Several days after Galand's meeting with the Priesthood candidate at the Temple, an envelope holding a silver coin finds itself in Galand's quarters at the Inn he resides at. The message simply said, "Tonight you earn your keep. Meet me outside of Three Thieves tonight; I've not gambled for six thousand years… "

Nighttime has fallen and the Khatta finds himself in his usual spot. The sound of bawdy Vartans drinking their fill and the smells of what they're drinking waft out from the tavern. Traffic on the street is quiet, as people start to take refuge in their homes from the more dangerous night dwellers of Rephidim.

One of those night dwellers, though only dangerous to those who attempt to bring danger to him, stands nonchalantly outside the tavern, occasionally seen as a half-sure image as the door opens at one time or another to admit one of the Inn's patrons. A glimpse of a blue cape, the shadow of spots on the back of a paw, the flash of a whisker pinned to a near-eternal quiet smile, as if he knows something the viewer doesn't…

… However, what he doesn't know at the moment is where his contact and hire is at the moment, and it is the nature of his employer that makes him glance furtively up and down the row, whiskers twitching slightly as he unconsciously plays the ancient feline game of I-see-you-before-you-see-me. Licking his lips a little, Ashur Galand – gambler, deal-maker, and sometime footpad – clasps his paws behind his back and starts pacing to while the time, muttering, "Well, I hope he shows soon… "

There's a sharp YELP from the back of the Tavern as Jakka evicts a drunken Zerda from the establishment. The Vartan proprietor always did have a way with customers.

The long-tailed cat smiles, and murmurs, "Jakka got another one. Wonder if it's the bard." He chuckles softly, and listens for that unmistakable voice… as well as the one he's awaiting.

From the foggy streets, a pair of strangers walk up. One looks to be one of those strange creatures known as K'hu'an: odd folks from Himar that dress like mummies. The K'hu'an's companion is a coolect-eaten looking Savanite with half a tail and a strange smile on his face.

The K'hu'an pauses and looks around until its goggled eyes fall upon the Khatta. It gestures to its companion and the pair move towards him.

The Savanite's hands flash in several quick gestures, which causes his much shorter companion to shake his head.

Galand eyes the pair, his eyes narrowing and his grin widening a bit as his right paw edges under the edge of his cloak, feeling for the solid wooden grip encased in the leather holster there. Saying nothing, he stays in the shadows, and waits…

The K'hu'an marches right up to Galand and stops about four feet away, then it does something very unlike what Galand has heard about the creatures. It raises a gloved hand to its goggles and pulls them up, revealing a familiar pair of blue eyes and a shock of red hair peeking out. The Savanite keeps his own eyes glued on Galand's hands… the Khatta's keen eyes notice that his claws are out and his muscles are tensed.

"You're prompt. Please pardon my own lateness," the 'K'hu'an' says in a very familiar voice.

The spotted Khatta relaxes his stance, pulling his hands away from anything remotely threatening with a flip of his cape. He smiles, and replies, "It's quite all right. I've occupied myself by counting how many Zerdas Jakka bounces." He eyes the Savanite, then says to the red-haired 'K'hu'an', "Your friend there seems a bit anxious."

The Savanite's ears flatten and he smoothes down the poofed out fur of his tail.

Galand nods to the Savanite and says reassuringly, "Well met, cousin. I don't intend any fur to fly tonight."

"He's my… 'chaperone'… for lack of a better term. It was either him or a Temple Guard." Rhys shakes his head. "This is Dar… better known as Too-Slow."

Galand nods, and sketches a half-bow to the Savanite. "Again, well-met, Dar." He smiles to Rhys. "And what should I call you this fair evening?"

The Savanite dips his head and glances around, sniffing the air, he makes a few signs to Rhys who 'silences' him with one quick reply sign. "Think of something. My real name isn't too well known outside of the Temple, and probably isn't too uncommon as of yet, so if you decide to continue using my real one that would be fine as well."

Dar's tail (or what remains of it) lashes back and forth.

The Khatta nods. "Very well… " His eyes latch on the lashing tail. "Dar certainly seems to be on about something… anything I should know?"

Rhys shakes his head and snaps his goggles back down. "No. He's just jumpy. If anything happens to me, they probably won't be very nice to him back at the Temple." He shrugs. "So, where would you like to go tonight? Your expenses will be paid, of course… I'm up to anything except… um… 'wenching' as you called it."

Galand hmms softly. "Might as well start here. Jakka's almost certainly seen me by now, and if I loiter without buying something he gets… edgy. It's not good when Jakka gets edgy. Let's head in, shall we?" And with that, he opens the door.

The disguised human bows and follows in, his Savanite companion trailing behind.

A few beaked and furred heads rise up as the trio enters, but they don't take too much notice, luckily. Jakka eyes Galand and goes back to polishing the bar.

Galand leads his companions over to an empty table, and sits down in his seat. "So… what would you two like to indulge in first?"

A fluffy Vartan chick deposits a wooden mug of ale next to Galand and walks off to service some of the other customers. The Khatta is regular enough for the staff to know his likes. Meanwhile, Rhys peruses the menu written on the signpost above the bar. "Bah… I can't even pronounce half the drinks here. I should probably eat first, and then order something suitably watery." He glances back at Galand, a smile reflecting from behind the smoky lenses of his goggles, "and if you suggest I have a glass of milk you're fired."

Dar makes a few signs, but they're gibberish to Galand.

Galand hmms softly. "The Rughrat steak's pretty good. My personal favorite's the fried Shikk'ahn, very tasty. As far as after-dinner drinks go, about the weakest they've got is the Killahnsrhed Bheer."

"I'll trust you to order. I have to be wary of speaking too loud." Rhys starts digging in his pocket. "I may be able to keep my hair from being a shaggy mop like Tahir's, but we still share the same voice." Now that you mention it, if you closed your eyes… Rhys would sound a lot like the Astromancer.

"Dar is on duty… Just keep him sober," the human adds, prompting an incredulous look from the Savanite.

The Vartan chick wanders by with a tray holding two trussed-up yiffles and deposits them on a Python Naga's table. The squealing noises they make is almost too much to bear.

Galand signals the Vartan chick, and upon gaining his attention, says, "Three orders of fried Shikk'ahn, a Killahnsred Bheer, and… " He looks over at Dar and Rhys, asking Dar, "What'd you want to drink?"

Dar's hands wiggle again. "Water," Rhys grunts in translation. Although Dar doesn't seem too pleased.

The chick dutifully scribbles down the order and then tugs on Galand's sleeve.

Galand chuckles. "Ah, yes. How'd I forget?" He fishes the price of the meals and a good tip out of his pocket and hands it to the chick, explaining to Rhys and Dar, "Pay as you go here. The heads on the wall are those who tried the latter without the former."

The Vartan chick peers at the coins and pockets the coins, shaking his head. He tugs on Galand's sleeve again and then points to a booth on the other side of the Inn.

The Khatta cocks his head and asks, "Someone want a word with me?" He peers over at the booth indicated…

There seems to be a game of dice going on at the table. Two Skreeks, a Rath'ani and a Kavi roll a set of triangular-shaped chitin dice at the table.

"Thought you might be interested," the chick scrawks and then wanders off into the kitchen.

Galand grins. "Thanks again, friend." He looks at Rhys, and says, "Appears to be a dice game going on over in the corner. Perhaps after the food?"

In fact, the Khatta's eyes have already acquired a certain acquisitive gleam, his whiskers twitching ever so slightly.

"Maybe. Although I'm unfamiliar with the game they're playing. Perhaps I could just sit back and watch a few hands before I join in… or at least take pleasure in watching you trounce them." Rhys scoots back in his seat and unwraps some of the bandages on his face. Eating will probably be much easier this way.

An instant later, and there are three mugs on the table, as well as a bowl of bread and butter to get one in the mood for more substantial foods.

The Khatta takes a long draw off his mug, licking the foam off his whiskers and leans forward to get a piece of bread, buttering it. "Ah, my friend… you don't know what you miss, I imagine. This… this is the life, as far as I'm concerned. They say the City never sleeps, well… " He looks around, and says, a bit more soberly, "Some think I'm a bit off my ears for this, but… sometimes, when the flow of ale or money or business is just right, it's almost as if I can feel Rephidim breathing around me, hear her heart beating loud and strong, hear her voice calling my name into one more deal, one more gamble… " He falls silent for a long moment, then takes another pull of his mug and says, "In any case, it makes me feel a dozen times more alive than I ever did in my father's house. The only fun I ever had there was pranking the butler and sneaking peeks through the window of the maids' quarters."

"Are you sure you're a cat? You sound more like a wolf," Rhys remarks, scooting back into the shadows to hide his face and taking a sip from his own mug. "Either way, your life sounds glorious. I either get patronized because everyone thinks I'm a child and not a man trapped inside of one, or I'm treated like some fancy bauble that should be kept inside a glass case for all of eternity. I envy you, Mister Ashur. I envy you a great deal."

Dar swallows the contents of his mug in one gulp and then rises up and takes a seat at a different table. One with a better vantage point of the whole tavern.

"Hah! Procession and two fools! Lady luck smiles upon me tonight!" the Rath'ani bellows from the booth.

A twitch of an ear, and a soft chuckle… "Don't be too envious. There's times I've only just barely gotten out with my ears unshredded. But even with all the risks, I know that if I made that Final Deal tomorrow, I'd die relatively happy. No matter what my father would try to tell you, I'm doing something that, to me at least, is fulfilling. Maybe in a few years I'll settle down, see about raising some kits, but for now… I intend to enjoy life while I can. I figure everyone should have the freedom to make the most of their lives, however they wish to." He looks at Dar and says honestly, "Including your kind, my twitchy friend."

The Savanite blinks and makes a few finger wiggles at Galand. His expression is somewhat confused. Rhys just chuckles softly.

Galand cocks an eyebrow. "What did he say?"

"Don't understand hand-sign? He said that talk like that might cost you your tail, or at least brand you as a loony," the human responds. "Don't mind Too-Slow, he thinks everyone will eventually lose their tail after his little incident with one of the doors in Tarsus."

Galand smirks and winks at Dar. "Half my family thinks I'm crazy already. As for my tail… " He swings the nigh-impossibly-long appendage into view. "I don't think I'll run out anytime soon."

"In fact," the Khatta adds, "the bloody thing's a pain sometimes."

"I wouldn't know," Rhys comments as a tray is plopped down on the table by the server. The aroma is wonderful… Jakka has always been a good cook after all! "Is that your goal in life then? To party until you burn out and then find a mate?"

Galand takes a bite out of his Shikk'ahn and chews thoughtfully. "No… no, my goal in life is, well… hard to describe. It's not entirely based on self-gratification. You see, all the gambling, the wheeling and dealing… It's all a game. The money's simply the best way of keeping score, and it never ends. I intend to win the game, when I finally kick off."

"Now that is a unique way of dealing with life," Rhys comments, twirling a bone around in his fingers. "By the way, this is remarkable. I can tell by the taste that it is quite unhealthy for me, as most fine foods are."

"Most fine things in life aren't totally healthy, even if you live in a tower and have all you need. As for my needs," Galand muses, sipping his ale, "I sometimes make as much in a week as my father does in a month, just by roaming the Bazaar, making the occasional trades, the deals, buying, selling, and occasionally gambling… " He chuckles softly, setting the mug down, "… and typically leaving a wide swath of anguished businessmen in my wake. But they keep coming back for more, so I must be doing something right."

Two Skreeks wander from the table and out the door, wearing that typical "I've just lost my pants" look that someone with a bad fist of dice tends to have.

"There appears to be an opening," Rhys remarks, pushing several copper pieces onto the table. "I can see most of the goings-on from here… if you care to win me a hand or two."

Galand palms the coins and grins, standing with a flip of his cape. "Hey… it's me." He heads over to the table in question, and smiles amiably. "Evening, neighbors… got room for another player?"

It turns out that there are three remaining players at the table: the Rath'ani, a Kavi, and a vixen seated in the corner of the booth in the shadows. "We always have room… if you have the coins, kitty," the vixen purrs softly.

Rhys scoots in his seat to watch, quietly finishing the rest of the feast. He is technically a growing boy, after all.

Galand smiles a charming smile and fishes a handful of coins out, idly tossing them in his palm. "Would you say this is enough for me to buy in, my dear lady?"

The Rath'ani's and Kavi's eyes go wide, while the fox doesn't even flinch. "I suppose it will do. Take a seat, then." She moves aside, allowing an opening on the bench next to her, while her two companions set out the dice cup, a few glass beads, and a copper apiece onto the table.

Galand takes a seat next to the vixen, placing a copper on the table and flashing the fox another one of his winning smiles. "So… what are the house rules?"

"We're playin' Scry-die. The better fortune you roll, the more ya win," the Kavi chatters, snatching up the cup and shaking it. "You roll Death, you lose automatically. You roll Paradise and ya wins."

"Sounds easy enough," replies the Khatta. "Let's see how those bones roll."

Rattle-rattle-rattle The dice roll… one reads 'Wealth', another 'Disease', and the third says 'Mystery'. The Kavi seems somewhat displeased with his roll.

Galand watches the roll, his eyes tracking the dice wherever they go.

The cup passes onto the raccoon. Health, Romance, and Void. The cup then falls into Galand's nimble hands.

A pair of gray, spotted paws take hold of the cup, give it a good shake, then let the dice roll where they may on the table, Galand's face a study in inscrutability.

The dice twirl and reveal… Joy… Hope… and the Shadow. Judging from the expressions of the raccoon and the Kavi, it would appear Galand is in the lead.

"My turn." The vixen reaches for the cup and licks her lips.

Galand smiles and watches the vixen roll, slowly looking her up and down.

The dice roll across the table, revealing 'The Dagger', 'The Shadow', and 'Death'. Not a very good roll, yet the fox seems somehow pleased with herself nonetheless. She smiles at Galand. "I guess someone's three coppers richer."

The cat smiles back at the fox. "I guess so. Another round?"

The Rath'ani and the Kavi bow out, leaving only the vixen and Galand. "Of course. How about double or nothing? I'll wager six coppers." Big stakes for such a simple game…

Galand chuckles softly and sets his gaze on 'Stun,' looking deep into the vixen's eyes. "How about single and dinner?"

"But you're already a double, kitty." The Vixen nods behind her towards the booth Rhys currently occupies. "My money doesn't scare you now, does it?"

A soft chuckle, then: "Oh, no, it doesn't at all. Very well, then… six it is." The Khatta gestures expansively at the table. "Ladies first." However, his eyes latch onto the dice, not leaving them for an instant.

The Vixen takes up the cup and rolls. "You know that this isn't so much a game as a way of telling one's fortune from what I've been told. The dice predict something in your future… something recent, something that will happen later, and something in the distant future if your luck allows." The dice tumble out of the cup: Deception, Fear, and Denial

Galand arches an eyebrow and looks up at the Vixen. "My dear lady, it appears you've got rough times on all sides."

The cup is passed to Galand. "Who says it's my future, kitty?" She bats her eyes, grinning.

The cup is taken as Galand grins. "Who knows? I like to think I make my own luck. What goes around comes around, after all." With that, he rolls the dice, waiting to see his fate, as it were.

Rattle rattle rattle… Paradise… the Pit… and the Dagger.

"Interesting… a winning hand with a trap and a weapon. Not my version of paradise." She smiles to Galand and places her coins on the table. "You win again. Perhaps the fortunes aren't with me tonight."

Galand takes the coins and hmms softly. "Perhaps, perhaps not. Perhaps we'll meet again, Miss… ?"

The vixen grins. "Shadowspite. My name is Shadowspite. And do tell your master that I send my greetings. Speaking of which, he looks a bit bored. You should probably tend to him."

Galand smiles, standing. "Very well, Shadowspite… you may call me Ash, or Mister Galand, and I shall take my leave, though it breaks my heart."

The Khatta bows to the vixen Shadowspite, then turns away, pausing to look over his shoulder at her, and murmurs, "And he's my employer… not my master. There is a distinct difference. Good eve, milady."

"Of course. Still… do send my greetings. Until we meet again, Mister Galand." She winks and gathers up the dice on the table.

Rhys sits quietly at his spot on the bench, still sipping from his mug and looking distracted.

The Khatta nods, then strides back to the table with a swirl of his cape. Sitting down next to Rhys, he reaches under the table to unsnap the holster beneath his cloak. He murmurs to Rhys so that his voice doesn't carry, "That young lady over there is either very disturbed, or dangerous. She seems to know you… says her name is 'Shadowspite,' and that she sends her greetings. Anything you'd like to tell me?"

The human spews out a mouthful of ale and whirls to glare at Galand, "I don't find that to be the least bit funny… not in the least… "

Galand looks Rhys steadily in the eyes. "In the relatively short time you've known me, you've come to know that I'm a gambler, an entrepreneur, a risk-taker, a womanizer, and on occasion a smuggler or thief, but one thing I am not, dear sir, is a liar. Now, judging from your reaction, I would surmise it is time we get you back to your home post-haste."

"Yes… oh Dagh… yes we do… " The human struggles to throw on his disguise with trembling hands. "We need to leave now."

Dar's ears perk at the odd reaction, his fur bristles and his claws pop out.

Galand stands, his ears pricked and listening for anything out of the ordinary, letting his hands fall underneath his rich blue cloak as he waits for his charge to get his act together. He scans the room, looking for any sign of Shadowspite.

Galand murmurs softly, "Paradise… the Pit… the Dagger… "

The table once occupied by the vixen is now empty. In fact there's no sign that there was ever anyone there to begin with.

"I'm ready," Rhys hisses, one hand clinging to Galand's cloak. The other occupants of the bar pay little attention, figuring it's just a Khatta and a drunk K'hu'an.

Galand nods. "Let's go." He indicates Dar should take up the rear, and leads them out of the tavern, hands still hidden in his cloak.

The trio are unmolested as they exit. Outside the streets are empty save for a few drunk Jupani howling under a burned out street-lamp.

"Shadowspite… it couldn't be… it can't!" Rhys shakes his bandaged head.

The Khatta hisses softly, harsh feline sibilants accenting his voice, "Pipe down! Say one more word and she might not get the chance to do whatever. Now… come on. Stay close. Dar, you keep an ear and an eye out behind us." He waits a few moments to let his eyes get adjusted, then leads them forward at a deceptively drunken-seeming pace.

The human quiets himself while the Savanite sticks up close to Galand. Slowly, the three of them make their way back to the Temple.

About an hour later, a frantic human, a jumpy Savanite, and a Khatta fingering his crossbow arrive at a service entrance to the Temple. The night help hustles them in and Galand eventually ends up in Rhys' private chambers while the human changes out of his sweat-stained clothes and into the more familiar uniform of the Temple. He sits in a plush chair across from Galand; a familiar bottle of black liquor and two crystal shot glasses rest in between the two.

"Shadowspite… " Rhys murmurs, rubbing a hand through his damp hair. "It couldn't have been. We'd be dead by now if it was."

The Khatta hmms softly, while idly inspecting his crossbow. "Let me describe her. Lovely vixen, soft, purring voice, sort of an obsession with the mystical and fortune-telling?"

"I know nothing about her habits… I was not even aware Shadowspite was female." The human pours himself a glass of the black liquid, and impressively holds it down as he swigs it in one gulp.

Galand finishes inspecting his crossbow-pistol, flicks the safety peg on and leaves it cocked, shoving it into the holster at his hip, its crosspars folding flat against the stock. His fingers dip slightly into his sleeves and bring out a pair of daggers as he asks, "Perhaps you might want to tell me what you do know about her? It might be useful." He hefts the daggers in his paws, one at a time, testing their balance and weight.

Rhys slams the glass down and starts pacing back and forth across the room. "I know she kills people. Specifically, she killed the last Captain-Astromancer. You know… the most heavily protected person in the Temple? My brother?" The human shakes his head. "This is the last straw. The Assassin's Guild has gone too far."

The cat flips first one dagger, then the other, in each paw, and slips them home into their sheaths. He hmms softly. "The Guild usually doesn't just go after people, unless it's a matter of honor or blood. There's typically a contract involved. I've got a few contacts: I might see if I can't nose around, find out what the current 'hit list' is."

Galand mrrowls, "After all, information, like any other good or service, is almost always up for sale, and is part of the Game."

The human walks over to a dresser and flips the mirror backwards. He removes a small wooden panel from the back and pulls out a locket that looks to be made out of gold. Set in the pendant is the biggest emerald Galand has ever seen. "If you want to find out what's behind this, there's one person that can help you. He's the friend I told you of."

Galand's eyes widen at the sight of the jewel, momentarily flickering green themselves as they catch the light and refract it. Licking his whiskers, he takes a deep breath and says, "I see… and how do I contact this friend of yours?"

Rhys holds the necklace out to Galand. "I won't be able to leave the Temple now, but I'll send word to you. This is the mark of a friend of Faraon; it will allow you to see him without fearing death… unless you insult him."

Galand takes the necklace and puts it around his neck, making sure to tuck it under his shirt and cloak, out of sight. He smiles amiably, and purrs, "I'll be sure to put my tongue on its best behavior. What should I know about this Faraon?"

"Only that he's the most powerful being on Sinai… and he could swallow you in one gulp. Shadowspite tried to bring him down once and failed; he has a vendetta already." He flips the mirror back and returns to his seat. "Did yourmother ever tell you stories about dragons, Mister Galand? The great beasts that devoured maidens and leveled cities with their breath? That is what my friend is… that is what our friend is. The only difference between this dragon and the ones in your stories is that this one can destroy you without even raising a finger, which is what makes him all the more powerful."

The cat raises an eyebrow. "Rhys, to be totally truthful, I'm still not sure I entirely believe what you told me last time we met… but as I've never lied to you, you haven't done so to me, so I'll take you at your word… But seriously… a dragon?"

"I've seen him with my own eyes, Ashur." Rhys clutches his fists to his chest. "A more powerful creature you'll never see in your life. He has a pleasant manner and a happy tone, but pulls most of the strings in Rephidim. He lives on the Underside, and if you're willing I can arrange for you to meet him tomorrow night."

The felinoid stands there for a long while, the only reflection of his thoughts being shown in his ears, whiskers, and tail as they twitch, quiver, and occasionally lash. Finally he says, "Once more, I'll take you at your word. This at least will be easier to prove than what I learned a few days ago. Very well, set it up, then send my instructions to the Beggared Poodle this time… I think it's time I change residences."

There's a knock at the metal door outside. It's rather faint, but causes Rhys to almost leap out of his seat in alarm.

Galand slowly stands, his hands vanishing beneath his cloak again, his features falling into his 'sab'hak face,' unreadable and a little detached.

Galand steps forward, towards the door, motioning Rhys to get behind the desk and be ready to get down. Reaching out with his left hand, he opens the door.

The door quietly creaks open as Galand cycles it open. Standing outside is… what could passably be a twin of Rhys, except his hair is long and kept in a neatly braided ponytail across his back; his robes are deep gold and white. "Rhys… I… WHO?" The human jumps back at the sight of the Khatta.

Galand stands back, relaxing, his hands coming out from under his cloak as he bows gracefully, reverting to his most charming state. "I beg your pardon, Honored Sir."

Rhys slaps his hand against his face and crawls out from behind the desk, trying to look as dignified as he can manage. "Ashur Galand, please meet Tahir Archelaus, Captain-Astromancer of Rephidim." His tone is amazingly casual.

Tahir blinks, looking back and forth between Rhys and Galand. "Dar told me there was a problem. He neglected to go into specifics. Is everything alright?"

Galand smiles and nods. "An honor, my Lord."

The gold robed human returns the nod. "Thank you." He looks back at Rhys – who doesn't look too inclined to talk at the moment.

Smoothing his own robes down, Rhys returns to his seat. "Nothing my guard couldn't handle." He gestures in Galand's direction.

Galand smiles and bows once more.

Tahir sighs, looking tired, and takes a step into the room. "Rhys… you really shouldn't be sneaking out like this. What if something were to happen to you? I've a right mind to inform the guards about you."

Rhys scowls and pulls himself up from his seat.

Galand watches the two, hands folded behind his back, an eyebrow arching ever so slightly.

"If you decided to tattle, brother, then I might be forced to mention about how somebody's little pet spotty is really a princess. I wonder how Rephidim would react to know that the Astromancer strings are pulled by the City of Hands. Not to mention I'm sure they'd have lots of questions about why a certain someone lets his princess spotty gallivant around the Temple as though she owned it." Near the end of his hissing speech his face is inches from Tahir's.

The Astromancer bites his lip. "You know that Leeta's not like that at… " He glances at Galand. "I think there are more appropriate places to be airing our dirt, Rhys. Besides, the stench of alcohol on your breath is obvious… You're not in your right mind right now."

The Khatta, still not saying a single word, continues to listen, his ears flicking back slightly from Rhys' vehemence, his face tightening a bit at the derogatory use of the word 'spotty.' Twice.

Galand says in a slow, quiet drawl, "What's said here, stays here. If someone hears it, it shall not be from me, as long as I'm in Mister Rhys' employ."

The Astromancer steps back, frowning. "If that's so, then I suggest you sober him up. Good night, gentlemen." He places a hand that bears an odd spidery white scar to his chest and exits, cycling the door shut behind him.

"Bah!" Rhys spits, flinging his glass against the closed metal door.

Galand looks at Rhys, nods to himself, then collects the bottle and untouched shot-glass, placing them back in the cabinet where they belong. He then sweeps up the glass as best as he can and deposits it out of harm's way. "Calm down. He does have a point, you know, especially with this Shadowspite person on your case."

The Khatta looks over at Rhys, leans close, and takes a strong whiff of the human's smell. "He was also right about another thing: You're soused. Have to remember that less body mass means you get drunk faster, Rhys."

The human storms back to his chair and throws himself into it. "He could care less about Shadowspite. He's just angry because I won't let his little princess follow me around and spy on everything I do." He puts his head in his hands. "Go on… get out of here. Faraon's men will pick you up tomorrow. I suggest you get some sleep tonight. I doubt I'll be getting any."

Galand glances at the bottle, noting how much is gone, and says wryly, "I wouldn't be so sure. Rest well, Rhys. I'll see you soon, I imagine." He cycles the door open and steps out, shutting it behind him.

After being escorted out by the guards – oddly enough, the very same ones who had arrested him a few months back – Ashur Galand makes his way down the steps and out through the Temple's gate. He turns, looking at the building as he's done many times before, shakes his head, and says to himself as he turns away with a flip of his tail, "Politics… the one game I swore I'd never play." As he wanders back down the road to his home, he looks heavenward, and murmurs, "Sweet Powers, what am I getting myself into?" But the skies hold no answers this evening – only the bright stars, winking in the blackness, unfriendly and uninformative, as the Khatta makes his way into the city, vanishing into the fog.