On this night, the eve of Harvest Tide, all of Rephidim has settled into an almost frenzy of activity as households busy themselves with procuring all the necessities for the feast that marks Harvest Tide itself, a celebration of the bringing in of the crops for the fall, an inauguration of the long nights that will come with the winter. Some thieves work long and lonely hours, hoping to catch up that few extra shekels to buy their own feasts; others, pleased with their wealth, have already begun to celebrate. So it is that Vorgulremik received an invitation to join Faraon for an 'informal dinner' beneath the surface of Rephidim, in his fantastic dome, famed resort to flyers everywhere…

The two Vartans, one blackish, the other green with traces of blue about his eyes, lead him silently through the well-manicured garden maze, into the manor that rises from the cavern floor to the hundred-feet high roof overhead, and into the vast hall within…

The other guests have already been assembled… Or are they always here? Judging from their manners, they know each other quite well; there are poodles, Skreeks, a red Keltyn vulpine in a tight-fitting leather corset and black dress, numerous Khattas and Jupani and all other species, even some Eeees and Korvs on perches. Plates are scattered across the table, perpetually taken away when finished by servants in gray cloaks, new ones brought in from the kitchens nearby by other obsequiously-bowing Kavis.

Another group of latecomers, arriving just before Vorgulremik, is a varied group of canines. The most important, and biggest, resembles an oddly patterned Jupani, with a large bald patch that starts between his ears, and extends down his back. Surrounding him, are five females, with long flowing fur, patterned in orange and white, and much finer muzzles. Two more bulky dogs that seem almost hairless are his guards, and the last looks like a younger, and much thinner version of the leader. They move forward taking some of the available seats, leaving just one immediately to Faroan's left.

And at the very end, perched on the edge of his throne, is Faraon himself. He is serpentine in nature and would appear Naga-ish were it not for his bulk, his golden scales and horns and fearsome muzzle… Behind two arms are suspended small bat wings that might be purely ornamental in nature; two legs bear fierce claws that gleam as gold as the rest of him, reflecting light as he snakes his head to look at people from one side or another, never directly. His voice comes as a soft whisper, always loud enough to be heard, soft enough to force people to listen. At present, he offers warm greetings to the newcomers.

A small Kavi page next to Vorgulremik pauses as the grayish dragon enters. "Ah, sir – how should I announce you?"

Vorgulremik swallows his anxiety, and tries to project the image of a child awed (and intimidated) by his elders… which is at least half true. He whispers to the Kavi, "Just… Remy."

"Huuy, looks like Faraon has a little competition." The balding canine remarks to his nearest armwarmer. "Emphasis on little." He chuckles, his small group joining in.

The page calls across the hall, "The dragon known as Remy seeks audience, milord Faraon!" A barely perceptible nod, and then the Kavi continues, apparently jaded to the thrills or horrors of having a fearsome carnivore so close, "Master Faraon bids you welcome to his table, milord Remy." He leads Vorgulremik to the single remaining place at the table.

Vorgulremik ignores the gibes. He knows the only attitude he can express here is one of submission, and takes his place at the table without looking to his neighbors.

Up close, Faraon dwarfs the smaller dragon, being a full fifty feet wound about his throne. He smiles benevolently. "Ah! Remy. So good of you to join us. I trust my invitation proved no inconvenience to your… business."

Vorgulremik keeps his eyes downcast as he replies, "My meager activities pale against the honor of this meeting, My Lord."

Several of the other attendees are not so restrained in their curiousity; some casual glances, and some outright stares are directed at the little dragon.

Vorgulremik continues to ignore the other guests, but privately hopes they lost a bundle on the spice market. Mortals…

Faraon chuckles. "So modest, Remy. Yet your past claims and excursions have been quite bold, haven't they? Would you perhaps care to speak a little of them for our guests who may not be acquainted with your… efforts?" The golden dragon's eyes are impossible to read, so perfectly reflective that Vorgulremik can easily see himself in their orbs. He gestures for Vorgulremik to help himself to the roast of Bromthen hog that is passing by the table. A whole hog of course.

Immediately on Vorgulremik's left is the pack of dogs. One of the hairless unpleasant looking ones being closest. This guard dog keeps an eye on the dragon, but otherwise tries not to stare. His balding boss has no such restraints, giving a wide smile at the steel dragon, and settling closer on one arm to listen.

Vorgulremik tears a haunch off of the offered hog, and demurs, "Ah… merely some manipulation of the spice trade, My Lord, and frightening some Eees. Juvenile pranks only."

"Speak up, what was that?" A voice calls from the far end of the table. A Jupani, or maybe the Kattha with the odd hat.

Faraon lifts an eyeridge, glancing once again at Vorgulremik from the side as if contemplating. He nibbles upon a small glazed bird of some kind, its feathers coated with colored sugar.

Vorgulremik glances quickly at the heckler, but only allows a slight twitch of his scar before biting into his hogleg.

Down the hall, a dissipated Saluki raises his voice a bit too much, pressing his affections upon the Eeee girl next to him. Faraon clears his throat, somehow not even deigning to look toward the offender, and the inside of the canine's ears whiten as he dips his glance to his plate. Nuance and gesture, everything counts here.

Vorgulremik smiles slightly in admiration, and risks a whisper to Faraon, "You keep your pets will trained, My Lord."

The bald dog's smile widens into a grin, a very mocking grin. He sits back, slapping a beefy hand on the table. "Hyuh! A short story for a short drake, and a tiny joke too. Perhaps you'd like to hear one of mine, Faraon, how I relieved the Temple of some artifacts worth tens of gold. It should be worth a chuckle."

Vorgulremik turns to look the dog in the eye, "Yes, I'm sure it's worth just that."

Vorgulremik smiles and adds, "My Lord."

"Tens of Gold, exactly. You are quite a funny one." The big dog replies.

"Now, Remy," Faraon says mildly. "Do allow my guests their chance to speak. Friend Marcelis… " He turns to nod to the canine. "Perhaps you would care to share some of your methods, so that others may be educated and amazed by your cleverness?"

"Oh yes, please Markie, tell them, tell them." Three of his swishy-furred female companions coo, as they rub his arms. "Hush, hush, don't call me that in public darlings." Marcelis pets their heads.

The golden dragon looks amused, his slender muzzle-tip swiveling side to side to regard all of his guests in a benevolent glance.

Vorgulremik makes a show of giving the hound his full attention.

"Oh, do tell us Markie," a small siamese Khatta wreathed in black silks murmurs, toying absently with an empty glass. She smirks faintly.

"I'm getting to it darling." Marcelis waves across at the Siamese. "It was simple really, once I put my mind to it. As you know, nothing can leave the docks without being inspected, stamped and recorded. This makes it rather awkward to remove anything larger than can be placed in a pocket, and for sensitive shipments the workers are often searched after they've unloaded the cargo."

"The inspection forms, however, are sequentially ordered. It's not a very expensive piece of information, to find out which ones an Inspector is likely to be using that day. As well, the port seal is easily duplicated if a friend, like someone in this honoured company… " He waves lazily around at the assembled guests, "… owes you a favour."

Faraon's scaled lips curve up in a small smile. His Hall often houses many such marriages of convenience and chance.

Vorgulremik looks around, to see how others are reacting to the tale. Is this dog so proud of tricking a few mere bureaucrats?

"That, combined with a shipment of lumber that arrives a day early or late for an airship… and some well bribed dock-loaders, will let you get almost any cargo out, without a trace." Marcelis takes a moment to sip his wine.

The siamese Khatta seated to the right of Marcelis seems largely uninterested, idly turning a ring on her thumb. Her tailtip flicks once, then once again as the dog continues.

Near Faraon, the other guests are politely listening… But loud whispers suggest that farther down, the commoners are either talking about their own concerns or else discussing Marcelis's endeavours. Vorgulremik's hearing is not good enough to distinguish which.

Vorgulremik makes a note of the Siamese. Probably someone he could relate to in this crowd.

"Such as… oh yes, you're carrying it." Marcelis points at the other hairless dog, the one farthest from Faraon and Vorgie. "Come on, come on, show them." The guard takes out a long cloth wrapped object, and unwinds the covering. What he reveals looks something like a musket rifle, though much heavier, and considerably older than anything in the room. It has several blackened glass panels, a long crystalline barrel, and seems to be made out of something as shiny as chitin.

Looks like an energy weapon of some sort. No doubt long broken. There aren't many weapons Vorgulremik hasn't been on the wrong side of during his lifetimes.

Other guests nearby draw in their breath. An artifact! Even Faraon looks impressed, clicking his hand-claws together in a sort of applause. "Marvelous!" he exclaims. "But however did you manage to smuggle this through the Temple's security, friend Marcelis? The Temple is very watchful for such interesting artifacts."

Marcelis reaches over and removes the strange rifle from his guard. "Impressive, isn't it? There's even a little object on top, to possibly help you aim." He demonstrates on Vorgulremik. "Totally non-functional, of course."

– click –

Vorgulremik doesn't even flinch as the ancient weapon is aimed at him. Surely these folks must be interested in more than toys and coins?

The Khatta smiles a little, though its obvious her eyes are on her ring and little else. Given how large the ruby is, she could probably be forgiven.

Marcelis pulls the trigger, "As you can see."

Vorgulremik sucks the marrow out of the hog's thighbone as he watches the dog put on his show.

Servants bring around more courses – two Khattas struggle with a platter bearing a heap of whole-roasted small birds, in some sort of caramelized coating.

"In answer your question Faraon," Marcelis finishes. "I'll give you the details after dinner. I'd like to protect my methods, obviously, but feel you could benefit with the knowledge."

Vorgulremik watches Faraon's reaction to this. It would be good to know just how permissive the dragon is.

Faraon looks intrigued. "Indeed, friend Marcelis. If you have many more contrivances like this one, undoubtedly there will be a great deal of money to be made in brokering such artifacts… And other, more unique ones, to… certain collectors. eh, Lord Suthoth? And you are convinced that your method is… Safe?"

The Saluki who was putting the moves on the bat stiffens at this sudden mention of his name. "Ah! Yes. Absolutely, of course, milord. The Temple's stranglehold on the import of, ah, knicknacks is absolutely unforgivable, Faraon. There's so much that people would pay for a good Sifra paperweight… "

Vorgulremik smirks slightly at that.

"We must consider knowledge as well, Lord Suthoth," Faraon advises with a gentle smile. "There is much to be learned from the study of such artifacts… Perhaps they were intended to be more than simple paperweights and adornments for mantelpieces?" His glance aside to Marcelis makes it clear what price the canine will pay for a little bit of privacy.

"Of course, of course." Marcelis smiles, turning to his prettiest companion, and handing her the rifle. Speaking loudly he says, "Darling, take this token of my esteem, a gift, in repayment for the many favours I have received, and hope to continue to receive, to our most honoured host, Faraon." He finishes with his glass raised in a toast.

Vorgulremik arches one horny brow. Ah, the tribute begins at last.

Faraon bows his head likewise to Marcelis. "I am flattered by your appreciation, friend Marcelis," he says softly as he directs a guard to accept the menacing-looking rifle. "And should the rest of your trade prove of like quality, I am sure that there will be many clamoring to acquire such rare and precious artifacts."

The saluki noble looks wilted as he nods agreement again to this statement.

The golden dragon's glance goes once again to Vorgulremik, and then he murmurs soft pleasantries to the next group of guests beyond Marcelis, another invitation to tell tales.

The Khatta sighs quietly, shaking her head at the servant that tries to take her plate away, then turns back, smiling faintly at Marcelis' discomfort.

Marcelis just nods in response to Faraon, petting his returning companion. His discomfort, if any, seems quite minor.

Vorgulremik busies himself with one of the glazed birds. Is greed the handle Faraon uses to control these people, or fear, he wonders.

Vorgulremik glances over his bird towards the Siamese, to see what she's doing.

The addressed, Lady Vinnet grows slightly more animated, smiling faintly. Her attention is still, however, on her ring. There's a certain ritual to her movements as she turns the stone about, its fire caught for a moment in her large, bright eyes. Then she turns away. When she presents the stone, set in a delicate golden band, she smiles. "I have brought a gift as well, my Lord."

Vorgulremik eyes the transaction closely. Is there something special about that ring?

Vinnet purrs quietly, "And a story."

Faraon's eyes widen as he swivels his head toward, never quite at but side to side, the lady Khatta. "Indeed? I would consider all of us quite privileged to hear a tale of your accomplishments, Lady Vinnet. Your letters have always been masterpieces. Though perhaps the House of Rancair may not agree." The golden dragon's tailfan flickers in humor of some kind.

Vorgulremik perks an ear hopefully. Perhaps this tale will be interesting.

A Rath'ani wearing a dark cloak and simple leather armour, out of place at this fancy banquet, slips in and has a moment's word with one of the Vartans by the door. Nodding, she is let through, and moves directly over to Faraon's side, unwilling to interupt the story.

The golden dragon gestures to the Rath'ani to bide.

Her eyes are bright, almost gleeful as Vinnet gazes at Faraon. "You are aware, my lord, of Lady Rancair's fondness for exotic teas?" She smiles, stretching slightly. "One of her valued slaves appears at the Bazaar at times… " Her smile grows demure, "How frequently and when I will not say, merely that I know her passing."

Vorgulremik looks over the warrioress, wondering at her function, before returning his attention to the tale.

Faraon nods, tail weaving again in strange patterns.

Vinnet lowers her chin demurely, her tailtip lashing about. "I do love the Bazaar: So little stays the same." Her smile grows, "And what luck for a slave to find a young merchant who has what her mistress wishes to buy – So much for such reasonable price!"

"Indeed, there are many bargains above and below. Some are wiser than others," Faraon murmurs. "Do go on, Lady Vinnet."

Vinnet smiles, clasping her hands together. "But, of course, a servant such as herself cannot be expected to carry a crate, even one as small as that which contains her mistresses desires. So, she is in luck when assistance is offered." A faint mew escapes her lips, "These things come with a flurry of activity, and one cannot expect to see everything. What the slave leaves with, is not quite what she expected." Vinnet holds her hand out, about four feet from the ground. "It is a small crate, but I am not very large."

Faraon smiles.

The Khatta toys with a bit of long-cold meat. "When one wishes to enter a place that is well-guarded, it is often best to use the front door. And so I enter, and the Lady is so eager to hold her treasure that I am whisked to her room."

Servants come by and take the glasses of red wine, putting thin, tiny crystal glasses of a potent-smelling cognac. Dessert, it would appear, is well on its way, in the form of pastries richly covered in xocholatl and honey and other sweet delectables. Faraon continues to devote his attention to the Lady Vinnet's tale of daring.

Vinnet's smile grows wide, almost predatory. "It is known that Lord Rancair is not pleased with his wife, nor is she pleased with him. Her sorrows are drowned in a cup – his – " She giggles faintly, "Many women enter and leave his mansion. And after the Lady is asleep, and her ring is mine, I join them. Soon, I am here before you."

Vorgulremik smiles. At least this one involved some actual risk.

Vinnet draws a length of silk across her face, her giggle like the chime of tiny bells. "Lord Rancair's mansion holds many secrets," she murmurs quietly, her gaze fixed on Faraon.

Marcelis' attention is focused mostly on his food, his wardrobe, or his silly arm-clingers. He doesn't have much interest in stories involving personal risk, preferring to emulate Faraon, and control things safely from afar.

"An adept manipulation of interests," Faraon says to Vinnet, bowing his head. "You are masterful indeed at your trade. I am sure that Lord Rancair shall be quite irked. You may expect that business will be quite fruitful in the coming year, milady. And perhaps, tomorrow, we may speak of richer fields." His eyes glint as he accepts the ring, laying it somewhere out of sight. "Many potentials await you."

Vinnet smiles, "Thank you, my Lord."

Faraon glances aside to the Rath'ani, a single spoonful of his dessert signifying that it is acceptable for the others to begin on theirs. The twice-rejected Saluki noble drowns his sorrows in wine-laced cream.

Keeping her face concealed in her hood, the Rath'ani whispers to Faraon. "Its about the arson investigation sir, there has been a new development. The Righteous Indignation has just exploded on the military docks, with heavy casualties and no clear cause. The Diamond Lance is scouring Darkside, and the Collegia's Scryers are all over the wreckage. Our Mages know nothing, and this close scrutiny is threatening to expose some of our operations."

The Guards at the door perk up at the mention of the Diamond Lancers. Not something they want to see, but for Vartans, still something worth seeing.

The golden dragon's eyes widen. "I see… Go on," he murmurs.

Vorgulremik tries a bit of the pastry, but is more interested in the raccoon's report and Faraon's reaction.

"Theres not much more to tell sir, I came here directly as soon as I assessed the situation." The Rath'ani's tail flicks behind her. "The free-lancers in Darkside have been checked out, and aren't responsible. Payments for information were doubled, but yielded nothing except vague descriptions of Eees, and hastily abandoned ritual circles."

Faraon nods. He whispers to the Rath'ani, "You have done well. Keep our operations secret – if need be, we shall lie low for the time being, and weather the Temple's eye." He dismisses the Rath'ani with a smile.

Vorgulremik begins to wonder if his removal of a few airships had also interfered with 'operations' of Faraon's.

The Rath'ani gives a short bow to Faraon, and leaves without ever having exposed her face.

The golden dragon turns to the others and speaks mildly. "Certain recent occurances," he murmurs. "Lead me to believe that the Temple's eyes will be redoubled, especially in the area of the docks – an area in which almost all of us have interests of one or another kind. My advice to you, good friends… " The closeness with which most of the guests attend his words suggests that they see his advice as more than mere suggestions. "Is that we all consider greater caution for the coming weeks. Perhaps a shipment due to arrive this week might be put off to the next month. Certain medications… Likewise, regrettably, not available just yet due to scarcity." He spreads his hands. "But I do not presume to tell you all, my honored guests, what you must do in the face of such danger."

Marcelis nods perfunctorily at Faraon's caution, once again, paying more attention to his food and companions.

Faraon's gaze settles now upon Vorgulremik, an almost apologetic side-glance, but nevertheless, a fixing of attention. "For instance, I might mention that the apparition of an entity known as 'The Sabaoth's dragon' has drawn some unwelcome attention… "

Vorgulremik bows his head in a gesture of shame.

"And, though there was an intriguing notion to a certain scheme of causing scarcity in order to raise prices," Faraon continues regretfully. "It seems as if recent – accidents – in shipping have fallen off dramatically. Perhaps this has to do with increased vigilance on the part of merchant shippers and their assembly into convoys, protected by hired Rephidim Temple patrol ships. Such a deterrent would of course, prove quite intimidating to any pirates that might have chosen to become Babel-financed privateers, considering the patterns such attacks have shown."

Vorgulremik wonders if some of those alleged pirates may have joined Faraon's payrolls instead… Well, spilt milk.

Faraon murmurs, not directly addressing Vorgulremik, "Now, I shall not ascribe certain events of the past week to any particular sources… You are all aware of course, that there has been a substantial increase in the sightings of odd creatures – ghosts, lights in the graveyard, winged creatures skimming low through Darkside, frightening Kavis – but such reports may be found, like pearls, around very small grains of truth." The golden dragon smiles thinly at his witticism and then looks directly at Vorgulremik.

Vorgulremik looks down again at his plate. This is old wyrm could be real trouble for me. I'll need to be more careful in my projects.

"Perhaps you, of all my guests," Faraon murmurs quietly as if knowing just what Vorgulremik was thinking. "Might benefit the most from my advice, friend Remy. In fact, perhaps some time away from Rephidim might do a great deal to clear your mind – wide-open space, I am told, does a great deal to expand one's horizons." His claws stretch out to cover one armrest of his golden throne.

Vorgulremik looks up now, and murmurs, "And which wide open spaces would you recommend, My Lord?"

There is a hushed undertone of whispering around the table, as the guests remark to each other about this apparent dismissal. Marcelis just smiles at the small steel dragon, and chews on another piece of meat.

Faraon murmurs softly, "Perhaps friend Remy had some notions of, ah, places in which he might enjoy vacationing?" He raises an eyeridge.

Vorgulremik smiles slightly, "I prefer working vacations, My Lord, if possible… "

Faraon turns his head a little, now regarding Vorgulremik appraisingly from the other golden eye. "You have no preferences?"

Vorgulremik says humbly, "I wish only to serve you, My Lord, even if only to deliver a message."

The golden dragon mms, while the other guests nearby listen in near-complete silence. "Indeed, there are certain lands in which their very natures make it difficult to maintain contacts, let alone good working operations… But such a location might prove quite risky." His tail flicks.

"Life is risk," the smaller dragon replies. "To avoid it is to be as good as dead." He eyes Marcelis as he says this.

Marcelis leans on an arm to advise, "Ignoring a risk, will make you dead."

Vorgulremik nods to the dog, "True enough." Especially in your case. Only a fool trifles with dragons.

Faraon chuckles. "But as the inimitable lady Vinnet has demonstrated, friend Marcelis, sometimes risks can lead to substantial profits. We all seek merely to, ah, minimize the risks, maximize the profits. And perhaps friend Remy… " The word 'friend' is slightly accented. "Will find that the land of Bosch can be an interesting, and even profitable one. A land in which stars may yet rise." A lambent eye glances back toward Vorgulremik, looking for a reaction.

Vorgulremik smiles. Bosch! A land of lovely, unadulterated chaos. The dragon's smile grows even wider.

"On the other hand," Faraon says, gesturing with his spoon after a bite of dessert pastry. "Times continue to be difficult – and interesting – in Rephidim. Cautious hands will do the best work, I find."

Marcelis nods, looking to Faraon, secure in his position, and Vorgulremik's, beneath the the golden dragon that he can safely ignore the baleful looks he's been receiving all night from the little drake. "Of course, it is a balance, after all. Knowing when to reach far, and knowing when you have gone too far." He returns a gaze of his own to the closer dragon.

Vorgulremik bows his head to the gold dragon, "It will be my honor to serve you in Bosch, Lord Faraon."

"I am certain that you will find it a refreshing experience," Faraon murmurs. His gaze pases down the table, and then the dinner continues, taking on more pleasant tones as the other guests, likewise secure in their places, chat amiably and plan future exploits.

Dinner concludes with the two Vartans coming forward from the door to stand to either sides of Vorgulremik. The golden dragon smiles to each of his guests, bidding a farewell – some receiving warm words, others only a thin smile. When it comes time for the steel dragon to go, Faraon's smile thins. "Good night," he murmurs. "The Procession shall light your way."

As Lady Vinnet comes forward, Faraon bows over her hand, taking it gently, and murmurs "Allow me to give you this, milady. You have given me a greater gift than mere gold and gems can express." He lays the ring that she gave him earlier into her palm.

Vinnet smiles, her eyes gleaming, catching the light as the ring is given to her. "Thank you, my Lord." In moments the ring is nestled on a finger.

Vorgulremik bows to the larger dragon. "What message would you have me deliver, My Lord?"

"The Rath'ani by the door will tell you all that needs be known," the golden dragon murmurs. He turns to take the canine gangster's hand, unwinding from the throne. "Ah! And you, my friend, had somewhat to discuss, I believe? I suspect I have nearly divined your method, but I should prefer to hear it from your own words."

Vorgulremik turns to the Rath'ani.

"It simple really… " Marcelis starts on his explanation, which is lost on Vorgulremik who is directing his attention elsewhere. The Rath'ani at the door takes out a medallion. "Merchants going into Bosch often carry these. Its supposed to focus the mind, and help you resist some of the magical influence. You can use it though, to identify contacts. Find out what you can there, and pass along any suggestions that occur to you. Your message, will be that Faraon is interested in Bosch, and you will deliver it by establishing a working base there for him."

Vorgulremik takes the medallion in a claw. "Is that all?"

"Don't be too hasty to fly without first mastering your baby steps. I think you will find establishing a permanent base in Bosch challenge enough; that land is not known for its stability. Faraon will contact you in some manner should other services be required while you are there. For the moment though, concentrate on a base with reliable access to it, and good flying." The Rath'ani steps back, gesturing out the door.

Vorgulremik nods and exits, making his way through the garden to the landing. His eyes glint as he daydreams of burning cities and islands crashing down out of the sky.