[The Wyrm Ouroboros]

The battered dark brown Gaz-Willys Mastodon trundled heavily down the rubble-strewn Intercity 7 leading towards the 'refugee' elven enclave of Tarislar.  Unbuffed dimples free of paint displayed places where the vehicle's tough armor had defeated bullets; the rear right quarter-panel showed blackening as well.  All of this, however, was typical of any vehicle making its way through the Puyallup Barrens.

What wasn't typical was the very comfortable inside of the massive Ford-Canada Bison knockoff.  Four individuals rode inside, a quiet tension filling the cabin as the typical loose bricks scattered across the road disappeared.  The Tir Tairngire exiles had a certain amount of civic pride, and the fact that they'd scraped up enough cash to contract with Knight Errant made the streets here a relatively safe place.  Even the 'street gang' Laésa had a vested interest in keeping the relative peace outside.  Going by the presence of wall-propping lean young elves, the ex-Rinelle were out in force.  Subtle force, perhaps, but one which was obvious to those with eyes experienced enough to see.

The male passenger in the back seat, a Caucasian elf, sighed as the SUV rolled past yet another trio of 'beautiful people'.  "God.  I'm going to feel like the oldest one there."  In truth, he looked more like a human his real age than his metatype normally did; instead of the lean twentysomething-looking elves outside, his temples were silvering and his face was showing the lines of a forty-year-old male.  Not that that's bad when you're actually 64, but there were noticeably no 'old' elves outside.

"Not likely," replied the man in the driver's seat.  He reached up to scratch idly at his chest, the discoloration of the old plastic of his cybernetic arm doing nothing to impede its function.  "Or at least, not as proportion to estimated lifespan."  He glanced sideways at the young-looking Japanese female riding in the shotgun seat.  "Is so, eh?"

The woman smiled slightly, but shook her head.  "I'm not here for repartee, Piotyr.  I'm on the job."  True to her statement, she shifted her gaze with three-second regularity, never fixing on one thing for too long, mental threat-analysis keeping a running scale.

"That is pity.  You are very good at repartee."

"You know, you've been in Seattle for what, ten years?  What is it about the accent that makes you cling to it so much?"

"Makes people underestimate.  Is like cigarettes -- they see, they think derision, contempt, they not think of me as threat..."

"Well, if you keep driving this trash bucket around the place, you won't be ..."

In the back seat, the Caucasian elf tuned out the friendly bickering of the two in the front, continuing to watch the storefronts pass as the Mastodon proceeded deliberately to its destination.  "Tell me again," came the voice from the fourth passenger, looking out her window at the elves, "why they should simply not be quashed.  This is taking valuable time away from searching."  She kept her voice down, and the expression upon her stunningly beautiful face was one of abstracted petulance.

"God, you remind me of my oldest," the male elf replied wearily.  "Look, you know as well as I that they're going to have a basic backup plan.  Even if they don't, the First Wyrm's people already have the data, which means the picosecond something happens to these two it'd hit the 'Trix -- and I'd bet my last nuyen that they'd spread it through their own network before each office sent it out."  He shook his head, looking at her for a long minute.  "Don't worry, they'll play ball.  Rakhi may be an arrogant prat, but he's competent.  And Xerena spent seven years staying a step ahead of Aztechnology hitters.  You don't stay alive this long without choosing your battles, and this is one they're not going to fight too hard over.  Hell, they're meeting with us, aren't they?"

She shook her head, the wispy feathers of black hair that escaped her coiffure brushing lightly against the shoulders of her jacket.  "They made me come to them, Two."

"I made you go to them, boss," replied the middle-age-seeming elf.  "It was the easiest way to get it done.  Besides, weren't you heading up to Tsimshian anyhow?  Relax.  They'll play ball."  His head turned back to the window, and he watched a dozen early teens flood back into the street behind them, to continue their interrupted game of stickball.

"I'd bet my last nuyen on it."

This thread is for a behind-VU93 scene between the Wyrm Ouroboros, his boss, Madrecita, and Iceblade.  Please do not post here unless you are one of them.

[Mirikon]

The Black Dragon Tavern lay in the heart of Tarislar, not three blocks from the Deireadh An Tuartheil hospital. In addition to the Knight Errant patrols and the Laesa, the Ancients could also be seen on the streets, wearing their colors openly. The Laesa and the Ancients both protected this area, though they didn't always see eye to eye with eachother.

Outside the tavern, one might notice that the concentration of Laesa had gotten thicker. There was also a respectable ward set up around the building, with several watchers patrolling the perimeter. Oddly enough, these watchers did not look like floating eyeballs, or things of that nature, but small, childlike elven figures dressed in green, armed with wooden swords. There were also a set of cameras covering the approaches to the building. However, there were no visible weapons anywhere. This was supposed to be a friendly meet, afterall. That didn't mean there weren't weapons, but they at least had the good taste to keep them out of view.

The tavern exterior itself was done in a neo-fantasy style, using modern materials, but clearly designed to look and feel like something out of an old fantasy trid, down to the wooden sign above the door, painted with a stylized black western dragon, and the name Black Dragon Tavern around it. Inside, the theme continued, to the point where all the staff was wearing 'traditional' style fantasy wear. Those looking in on the astral would note at least one free spirit on staff, taking the form of a bard singing songs and telling tales in sperethiel for the crowd. A blonde elf behind the bar greets those who enter cheerily. That would be Shannaleth, the owner, and an adept of the Artist's Way.

In one booth near the back, Iceblade sat, a bottle of Taengele Falan sitting in front of him, with several glasses. He was dressed in a Zoe Heritage Line outfit, done in the 'Traditional Tir' style. He wore a katana openly by his side and a knife was stuck in one boot, but he carried no firearms at the moment. He'd arranged with his contacts for the security, though the wards and the watchers were his own. Other than his blades, and the clasp of his cloak which had his family crest on it, the only ornamentation he wore was a necklace with several fetishes woven into it, with two large dragon fangs forming the centerpiece. One was clearly several years older than the other, as the newer one still had that pure white look bone has when it has been freshly cleaned of all the flesh.

[Keita]

Information for information. Or rather...information given in exchange for information withheld. Xerena's full lips quirked i a slight smile. It wouldn't be the first time she'd made a deal like that, nor would it be the last Information was a valuable commodity. It rarely paid to refuse any that came your way. That was the main reason she was there. She may not like the old Wyrm much, but he did produce the goods, and that put him several cuts above others she could name.

She shuddered. Whatever info he had to impart had better be good. Part of her wanted the dark knowledge she carried out in the world right now. The Amazonians would certainly pay handsomly for her to do so if they knew. It might help their cause, and possibly rally the world against the Azzies. On the other hand...with all the bad feeling about dragons out there in the world already, it might just blow the lid off several boilers. The world was chaotic enough as it was.

"Lady Fair. I beg leave to request your hand in dance."
She looked up at the young elf that had just interrupted her thoughts, and looked him straight in the eye. Her expression did not change, nor did she give any visible sign of annoyance, but it was nevertheless a glare. The young stud's eyes widened in fright and he hastily backed away. "A...another time maybe..." he stammered.

Opposite her at the table, Miri chuckled.
"You've practiced that look in front of a mirror, haven't you, my dear?"
Xerena favoured him with a genuinely warm smile.
"Actually, my mother swore I was born with it on my face. It's very useful. You may well be the first person it didn't work with."

Her voice was deep and melodic, with just a hint of a Spanish accent showing under her otherwise flawless english. Wide set dark eyes illuminate a somber expression and dusky skin. Her trademark crazy black hair remained untamed, but was now silvery over a quarter of the left side of her head where an encounter with a dragon had caused extensive burns. The hair had grown back in silver. Today she wore a deep blue gown that wouldn't look out of place at either a Renaissance Faire or a corporate "do". As usual, she wore four knives, two tucked into the top of her boots, and two more tucked up her sleeve. It was traditional for Spanish women to be thus armed, and Xerena was Spanish to her fingertips.

She picked up her glass and sipped delicately at the contents, keeping an eye out for their would be benefactor. She didn't have to wait long.

[Mirikon]

Mirikon smiled at that. "Ah, my dear, the 'look' is a powerful one, but it has nothing on my Mother. I'll bring you around to meet her sometime. She has a force of personality like the weather. When she's happy, it is sunshine and cool breezes. When she's angry, it is the fury of the hurricane. And when that person is also a mage, who takes the time to develop spells specifically to punish those who anger her... Well, let's just say that we learned to avoid danger early on growing up."

Watching Xerena's eyes, he said, "Of course, she is a very accomplished designer of spells. We follow different traditions, so I've never learned some of the spells she's made, but it was her that created the spell that made the statue of the assassin in my garden. At some point, I'd like to make a version of that spell, but ice instead of stone. More beautiful, I think, and just as effective psychologically on an enemy."

[Keita]

Her smile broadened, and, keeping her gaze level with his, she said "Mmm...I'm not sure that's a wise idea, Miri, " not clarifying whether she meant meeting his mother, or making ice sculptures of his enemies. She lowered her lashed and leaned back, sipping her Sangria.

[The Wyrm Ouroboros]

The Mastodon rolled to a slow stop in front of the tavern, idling there for a moment before the doors opened.  The first to get out came from the front passenger side, a middle-to-tall attractive Japanese female human.  Clothed in a dark brown pantsuit of classic conservative corporate cut, the only thing that is out of place in her dress is the dai-sho, the paired blades of the samurai, carried out of the SUV and slid into place with the absentmindedness that only one to whom they are every-day wear can have.  Her gaze slides across the front of the Black Dragon to instead take in the various - numerous - Laésa keeping close watch upon them.  A few are given a briefly longer visual examination before the woman turns and leans back into the car, to say something to the rest of those inside.

The rear door opposite opens then, and the next to emerge is a long cool drink of water, an elf with enough lines on his face to make him appear forty, perhaps forty-two; the impression of age was only emphasized by the grey at the temples of his cleanly-trimmed brown hair.  Because of that cut, the datajack behind his right ear is fairly obvious, even as he straightens tie, suit jacket, and a deep grey duster whose armoring is betrayed by its resistance to the wind playing with it.  He in his turn slides his gaze along the edges of the roof across the street, then in a somewhat abstracted manner around the rest of the area.

While he is doing this, the other two doors open, and two more people emerge.  The driver is human, perhaps in his mid-fifties, close-clipped grey hair receeding, with a serviceable face that's seen its share of hard times.  In a button-down shirt and dark brown jeans, he adjusts his deep blue navy trenchcoat with his right - artificial - hand before lifting that hand to his mouth, to hold his cigarette in place as he draws in upon it, the tip glowing the classic cherry red as he too examines the area.

The fourth is a stunningly beautiful Native South American woman dressed in up-to-the-nanosecond fashions, corporate mixed with Native American in a manner both striking and unique.  The main mass of her dark hair is bound up at the back of her head, but curls and feathers have artfully 'escaped' to arrange themselves in a subtle pattern as they fall to her shoulders.

With all four emerged, the vehicle's doors close themselves, and the Mastodon trundles over to a parking place, settling itself with great finickiness into it.  The Japanese woman gives a glance to the elven male, who nods; all four move to the sidewalk as the elf fiddles with a commlink curled around his right forearm.

The commlinks of the two principals inside bleep for attention; it's the Wyrm.  "You mind letting us in?"

[Mirikon]

Getting the comm message from Wyrm, Mirikon sighed, and looked to Xerena. "Looks like they're here." With a brief nod to one of the people by the door, he took a moment to shift his eyes to the astral, and caused a portal to open in the side of the ward, allowing the group passage. At the same time, one of the servers opened the physical door. It was a young elf woman, and she smiled. "Welcome to the Black Dragon."

Leaning back in the booth, Iceblade watched, waiting for the people to come in. There were others in the bar, but not many. Just the normal early evening crowd. The booth they were at was suitably far away from any of the other patrons that they could talk in relative anonymity. Especially considering the simple device Iceblade placed on the table, a white noise generator, which clicked on, and reduced the conversation at the table to babble as far as anyone listening in would be able to tell. All told, the setup wasn't so secure as renting Hell at Dante's, but it would keep them secure from casual eavesdroppers and troublemakers. Good enough for a simple meet like this. Anything more stringent, and they risked offending their 'guest', as well as tipping off anyone that may be watching that something truly big was going down. At least with the watchers and the wards, they'd have some warning if there were any unwanted guests.

He waited until they were close enough to hear him through the generator's noise, and rose. "Hello, Wyrm. Glad to see you could make it. Would you and your patron care for a drink? I know you don't care for Tir liquors, but I brought this bottle of Taengele Falan with me last time I was across the border."

[Keita]

She nodded and placed her drink on the table. "I noticed." Smiling, she turned her attention to the group of beings that approached. Given the old Wyrm's boasts, she was curious to see who he would answer to. Surreptitiously, she sent out her magical feelers as Miri let them pass, knowing that 'the other side' would also be assessing them in turn, if not directly, then certainly by proxy. Something in the back of her mind nagged at her, and she let the mask she kept around her aura fall away; just a small gesture of good faith. No doubt the Wyrm knew and would have informed his employer, but it never hurt to have them see for themselves. Besides...she had this nagging feeling that this was more than just to negotiate an exchange. The Wyrm could easily have done that on behalf of an employer. If this was a test, she wanted them to see what she brought to the table.

She rose as Miri did, happy to follow his lead where social interaction was concerned. These were not the class of people she habitually dealt with. Knowing herself to be outspoken and blunt, she let him deal with the initial pleasanties that were usually beyond her. After briefly assessing them, she smiled and bowed respectfully to the Native South American woman, acting on a hunch that she was the mysterious patron of the Wyrm. "Thank you for coming, my lady. "

[The Wyrm Ouroboros]

When the door opened, the first person through was the Japanese woman, left hand upon the sheath of a blade; the only thing that changed as she moved through the door was which blade it was - at first the wakizashi, then the katana.  Her eyes shifted back and forth, cataloging each individual in turn before, her eyes upon the 'bard', she gives a single, firm nod.  Her vigilance, however, does not relax.

The rest follow - elf male, SoAmerInd female, human male.  The last gives the greeter a brief smile before looking around the 'tavern'.  "I might have gone another way," he said in a jocular tone, "but I suppose this has its draw.  Tell me, how many come here who have had add-ons added on?"  His attitude is perhaps meant to distract the server (and anyone else looking on) from the way the elf is holding on to the woman's arm -- the woman who is looking around at the number of people present with what can only be called mayhem in her eye.  He speaks in swift, low tones, using a definitely foreign language.  Her nose flares hard once, but then she nods.

The elf releases her arm, takes a step away from her, then gives her a formal head-bow before turning and picking his way across the bar to where Iceblade and Madrecita wait.  Waving away the offer of liquor, he says, "Whatever in the hell gave you the idea that having an audience was a good idea??  You set up a meet on a public forum, I'd've thought you'd have the foresight to make sure to reserve a private room or something."  He pauses, then tilts his head.  "Or have you?  Or did you??"  He gestures with his chin towards the other inhabitants of the bar.  "How many of these are spies for someone else?  Or are they all your protection?"

He lifts up a hand, one finger extended to prevent any reply, his eyes closed.  "All right.  You did the job, that earns you some leeway in my book."  His eyes open, and his finger points to the side, but by implication back towards the SoAmerInd woman.  "In her book, not so much.  She's already irate that she's coming to you instead of the other way around.  Adding targets into the mix doesn't improve matters, but she's willing to go ahead with the ... discussion."  He looks around, then finally says, "Turn your commlinks off.  All your electronics, except that," and here he nods at the white noise generator. "Any of this gets recorded without explicit and limited permission, any of it at all, and all bets - and I do mean all bets - are off.  That's not my policy, that's hers."

He turns and gestures 'come over' to the rest; the Japanese elf approaches slowly, watching half of the rest of the bar's inhabitants while the male watches the other half.  As they approach, he adds conversationally to Iceblade, "Whatever gave you the idea that I don't like Tir liquors?  I've been drinking and collecting fine alcohol, no matter the country of origin, since you were in short pants."

When the woman approaches and Madrecita bows to her, the AmerInd regards the Spaniard for a long moment before saying, "Replace your veil, little wolf.  It matters little to me, but it may to others."  Her gaze is cool, but as she shifts it to Iceblade the moment it becomes icily flensing is noticeable.  She pauses, then asks him in a (perhaps surprisingly) calm, conversational tone, "Do you like it when members of that political group -- what was it, again?"

"Humanis," supplies the Wyrm wearily, rubbing the side of his face with a hand and looking like he'd just bitten into a sour apple.

"Yes, Humanis.  When they wear necklaces of elf ears?  Consider the wisdom of wearing such as you do," and she nods at the necklace, "at any time."

[Mirikon]

Iceblade simply smiled at Wyrm. "The owner of the bar is a close friend and contact. Everyone here has been vetted by both her and myself. This building is under the protection of the Laesa, which in this neighborhood means the same as if you were meeting with Yakuza two doors from the Oyabun's house, and I have set up wards like this on several occasions for them, when a 'private party' is happening. You and your associates will of course have noticed some or even most of the guards and lookouts around the area. There will be no prying eyes into this meeting, whether physical or astral, and the place was last screened for bugs two hours ago. And such a meeting is far less pretentious, and less likely to draw notice, than renting out Hell at Dante's. You say an audience, I say camouflage. Of course, if your patron is used to having people come to her, then perhaps her servant should have stated a name?" Afterall, Wyrm hadn't actually told them who they would be meeting, just that his patron wanted the information they had kept quiet for a time. As he speaks, he does turn off his commlink, and other electronics, allowing Wyrm to see him do so.

As the Amerind woman speaks to him in that icy tone, Iceblade looks her over, and said, "In times past, a warrior would take a trophy from an honored foe who fell to his blade. He would do this not only to show those who he met signs of his prowess, but so that the strength of the fallen would live on inside him. Twice in my life I have been attacked by dragons. Twice, with the power of the spirits and the aid of my companions, I have been victorious, though I was left maimed and bloodied upon the battlefield when it was done. I have never hunted dragons, nor do I look any more favorably upon those who do than on those who hunt elves. But there is a difference between hunting a sentient creature down in its lair, and meeting it on the field of battle. My sister was Paladin to Prince Hestaby, and I have the utmost respect for her, and others of her kind. I wear these fangs because they remind me of two of my most dangerous battles, and in the hope that the power of the noble creatures who bore them in life might aid me in the future. But you are correct that I do not wear it openly, most of the time. I do so now because this fang," he touched the newer of the two fangs on the necklace, "came to me as we were making our escape with the information you now seek, and cost me an arm and a leg in the taking. This is a sign of what we overcame in order to secure the information."

"I do not revel in battles or death. I have killed many creatures in my short time. I remember the face of each metahuman and sapient creature I have killed, and I honor them. If you can see she follows wolf, then you must see the Shark in me. Shark does not kill needlessly or wantonly. But when blood is in the water, Shark is there. Any who fail to escape Shark's teeth are not fit to live. And one day the Shark, too, will find himself unfit, and fall to the teeth of another. That is what it means to follow Shark's path. But to say I am not proud of my victories, both alone and with allies standing by my side, would be a lie."

All the while, he stayed calm, simply stating facts, though there was a small burst of emotion at the mention of his sister. That pain would never really go away. As he finished his speech, he slipped the necklace beneath his shirt, and sat down, reaching for the bottle of liquor, and broke the seal. As he began to pour drinks for everyone, he said, "But now it comes to this. Will you sit and share a drink with us, as we discuss the matters of our mutual interest? The Wyrm here said you had information you wished to trade for information, though he did not give a name to his patron or say what kind of information that you could offer us in return for giving you what we know, and delaying its publication to the Matrix at large. Will you sit and drink? Or will offense at a warrior's pride in surviving a hard-fought and hard-won victory cause you to abandon this deal, and force us to move ahead with complying with the terms of the late Loremaster's will?"

[Keita]

Xerena inclined her head at the woman and smiled. “As you wish.” Now that she knew the measure of the woman, she listened as Miri spoke, inwardly grinning. He gave nothing away, did not concede anything and still managed to deflect attention away from what could potentially have been a deadly situation...all without breaking  courtesy. She did as she was asked and restored her masking, also switching off all electronic gear she carried.
“We’re not unreasonable. Nor do we carry any particular hatred of your kind.” She inclined her head to the Amerind woman, taking a risk from the woman’s reaction to the tooth. “I make a point of it not to get involved in he affairs of your kind. However, we are involved, whether we like it or not. And this does not just concern your kind, but mine as well. There is true evil in this world, and it doesn’t matter who practices it. Your kind or mine. That is what concerns us, and that is why we are here. To be perfectly blunt, the reason behind the request concerns me much more keenly than what you offer in exchange. Like I said to the old Wyrm here, this affects everyone, and I won’t be party to endangering everyone else for no good reason.” She raised an eyebrow. “He did not give me a straight answer then, suggesting instead we meet you. We don’t want to inconvenience you, but to be perfectly blunt again...we have our own interests. So. Do our interests coincide? If they do, then by all means, let’s talk business.”

[The Wyrm Ouroboros]

The lady spoke in a conversational tone, not icy; let us first be clear on that score.  At the mention of Hestaby, there was a flicker of irritation that passed across her face, but she did not speak, allowing the male to ramble to the end of his diatribe - then the female to state her own thoughts and concerns.

The Wyrm shook his head in silent amazement, first at Iceblade's assurances, then at his defense of wearing a dragons-tooth necklace to a meet with an unknown individual that anyone of his own experience would consider a patron.  He turned his head to the SoAmerInd woman and admitted, "I warned you, but I didn't know the scale.  You have my apologies."  Looking further back over his shoulder, he added to the human male, "Shiv, I don't think you're gonna need to be here."

The Russian (for so his accent marks him) shrugged inside his greatcoat.  "I will make my own decision.  For now, I stay.  If, of course," and here he nods to the two females, "we are going to stay."

The Japanese fem's gaze shifted to Madrecita, then Iceblade, giving each of them a more thorough going-over before moving on.  Sounding distracted, she said obliquely, "The deaths are on his head, not ours."

"Foolishness is its own punishment," agrees the SoAmerInd woman.  "Very well.  My concern is less with your accoutrements than with the wisdom used in displaying them.  Were I to have taken offense ..."  She trails off, then shakes her head.  "Others will.  Your hauteur is their problem, not mine."

"Pride goeth before destruction?" suggested the Wyrm.

"If you like," replied the woman carelessly, and seats herself.

The Wyrm and Shiv took flanking positions, and the former began introductions.  "My Lady, may I present to you Count Mirikon Mollen, formerly Rakhi Darkholme, son of Count Karellon and Duchess Mellaneth Darkholm of Malek’thas, known as Iceblade, and Xerena Suelo Rubruquis neé Calderon, aka Moncita Caballe, known as Madrecita."  He turned towards the pair on the other side of the table and said, "Mirikon, Moncita, the Lady Arleesh."

Not that they hadn't expected something like that.

He continued with his introductions.  "On the other side is Piotyr Kostolitz, street name Shivowtnoeh.  Sitting at the table," he nodded at the Japanese woman who indeed has selected a table almost directly at Arleesh's back, though slightly favoring Madrecita's side, "is our security consultant for the evening, Hawatari."  The woman turned, smiled briefly, then turned her attention away once more, resuming her examination of the rest of the targets present.

"What," said Arleesh, looking at Madrecita, "was your question?"

[Keita]

Xerena nodded, not surprised to be in the company of a dragon. It was bound to happen sooner or later, that one of their kind would act on the information she and Miri had. That was one of the reasons she'd been gone so long...to prepare should the worst come to pass.

She inclined her head politely as the introductions were made, and smiled wryly as she noted the Japanese woman's position. She leaned back in her seat and visibly relaxed until the Great Dragon turned her attention toward her.

She shrugged. "Simply this. What's your interest in keeping this conceiled for now? Like I said, this information could be vital and it needs to be acted on. By delaying its dissemination, we're risking giving the Azzies more time to prepare counter measures. You can see why I would be concerned, especially given what we know about what is behind this. I've been expecing one of your kind to call on us at some point, and it is not inconceivable that there would be some of your kind who would wish it kept quiet...for whatever reason. I need to know the motive behind the request before I can decide whether we have a basis for negotiation or not. I think I've made my position quite clear, as well as my own motives and interest in this."

[Mirikon]

And here they were dealing with yet another dragon. Well, things could definitely be worse, all told. And they'd gotten a fairly good read on their 'guest' and her moods, which was better than most people got from a dragon without being made into a snack. But this promise of 'information for information' just got a lot more interesting. If they could actually get the wyrm to part with any information of real value. Maintaining a calm voice, he said, "I thank you for your consideration and for the warning, noble dragon, and accept them in the spirit with which they were intended. If destruction finds me, then so be it. Shark wins every fight except his last. That is the fate of all who follow the Shark. As for you, my Lady, you have a well deserved reputation for safeguarding or destroying many dangerous magical artifacts, and keeping them out of the hands of those who would misuse them, to the ruin of many. For this, I offer you thanks, humble reward as it might be."

He took a drink of his liquor as Xerena spoke, though his eyes did not leave Arleesh's face. "As Madrecita asks about why you would wish the information concealed for the time being, I must ask what information you were willing to trade for it, and that temporary silence? The lore of dragons is legendary, but so is their reluctance to pass on that lore to the 'young races'. Even President Dunkelzhan, the source from which the modern world knows most of what it does about your kind and the mysteries of the past ages, no doubt told the world only the merest fraction of what he'd come to know in his long life. So, now that we come to it, what information would one so learned and wise be willing to impart to us? You could teach us much, more than we can even imagine, I have no doubt, but what will you pass down to us?" He put just a bit more emphasis on 'could' and 'will', and kept a respectful tone, always careful to never imply that this would be a bargain amongst equals. That was something Ariana had taught him. Never imply that you are the equal of a dragon. It was a sure way to become lunch.

[The Wyrm Ouroboros]

Bearing the majority of the attention of a great dragon must have been uncomfortable; Madrecita was burdened with it throughout her question, then throughout Mirikon's detour.  Ignoring the Tir elf's thanks, explanation of Shark, and attempt at opening the bargaining, she considers Madrecita for a few heartbeats afterwards, then speaks as is her nature - directly.  "Keeping the waters clear, so that we can take care of the problem."

Relaxing enough to reach out for the slender glass of elven alcohol, she takes a moment to briefly scent the liqueur before sipping it, then putting it down in front of her and continuing. "I am told you enchant.  When you do so, you must put aside all distractions in order to focus on achieving your design.  So it is with this.  Making such an announcement would be the equivalent of ..."  Her hands slowly turn palm-up.  "Making sure everyone you know will call or come over during the critical steps of creation, to distract you or accost you.  The chance of failure is vastly increased.

"In the case of this information, you are the person who determines whether or not everyone comes over to jog elbows.  I am here to request that you do not until the problem is taken care of by those working on it."