"Who's that in the corner?" *shrug* "SEARCH me..."

[crispypeanut]

The Southern Hold...dock district...at night: One could never find a more wretched hive of scum and villainy...unless, of course, that particular One was familiar with any Holds in the North...in which case, they probably COULD find one... In fact, that very same One might venture the claim that it really isn't all that wretched, scummy or villainous so much as it is deserted; the byproduct of a laborious, dedicated workforce of fishermen and merchants whom generally look down upon those who spend their nights in frivolous (drunken) entertainments and only put up with such indecencies because of the necessity of trade amongst them.

The evening was mild and warm; thick humidity from the jungle wafted through the streets as a vaporous blanket of mist, softening the glare of nocturnal glows in the windows of those yet to fall to sleep's overpowering embrace. In one such street near the sea, amidst several other mildly decrepit buildings common to the avenue, stood Mother Hydera's Tavern . The thick scent of salt from the ocean's lapping waves slithered through the street and eked through the ample apertures of the establishment, coating the inhabitants with its briny musk.

The twin doors were cast wide open, allowing the sound of boisterous merrymaking to flow freely through them in invitation to passersby. Within, two great fireplaces roared, laid high with hardwood and roasting meat, surveyed by burly men draining tankards of wine. Barmen and maids wheeled through the tumultuous mass, distributing fresh wine and sizzling meat as needed.

In the corner furthest from the doors, his back to the wall, a lone figure sat upon a short stool at an otherwise unoccupied table. Two empty flagons and a third, half on its way to be as its fellows, kept a half-eaten joint of meat company on the small, round tabletop.

He wore the ratty, discolored canvas uniform of a sailor, though he chose not to mingle with his fellows; his Hazelnut eyes scanning over the crowd at a safe distance. His left hand fondled the dwindling supply of Marks in his money pouch while the fingers on his right tapped the hilt of a knife thrust into his cracked, leather belt. A speculative frown decorated his scarred and bearded face as he contemplated his change in situation.

It had only been a matter of three sevendays since he had been stranded at the Hold; the ship upon which he arrived having been burned in an unfortunate..."accident". His expectations of finding his way into the crew of another trading ship had not yet been realized, and at the rate he was going, were never likely to be. He was certain of one thing, however, as he counted out the Marks in his pouch by touch: he would need to do something...and fast.

[Ember]

She looked like a cheap whore. Not that Nephele had any problem with those that sold their bodies - she'd been forced to be one once upon a time ago - but she hated having to look like a cheap one. Still, it would draw far less attention than expensive one or an exiled dragonrider appearing in a Hold. Especially considering the events at the end of the Hyphen Gather...too risky to look like anything even slightly important to the world. Sipping at some gross wine, Nephele scanned the place with her eyes, letting her green look through them.

She wasn't there for pleasure. She was there Searching. With Jingth's eggs hardening so swiftly she'd decided to take the risk of going into a large Hold to look for candidates. Her eyes finally landed on an equally lone figure and she felt Nuoth perk an interest. It was decidedly hard for the green to get a good read of anyone this way but if she'd managed to feel anything at all the greenrider would take it. At the very least, if he wasn't Impression material, he could work as an extra hand or something. Besides, he looked lost to Nephele.

The greenrider stood with her glass and wandered over to the man, delicately sitting on the stool next to him. "You seem a bit lost, sir. Something happen?" She didn't bother asking if he wanted her company. That would make it seem like he had an option about whether or not she propositioned him. Not for sex, but for candidacy at Burimyu Weyr. She had no need for his marks if he decided to come. "I'm free to listen."

[crispypeanut]

The man watched passively as the woman approached his table. She was impossible to miss, in fact, aside from her obvious attractiveness (enhanced, no doubt, in some manner by the liquor he'd consumed); he having chosen so distant a seat from his fellow patrons and she, threading the crowd and crossing the small, yet distinct void to claim a seat near him. She dressed no different than any of the other courtesans he'd seen in the place, and his opinion of them was no better than that of carrion birds. But, there was something about her that he couldn't quite place; an air of grace, of confidence, unfitting of her ilk. His imagination, perhaps?

The man spat in mild contempt upon the floor as the woman addressed him before gruffly replying, "What business have you with me, Wench? Make it plain; you've no wish for an earful of misfortune. And I've not enough marks to be worth your time, nor a tongue sweet enough to buy it with words. Surely you can find a fatter corpse upon which to feast and leave me to my peace?"

As he stared into her light brown eyes, awaiting her reply, it suddenly dawned upon him that in all the time he had stayed in the tavern, all of three sevendays, never once had he seen the woman who had approached him. Him. And no one else...

He felt his stomach churn sickeningly with wine and new-found suspicion. There was more to this woman than met the eye; but what were her intentions? He could guess...but most he could venture were less than pleasant. Still, it was better to let her play her game and see where it might lead. Curiosity had always been his weakness, afterall.

[Ember]

Nephele felt anger flare at the man's reaction, though she really should have expected it. He certainly didn't carry the air of a Southern man and his accent when he spoke confirmed it. Couldn't place exactly where he was from since she'd never been anywhere near Crom but still, Northern breed for sure. Her smile grew a slightly dangerous edge to it and she considered her reply. She was quite tempted to simply leave him be but between her own stubborness and her dragon's soothing advice she decided to stay.

"An earful of misfortune, is it? And too few marks for the likes of myself...you certainly seem down on your luck, sir," the greenrider commented, ignoring his plea to leave him alone. "I wonder what you'd do if I said I could offer food and something over your head when Thread falls? It's not free, of course, nothing in this world is. By the looks of it you could handle some simple manual labour though. You're a sailor too and that means you've got courage. Sea life isn't so easy." She dangled the bait in front of him with the curiosity of a child holding a magnifying glass above an ant. What would her prey do with that?

Out of necessity she was vague about what exactly she was offering...and what she needed from him. Coming in disguise would be meaningless if she blurted out she was searching for dragon candidates for all the drunken idiots to hear. Nephele crossed one leg over the other, placing the upper foot against the man's ankle. Come now, show her that Nuoth was so amazing she could sniff out a candidate even from such a distance and have them be bold enough to take a chance. "I don't have all night to wait, you know. This offer is, unfortunately, for a limited time only."

[crispypeanut]

At this, the man was taken aback, though he did not show it. Of all the things he could have expected her to proposition, a job was the least of them. A trap, perhaps? Preying upon his needs? If so, there were certainly more lucrative targets she might have chosen. Perhaps her... service... was in need of additional leg-breakers to ensure proper payment? This made slightly more sense, especially if she was from a rival organization than those that worked this tavern; if so, then secrecy would be a must.

He pondered her proposal. If it was indeed no more than a ruse, then he would be at a disadvantageous position, though under the circumstances, he might do worse. And truthfully, the prospect of work (even if it involved selling his body for marks) was better than his current path of slothful inactivity. One thing was for certain, however; he would never find out what her game was if he didn't sit down and play.

Still, he had to be cautious. She was playing her hand close to her chest and his was wide open in plain view. Whether or not her intentions were malicious or beneficial, once it was started, he wouldn't be able to bluff his way out again...and BOTH of them knew it.

"No life is easy," he started, his leg shriveling awkwardly away from her foot's gentle caress, "but the sea does not bother with deceptions. One can trust the sea to be honest in its cruelty. No such guarantee is offered in the affairs of men...or women," he added with a speculative glare. "I work for no-one," he stated bluntly as he locked eyes with his attractive companion, "until they make their name known to me. Mine," he continued, leaning his back against the wall and rubbing his thin chin hair contemplatively, "is Rigelyeh."

He watched her very closely as he waited for her reply, stroking his beard and idly tapping the hilt of his knife with his free hand... While he did not expect any trouble, if things did take an unfortunate turn, he would be ready. Or, at least, as ready as he could be.

[Ember]

Nephele could almost see the gears working in the man's mind. She hid a more genuine grin at his almost misfortune in meeting her behind her glass of wine as she took a sip. She tried to be patient but though she'd been brave in entering the Hold she'd felt the weight of her secret heavily. The longer she spent there the more she wanted to shiver at the risk she was taking. It was a wonder she'd managed to wait in the tavern so long before approaching someone, anyone.

The greenrider smiled at what the sailor finally said. Not all brawns over brains this one, she thought appreciatively. Digging for whatever he could. She supposed he'd earned her name at the very least. Or perhaps her Hold going name? No, she'd already told a Wastelander that one at the Hyphen Gather. Real name it was then. "Rigelyeh," she tested it out loud, smiling almost mischieveously. "My name is Nephele." She was deliberately careful about the volume of their entire exchange. She'd set it to be low enough that the drunkards of the place would more than cover it for those not near them.

Nephele noticed the hand he had near his blade and she flicked her eyes up to his. She had her own weapons concealed by nature of her disguise and the fact that regular women didn't carry them often, even in the south. Still, she wondered if she'd be able to take on Rigelyeh in a serious fight. She hadn't so much as held a fighting blade before Impressing but she had gone through rigorous training under Legatus and had improved immensely. "There is only so much we can say in here," Nephele finally acknowledged. "Perhaps a walk? Or I suppose we could go up to one of the rooms." The latter offer was given with a seductive smile as she leaned toward him slightly. Hopefully he'd be too ruffled with her options to try choosing neither.

[crispypeanut]

Rigelyeh fought a surge of heat rising from some hidden well deep within, knowing all too well that it was in her designs to keep him...off-balance. Perhaps even his cheeks blushed red for a moment before he sluiced his...erm *cough*... emotions... with buckets of realism: "She's a woman," he told himself internally, "it's what they do when they want something from you. Keep your head."

He shook off the tendrils of her infectious charm and considered his options. If it were a trap, she would no doubt have others outside to spring on him. He much preferred to stay here, where there were many other (neutral) people. She was much less likely to try anything...risky...with so many witnesses around...even ones in drunken stupors. Still, if she demanded privacy for disclosure of her offer, then she ultimately had the upper hand. And it seemed very much that she wanted to keep things discrete.

"If you want a quiet place to negotiate, I have a room upstairs that is...suitable." He indicated the staircase at the far side of the bar. "Should you not find our present local to your liking."

He was not thrilled with the idea of letting her into his sanctum, but at least he would have her on familiar ground. It wasn't much...but he would take what he could get. Perhaps he might even catch her off guard, should she foolishly believe her charms more effective than his lifetime of northern experience with the female species... (But then again...perhaps he was the naive one after-all...*wink*)

[Ember]

Nephele had forgotten how fun it was to be able to get such reactions out of a guy. The liberty of Selenitas weyr meant she hadn't been forced to put herself on display. Something of a lone wolf aside from a couple close friends she hadn't felt the need to seduce guys. She'd been content as simply herself, rider of a green. Though she barely caught the blush she knew when he answered her that she'd got her goal one way or another. A private place to talk honestly about what she was asking for from Rigelyeh.

She was slightly surprised that he did indeed choose to go upstairs rather than for a walk but she didn't show it. If anything her smile grew a little more devious. "A more private place is definitely appreciated. Thank you, Rigelyeh," Nephele said, all but purring his name for effect. She stood delicately and took another sip of her glass to finish off the wine. It wouldn't do to waste wine. She moved to the staircase with a fluid grace that people would be surprised to discover actually took conscious thought to produce. Clumsiness was very much a trait of the greenrider.

Nephele climbed the stairs slowly, silently cursing the annoying shoes she was wearing. Not at all functional. She'd abandon them in a heartbeat if she was in danger. Barefeet would be much easier to run in. "Which room is it?" She asked Rigelyeh a little belatedly. In short order she stood outside the room with the man, waiting for him to unlock the room. People simply did not leave unlocked rooms in a tavern if they were staying in them.

[crispypeanut]

Rigelyeh followed his consort to the stairs, lingering only a half step behind her. He smirked as she had trouble maintaining her grace on the stairs, though he hid it from her as best he could. Why anyone would wear such unpractical shoes was beyond his comprehension. Women...

At the top of the stairs, and upon her request, Rigelyeh directed her down a hallway to a sturdy oaken door. He retrieved a large, iron key from a hold in his clothes. As he turned it in the lock, he heard the tell-tale sound of the bolt withdrawing upon the other side. He opened the door only a crack, just enough for him to extend his hand through the gap.

Attached to the door knob, on the inside of the room, a long thread of twine extended to a series of furniture counterweights tasked with the important duty of holding a viciously pointed, rather hefty wooden stake on a make-shift pivot arm over the door's entrance. With practiced ease, Rigelyeh slipped the twine from the knob without tugging the line, which might have caused a horrendous accident to occur. He carefully removed it from the path of the door before opening it further and beckoning his company to enter. When they had both done so, he replaced the trigger onto the closed door, shoved the bolt home, and stated, so there would be no misunderstanding: "Only a precaution, I assure you. I am not fond of...interlopers."

The glow in the room was very dim, but that was what he preferred. The windows' shutters were closed and locked, though he did not deem it necessary to trap them as it would be far too difficult for an invader to reach the second floor from a straight drop. The only furniture in the room available for its normal application (the rest employment in more devious ends) was the small cot upon which to sleep. It was this that he gestured to his companion, though he made no move to sit upon it himself.

"Sit, and let us discuss what you would have me do." He stood, arms crossed; his eyes shrouded in shadow, for the glow was at his back. "Speak."

[Ember]

Nephele watched with interest as Rigelyeh disarmed his little trap before they could go in. She knew better than to say anything at that moment or to try and preceed him into the room. She waited until he indicated she could enter and did so with a hidden amused smile. She did, however, eye the trap as he set it up again. Thoroughly trapped though he assured her that it was only to keep others out. The greenrider wasn't so sure she appreciated her escape route cut off just to ensure no one entered while they were there.

She was slightly amused at the dim lighting. It was quite appropriate for what one dressed as she was would offer. Nephele let herself fall out of her consort disguise. The very atmosphere about her seemed to change from open and seductive to something considerably more proud and confident. No matter what she'd been in the past, she was currently a dragonrider. Nephele took the order to sit with a surprising amount of good grace considering who she was. When she sat she removed the impractical shoes she was wearing and discarded them rather uncaringly. Bah.

She removed a knife, hilt and all, from her clothing and laid it beside her on the cot while keeping eye contact with Rigelyeh. "Only a precaution, I assure you," she informed him with a small smile. She was well aware that she had just said the same thing as him and wondered if he'd catch it. "I did not lie about my name, but I am not what I make myself out to be." She spoke slowly, letting him digest the information. "I am a dragonrider and my dragon's name is Nuoth."

Here she grinned again. He hadn't been expecting a dragonrider, of all things, had he? "I am a former rider of Selenitas Weyr, though me and my fellows were driven from it when another group took it over. We have since found a new Weyr and have eggs hardening on our Sands. Even from where she is, my dragon sensed you have Impression potential. I would like you to come with me and become a dragon candidate." There it was, all the facts she could disclose to a potential candidate laid bare.

[crispypeanut]

While he had anticipated the blade hidden within her clothes (common enough for one of her portrayed profession), though he was speechless at the disclosure of her true purpose. If THIS[/i] was a trap, it was certainly the most elaborate and far-fetched one he had ever heard. The truth is, after all, always harder to believe than a lie. He listened carefully to her statement, slowly digesting its significance, and it was some time before he responded to her request.

He had never actually seen a dragon up-close; only at a distance. He had heard of them and their fabled riders. There had always been passing gossip or rumors in Crom about them, but only in passing. His homeland, while mountainous, was no place for dragons; inclement weather and the lack of food supplies or proper living space made visits from the creatures rare, if not unique. Aboard ship, he would catch glimpses every now and again at ports or occasionally at sea, flying far above on some mission or other. But they had never seemed real to him; no more than a distant dream beyond his means to reach. Until now, apparently...

"I am...interested in your proposition," Rigelyeh started after a long silence, "though it is not exactly what I anticipated. What would this...occupation...require of me? I've no skill with such...creatures... And what, might be to my benefit should it be my choice to join you?"

[Ember]

Nephele was oh so amused by Rigelyeh's silence. She knew silences like that and she dared him to try and deny the truth of what she'd said with (almost) a straight face. It was hard enough being told you were fit for a dragon but having someone ask you to go to some hidden weyr...it was all very sketchy. Such was her job though. The reactions she'd received before could be made into epic tales for children. She was momentarily lost in fantasy of herself as some epic hero 'saving' potential candidates from overbearing family. Oh wait, she'd done that one already. Hmm.

Oh! Finally, some life in her companion. She bristled slightly at the comment about 'creatures' since dragons were so, so much more to their human partner than some lowly beast. Nephele likened Nuoth to her other, significantly better half. "I'm sure you anticipated something with considerably less clothing involved," she purred wryly. No one said she couldn't tease potential candidates. "Candidates are the lowest ranked in a weyr, much like a drudge, until a Hatching starts. Then they become the most important person in the weyr. You'd be required to attend lessons and to do manual labour as chores."

What was left? Oh right, his benefits. "My weyr is not able to offer marks for your services but we will provide food, shelter from Thread...and the opportunity to Impress. I won't bother to try and explain the importance of a dragon to a rider since you wouldn't understand. It isn't a bond one can really do justice to in words." Nephele shook her head ruefully. Other half was close and yet not. Nuoth encompassed so much more than those two little words in her heart. "If you want I can introduce you to my dragon. My honour as her rider that I won't have her kidnap you." She tilted her head and got the telltale unfocused look that signified she was communicating with her dragon. She giggled and added, "She said she wouldn't even if I asked."

[crispypeanut]

It is needless to say (though, it is being said regardless ^.^) that Nephele's final statement unnerved Rigelyeh a bit; the aspect of being seized by a dragon struck him as anything but a pleasant experience. However, he was reasonably certain that she had mentioned the prospect only in jest...reasonably...

Their liaison had come to its apex and the direction it would now travel was his to choose. Before him were two simple choices: accept or decline, though they were anything but simple. To accept was to entomb himself in responsibilities he had never yet encountered, with a group of people he had never known. And there was still the chance, slim though it may be, that this was a trap, perhaps to bring him someplace isolated, where there was no chance of aid, to kill him...or enslave him. The latter of these the more likely, for he had heard of intricate ruses to such effect...and his poverty left him with little worth killing over.

Still...to decline was even more dangerous. This...secret Weyr... would not remain secret for long if its occupants did not have the means of silencing those who came to know of it. If he were to decline, he would become a security risk to their little operation...and as such, a target. He didn't know much about dragons or their riders, but he was certain that to draw hostilities from either would be detrimental to his life expectancy.

From what he had observed of his companion, Nephele seemed at least a competent opponent. He did not deem it possible that, in such times of conflict, any dragonrider (even a woman dragonrider) would be untrained in some form of combat. And while he expected to emerge victorious from a skirmish with this woman (should one unfortunately occur), he would almost certainly be detrimentally wounded. And, of course, her Weyr would not simply stand by and accept her injury or death as a hazard of the profession... He anticipated repercussions to be...unpleasant at best.

In any case, it would be disadvantageous to him to flat out decline her offer. Even if she or her friends didn't try to kill him to keep him quiet, in another sevenday or so, he would be out in the street, probably in a ditch, stealing to stay alive. At least as a slave, a workman, a soldier, or a candidate, he would have a place to recoup himself and prepare for what lied ahead, with some form of shelter and food to sustain him. It certainly beat the heck out of the ditch...

"I will accompany you," he replied, his tone subdued. "I warn you; I have no love of causes save my own and my loyalty is bought not with marks nor a full belly. That price is freedom, to do with as I please. In return for my services, whatever those may be, I demand only that which you have already stated would be mine. And should I discern a bitter sting in our accord? I swear upon my very lifeblood that you shall share in my distaste." This last was delivered with a dangerous hint of venom; to make clear that he was not in the market of delivering empty threats.

With that (and to show he held no animosity toward her...yet), Rigelyeh held out an empty, open hand to the woman seated on his bed. "Is this pact suitable, Dragonrider?"

[Ember]

Nephele let Rigelyeh have his time to consider things. If she did manage to get someone to meet her dragon that usually signified they'd come with her...assuming they didn't chicken out at the last moment having met one of the beasties they were attempting to Impress to for life. They weren't like Pern's average creature which would die before a person did, nor were they something you could simply abandon without feeling the effects themselves. While she waited she noticed downstairs was beginning to get a little noisy...or noisier.

She couldn't give it too much thought because the boy interrupted her thoughts and her gaze snapped fully into focus. Oho? She could appreciate the fact that she wouldn't be earning his loyalty for her little weyr. She hadn't been particularly loyal to Selenitas when she had first arrived. Had Fort taken over shortly after she arrived she probably would have switched sides without a second thought. Now, though, Selenitas was her true home, which was why she was part of Burimyu and fighting to reclaim it. Or waiting for the opportunity to do so.

There was an amused smile at Rigelyeh's threat but she stood and extended her hand to his all the same. "It certainly is, Candidate." She didn't even need to show him her dragon. Nephele was still concerned by the noise though. With a faint frown she commented, "It might be time for us to leave, if you're all set? It sounds like the folks downstairs are getting a bit rowdy."

[crispypeanut]

Rigelyeh had noticed the increase in volume of the rowdy crowd downstairs, but thought little of it; such had been the status quo since he had taken up temporary residence in the tavern. He shrugged in reply to his recruiter's statement. Moving at once to his over-complicated array of rigged gadgetry, he began the laborious and delicate process of dismantling the trap; his deft, confident movements revealing his innate skill with such devices. "It is not uncommon," he murmured over his shoulder as he disconnected the trigger-mechanism and removed the spike from the lever-arm, "for men too full of wine and too lacking of wit to resort to petty, short-lived bouts to resolve their meaningless disputes. Such," he nodded towards the door, "is a price of these accommodations."

After a surprisingly short time, the disassembled trap lay arrayed on the otherwise empty floor; bits and bobs of mismatched furniture and room garnish displayed in an unusual, but well organized formation. Rigelyeh gathered together what few possessions he had, stashing them carefully in a canvas bag which he then tossed casually over his shoulder.

"I have one last bit of business to attend before we leave," he addressed his companion as he opened the door. "It will not take long."

As he descended the stair into the roiling mass below, Rigelyeh noticed the tell-tale aftermath of at least one disturbance: several articles of broken bar-furniture and three or four unconscious bodies on the floor. As he approached the tavern-matron, whom lorded over her keep from behind the bar, he found that he recognized the men on the ground as previous associates on the crew of the Yehani Thalay, the trading ship upon which he had sailed.

"Mother" Hydera herself was a most repugnant and openly repulsive woman: morbidly obese, her sagging, ancient flesh (in the pale light of the glows) seemed to take on a greyish-green hue. Her eyes were unnaturally bulbous and milky and when she spoke, her voice crackled and croaked as though she had swallowed a frog. Rigelyeh fought the urge to shudder as he handed the payment for his room over to the ghastly proprietor. "For the room," he managed as her ancient, inexplicably slimy hand clutched the bag of marks and she croaked in greedy pleasure.

His business concluded, Rigelyeh turned from the bar (with a twitch of repulsion) with the intent to leave, only to find his way blocked by a small band of seven laughing, gloating drunkards; obviously pleased with their handiwork from the earlier (unseen) fight that had taken place.

"Haw HAW," a large, bald ugly one guffawed as he swilled wine from a tankard, not caring that half of it had escaped his mouth and gurgled down his already wine-drenched tunic, "Lookit 'em now! Sailors...HA!"

"Pah! Northern scum...cuttin' in on our trade!" Chimed in another, "Serves 'em right!"

"Ya," burped a third, "good for nothin' Sbloch. Only good thing bout em is their ships are pretty...when ya BURN em inta the SEA! HAR HAR HAWR!"

At this, the seven men laughed heartily and delivered a few uncoordinated, but nevertheless painful, kicks to the groaning forms on the ground at their feet.

Being the clever lad that he was, Rigelyeh put one and one...and one...and one and one and one and one together and wordlessly picked up a nearby stool. He hefted the sitting apparatus handily, grasping it firmly with both hands, and proceeded to utilize it as an improvised lateral cranial impact enhancer...directly to the back of the head of the largest and (in his opinion) most deserving (as well as threatening) of the men whom had set fire to his beloved ship a mere three sevendays previous.