Post by Talen Mythik Aureon Gale on Jul 3, 2014 4:24:48 GMT -6
The Salorium formed in his vision as he approached it on foot; how ironic to enter a stable without a horse, but a suitable one had yet to be acquired. A Black Cloak would need a steed of matching color and a temperament to be proud of and if time was a requirement to find such a beast then so be it. Even if approaching the small stable with Drywyn pounding on his hip with every step and his shoulders soaked in sweat from the midnight attire in the scalding suns was mildly irritating.
The building was small, still undergoing construction devoted to crafting its grandeur, but its reputation preceded its physical appearance. It was whispered as a business with great potential, some already revering it as if it had achieved the fame it sought. Talen was a bit more skeptical than that, but knew regardless it could be a useful ally of the Order. If the Stable itself was not, the owner of it was. Sabine Ishtar. The editor. She was fresh to the position and hadn't yet sunk her boots into the muck of politics but even those with innocent intentions could bring down the reign of secrecy in such a public rank. Every opponent was dangerous, and none more than her, especially when he didn't know what lurked behind her name. Was she ruthless? Weak? The unknown was haunting.
Even if the stable was of no use by itself, it housed his target and would prove to be a bargaining chip in the conversation that would soon commence. He had little to offer an editor besides the shadow of his nature but a barn... they might find the Miscellanine more than intriguing when they were so young in their age still. Tender. Easily bankrupted. Easily burnt down...
Since it wasn't exactly a residence, he felt comfortable walking straight through the door into the small room. A single square with a handful of stalls, it was far from the scheme he knew was likely brewing in the owners' minds. He could already picture the snorting horses and golden bedding lining hundreds of stalls until the eye lost reach of the end. By then they would be arrogant, though, drunk on their own power, and might be blind to what the darkness could offer them. Better to negotiate with the budding flower when desperation might flavor motivations.
"I seek Lady Sabine, should she grant me her presence."
He called out, assuming someone would hear him and fetch the woman. Or turn him away, which they would quickly find a difficult task. Or he was speaking to no one. That quirked his lips into a wry smile; it would be very unfortunate to have trekked into the blasphemous Faewin for silence.
Sabine Aris Oana Ishtar Brynora
The building was small, still undergoing construction devoted to crafting its grandeur, but its reputation preceded its physical appearance. It was whispered as a business with great potential, some already revering it as if it had achieved the fame it sought. Talen was a bit more skeptical than that, but knew regardless it could be a useful ally of the Order. If the Stable itself was not, the owner of it was. Sabine Ishtar. The editor. She was fresh to the position and hadn't yet sunk her boots into the muck of politics but even those with innocent intentions could bring down the reign of secrecy in such a public rank. Every opponent was dangerous, and none more than her, especially when he didn't know what lurked behind her name. Was she ruthless? Weak? The unknown was haunting.
Even if the stable was of no use by itself, it housed his target and would prove to be a bargaining chip in the conversation that would soon commence. He had little to offer an editor besides the shadow of his nature but a barn... they might find the Miscellanine more than intriguing when they were so young in their age still. Tender. Easily bankrupted. Easily burnt down...
Since it wasn't exactly a residence, he felt comfortable walking straight through the door into the small room. A single square with a handful of stalls, it was far from the scheme he knew was likely brewing in the owners' minds. He could already picture the snorting horses and golden bedding lining hundreds of stalls until the eye lost reach of the end. By then they would be arrogant, though, drunk on their own power, and might be blind to what the darkness could offer them. Better to negotiate with the budding flower when desperation might flavor motivations.
"I seek Lady Sabine, should she grant me her presence."
He called out, assuming someone would hear him and fetch the woman. Or turn him away, which they would quickly find a difficult task. Or he was speaking to no one. That quirked his lips into a wry smile; it would be very unfortunate to have trekked into the blasphemous Faewin for silence.
Sabine Aris Oana Ishtar Brynora
