with such good humor that Shadar would rather he be condescending, though the scowl twisting his face was due to two other factors. One, there was that annoying laughter in the back of his head. Two, even with all his insights into the mortal mind and emotional tells, he couldn’t detect a hint of exaggeration in those words.
“What’s with the snowman armor?” Shadar grumbled, openly mocking the only treasure that could be mocked.
“A gift from some Alerar friends,” Vidane said, waving the subject away. Shadar didn’t look away, though. The round metal head, almost as thick as the barrel sized body, had a thin slatted grill so wide that it evoked childhood memories of monsters with stretched, inhuman faces. “So, what brings you to my humble palace,” Vidane continued, spreading his arms proudly.
Shadar bit back what he really wanted to say, lest it impair his actual mission. “The Gauntlet of Binding. Did you ever find it?”
“Oh, that brings back memories.”
“Yeah yeah, you were going to find it, sell it, and buy a kingdom. I remember the spiel. Did you?”
“Why do you ask?” Vidane asked, his business senses clearly taking over and darkening his round face. “You have a buyer?”
“No. I have a use for it. Before you ask, no, I won’t tell you. When I make my move, you and a lot of other people will know it.” It was Shadar’s turn to act smug, though it didn’t seem to impress the merchant lord.
“It was destroyed ages ago,” Vidane said with a dismissive shrug, and a glimmer of pity.
Shadar‘s feet hit the floor as he leaned forward. “Are you sure?”
“You know how well I do my research,” Vidane countered combatively.
Shadar slumped back in his chair. “You sure know how to bring a guy’s hope’s down Sash-”
“Hey,” Vidane pinched a finger and thumb together. Shadar closed his mouth. “I was going to offer you the texts I gathered on it. For free, no less. But now…”
“Come on. We’re buddies.”
“You haven’t gotten any better at faking sincerity.”
Shadar shrugged in defeat. He knew who he was dealing with, and some things about the man certainly hadn’t changed. “What do you want?”
“Trade me something nice. I’ll return it… if you manage to pull the gauntlet out of some underworld where it’s still in one piece.” Vidane leaned back, luxuriating in victory.
“I see how you did so well, bastard,” Shadar said with a smile, though not as endearingly as Vidane had used the word. With another flourish, he pulled a few relics of his old life into existence.
~
Morning came, and with it was a note pinned to the nearest smith’s door. The inside of the door. Nothing like the suggestion of vulnerability to get the owner’s attention.
I need this. Dehlar with mythril insets.
I’ll send someone to pick it up tomorrow afternoon.
Behind the note was a picture so detailed that an artist must have taken days to create it. It showed a human hand holding a small dehlar disk in the palm. At the very center was a round cavity, the size of a large pearl, lined with mythril white that trailed toward the disk’s edge like rays of a missing sun.
Shadar traded both his Illusion Crest, from his time as a member of the Façade, and a collection of three gemstones, diamond, emerald, and jade, that he gained while a member of the Bandit Brotherhood. Vidane found them worthy relics, and gave Shadar a set of old texts in return.
“Master,” Shadar repeated with a bemused shake of his head as the artfully engraved door clicked shut behind him. This room, like the main shop below, was deceptive. Despite its cramped size, it gave the impression that one was entering a vast gallery, so much that he almost expected the latches’ click to echo. The effect was born from the disorienting combination of a pompously vaulted ceiling and shelf upon shelf of items that defied definition, causing Shadar to lose himself for a moment as he remembered the exterior view; a simple, barrenly adorned two-story shop with a creaky hanging sign, ‘Vidane’s Curiosities‘.
“Explain how you know me. I don‘t like entertaining this late,” came a snide voice from Shadar’s right. He turned toward a silver gilded desk where the speaker rapped his knuckles impatiently, though his eyes were locked on the shelves and their changing contents. In the span from the door to the desk, the assorted curios gave way to trophies, then artifacts, and finally treasures backing the owner’s seat. There was a pair of pitch black horns, curved so wickedly that their previous beastly host must have been in danger of impaling itself, and tightly bound cloth in spools that filled an entire shelf. Shadar blinked, realizing that the soft light in the room was emanating from that very spot, for the cloth sparkled as if every stitch held fast to a miniscule jewel, warmly lit from within.
“Sashel, you’ve done well,” he whispered in awe, his eyes wide as he wrung his gloved hands together and swallowed the old banditry urges.
Vidane (or Sashel) wasn’t appreciative of the compliment. “I said, explain.” There was a fury in that face now that Shadar remembered, though the face had rounded out, and so had the gut that met the desk’s edge. To his tailor‘s credit, Vidane’s wardrobe didn’t fall far short of his treasures, making the extra weight seem trivial. “It’s been years since I’ve heard that name, and now twice in five minutes. Apparently, you’re anxious to meet my security,” he barked in the absence of his guest’s response.
Shadar had to pry his eyes from the oddest of the treasures, a bulbous suit of armor that towered behind Vidane’s shoulder. “It’s quite the step up from the old alley,” he chuckled. With a showman’s flourish, he pulled a black, wide brimmed hat from the air and swept it onto his head, then tipped it in greeting.
“Shadar Logath!” Vidane blurted in a tone somewhere between relief and amazement as he slapped both palms heavily on the desk, “I’ll be a sewer rat.” Just like that, both his face and his voice lost the King-of-Enterprise airs.
“It’s just Shadar, now,” the silver haired man said as he pulled the hat off and threw it back into the nothingness from which it had come. “Stick to that, and I’ll call you,” he made finger quotes, “Vidane”.
“I thought you were dead, you bastard,” Vidane rambled on, harkening back to their days of shadier business when ‘bastard’ was as close to an endearing term as anyone dared use.
Shadar pulled out a chair, shifted his sleeveless coat, and plopped down into it with his feet landing on the desk’s edge. “It’s better than hoping I was dead. I’m sure quite a few people-”
“Oh no, you were too small time for the big players back then to even remember you,” Vidane laughed with such good humor that Shadar would rather he be condescending, though the scowl twisting his face was due to two other factors. One, there was that annoying laughter in the back of his head. Two, even with all his insights into the mortal mind and emotional tells, he couldn’t detect a hint of exaggeration in those words.
“What’s with the snowman armor?” Shadar grumbled, openly mocking the only treasure that could be mocked.
“A gift from some Alerar friends,” Vidane said, waving the subject away. Shadar didn’t look away, though. The round metal head, almost as thick as the barrel sized body, had a thin slatted grill so wide that it evoked childhood memories of monsters with stretched, inhuman faces. “So, what brings you to my humble palace,” Vidane continued, spreading his arms proudly.
Shadar bit back what he really wanted to say, lest it impair his actual mission. “The Gauntlet of Binding. Did you ever find it?”
“Oh, that brings back memories.”
“Yeah yeah, you were going to find it, sell it, and buy a kingdom. I remember the spiel. Did you?”
“Why do you ask?” Vidane asked, his business senses clearly taking over and darkening his round face. “You have a buyer?”
“No. I have a use for it. Before you ask, no, I won’t tell you. When I make my move, you and a lot of other people will know it.” It was Shadar’s turn to act smug, though it didn’t seem to impress the merchant lord.
“It was destroyed ages ago,” Vidane said with a dismissive shrug, and a glimmer of pity.
Shadar‘s feet hit the floor as he leaned forward. “Are you sure?”
“You know how well I do my research,” Vidane countered combatively.
Shadar slumped back in his chair. “You sure know how to bring a guy’s hope’s down Sash-”
“Hey,” Vidane pinched a finger and thumb together. Shadar closed his mouth. “I was going to offer you the texts I gathered on it. For free, no less. But now…”
“Come on. We’re buddies.”
“You haven’t gotten any better at faking sincerity.”
Shadar shrugged in defeat. He knew who he was dealing with, and some things about the man certainly hadn’t changed. “What do you want?”
“Trade me something nice. I’ll return it… if you manage to pull the gauntlet out of some underworld where it’s still in one piece.” Vidane leaned back, luxuriating in victory.
“I see how you did so well, bastard,” Shadar said with a smile, though not as endearingly as Vidane had used the word. With another flourish, he pulled a few relics of his old life into existence.
~
Morning came, and with it was a note pinned to the nearest smith’s door. The inside of the door. Nothing like the suggestion of vulnerability to get the owner’s attention.
I need this. Dehlar with mythril insets.
I’ll send someone to pick it up tomorrow afternoon.
Behind the note was a picture so detailed that an artist must have taken days to create it. It showed a human hand holding a small dehlar disk in the palm. At the very center was a round cavity, the size of a large pearl, lined with mythril white that trailed toward the disk’s edge like rays of a missing sun.
Shadar traded both his Illusion Crest, from his time as a member of the Façade, and a collection of three gemstones, diamond, emerald, and jade, that he gained while a member of the Bandit Brotherhood. Vidane found them worthy relics, and gave Shadar a set of old texts in return.